by E. R. Torre
“About this shooter,” he said. “Or shooters. They’re really damn good, wouldn’t you say?”
“They’ve been pretty fucking fantastic so far.”
“In all your years in the forces, have you ever seen pinpoint accuracy like that?”
“Never, sir,” Sgt. Atkins said. “Though I wish I weren’t experiencing it first-hand and, especially, on the receiving end.”
Lieutenant Stewart reached up and swiveled the mirror until it surface reflected the front of the aircraft.
“I wish to hell that maniac was on our side. The war in Arabia would be done in no—”
Another shot rang out.
The truck’s side mirror, the one Lieutenant Stewart was using to look at the aircraft, shattered. As it did, the Lieutenant’s head exploded. His body fell to the muddy ground.
Private Edwards was splashed with viscera and involuntarily jumped back. His first instinct was to run. He was almost fully standing when Sgt. Atkins grabbed him by his shirt collar and forced him back to the ground.
“Stay the fuck still, Private,” she growled.
The soldier swallowed.
“Yes…yes sir,” Edwards stammered. All color drained from his face as the realization of what in his panic he almost did dawned on him. Had he run, he would surely have exposed himself to the sniper and be just as dead as Lieutenant Stewart.
“Sorry sir,” he said. “T-thank you.”
Sgt. Atkins released the soldier and leaned over Lieutenant Stewart’s corpse. Despite the massive head wound, she checked for a pulse. She shook her head.
“They took him out with a deflection shot,” Sgt. Atkins said. As angry as she was, she was just as incredulous. “A fucking deflection! You were right, Lieutenant. We sure could use talent like that on our side.”
“S…some shit we’re in now,” Edwards said.
Sgt. Atkins couldn’t help but recall the many times she butted heads with Lieutenant Stewart. As much as she loathed the Lieutenant, he was far from the worst commander she worked under. He had a wife and kids and they didn’t deserve to lose their husband and father this way.
“The sniper has to be one of ours,” Private Edwards said after a while. He pulled out a computer tab from his backpack and turned it on. He searched for information on the personnel aboard the flight.
“We could be dealing with a stowaway,” Sgt. Atkins countered.
“A friend of mine was in Arabia last spring,” Private Edwards said. “Told me the security around the Allies Airbase is –and I quote– as tight as a tick’s asshole.”
“Your friend sounds like a redneck.”
“Yes sir.”
“You a redneck, Private?”
“I suppose so.”
“I fucking hate rednecks.”
“I’ll try to do better, sir.”
“I hate to see dead soldiers even more,” Sgt. Atkins said. “Stay alive, Private.”
Sgt. Atkins leaned back against the transport vehicle. She craved a cigarette, but the last thing she needed to do was offer the sniper a smoke signal. Given the exemplary shooting so far, there was every possibility the sniper might figure out a way to get her through that.
“Sergeant Atkins?” Private Edwards asked.
“Yes?”
“Why do you think it was a stowaway?”
“I’d rather it was an Arab responsible for these deaths than one of ours,” she said.
“I understand,” Private Edwards said. “Sir, what are your orders?”
“Orders?”
“You’re in charge now.”
Sgt. Atkins let out a low whistle. With Lieutenant Stewart’s death, she was the most senior officer on site.
“I guess I am at that,” she said. She reached for her radio.
“This is Sgt. Atkins,” she said. “As of this moment, all orders come through me.”
There was a pause. Someone further down the line replied to her message.
“What happened to Lieutenant Stewart?”
“He’s gone,” Sgt. Atkins said.
“That last shot?”
“Yeah.”
In the distance and to her left and right of them were another pair of military transport trucks. Five soldiers huddled behind each. From their expressions, it was clear they were also quite terrified.
“Keep the radio on and all your body parts well hidden,” she said. “I’m going to get in touch with—”
“Sir?”
Sgt. Atkins faced Edwards. The Private was pointing at the west side end entrance of the airfield. There, a single black all-terrain vehicle drove through the gated entrance. It moved very slowly in their general direction.
The Sergeant reached for her binoculars and raised them to her eyes. She gazed at the vehicle. It was a standard military utility ATV. Only one man was visible inside. The driver.
“For fuck’s sake,” Sergeant Atkins said. “He’s coming straight at us. Alone.”
Atkins dropped the binoculars and grabbed the radio.
“Control, this is Sgt. Atkins. We have a black ATV approaching our position from the west side of the airfield. Is someone out there feeling particularly suicidal today?”
A burst of static followed. The ATV drew closer. Soon it would be within range of the sniper. Sgt. Atkins clawed at the radio transmitter.
“Maybe I’m not making myself clear,” she shouted. “Someone needs to tell that idiot to veer off and—”
“Tell your boys to hold their fire,” came an unfamiliar voice over the radio.
Sgt. Atkins and Private Edwards looked at each other.
“Who the fuck am I speaking to?” Sergeant Atkins said.
“The idiot in the ATV.”
“And who the fuck are you?”
There was static on the radio and another voice came through.
“Sgt. Atkins, this is Control.”
“I read you Control,” Atkins replied. “What is—?”
“You and your boys are to stay where you are. You are not to move until instructed to do otherwise. Allow the vehicle through.”
“Control—”
“You have your orders Sergeant. Are we clear?”
“Yes…yes sir,” Sgt. Atkins said. She shook her head and once again spoke into the radio. “Everyone in Green Company, remain where you are.”
The ATV was even closer and definitely within the sniper’s range.
Any second now, Sgt. Atkins thought.
“Nice knowing you,” Private Edwards muttered to the ATV’s unknown driver.
Both he and Sgt. Atkins felt a growing tension. They were certain the sound of gunfire would soon be heard and blood would be spilled. They held their breaths, waiting for this to happen. The seconds ticked off. The ATV drew even closer.
No shots were fired.
The ATV slowed some more as it approached Sgt. Atkins’ position, finally coming to a stop beside her vehicle. The ATV’s driver side door opened. From where they were, neither Atkins nor Edwards could get a good look at the driver.
“Sgt. Atkins?”
The voice was the same as the one she heard over the radio.
“I hear you,” Sgt. Atkins replied. “Who the hell are you?”
“That isn’t as important as what I am about to do.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m going to the aircraft. If you hear anything, including gunfire, you are to remain exactly where you are. You are not to return fire.”
“What if you’re hit?”
“I won’t be.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“The sniper can’t see me.”
“Can’t see you? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
Sgt. Atkins was about to ask another question. She looked at the still warm corpse of Lieutenant Stewart. He was killed with a shot that required incredible skill, yet the ATV driver stood out in the open, very clearly in the sniper’s view, and hadn’t been fired upon.
He wasn’t invisible to her, though. Sgt. Atkins saw him through her binoculars. She could see parts of him as he stood next to his ATV.
“What if the sniper is toying with you?”
“He isn’t the type to do that.”
“He? We’re dealing with one person?”
“Yes.”
“You know him?”
“A bit.”
“Care to share that information?”
“Maybe later, when we have the time.”
The man took a step forward. He was now in plain sight of both Sgt. Atkins and Private Edwards. The man was in his mid-forties and his body was lean and athletic. He sported graying brown hair and wore dark sunglasses and a simple black jumpsuit that lacked any sort of military insignia. He exuded authority. Sgt. Atkins figured he must be a Corporal, perhaps even a General.
“Not to keep you from your date with destiny or anything, sir, but what exactly is your plan?”
“I’m going to walk to the aircraft and board it. I will confront the hostile and end this situation.”
Sgt. Atkins was incredulous.
“You have to be a General,” she said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you higher-ups always come up with such complicated plans.”
The man’s lips curled into a smile.
“Stay where you are no matter what happens,” he said. “Remain until I give the all clear.”
“What if you can’t?”
“You’ll know.”
“How?”
“At that point, there won’t be anything left of the aircraft.”
The vehicle’s driver walked on, passing the truck Sgt. Atkins and Private Edwards were hidden behind. The two followed the stranger’s orders and remained where they were. Sgt. Atkins leaned down low until her face just brushed the muddy ground. She looked under her transport and watched as the stranger approached the aircraft.
The stranger’s pace was easy, unhurried. He stepped past the ruts in the ground and was soon at the front of the aircraft.
When he reached it he paused.
From her viewpoint, Sgt. Atkins couldn’t see what was going on within the airplane itself. All she could see was the very bottom of the plane’s nose.
Just as well, Atkins thought. Anyone with a clear view of the aircraft was also in the view of the sniper.
The stranger stood still for several more seconds.
Then, Sgt. Atkins heard a strange sound, of something popping and unfurling. She was momentarily alarmed and thought the stranger was shot. Instead, the aircraft’s bright yellow emergency slide fell at his feet.
How did you manage that? she thought.
The stranger stepped on to the slide and climbed up, disappearing from Sgt. Atkins’ view. Sgt. Atkins got back up to a sitting position and grabbed the radio.
“Control,” Sgt. Atkins said into the transmitter. “I’ve lost sight of the ATV driver. Did he enter the aircraft?”
“Roger,” Control replied.
There followed a long, agonizing silence. A minute passed, then two. Five. Ten.
Sgt. Atkins swore. She was in no mood to sit around and wait.
Who the fuck was he? she thought. And who the fuck did he think he was?
Sgt. Atkins shook her head.
He knew enough to get himself on that aircraft without getting his brains blown off. Unlike Lieutenant…
Sgt. Atkins shook her head again.
The Lieutenant was a stuck up son of a bitch, but no one deserves that.
Sgt. Atkins swore. She wanted to move, to do something. If that fool could make it to the aircraft alive, then maybe—
The silence around the airfield was interrupted by a rapid succession of gunshots. Three. Four.
“Control, we heard shots!” Atkins yelled into her radio.
Five. Six.
“Control?!”
“Remain where you are. You are to wait until—”
“Could you repeat?” Atkins replied. “I’m getting nothing but static.”
She shut the radio transmitter off and handed it to Private Edwards.
“What are you doing?” the Private asked her.
“Stay here,” Atkins said.
“They told us—”
“They didn’t tell us anything,” Sgt. Atkins said. “The radio is malfunctioning.”
Private Edwards nodded. Sgt. Atkins pulled out her automatic and edged to the side of the transport. It was time to move.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” Sgt. Atkins testily replied.
“Be careful,” he said.
3
Sgt. Atkins leaned in as close as she could to the front end of the transport vehicle. She could sense Private Edwards’ presence behind her. He sat a few feet away, his eyes half-closed. He didn’t want to see another person die before him.
Hell of a thing for anyone to witness, newbie or veteran.
Private Edwards’ shirt was stained with the Lieutenant’s blood. Sgt. Atkins looked down at her own shirt. It was spotless.
Hope it stays that way.
The Sergeant took several deep breathes. She gripped her rifle even tighter.
For over a minute there hadn’t been any more shooting coming from within the aircraft. There was absolutely no way to know whether that was a good –or very, very bad– thing.
“Fuck,” she said.
With that, she was off.
Sgt. Atkins stumbled across the muddy field.
She expected to hear a gunshot or, even worse, nothing at all before being dropped. Instead, she heard the squawking of the radio transmitters coming from the other transport vehicles parked around the aircraft. She heard some of her fellow soldiers yell for her to get back to cover. She heard her own heavy breathing. That noise was the most welcome. It meant she was still alive.
The voices and squawking receded and an eerie silence enveloped her.
She zigzagged past ruts and clumps of dirt. When the airplane hit the muddy field beside the tarmac, it ripped up the ground and sent chunks of muddy dirt in all directions. This debris got worse as she neared the fallen craft.
When she reached the yellow emergency slide below the airplane’s nose, she neither paused to celebrate her accomplishment nor cursed her foolish run. She hid behind and under the slide and took several seconds to catch her breath. She stood between the slide and the tilted body of the aircraft and, unless the sniper had X-Ray vision, it was doubtful he’d see, much less get a bead, on her.
Then again, he did take out the Lieutenant with a deflection shot.
“Don’t remind me,” Atkins muttered to herself.
Her breathing soon returned to normal –or as normal as possible given the situation– and she listened. She tried to detect any sounds coming from the aircraft. Her eyes drifted back to the military vehicles parked in a circle around her. None of the soldiers hiding behind them were visible.
Unlike you, they value their lives.
Sgt. Atkins pointed the barrel of her rifle up. She eased out from behind the slide and stared at the open aircraft door. She saw no one there. Sgt. Atkins considered the slide. It was the only way into the aircraft, but climbing it would be tricky. It was made for quick emergency exits, not entry. There were straps along the slide’s side she could grab and use to work her way up, but to do so she would have to use both hands. She would have to sling her weapon over her shoulder.
I can’t protect myself while going up, she realized. I’ll be a sitting duck.
Sgt. Atkins let out a snort.
You really thought this out well, didn’t you?
She reached for the straps.
It took her only a few seconds to climb up to the aircraft’s entrance.
To Sgt. Atkins, those few seconds were a torturous lifetime. She tried to be as quiet as possible, but the emergency slide squealed and the straps snapped with each step up. As she
approached the darkness of the open airplane door, she envisioned the unknown sniper appearing like a nightmarish vision directly before her. She imaged him aiming his gun right at her face and mercilessly pulling the trigger.
That image lingered even as she boarded. She grabbed her rifle from her shoulder and aimed it into the passenger compartment. She was at the front of the aircraft. The floor was tilted down, toward her, and debris rolled forward from the back. Cups, bottles, napkins, and even half-eaten food rations lay at her feet. Behind her was the cockpit. For several seconds, she stood dead still, again listening hard for any sounds.
There were none. It felt like she entered an abandoned, ghostly wreck.
Sgt. Atkins considered her next move. Odds were the sniper was barricaded somewhere deeper within the body of the aircraft, but the cockpit behind her was also a possibility. It lay only feet away.
Sgt. Atkins took a step backwards, keeping her gun trained at the passenger compartment. She took another. Nothing moved in the darkness before her.
She half turned, drawing her weapon before her and aiming it at the cockpit door.
The door was closed. Its handle and lock were smashed.
Sgt. Atkins laid her left hand flat against the door and grabbed at a torn section.
She pulled.
The door creaked open.
She gasped.
The two pilots and navigator remained in their seats. The chairs and windshield before them were shredded with bullet holes. Blood splatters filled the cockpit walls and the computer paneling. The pilots’ heads lay limp against the headrests. The navigator’s head was completely gone. It lay in a puddle of blood and viscera on the cockpit floor. His lifeless eyes stared up at Sgt. Atkins.
Sgt. Atkins suppressed a scream.
She turned away and calmed herself down before looking the scene over again.
What kind of animal could have done this? she thought.
That’s what you’re here to find out.
She took in all she could bear and was about to leave the cockpit when she detected the faint odor of singed plastic. She looked past the pilots’ corpses and at the aircraft’s instrument panels. Sections of the paneling were warped, as if singed from a blast of intense heat. All the instruments, every single one of them, appeared fried. However, there was no sign of a fire. It was as if an intense wave of heat was carefully directed at the controls. Either that or they burned up from within.