by Chase Austin
Heath discussed the situation with the Squad leaders of Teams A and B waiting in the woods. Eddie listened to everything, said nothing. He knew Rovan and Wilson were speaking from experience and he agreed with their call on this. It was an incredibly difficult shot. They had only one chance because if Wilson took the shot and missed, the enemy would simply duck completely behind cover and never come back up. They needed to gain more ground and get closer to the enemy.
Below, a squad point man stepped out from the tree line, bravely leading one half of his team toward the outbuildings while the other half remained stationary and gave them cover.
“Smith in the open.” Rovan murmured to no one. His glass followed Smith. Everyone felt the tension rising.
Then they heard the blast of sniper fire, and Smith crumpled to the ground even before the shot’s echo swept over the hills.
The squad immediately returned fire, and spurts from weapons spilled across the valley. A couple of smoke grenades were flung through the air. The cloud of red fog-covered Smith’s body and provided cover to get it back to safety.
Heath watched from the top of the hill, looking blank and undecided.
“We must take him out,” Eddie muttered.
“You think I don’t know that,” Heath said, glaring at Eddie. “Were you not listening to what we discussed just now?”
“I heard everything, but with a dead body, we have no other option. We have to take that shot now or come back with a better plan.”
Rovan checked the target’s position.
“He’s gone,” he reported, grimly.
“For now, but he will reappear soon enough. Where he is right now is as fortified as any place could get in this terrain.” Eddie said.
“Even if he does, the wind alone makes this a one-in-a-million shot, forget about the distance. What if we don’t hit him? We only have one chance. Once he knows he can be hit, he will be gone in an instant, and this time for good,” Rovan said.
“I’ll take the shot.” Eddie was looking at his gun.
“Queer, you are out of your fucking mind,” Wilson said.
“Maybe, but I can take this shot. If you still want to do it, I’ll wait.”
Heath and Rovan looked at Wilson, who was now seething. He didn’t like his skills challenged in front of them by a sissy like Eddie.
“Have you forgotten what we did to you last night? If you have, then you might want to check your face.” Wilson managed to snigger through his anger.
“You still haven’t answered if you can take the shot?” Eddie was calm on the surface. Inside, it was a different story.
If there hadn’t been a sniper aiming for their heads, Wilson might have lunged at Eddie for challenging and mocking his skills and authority.
Heath intervened. “You can take it?” he asked Eddie.
“Yes,” Eddie said without hesitation.
“What if you miss?” Wilson demanded.
“I’ll let Wilson decide that.”
“There’s going to be a dead body either way,” Wilson sniggered. “His or…”
“Right here,” Eddie said without missing a beat. His right index finger to his skull, he added, “One-shot.”
Rovan and Heath looked at each other with mixed emotions. It was now more than just a mission.
Nine minutes before the shot
The rock was a fucking oven and the wind was strong, blowing from left to right, as Eddie crept up to the vantage point.
Rovan had confirmed Torpedo was visible again.
“You sure you’ll hit him?” Rovan asked as Eddie took Wilson’s place beside him.
Wilson retreated to take the position beside Heath, both behind the cover of the rocks.
Eddie didn’t respond. He looked through the glass at Torpedo. Ninety percent of Torpedo’s body was behind the fortified wall; only his head and part of his torso were exposed. He was wearing a green uniform and was holding the Dragunov he’d shot Smith with.
Eddie closed his eyes and his training took over. He got himself quickly but calmly into the perfect sniping position.
Eddie, like every sniper, followed a set pattern, getting the different parts of his body into optimum position in strict order starting with the left hand, followed by the elbows, legs, right hand, and cheek.
Finally, he forced himself to relax and control his breathing, focusing solely on the target.
Four minutes before the shot
The wind’s pace rose a notch. Eddie knew all eyes were on him. Rovan, lying beside him, was studying how Eddie was going to take the shot, while Wilson and Heath were ready to pounce on him once he missed.
Eddie understood that sniping, beyond its impossible precision, had an intense psychological impact too; it brought out one’s deep-rooted vulnerabilities. One could picture a sniper trying to get a bead on oneself and start making mistakes out of sheer nervousness.
Eddie knew to fire at a soldier was one thing, but trying to find and take out another sniper, especially a highly skilled one like Torpedo, was a whole different ball game.
It was like chess. Both sides knew the game and its rules, making it an even match. He knew winning this battle was more of a mental game than a physical one.
Also, real sniping unlike in movies was different. In the movies, Wahlberg got his target between the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger and that was all it took. In real life, the position of the target that Eddie could see through his scope was not the same as the actual position of the target when his bullet reached him. In the distance of 1300 yards between his rifle’s barrel and the target, the earth would shift, gravity would kick in and the wind would play its capricious part. Hitting a still target, even under normal circumstances, was a game of sheer prediction. But the circumstances surrounding this shot required Eddie to foretell the future with precise accuracy.
Eddie had the uncanny ability to mentally record every shot he had ever taken. He remembered the distance, the wind speed, the temperature, the elevation and every damn thing that had played a role in determining his probability of hitting his target. He was a living personification of oneness—he became his gun.
The rifle Eddie was using was the M24 SWS (Sniper Weapon System), the sniper rifle of choice for the United States Army. It was referred to as a “weapon system” because it consisted of not only a rifle but also a detachable telescopic sight and other accessories.
The drawback of Eddie’s rifle was that its maximum effective range was 875 yards, although he had recorded shots at over 1050 yards.
So to put it mildly, he was looking to make a first shot count at a target who himself knew all the tricks of the trade and was out of the effective range while hiding in a fortified position that covered 90% of his body. Moreover, Eddie needed to take his enemy out against a strong crosswind that made the trajectory of the bullet almost impossible to guess.
Even if the wind somehow remained steady, everything else being equal, to hit his mark Eddie would have to curve his shot, firing the bullet sixty-five feet away from the target he was aiming at, using the wind velocity and angle of firing to make up for the effective range deficiency. He would use physics to extend the range and power of his gun.
Rovan and Wilson had already considered all these variables and taken into account the margin for error. They were right in concluding that it all added up to ‘impossible’.
Any sniper in his right mind wouldn’t agree to take such a shot but Eddie’s circumstances had made him take up this impossible challenge. If he succeeded, he would silence every last one of his detractors at one go. And if he failed..., well, from the mean look in Wilson’s eye, Eddie knew the harassment he’d hitherto faced would probably be the least of his worries.
He lay still, his eyes pushing the glass to the max, his mind in complete control. He had done the calculations thrice in his mind. There was nothing else he could do now.
He finally let off his first and only possible shot, not even remotely pointed toward his ta
rget.
Rovan watched the bullet as it moved in a giant banana arc and after what seemed like an eternity, struck Torpedo directly in the face. Rovan saw the red mist in the air and the body of the target falling back behind the fortified wall. No one knew what the coveted target uttered just before he died, but the words that slipped from everyone else who was watching were: “No fucking way.”
Eddie closed his eyes and quickly got back behind the safety of the rock. He didn’t look at Wilson or Heath, just kept his eyes closed, savoring the moment before it became stale. Although he knew it never would.
Four days later
Sam Wick waited near the temporary open gym space at the base. He had just landed in the country with only one thing to do this time—meet Eddie. He had everything he needed to know about Eddie stashed in his eidetic memory, and now all he had to do was to talk to the man in person.
A certain curiosity had already started building around Wick at the base. That he wasn’t a civilian was evident from the way he stood amidst the Delta, Marines and the U.S. Army soldiers. The invisible energy around him told people it would be wise to keep their distance.
At 5’11”, Wick’s weather-beaten face was ruggedly attractive, not least because of his unreadable sea-blue eyes, bright with intelligence. With his short-cropped black hair and athletic build, he had the appearance of a man on a mission. And he was here on the orders of his bosses at the Task Force–77 (TF–77).
TF–77 was a black ops team jointly created by the NSA and the U.S. Army—an off-the-books team that came into play when diplomatic solutions failed. Powered by NSA intel and U.S. military might across the globe, the team was well-equipped to handle just about anything. It was chosen for the toughest missions in the most dangerous locations using means that no government could officially authorize.
Eddie was in cuffs when he was brought to Wick. His face and both his eyes were swollen, and he was limping.
Wick watched him closely as he was led across the yard to where he sat.
Was this the guy who had made that impossible shot?
Wick hoped the intel he had been provided was genuine and that he hadn’t come here on a wild goose chase.
Eddie stopped at some distance from Wick, confusion writ plain on his face.
“Eddie Vicar?” Wick asked.
Eddie nodded
“Uncuff him,” Wick said to the two men who had brought Eddie. The men looked at each other but did nothing.
“He is not a fugitive. Uncuff him now.” Wick’s tone indicated he wasn’t in the mood to repeat himself.
The men hesitated but did as he said. After all, this was an army base and Eddie was in no position to run.
Eddie rubbed his wrists, free of the restraints.
“Five steps back,” Wick ordered. The two soldiers looked at each other but obeyed.
Eddie looked at the men backing off and looked back at Wick in surprise.
“Who are you?”
“Sam Wick,” Wick said.
Eddie waited for the man to say something more in way of an introduction, but nothing more was forthcoming. Sam Wick. Was that all he was going to get from this man?
“Thanks for this,” he said, indicating his free hands, trying to fill the awkward silence.
“Why did you volunteer to take that shot?” Wick asked the one question for which he had come to Iraq from Lithuania.
Eddie blinked. Then, he said, “First, who are you? Second, why do you want to know?” It was clear he had difficulty in uttering words.
“I’m the one person standing between your court-martial and freedom. But I don’t have all the time in the world to decide if I should bet on you or not. Give me good reasons why I shouldn’t leave you rotting in jail.”
Eddie studied the man closely. He wasn’t a lawyer. Nor was he from Army; maybe he had been once but not anymore. Nor was he some private contractor, otherwise he wouldn’t be here, at this base. Special forces, maybe, but Eddie couldn’t be sure.
Wick looked at his wristwatch as if he was getting late for something. Was it an act? Eddie couldn’t be sure.
“I took that shot because I’m good at math,” Eddie responded.
“You think Wilson and Rovan didn’t consider everything before backing off from that shot and suggesting that they should gain some ground first?” Wick asked.
“I’m not saying that.”
“Then what was different in your calculations?”
“I was the difference.”
Wick said nothing. He looked at Eddie, trying to gauge if he was bullshitting him. He wasn’t. The man in front of him sincerely believed what he had said.
“In normal circumstances, would you have taken that shot?”
“I don’t understand.”
“If we were to eliminate your hatred for Wilson and Heath from the equation, would you still have taken that shot?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Smith was a good man and a patriot. He shouldn’t have died.”
“You think Wilson and Heath were responsible for his death?” Wick asked.
“Yes.”
“Why are you here, in the U.S. army?”
“Where else should I be?” Eddie tried to smile but winced in pain instead.
“What do you have to say about the U.S. army not supporting you enough despite your skills and services?”
“Nothing.”
“Will you still have nothing to say when you’re thrown in jail, a very likely scenario as of now?”
Eddie said nothing.
“You shot Wilson and Heath, so when everyone should be hailing you as a hero, you are facing a trial. People are calling you a sicko. I’ll be checking if you are medically sound enough, you can bet on that, but tell me, what were you thinking when took those shots?”
“Nothing at the time, but I felt relieved once it was done. As if something that was eating at me from the inside was finally satisfied. If I had wanted to kill them, I would have. But that was never my intention. All I want is that now they’ll take my face to their graves. Their scars will keep reminding them.”
“I’m sure they would, now that they are bedridden for at least 6 months and their army career is nothing but over. They could have shot back at you.”
“I know.”
“Insanity or fearlessness?”
“I haven’t thought of that moment again, so I can’t say what to label it.” Eddie was truthful. He had thought of his childhood, during his solitary confinement.
“Who did this to you?” Wick’s gaze took in his battered face and body.
“Those who consider Wilson their leader.”
“What about Heath? They don’t consider him as their commander?”
“He is a dirtbag, a spineless shit. Everyone knows that.”
“These men, Wilson’s men… they might’ve killed you too.”
“Do I look like I care?”
“Do you believe in God?
“No,” Eddie said.
“Why not?”
“Irrelevant.”
“This question, or God?”
“Both.” Eddie didn’t smile this time.
“Angry with Him, or maybe disappointed?” Wick pressed.
“Neither. Just indifferent.”
“What do you believe in?”
“In my country.”
“Still?”
“Still.”
“If you rot in a cell for the rest of your life or die, you are of no use to the country.” Wick was slowly homing in on the task he was here for.
Eddie remained silent.
“I am part of a team that works for the government, doing things government doesn’t or can’t do on their own.”
“Offering me a job?”
“Only laying out your options. This one was not on the menu, so I added it,” Wick replied.
“Getting out of one shithole and into another one,” Eddie smirked.
“One that is less smelly
and less assholey.”
“Why if I don’t like the smell?”
“Haven’t met anyone who didn’t.”
“They left, or died?”
“You choose what suits you best.”
“You are not very likable and not at all good at this recruitment thing.”
“Not part of my job description,” Wick said.
“How much time I have to decide?” Eddie asked.
In response, Wick checked his wristwatch and looked up at Eddie expectedly.
“Now?” Eddie asked dubiously.
Wick looked at him in silence.
“What is this team called?”
“Task Force–77.”
“And who are you again?”
“Sam Wick.”
Eddie waited again for Wick to say more but in vain.
“I’m in,” Eddie said, watching for some change in Wick's expression. He saw nothing, only two blue eyes staring back at him as if trying to determine if Eddie was serious or just eager to get out of his current situation. Then after a pause of ten seconds, Wick got up. “Will be in touch soon.”
Eddie nodded not sure of what he should do next. Wick signaled to the two men standing five steps behind, and they herded him back to solitary confinement.
Driving out of the base in his SUV, Wick reached for his sat-phone from the bag lying at the passenger seat. He dialed a number from memory. The call was picked up on the second ring and a female voice responded.
“He is in,” Wick said.
“Good. We'll take it from here. Angela will be in touch with you about your next mission.”
The call was disconnected.
The End
THE SAM WICK QUADRILOGY: BOOKS 1-4
Over 700 Pages of Pure adrenaline. Non Stop thrills. Razor-sharp tension. Read the first four thrillers in the best-selling Sam Wick series.
"In the tradition of the best thrillers and heroes."
His name is Sam Wick. He's the one the U.S. government calls on to extract people out of the worst of the worst enemy places on earth. Where the government cannot and will not go, he will. There is no guarantee that he'll succeed every time but he doesn't have a choice or does he?