by Danny Loomis
“Just like the first time I shot a deer,” Nolan said. “Around my neck of the woods we call it kill fever.”
“That’s why hunters are easier to train as snipers,” Irish said with a smile. “You’ve already been through that nervous period before, and tend to be able to suppress it. Just have to learn to do it when it’s a human you’re shooting at.” He put his staff away. “Now finish cleaning your friend and let’s get some shuteye. Don’t know about you, but I’ve had a pretty busy day.”
After leaving the paved highway it was another five kilometers on a gravel road before they stopped in front of an outcropping of rock that jutted from the base of a ridge they’d been following. Irish glanced around, wondering why no one got out until abruptly an opening appeared in what he’d thought was a solid wall of stone. “Damn, that’s good camouflage,” he said while they drove through the entrance. Inside was a cavern big enough to park at least 30 vehicles. He looked back in time to see a canvas curtain drop over the entrance.
“Ever’body out,” called the driver. “Home sweet home.”
“I’ll see you and the rest of the gang tomorrow after lunch,” Irish told Nolan while climbing out. “Tell them to get ready, because you’ll spend all afternoon taking your final exam.” He strode off, exhaustion nibbling at him. Once he reported to Brian, he’d head for bed.
It was another hour before he located Brian, in the makeshift hospital the rebels had built over the past several years. He was sitting next to one of the portable regeneration chambers, being prepped to enter it. “How’re you doing?” Irish asked, slumping into a chair.
“I’ll live,” Brian said, face drawn and pale. “Just lost some blood and cracked a bone or two. How’d you fare?”
“Not wounded, luckily. One of the trainee snipers and I hung back long enough to shoot a couple officers before we broke contact. And by the way, Stuart’s driver was the turncoat ‘Fraid he didn’t make it.”
Brian gave a strained smile, obviously still in pain. “So I heard. You two managed to stall the chase being planned by knocking off the Battalion Commander and the Captain who was in charge of the company that was going to lead the hunt. Good work. And a special thanks for killing that bastard who caused Stuart’s death.”
“Glad we could help.” He stood. “I’d better leave you to the medical folks so they can get you into this contraption. Speaking from personal experience, you’ll feel like a new man when you get out of there.”
He waited in the next room until Brian had been installed. “How long will he be in?” he asked the doctor standing next to him.
“From what we understand, he should be out in three days or less.” He turned to Irish, hand outstretched. “I understand it was you that supplied us with these two units. There aren’t enough words to show our thanks for such a wonderful gift. We’ll be able to keep more of our people alive because of these.”
Irish shook his hand. “Thanks, Doc.” He walked tiredly from the room. Right now, he needed sleep. Tomorrow, he’d begin his plans. Revenge wasn’t always what should be striven for, but this one time–he and his children would gladly reach for it.
Two days later, 20 newly-minted snipers formed a semi-circle around Irish. He scanned each of their faces. “When all of you passed the final test for sniper’s training, you proved worthy of truly being named Snipers. Today, we have been given our first mission: Travel to the area close to Ennis, locate and kill as many of the officers in the Second Ennis Militia Battalion as we can. They are the ones I hold responsible for the death of our leader.” A growling filled the air, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“I’m proud to say all of you volunteered for this mission. I was only able to get our Command Group to agree to this by promising to do my best to make sure you returned alive.”
He held up his rifle. “To be allowed on this mission, you must all promise me. You will be patient, take all the time needed, and achieve your goal. No unnecessary risks will be taken. Remember, we need every one of you back here for the long fight ahead.”
A roar of sound filled the glade around them, and twenty rifles were upraised. Irish was shocked when they began chanting: “Father! Father! Father…”
By midafternoon only one pair of snipers remained to be assigned their mission. They entered the tent Irish was in, and came to attention rather than immediately sitting like the others had. “Sir, Sergeants Nolan and Smith have a request.”
Irish’s eyebrows rose. “Request?” He leaned back, waving them to a chair. “Sure, if I can. What is it?”
Once seated, they fidgeted for a moment before Nolan spoke. “We want you to be our shooter, Sir. We’ll both spot for you.” Before Irish could speak, he hurried on. “We talked it over with the rest, and they agreed. You need to be on this mission, too.”
He opened his mouth, a firm no on his lips–and paused. A memory of Brian holding the bullet-riddled corpse of Stuart settled into his mind. “Nothing could please me more, my children.”
* * *
“I’m in position, skipper.”
Irish finished adjusting his Mark IV and clicked a reply on his comm. Good, Nolan had gotten up that tree quicker than anticipated. It was a relief to be able to handle his own rifle again. He’d been using the same weapon as the sniper trainees during the time he trained them. His rifle was several times quieter than what his children used. In fact, this one couldn’t be heard at all beyond fifty meters.
Nolan had taken less time to prep his cammys, since he only had to look like a tree branch this time. A lot easier to tie branch fronds on, than clumps of grass and brush. The dark green narrow leaves blended nicely with the cammys.
He and Smith had proven to be good spotters during training. Having both to work with was nice, especially since he didn’t have to be so conscious of keeping an eye to the rear. Smith was pulling that duty.
They’d both been highly impressed with his ghillies. The overgarment not only bent light waves around the wearer, it wasn’t necessary to dig a hide. Just lie down and no one could see you. Mainly, though, they’d been jealous of the fact he didn’t have to spend time patiently tying pieces of vegetation on his ghilles like they did on their cammys.
Settling himself, he scoped his front. A thousand meters away from the front-military crest-of a ridgeline they’d selected, a sprawling one story structure was headquarters for the Second Ennis Militia Battalion. This morning, before they’d gotten their hide set up, a ceremony was held when the new Battalion Commander had taken charge. Damn, wish they’d been here sooner. Could’ve nailed the new boss and maybe a couple more officers.
The sun had just touched the horizon when activity at the target site brought them alert. “Heads up, Skipper. Something’s happening,” Nolan whispered.
Irish scoped the compound’s parade ground. “On it. Looks like a flag lowering ceremony. They must really feel secure to do this. Usually only do it in garrison. Wup, here comes the C.O.”
A company of troops formed up in front of the flagpole while Irish watched. Two officers marched to the head of the formation, and came to rigid attention. He zeroed in on the first target. “Ready. Am I clear?”
“Clear,” came the answer.
The first round was on its way when Nolan finished speaking. Within a second he’d targeted the second officer and fired.
Nolan’s voice whispered in his helmet. “First target down-head shot. Second, the same. Damn fine shootin’, Sir!”
Four more aimed shots and Irish was out of his hide, moving to the rear. “Time to go, folks.” He led off at a shuffle-trot that would cover four kilometers an hour.
Two hours later, Irish signaled a halt. “Let’s take a break, guys.” They crawled into a space under three large bushes, and began removing vegetation that was still tied to their cammys. Except for Irish. He hid a smile, taking satisfaction in not having to do that chore with his ghillies. “Nolan, you were spotting when I got
my shots. Any sign of movement our way before you closed up shop?”
Removing his helmet, Nolan scrubbed his short brown hair. “Nope, they were too busy standing around staring at their leadership on the ground. You not only got their boss-man, but the Company Commander and three Lieutenants!”
Irish nodded. “They made it easy. Everyone stood there, even after I’d knocked down the first two.”
“First two were head shots,” Smith said. “The other four were body shots. God, I’d love to be able to be that good a shot.”
“Ha! You’re already better than me,” Irish said with a chuckle. “You’ve got the physical ability. All you have to do is learn to focus and relax into the shot better. Same for both of you.” He paused, looking at Nolan. “You said only three Lieutenants. Who was the fourth target?”
“Looked like the Platoon Sergeant. Other officer wasn’t in formation.”
“Well, hell,” he said. “Means we’ve got to go back in a week or so and finish the job.”
“Why not now?” Smith asked stowing his cammys in a ruck. “No way they’d find us…”
Irish shook his head. “Wrong. If we don’t get out of the immediate area ASAP, they stand a good chance of finding us. Remember, they’ve got woodsmen who’re their scouts and good as you. Or at least that’s how you should look at it. Let your guard down, and you’re dead.” He squinted at the night sky. “Doesn’t look like either moon’s up yet. If you’re ready, let’s get in another four klicks before finding a hole for the night.”
Next afternoon they’d moved into their second hide thirty kilometers northeast of their last job. By now, one other team had scored two kills on the west side of Ennis, according to the update Irish had received. “That should confuse them,” Irish said. “Might even draw off some of the heat on this side of the city.” This time they’d stopped across a small river from the village of Dunlea and on top of a small hill. A Legislaturist platoon was between them and the village which was eight hundred meters away.
“Dig in twenty meters to either side of me,” he said. “Make sure you have a good view. Plus a good field of fire. Once we get the officer for this bunch, I want you to shoot, too.”
It was a boring two days before an opportunity showed itself. “Action front, Skipper,” Smith commed.
Irish blinked himself awake from the doze he’d fallen into, and focused on the bivouac area. Two vehicles had arrived, and were disgorging what looked like two officers and their retinue. Irish grinned. This inspection might be more of a shocker than a surprise.
* * *
Lieutenant Franklin hurried out of his tent, strapping on his pistol. Dammit, leave it to the big brass. Show up just as he’s lying down for a nap. This time it was the Battalion Executive Officer Major Ralston and another Lieutenant he didn’t recognize. Along with three security personnel. What the hell? He caught himself just before saluting, remembering how his C.O. had reamed him out for it last time.
Ralston strode up, giving him an up and down look. “Lieutenant Franklin, you’re to come with me. You’re under arrest for treasonous activities.”
Shock held him immobile while two of the security detachment grabbed him roughly by the arms. “What activities?” He tried to shake himself free. “I’ve done nothing!”
They’d started marching him towards the second vehicle but were stopped by Ralston’s upraised hand. “Your Platoon Sergeant reported what you’d said about your chain of command. Specifically, the Commander.”
Franklin stared in confusion at his Platoon Sergeant who’d just stepped up next to the Major, a sneer on his face. “When the Battalion Commander was killed, you said ‘good riddance’ in front of your troops. I immediately reported it.”
“What are you talking about?” A light dawned, and his mouth drew down. “Damn you, Sergeant. I said that to you in private. Only you!”
Ralston smiled. “Thank you for your confession, Lieutenant.” He motioned to the guards. “Take him away.”
A sound like a meat cleaver–twice more–and all three guards were on the ground, threshing. Two more—His Platoon Sergeant and the Major were down, a blossoming of red coming from the tunics on their chests. He dropped to the ground, looking wildly around. Sudden understanding forced him to his feet and he tore off his jacket, holding it up before throwing it to the ground.
“Sir! W-What are you doing?” Three faces peered at him from the nearby tree line where his platoon had retreated when their leader had first been taken prisoner.
“I’m doing what I should have done a year ago,” he snarled. “I’m tired of working for these butchers. I’m going home.”
A group of soldiers straggled from the trees, also stripping off their shirts. “We’re with you, Sir.”
PLANET EIRE–REBEL HEADQUARTERS (Day +42)
Upon entering the rebel hideaway, Irish and his team made a beeline for their quarters, 100 meters down a side tunnel where most of the personnel bivouacked.
“Clean up and get some rest,” he told the other two. “I’ll head over and give our bosses a debrief. We’ll talk over what happened and find out how the mission’s going for the others tomorrow morning.”
Since they’d just spent the entire day traveling 35 kilometers at a steady shuffle-trot, both were exhausted. Not used to extended runs yet, mused Irish, watching them shamble to their rooms. Started feeling it himself the last five klicks. He rubbed his neck tiredly and dumped his gear on his bunk.
The first person he saw upon entering Admin was Brian, just stepping out of his office. “How’d you get away from the doctors?”
“Lots of pleading,” he said, stepping towards Irish. “We’ve been following along by radio on how your children are faring,” he said. “Fifteen kills so far.”
Irish shook his hand, noticing how he still moved a little gingerly. “That many? Good for them.”
Brian gestured towards his office. “Got out of the coffin ‘bout four hours ago, with strict orders to stay down much as possible. Let’s go sit while we chat.”
Once situated around a small table in the office, Brian’s receptionist arrived with steaming cups of tea. Being a coffee person, Irish was hesitant about his first sip. He smiled in appreciation. “This is delicious. I think I could get used to it in place of coffee.”
“You’d better, since we don’t grow coffee on Eire. The Legs don’t share what they import for their leadership.”
“They’re missing out on something that’s better,” Irish said, setting his cup down. “Before we get into anything else, I have to confess. I really shouldn’t have taken the snipers out on their present mission. Couldn’t just sit back and do nothing, though. Not after what happened.”
Brian nodded. “I won’t tell if you won’t. You going to call ‘em in now?”
“No way,” Irish said forcefully. “We’re going to finish what we started. I promised you we’d kill every one of the officers in that battalion.”
“All of them?” Brian quirked an eyebrow. “I hear one Lieutenant surrendered, along with most of his platoon.”
“Yeah, well, there are some exceptions to that promise.” He chuckled. “After all, I’m just a Captain. We’ve been known to blow hot air once in awhile.”
Brian stood, smiling. “I hate to run you off, but I’ve got to follow doctor’s orders and lie down awhile. Keep me posted on how your children are doing, will you? And make sure your calendar’s clear next week. I should be recovered enough by then to meet with my uncle, and I want you along.”
“Be glad to,” Irish said, rising. “You sure you can get through to him? I heard a lot of raised voices in that room before the interruption.”
Brian shrugged while they moved out of his office. “He and Stuart never did get along, and sure enough they were arguing up a storm rather than try to come to an agreement. I happen to see eye to eye with my uncle on some of the contentious matters. So I’ll see you next week, okay?”
&
nbsp; The following morning it took him awhile to find Nolan and Smith. They were putting a table and chairs in a small conference room next to the communications office. “Thought we’d better snag this room,” Nolan said. “We can keep a close ear to the ground on how your other kids are doing a bit easier.”
Smith pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Next door has commo that’s connected with our teams through that new equipment you brought from the Confederacy–y’know, the stuff no one but us can hear.”
“The low frequency radio system,” Irish said with a nod. “That’s good. At least now we can get word on how they’re doing quicker, rather than wait until they get back home.” He sat across from them. “How about setting up a radio watch? That way if word comes in we’ll hear sooner.”
“And if they need help, we’ll be able to get it to ‘em faster,” Nolan said.
“Good idea. We can move extra munitions and anything else we might need into my shuttle. That’d help us with other rapid response missions, too.”
That evening word came in three teams were returning, mission accomplished. “That leaves six teams still out,” Smith said.
Irish paused from cleaning his Mark IV. “So far we’re the only ones who left any officers alive.”
“That was a good decision, Sir. Having the whole platoon desert is good fodder for the gossip mongers to spread.”
Nolan, on radio watch, perked up. “Word just came in. Three more officers killed, and another team headin’ for home.”
“We’ve got the shuttle prepped if it’s needed,” Irish said.
“Nope, all hoofin’ it home, so far.”
Irish stood and began pacing, something the small conference room wasn’t designed for, making him even more impatient. “There must be something we can do…”
“With respect, put a sock in it, Sir,” Nolan said. “And please sit down. You’re makin’ us nervous, too.”
Irish stopped, took a deep breath and sat. “You’re right. Sorry.” He fidgeted a moment, then stood. “Think I’ll go see how Brian’s doing.”
