Post by Munin on Mar 19, 2008 17:12:21 GMT -5
sharpshooter55 asked that this be posted to the Tales of Valor forum. The rest of you should pay attention - this story is well-written and he followed the rules for posting. Good job, 'shooter!
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The wind blew softly through the tangled forest and animated the undergrowth as it rushed through its tangled leaves. The sun was setting behind the tree line, creating a glorious, golden luster about the forest. Strange shadows were cast in the thickets and silence reigned supreme in the mighty woodlands but for the soft, gentle rustling of various growth. Wild life made no noise, for their senses warned them that this was no ordinary sunset.
Out of the thicket, the destruction and noise of leaves beneath heavy boots contrasted the majestic silence of the forest. The bodies of seven infantry men rose into the evening mist as their silhouettes pierced the light of the setting sun.
They moved quickly and swiftly, as a fox stalks his prey. Behind them they left no traces, and as they hustled, they gained no fear. Their hands grew clammy in anticipation and their hearts beat like drums, increasing in speed as they drew nearer to their objective.
As the men strode through the forest, the first halted and lifted his arm in warning. His men crept into the shadows, disappearing, it seemed, from the face of the earth. They pulled the scopes of their rifles to their watchful eyes. The forest magnified in their field of view and all became clear.
Enemy operators were making their way through the forest. They walked sloppily and caution held no place in their minds. Their rifles sat at their hips, swinging lifelessly along with the branches. Their voices penetrated the silence, and their laughs destroyed their stealth. Little did they know, their laughter would soon fade.
The attack was now inevitable and bloodshed was eminent. The commander of the seven man recon unit looked on in concentration. His enemies were foolish, but they were heavily armed. This would be no easy task. The commander then called over his radio to the well concealed sniper that lay in darkness.
“Bravo 1, this is Foxtrot 3, be advised, twelve enemy soldiers moving to your left flank. Over.” And with that radio cut off and waited for a reply.
The man promptly responded saying, “Foxtrot 3, Bravo 1, I have made contact and am ready to engage. Out.”
The radio then ceased to chirp and the silence again ruled. The commander, thinking sharply, ordered his men to move along the ridge, for the new position would present many targets.
The enemy soldiers continued on, unaware of the fate that followed. They walked ever further into the gates of hell. The sniper lay hidden, enveloped in the concealment of his ghillie suit. His body remained motionless, and his heartbeat seemed non-existent. His finger began to slide across the smooth metal of the trigger. The rifle screamed to be fired but would have to wait, for the sniper knew when opportunity would knock. One eye remained open, peering through the massive scope, which enlarged the shooters world. Through this tool he would see destruction and instill fear. His muscles ached and his back grew weary, but to adjust would mean instant compromise.
Suddenly, as if by instinct, the sniper fired. The roar of his rifle rung around the forest, as it let all others know it was king. The retort of the rifle let the shooter know his job had been done. The round smacked into the leading enemy soldier and his body slumped to weeds. The sniper loaded another round as quickly as he had fired the first. Another shot rang out and the enemy scattered as their command was severed like the head of a serpent. The sniper had done his job and he again slipped away.
A feeling of confidence took over the commander. For he knew his sniper had not failed. The success of the ambush pulsated trough the recon team’s veins, and their nerves were erased. Success was relevant but for now would be filed into the back of the operators minds; their mission was not complete.
Without further hesitation the men opened fire. Their rifles bombarded the enemy with rounds but was answered by a swarm of bullets. The operators dove to the ground and buried their faces as the bullets ripped away the earth in front of them. The rounds continued eating at the dirt, searching for their targets.
At that moment, an enemy soldier emerged from the brush and sprayed madly into the recon unit. One was hit and he hit the ground with enough force to wake the dead. The loss of this soldier weighed heavily upon the men, but their mission stood mocking them.
The firefight continued and disfigured the earth. The enemy were being eliminated with efficient speed, but this speed was not fast enough. The commander was growing weary and his brain was rushed with ideas and scenarios. Until he decided immediate action would suffice. He slammed a new magazine into his rifle, feeding it the diet of death. He sprang from cover and squeezed rounds down range. As he rushed for new cover, the remaining two enemies averted their attention.
The commander searched for new cover but he was presented with nothing but forest floor. His men fired madly and hit one of the enemies, dropping another threat to the forest undergrowth. The commander was now growing frantic and the ground around his feet began closing in. Weeds and roots snatched at his feet and snagged his boots; until the ground prevailed and pulled down its prize.
The commander hit with suck force that his rifle sprang from his firm grasp and was eating up by the darkness. The man momentarily lost his bearings and looked around him as if in a daze. The enemy soldier was fast approaching, and he would show no mercy.
The commander regained his wits and maintained his pain. His hand grasped his .45 strapped to his bleeding leg. He fired a round that to him, felt as though it would deafen any ear in close proximity. The shot cascaded above the enemy’s head and he continued. The commander racked the pistol and aimed once more. Again the shot erupted, but failed to strikes its target.
The enemy soldier grew tired of this game and fired wildly, mad with anger. Three rounds flew for the barrel and struck the trees surrounding the commander. The embedded into the trees and ricocheted with magnificent force. The commander gasped for breath, for he had just evaded a most grueling end.
The enemy fired again, but this time his rifle did not answer. The clip was empty but the commander’s luck was full. He raised his pistol and peered at the enemy’s countenance through the iron sights. His finger pulled the trigger and a round screamed from the barrel, this time succeeding in impacting its target. The enemy soldier recoiled in pain and his face showed a profound repugnance. He was to kill no more.
The commander stood, completely bewildered by the events that had unfolded before him. For he had survived the war for one more day.
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The wind blew softly through the tangled forest and animated the undergrowth as it rushed through its tangled leaves. The sun was setting behind the tree line, creating a glorious, golden luster about the forest. Strange shadows were cast in the thickets and silence reigned supreme in the mighty woodlands but for the soft, gentle rustling of various growth. Wild life made no noise, for their senses warned them that this was no ordinary sunset.
Out of the thicket, the destruction and noise of leaves beneath heavy boots contrasted the majestic silence of the forest. The bodies of seven infantry men rose into the evening mist as their silhouettes pierced the light of the setting sun.
They moved quickly and swiftly, as a fox stalks his prey. Behind them they left no traces, and as they hustled, they gained no fear. Their hands grew clammy in anticipation and their hearts beat like drums, increasing in speed as they drew nearer to their objective.
As the men strode through the forest, the first halted and lifted his arm in warning. His men crept into the shadows, disappearing, it seemed, from the face of the earth. They pulled the scopes of their rifles to their watchful eyes. The forest magnified in their field of view and all became clear.
Enemy operators were making their way through the forest. They walked sloppily and caution held no place in their minds. Their rifles sat at their hips, swinging lifelessly along with the branches. Their voices penetrated the silence, and their laughs destroyed their stealth. Little did they know, their laughter would soon fade.
The attack was now inevitable and bloodshed was eminent. The commander of the seven man recon unit looked on in concentration. His enemies were foolish, but they were heavily armed. This would be no easy task. The commander then called over his radio to the well concealed sniper that lay in darkness.
“Bravo 1, this is Foxtrot 3, be advised, twelve enemy soldiers moving to your left flank. Over.” And with that radio cut off and waited for a reply.
The man promptly responded saying, “Foxtrot 3, Bravo 1, I have made contact and am ready to engage. Out.”
The radio then ceased to chirp and the silence again ruled. The commander, thinking sharply, ordered his men to move along the ridge, for the new position would present many targets.
The enemy soldiers continued on, unaware of the fate that followed. They walked ever further into the gates of hell. The sniper lay hidden, enveloped in the concealment of his ghillie suit. His body remained motionless, and his heartbeat seemed non-existent. His finger began to slide across the smooth metal of the trigger. The rifle screamed to be fired but would have to wait, for the sniper knew when opportunity would knock. One eye remained open, peering through the massive scope, which enlarged the shooters world. Through this tool he would see destruction and instill fear. His muscles ached and his back grew weary, but to adjust would mean instant compromise.
Suddenly, as if by instinct, the sniper fired. The roar of his rifle rung around the forest, as it let all others know it was king. The retort of the rifle let the shooter know his job had been done. The round smacked into the leading enemy soldier and his body slumped to weeds. The sniper loaded another round as quickly as he had fired the first. Another shot rang out and the enemy scattered as their command was severed like the head of a serpent. The sniper had done his job and he again slipped away.
A feeling of confidence took over the commander. For he knew his sniper had not failed. The success of the ambush pulsated trough the recon team’s veins, and their nerves were erased. Success was relevant but for now would be filed into the back of the operators minds; their mission was not complete.
Without further hesitation the men opened fire. Their rifles bombarded the enemy with rounds but was answered by a swarm of bullets. The operators dove to the ground and buried their faces as the bullets ripped away the earth in front of them. The rounds continued eating at the dirt, searching for their targets.
At that moment, an enemy soldier emerged from the brush and sprayed madly into the recon unit. One was hit and he hit the ground with enough force to wake the dead. The loss of this soldier weighed heavily upon the men, but their mission stood mocking them.
The firefight continued and disfigured the earth. The enemy were being eliminated with efficient speed, but this speed was not fast enough. The commander was growing weary and his brain was rushed with ideas and scenarios. Until he decided immediate action would suffice. He slammed a new magazine into his rifle, feeding it the diet of death. He sprang from cover and squeezed rounds down range. As he rushed for new cover, the remaining two enemies averted their attention.
The commander searched for new cover but he was presented with nothing but forest floor. His men fired madly and hit one of the enemies, dropping another threat to the forest undergrowth. The commander was now growing frantic and the ground around his feet began closing in. Weeds and roots snatched at his feet and snagged his boots; until the ground prevailed and pulled down its prize.
The commander hit with suck force that his rifle sprang from his firm grasp and was eating up by the darkness. The man momentarily lost his bearings and looked around him as if in a daze. The enemy soldier was fast approaching, and he would show no mercy.
The commander regained his wits and maintained his pain. His hand grasped his .45 strapped to his bleeding leg. He fired a round that to him, felt as though it would deafen any ear in close proximity. The shot cascaded above the enemy’s head and he continued. The commander racked the pistol and aimed once more. Again the shot erupted, but failed to strikes its target.
The enemy soldier grew tired of this game and fired wildly, mad with anger. Three rounds flew for the barrel and struck the trees surrounding the commander. The embedded into the trees and ricocheted with magnificent force. The commander gasped for breath, for he had just evaded a most grueling end.
The enemy fired again, but this time his rifle did not answer. The clip was empty but the commander’s luck was full. He raised his pistol and peered at the enemy’s countenance through the iron sights. His finger pulled the trigger and a round screamed from the barrel, this time succeeding in impacting its target. The enemy soldier recoiled in pain and his face showed a profound repugnance. He was to kill no more.
The commander stood, completely bewildered by the events that had unfolded before him. For he had survived the war for one more day.
