Warnings: there will be rape, abuse, swearing, blood & gore, etc. eventually.
This will be entirely from Buck's p.o.v.
Characters aren't mine.
Chapter 1
We were down one friendly. But they only had 1 left. And I was looking at him through my scope.
I'm out in the woods, in some prickly bushes. I'm quiet and still. I've been watching the last survivor of the enemy team for a few minutes now, waiting for the perfect shot. The rest of my teammates are further south of me. I've told them of my whereabouts and situation. I'm gonna end it all right here.
I watch the Spetsnaz man through my scope. He's knelt down by a tree, fiddling with his own sniper rifle. Looks like it's jammed. His hands are covered in blood, but I can't tell if he's injured or not. He keeps looking around and staying silent. He's fidgety. But my crosshairs stay right at his head.
We both hear a slight rustle from the bushes next to him. He pulls his pistol out, quick but soundless, and watches at the bushes. Unexpectedly, a small fawn walked out of them, its legs still a little wobbly and awkward. Looked almost newborn, with bright white spots. It was cautious but taking small, curious steps towards the Russian.
He lowered his pistol. His rifle had been laid on the grass next to his feet. He kept watching the fawn that inched towards him. This was the perfect opportunity.
He reached towards the fawn with his free hand while sliding his pistol back into its holster. The fawn stopped but didn't run. His blood-stained fingers were inches from the fawn's wet, sniffing nose. I slid my finger over my trigger, patiently waiting for the right moment.
The fawn sniffed up at the man's hand as he knelt in front of it. I couldn't help but think that this would be a nice moment for someone to die. Maybe he's at peace in this moment, confronted by nature in such a rare and innocent way. His body is battered, his friends are dead, and he's screwed – but within all of this shit he's in, he's given one last chance at having his mind put at ease.
His dirty fingers delicately stroked the top of the baby deer's nose and between its eyes. I couldn't see his mouth behind his half-mask, but I wondered if he smiled when the deer responded by stumbling closer to him.
He was fully in the moment. He should have been more aware of his situation and surroundings. This was the moment. I pulled my trigger.
I was dumbfounded for a moment. His head didn't explode.
My trigger fucking jammed.
I screamed every curse word I knew in English and French, inside my head. I wasn't too close to him, but I was close enough I was worried about backing out of the bushes. I tried once more to shoot at his head, but it failed again. I don't even remember the last time my gun failed me.
Carefully, I crawled backwards, getting out of the bushes just enough that I could quickly examine my gun. I decided, thinking in haste, I'll go for my silenced pistol. I lie down flat again and peeked through the bushes. I looked and looked. The fawn was gone, and so was my target.
I nearly shouted, I was so angry.
I scouted the area until nightfall. I'm still pissed off. I decided to retreat back to base after they kept bugging me to. But I'm coming back in the morning and putting an end to this.