For willwrite4fics. A semi challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters. Each chapter will have the title of a Rolling Stones song.
The usual disclaimer: I don't own, not making a profit.
Chapter One
Sympathy for the Devil
0530
It wasn't early but it wasn't late, either. In reality he had lost all track of time during his nightly rounds. It was a force of habit when he was on away missions. Otherwise time would become the enemy and sleep and exhaustion would take hold. To him the only indication of time passed was the quickening of activity around The Pit. The early risers, the new recruits being woken up at dark thirty with sleep still in their eyes and of course his roommate the drill sergeant from Hell, Beachhead, in their barely awake faces giving them all of his encouraging words. At a decibel level.
Low Light crouched and watched it all unfold on the roof of The Pit. That was where he was normally found. It didn't bother him. The roof was the quietest place to be. No one interfered and no one came up here. Unless it was the usual suspects looking for some privacy. And even then they all knew Low Light's schedule by now and avoided the roof when he was on duty there. Still in effect it was his own private domain. His concrete sniper's nest. He was the eyes in the sky, the God sent down to render justice with a bullet from afar. To him it was mostly waiting, patience, and a degree of stealth that only a night sniper would know. That was his job and he was the best at what he did.
Low Light sat in the shadows of the roof and waited. In a few more hours he would be relieved of his post but until then he kept his eyes on the perimeter, the barbed wire fence surrounding the Joe compound, and into the desert night surrounding the base. There was a forty percent chance that Cobra would strike in the middle of the night while the rest of The Pit slept and it was up to him to make sure they wouldn't be taken by surprise. Between him, Firewall, Sci Fi and Adams, they were the core of the graveyard shift. Unless one of the senior Joe's were on punishment or switched around for whatever reason, it was them plus a dozen or so greenshirts earning their teeth. It was the greenshirts he worried the most about.
Thankfully tonight was uneventful.
The greenshirt relieving him was another story. At probably twenty years old and still wet behind the ears, the new shirt stuttered and stammered through shift change in front of the night sniper waiting for his command. That didn't bother Low Light either. He had gotten used to people being nervous around him. He even heard some of the rumors about himself that were going around. A lot of it was a bunch of bullshit meant to scare new recruits but to his surprise some of them were true. So when the greenshirt finally struggled through the last of his report, Low Light grunted and walked past him to the doors leading to the stairwell that led to the most private sectors of Joe Headquarters. Rumors or no rumors he just didn't have the tolerance to wait around listening to the newbie point out things that were pretty damn obvious but still required protocol.
By the time he made it back to his room, Beachhead was out doing his usual routine. PT didn't stand for Physical Training in Beachhead's world. It stood for Physical Torture. Even Low Light was subject to the sergeant major's drill every once in a while and he dreaded the time when he would be ordered to go. How the man could get up that early day in and day out without being completely drained by the end of the week was beyond him. He was a night owl through and through.
Low Light stretched and began to disassemble his sniper rifle. If the kid on the roof was any indication he would never trust anyone else to handle his sniper rifles but especially his scopes. The barrel was a being in and of itself being the physical body of his rifle but it was the scopes that demanded most of his attention. Anyone could pull a trigger and hit a target. Most of the Joes were marksman trained and he steadily kept them up to date in the kill house. But a scope was something different. Any sand or dirt or mis calibration could get any number of his teammates killed if he didn't have cover for them. Like fishing, he had scopes for different conditions as well. Some were for short range and some were for long range. Some were used only for night conditions and some for bright conditions. Some were more water proof than others while some used a higher or lower caliber bullet. Knowing which one to use under each condition was part of his training. The scope was the brain of the rifle and he had to keep it in perfect working order.
That was why it was seven AM and Low Light was cleaning his rifle. After tonight he would have to test fire the newest sniper rifle and calibrate the scope. It was all standard operating procedure and being the best night sniper in the Joes he was automatically selected. He wasn't looking forward to it. New equipment meant new glitches and glitches got you killed. Still, he was under orders and orders would be obeyed. It would be noon in five hours but he still had his orders. The brass wanted to know if this new rifle checked out before Uncle Sam would pop out a few grand per rifle on the taxpayer's dime. It was just the usual equipment check as far as he knew but it would keep him awake until at least ten or eleven AM. Then maybe, just maybe, he could get some sleep.
He geared up and checked one more time to reassure himself that his guns were still there and headed towards General Hawk's office. Satisfied, he stood at attention at Hawk's door until the man himself showed up at his office. It was only then that he put his scope back in the pocket of his black military issue BDU's.
"Good morning General Hawk." He saluted.
"Good morning Low Light." The General replied. He opened his office door with his security tab and Low Light followed him in. Once at his desk he opened his drawer and flipped a file open. "At ease. Take some time and read over the specs on this new sniper rifle Washington is considering purchasing. Since you're the best at what you do I'll respect your opinion over some pencil pushing Senator with a military budget to fill."
Low Light nodded and scanned through the specifications quickly. He didn't know how Hawk could tolerate the Washington elite and it was a constant thorn in the General's side. Still everything he needed to know he could skim. The rifle took standard .308 so at least there weren't any specialty or boutique bullets to buy and the reticle of the scope was modified this year to accept low to nonexistent light conditions a lot like the M110 SASS. It was the shortening of the barrel and suppressor that interested Low Light though. It would make carrying his kit easier and lighter and in urban combat conditions it would have more agility for close quarters. The shorter barrel though would mean louder recoil so essentially it was a one shot, one kill sniper rifle because as soon as he pulled the trigger the enemy would have a bead on the direction of shots fired.
He told General Hawk so.
"That's why we're having you evaluate it before they ship ten crates full of worthless rifles to The Pit that will sit around the armory collecting dust." Hawk said. He tapped a finger on the top of his own file and continued. "We need something lightweight and portable for a quick in and quick out but if it's going to compromise any of my men then I would rather stick with the tried and true." He nodded. "Now we just have to wait for Flint and Duke to get here to head to the firing range." At that General Hawk paused and leaned back a bit seeming to assess his sniper. "Thank you for staying awake long enough to get this over with Cooper." He said.
Low Light shrugged slightly. "I wasn't going to sleep anyway." He said. Unlike Adams who could hit the sheets immediately after shift, it was common knowledge that the night specialist was a chronic insomniac suffering from night terrors that were sure to drive him insane one of these years. Although to Low Light he didn't consider it suffering. It was just something he had to live with and got used to. He tried to explain that to Psyche Out on his mandatory evaluations but the resident psychiatrist refused to release him from the monthly sessions. Low Light secretly thought it gave him something to do. But at least now it was only monthly and not weekly. He also had to see him after his missions until Psyche Out was satisfied. That also accounted for some of the rumors. It didn't matter to him about the rumors. So long as he showed up, he still had a job and wouldn't be forced to off-duty based on mental reasons.
"Well it was either today early in the morning after your shift or try to get this done in the middle of the night." General Hawk replied. "And I'm not too keen on being awake at two AM like you are." He said.
"Yeah I guess if you didn't have an ugly mug like mine you wouldn't need your beauty sleep." Low Light said. The General snorted out a laugh to look up just as Duke and Flint walked in, bright eyes and cleaned up, coffees in hand.
"Good morning General Hawk." They both saluted. Flint at least nodded towards Low Light but Duke was too busy reviewing the file in hand to acknowledge him.
"Good morning Low Light." Flint said. "I didn't know if you wanted coffee or not."
"No, I'm good. I don't need my hands shaking when I squeeze the trigger anyway." Low Light replied. "If I had more caffeine I'd bleed it."
"In that case gentlemen" General Hawk said "What is your evaluation of the new sniper rifle?" He asked. He directed the question to Flint and Duke.
They both looked at Low Light but it was Flint that answered. "It appears to be standard with a few tweaks that make it slightly different from the ones we already use but I'd have to take Low Light's word for it as to how it performs in the field." He said.
Duke nodded. "I'd have to agree with Flint. Neither one of us is sniper qualified and there's no one better to check it out. Ask the sniper." He said. He stuck his chin up to Low Light. "He would know."
"Alright then let's get this over with so McBride here can tell us what he thinks and get some sleep." General Hawk said.
He stood up from behind his desk and tapped the file on his thigh heading out of the office towards the armory. They were greeted at the door by one large black and overly excited-to-see-them obnoxious dog. That meant it was Law's turn in the armory and the dog was Order. He tail thumped on the floor and each of them had to take turns greeting him before the large dog would let them pass. Order was normally used to being outdoors doing perimeter checks and working so being cooped up inside of the armory with no attention from anyone except Law was something new to him. His handler was just inside of the long rows of tagged and bagged weapons that had to be cleaned, filed, and handed out individually with the date, time, and who they were checked out to. One four by eight shelf was simply marked 'Low Light'.
Law turned around giving General Hawk a salute and a large grin. Over his head he held up a pristine olive drab camouflaged sniper rifle.
He saluted. "Good morning General Hawk, Sir. I believe this is what you were looking for." He smiled and turned his head to look at it. "Ahhhh, I just love the smell of new equipment. It's like Christmas and my Birthday rolled into one. What do you think Low Light?"
"Newer isn't always better but I'll take a look." He said. If anything Low Light was the eternal skeptic when it came to new equipment.
The first thing that struck him when Law handed it over was the unusual lightness. His normal rifles weighed about six kilos or about fifteen pounds each with some of them going for twenty pounds needing a stable tripod to control the kick back. This one was dramatically lighter at around four kilos or nine to ten pounds. He held it up to the overhead light to take a quick look and checked the chamber. It was unloaded. He held it up to his eye and took a peak. The scope was at ten times magnification three and half optic Leupold that he was used to. That at least was a good sign. There was no newness to get used to or need training on. The only thing better would be Low Light's own patented scopes but those weren't in mass production.
All four men were watching and waiting until Low Light finished. He held it up and handed it over stock first to General Hawk.
"It's light at least. It's probably made up of plastic or PVC maybe." He said. "That or a new polymer the tech guys came up with. That's Sci Fi's department. That might be a problem in the field for durability, Sir." He explained. "You wouldn't want to replace the stock because it can't handle the burn of NATO cartridges for a semi automatic. It would throw off the minute of angle."
Four heads nodded as if he suddenly had three eyeballs on his face trying to keep up with some of the terms a sniper would use. But it was General Hawk that waved them out of the door with Order following obediently behind waiting to go out until Law whistled him over. He automatically heeled to Law looking as dejected as a dog could be being left behind.
Once outside they were stopped by a couple dozen recruits being chased by one yelling sergeant major drill instructor from Hell Beachhead ordering them to "Stop and salute your Goddamn General you pogues!". Low Light couldn't tell if they were terrified or just plain relieved that they had even a short rest break to catch their breath. He didn't even know what a pogue was. But like a unit they all came to a standstill at formation to salute General Hawk as they walked by. For the man himself all he gave was a nod and they were off again like frightened beasts of the Serengeti before Beachhead ordered them to "Move! Move! Move! You had a thirty second break and that's thirty seconds too long!" He gave a stern salute himself before chasing after the troop like a lion before wildebeests. That was typical Beachhead though. He could salute at a five mile an hour pace in full formation while still herding his greenshirts.
There were again a handful of greenshirts at the firing range practicing when they showed up at the firing range. They knew that there was an experimental exercise and each of them wanted to watch what was going on. Rumor spread around the base like wild fire that way. This time they were quickly dismissed by General Hawk as Low Light was setting up. The last thing they would need is some stupid curious kid being shot by a misfiring sniper rifle. Low Light at least knew what to do in dangerous circumstances and it wasn't the first time he was chosen to test out the latest and greatest thing to happen to long range sniper fire.
He gave a nod to Hawk, Flint, and Duke when he set up his initial shot at eight hundred yards. That was the minimum or average of the M110 SASS but this thing promised to be more accurate and powerful at twice that range using the same .308 caliber bullets.
It wasn't difficult to fire with a twenty clip fastened but Low Light still preferred the single shot bolt action rifles he grew up with and was trained to use. It might have been equipped with a new suppressor with different material but the sound wasn't as loud as he was expecting either. He told General Hawk and set up his next shot at a thousand yards. The next shot he set up at fifteen hundred yards to the extreme of the M110 SASS using .308 and the one after that at two thousand yards. With each consecutive shot the accuracy didn't change although Low Light had to adjust the scope and degrees for the new distance each time. This would be when a spotter would be a good idea.
Finally, at four thousand yards or two and change miles, the accuracy started to decrease even if the barrel didn't show any outward signs of wear and tear.
Low Light stood up and looked at the other three men for a while until he could gather his thoughts. "For a stretch with a spotter I could probably push it to about three miles give or take the MOA and aim for vital shots and adjust the degrees to compensate but it's pretty accurate at two and a quarter miles being a semi automatic. I could make a good three to five kill shots at that range within forty-five to sixty seconds given into consideration a running target and conditions of the environment as long as they don't take cover. Those are always variables. That would mean one shot, one kill, every fifteen seconds or so."
General Hawk nodded and appeared to be lost in thought thinking about what he was told. They all waited and looked to him until Duke spoke up.
"That would be good, right?" He asked
Low Light nodded slowly. "Yeah. Pretty damn good for something this light weight using less than fifty cal." He said. "There's just one problem."
The other men paused to listen.
"Which is?" General Hawk asked.
Low Light stopped and spoke slowly. "It's a M.A.R.S. weapon."
End Chapter One
Sympathy for the Devil