Crosshairs
Disclaimer: Same as before.
~ ~ ~ ~
"Range me." Rusty said to Sid, hidden at his side.
"872 meters." Sid replied. Both men were prone, just below the summit of a nearby hill. Sid had put aside his telescope sighted M-16 and picked up the laser rangefinder on his belt kit.
The target was a young man, no more than twenty years old. At that moment Rusty Puckett was closer than anyone on earth to his target despite their distance. He could see a face barely sporting the stubble of a beard since puberty had hardly passed. He was shooting steadily from his machinegun at the Marines in Kandahar. Rusty spotted him and he knew he would kill him. Everything was off now, the heat of the day, the feeling of the stony ground against his body, the breeze blowing lightly through the mountains. There was nothing but rifle and target for Rusty Puckett.
"880 meters zero. Adjusting sight downward and...I've...got you." Rusty said, saying the last part of his statement slowly as he exhaled slowly, squeezing the trigger of the C3A1 sniper rifle. He felt the trigger break and was surprised by the recoil and the rifle bucked in his hands despite its solid position imbedded in his shoulder and connected by bipod in the ground.
880 meters away a Taliban soldier that had been firing rounds from an RPK machinegun at the Marines in Kandahar fell like a pole-axed mule into the dirt. Blood erupted as the 7.62mm round tore through his neck. The enemy soldier's body was flopping and dying but his brain didn't know it yet and was sending random spasms through his nervous system.
"One less terrorist on this earth." Rusty said, flatly, as he pulled back the bolt slowly and took the brass casing and stuck into his pocket. As they humped back to their bivouac a corporal passed out their mail. Rusty smiled to himself as he saw the envelope.
"So what does Petty Officer Coates have to say?" Sid asked.
"Let me read it first Sid. Jeez you're excited." Rusty replied.
"Well this is the first time I've seen you happy about something other than the job." Sid replied.
18 February 2002,
Dear Rusty,
Your letter arrived yesterday but I was so bogged down in work I couldn't really finish my reply until today. A sniper? Wow. That means you can hit someone from a thousand yards away with a rifle, can sneak within 200 yards of a person without them even knowing your there, and operate either by yourself or with a partner behind enemy lines.
As to what my job is, I'm a YN2, or a Yeoman 2nd Class. I'm a Navy Petty Officer Second Class whose main job is paperwork and answering phones. Essentially I'm a military secretary. I'd be the equivalent of a paralegal at a law firm. Not as exciting as being a sniper, but I have my fair share of job stresses. Such as Lieutenant Singer. She saw me writing part of this letter when I had five minutes left before my lunch break and she said, 'Do it on your own time Petty Officer.'
Granted I was out of line for doing something other than work, but at least three other officers and my supervisor, Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, walked by without saying anything. Put it this way, look up backstabber in the dictionary and you'll find this woman's picture right next to it.
Anyway, I guess my million dollar question is, why did you join up? And why did you pick the job of sniper? I'm guessing that you didn't just pick the field because it sounded cool. From what I've heard, sniper school is pretty tough and only the most dedicated make it through. So those guys who join out of a sense of machismo are the first to quit, according to what I've read.
Sincerely,
Jennifer
~ ~ ~ ~
JAG HQ, Falls Church, Va.
Jen was busily filing another case file when Commander Harmon Rabb approached the desk, "Jen, do you know where I might find the Morrison case file?"
"Right here sir." Jen replied, handing it to Rabb with a smile.
"I see your Canadian friend wrote you again." Harm replied.
"Yes sir." Jen replied, "He seems like a nice guy from what I see."
"Have a good day, Jen." Harm replied.
"You too sir." Jen replied, and opened up the letter on her desk. She smiled as she read Rusty's words.
22 February 2002
Dear Jennifer,
Your letter arrived today. Let's put it this way, because of my actions today the Taliban is short a man. I can't say anything more than that for the sake of operational security. This Lieutenant Singer fellow sounds like she'd get along well with my foster family. The six years I spent in Mississippi were with a Mrs. Lowanda Dumore, the name still makes me cringe. Now I wasn't hit at all or anything of that sort. The abuse I took left its marks inside me. She often acted as if my best efforts weren't good enough for her. The woman went through seven marriages that failed. She was wealthy, kept her age well, but she showed me beauty isn't found outside, it's from within.
What does this have to do with anything? Well as soon as I was able I signed up with the Canadian Army and said good riddance to Mrs. Lowanda Dumore and haven't looked back ever since.
Why I chose the job of sniper? It was three years after I joined up. I got tired of being just a small cog in the big machine that was my battalion, my rifle company. I volunteered for the sniper training course as soon as a sergeant told me about the benefits of the trade, that I would be allowed more freedom of action and responsibility at a lower rank than I would ever in the rifle company. So with three years left on my contract I attended the sniper training course as an E-4.
So what was your family life like? I understand if you don't want to tell me, I'm just curious. Well on a more benign note what made you join up? What do you like to do in your spare time?
Sincerely,
Rusty
"Sergeant Puckett wrote you again?" Mac asked as Jen delivered a file she'd requested.
"Yes ma'am." Jen replied, "How'd you guess?"
"Easy, the fact that you've got a folded piece of stationary that's been out in the desert sun for a while in your hand." Mac replied, "Good to see you're still doing your job."
"Thank you ma'am. The letters are a nice distraction from the daily grind." Jen replied.
"They do help for morale. When Harm was on the Patrick Henry to go back to flying we used to write and e-mail a lot. They helped me get through a lot around here." Mac replied.
"Apparently Lieutenant Singer doesn't share your sentiment." Jen replied.
"Well, I can see she doesn't like you because she still thinks you stole her bracelet." Mac replied, "But if the lieutenant gives you anymore trouble, let me know."
"Yes ma'am." Jen replied.
~ ~ ~ ~
TBC
Disclaimer: Same as before.
~ ~ ~ ~
"Range me." Rusty said to Sid, hidden at his side.
"872 meters." Sid replied. Both men were prone, just below the summit of a nearby hill. Sid had put aside his telescope sighted M-16 and picked up the laser rangefinder on his belt kit.
The target was a young man, no more than twenty years old. At that moment Rusty Puckett was closer than anyone on earth to his target despite their distance. He could see a face barely sporting the stubble of a beard since puberty had hardly passed. He was shooting steadily from his machinegun at the Marines in Kandahar. Rusty spotted him and he knew he would kill him. Everything was off now, the heat of the day, the feeling of the stony ground against his body, the breeze blowing lightly through the mountains. There was nothing but rifle and target for Rusty Puckett.
"880 meters zero. Adjusting sight downward and...I've...got you." Rusty said, saying the last part of his statement slowly as he exhaled slowly, squeezing the trigger of the C3A1 sniper rifle. He felt the trigger break and was surprised by the recoil and the rifle bucked in his hands despite its solid position imbedded in his shoulder and connected by bipod in the ground.
880 meters away a Taliban soldier that had been firing rounds from an RPK machinegun at the Marines in Kandahar fell like a pole-axed mule into the dirt. Blood erupted as the 7.62mm round tore through his neck. The enemy soldier's body was flopping and dying but his brain didn't know it yet and was sending random spasms through his nervous system.
"One less terrorist on this earth." Rusty said, flatly, as he pulled back the bolt slowly and took the brass casing and stuck into his pocket. As they humped back to their bivouac a corporal passed out their mail. Rusty smiled to himself as he saw the envelope.
"So what does Petty Officer Coates have to say?" Sid asked.
"Let me read it first Sid. Jeez you're excited." Rusty replied.
"Well this is the first time I've seen you happy about something other than the job." Sid replied.
18 February 2002,
Dear Rusty,
Your letter arrived yesterday but I was so bogged down in work I couldn't really finish my reply until today. A sniper? Wow. That means you can hit someone from a thousand yards away with a rifle, can sneak within 200 yards of a person without them even knowing your there, and operate either by yourself or with a partner behind enemy lines.
As to what my job is, I'm a YN2, or a Yeoman 2nd Class. I'm a Navy Petty Officer Second Class whose main job is paperwork and answering phones. Essentially I'm a military secretary. I'd be the equivalent of a paralegal at a law firm. Not as exciting as being a sniper, but I have my fair share of job stresses. Such as Lieutenant Singer. She saw me writing part of this letter when I had five minutes left before my lunch break and she said, 'Do it on your own time Petty Officer.'
Granted I was out of line for doing something other than work, but at least three other officers and my supervisor, Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, walked by without saying anything. Put it this way, look up backstabber in the dictionary and you'll find this woman's picture right next to it.
Anyway, I guess my million dollar question is, why did you join up? And why did you pick the job of sniper? I'm guessing that you didn't just pick the field because it sounded cool. From what I've heard, sniper school is pretty tough and only the most dedicated make it through. So those guys who join out of a sense of machismo are the first to quit, according to what I've read.
Sincerely,
Jennifer
~ ~ ~ ~
JAG HQ, Falls Church, Va.
Jen was busily filing another case file when Commander Harmon Rabb approached the desk, "Jen, do you know where I might find the Morrison case file?"
"Right here sir." Jen replied, handing it to Rabb with a smile.
"I see your Canadian friend wrote you again." Harm replied.
"Yes sir." Jen replied, "He seems like a nice guy from what I see."
"Have a good day, Jen." Harm replied.
"You too sir." Jen replied, and opened up the letter on her desk. She smiled as she read Rusty's words.
22 February 2002
Dear Jennifer,
Your letter arrived today. Let's put it this way, because of my actions today the Taliban is short a man. I can't say anything more than that for the sake of operational security. This Lieutenant Singer fellow sounds like she'd get along well with my foster family. The six years I spent in Mississippi were with a Mrs. Lowanda Dumore, the name still makes me cringe. Now I wasn't hit at all or anything of that sort. The abuse I took left its marks inside me. She often acted as if my best efforts weren't good enough for her. The woman went through seven marriages that failed. She was wealthy, kept her age well, but she showed me beauty isn't found outside, it's from within.
What does this have to do with anything? Well as soon as I was able I signed up with the Canadian Army and said good riddance to Mrs. Lowanda Dumore and haven't looked back ever since.
Why I chose the job of sniper? It was three years after I joined up. I got tired of being just a small cog in the big machine that was my battalion, my rifle company. I volunteered for the sniper training course as soon as a sergeant told me about the benefits of the trade, that I would be allowed more freedom of action and responsibility at a lower rank than I would ever in the rifle company. So with three years left on my contract I attended the sniper training course as an E-4.
So what was your family life like? I understand if you don't want to tell me, I'm just curious. Well on a more benign note what made you join up? What do you like to do in your spare time?
Sincerely,
Rusty
"Sergeant Puckett wrote you again?" Mac asked as Jen delivered a file she'd requested.
"Yes ma'am." Jen replied, "How'd you guess?"
"Easy, the fact that you've got a folded piece of stationary that's been out in the desert sun for a while in your hand." Mac replied, "Good to see you're still doing your job."
"Thank you ma'am. The letters are a nice distraction from the daily grind." Jen replied.
"They do help for morale. When Harm was on the Patrick Henry to go back to flying we used to write and e-mail a lot. They helped me get through a lot around here." Mac replied.
"Apparently Lieutenant Singer doesn't share your sentiment." Jen replied.
"Well, I can see she doesn't like you because she still thinks you stole her bracelet." Mac replied, "But if the lieutenant gives you anymore trouble, let me know."
"Yes ma'am." Jen replied.
~ ~ ~ ~
TBC
