by
—OOO—
Contact – phineasredux003@Gmail.com
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Summary:— An unidentified War – an unidentified location - an unidentified Army – an unidentified sniper –?
Note:— Copyright ©2024 Phineas Redux.
Disclaimer:— There is some minor cursing in this story.
—O—
The Annadahkra Plains, though not in India or anywhere close, had all the dusty flat never-ending vistas of certain areas of said sub-continent. Low craggy rocky hills, though no true mountains, separated by deep river wadis mostly dry in view from horizon to horizon to break the line of sight of the observer. This useful function at the moment the whole reason d’etre of squaddie Tom Harrison, only 23, but yet already an experienced soldier; his binoculars working hard to fulfil their basic function as he searched the far vistas as best he could from a safe and dark position just within one of the small windows’ embrasures.
“What?”
“Nuthin’, sir. Dam’ nuthin’!”
“Hrrph!”
Captain Frederick Langham, 32 and himself already a seasoned fighting officer, wriggled his shoulders uncomfortably, the heat even this early in the morning strong enough to make the shirt stick under the arms. The location of he and his small squad’s residence itself, a semi-ruined one floor brick house in the middle of nowhere, not helping in the way of adequate shade or coolness.
Langham turned to glance over his shoulder into the dark corner of the room.
“Sarn’t Turner!”
“Sah!” From the doorway leading further into the large building; the man himself appearing a moment later.
“Debriefed Private Donald fully yet?”
“Yes’sir, he’s given up everything he came across, such not bein’ all that much seein’ he was workin’ in the dark all the time.”
“Details?”
Turner performed a curious shuffle from neck to knee in his dusty uniform, making himself comfortable before continuing; then began reciting as if reading from an official Report.
“Private Donald, ordered to scout the close environs of our present position during the hours of darkness last night. Given orders to head to a border of one mile all round the encampment seeking any sign of activity or material from opposing forces. Set out at ten pm, returned at six am this morning; general conclusion – nuthin’ obvious re the result of any activity from insurgent forces or single soj’ers.”
“No cartridge cases, sign of temporary bases, marks on the sand of movements, vehicle tracks – anything?” Langham’s tone clearly showing his discontent.
“No’sir, dam’ nuthin’.”
“That’s a lot’ta help!” Langham shaking his head before slightly adjusting his helmet. “Three men shot by an invisible sniper since we’ve been holed-up here for two days up to last evening, and now still no idea where he’s operating from; and our only radio’s broken beyond repair and HQ don’t have a precise finger on our position, us supposedly bein’ so mobile—on paper.”
Sergeant Turner nodded agreement.
“Nor no evidence of what kind’a rifle he’s usin’—the bullets breakin’-up on impact an’ bein’ unidentifiable, from what we’ve dug out’ta the victims.”
“Any idea of what range he’s operating from?” Langham searching for the least positive fact.
“Not really, sir.” Turner pursing his lips as he replied. “Probably not nearer than five hundred yards, nor further than half a mile, I’d say. But that’s jes’ my thoughts, sir.”
“Something, at least.” Langham frowning in perplexity. “We got’ta do something! Can’t stay here forever an’ let the b-st-rd get the rest of us.”
Turner meanwhile had been fomenting a plan of his own.
“Sir?”
“Yeah, spit it out – all comers welcome.” Langham reaching for the clouds.
“Well, it’s like this, sir; what about we waits till t’night again, then send a group of aroun’ six-eight squaddies out all round in a circle, heavily armed with rifles an’ grenades: there bein’ twenty-five o’us still here. Then, t’morrer mornin’, when the sniper fires again at whatever we give him the chance to we get these placed men t’respond with a barrage in the general direction we think the shots’re comin’ from?”
“And then?”
“Then we, here in the house, make a sustained frontal attack in the direction of the shots; make like we’re gon’na over-run his position, force ‘im t’respond by tryin’ t’escape, so showin’ his’self t’one an’ all.”
Langham considered the plan with another frown before replying.
“It has some merit, sure. Not rifles, automatic weapons instead; the more fire-power we can put down in his direction the better, after all; smoke bombs, too. Otherwise, I think we’ll go with it. Go back and make the necessary preparations, Sarge.”
“Yes’sah!”
—O—
“A twenty-five degree quadrant’ll do it, I think.”
The day had run its slow course without incident, the soldiers in the house having strict instructions to keep their heads, and the rest of their bodies, down and out of the line of sight of the mysterious sniper. Captain Langham had also spent the time composing a plan of attack that would, he fondly hoped, allow his men the greatest chance of success while suffering the least chance of wounded or worse; and was now giving Sergeant Turner the benefit of his cogitations.
“He can’t be hiding anywhere round the back of the building because none of us have gone out that way, and no shots have come from that direction. No, he’s dug-in somewhere out front, keeping a bead on our entrance. Any of us attempt to go out through that in daylight and it’ll be the last short stroll they take!”
This suggestion riled the wily Sergeant no end, causing an angry reply.
“We could use smoke bombs, sir! We havin’ bucket-loads o’the things. Set-up a smokescreen, dash out in the fug, an’ take-up defensive positions, oh, all round. Give us some chance of wheedlin’ the b-gg-r out! Much like I said this mornin’.”
“Wouldn’t work!” Langham having considered this possibility on his own part. “In daylight, even under cover of smoke, there’d be far too much chance of his gettin’ good sights on too many of us. Might end in utter carnage. No, we got’ta be more subtle, craftier. That idea of yours this mornin’ still has merit. We get a fair group out in a parabola all round the front of the building t’night, at a fair range, usin’ the rear door o’course; then just before dawn we get most of the rest of us out t’take-up defensive positions too. Usin’ the parabola as our front we then attack with everything we have to hand an’ see how it turns out. Got it?”
“Sah!”
It was just past 9.00pm and the evening twilight had faded to utter darkness, a good point as it was now much safer to use the rear entrance to exit into the surrounding scrub.
“Got the smoke bomb ready?”
“Yes’sir.” Turner on the ball here. “The eight men’ve been told-off about their mission, everyone knows what they have t’do. You set-off the bomb, we wait t’see if the sniper takes a few shots at random, then we all exit into the dark—then set-up a parabola border an’ wait fer daylight.”
Langham nodded, took a close look at the group of waiting heavily armed soldiers in the rear kitchen, and nodded again.
“Right, here goes.”
With which laconic statement he stepped to the closed door, Sergeant Turner cautiously opened it a bare two inches, Langham leaned forward and tossed the smoke bomb well out away from the door, it going of with a low hiss seconds later; the forming cloud of dark smoke impenetrable from the start.
“Now! Go! Go!”
In less than five seconds the line of eight men had exited the doorway, spreading spreading to each side as they went, all keeping low before actually lying down to crawl the rest of the way to their distant vantage-points round the front of the besieged building; Langham slamming the door shut again.
“Well, all we do now is wait, sir!”
“Just so, Sarge.” Langham nodding agreement. “Meanwhile we’ll have our work cut out seeing the rest of the men’re prepared; guns, ammo, grenades, thermite bombs. Those latter, you take one, I’ll take the other. You go off t’the left flank, I’ll look after the right flank. Remember, don’t use it till you actually have the b-st-rd in sight, then make sure you hit him fair an’ square.”
“No worry there, sir.” Turner growling low. “I get a line on him he’s dead meat fer sure.”
“That’s the spirit.” Langham nodding approval.
—O—
Langham had thought about the hour with some care; anytime just after midnight would be too soon to send the rest of the group out by the rear entrance, around four o’clock would be too late, the early morning dawn bringing far too much light by that time. So the only safe choice was around two-thirty, which he had settled on. And finally the set hour arrived.
“Sarn’t Turner?”
“Sah?”
“The lads ready?”
“All rarin’ t’go, sah!”
“Right, this’s it; I’ll go first, send the others behind me then follow yourself.”
“Yes’sah, got’it.”
Langham waited another second or so, took a deep breath then turned the latch on the rear door pulling it wide open. He himself, along with everyone crouching behind him, awaited the next few seconds with baited breath, wondering what might occur—but all remained silent. Langham gave Turner a swift glance, with raised eyebrows, then scuttled out into the open darkness veering to the left as soon as he was clear of the door.
As he moved he heard the rustle of boots on the sandy ground as everyone followed in his wake, spreading out as they went. Soon, within half a minute in fact, Langham felt he was alone in the wild barren desert, nothing but sand all round and under his boots, apart from the few low scrub bushes scattered here and there.
His group did not have night-sights, a major deficiency in present circumstances, so when the extended line of defenders were finally in their positions across an extended parabola two hundred yards beyond the front of the building they had very little to go on as to what lay beyond. Langham sprawled on the dry sand at the end of the right-hand arm of the line, Sergeant Turner at the far left, and all he could see ahead was the dark silhouette of a scrub-bush some ten feet away. All they could do was wait for daylight, or Dawn at least, to be able to move forward with any capacity of attaining an accurate level of familiarity with the surrounding terrain.
Time, as it generally does in such circumstances, seemed to pass at around a third of its usual speed, which certainly seemed the case to Langham as he lay awaiting some degree of light in the sky. Surrounded by darkness and the faint anonymous noises of the unseen desert landscape all sorts of ideas fought to throng his imagination; personal remembrances, places he had enjoyed good times in, folks met years since who still afforded good memories—but he knew better than to submit to these false friends of the mind. What was needed, required in fact, was a cold intense focus on the matter at hand and nothing else; a situation he fought to achieve to the exclusion of those other concerns.
And at last the moment arrived, the faintest tinge of pearl in the East giving Langham the nod to begin his attack. A faint whistle, swiftly taken up by the next concealed soldier in line, and within seconds everyone knew action was at hand.
“Now!”
With this shouted monosyllable Langham leapt to his feet and started running forward, the crunch of sand to his left showing he was not alone in this effort. The plan was to advance twenty yards at a time, repeating the forward movement several times until they had reached the supposed area from where the unseen sniper operated. If the sniper fired at any of the soldiers it should be possible for the others to pinpoint more exactly the hidden opponent’s position, but as the staggered advance continued there was no incoming fire at all until finally Langham felt they had reached the point aimed at.
“Halt!”
Crouching low Langham glanced round making sure everyone was in position unscathed before scanning his immediate surroundings with an eagle eye—but to no result.
“Sarn’t?”
“Sah!”
“Recce—quick as you can.”
“Sah!”
Taking two others Turner trotted out over the sand in a curving line before slowing to a walk finally turning to call back to his leader.
“Nuthin’ sir. No-one anywhere in the dam’ vicinity—we’re clear.”
“Dam’mit!”
Ten minutes more detailed investigation of the area established the bare fact that the sniper had indeed disappeared.
“Hauled ass! But he is a dam’ sniper, sir.” Turner airing this possibility as he stood beside Langham. “Meb’be found a new position an’ll still pick us off at his leisure?”
“Somehow don’t think so,” Langham shaking his head. “anyway, we ain’t returning t’that dam’ buildin’, that’s certain. Come on, Sarn’t, we’ll head by compass back t’the main road—what is it, ten miles east of here? One of our units’ll be there waitin’ for us—should be safe then.”
“OK, sah.”
—O—
Halfway to the distant main road Langham began to think his unit’s progress was echoing the Retreat from Kabul to Jalalabad back in the 1842 First Afghan War rather too closely for comfort. This attitude being realised an hour and a half into the tedious walk over the desert sand by a loud crack swiftly followed by one of the group falling to his knees before collapsing face down in the sand.
“Everybody, hit the dirt!”
“Corporal Simons, sah, dead; shot through his dam’ helmet!” Sergeant Turner belly-crawling over to lie beside his Commander. “Came from the West! Somethin’ within five hundred yards I’d guess; must be a dam’ deadshot sure enuff, dam’mit!”
Knowing Turner had two sharpshooting certificates himself Langham took him at his word.
“Here we go again! Middle of the dam’ day, sun high in the sky, only middlin’ scrub all round, an’ nowhere solid like depressions or high ridges t’use as cover. A nice problem, all we have t’do is figure out the answer in record time. I’ll get the brain cells workin’ on it, you too, Sarn’t. Lem’me know when anythin’ useful pops in? Everyone! Keep your heads down, if y’have’ta move keep low like ants.”
Ten minutes of this inactivity under the now broiling sun and Langham knew that action, and fast, was the only solution of worth.
“Sarn’t?”
“Sah?”
“Bradley over there has a Lee-Margan automatic rifle; believe it’s got a good reputation for range an’ accuracy. D’ya feel y’can do anythin’ useful with such?”
Turner nodded, accompanying this with an evil grin.
“Given a target, yes’sir! Take the heart out’ta a Ace o’Spades at fifty yards, easy!”
“That’s my man.” Langham feeling much needed positive vibes flowing through his veins at last. “There’s something of a low rise over t’your left, see it?”
“Sah!”
“Scrub all over it, should provide good cover. Grab Bradley’s weapon; get up there, see if y’can spot the b-st-rd, an’ then do what comes naturally, OK?”
“Got it, sah!”
A few more minutes and everything was in place, Turner peeking carefully through the branches of a thick scrub bush rifle at the ready awaiting Langham’s next move.
Langham himself had the next step worked out already, for what it was worth.
“Stickin’ my helmet on the end of my rifle an’ wavin’ it in the air seems like somethin’ out’ta a dam’ bad War movie—but when the Devil drives!”
Suiting the thought to the action he raised his helmet delicately above his head on the end of his rifle barrel. Whatever might have been expected to happen he was immensely surprised when the response was almost immediate. Only a few seconds passed before there was a clang and the helmet jumped from its place on the barrel’s end to spin aside into the sand at Langham’s shoulder; a jagged rent showing the expertise of the invisible shooter’s aim.
“G-d’d-m!”
Turner, on his part, was not slow in responding in kind, several shots echoing over the heads of the nearby soldiers as he returned fire to the point he had established as the origin of the incoming fire.
A silence followed, nothing else happening in the way of the unseen sniper continuing his attack before Langham carefully raised his head to gaze at the distant form of his Sergeant.
“Any luck, Turner?”
“Can’t say, sah!” Turner replying in kind. “Hit the spot I think he’s stickin’ in, but can’t say if I picked him off at all.”
“Everyone stay where ya are; Sarn’t, you too—but any sign of movement over there try an’ stop same with bullets!”
“Yes’sah!”
“OK, everyone, listen up—let’s make a beeline to crawl over t’where Turner’s laid-up. That rise, for what it’s worth, is the only cover in dam’ miles; enough anyway t’let us set-up a meal break, char an’ cold beef tack all round. Let’s do it, boys.”
After the necessary action of wrapping Corporal Simons’ body in a blanket and placing some discreet markers so that the spot could be found again they settled down for a much needed meal. Drinking tea and hot rations in the middle of the desert close to midday might seem a hapless task but enjoyment can be relished in remarkable ways when put to it. Then reality kicked in again.
“Right, boys, we can’t stay here all day—we got’ta make a break for it, an’ that means attackin’ that sun’na-a-b-tch out there with everything we have—pistols, rifles, automatics, grenades, thermite bombs, an’ Uncle Tom Cobley an’ all! Sarn’t!”
“On it, sah!”
Two minutes later something resembling the naval bombardment of Iwo Jima startled the ground lizards and high flying birds above, there on spec over the group on the ground below. Automatic fire over a wide front, grenades thrown at speculative points far in the distance, rpg’s used with the expertise which comes with much practice, and the horrifying thermite bombs themselves creating white sunbursts guaranteed to shrivel the victim to a dry crisp in record time, followed by smoke bombs to obscure any further movement by the besieged group.
Racing out of the screen of the smoke cloud, automatics blazing in all directions, it took the squad of hardy soldiers only a few seconds to reach their rallying point; but to no avail, their victim clearly having upped sticks and made off who knew where in the interim.
“Bloody gone agin!” Turner frustrated as all get-out.
“Yeah, well, gives us a chance t’get ahead once more.” Langham looking to the future stoically. “Come on, let’s get organised and head on towards the dam’ road. Wouldn’t be surprised if they haven’t already heard our little re-enactment of The Little Big Horn an’re sending a relief column hotfoot.”
“Har!” Turner hardly convinced.
They strode on over the unforgiving wastes of the desert for another thirty minutes unopposed before they heard the wonderful sound of an incoming helicopter in the distance. Within minutes it hovered overhead, took cognizance of the general area, then landed beside the bedraggled group; the pilot soon informing Langham another larger vessel was on it way to rescue the whole squad; the which taking place half an hour later, including the rescue of poor Simons’ body, they soon found themselves in the safe boundaries of HQ Camp 22B, Blackpool-by-the-Sea, as it was known to its inmates, though being 400 miles from any large body of water in any direction.
—O—
“Dam’ bad situation.” Colonel Harrison, Langham’s Commander, sitting behind his desk the next day ruminating on the ills of the world and his specific sufferings in particular. “Have’ta do something about it.”
Langham, standing before his superior, simply remained silent awaiting revelation from a Higher authority as was his place.
“Snipers’ are dam’ bad news at best; in this situation couldn’t be dam’ worse.” Shaking his head Harrison pursued his line of thought with gloomy mien. “What it behooves is a major offensive! What’s needed is a full Company, three full platoons at least; sent out over a wide front—helicopters, jeeps, APC’s; everyone equipped with rockets, grenades, why, flame-throwers not out’ta consideration; with a hundred an’ fifty men all told! Gim’me two days t’sort out the details an’ you can go. You feel up t’leadin’ the whole frolic, Langham?”
“Dam’ straight, sir!”
“OK, it’s a deal!”
Two days later the whole thing geared up and started out over the desert, some 160 soldiers, on the ground, in jeeps, and armoured personnel carriers, as well as 2 helicopters their single aim to pinpoint the unseen sniper and neutralise him with extreme prejudice. Langham, from his personal APC, in charge of the ground troops, Sergeant Turner by his side.
Their first destination was the region where they had last confronted the unknown sniper. From bits and pieces of debris, not to mention the mass of used cartridges lying everywhere this was relatively easy, but finding any evidence of the shooter in person proved far more difficult.
“We’ve scoured the whole area for an hour, sir, and nuthin’s come up.” Sergeant Turner shaking his head as they stood together on the hot sand. “Whoever he is he sure knows how to cover his dam’ tracks. Can’t say which direction he may have scuttled off in.”
Langham had come to the same conclusion but had a back-up plan ready.
“We’ve got enough manpower to cover a whole segment of the compass out to the horizon. I’ll send the copters out, one far t’port, the other starboard, everyone else in between. If he’s still out there we’ll trip over him for sure. Let’s go!”
The desert, like all such regions, was unforgiving to human life—any life at all come to that—with few waterholes or streams across hundreds of square miles of scrub, sand, rocky hills and mountains with extreme variations in heat from day to night. So anyone staying within its limits for any length of time must by default have a campsite or HQ which they could return to for sustenance and where they may store their food and equipment. Such was the case with this unseen sniper; though trekking scores of miles in various directions on his safaris to find victims in the opposing forces he always returned to his den. This being a small tent under the shadow of a rock wall in the winding shadows of a dry wadi which wriggled its way over the ground for some ten miles of so before petering out. Invisible from the air it would take ground troops on foot, not in wheeled vehicles, to stumble over it— which seven hours into the mission was the case.
“Sparrow One to Zenith, over?”
“Zenith receiving, go ahead.”
“We’ve hit a deep wadi, five miles north-west, found a tent. Lots of evidence it’s probably the sniper’s HQ, over. No-one here as is.”
Langham sprang straight in his seat in the armoured vehicle at this news.
“Tell him not t’touch anything—might be booby-trapped. I’ll be there in less than thirty minutes.”
The radio operator having passed the message on the vehicle changed direction and picked up speed now with somewhere solid to aim towards.
Well within the time allowed Langham’s vehicle skidded to a halt on the verge of the deep wadi, two soldiers awaiting him there to guide him down a scree slope to the destination just discovered.
“Ha! Small tent up against the rock wall, nearly invisible from any direction.” Langham making a quick survey. “Very good! So, what’ve we got here, Corporal?”
Corporal Perkins, suddenly the cynosure of all eyes, stood up to the situation bravely.
“One-man tent, sir. Sleeping-bag inside, various utensils on show; number of objects, bags, cases, an’ whatnot. Ammo boxes, I’d say, meb’be some weapons in bags, food stores, several water bottles, an’ a pair of binoculars. Haven’t touched any of it.”
“Right, we’ll leave it all as is.” Langham stepping back from the tent’s open front. “Best for all. Any idea of which direction he may have gone off in?”
“There’s another scree slope some fifty yards over to the right, along the bottom of the wadi, sir. Signs of recent disturbance there. Figure he scrambled up it sometime in the last few hours, sir.”
Langham nodded.
“Which means he’s headed over t’the east; the secondary trail t’the next town’s some miles over that way—we have a lot of personnel usin’ it, with lots of loose squads covering its boundaries. Make good victims for him. Think we better get ourselves over there pronto before he actually finds a new victim; Sarn’t, let’s get our group t’gether, the faster we find the sum’b-tch the better!”
“Sah!”
—O—
The road, in reality merely a bare trail over the sand used by much wheeled traffic, connected two small towns on opposing sides of the desert. It was infrequently used by citizens but much more so by the military in the area; the prime reason for Langham wishing to reach it in record time. An hour after finding the sniper’s hidden tent his vehicle rolled to a halt on the peak of a long ridge above the road lying some half mile further over the sand to the east. From here he and his men had a panoramic view over miles of both the desert and road which instantly proved worthwhile, Turner giving a grunt of triumph as he peered through powerful binoculars.
“Down t’port, sah! Near abouts half a mile away, lyin’ flat, sun reflecting off bits of his equipment.”
“Can you spot his position accurately enough t’relay t’the copter?” Langham on tenterhooks for the reply.
“Sure thing, sah!” Turner confident on this score. “Easy-peasy!”
Five minutes later the copter hovered at around 150 feet over the spot indicated and dropped a cluster of thermite grenades. These vicious weapons exploding in a white cloud of super-heated metal oxides burning with high intensity though for a relatively short time. Anyone close enough, however, would be roasted to a crisp in a bare few seconds without mercy.
“Anythin’ t’report?” This aimed at the radio operator.
“Nuthin’ from the copter, sir; too much dust an’ smoke on the ground.”
“Turner?”
The Sergeant paused for a few seconds before replying, using his binoculars to the best of their capability.
“Somthin’, sir. Can’t quite make it out. Movement—somebody moving, further away from where the grenades went off. Can’t tell if he’s bin hit or not. Think he’s headin’ for the heavier scrub east of the road, tryin’ t’lose his’self among it an’ the dry wadis over that way, I reckon.”
“Call off the copter; we’ll go after him on foot.” Langham making the decision steadfastly, rising to his feet. “Best part of three platoons, we’ll swamp him easy. Let’s go!”
Fifteen minutes later he stood at the head of his own platoon, Turner by his side, gazing at the crumbling bank of a shallow wadi.
“That’s blood there, sah!” Turner bending to investigate the spot with precision. “Yep, blood right enough. We’ve wounded him; with it bein’ thermite reckon he’s prob’ly in a poorly condition, too.”
Langham was by now in no mood for delicacy regarding the subject.
“Let’s dam’ well hope so. Should slow him down, give us a good chance of catchin’ up in record time; get this whole sorry business over an’ done with without delay. Sarn’t, break the platoons in two segments; you take one group in line over t’the left, I’ll take the other on the right, forming a long wide line. Everybody! On your best form! Eyes sharp, go carefully, if anyone gets a bead on the b-gg-r shoot first an’ report later! OK, let’s get to it. Advance!”
Trudging across loose soft desert sand for several miles in heavy Army boots is not a hobby for the faint-hearted or those with heart problems. Most of the members of the Company doing so quickly began to have flashbacks to the route marches they went through in basic training, only feeling this was far worse. But stamina and determination get things done in the long run and, after a further hour, yet another climax in the unfolding drama hit them.
Crack!
Along the line of troops to Langham’s left there was a kerfuffle and cloud of dust as someone fell down in the sand.
“Private Graham, sir!” Someone shouting this information along the face of the advancing soldiers. “Shot in the chest!”
“G-d’d-m!” Langham shaking his head in disbelief. “Everyone, down! Take cover. Medics! Get over there, pronto! Anyone see where it came from?”
There was no immediate reply to this query, which didn’t surprise Langham in the least.
“Been under-estimating this guy all along the dam’ line!”
At this juncture a scout, keeping low as he ran, arrived from the far left flank of the extended line.
“Message from Sarn’t Turner, sir; he saw movement an’ dust on the edge of a wadi three hundred yards to his front, leftaways over that way.” He gesturing back the way he had come. “Thinks it was the f-ckin’ sniper, sir!”
Langham nodded.
“OK, go back an’ tell Sarn’t Turner to lay down heavy fire in that direction. T’keep it up as long as he can; I’ll come in from this side with my men, an’ he can desist firin’ when he sees us gettin’ close an’ then advance to back us up. Got that?”
“Yes’sir.”
“Go!”
With one medic staying behind to treat the wounded soldier, the rest of the platoon and a half spread out heading in a slanted line to their left in the direction Turner had spotted their prey, Langham well to the front.
Continuous fire from around 75 soldiers aimed at one precise point had the effect of creating a whirlwind of dust blowing in clouds over the desert surface; several subsequent well aimed smoke grenades contributing their own dark clouds to this fog.
“That’ll help!” Langham nodding gratefully at this evidence of Turner’s intelligent grasp of the situation. “Don’t shoot till we’re around fifty yards off, men! Then open up like bloody Guy Fawkes Night!”
Although it turned out to only be a distance of around half a mile getting there by foot over the soft sand, at speed and with a determined dangerous end in sight, was no laughing matter. The solid line of soldiers quickly broke into separate groups as each tried to cover the difficult terrain as best they could. Some getting further forward than others who lagged behind for no lack of their own enthusiasm. So within minutes Langham’s idea of a solid line of advancing troops had deteriorated into a rag-bag series of dissociated groups moving forward in the same direction certainly, but in a untidy front barely combined at all.
But finally the posited location was reached, Langham raising his automatic rifle in the air as he signaled those on each side.
“Open fire! Aim into the smoke, an’ keep firin’. Turner’s platoon’ve ceased fire, so we’re OK that way. They’ll soon be backin’ us up, too. OK, open up with everything you have!”
Within a single minute the area gave the impression of one of the larger Battles of the First World War—something, indeed, along the lines of The Somme!
“Anyone got a thermite grenade?” Langham coming to a sudden decision.
“Got two here, sir!”
“Gim’me one!” Langham taking the nasty looking weapon from the nearby Private. “You keep the other an’ throw it at the same place as me—over there, just where that last smoke bomb’s gone off. See?”
“Yes’sir!”
Suiting the action to the thought he stood still, aimed for his spot, and threw the grenade with the precision of a fast bowler; the Private a few yards to his left doing the same. Within seconds the cloud of wavering dust and smoke thirty yards away turned into a blazoning cloud of vicious searing white metal oxide dust burning at a superheated temperature. From the heart of this hellish inferno came a noise, a scream of agony and sustained torment from the depths of the still unseen victim’s heart. Lasting only a handful of seconds it was quickly apparent that the deadly weapons had found their target and accomplished their prescribed purpose. But worse, much worse, was to come—in an instant, before the attacking troops had time to prepare, came an enormous explosion, sand clouds pluming into the air as if a heavy aerial bomb had landed and burst on top of the anonymous sniper. A rolling cloud of dust and sand swept over the advancing troops while the echo of the explosion still resounded from the wadi cliff walls and even the distant line of hills. Langham felt the fine sand all over his face, invading his mouth and making him spit to clear it, then the clouds had blown over or settled again.
“Hold off! Cease Fire! Cease Fire!”
The silence that followed was itself in its intensity almost painful to the assembled soldiers’ ears. Langham stood in place, glancing from side to side, ears delicately attuned to whatever sound might give a clue to whether their prey was still in the Land of the Living and active. But over the course of a couple of minutes it began to become abundantly clear this was not the case.
“I think we’ve got him! B-gg-r knows what that other blast was?” Langham speaking this thought aloud, to anyone nearby wishing to take him at his word. “Everyone! Stand firm where you are; I’m goin’ forward t’investigate; keep an eye on my back. Is that Turner comin’ over there?”
“Yes’sah!”
“Turner, follow me, let’s see what the hell’s happened over there.”
“With you, sah!”
—O—
When the two soldiers reached the battle scarred area which had been the centre of their combined firepower what they found was just about what they expected—the remains of a human body. Remains because, having been the centre of attention of two thermite grenades and a further far more powerful as yet unidentified explosion, all that was left was a charred crisped blackened object hardly resembling something human at all. The victim’s clothes had disappeared entirely, only a few small blackened metal objects remaining as evidence of parts of his equipment. There was no sign even of his own weapon, supposedly a rifle which from his point of view had been used to such good previous effect.
“Well, that’s that! Must’a had some form of heavy-duty explosive equipment lyin’ fairly close t’his person, the thermite settin’ it off, I’d say.” Langham realising as he spoke the utter inadequacy of his words in covering the current situation. “Who’s this? Oh, the medic! Not much for you here, Anderson.”
“I’d better take a gander anyway, sir.” Anderson gazing at what was technically his patient with a dubious eye. “Follow the formalities, an’ all that!”
“We’ll stand aside, give you room.” Langham signaling Turner to follow him back towards the line of waiting troops. “It’s gon’na be a logistical nightmare gettin’ everyone back t’Base.”
“Been something along the line of a journey of enlightenment for many here, I’d say, sah.” Turner turning philosophical for no discernable reason. “Kind’a major training exercise, don’t you think, sah?”
Langham, suddenly feeling unnaturally tired, shook his head.
“If you want to put it that way, Sarn’t. Fel’la must have been carrying some form of HE as secondary equipment; only answer t’the big blast. Y’could say he did himself in—sort’a poetic justice, looked at from the right angle, eh? Not, of course, that he wasn’t dead already from the dam’ thermite! What’s this? Oh, Anderson! So, what’s your verdict? Take it you’ll sign the death warrant for him without argument? He bein’, quite clearly, absolutely deceased across the board, Thank Heaven!”
“She, sir!”
It took Langham a few seconds to digest what he had just heard, but finally it percolated his tired mind.
“What? What!”
“The, er, victim, over there is female. Take my word for it; I’ve noted the, umm, appropriate anatomical details—the significant areas, though heavily damaged, being still recognizable to an expert eye. Female, sir.”
Langham found himself lost for words, mouth opening and closing silently several times before he turned to Turner beside him.
“Hell’s Bells! That’s a ball from left field, dam’mit! Are you sure, Anderson? Yes, of course you are, silly question. Well, let’s get ourselves organized; whatever, she’s shot her last victim—that at least is a definite fact. Job done. OK, Sarn’t, round everyone up an’ let’s get back t’Base as fast as our transport allows. Go for it, Sarn’t!”
“Yes, sah!”
The End.