Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

A few seconds later, Roger spoke. His voice sounded weak. “Hold on, Will. . busy.”

More gunfire could be heard, and it sounded like it was coming from Roger’s weapon.

Then Roger spoke again. “One sniper confirmed dead. But he shot me first.”

“How bad?”

“Not critical. But it tore out a chunk of my calf muscle. Short of dragging myself along the ground, I’m immobile.”

“I’m coming to get you.”

“No, you’re not, Will.” The man’s voice was raspy but firm. “You’re going to get them.”

Will stomped the ground in frustration. “All right. Stay where you are. Stay in radio communication. Shoot anything that comes near you.”

He quickly glanced through his scope again and estimated that his quarry was approximately fifteen hundred meters ahead of him. He inhaled deeply and ran forward. After ten minutes he knew he was now at the base of the mountain. He saw footprints and felt an immediate sense of hope.

“Can you see me from your position?” he asked Roger.

Roger’s words were strained. “No. The trees are too dense. But”-he paused-“I’m using the dead sniper’s rifle scope to look around the area between us both. I’m getting brief glimpses of the men on your trail, but they’re so brief that I’m not getting any chance for clear shots. The men are about one kilometer behind you. I still can’t see the other sniper, though.”

“Understood.”

A loud crack sounded by Will’s ear, and he was instantly thrown sideways. He put a hand to his head and felt blood and shards of wood. Looking at the tree next to him, he saw that a high-velocity bullet had hit it and sent splinters straight into his face. He pulled himself into a crouch and glanced behind him. He knew that the bullet had come from the sniper. He was now within deadly range of that man’s weapon.

“Roger, the sniper’s onto me.”

Roger coughed. “The one I killed was wearing an arctic camouflage suit. That’s why I didn’t spot him until it was too late. You’ve got to take your man out, or he’ll easily kill you before you get halfway up the mountain.”

Will looked in the direction of Lana and her captor, then back in the direction of the valley, and knew that Roger was right. He quickly examined the bullet mark on the tree again and decided that the man must have made the shot from the east. He decided that the shooter was on his own and away from his colleagues to the south. He had to be close to make a meaningful shot through the wooded area around them. Will calculated that his assailant had no reason to deviate from his easterly position, given that the very last thing he would expect was for his target to turn back and try to hunt him down. Will strapped his carbine to his chest, pulled out his combat knife, and commenced his hunt.

He jogged downhill, and despite zigzagging to make his route unpredictable, he knew he was still an easy target for the sniper. He wanted it that way. His only plan was to expose the sniper by encouraging him to shoot at him, since he didn’t have time for a more sophisticated and patient tactic. But he knew that the chances of his being shot were great, and he knew that if the high-velocity bullet hit him anywhere in the upper thigh or above the waist, he would most likely die from the wound. He resisted the urge to sprint and instead kept his pace steady.

He reached a small clearing, stopped, and looked around. He listened but heard nothing. Snowflakes caressed his face. He moved ahead into denser forest and then caught the very slightest of movements in his peripheral vision. He turned to face the direction of the movement but saw nothing, and he wondered if his eyes were deceiving him. He moved again just as a very loud crack sounded close by, followed by a rush of air close to his head. He saw a flash of light and realized that it belonged to a rifle scope. Behind the scope was a man whose white combat clothing made him barely visible against the backdrop of snow. The man was pointing his rifle at him. The man was only forty meters away.

Will dived sideways just as another shot was fired. He immediately got up and sprinted at the sniper while the man was frantically trying to chamber another round into his weapon. The man slammed the bolt action of his rifle forward as Will came to within a few meters of him. He raised his weapon, but Will hurled himself forward and crashed into the sniper. Legs and arms lashed out violently at Will’s head and body, and he was pushed back a little with the force. Smashing the butt of his rifle into Will’s head, the sniper tried to break away. Will shook his head in pain and knew that the man needed a few meters of distance from him in order to shoot. He did not hesitate. He pulled himself to his feet, kept his head low, gripped his knife tightly, and charged at the man. When he reached him, he raised his upper body, grabbed the back of the man’s neck, and punched the knife into his stomach. Despite the thick padding of the arctic camouflage, the knife easily sliced through clothing and flesh until its blade was fully inside the man’s body. Will held him like that for a moment and then wrenched the knife upward so that the sniper’s entire stomach was ripped open. He pulled out his knife and watched the sniper’s pure white suit become saturated with his blood. He let the man fall backward, unstrapped his assault rifle, and shot him twice in the head.

Will breathed heavily and spoke into his throat mike. “The second sniper’s dead.”

Roger’s reply was instant. “You’ve got no time to stand still. I can see that the four-man team has fanned out, meaning they’ve lost your position. But they’re close to you.”

“Are you sure that you can’t pick any of them off with your rifle?”

Roger said nothing for a moment. Then: “I’ve tied the rifle to a tree to try to enable a steady shot. And I’ve tied myself to the same tree.”

Will closed his eyes, sighed, and spoke softly. “How much blood have you lost, Roger?”

“Enough to make my arms and legs shake and make shooting near-impossible. Not enough to stop talking to you.” He coughed. “A little blood loss doesn’t bother me. I’ll do what I can. Just focus on what you have to do.”

Will opened his eyes, rubbed a bruise on the side of his head, and winced in pain from the touch. He gulped in air and ran back toward the mountain and Lana and the man who was dragging her up its slopes. Snow still fell serenely, at odds with what was happening here. Will ran faster than he thought he was capable of until he reached the point where he’d last seen his quarry. He looked through his small rifle scope but saw nothing ahead, so he urgently scoured the ground for the footprints he’d seen earlier. He found them, now under a powdering of fresh snow, and sprinted onward. His feet trampled over the route that Lana and the man had taken.

The ground rose sharply, causing Will to slow. He looked left and right, trying to find any evidence of a mountain track to aid his ascent, but everything around him was wild and inhospitable.

Five or six bullets hit snow-covered ground in rapid succession to his left. They were wide of their mark, and Will knew that they’d come from an automatic weapon. But he also knew that he’d been momentarily spotted by at least one of the hostiles behind him. He looked down at the footprints and saw that they followed an almost straight route up the mountain. Will thought for a moment. He made a decision and ran to the right of the tracks as fast as the severity of the grade would allow him to. After traveling for three hundred meters, he stopped, breathing heavily. He turned, sat down on the snowy slope, calmed his breathing, and scoured the area below him through his rifle scope. Everywhere was beautiful, with the Saranac Lakes in the distance, the hills around them, a carpet of pure white snow covering all ground and trees. Will ignored the beauty of his surroundings and focused on finding the man who had shot at him so that he could kill him.