James Mullins - The Winter Sniper

He crawled on hands and knees for several minutes until he was two hundred feet from the truck. As he got close enough to pick out individual figures around the truck, he saw that the hood was raised, and someone’s rump was sticking out of the opening as they worked under the hood, Just as I had hoped a breakdown. Hale thought.

Hale pulled his SK Nagant M/28-30 off of its resting place on his shoulder and slowly took aim at the posterior of the would-be mechanic. Satisfied he could make the shot; he moved his iron sight over another man slowly pacing around the stranded truck with a rifle in his hands. That would be the unlucky bastard who drew the short straw and therefore guard duty. There must be at least seven more men underneath the canopy out of sight.

Hale sat and waited. He watched as the guard continued his slow route around the truck. He could tell by the way the guard carried himself, that the man was bored and oblivious. Occasionally, he would catch a wisp of the mechanics voice, and the guard would scurry over to a tool box on the ground, rummage around in it for several moments, and pull out a tool. He would then hand it to the grasping hand of the mechanic sticking out from under the hood.

As Hale grew bored, he let his mind drift to a memory of a similar wait long ago. Hale took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The deer he was watching a few hundred feet away, cried out in pain. It had slipped on the edge of a gully and plunged down the side. As it came to rest on the bottom of the trench, it has somehow broken its leg. Now it lay on the ground, unable to stand up, and blinded by pain.

Hale’s Grandfather had taught him that opportunities should never be wasted. He remembered the old man telling him on one of his first hunts, ‘If you come across an animal that can’t move don’t kill it. Though an easy dinner is assured, you can use the beast to draw in a predator or a scavenger and double your good fortune.’

Hale had listened to his Grandfather’s words and taken the lesson to heart. Thinking about it didn’t make the wait any more interesting. He yawned as he fought to stay awake. As the minutes slowly ticked by and the ever present cold began to creep into his bones, he waited for the down on its luck deer to attract some interest from a hungry predator.

Hale’s eyes snapped open, How long had I been asleep? Anxious that he had lost his deer, he quickly located the poor animal, it was still alive. As the wait dragged on, snow began to fall. The snow shrouded the Sun in clouds, as the orb drew close to the western horizon.

The snow eventually petered out, and the clouds moved off to the south. The Sun came out and cast its rays about as it touched the western horizon. It was in this moment that Hale noticed the two eyes staring at the deer. They glowed yellow, reflecting the fading rays of sunlight. The rest of the animal was shrouded in shadows. A wolf. There is rarely just one wolf. Are the others near? Hale thought. Nervous, he checked the bolt on his rifle to make sure all was at the ready.

Hale slid the bolt back on his rifle and saw the bullet within. Letting out his breath slowly, he raised the rifle and took aim at the yellow eyes. Before he had the opportunity to complete his aiming process, the wolf sprang from the underbrush and dashed for the deer. Hale followed the movement of the wolf as the animal dashed across the frozen earth. Unwilling to take the difficult shot, he waited until the wolf reached the dear. Sharp teeth were exposed as the wolf opened its mouth and tore into the deer’s neck.

The deer cried out in agony as the skin on its neck was shredded by the sharp teeth of the vicious predator, and then fell forever silent. With the wolf relatively motionless, Hale completed aiming, took a deep breath and held it. Confident, he squeezed the trigger of his old Lee-Enfield rifle. The ancient firearm, a relic from the Boer War, roared as it flung the bullet in its chamber toward the wolf.

A moment later the bullet struck the wolf in the side of its head. The round penetrated the wolf’s skull and entered the animal’s brain. The unfortunate animal died instantly. Slain, the once mighty predator’s corpse collapsed onto the deer it had just killed. Blood from the two slain animals intermingled upon the snow-covered ground.

Hale quickly worked the bolt on his rifle and another round popped into the chamber. There was always more than one wolf. His grandfather’s words echoed in his head. He heard the undergrowth rustle to his right. Turning toward the noise he began raising his rifle just as a shadowy figure launched itself at Hale’s chest. Hale, desperate and unable to get a shot off, raised his rifle to block the incoming animal. The wolf, a large bitch, surprised by the rifle, bit down upon the wood and metal, instead of the soft flesh of Hale’s neck.

The momentum of the beast slamming into his chest, sent Hale falling backwards. As he landed on his back, the wolf opened its mouth to free its teeth from the rifle and lunged at Hale’s now unprotected neck. Hale could feel the warm breath of the animal upon his neck as it drew close. His nose registered the fetid odor emanating from the creature’s mouth as its sharp teeth drew within an inch of his neck.

It was at that moment that Hale, plunged his knife into the skull of the wolf. The thick bone refused to yield to his desperate thrust and slid downward along the side of the skull. Luckily, the blade sank into the wolf’s ear canal and plunged into the exposed flesh beyond killing the wolf. With his heart thundering in his chest from reliving such an intense memory, Hale’s awareness slipped back into reality. We ate well that night.

Hale reached up and placed the palm of his left hand, where underneath his great coat, sweater, shirt, and undershirt, the right paw of that first wolf kill lay. It was attached to a leather cord which hung from his neck. Touching the paw of his first predator kill gave him comfort, These woods are filled with so many predators. Hale thought nervously. He sat for another hour, shivering in the ever present cold, as his heart rate slowly returned to normal.

Having lain on the frozen earth for too long, he began to shiver as his body fought to maintain its internal temperature. After what seemed like an eternity to Hale, the mechanic clambered from underneath the hood, climbed into the truck, and cranked the engine. The Gaz-MM, stubborn in its unwillingness to start in these temperatures, sputtered and coughed for at least thirty seconds before the mechanic gave it more gas and the engine roared to life. Good, they fixed it finally. Hale thought.

The mechanic hopped out of the cab of the Gaz-MM, gathered up his tools, and slammed the hood of the truck shut. With a loud thump, the hood caught the latch and closed. The guard, grateful that his duty was finally completed, took the toolbox from the mechanic, walked to the opening in the canopy covered rear, and passed the toolbox off to someone inside. He then slung his rifle onto his shoulder and pulled himself up into the back using the handholds built into the tailgate.

The mechanic, who was apparently also the driver, put the truck into gear and gave it some gas. As the vehicle slowly lurched forward, Hale raised up his rifle and took aim at the left rear tire. He took a deep breath and held it, as he lined up the shot. The truck continued to accelerate away from him. Satisfied he had the shot; he squeezed the trigger and his rifle roared to life.

A moment later, the rear left tire on the Soviet truck exploded in a burst of flying debris. The rubber of the disintegrating tire was flung in all directions as the truck skidded to a halt. Hale heard the driver exclaiming loudly, “Chert poberi!” As the truck slowed to a stop.