James Tarr - Dogsoldiers

“It’s a big prick.”

“A… what?”

Renny smiled. “GA Precision custom rifle in .300 PRC with a Templar action and McMillan A-6 stock done in Urban Ambush camo. Five-round detachable box mags. Twenty-six-inch Bartlein barrel with a gain twist. 250-grain Hornady A-Tip bullets, handloaded myself. Nightforce NX8 2.5-20X scope, Atlas bipod. It’ll do half MOA if I do my part. Way too much gun for the city, I’ve only had two shots over four hundred, but I decided I’d rather be overgunned than under.” He paused and shrugged. “Although one of those long ones was at twelve-sixteen. Trust me, it’s not as impressive as it sounds, I’ve got one of those Gen 3 Ventus gadgets from Trijicon, rangefinder with doppler lidar that tells you the wind and everything. I’m just the monkey pulling the trigger. Took him in the thigh because of the armor plates they’re wearing. Seemed to work well enough, and I was so far away they had no clue where I was. Wasn’t sure it would go through the armored glass in that APC, but hope springs eternal, as they say.”

“You follow all that?” Ed asked Early. All he knew about guns was what he’d picked up on the fly with the Irregulars. Or from watching TV, back in his previous life.

“Jes’ barely. Pretty sure this rifle and scope combo cost more than my first house. Weighs as much too.” He closed the bolt, reinserted the magazine, and handed it back to their visitor.

“Over twenty pounds empty, but between the weight and the muzzle brake it stays flat enough I can usually see my hits.”

“Been keeping busy?” Ed asked pointedly.

“You mean before I spotted you gents? Got in the area not quite three weeks ago. Had a few targets of opportunity, but not nearly as many as I’d hoped. Should have expected that, I guess, people have been sniping at ‘em from day one with everything from BB guns on up. I’ve been working my way, very slowly, into the city proper, but I will admit I’m out of my element. I know how to shoot, and keep out of sight, but I don’t know the city. It’s been… spicier than I expected, but that’s on me. You gentlemen seem like you know what you’re doing, and it appears you’re heading somewhere. I’m thinking I’d like to tag along.” He paused, and smiled. “If it will get me in your good graces, I’ve got twenty pounds of smoked venison in my pack. A doe gave me a headshot shot last week, and I’ve been going through food a lot faster than I have ammo. Luckily I didn’t miss and have to track it through yards.”

“With that rifle? I expect not.”

The man shook his head. “Glock.”

Early looked at the pistol holstered diagonally across the man’s chest. “That muffler homemade or store bought?”

The man glanced down at the sound suppressor screwed onto the muzzle of his Glock 19. He’d had to cut a hole in the bottom of the leather holster to wear the pistol with the suppressor attached, and it wasn’t fast to draw, but having a pistol on him that when fired wasn’t much louder than a hand clap had been very very useful. “Didn’t the government seize all the store-bought ones? I’m pretty sure all the registered suppressors that weren’t turned in when they were banned were seized in the raids that came after.” He shrugged. “But they didn’t close down hardware stores, or seize all the lathes. I could teach a monkey to machine a suppressor in ten minutes.”

Early frowned. “That shot you took on the IMP roof gunner. How far was that?”

“I lased the abandoned car, the one the IMP ran into, at three hundred and forty-four yards. So, three-seventy-five or so.”

“Lased?” Ed asked.

“Laser rangefinder,” Renny told him. “I spotted you guys yesterday morning and decided to follow you for a while, see how you operated. You’re the first ARF I’ve seen. A few hours later the Army showed up. I barely got up into a second-floor window in time, and did not have much of a field of view. I feel bad I wasn’t able to give you any more help, but between the distance and the speed everyone was moving, it was over before I had a third shot. That personnel carrier was rolling, but it was coming straight at me, which made things a lot easier.”

“You former military?” Early asked him.

Renny shook his head. “Just an amateur. With a lot of time behind a rifle, hunting and competition. Before all of that got outlawed.”

“Hmmm.” Ed could tell Early had something on his mind, and let him get to it. “You seem a smart enough fella,” Early said. “But you’re no spring chicken. You just don’t up and join a war ten years in.”

Renny nodded. “I can give you the same excuses I’ve been giving myself, if you want. Too old, not my war, never been in the military, things really aren’t that bad…” He shrugged.

“So what changed?” Ed asked him.

Renny looked off in the distance for a bit. “Cancer,” he said finally. He looked at Ed and Early. “Oh, I look fine, and feel fine. But six months ago I got in for my annual checkup, which now is only every four years or so, and they found some spots in my lungs. Cancer. Barely stage two, which means it’s eminently treatable. And survivable. Or would be, if I wasn’t five years too old to qualify for treatment under our glorious single payer socialized medical system.”

“With no treatment, how long do you have?”

“Oh, at least a year, maybe years. And, as I said,” he assured them, “I feel great. Not a symptom. Not even a cough. I could die of a heart attack or stroke before the cancer kills me. But I’m starting to think about my own mortality and seriously regret the things I should have done. This is something I should have done long ago. Now that I’ve got a death sentence, so to speak, heading into a war zone doesn’t seem so foolhardy.”

“You a smoker?” Early asked out of curiosity.

“Twenty-five years ago.”

“Will you give us a minute?” Ed asked him.

“Absolutely.”

Ed and Early moved through the adjoining backyard and stood between two houses where they could see Renny but not be overheard. “Well, Cap’n?” Early drawled. “What do you think of our war tourist?”

Ed made a face. “I’m not getting any bad vibes off of him. He looks more like an accountant than I do, and I am one. Was.” Actually, Renny looked a lot like that old actor, what was his name? Ed wracked his brain. Gene Hackman, that was it! Not exactly a threatening look to him. “Hell, it’s not our city, he can go wandering off and shooting up anything he wants without our permission. And our sniper tourist accountant is light enough on his feet that he can follow us, apparently, without us spotting him. Even toting that rifle and backpack and cancer cells. Close enough to listen in to us talking. I’m not sure if I’m impressed or pissed off, but I’m leaning toward the latter.” The backpack was big and looked heavy as hell, but the man bore it without complaint. “He’d have already been taking potshots at us if that was his inclination.”

“Man’s a hell of a shot,” Early admitted. “Three seventy-five and he throat-punched that roof gunner? If I hadn’t seen that I might not have believed his twelve-hundred-yard story, but that boom stick he’s got is certainly capable of reaching out that far.”

“Was that what he meant? He shot a guy at twelve hundred yards? What is that, over half a mile? Jeezus.”

“Sounds like it. And was smart enough to go under his armor. Let’s just say I’m glad he’s on our side. Which, if I had to hazard a guess, he is. Even if the Army was going to send some people in to infiltrate, they wouldn’t have liver spots and be carrying a home workshop arts ‘n crafts silencer. Everything about him feels authentic to me, including the cancer story.” He stuck a thumb at the man. “And, Cap’n, who’s to say, we kick him loose, he doesn’t keep following us?”