I’m making sure not to say, “You’re not good enough to kill me and not her.” That would be overdoing it. My actions alone should be enough to provoke you.
Well, what now? You can’t kill just me from inside that machine...
“Hm...” the enemy operator pondered.
Do it.
“Goodness me. I’d heard you were stubborn, but...”
Come out, Sousuke mentally dared him.
There was a pause that seemed to go on forever, and then the red AS’s chest slid sharply and he heard the cockpit hatch open. The machine was locked in its standing position as the pilot made his way out of the back of the head.
Good boy, Sousuke gloated to himself.
The operator showed himself, rifle in hand. He was suntanned and Aryan, with a glint in his eyes that told Sousuke immediately that he was a veteran. He had large eyes, a wide brow and a Roman nose. “Sagara, was it? Even for a last gasp, this seems excessive,” the man said from his AS’s shoulder.
“Call it what you like,” Sousuke retorted. “I’m going to survive this.”
As the man showed himself, Tessa seemed to realize what he was going for, and he felt a different kind of tension enter her body. Now they just had to wait.
Yes, Sousuke told himself. I’ve done everything I can. He had no gun now, just a knife and smoke grenade. Throwing the knife at the man would be pointless. He’d either be riddled with bullets before it hit, or the man would take him out with one precise shot.
The rifle in the man’s hand shone dully. Is that what he’s going to hit me with? Sousuke wondered. Without harming Tessa as I use her as a shield... he’ll try to get me right through the forehead.
The man’s eyes were merciless as readied himself. There was no way out for Sousuke, now. Kurz, he thought, I did as you asked. But if you are where I think you are, you’re too far away...
1650 meters: that was the distance to the target given by Kurz Weber’s scope. He didn’t have a laser or a computer to confirm that estimate, but felt that the number was probably accurate.
Kurz’s body was a mess: his right leg was completely limp, and his left leg dangled at a strange angle off his knee; he wasn’t even sure if his spine was still attached to his lower half. There were metal fragments stuck into his back, which had cracked his ribs and shredded his internal organs upon entry. He was bleeding from a head wound, and he couldn’t hear out of his right ear.
I’m going to die here, Kurz realized. There’s no doubt about it. He was sure of that much. But I’m not dead yet, he told himself. There’s got to be something I can do, right? Just one thing...
What else? Use my rifle. Using his arms, which were still functioning, Kurz crawled his way out of the M9’s trashed cockpit. Each movement of his body sent a shot of pain through him, but soon even that felt distant.
He crawled up to the weapons rack—which had been blown out of the cockpit—and with great effort, pulled out his rifle. The old bolt action... he thought wistfully. It survived, too. He unwrapped it from its packaging and pointed the rifle at his target. It was at this point that he’d gauged the distance with the scope: 1650 meters.
There’s no way I’ll hit, he thought ruefully. If I could get four hundred meters closer, then maybe... Kurz could see Kaspar through the scope, just getting out of the red AS’s cockpit.
Sousuke did great, but the guy’s just too far away. He couldn’t do it. It was over. Sousuke, he thought regretfully, I’m sorry. You’ll need to handle this yourself. I can’t help you. Now, at the very end, Kurz spared some thoughts for his other friends:
Tessa, the other operative and friend present today, came first. Tessa, Kurz thought sincerely, Give up on that perpetual downer and find yourself a good man.
Then, Mao... Lonely little Melissa,. I wanted to be sweeter to you. Will a woman like you cry for me? he wondered. I’m not sure if I want you to or not. Maybe we shouldn’t have slept together...
And Kaspar, he thought last of all. I guess I am a failure. I didn’t take it seriously enough. To the very end, I couldn’t beat you. I couldn’t call the spirit or become a true sniper.
But Kaspar... When it was time to take that revenge shot, when I had the man I’d been searching for in my scope in south Lebanon... I couldn’t fire. Because Lana, a total innocent, was standing behind him on the stairs. She was only eight years old. It was clear the shot would go through him and hit her.
You told me to shoot anyway, Kurz recalled. You said it was my first and last chance. But I couldn’t do it, and then you made the shot, instead. And yeah, you’re right... Because of that, the man died. My revenge was complete.
But it wasn’t worth Lana’s life, Kurz thought towards his former mentor. Your “precise trajectory” didn’t just blow off that man’s head; it also took her spine, and a few of her organs with it. She’s still in the hospital, even now. In a normal hospital, she would have been dead already. You knew it would happen, and yet you still fired. That’s why I left. If that’s what a ‘real sniper’ is, they’re freaks. You’re a freak. I don’t want to be a freak.
But in that case... Kurz pondered. Can I really let him just have my friends? That freak? Can I really just give up and abandon them, just because he happens to be 1650 meters away?
“Let’s try for it...” he whispered to himself. He had only one bullet, and he wouldn’t be conscious much longer. His candle’s flame was flickering: he had ten to thirty seconds, tops. Just peering through the scope made Kurz feel like he was being sucked into the darkness.
He lay down on his stomach and readied his rifle into the most stable position. Given that he couldn’t exactly stand, it was the only position he could hold now, anyway.
1650 meters; Kurz knew that there was no way his .308-caliber could hit at that distance. He’d never heard of any sniper landing such a shot. It was even 130 meters further than the miraculous shot he’d once seen Kaspar make.
Resting the stock firmly on his shoulder, Kurz wrapped his hand around the grip, and pressed the lower part of the stock against the ground to stabilize it. Grabbing his right shoulder with his left hand, he managed to keep himself low on the ground. His right cheekbone touched the frame, creating a straight line between his right eye and the scope...
Read the wind, he told himself. Here it’s northwest, fifteen knots. There it’s north-northwest, ten knots. There are air currents, too. Gotta take it all into account...
Of course, the temperature and humidity mattered, too. Air pressure, powder ignition speed, swelling of the gun and the bullet—they could all have huge influences on the trajectory.
How much would the bullet spin or pitch? There was a phenomenon known as tumbling, which would increase proportionally to the square of the distance traveled. At this distance, even the slightest roll would have a huge effect.
And there was a larger element at play: the Coriolis effect, caused by the Earth’s rotation. They were close to sixty degrees north latitude; higher latitudes made the effect especially significant. It could move a bullet eastward by at least thirty centimeters.
There were also a variety of extremely delicate issues, all of which Kurz instinctively took into account as he set his final aim. It was a complicated calculation, one which even modern computers couldn’t successfully complete. Only a human could perform this art.
Kurz mixed together all these elements into a single mental equation, and then purged clean the result. All you have to do now is picture the trajectory, he told himself. This would be a super calculation, relying purely on instinct. Fix the crosshair on the point needed... several meters away from the target. But it wasn’t enough yet.
His irregular breathing moved the crosshairs up and down slightly. Kurz needed more concentration. It wasn’t enough to just thread the needle. He had to dot an eye on a dragon painted on the needle.
‘There’s no way I can hit that’ would be the natural thought, but somehow, a different set of words drifted into Kurz’s mind: Ah, I can do this... He felt no surprise, no joy at having made this realization—just silent confidence.
Suddenly, Kurz could see things he’d never been able to see before. He could feel his muscles relaxing, the heat of his blood beginning to fade. He could even see the color of the wind in motion. The imagined bullet’s trajectory became crystal clear, and he could see the movement of every surrounding molecule.
He wasn’t even thinking of Sousuke at this point. He wasn’t thinking of Mao, either. He wasn’t thinking of Lana in the hospital, or his dead family, or the middle school teacher who had been his first crush. They had all left his mind. He even forgot who he was aiming at.
Who was that guy again? he wondered distantly. Ah, who cares. Just land that bullet in him...
The moment came immediately: this was the transcendent moment into which he’d pour his entire life into a single target. You know, Kurz speculated, I could shoot him from even farther away than this...
Something had descended upon him. Something invisible, something beyond the physical world. The space around him warped and the passage of time seemed to slow.
Kurz realized that he’d already pulled the trigger.