Sniper Elite Read Free

his palms suddenly begin to sweat, Gil put his eye to the scope and carefully scanned each new man who came into view, their weapons, their beards and faces, multicolored shemaghs blowing with the breeze as they marched boldly forward. Many of them were laughing and gesturing excitedly, believing they were succeeding in forcing the Marines from the town.
    A man dressed in green and carrying a longer weapon than the standard AK-47 darted from a laundry service to disappear beneath an awning.
    â€œDid you see that?” Gil said. “Looked like a guy carrying a Dragunov just ducked under that awning.”
    The Dragunov was a semiautomatic, 7.62 mm rifle that had been in Soviet service since 1963. Though it had not been developed originally as a sniper rifle, the rugged weapon had since become the preferred choice of snipers in the Middle East, boasting a range of 1,300 meters when fixed with a scope.
    â€œSee a scope?”
    â€œNo, it didn’t have a scope, but the stock was wrapped in cloth.”
    â€œProbably just an RPK,” Tony said. “Our guy isn’t making these shots over open sights.”
    An RPK-74 was a light machine gun that looked like an overgrown AK-47.
    A couple of minutes later, a blur of dark green darted from beneath the awning, and this time there was a scope attached to his rifle. “I got him!” Gil said. He was unable to draw a good enough bead as the sniper darted carefully from shop to shop coming down the alley.
    â€œSee what the fuck I told you!” Tony said. “He’s moving to reoccupy that fucking position. Just be patient and let him come right into your kill zone. He’ll give you his back when he turns to mount that fucking staircase—that’s when you take him.”
    The enemy sniper checked one last time up and down the alley, desperately scanning the rooftops without a prayer of spotting Gil or Tony ensconced among the scattered rubble of the cityscape. With the speed of a lizard, he darted across the street toward the staircase leading up the side of the building he intended to reoccupy.
    He mounted the stairs and gave Gil his back at 200 yards.
    â€œTake him,” Tony said calmly, watching the sniper through his own crosshairs in case Gil should miss.
    Gil centered on the sniper’s spine at the base of the neck and squeezed off the round. The enemy sniper was dead instantly, crashing to his knees and falling backward down the stairs.
    â€œReap the whirlwind, motherfucker.” Tony bashed Gil on the shoulder. “When the battle’s over we’ll find that fucker and get you your boar’s tooth.”
    NOW GIL LAY in his position behind the saddle, watching the elk move gracefully through the grass. The animal paused to test the air. Gil drew a shallow breath and squeezed the trigger. The round severed the beast’s spinal cord at the base of the neck just forward of the shoulders, and the elk dropped dead to the ground, never knowing what hit it.

2
AFGHANISTAN,
Nangarhar Province
    Warrant Officer Sandra Brux sat beside her copilot Warrant Officer Billy Mitchell in the open doorway of their UH-60M Black Hawk helicopter smoking cigarettes and shooting the shit. Sandra was twenty-nine years old with dark hair and blue eyes, an excellent helicopter pilot beginning her third tour in the Middle East. They watched as a six-man team of US Army Rangers ran through a training exercise, rehearsing a night raid “snatch ’n’ grab” presently set for the following week. Sandra and Mitchell were both Night Stalkers, pilots of the elite 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR), which routinely operated with both Army and Naval Special Forces. Known throughout the Spec-Ops community as the best of the best, they were the go-to badasses in the air for the go-to badasses on the ground, and Sandra was the first female pilot to be made a member.
    The Rangers were maneuvering through a flimsy plywood