The Sniper and the Wolf

53

Gil was still on point, moving cautiously along a rough mountain trail through the forest when Dragunov’s iron grip clamped onto his left shoulder. He froze in place, and the Russian moved up against his back, sliding his arm forward over Gil’s shoulder with his index finger pointing straight ahead. At first Gil couldn’t figure out what the hell he was pointing at. All he saw in the gray-black field of the night vision goggles were more trees and the trail leading up the grade, bearing gradually off to the left.

Dragunov wagged his finger up and down, and that’s when Gil saw it: the faint glint of moonlight reflecting off of a monofilament line at the very tip of Dragunov’s finger.

Gil began to back away, but Dragunov stood firm as an oak, trailing the tip of his finger a few inches up and to the left. Gil searched beyond the finger, studying the terrain itself, and his bladder filled with ice water. There were at least ten men stretched across their approach at fifty feet, all of them expertly ensconced among the rocks and deadfalls, absolutely motionless and appearing very much a part of the forest. Dragunov twisted at the waist to turn Gil to his right, pointing off the trail where at least ten more men were equally well disguised as natural features of the landscape.

They had walked into a textbook L-shaped ambush.

Gil knew that most, if not all, of the enemy had to be aware of their presence, the sliver of moon providing enough light for experienced warriors to easily detect movement at fifty feet. The only reason they had not yet opened fire was that they’d been ordered to wait for the trip flares that were almost undoubtedly spread across the line of advance. Tripping one monofilament line would likely send up an entire series of star clusters that would bathe the entire scene in virtual daylight, leaving Gil and Dragunov to die in a murderous cross fire.

Gil nodded and shrugged his shoulders, unsure of how else to ask Dragunov what they should do. They sure as hell couldn’t discuss it verbally, with the enemy close enough to piss on them.

Dragunov pushed down on Gil’s shoulder. The two of them lowered themselves into crouched positions and began backing away slowly. After they’d withdrawn perhaps ten feet, the forest exploded around them. They threw themselves against the ground as rifle fire and tracers from PKM machine guns streaked over their heads — close enough that Gil could feel their heat raising the hairs on the back of his neck. They shoved themselves along backward on their bellies, bullets grazing their helmets, nicking their body armor, and shattering the radio units attached to the backs of their harnesses.

Dragunov rolled from the trail into a shallow defilade and pulled Gil in after him, giving them a moment of respite.

“They were here waiting for us!” Gil shouted over the din.

“I know — we’re betrayed!”

The flares went up, and it was suddenly as bright as Wrigley Field on game night.

Gil rose up just long enough to fire a 40 mm grenade into a PKM machine-gun nest. The grenade detonated on impact, and men screamed.

Dragunov fired a grenade across the trail where the enemy was displacing to outflank them, killing three.

An RPG streaked out of nowhere, detonating against a nearby tree. Dragunov sprang up, using the pall of smoke for cover as he grabbed Gil’s harness. “We’re leaving!”

They pulled back under the cover of the smoke and hightailed it into the darkness. The firing kept up for another twenty seconds, but it was clear the enemy had lost sight of them. They kept up a good pace.

“Fucking comms are dead!” Gil hissed, tearing off the headset.

“Mine too. We’re on our own now.”

“Not that we could have trusted the extraction zone anyhow. How far up the chain do you think we’re compromised?”

Dragunov paused atop a small boulder, checking their six. “Impossible to know. It only takes one rat to spoil the pantry. Strange… they’re not following.”

“Probably looking for our bodies. Don’t worry, they’ll be hot on our asses soon enough.”

“I’m not so sure,” Dragunov muttered. “Let’s keep moving. We’ve got a long way to go before we get to friendly ground.”

They didn’t cover more than a few hundred meters before both men were cut down by a burst from a suppressed AK-105.