Savage Son (James Reece #3) - Jack Carr Page 0,125
him to slide back a step with every two he took forward.
Slinging his rifle across his back he grabbed at anything that would give him purchase, his hot breath visible in the cold early morning air.
Keep moving forward, he heard his dad’s voice urging him on. Always improve your fighting position, son.
His legs burned and he felt the rocks and ice tearing at his hands.
Up he went, continuing his scramble.
Almost.
There it was. His sniper’s perch beckoned.
Sliding into an elevated position above those moving in to kill his team, Reece unslung his rifle and flipped up the scope covers before going prone and setting the flare gun to his right. He was about to find out what they faced.
Stock to shoulder, cheek to its rest, body nestled in among the rocks and ice, safety off.
Reece reached for the flare gun, cocked it, pointed it skyward over what he estimated was the enemy position, and pulled the trigger.
* * *
Vasilievich watched his flanking element approach the enemy’s suspected position. They moved in slowly, weapons up, scanning the terrain before them. Even with the advantage of the NODs the ground was treacherous and the Americans were armed.
How had they identified the MON-50s right before they entered the kill zone? They must have a dog with them. Fucking dogs!
The flanking element would have them in sight any moment now.
A popping noise to his left took his attention from the scene below and a second later his NODs erupted in bright white.
* * *
Reece was on the gun and on the trigger when his first flare illuminated the ground below. He’d been slightly off on his estimation of where the opposing force’s base element would be situated, but not by much.
Without a laser range finder, Reece estimated distance by one of the ways he’d been taught almost twenty years before. He used a map study. Actual distance to target, five hundred and fifty yards, altitude, temperature, velocity, bore height, ballistic coefficient of the .300 Win Mag Barnes TTSX, elevated at a thirty-five degree incline; 2 mil adjustment for a 39.5 inch drop. Wind approximately five miles and hour. Full value; 8.5-inch hold right.
Reece made the adjustments in his head and pressed the trigger sending 180 grains of Barnes triple shock through the spine of the far left shooter. Quickly throwing the bolt, Reece chambered his second round and let it fly.
He aimed at the upper torsos of his targets. The bullet’s nose peeling back instantly on contact into a copper petal of death, tearing through the heart and lungs of his second target.
A third soldier was struggling to get into a kneeling position, suddenly aware that two of his teammates were no longer of the earth, when Reece’s third bullet took him high in the chest. The bullet ripped through the breast plate and eviscerated both lungs before exiting out the back, removing an even larger chunk of flesh on the way out.
Reece had been so focused on eliminating the base element and had thrown the bolt so fast that he hadn’t even noticed the flares start going up to his left. When his team’s suppressed shots began penetrating the night air, Reece could tell the plan was working. They’d turned night into day. All they had to do was just not miss. If the Russians survived the initial onslaught, they would be back on top with their NODs and lasers. Reece’s team would get only one chance.
He’d seen five figures in prone when his first flare had illuminated the landscape.
How many have my team sent up?
Don’t worry about them right now. Do your job.
Reece reached for the flare gun, grabbed his second and last round from its rail, and broke the action only to find the spent shell didn’t eject on its own. Grabbing it with his numb fingers he pulled it from the gun, fumbled, and dropped his last flare into the abyss.
CHAPTER 76
VASILIEVICH AND THE LAST living member of his base element rolled out of what they quickly recognized as a kill zone. Whoever was shooting at them was good. In three or four seconds he’d taken out more than half his force. Luckily the Wagner Group team leader still had his sniper.
How many flares did they have?
Recognizing that the tables had turned, Vasilievich focused his attention on the cliffs to the northeast from behind the boulder before him and motioned to his sniper.
“The cliffs. He’s in the cliffs,” he hissed.
The sniper had been set up to shoot down on the approaching