Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,91

a good choice for covert shooting. The rifle was effective at over 1000 metres, but Flea was less than 100 from his target. He had made shots like these thousands of times, and could almost do it with his eyes closed. Being a perfectionist like most snipers, he would have liked to have had some practice with the rifle, zeroing the sights and getting used to the feel of the weapon, but right then he didn't have a choice. On the way here in the car, he had loaded four spare NATO 7.62 bullets into the magazine of the weapon as extra insurance should he do the unthinkable and miss.

He had his cheek resting against the stock, his right eye looking down the scope. It was a PSO-1 Optical Sight, a modern scope which had features such as bullet-drop compensation, a rangefinder grid and also a reticule that allowed target acquisition in conditions without sufficient light. His position gave him direct sight into the room, and the crosshairs on the scope were at that moment resting on Fletcher’s face. The curtains had been half shut but there was slight gap and it gave Flea ample view of his target. Through the scope, he looked at the man up close and recognised him instantly, despite how sick he looked. He remembered helping take seven of his toes.

His eye behind the scope, the crosshairs on Fletcher's chin who was totally unaware that he was about to die, Flea smiled.

He lived for this.

As a boy, his father had been a sniper in the Albanian army, and had educated his son about the craft of sharpshooting. He told him how two men called Hiram Berdan and Robert E Lee were the first in history to set up units of designated sharpshooters in a military force, during the American Civil War. How the Germans had been the first to use specially-trained marksmen during World War One. How the Russians had taken it further and started using two man teams. How in the Vietnam War, the average amount of ammunition used for each kill with the M-16 assault rifle was over 50,000, but for their snipers it was just 1.3. How in World War Two, a Nazi sniper with sixty confirmed kills would be rewarded with a personal hunting trip with Hermann Goring. Snipers were valued and treasured like walking gold in conflicts and wars. They had been responsible for some of the most defining moments in military and world history.

Speaking of history, Flea's own hero was a Finnish sniper named Simo Hayha. During the Second World War, this small Finnish farmer had joined his nation’s army and had gone into the forests with his rifle to take on the invading Russian forces.

In below freezing conditions, dressed in simple white camouflage, Hayha killed over five hundred Russian soldiers in less than a hundred days.

505, to be exact.

The Russians had sent entire task forces and counter-snipers into the regions to find and take out Hayha, but he had killed them all. Entire squads and units of some of the best men the Red Army had to offer went out there and never came back. And the amazing thing was, Hayha did it all without using a scope on his rifle, using a simple bolt-action iron-sighted shooter instead. In Flea’s eyes, he was without a doubt the greatest sniper who had ever lived. The Russians had dubbed him White Death. What an honour, to have such a name bestowed on you by the enemy. Most nights Flea dreamt of the same thing happening to him.

During the war, Flea had tried his best to go after Hayha’s record. He had spent weeks out in the Kosovo plains and valleys, hunting the enemy, desperate for kills and the chance to build his own legend. He had done pretty well, his confirmed kill-count up to 321, but that was a lifetime of work so far, not achieved in under four months like his hero. Three months before they were captured and thrown into prison, Wulf had also ordered that they start taking the enemy alive instead of shooting them. That had damaged Flea’s kill-count somewhat.

Most of his targets during the conflict had been moving or shielded by cover, but this next shot was just like target practice. He kept his breathing even and saw the target lying there in the bed, fast asleep. One of the men who was responsible for murdering the only people Flea had ever loved. In the