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- Joined: Fri Mar 21, 2008 8:58 am
Pointing my rifle toward the clearing, I got into a comfortable position for the long wait. Sweat soaked my clothing and ran into my eyes. With as little movement as possible, I tied a bandana around my forehead. Insects buzzed around me adding to my misery. My thoughts were on Carlos Hathcock, the famous Marine sniper and his 90+ confirmed kills. I wondered if my score would ever reach that high. I waited a lifetime there in the afternoon heat. Then another. Then....wait.
On the far side of the clearing, near the edge of the jungle, I thought I saw movement. Several jungle trails converged in that area. All my concentration was on that tiny spot. There! It was movement. Slowly a dark figure emerged from the tall grass. It stopped, surveying the clearing ahead. Finally, satisfied all was well, it scurried out into the clearing, hoping to get across as fast as possible.
Nestling my cheek into it's familiar position against the stock of my rifle and lining up the sights, I took up the slack in the trigger. I barely noticed the muzzle blast and recoil of my rifle. My attention was riveted on my quarry, now lying crumpled in the dirt below. Another shot, another kill. That was number 6.
In the distance I could hear voices. Angry sounding voices. Worse yet, they sounded as if they were getting close. They were coming from behind me. I quickly realized my escape was cut off. I could not move safely in any direction. Capture was inevitable.
The screen door behind me flung open and my wife stomped out onto the back porch. " What you gonna do, sit out here all day and shoot crickets and bugs with that damn BB gun? Didn't you hear me calling for you? I need you to help me move the sofa".