1
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Consistency. Steady. Positively identify target. In front of target. Behind target. Check cosine indicators. Adjust power. Check scope shadow. Assess. Evaluate. Focus. Breathe.
Staff Sergeant Terrance Bennett lay prone on the ground with the M2010 enhanced sniper rifle tucked against his shoulder. Staring through the scope, he followed the mental process the Army had trained him to use. His tailored weapon accommodated his preferences and was as much a part of him as his arms.
As an Army Ranger sniper, he and his spotter, Sergeant Michael Pascal, had advanced ahead of their team. The others would arrive the next day to take the village, rendering it unusable for the Afghans. Intelligence had also indicated the possibility of the arrival of a terrorist leader, and if so, Bennett’s mission included taking him out.
He and Pascal had located the position that would give him the best chance of providing coverage for the team. When they arrived, they completed a hasty search, near-to-far, looking for any immediate threats and dead space, breaking down their sectors and identifying reference points.
Once finished, they checked their equipment and settled into position. The team would approach from the west, and he and Pascal needed to know the area intimately to provide the required support.
Like much of the Afghanistan terrain, the brown and tan landscape blended with its surrounding village. The same dirt and mud formed the buildings, creating a beige panoramic view. The village appeared empty without the usual hubbub of activity with women, children, and families around. No laundry hung on lines. No women gathered near the wells. No children played with a ball in the streets.
Instead, the sight gave every evidence of being used for small enclaves of enemy soldiers. Exactly what Bennett expected.
They’d now been in position for twenty-four hours, and during these moments, the past could slide into his thoughts. He’d become an expert at blanking his mind when needed. Still, something about staying in one position for hours allowed even the most disciplined soldier to enable ruminations to creep forward, slithering on their belly to surprise and annihilate.
“Get me another beer, you dumb fuck kid.”
A slap usually accompanied those words, or when Bennett got older, a direct punch or even a kick. It generally depended on how many beers his dad had already consumed.
“You ain’t good for nuthin’, you know that? Your ugly ass ran your momma off. She couldn’t even stand the sight of you.”
His mom had left when he was four, and the only reason he’d been given was the blame his dad laid squarely at Bennett’s feet every day.
“She was fine till you came along. Then, Jesus, you fucked up my life good.”
Growing up, he’d tried to do what his dad wanted. Kept his room neat. Did his homework. Cleaned the house and washed the clothes. He even cooked as soon as he learned how to work the microwave. He figured if it was his fault that his mom left, the least he could do was help take care of things. But it was never enough to make Sheldon Bennett happy. Nothing made his dad happy except being handed his next drink and lashing out at Terrance.
Made fun of and called names by other kids because of his worn-out, ill-fitting clothes, he’d found solace in his books. But, of course, as soon as his dad discovered his cache of library books, he’d thrown them out, calling him a worthless idiot for wasting time reading when he could be cleaning or mowing the grass.
Once he was old enough, he worked out, determined not to stay the weakling his dad always said he was. By the time he was sixteen, he could have landed a punch to take out his dad. But he never did. What purpose would it have served?
The coaches wanted him to play ball, but he preferred his own company. After all, the guys who wanted him on their team now were the same ones who’d made fun of him when he was younger. And talking to girls just made him nervous—they must be desperate if they showed any interest in him.
“Team is approaching.”
Pascal’s eye was pinned on his scope, calling out the visual coordinates while Bennett’s focus snapped back to the mission. He stared through the extended-range rifle scope with the targeting reticle, verifying his spotter.
“Three alpha. Four men entering.”
“Contact.”
“Four beta. No activity.”
“Contact.”
“Two alpha. Gathering. Shadows behind.”
“Contact.”
The two Rangers had worked together for two tours and operated as a single unit. Pascal radioed the captain leading the team, letting them know they were in position and ready.
Bennett had remained focused since he and Pascal had arrived, but now his attention never wavered as he stared through his scope. If it was a simple take-out mission, he would wait on his spotter’s command, but giving his team sniper support meant he had to be ready at a millisecond’s notice to keep the other Rangers safe.
The first of his team came over the hill to the east, blending in with the landscape as they made the early dawn attack. Soon, gunfire sounded out, but nothing detracted Bennett from keeping his cool as he and Pascal scanned the area.
“Four alpha,” Pascal called out at the same time Bennett observed three of his team race around the corner of a building, unable to see the armed insurgent coming from the other direction. In a split second, he fired, dropping the enemy into the dirt with a single shot, saving the life of at least one of his team members.
“Three beta,” Pascal called, and Bennett immediately spotted the man slipping out the back of one building, hustling to one of the vehicles. Several others surrounded their target as they tried to escape. Pascal identified the target, and Bennett confirmed. Pascal checked the winds as Bennett began the firing sequence.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Consistency. Steady. Positively identify target. In front of target. Behind target. Check cosine indicators. Adjust power. Check scope shadow. Assess. Evaluate. Focus. Breathe.
“Left four,” Pascal commanded at Bennett’s natural respiratory pause.
Bennett squeezed the trigger. The target dropped, and the men scattered, quickly descended upon by the other Rangers.
There was no time for congratulations or celebrations as the two packed their gear and hauled ass to the rendezvous point. Hustling over the rough terrain, they met with the others as the helicopter descended. Once aboard, the team grinned widely as they leaned back, the successful mission felt by each one.
Bennett offered chin lifts, but his mind was on the just-completed mission, analyzing each part. Never satisfied, he wanted to learn from every instance that could have been smoother, faster, and more accurate.
“Lay it to rest, bro,” Pascal said, shaking his head.
Bennett snorted. His spotter knew he was mired in evaluation. He cast his gaze around at the others, all good men, including the support team they had back on base. Once there, he took extra time to break down his weapon, cleaning it with the same precision he completed each task. Once their equipment was squared away, their captain walked through, calling for the debriefing, and each followed him into the cramped space used for an office.
By the time they finished, Bennett was ready to crash. He and Pascal stepped outside and walked along the dirt road between the tents to the DFAC. A hot meal, coffee, and the indulgence of a piece of pie not only served to fill his stomach but made his eyes heavy. It didn’t take long for them to walk a little farther before entering their tent, the four beds in each corner anchoring the space along with their lockers.