Alligator - by Tom Fynes

"Sub something? Sub-mariner, it's Sub-mariner."

“No,” I said, as I adjusted the sights, “It’s not fuckin Sub-mariner. Wasn’t he a Marvel superhero?”

“Narmor was his actual name,” said Steve, “are you sure it wasn’t Sub-mariner.”

“I’m fucking sure, OK! Give me some more details.”

“About Narmor?”

“No, you fuckin twat, about our target. General Sokolov. The planner.”

We were in a top flat on one of the last high-rise buildings in Avdiivka. Right on the frontline. Sent in by Her Majesty’s Government as Sniper instructors. Totally non-combatants. Until a Russian shell wiped out our school and our trainees. All that training gone in an instant. We were packing up to go back to Kiev, when we heard that the General that had taken out our school was in the area. And it was put to us.

If we could take out that clever bastard. It would be appreciated. Things might just quieten down. We could then start up another school. We could’ve said no. But this is what Her Majesty’s Government had trained us for. Covert operations. Sneaky Beaky. Just don’t get caught. We never asked for permission. Just lugged our Alligator to the top of the high-rise and setup shop.

Snipers work in teams of two. Steve was both my spotter and protection. We had setup our escape route. A zip-wire we would scoot down as soon as I had taken the shot. The muzzle brake would do a lot to disperse the flames of the projectile. But it still would look like a grenade going off. They would detect us and demolish the building in minutes. So, we practiced our fast exit. Steve moving first, then me and the beast of a gun.

“Subhuman,” said Steve, as he wrote down coordinates on a small notebook he used.

“No, it’s not subhuman.” I had the vehicle now. A BTR-90 armoured personnel carrier. Reports said Sokolov liked to ride up front. To show the troops he wasn’t a coward.

I could see him now, his body showing half out of the BTR-90. It was a long shot. Easily 1500meters.

Steve called out the wind adjustments and identified the target.

"Got him", I said.

I was now in the Zone. Heartbeat slowed to nothing. Breathing non-existent. Taking the shot.

The shudder as the projectile left the muzzle. The flash of fire. The recoil. Then Steve saying, “It’s a hit, good shot. Then we were up and moving. Leaving what we could. I man-handled the beast onto the zip-wire and started sliding down. The building rocked as our lair was pulverised. Thought, that was quick.

We jumped into the back of the waiting ambulance. And we were away.

“Subsume,” I said, “the sub word was subsume.”

 Steve just shook his head. “How the fuck could I’ve ever gotten a word like subsume”.

All around us the town was getting flattened with shells. Some of them exploding. Some of them were duds. We headed back to our base, to continue our covert war in the East.