Barrel Mouth

As the icy cold wind whipped past my face, I gritted my teeth and tried to fight the contemptible chill. The sky was an endless blanket, roaring with abundant laughter. I felt bad as I was, but were I to be without my Nomex hood I do not believe I would have survived to see my target. The Kevlar armour I wore was simply too thin to withstand the bitter temperatures I was faced with, but I kept my mind on the mission and did not allow my concentration to break. After all, am I not a professional? 1

My name is Jerzey. You do not need for me to go into any more detail, because that information would be useless. If someone wants to find me, they look for Jerzey: as simple as that. The last man who hired me was a small Bulgarian with incredibly greasy hair but huge sums of money, and he wanted me to target a young Serbian called Pavle Aleksandar. He too was an assassin. It was rumoured that he was tracking an official from a business in the Antarctic, and it was my job to stop him, pretty standard, really. I felt entirely confident with the mission before I had even heard the specifics. I would not usually accept an assignment so far away, due to the fact that offers for easier assignments had flew at me from several directions. The pay packet was particularly handsome however.2

I blended in with the snow as well as any polar bear ever could ever have done, having had all of my outfitting and equipment coloured white, especially for this mission. As I crawled across the snowy plain, under the shadow of a gargantuan cliff face, the only sound I could hear was the deafening screech of this arctic wind attacking the cliff face as vigorously as a starving lion hunting its unsuspecting prey.Vinson Massif was visible in the distance; it was spectacular. The highest mountain on the continent, standing nearly 5000 metres tall, but I could never remember the exact height. It greatly annoyed me when specific details slip my mind; it makes me feel less significant. I’m not sure why, though. 3

Notably, how much time had passed, I knew not. The only thing on my mind was my opponent; I wanted to find him soon. Usually I would gladly allow a sniper fight to last days, but this occasion was different. I was in a foreign climate, with my very presence shivering hopelessly against this horrible climate. Once, a sniper fight of mine waged for over 100 hours. The opposition was special, however. We wanted each other dead incredibly so, and our sense of loathing for one another was perilous. It was of course, my Serbian father. He walked out on me and my struggling mother as soon as she gave birth to a five pound baby, me. 4

“That’s no size for a warrior.” he commented. I proved to him that it was a perfectly adequate size for a warrior; the fact that it took me nearly five days mattered not, it simply gave me more time to relish the punishment he sustained. The year was 1998, making me twenty. He was firing a state of the art Zastava M93 Black Arrow Serbian Sniper rifle. I do not even know the name of the pitiful rifle which I wielded, but who survived the fight?5

He did, however, leave me with one valuable item: a Colt Single Action Army. It had been around his belt when he fought me, and it caught my eye as I had approached his corpse; for I had eventually found a path straight through his forehead. The gun was a revolver which went out of service in 1892, and was nowadays viewed as quite an antique. I grasped it in my young, naked hand, and from the moment it first felt the cold, hard metal I knew it would never leave my side.6

Even as I journeyed through the shockingly cold climate of Antarctica, I had the Colt Revolver strapped to my belt. I gave my horizons a quick scan as I crawled slowly forwards, and it was then that I found my opposition. A glint. It was one tiny glint of sunlight on the shining metal of his gun that gave him away, and here was me, thinking that this sun would never do me any good out here! I reached over my left shoulder with my right hand and grabbed hold of Axe. Axe was my weapon, adapted from Alex; a polish-built bolt-action sniper rifle, with an 870 m/s Muzzle velocity effective over a range of 800 metres. Mine however, was not standard issue, by any means. As well as having increased firepower, accuracy and a larger feed system, rather than weighing 6.5kg like a traditional Alex Rifle, Axe had been customised to weigh only 4kg whilst fully loaded and with a scope. I had also made sure that with the loss of mass, the gun lost no stability. The cheek piece was also moulded to fit my exact facial pattern; allowing me to become one with Axe whenever I strike down anyone foolish enough to stand in my way.7

Pavle Aleksandar was crouched behind a medium-sized snowy rock. His elbow just stuck out, as well as the barrel of his gun. As I measured up through my scope, I observed he carried with him a Serbian Zastava M93 Black arrow. The weapon had been huge, playing an massive part in the 2001 Macedonia conflict, nine years eleven years ago, but as you know was also very personal to me; I reviled the weapon. 8

I recognised the gun straight away because, although this was only the second time I had seen one, I have once before been shot by one, and let me tell you now; it was not a pleasurable moment. The gun is massive, and weights around 16kg. The big advantage it would have over Axe is that it can fire over a huge distance of 1850 metres. This mattered not however, because there was only 300 metres between us, and he had not idea that I was lying in wait, staring right at him. 9

I sat observing for some time, wondering what he was doing. I had a clear shot at his arm, however that would have done me no good. It would simply wound him, but he would then be alerted of my presence, and I never did favour fire fights. 10

He fired. A quick twist of his elbow and I was staring into the barrel of the 1670 millimetre Serbian beast, nearly half a kilometre away. I butted the snowy floor as quickly as I could, and heard the bullet shatter against rock behind me. I never could recover from the craftiness of that shot, but his aim was out by millimetres, and as a consequence of that he would lose his life. 11

Blisteringly quick, I sprang to my feet and dived behind a big rock several metres ahead. Another bullet flew past with another ferocious bang. I later found that it sliced through the back of my armour, but I had no idea the time, I thought it had simply missed me. I landed and pressed my back right up against the face, and then pulled a mirror from my right boot. I poked it out, and it shattered instantly as a bullet tore through it. My wrist recoiled slightly, and I drew it back behind my cover instantly. So his gun was trained right on me… I crept along to the other side of the rock, which was about three metres long. I pulled a second mirror from my other boot, and began edging it out. He would be able to shoot it on this side, at least not until I found him. I sighted him after only seconds, leaning at the top of his rock with his rifle pointed directly where I was. His figure was particularly small, being 300 metres away, but I could still make out exactly what he was doing. He had me successfully pinned down, and there was not a great deal I could do, or rather there was not a great deal anyone else in my position could have done. I was different, however. I considered every realistic option available to me.12

Firstly, He had three shots left in his round, having already fired two of the five that an M93 can hold. It was possible to try and force him to fire his remaining three bullets, but there were the obvious downsides to this: he would be given three chances to kill me.13

Alternatively, I could try to detract his attention so I could get a quick shot at him. At least if the shot did not hit then roles would be reversed and it would be he who was pinned helplessly behind a rock. How I would detract his attention was a different matter, and he seemed pretty concentrated on me, even from that mammoth distance. 14

Bang! Without warning, an enormous explosion sounded several metres behind me, shaking the rock which I was pressed against. I could hear the faint crackle of fire reaching me through those powerful winds. He threw a grenade? No, he could not have thrown anything that far, especially with this weather blowing against him. How could he have a grenade launcher with him? I knew not how, but I knew I must act fast; I could not risk him getting one of those on target.15

I lay down parallel to the rock, with Axe pointing out at the side very slightly, and my left eye buried in its scope. It needed to be turned much more to the left to be aimed in his direction, but I would start this process slowly. As soon as I seen him I would have to fire. The second he saw either the muzzle of my gun or the top of my head, my trigger would have already been pulled. 16

Forcing my numbed brain to work at ferocious speeds, I managed to estimate that there was still forty degrees anti-clockwise between him and Axe. This movement would need to be quick, smooth and accurate, and there was no chance of most people pulling this off before being seen by the hawk-like eyes of the Serbian. On the other hand I, as I have said before, am not most people. I took a series of deep breaths. The harsh smell of burning was now reaching my nostrils, and my lungs were being smothered by a blanket of ice. It would all be over soon. My reassuring words played over and over again in my mind, and they gave me the confidence I needed to pull off the move.17

It was very sudden, and incredibly effective. I pushed my face harder against the scope, and then used both of my arms and also my face to turn the gun both quickly and steadily. There was a brief moment where his eyes met the barrel of Axe, similarly to when I was lay looking into the Black arrow. I fired four bullets simultaneously. The first missed by metres, the second and fourth tore past either side of him. The third, however, managed to find a path straight through his steel grey helmet. As his eyes widened he disappeared from sight, falling as if in slow motion. Was he beaten? I was not entirely sure at that point. 18

Cautiously, I left the safe cover of my adopted rock, and trekked onwards to ensure that my foe was in fact dead. I took cover behind every available rock, but my two stern, deep brown eyes never left the rock which the enemy lay behind. All of a sudden, my ankle gave way, and I toppled to the floor. Never will I forget that immense feeling of panic I experienced as I fell, horribly aware of how open and defenceless I was. Admittedly, it took only a second for me to raise my gun and point at the rock, but had the enemy emerged, then it was inevitable that I would have been destroyed there and then. He would have been able to bombard me will bullets from his M93, and my only option would have been to lie and watch as they ploughed into my body. There was never a moment in my life when I had been more scared than then, and I will say it again: I will never forget that horrifying wave of panic that swept over my gelid body. 19

Next, I stood up, and I remember shaking madly. I was never sure if it was from shock, horror or cold, but it was a terrible feeling nonetheless. I proceeded with my mission. With my rifle still trained on the rock, I carried on forwards, taking care with my footing. Right, left, right, left, right, left… 20

Eventually, I reached a tiny rock adjacent to my enemy’s. I edged around the face, very professionally. I was taking no risks now; this mission would not fail. I reacquired my mirror, and held it out, giving me a good view of my enemy, only six metres away. He was blubbering in the snow, like a helplessly lost child. The charcoal grey uniform he wore and the consuming white of the terrain were a huge contrast to the sharp, blood-red snow which was rapidly augmenting around him. Also, I noticed an American-built M79 grenade launcher at his side, and were it not for those ferocious winds; I fear it might have been that which called an end to the bout. I stood up and approached him.21

“Finish me,” he began, blood spurting and bubbling from his mouth. He was speaking in Serbian, but I had a fluent knowledge of the language; a fine trait for someone in my field. I had once spent a year living in Bosnia and Herzegovina, so I developed a great understanding of the Serbian tongue. I could also speak several other languages, but it is no trouble for a being such as I. “Coward.”, he finished pejoratively. His voice was deep, but very weak now. Nevertheless, it still bore a sense of pride.22

Thousands of thoughts rushed through my perplexed mind. I could not allow him to lie there like that, surely. He made a distinct grunt, which was followed by further blood flowing from his struggling mouth. 23

“Sorry, friend. Cowardice never really was one of my strong suits.” I replied smugly. He laughed; wheezing tiredly from his chest.24

“You are a disgrace.” His words really stung me, because they were spat with so much venom, even though it required so much effort for him to force them out.25

I pulled my Single Action Army from my belt. It looked strange, painted white. Even in this situation, I couldn’t help but observe the fact. I raised it. My finger curled around the trigger. I hesitated; he was looking straight at me! How was I supposed to lodge a bullet between his eyes when they were gaping senselessly at me? I shut my eyes, unable to bear the pitiful glare he was radiating to me. This was the first time indecision had ever hit me, and it was deleterious towards my sincere aura of professionalism. 26

My mother died when I was seven, but a phrase she once said burrowed its way back into my mind. ‘The life of one who speaks through the barrel of a gun, compares not to the life of one who lives through his tongue.’ I think she always knew this was the path I would pursue, and as I stood there, a revolver pointed at a cowering Serbian, I wondered whether she had hoped that one day those words would come back to me, in a subtle attempt to steer me to a life involving less violence. No, it wouldn’t work, and as for the indecision, it was my mothers words which snapped me back to reality. Well, my reality.27

I shot him. The bang was an ear-splitting explosion as the bullet cascaded from the gun, and one last, defeated gasp escaped the enemy’s mouth. I still could not look at him, but I knew at least that the mission was over. I no longer had any reason to be standing in this callous environment, surrounded by nothing but white snow and white rocks. I would soon be able to collect my pay check. Money. Does money assist or does it corrupt a person? I have my own beliefs, but I will leave you to make up your own judgemental mind. Am I a bad person, or am I simply different? It is wrong to discriminate against one who is simply different, you know. 28