The Jericho Files #6

And here you go guys. A one shot Jericho Files. Enjoy

The Jericho files #6

"Eat up Carey! Tomorrow your trials really begin!" One of my fellow soldiers said to me. We were sitting in the mess hall eating our dinner, after a hard day of training. My muscles were tired, my mouth was screaming for a fresh drink of water. I quickly ate as much food as I could get my hands on. Tomorrow was my sniper class training exercise, an exercise that I was incredibly nervous about.

In my regiment, snipers were held in high regard. The ability to pick off your enemy from hundreds of yards away was touted as nothing less of a superhuman feat. If you were a sniper, you were protected almost as much as the major was.

Because of the high regard, everybody went through the base trial. This trial helped to determine if you had the patience and skill to be a sharpshooter. We all waited anxiously for this day.

After mess, we retired to our bunks. I spent the rest of the evening studying the manuals for our company's standard issue sniper rifle. I memorized the process to take apart and clean the gun. I committed to wind/air speed factors for bullet travel to memory. I was bound and determined to pass this test. As lights out approached, I laid down and began to visualize the next day in my head. I dreamed of the shooting range and the targets far down from the firing line. I could easily picture the round shape of those targets and the bullseye. I could feel the texture of the rifles trigger as I squeezed it, firing off round after round at my targets, hitting them with deadly accuracy.

Yes, I was ready.

The sun rose the next morning just like it does every morning. This morning brought more anxiety than joy. I was up with the rest of my crew, prepared to meet the challenge ahead. We did calisthenics, had our breakfast, and were on our way to the sniper range.

When we arrived, we were handed the standard issue rifles and tested on disassembly. My hands flew across the rifle body as I disassembled it with lightning speed. The bolts, the casings, even the tiny springs did not escape my nimble grip as the rifle flew apart. I barely hesitated as I began to reassemble , making the audible clicks of parts snapping into place almost like a rhythmic drum solo. As I slapped the bolt into place, I shouted “Done!” and placed the rifle on the table. My superiors seemed to be impressed as they showed my time off. I smiled in satisfaction and sat down, waiting for the next test.

As I awaited the next trial, my eye caught my a group of soldiers nearby. They carried small cases with them close to their sides. The cases were slightly bigger than regular briefcases. Their grips on them were so tight, their knuckles were almost white with stress. They seemed to treat them like lost loved ones.

They were greeted by my superiors with smiles and warm greetings. I quickly guessed, by their decorations and warm acceptance, that they were the elite marksman squad, named the “Eyes of Wind”. They were the team we were going through trials to be a part of. I paid close attention to this group of guys. Their mannerisms, their speech. They were calm and cool, despite their prestige. I wasn't afraid to admit to myself that I was a nervous wreck inside, just itching for a chance to be one of them. But to pass my next trial, I was going to need to be as calm...no, calmer than they were.

My next trial was up. They handed me a pair of binoculars and a series of instruments and directed me to a spot hundreds of yards away. They instructed me to calculate it's distance and prepare a sniper rifle with the proper adjustments for a shot. I poured over the papers and did the math in my head, rarely writing any notes down. I triple checked the numbers, they were right. I grabbed the rifle and adjusted the dials as necessary, aiming down the scope to check my shot.

As I reached for a bullet to load the rifle, I was stopped by my superiors. They said they had never asked me to shoot, and if I was finished, then I needed to step back. I obliged and stepped back. One of the “Eyes of Wind” squad members stepped in and looked down the scope. Without adjustment, he reached for a bullet, loaded it, looked through the scope and fired.

I held my breath for what seemed like forever as they checked the shot. “Direct hit, sir! Technical Bullseye” I heard them say. I exhaled loudly. A Technical Bullseye was just a hair off mark. This meant my calculations were practically dead on. I couldn't have been more pleased. My superiors seemed to agree.

I sat back, once again, and waited for the final part of trial to commence. This was the most difficult part. You were given the description of your target and had to do all the work yourself. You had to setup your gun, make your measurements and make your shot. The description seemed simple, but there was a catch. Everyone knew the “Eyes of Wind” squad was the best for a reason. That reason was because you needed to hit a moving target dead on perfectly to get a consideration into the squad. I had concentrated the most on this during my studying. It was incredibly complex. However, if you pulled it off, you might as well have just put a camel through the eye of a needle. You were a perfect shot.

During my wait, I shut everything else out. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Intersecting lines drew themselves in my brain. I visualized every possibility and tried to commit them to my short term memory. This moment was mine.

I heard my name shouted, my eyes popped open. A jeep had arrived, already occupied by my superior and a low ranking official for witnessing. I grabbed my test gear and hopped in the jeep with them. We drove out for several miles and then parked next to a small bench. My superior handed me my orders. The distance was far, and the target would be moving at a hefty pace. I only had one shot at this. I couldn't decide when the target moved either. I had 5 minutes to prepare.

For those next 5 minutes, my mind was working overtime. I calculated the shots over and over. I studied the lay of the land and looked at every bit of foliage between me and that target. There was no way it was getting past me.I laid on the ground to prepare for my shot. I adjusted my scope dials and became familiar with the feel of the trigger. I found a comfortable grip, then sat and waited. When my 5 minutes expired, the superior shouted “LOAD!” to begin the trial. I loaded my single bullet and waited. My eye firmly on the scope. I fought my nerves and any shaking my tense muscles were causing. I wasn't about to allow my body to betray me during this important shot.

My mind wanted to wander, but I fought hard to make sure that didn't happen. Just as that thought exited my mind, I saw the glimmer of my target in the scope. ¼ of a second later, I was firing. The shot rang and I pulled back to take in the scene. The target stopped just short of where I had fired. The superior and witness both examined the target.

I'd like to tell you that I made the shot, and it was the best shot they had ever seen. I'd like to, but I'd be lying. “Dead Miss” was their verdict. I couldn't believe it, I stood there in disbelief as my superior made the mark on my record. We packed up the equipment and went back to the drop spot. They shared my result with the other superiors and made it official. My other superiors couldn't believe it either, as at least the other soldier had marked the target, just not perfectly. When the day was over and done with, I was the only soldier to not hit the target.

The disappointment in myself was unmatched. I asked everyone I could if they saw any error in my calculations, if there was a flaw in my practice. They saw none. It was baffling to say the least.

I was not used to being a failure. I obsessed over my details, I fought hard to be perfect in anything I tried out for. Now, in ¼ of a second, I was condemned to be a standard infantry man, and not a highly regarded one. I walked away from the day aware of shortcomings I didn't know I had. Granted, it was not the first or last time I would be disappointed in me. However, that didn't change the fact that Failure.... is bad for Business.

The End