The Love Of A Soldier
Murder, death, blood, it was his living. Logan Ridgley dealt with those very three details almost everyday of his life. And now, he was about to witness such things once again.
Logan, or Sniper, as his teammates liked to call him, nestled himself quietly into the bushes awaiting the presence of his prey. He was sent on this mission last night and he'd been waiting here since 2am. His knowledge of the target was limited; all he'd known was that he'd made the First Sergeant angry. But Sniper wasn't here for tea and crumpets; he was here to do his job. And that was to snipe.
He was the lead shooter, he was the one called in for the most important jobs. He was the one called in when they needed someone to be ‘taken care of'. Logan was that person because he was the best.
So here he sat, his U.S. Army Special Forces issued M25 rifle rested on his shoulder. His eye was peering through the B&L 10x Tactical scope mounted on top, watching and waiting patiently for his next victim.
His arm, though covered by the sleeve of his camouflage jacket, had a small tattoo for each of the targets he had killed. Each small bullet engraved in his skin with ink had two small letters. The initials of the men, or women, that was killed by the bullet. Sure, if the police actually caught on to his trail the initials would sure prove the link to his victims, but he wasn't scared of prison. Sniper wasn't scared of anything. A sadistic smile grew on his lips when he thought about finally filling that arm. Soon he'd have to move on to his right arm and fill that one up. The idea somehow made him proud inside.
He watched as the lights inside of the house turned off one by one. This was it, the moment he'd been waiting for since the dew was beginning the form on the leaves around him. He felt a rush of adrenaline begin to rush his veins.
It was early dawn; the sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon. If he were talented at all, his victim wouldn't know what hit him, if that was what he wanted. But he wanted the eye contact. Logan wanted to see the fear before impact. He wanted the sense of power that his victims gave to him through their terror.
He knew just how he was going to complete his mission, too. He'd known since it was handed to him. Best of all, the cops would never find any evidence.
Sniper was positioned just right so that the bullet would enter and exit through the man's skull. He'd pick up the casing and he'd run silently around the woods to pick up the bullet. He'd had a lot of practice finding the spent bullets in the woods. And with his hand held metal detector he wouldn't have any trouble finding it, if he did his job right. He made sure he didn't crush too many leaves where he was sitting, and before he left he'd make sure that the area around him had been cleaned perfectly of his tracks.
The door was opening and Sniper watched as the man closed and locked the door. He was dressed in a suit, black with matching tie and shoes. Sniper wasn't much for fashion; he could care less what was in style.