The Mission

The Mission
Copyright 2006, by Fubar

The "whump, whump, whump" sounds of artillery shells exploding close by kept my senses sharp, not to mention the occasional small arms fire that was ricocheting off rocks around me. Although the enemy did not know exactly were I was at, they were throwing quite a bit of lead in my direction in a vain attempt to kill me. What worried me most was the inevitable assault that would soon begin. The enemy knew the approximate location of where my well-placed shot had come from, but as well concealed as I was they could not pinpoint exactly where I was hiding. Hopefully, my ride would arrive first and I could clear the area before they zeroed in on my exact location. I was dug in deep, and even though the exploding rounds were not close I could not risk getting out into the open until it was closer to the rendezvous time. Eventually, I would have to make a run for it and become temporarily exposed, but for now, all I could do was hunker down and wait and hope the enemy didn't rush my position.

It had been four months since I had first dropped into the field…four long months. My mission was almost over now. Extraction was all that was left. The mission had actually started many months earlier, almost one year ago to be exact. I got the phone call one early evening from an old friend who knew and remembered my covert past. Early in my Navy career I had been working indirectly with some Navy SEALs and I had become friendly with a SEAL we'll call "Jim". Jim and I shared many things in common, one of them being hunting. I had a natural talent for hunting having been raised in the Ozarks and hunted since I was little boy. I was especially keen at hitting moving targets and could hit a deer in a full run. Jim recognized this as something the SEALs could use, but I was not necessarily SEAL material. Although I was a strong swimmer and could speak five languages, I hated to run and I couldn't see myself ever making it through the incredibly tough SEAL training. Jim still thought my natural hunting and shooting abilities could be an asset, so he talked to friends within the "Agency" and they contacted me. The goal of my subsequent recruitment and training was simple enough. Learn how to become the world's greatest sniper.

I was sent on a temporary assignment as a cover for my training. For the next 3 months I learned the basics of becoming a sniper. The shooting part was easy for me. I was a natural shooter and gifted. Learning the additional skills I would need to survive was much more demanding. Concealment, evasion, breathing discipline, and land navigation were just a few of the skills I needed to master. But master them I did, and eventually they deemed me ready and I was sent back to my duty station to await the call for an assignment. I was to maintain my regular Navy duties so no one would be any wiser as to my covert life. Not even my family knew of my double life.

The call finally came for my first assignment. I was sent to Columbia, South America although my temporary orders said I would be attending a 3-week training class in Norfolk, Virginia. I would be on my own and virtually unsupported. Luckily, all went well with that first mission. The Columbian jungle had afforded me ample cover and concealment. The target was easy to track and living off the land was a cinch. I had only taken me a few days to find my prey, unlike my current assignment, but I had tracked his movements for nearly two weeks to learn where the best place to eliminate would be. This guy wasn't very smart and way to predictable for being the head of one of the world's largest drug cartels. I guess the years of good living and protection from the corrupt Columbian military had made him complacent. I felt no remorse when I pulled the trigger and watched him drop through the high powered optical scope. I knew he was a bad man and had committed crimes that warranted my actions many times over. Maybe it was too easy. Although he was my first kill, he certainly was not to be my last.

Over the years I had been sent on many such assignments. All were successful, at least from my mission standpoint. I had evaded and avoided many who would seek to do me harm after I had terminated their leader's "command". Intelligence experts would estimate that I had disrupted no fewer than 100 terrorist and drug organizations with one single shot. When I retired nine years ago I did so with satisfaction, knowing that the world was a little safer because of my work. Although I could never speak about the missions, I could go to bed at night feeling good about the assignments I had accomplished. But I retired, I vowed to always look forward and never look back. Little did I know that someone else would look back for me.

The call had come very unexpectedly. Jim's voice was still oddly familiar even though I had not talked to him in years. Jim was not much for small talk so he came right to the point. It seems that the government had a target that they were having trouble with and no one else was able to get close enough to complete the assignment. They were getting frustrated and desperate, and were looking at all options. I was one of those options. How would I like another assignment, but not just any assignment, the biggest assignment of all? It was interesting proposition, but why would I want to give up my comfortable job and existence to risk my life in some third world shithole again? But, the more I leaned of the mission, the more interested I became. Not because of the danger, not because of the money, and certainly not because I needed the "rush" that comes along with a sniper's line of work. No, I became interested for one simple reason…it was the patriotic thing to do. There are few things an individual person can do alone to make an impact on this country, but the assignment they were offering to me was one of those very things. Yes, I would do it and I only had two demands. First, any reward money could be used in whatever way I saw fit, and two, I wanted to keep the sniper rifle if it survived. Both demands were granted. Be careful what you wish for I reminded myself.

Getting back in shape had been grueling, but the mission demanded it. Never before had I been so alone, without support, for so long. As much as I hated running, I did it to get in shape. I grew my hair and beard out. I trained with a personal trainer to lose the fat and gain the muscle back from 9 years of retirement. As much as I hated running, I hated mornings more. Starting early in the morning was not something I adapted to even after all my years in the military. For this mission, however, I would need ever advantage I could muster, so I got up before sunrise each day to start my training. Fortunately, my shooting skills had not diminished. Even though I had never hunted again after retiring, I still retained the natural hunting ability. It is an ability that some learn, but few have naturally. I practiced shooting 2-3 hours daily, but I never missed. One shot, one kill, every time.

Two weeks before my mission was to start the Agency presented me with a new gift. It was a one-off custom made sniper rifle from the Agency's best gunsmiths. From the first time I saw it, the differences were apparent. First, the rifle was extremely light. It had been made from the very latest carbon fiber materials and weighed less than 5 pounds. The firing mechanisms were quiet and could barely be heard even with an ear within a few inches. It was sleek, broke down quickly and was easy to conceal. It had the latest in long range optical scope technology, including a miniature built in digital recording device. In all, it was a sniper's thing of beauty. In addition, apparently the gunsmith's had placed a personal, good luck touch for me on the weapon. Engraved in the butt of the stock was a Harley Davidson bar and shield.

The only bad thing about getting a new weapon with only two weeks of training left was that I would not have a lot of range time with it. Luckily, I didn't need it. The weapon worked even better than expected, so as mission Day 1 approached I became confident that hitting a target with the new rifle would be the least of my worries.

Getting into the country had been the easy part. For the first few weeks I met what few contacts the Agency had and they got me acclimated to my surroundings. People in this part of the world are politely suspicious. They tend to mind their own business but keep a wary eye out. I found this to be the best way for me to act as well. My knowledge of the local dialect, customs, and religions was excellent and I had no problems gaining the trust of those I met up with. I dressed in simple local farmer's clothes and carried an older AK-47 plainly visible to help blend in, but hidden away I carried an extremely compact satellite transponder, and of course my custom made sniper rifle. I could type short messages into a small palm pilot and then transmit them via an ultra high frequency microburst that was virtually undetectable.

It took months of living off the land and traveling by foot and donkey just to gain a small amount of information about the location of my prey, but slowly and surely the picture got clearer. Finally, after three months, many miles, and numerous false leads I stumbled upon my target's hideout. Although the village he was living in was well hidden and extremely remote, my target was remarkable visible and comfortable in his surrounding. This was not at all what I, or the "experts" back the Agency, had expected. I surveyed the surrounding area and found relatively little security. Although, there were some enemy patrols and goat farmers roaming the area I felt that they would be easy to avoid given my training and experience.

For weeks I watched their movements and that of the surrounding population. Although my target did not have a set routine, he was making himself visible, especially in the early morning an evening. He was smart. He knew that this would be the most difficult time for the satellites to see him. The shadows from sunrise and sunset made it difficult for satellite imagery experts to see object such as people clearly. But I would use this to my advantage. I decided to approach from the east in the early morning so the sun would be at my back and there would be less chance for them to detect my escape. The east side of the village had much more cover as well, and would be best to conceal my hiding spot.

That night I slowly made my way around the camp. Along the way I refilled my water bag and picked up some food. The next few days would be long and grueling and I would not be able to move. Now was the time to re-stock what little supplies I needed.

It took most of the night, but by daybreak I had reach my firing position. Extremely rugged and rocky, the position afforded me a clear view of most of the village. A few trees dotted the landscape, but there were none nearby. I didn't want any near as I knew villagers would use them for shade from time to time and I could not risk someone stumbling upon me and ruining weeks of work. I made my self as comfortable as I could and took short naps. Now was the toughest time. Lying as still as possible for days is extremely fatiguing. The muscles cramp, your whole body aches, and getting rid of bodily functions is difficult to say the least. I made the time go by envisioning taking the shot over and over again, like a boxer preparing for a fight. I thought about my escape plan and alternate plans for would inevitably would go wrong. By the time the last night came around I was tired, but very ready.

Just before daybreak I checked my weapon one last time. I re-loaded it with the special ammunition that I myself had loaded. A special alloy of metals had been poured for these bullets. Not that I didn't trust anyone else to do the job, I just didn't want to have to blame someone else if something went wrong. Plus, a special alloy of metals had been poured for these bullets. The particular bullet that I was about to use had been made from metals with a lot of meaning. I ate a little and drank some water and then got into my sniper position. The sun was starting to come up.

I looked through the scope at the spot I expected my target to eventually be. It was a long shot, probably 1500 yards, but there was no wind and I had made shots like this and longer ones many times. My legs ached. So I shifted around slightly, careful not to give away my position to the villagers that were starting to stir. I could feel the cool night air start to warm as the first rays of sun were coming up over the mountains. I had to adjust for my shot again. The air was starting to get heavier and any slight miscalculation could cause me to miss. I was only going to get one chance and it had to be good.

Villagers were moving around now, going about their daily work, and getting ready for morning prayers. I watched and tried not to get too excited. Although I could not be sure that my target would be out this morning, he had become somewhat bold, brazen, and predictable. I watched, and waited.

Suddenly, I saw movement from the small stone house that my target had been staying in. But it was not him that stepped out of the house. It was a woman completed covered in a black robe. This was not my target. Someone else emerged for the doorway, but again, it was only a man with a rifle, probably a guard. After what seemed like a hour, but in reality was only a few minutes, a tall man in a white robe stepped out of the doorway. He squinted at the morning sunlight and made his way through the shadows of a tree towards a well. Several men followed, all with weapons, and they surrounded him in a loose circle while the target drank water from a cup give to him by one of the villagers. I slowed my breathing and steadied the crosshairs on the target's head. I turned on the digital video that was attached to the scope. This would be the first time I had a witness and record of my work. Someone would want confirmation of this mission.

My finger tightened slightly and applied a slight pressure to the trigger of my rifle. Mentally, I was checking the wind again, making sure that I had calculated everything that could have an impact on making a clean, true shot. It was time, I thought. I started to squeeze the trigger slightly more, knowing that there would be little recoil from my custom-made weapon. Just a bit more…stop! Suddenly, a small boy ran over excitedly to my target and men gathered around obscuring my view. No, this can't be, I thought…move! Could the young boy be warning my target? No one had seen me, or so I thought. I quickly tried to think back whether I had made any mistakes that could have given me away. No, I decided, I had not. But what had spooked him?

I waited. The target and several other men huddled together and talked. After about 10 ten they all seem to relax. Whatever it was had not driven my target inside…lucky for me, bad for him. I concentrated again on the head in my crosshairs. I had a clear shot again. Again, I went through my mental checklist…wind, temperature, distance, elevation. I was comfortable. At this moment I didn't even notice the pain in my body from being one position for so long. I wasn't thinking about my breathing or the fact that my heart was racing. I had done this so many times before that it had become second nature, but for some reason this time my heart was actually pounding faster. I could only think of one thing right now. I could see my target's face clearly. It was if I was standing right in front of him.

My finger squeezed slightly bringing a slight pressure against the trigger. One last check…wind, temperature, distance, elevation. At that moment I said to myself "let's roll", held my breath slightly and squeezed the trigger slowly and deliberately. I felt the rifle kick slightly, and looking through the scope I watched as a bright red cloud haze of blood and brain matter exploded from the target's head. Bullseye! He dropped like a rag doll in a crumpled heap. Some of the men rushed to him, but I knew the accuracy of my shot had rendered any attempts at saving the target's life fruitless. Still others turned and started shooting wildly having no idea which direction my shot came from. When they looked towards my direction the sun blinded them. Just in case, I kicked out the spent round, picking up the brass and pocketing it. I chambered another live round in case anyone should start moving my way, but they didn't. I watched through the high-powered scope as they quickly gathered the target up and carried him back towards the small house where they took cover. There was one last thing for me to do. I reached behind me and hit the send key on my satellite palm transponder. This would alert the Agency that the mission had been successful and that I needed a pick up at a designated rendezvous point.

Now here I am. Some of the target's men are shooting wildly from the widows of the house, while a few made their way outside to set up a mortar. From my position it would be easy to pick off the mortar team, but that would give away my position. It was time to move now, but before I did I hit the send button on my palm transponder again sending the video evidence back to the Agency in case something happened to me while trying to exfiltrate.

I started working my way through the rocks. They afforded me good cover, or so I thought. It seemed as though the bullets were getting closer. They were getting closer! I had been seen. I moved quicker now as bullets started ricocheting around me and mortar explosion started getting closer! I was near the top of the hill that looked down upon the village when I first heard the distinct sounds of helicopter rotors. Bullets seemed to be everywhere and fragments were starting to tear at my clothes. I ran faster now making my way over the top of the hill. Mortar rounds were close, closer than I wanted. The Pave Low special force's helicopter came in fast and low. I gave them the prearranged hand signal so they would know it was me. There was nowhere for the helicopter to land so they got as close to the ground as they could. Another mortar explosion…close, and shrapnel spraying all around! Two of the crew reached out and helped me as I jumped in the side of the helicopter. More explosions close aboard, but those would be the last. The pilot hit the throttle and the Pave Low jerked forward and up. Within seconds we were well out of danger from the artillery and small arms fire.

I sat back in the helicopter finally able to think about what had just happened. Osama bin Laden was finally dead and all of America would know it within the hour. After all I had been through for the past four months I took satisfaction in knowing that the last think that went through Osama's mind was a bullet molded from the torn metal beams of the World Trade Center and Pentagon.

As for the $25 million reward for Osama, it all went to college scholarships for 9/11 victims. The hand-made one of a kind sniper rifle is in the Pentagon museum. My only souvenir is a spent brass shell casing hanging on a chain around my neck.