Page 7 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

Point two is too much, kid. We’ll do this my way.

I exhaled all of the breath from my lungs.

Sorry, motherfucker. I’ve got to make it home to see my wife, and to do so, I need to make sure you don’t make it home to yours.

I gave no acknowledgement of the stats provided by the spotter. After squeezing the trigger, I waited for him to acknowledge the kill.

“Holy fucking shit. Target down. Enemy KIA,” he said excitedly.

I inhaled a shallow breath, turned toward the spotter, and nodded my head. The sound of small arms fire continued from every direction as the report of mortars thumped in the distance every few seconds. All but immune to the sounds and sight of death, I turned toward the three Marines I was in charge of.

“Whitmire, we need to get him to our fucking Corpsman. Hell, I don’t give a fuck if you’ve got to find one of the 82nd’s medics, we need to get him off this fucking roof,” I said.

As I raised myself to a crouched position, hiding behind the cover of the parapet, the spotter moved his scope to the side and shifted his eyes toward me. “Nice shot,” he said as he scanned my blouse for my name. “Sergeant Jacob. Nice fucking shot, Jacob.”

“We can swap spit later. I need to get your sniper to a medic,” I said.

“Roger that,” he said as he stood from his bench.

What the fuck are you doing?

I waved my hand from side to side and pointed toward his feet. “Stay down, god damn it! You don’t know if…”

The thwack of the bullet hitting his chest was sickening. His eyes widened with concern as he stumbled rearward, eventually falling onto the roof between where I was crouched and where Cunningham was positioned.

“God fucking damn it,” I shouted as I gazed down at his body.

I shook my head and stared off in the distance, wondering how much longer the sniper would be able to last with the fist-sized cavity in his shoulder.

After securing my weapon, I bent down to pick up the fallen spotter. As I peered into his eyes, I realized I didn’t need to check for vitals, he wasn’t WIA, he was KIA.

Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.

I reached between his legs with one arm and grabbed his wrist with the other, raising him over my shoulder. I clenched my jaw at the thought of one more dead Marine and one soon to be dead Marine, and thanked God the three men under my command were still alive.

“Cunningham, lead the way. Take the rear staircase. Whitmire, behind me. Grayson, secure the M40, the spotter scope, and the rest of their gear, and take the rear,” I said as I tossed my head toward the staircase at the rear corner of the roof.

Upon reaching the street, we were met by a First Lieutenant, obviously new to combat, half-lost, and out of his element.

As the driver sat nervously and waited, the Lieutenant stepped from the Humvee and waved his arm toward the adjacent buildings.

“We’ve got a sniper on the roof six hundred meters east, and…”

“Sir, the enemy sniper has been eliminated. I’ve got one Marine KIA and one Marine WIA, soon to be KIA. We either need a Corpsman or to get this man to a hospital,” I said as I lowered the dead spotter from my shoulder.

“That sniper KIA, is it confirmed?” he asked.

It was as confirmed as I needed it to be.

“Yes, Sir,” I responded.

He nodded his head eagerly. “Who are you with?”

“We’re with the two-seven,” I responded. “I’m the Fire Team leader, and we were separated from our squad. We’re searching…”

“Sergeant Jacob, two-seven. Got it. Load those men in the back,” he said as he waved his hand toward the rear of the Humvee.

Apparently he didn’t give a shit who we were with or what our objectives were. I motioned toward the rear of the Humvee, helped load the two Marines, and turned away. As I watched them speed away, I realized for us, nothing had changed. We had been separated from our squad, and the entire city was a chaotic mess of gunfire, RPG’s, and mortar fire.