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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required SNIPER A yell “ man down;” then zing, pock, pock, pock, pock against the sandbag revetment. Down on the plain is a man in a spider hole, he is well hidden and armed well enough, smokeless powder provides no clues. Binoculars and spotter scopes range and scan. The wounded soldier moves arms weakly, asking for help, hands exploring a bloody chest; each attempt to get to him more whizzes and pocks follow the movement of desperate men. Zings and pock, pock, pock of sand bags hit, in the distance a light echo of a rifle report, a light pop reverberating from every where. 81-mm mortars inside the defensive perimeter fire volleys of patterns mushrooming dust, some air bursts for downward shrapnel, these metal fragments might penetrate shelter. The dust cloud shields medics and helpers dragging this first victim to relative safety; the dust-off flight already hurrying inbound. Soon APCs roar by, their armour impervious, tracks clanking the treads tearing ground; carrier troops dismount and walk searching investigating odd bits of clumps and weeds. Nothings found he is too well hidden, how did he ever dig in under watchful eyes, how did he hide the signs of digging. Now everyone moves about with this new worry each movement cautious with little exposure; careless soldiers leave trails of pocked sand bags, one fellow gets ripped along his flack jacket, too close a strike earning an unwanted souvenir. Mortars continue to pound patterns on open ground, this all to find a veritable chaffing grain of sand, a grain that throws an inconvenient hail of bullets. Our snipers and spotters set their own lairs; hunting scopes by day starlight scopes at night. The days are long as this deadly duel continues, nerves are sensitised, some are shattered; each move brings a buzz or whiz of near death. Then there are no more shots, no more shooter, perhaps the mortars got him or the gun ships, perhaps he earned the NVA version of R & R. Still every one walks, heads hunched, hair on end, one sniper with a few dozen well place bullets keeps one company sized position neutralised; a good example showing us the fine art of war.
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