Fifty-three minutes later, Lucia regained consciousness to the barely audible of suppressed gunshots. Bound to the tree by the edge of the cliff, her head throbbed, and her vision blurred. She blinked rapidly, struggling to focus. Finally, her gaze fixed on the familiar frame of Ralph, who stood a few meters in front of the tree, holding her sniper.
He was squeezing its trigger between intervals, but before each shot, he peered through a rangefinder, then glanced at the wrist worn device and muttered words she couldn’t make out before taking his shot.
‘What the hell…?’
Lucia’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened in disbelief. As she watched him continue firing, her heart pounded furiously, and goosebumps ran down her arms. She could hardly believe what she was witnessing.
In stunned silence, she watched as he repeated the process methodically. She was without the shades in her eyes, so she was exposed to the raw atmospheric conditions. ‘The weather is much less favorable than before.’ She murmured, as she tried to make sense of that realization.
But there was more to it, and she still struggling to recollect herself so she silently continued observing. She was still beat, but if memory served right, he did shoot out the scope of her sniper rifle. Not only was Ralph hitting targets over 4,600 yards away, he was doing so without the aid of a scope.
Each muted report of the rifle punctuated her thoughts. Finally finding her voice, she managed to croak out his name. “Ramsey?..” Her mind completely reeled at the sight before her. This wasn’t just some fluke or lucky shot, he was consistently hitting his targets. It defied all logic and reason, leaving her struggling to reconcile what she saw with everything she knew about modern warfare.
“Are you shitting me right now? Since when were you a long shot?” She demanded with incredulity, unable to hide the mixture of shock and admiration in her tone. Her words fell on deaf ears as he continued at his hunt, simple ignoring her and going at them relentlessly.
‘Twenty five.’ Ralph muttered to himself, his voice barely audible behind the silenced crack of the rifle. His focus remained unbroken as he peered through the rangefinder, completely disregarding Lucia’s astonished questions. His demeanor was composed, almost detached, as he continued to fire.
Her eyes remained fixed on him, tracking his every move. She couldn’t see the bodies dropping, obviously, but she knew for a fact they were falling nonetheless. Despite being helplessly tethered to the tree, she felt an odd sense of pride watching him work. He wasn’t a man who wasted time on fruitless endeavors, every pull of the trigger served a purpose. And though she would never admit it openly, part of her wondered if perhaps there were lessons to be learned here. There was no defying his skill, it was both terrifying and awe-inspiring in equal measure.
Deadeye’s reputation as one of the world’s finest marksmen preceded her, and she wore it like a badge of honor. She had spent years honing her skills, pushing herself to new heights in pursuit of perfection. And yet, as she watched Ralph effortlessly dispatch enemies from thousands of yards away without so much as a scope to aid him and deterring weather conditions, she couldn’t help but feel humbled by his skill.
His uncanny ability to calculate ballistic trajectories, coupled with his lightning fast mental processing and tactical awareness, set him apart from the best she’s seen. He seemed to anticipate his targets’ every move, always staying a step ahead. Even when faced with adversity, he improvised and adapted.
At over 4,600 yards, taking a shot without a functioning scope was, by all accounts, nearly impossible. But Ralph had never relied solely on his equipment to get the job done -- his real weapon was his mind.
And these devices were all hers. She had relied on them countless times in the field, but what Ralph was doing with them was unlike anything she had ever seen.
He’s never touched these before, she thought.
She was certain he’d never trained with her equipment, not once. In fact, she couldn’t recall ever seeing Ralph handle a sniper rifle at all. He wasn’t a sniper by trade; he was an elite soldier, known for his tactical prowess and leadership, not his marksmanship.
. .
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
The Enhanced Intelligence Module in the device strapped to his wrist was designed to provide vital battlefield data in real time -- wind speed, temperature, and target vulnerabilities identified by the drone overhead. It fed him critical information, but even that was only part of the equation.
She watched as he peered through the rangefinder, the digital readout flashing 4,643 yards. And the Tactical Ballistics Calculator in the device, calculated environmental variables, crunching numbers for wind drag, air pressure, and bullet velocity, giving him a solid foundation to work from. She knew the rangefinder gave him the raw numbers and that the TBC fed him the environmental factors -- but none of that accounted for the enemy’s constant movement. A battlefield isn’t static; targets moved constantly, and the EIM couldn’t predict their paths,and for the device to update the data.
‘He’s compensating for the movement.’ She realized, watching him shift his position slightly. The EIM was giving him key data--location, distance, weaknesses in enemy positioning, but he was anticipating every move his targets will make based on initial data and live footage, recalculating in real time as they shifted through the base, then taking his shot.
In a chaotic battlefield like this, where enemies never stayed still for long, he knew the device could only take him so far. The TBC worked quickly, but not in split seconds. When a target suddenly moved after the device had done its job, the rest was up to him. In those moments, Ralph’s instincts and experience took over -- recalculating in his head, adjusting for movement, based on the live footage of the target and initial calculation, then landing the shot before the target could disappear. He used the tool as a baseline, out-processing it, and compensating faster than it could update, making the final adjustments manually, factoring in the lag from when he pulled the trigger to when the bullet would hit. Even the smallest adjustments could alter the optimal point of aim, necessitating split-second recalculations and corrections.
How’s he keeping up though? she wondered, wide-eyed.
She had used the same tools, but she’d always relied on them, in the sense that each of them did exactly what they were made for, there were those times when improvisation was crucial, but never this intense. He was pushing them beyond their limits, using them to enhance his own expertise, not as a crutch but as extensions of his instincts.
As he prepared for his next target, she noted his calm demeanor. He relied on both the wrist worn device and the rangefinder, using them together to aid him. The device was designed for roughest of situations and improvisation, as it pulled in environmental readings--wind speed, temperature, humidity, altitude--all critical factors that could shift a bullet’s path, the snipers’ explicitly.
Lucia swallowed hard. She watched his finger hover over the trigger, his body remaining still as a stone. There was no hesitation. His mind was already three steps ahead, calculating not only where the enemy was now but where they’d be by the time the bullet arrived.
Watching him shoot with such casualty brought to mind similar tales of the alleged deadliest sniper of the modern era. Stories about this enigmatic figure were as fantastical as Ralph’s current exploits. Yet, unlike Ralph, whose actions were unfolding before her eyes, the tales of this mysterious sniper remained shrouded in myth. Rumored to belong to an unofficial, off the books unit within the military, their existence was a subject of debate, with majority concluding that they’re just fictional concoctions used to strike fear into the hearts of adversaries.
. .
Ralph had initially planned to assist Noah in person, before reviewing the drone footage of the battlefield. However, upon realizing the severity of his situation -- trapped, surrounded from all sides, and out of ammunition -- he had to adjust his plan on the fly. He quickly decided against direct intervention for the time being, as it would likely end in failure. Instead, he opted for remote assistance, taking control of Lucia’s sniper, knowing it was the best option available.
Meanwhile, Noah, who had been acting impulsively and recklessly out of desperation, calmed significantly once he was certain Ralph was alive and backing him up. His previous rage fueled charge into enemy ranks subsided, and he returned to his more composed self. And this was all thanks to Samuel going out of his way, again. He went out of his way to help solidify communication between Ralph and Noah, though Aubrey’s attempts to jam the signals continued to pose a challenge. And that ultimately saved Noah’s life.
With a newly acquired machine gun, Noah held position in a strategic spot, holding his ground, with Ralph being his guardian angel. The battle now shifted in their favor. Noah’s primary goal now was to hold his position until Ralph could reach him.
. .
In the quiet stillness, broken only by the occasional crack of the rifle, Lucia spoke with annoyance. “Quit ignoring me, Ramsey…”
‘Brian…’ She muttered under her breath, barely audible. She had been completely absorbed in her fascination with Ralph’s display, but the sudden shift in the atmosphere jolted her back to the harsh reality of what was actually going on.
A strange, metallic stench filled the air, accompanied by faint, broken sobs. She turned her head to the side immediately to locate the source. Her eyes widened almost instantly, recognition dawning, followed by shock and disbelief.
It was Brian. He stood precariously on a makeshift pedestal, pieced together from splintered wood, his hands tightly bound behind him. His face was mixture of agony and exhaustion.
Blood trickled steadily from his mangled leg, staining the earth beneath him in a deep crimson pool. The barbed wire around his neck had formed a cruel noose, its razor sharp edges biting into his skin.