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Posted: Dec 7th, 2007 at 11:30 pm
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What a shame. They’d lost.
The thought passed through Volker’s mind within seconds. Then, it was gone. He could care less whether they lost a single battle. Of course, Moscow was crucial to their take over, but it could wait. The majority of German units had fallen back, but a decent amount of snipers, scouts, and a couple of Wermacht platoons were still close to the area. Falling back completely would be foolish and cowardly.
The winter was bitter, and it was a wonder that this feeble little town was holding up between both the cold and the war. Huh. No matter. The deserted (and/or previously raided) houses, the farmland, the terrain, heck, the bloody cathedral; all of it made for good cover.
The sharpshooter was perched in a tree currently. He wore a grey Wermacht uniform with a light brown and pale grey camo cloak. A ragged chestnut woolen scarf was wrapped around his neck, the camo-cover for his helmet didn’t make things any easier, but soldiers were currently at higher risk, and the more armor, the better. A few wisps of light blonde hair hung out of his helmet. He probably should have it cut, but a hair salon was the last thing on his mind right now.
The Kar98k was currently strapped to his back. He was a quick draw, even for a sniper rifle. It didn’t take him long to aim really. His bright green eyes were flawless both outwardly and inwardly. He had an owl’s eye site, or at least, he believed he did.
Volker did quite enjoy the after-thrill of a good battle. It left him hungry for more. He wasn’t a sadist, no. In fact, he had a happily-non-purged/arrested family back in Hamburg. He enjoyed baking cookies with his little sister and decorated der Tannenbaum on Weihnachten with his mother. Though, he did unfortunately miss it last time. At the same time, Volker had a rather… interesting hobby. Hell, everyone has them. His just happened to be hunting people.
No, not just sniping as his job should be.
HUNTING people. Perhaps this was why the Battle of Moscow wasn’t such a big deal. Well, of course it was, but this was better: sitting out on a tree, waiting for those sassy Reds to come bouncing out looking for people like him. They never saw him. Sometimes they got away. Sometimes, he shot at their feet or hit their arm. After all, hunting was useless if the prey’s neck was snapped instantly. That wasn’t hunting, that was just killing and then using it for stew. Useless. The sniper scoffed at the thought.
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Timur
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Posted: Dec 8th, 2007 at 12:06 am
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Timur Vasiliev was on the winning side, but that meant nothing for his safety. Wandering alone and exposed through the outskirts of Mozhaysk, Timur made an easy target for any enterprising enemy. His patchy green-and-brown camouflage was next to useless in the snow. Timur slogged on, keeping a careful eye out for any soldiers. The Germans had fallen back, but Timur doubted whether the battle was completely won. The enemy soldiers were as tenacious as the Russian people themselves.
The Russian scout had been out for several hours already and seen nothing. Timur was growing cold and tired. If he found a secure spot soon, he had decided to take a break. This side of Mozhaysk was a graveyard. Nothing but burnt-out hulks of machinery and frozen corpses. The only living things Timur had seen so far were birds. Timur was a stolid lad, not big on imagination, but he didn't like the quiet. It was ominous. Timur avoided the birds carefully. If he startled up a flock, it would instantly alert enemies to his position. He also just plain didn't like them.
Timur's lack of imagination was a help to him in battle. He had no killer instinct to speak of. Killing was unpleasant, but as long as all the mess happened on the other end of a rifle it was easier. Fighting up close was just brawling. Timur could do that. Timur was good at that. The dark-haired man followed orders dutifully. Timur knew that he would never have the flair to be promoted, certainly not within Stalin's army, but he didn't mind. The Russian was fighting for his family (safe, hopefully, and far away from this mess) and his country.
Tired, his thoughts wandering, Timur wasn't paying as much attention to his surroundings as he should have been. Movement! Timur froze. Just out of the corner of his eye Timur had seen something moving through the trees. Timur felt horribly conspicuous out in the snow. A few agonizing seconds later, the movement was repeated. A thin, brown dog, sniffing around a carcass. Timur nearly laughed with relief. It was well enough that he was alone. A proud soldier, spooking at shadows. Still amused by his own jumpiness, Timur didn't look up as he drew closer to the occupied tree.
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Posted: Dec 8th, 2007 at 10:02 pm
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This Mauser was his baby. Yes, a man’s rifle is truly his best friend. A gun can do the dirty work for you. All you have to do is guide it in the right direction. It had a range of nearly 880 meters and a specially equipped 6x scope with BDC. It didn’t have a dent, scratch, or nick on it. The sharpshooter drew his weapon, stroking it in a rather eerily compassionate way.
Suddenly, he heard a rustle beneath him. Both eyebrows furrowed as he peered downward. What the hell?! Nearly thirteen feet below him, stood a Soviet scout. How on earth did he not pick up the sound of this twat? Volker’s expression relaxed as he noted WHAT had made the soldier beneath him blatantly give away his position. About another five feet off there was a dog sniffing at a dead corpse. Oh for the love of…. This lad was a military scout! He gathered the man had seen worse than a hungry mutt in the past few months.
Volker next pulled a risk maneuver. He flattened himself out so that he was laying out on the branch. His legs wrapped around the branch to gain proper momentum, and his arms stretched out, holding the gun properly. It was a tricky move, but there was a reason Volker was a sniper. They didn’t just hire anyone for the job. Though, he never liked the military labels. He preferably considered himself a hunter. He briefly lifted up his rifle, peering through the scope, scanning the majority of the area. Nobody else.
Tch. He didn’t even need to aim here. It was an easy shot. This wasn’t a chase nor a challenge. He peered closer, studying the features of the scout bellow him. The fellow seemed young, untainted, unscarred by the horrors of battle. It was always enjoyable to catch one of THOSE types. Soldiers didn’t get by simply out of luck, it took skill. Alright. The sharper would give the Red some credit, and thus, a little… heads up.
“Heh heh heh,” he cackled lightly, but loud enough for the man bellow him to hear. “I’ll give you one hundred and twenty seconds and I want you to run. Nothing too fearful please.” His voice was surprisingly polite, delicate, calm, and controlled. He wasn’t wavering in anger or delight. It was almost monotonous, with just a touch of enthusiastic expression. “If you give me a weak show, I’ll end it now. I don’t stand for cowardice.” Whether or not the other man spoke German was beyond him. If the scout didn’t speak German, then he wouldn’t be able to understand Volker’s instructions! Now that would be a shame.
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Timur
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Posted: Dec 8th, 2007 at 10:20 pm
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The voice echoing out of the tree made Timur freeze instantly, but it was too late for stealth now. He looked up, horrified. A German soldier perched in a tree. Timur's mind went back to those ugly carrion birds. Omens indeed. His fingers clenched convulsively around the rifle strapped to his side, knuckles going white. What could he do? Timur spoke and understood German to some degree, one of the reasons he'd been chosen as a scout. Even if he hadn't understood the soldier's words the man's cool and deadly tone made the meaning clear. If the enemy had his way, Timur was going to die.
To run or not to run? Despite his training, Timur wanted to run. He felt as cowardly as the mangy slat-sided dog that had startled him in the first place. Timur didn't want to die out here through his own stupid carelessness. If he ducked and dodged, wove between the trees, there might be a chance ... but no. The man was a sniper. Timur swallowed hard, staring up at the foreign soldier. Even with adrenaline lending him strength, Timur would never be nimble enough on the snow to escape.
Even though it felt like an eternity, only a couple of seconds had passed while Timur decided. He unslung his rifle and jerked the muzzle up to point at the foreigner. Timur was no sniper, but at close range it would be difficult to miss. The man would probably have enough strength left to put a bullet between Timur's ears, but he was damned if he would die here without taking his murderer with him.
What Timur hadn't counted on was the dog. While Timur was busy staring up at the man in the tree, it had abandoned its investigation of the corpse and sidled on over. Evidently the dog wasn't as feral as it looked. It squeezed between Timur's legs, sniffing hopefully at him. Startled, Timur twisted away and nearly fell over the animal. The shot went wild by a few crucial inches, gouging the tree. The dog yelped and ran, and now Timur really did fall.
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Posted: Dec 11th, 2007 at 12:18 am
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The next sequence of events were just an unending slew of disappointment. “Move, damn you,” he curses under his breath, in plain English. He didn’t speak much Russian, that wasn’t his job. He was a sniper, not an infiltrator. Though, as a child, he learned a decent amount of English throughout school and as the activities in the war ensued, his skill became more and more fluent. The man didn’t listen though. Instead, he pulled a rather foolish move.
Volker’s eyes slowly widened as he watched the barrel of a gun quickly point at his face. Well curses! He certainly wasn’t expecting that. A somewhat satisfied smirk curled up his lips as he analyzed the situation. Wasn’t this a treat? The two of them sat/stood there, staring at each other for a moment. The Nazi’s finger hovered over the trigger, so tempted to shoot. The situation was so exciting! To be honest, he wanted this moment to last. The moment where the prey and predator lock eyes. The moment where the prey decides to fight back. What a rush!
Then, the accursed canine barreled in, knocking the man over. Wait to kill the moment! The smirk thinned out as the amusement of the situation abruptly vanished. Apparently, the man wasn’t on his guard enough to notice a bloody mutt leaping up behind him. Then the klutz-of-a-scout fell over. How embarrassing. The sniper watched as the mutt leapt away.
Ah well, perhaps this wasn’t as fun as he’d hoped. Volker flipped the rifle over on his back holster once more and began skillfully dropping and from branch, to branch, to branch, until both feet were planted firmly on the ground. He pushed his helmet back a bit, bright green eyes peering through the muddy facial camo paint. The Nazi towered over the fallen Soviet, staring at him blankly.
Then, he let out a short sigh.
He walked over to the other soldier’s side, squatting down next to him. “Too bad,” he muttered regretfully, “I suppose I overestimated you. For a moment there… you had me excited. I think we could have had a lot of fun together. Though in the end…” Volker stood up, reaching back to pull out his rifle. He aimed it down, pressing the barrel of the gun up against the man’s forehead. “… the outcome would have been similar to this.”
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Lyubov
Soviet TRAITOOOR!Member is offline
Posts: 26
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Posted: Dec 11th, 2007 at 12:37 am
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Lyubov watched the little drama from her hiding place, quite interested. For the past few months she had been working for the Russians. It was almost surprising when they won. Although Lyubov had (temporarily, at least) thrown in her lot with her countrymen, she felt a little pang of regret. Not enough regret to keep her from carrying out her duties mopping up the enemy. Lyubov had been out since the previous night, lying in a tiny shelter she had built for herself in the lee of a large treetrunk. The 'shelter' wasn't much more than a board propped up on tree roots to keep the snow off her back, but with her layers of clothing the tiny cave was practically snug. With a layer of snow and fallen branches on top of her, Lyubov was invisible.
The German was nearly invisible as well. Lyubov was impressed. Until the idiot scout blundered into him, Lyubov had had no idea he was there. Good thing she hadn't decided to get up and stretch her legs. Lyubov had been on guard, more or less alert, for quite some time. It was possible that she could have dozed off, but Lyubov didn't think she would have missed the noise of someone climbing a tree several hundred meters away even in the deepest sleep. Branches crackling, snow flumping to the ground, clothes scraping over bark ... either the man was there before Lyubov arrived and somehow missed her, or he moved like a ghost. Strange.
The Russian watched through her scope as the lad fell and the German came down to finish him. Too bad. She'd thought the other Russian had some fight in him. Lyubov tightened her lips in annoyance. She didn't particularly like Russians, but this was just a disgrace. Hmm. The scout had served her well by getting the German to come down out of his hiding spot. It was a pity his life had to end like this.
Lyubov breathed out slowly and let her body lapse into perfect stillness. She waited patiently. Ah. There. The perfect moment. Lyubov squeezed the trigger gently. Beneath the German's gun, the Russian jerked and died as Lyubov's bullet beat the German to the punch, striking the young soldier in the ear. Lyubov allowed herself to breathe in at last, smiling slightly. The thought of killing the German first had never even occurred to her. She thought idly of going back with him, rejoining her old friends and comrades. Maybe, maybe. But Lyubov did not reveal herself yet. Something about the man grated on her nerves. She was suitably impressed by him, but she disliked him on sight. A sadistic streak, entirely unsuspected, had risen in her. Lyubov was going to fuck with this man.
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Posted: Dec 12th, 2007 at 12:52 pm
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The solemn expression on his face hardened slightly as his finger began to squeeze the trig-POP. Before he could even comprehend what JUST happened, his eyes focused on the blood now on his boots. There wasn’t any innards pouring from the man’s skull. In fact, the shot was clean, only a splash of the blood soiling his boots. Once he’d finished analyzing it, he felt his gut lurch. A mixed expression of horror, anger, and confusion washed over his face.
No, no this wasn’t possible. There was nobody else stationed out here. Even if there was, his platoon knew better than to toil with his prey. The direction of the shot, he crouched down, studying the man’s skull. Since it hit the ear, the direction of the shot was a bit difficult to comprehend. The fearful horror had now vanished and like a panther whose territory was just violated, his eyes widened and his head snapped to the side, glaring in the general direction of the shot.
Volker couldn’t see him. Well, of course he couldn’t. No righteous sharpshooter would allow themselves to be so close to their prey.
Prey… no. No this wasn’t how it was supposed to work out! Inside, Volker was having a fit, a temper tantrum even. No no no! This wasn’t fair. Time to think fast. He straightened his helmet once more, shadowing out the bright green eyes. He leapt backward, and darted behind the tree, pressing his back against it. At least he was out of sight. Now he needed to think of where he was going to go… his eyes traveled to the cathedral about ten yards off. He could make it unseen. He began bolting deeper into the trees and started running in the general direction of the cathedral.
Ah, he could feel the adrenaline rush now. That was better. So soothing, so arousing, so enthralling.
Let the games begin.
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Lyubov
Soviet TRAITOOOR!Member is offline
Posts: 26
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Posted: Dec 13th, 2007 at 12:15 pm
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The enemy sniper was startled and almost certainly frightened, but he kept his cool. Lyubov watched patiently as he straightened up and then bolted away. Now that was vexing. She could barely see him through the trees! There was a cathedral a short distance away. Lyubov had noted it when she moved in to her hiding place earlier. Probably the other soldier's destination. Lyubov tensed, thinking quickly. From her vantage point she wouldn't be able to see the other at all, much less get in another shot at him.
Time to throw caution to the winds. If Lyubov wanted to keep playing the game, she would have to take a chance. She scrambled up from her shelter, cursing under her breath at the flood of pins and needles. After remaining perfectly still for hours, she was stiff as hell. Ignoring the discomfort, Lyubov broke into a run. The cathedral was out of the question. She wasn't simply chasing the man. This wasn't a game of tag! Lyubov had to find cover, and quickly.
There was nothing convenient but the thick tangle of trees. Lyubov dove behind a cluster of treetrunks just as the man reached the building. Had he seen her? Hopefully not. He had been running for all he was worth, Lyubov doubted if he'd been able to catch a glimpse of her. Still. Must be careful. She schooled her breathing, taking slow, even breaths. She wouldn't be heard, oh, no. After a moment spent pressed against the tree trunk to catch her breath, Lyubov decided to take a look at her new friend.
The cluster of trees she had chosen was very close together. It would be difficult for the enemy to see her from the cathedral. Still, it paid to be cautious. Lyubov raised her rifle and slowly poked the muzzle around the trunk of her own tree. The tangle of trees around her must obscure the other sniper's vision as well as it did her own, but Lyubov's heart was hammering nonetheless. Slowly, carefully, she leaned around the tree, so that one bright hazel eye could be seen, scanning the area for her enemy.
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Posted: Dec 14th, 2007 at 09:18 pm
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Volker arrived at the cathedral, hardly breaking a sweat. It was almost flattering that he had a job in which he sat on his ass for hours and yet still managed to stay fit. The sniper stopped about twenty feet from the cathedral, crouching in a cluster of brush. His eyes scanned the large building. The two front doors were useless, he would surely be seen. Alright… the back doors. He bolted around the forest, still a good twenty feet off, until he was behind the church, his eyes zeroed in on the small back door. Perfect. Still in a low crouch, he quickly paced to the door, opened it and slipped inside.
The church was untouched, just as churches should be. It was a shame to see troops take cover in the house of a God. Volker would have called himself a hypocrite, but he had more shame than that. The back door had a small basin of holy water next to it, and he dipped his LEFT hand’s index and middle finger (which had a fingerless glove, it would be foolish to cover his trigger finger) in the water, and humbly did the sign of the cross. As he did so, he felt a suddenly jolt in his stomach, and for a moment, his knees began to buckle.
What the hell? He hadn’t eaten any rotten rations… and he was fatigued. Shaking the feeling off, he regained his composure.
He took a few steps forward and peered over at the altar and shifting his gaze to the beautifully carved ten foot crucifix that towered behind it. A faint smile crossed his lips, “Don’t worry my Lord… I won’t be here long.”
The feeling came again. Ugh. What was this?
Once more, he managed to shake it off. He then ran to the other side of the cathedral to a different door. Volker entered it and gaped up at a enormous spiral staircase. Perhaps a good seventy feet up he could see the bells. Ah yes, the bells. The sound of them made him reminisce of his home on the outskirts of Hamburg. His family were devote Roman Catholics, though he was not as fond of the religion. He believed in God, and believed that the Church deserved its respects but something about it….
Volker realized he was now at the top of the staircase, not yet inside the bell tower. He crouched into a half kneel, and pressed his side up against the wall near the opening. This gave him good leverage and advantage to turn and spot.
Peering through the scope, the sniper began mumbling to himself, a delusional sing-song tone to his voice, as if reading a cruel children's story, “He would need to report back eventually… let his friend's know what he’d caught… perhaps there would be enough venison to feed the entire camp this time. Maybe a fur coat or two to keep them warm at night. That last rabbit’s fur was soiled by the evil fox in the woods. The fox made a very very big mistake when they stole the hunter man's dinner. But it was okay... foxes have better coats anyway."
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Herm herm herm: Mozhaysk - (Read 156 Times)
