Bravo Six: A Call of Duty fan fiction (OLD)

Chapter 9: One Shot, One Kill

"One more dance along the razor's edge finished. Almost dead yesterday, maybe dead tomorrow, but alive, gloriously alive, today."  ~ Robert Jordan

   36 hours went by after they got to the hotel. They both watched and waited, knowing Zakhaev could show up at any moment; after having killed men to get in, the Russians had noticed their presence and now they had to wait for the alarm to die down.

   Finally, the time came. Price had fallen asleep on his folded arms on the floor when he felt a tap on his leg. "Leftenant Price," said Mac. "The meeting is underway."

   Price looked through his scope, and sure enough, a convoy was filing into the area. He dialed in his scope a little closer until he could clearly see the faces of the men getting out of the cars. Mac reminded him to mind the wind before he made a shot; even the slightest variable could ruin the whole mission, and there likely wouldn't be a chance for a second shot. John slowly nodded his head, and when the wind was blowing in the right direction and he had adjusted his aim, he sucked in a breath, let it out, and slowly began to squeeze the trigger.

   "Ach, where did he come from?" growled MacMillain when a helicopter slowly hovered between them and the target. 

   Price swore under his breath. "Bastard... I could just shoot him down..."

   "Patience, laddy, wait for him to move."

   "He'd better move quick..."

   As soon as it finally moved, Price felt his heartbeat quicken; the deal seemed to be going awry, and Zakhaev was upset. He was pacing this way and that, arms making exaggerated movements in disgust. He walked toward a jeep in the convoy before turning back to snarl something else to the man before him.

   MacMillain felt the hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms stand. "It's now or never, take the shot!"

   Price sucked in a breath and squeezed the trigger, adrenaline making his head buzz. He wasn't sure if he made the shot, and felt a deep panic settle over him. God, had they come all this way just to have it all go to pot?

   It was a bloody mess. Imran's arm had been severed by the shot and he was bleeding heavily, and behind him, a man was struck through the chest by the round, blowing a hole about the size of a softball through him. Zakhaev rolled with the impact and hurried to pick himself up, lost in the confusion of the other men haring away for their cars to get away from any other bullets that may hit them. 

   "I think ya blew his arm off," said Mac. "Shock and blood loss will do the rest." 

   Zakhaev crawled over to a Jeep with two younger men in it and slammed into the door. Blood spurted from the fresh wound into the window of the car as he fussed with the handle to open it. The driver of the car leaned over and opened the door quickly for him, a worried- maybe even terrified- expression on his face. He lifted his dual colored eyes for just a moment to see if he could spot the sniper, though couldn't strain his vision to see that far. In a panic, he slammed on the gas pedal, hitting a fellow soldier on his way out.

   Price didn't want to risk losing his target and followed his escape vehicle with his scope, but it was gone before he could make another shot. "Bugger..." he muttered. 

   MacMillain's green eyes darted up as the helicopter circled back. "Shit, they're onto us! Take him out!"

   It burst into flames and spiraled as Price shot into the cockpit. Mac grabbed the Lieutenant by the collar and dragged him away. "Come on! Let's get out of here; that thing's coming for us!" They hooked up rappelling leads to some bent reed bars and swung out of the room just in time for the helicopter to crash into it, sending flames, broken glass and chunks of rubble shooting everywhere.