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The sniper waited, his finger resting gently on the trigger. He had been here for almost two days, waiting, watching, preparing. His body was starting to cramp from staying so still, so perfectly still. He was tired, and he was hungry. His body screamed for sleep; if not for the can of Red Bull he had just consumed, he would have passed out. But still, he sat. He had a job to do, and he would not leave until it was done.

His target, a ruthless dictator, was giving a speech to his people. This army had run through the surrounding countries, leaving devastation wherever it went. He had slaughtered tens of thousands of innocent men, women and children, all for the sake of his own personal glory. He had to be eliminated. If he wasn’t, thousands more would die.

The sniper had examined the area around the courtyard. It was chock-full of snipers, and guards ready to move at the first sign of danger; if he were any closer, he would not be able to get away. But he was over two miles away, and he held in his hands the weapon that made it possible: the Barret .50 caliber sniper rifle, the “workhorse” of sniper rifles. This weapon could put a half-inch bullet into a target from almost three miles away, with enough force to rip limbs off and blow heads away. The sheer power of it lead to it becoming an icon in the world of weapons. It was the only weapon with enough range to do something like this. It was the perfect weapon. And he loved it. It was almost like a child to him. He cleaned it daily, kept it safe in it’s case, never let any damage come to it. It was his pride and joy.

The dictator said something, but the sniper couldn’t hear it. The whole crowd roared with applause. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He aimed the scope directly at the man’s heart. His finger grew tense on the trigger; a slight squeeze, and the man’s reign of terror was over. He leaned into the stock of the rifle, preparing for the inevitable counter-force of his job: recoil. He took a deep breath, as he had been taught to do in sniper school. Then he exhaled it, emptying his lungs completely of air. And with a light squeeze, he pulled the trigger.
The trigger released a small mechanism, which in turn released the firing pin. It struck the base of the bullet, activating the primer, which reacted with the gunpowder in the casing. The powder instantly combusted, turning into gas, which forced the bullet out of it’s shell. It rocketed down the barrel, grooves on the barrel’s inside forcing it to spin. It reached the muzzle brake, and blasted away, the gas following behind it forced to the sides by the brake’s design.

CRACK!!

The bullet whizzed through the air; at 4,000 feet per second, there wasn’t anything short of reinforced tank armor that could stop it. It buzzed through the two miles in less than three seconds. It struck the man in the chest, square in the heart. It sailed effortlessly through his Kevlar body armor, slowing it only slightly. The sheer force of the bullet, an unstoppable juggernaut, shattered his rib cage, utterly destroyed his heart, ripped his left lung to shreds. It passed through his body, exited out his back, and passed through a guard’s knee, separating him from his lower leg. It drilled into the concrete floor, passing through it, ripping through a steel rebar, finally embedding itself in a pillar below. It would rest there, not to be found for another week.

The man didn’t know what hit him; he did not have time to consider what had happened. The round killed him instantly; he was dead before he even hit the floor. A tiny lead object, about half an inch in diameter, had ripped a hole the size of a baseball in his chest.

The crowd, unsure of what had just happened, now screamed with terror as their beloved leader fell dead. The sniper heard the wail, a cry of agony and despair, as he flipped the safety on, ejected the next round from the chamber, removed the magazine. He folded the bipod, removed the scope, took the barrel out of the rifle’s body. He placed the components into the case, locked it, headed down the stairs. He paused for a moment, said a small prayer, then climbed into the waiting Humvee. He began to drive, got on the freeway, headed off a small road. He drove down the dirt path- unaware of the anti-tank mine waiting for him.

The last thing that passed through his mind- among pieces of steel armor and shrapnel from the mine- was the thought of his wife and daughter, waiting for him at home.