Fire Force(68)

Dan slotted the imaging device into place, then glanced across at Nick. ‘Reckon you can make the shot?’

Nick took the weapon in his hands. He flipped open the display screen on the STW device, and pointed the gun towards the building. ‘It’s a bit like a Nintendo DS,’ he said with a grin.

‘Should be easy for you then,’ said Steve. ‘We only brought you along because you got to the end of Medal of Honor.’

Nick started to circle the building. The images flashing across the screen were distinct enough: grey shapes against a pale blue background, but clearly distinguishable.

‘There are four men inside in total,’ he told the others.

Both Steve and Dan were looking at the screen as well. The men were clearly delineated - but which one was Tshaka?

‘Take out this one,’ said Dan, pointing at the man closest to the door.

‘Why him?’ asked Steve.

Dan jabbed at the figures on the screen. ‘Two blokes by the door, both clearly with their guns cocked. They must be the guards. There are two men further back in the room, so I reckon one is Tshaka and the other is probably the Camp Commander. Take out one of the blokes at the door . . . then see who they rush to protect.’

Steve nodded. It made sense to him.

‘Do it,’ he said tersely, looking towards Nick as he spoke.

Nick steadied the rifle into his shoulder. The man on his screen was hardly moving, and the distance was only ten yards. In normal circumstances, the shot would be simple; he wouldn’t even think about it. But the rain was pouring across his screen, and he’d never used this piece of technology before. He took a moment to compose himself. Just a normal shot, he repeated, again and again. Nothing special.

‘Kill,’ he muttered, squeezing the trigger.

The bullet drilled through the wall. The standard velocity for an AK-47 round is 715 yards per second and Nick’s rifle was in perfect condition, cleaned and oiled to ensure accurate and reliable fire. It took only a micro-second for the hardened bullet to shed its copper skin, leaving it embedded in the neat hole it had drilled in the concrete, whilst the tungsten core smashed into the soldier’s brain just above his left ear. Any bullet delivered to that spot will be fatal: a tungsten bullet chews up the brain the way a hungry dog chews up a bone.

The man collapsed to the ground, already dead.

‘We’re giving you five seconds to come out with your hands up,’ shouted Ollie, standing close to the wall. ‘You are completely surrounded. We can kill you through these walls. If you come out, we promise you won’t be harmed.’

In the sky, the thunder was still crashing through the clouds. But from inside the building, there was only silence.

‘Good work, mate,’ said Steve, patting Nick on the shoulder.

A tense smile was stretched across the Welsh teenager’s face.

‘Now line up the next shot . . .’

‘One,’ shouted Ollie.

Nick raised the AK-47 to his shoulder a second time. He’d monitored the movement of the remaining men as the first soldier went down and he noticed they moved to protect the smallest of the three remaining figures. Tshaka, he decided. That’s him.

‘Two,’ shouted Ollie.

He paused, wiping the rainwater out of his face.

‘Three . . . I won’t give you another warning.’

‘You got the target?’ Steve asked Nick.

‘Four,’ shouted Ollie.

Nick nodded. The soldier was still standing close to the door. They clearly had no idea how they’d been hit or how they should protect themselves. Maybe they thought the sniper had just got lucky, even though firing into a whole building was a million to one shot.

This next one should convince them, he told himself. Nobody gets that lucky.

‘Five,’ Ollie cried. He looked toward Nick and nodded briefly.

‘Kill,’ muttered Nick, and squeezed the trigger.

Once again, the bullet drilled straight through the wall. Once again, it dropped the target instantly.

‘Bloody fantastic kit,’ said Dan, watching the man fall on the tiny screen.

‘We can keep doing this until you’re all bloody dead,’ shouted Ollie.

He waited for a second. On Nick’s screen, he could see the two remaining men moving cautiously towards the exit.

‘We’re coming out,’ shouted a voice.

The door opened slowly, and two men emerged into the rain, both of them wearing uniforms. The larger of the two must be the Camp Commander, judged Steve. The smaller, he recognised from the picture Wallace had shown them.

Tshaka.

He was only small in comparison to his troops, all of them big men. He looked around five ten, reckoned Steve, was about thirty-five years old, and had the natural authority of a born military leader. According to the dossier Steve had seen, Tshaka had been one of the fastest-rising young officers within the Government forces, a full Colonel before he was thirty, but then had broken away and started fighting for his own region. You could see at once why his men had come with him. Even as a prisoner, he had a bearing and dignity that betrayed not a single trace of either fear or defeat.