CH747 · Rewrite
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Chapter 747: The Sniper

Night was not ideal for fighting.

During the Months of Demons, both sun and moon disappeared behind the permanent overcast. A dim, sourceless light lay across the shifting desert, faintly tracing the crests of sand hills. Everything the light failed to reach was simply dark.

Given that, torches were necessities for either side—for attacking or for holding ground.

When the first scattered glints of fire appeared from the direction of the oasis, Danny polished his clip, pressed it into the loading port, and bolted the action.

“Attention. Enemies incoming.”

“I see them.”

He gave Malt’s voice and then replied to it. The habit had formed without him deciding to form it. Malt was no longer on the sniper team—had been reassigned after everything that happened—but Danny found the silence where Malt’s voice used to be more distracting than the imaginary conversation.

Shortly after his release from detention and his return to the gun battalion, Brian had come to find him. The commander had brought a new flintlock.

The one Danny was holding now.

It looked similar to the bolt guns used by the rest of the sniper team at a glance. The difference was immediately apparent when he picked it up. Weight distribution. The way it settled. He had handled enough guns to recognize one that had been made with exceptional care—the way a swordsman could distinguish between a training blade and the real thing by the sound it made in the air, by the way the grip fit differently against the palm.

The barrel’s metal gleamed without roughness. Every joint was polished. No prickle in the grip, no binding in the action. And on top of the barrel: a monocular telescope, its lens engraved with two fine crisscrossed lines, the intersection marking exactly where the bullet would land.

Danny did not know the optics. He knew only that a distant target which had been a vague smear became clear and specific when he looked through the lens. The effective range, as far as he could tell, had been extended in practice as well as in theory. During the test session he had put rounds into a humanoid target at five hundred meters with roughly ninety percent headshot accuracy in still air.

When Brian told him the weapon had been made for him specifically—despite his misconduct—Danny had almost wept.

He had not earned this. His Majesty had chosen to give it anyway, and with it the freedom to select his own firing positions. Danny had no payment to make for that except his life, and he intended to honor the debt.

When Brian asked if he wanted a protector assigned to him, Danny had declined.

He already had two. The gun. And Malt.


The senior officers briefed every team before each engagement. Danny knew the operation in its broad shape: the artillery battalion would light their rampart and fire at intervals to draw the watchdog’s counter-attack, bleeding their strength in preparation for the main assault at dawn. Controlled fire rate was essential—too rapid a bombardment would scatter the enemy before they committed; too slow, and the ammunition reserves would be empty before the night was out.

He knew, because he had been paying attention, that the artillery battalion had no real awareness of how limited their shells were. A dozen carriages, more than half carrying cannon and machine gun ammunition. Two Longsong Cannons firing at exercise pace would exhaust the supply in under an hour. The soldiers in the artillery battalion had no idea. They had Hummingbird’s help to even get the equipment here, and they walked around as if the thunder they made was their own.

Danny had no patience for it.

The gun battalion carried everything themselves—weapons, ammunition, all of it. Each man was responsible for what he carried. That was how a real unit operated.

The real reason for the controlled firing rate is ammunition conservation, he thought. Not tactics. But let them believe what they want.

The supply convoy from the recruits was still one or two weeks out.

When the forward torchlight was lured into the First Army’s ambush, Danny raised his scope.

“Northerly wind. Moderate strength. Target is approximately seven hundred meters.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He spoke both sides. The habit was clean now, automatic; it kept him calm.

He had positioned himself closer to the rampart than his range would typically require—shooting across the field of advance rather than from behind. At night, with accuracy degraded, it was better to keep the targets visible and close than to extend range and lose them in the dark.

The Sand Nation warriors were skilled cavalry. As the scattered torchlight moved and organized, it gradually formed a line. Hooves on packed sand, a rhythm becoming a roll. They threw their torches—which Danny had expected—and drew blades that reflected nothing. Now the lit rampart of the artillery was the only fixed landmark in the dark.

Then, from both flanking sand hills at once: a series of flat, fast cracks.

The machine guns.

The distinct dry percussion of their fire mixed with the drumming hooves, and the two sounds together were the true beginning of it. Bullets swept across the charge. The desert erupted with shouting—screams and curses and the sound of bodies striking sand. Shadows moved faster than the torches had, erratic now, broken out of their formation.

Danny watched none of it.

His eyes stayed on the enemy at the very front.

“Five hundred meters. I have you.”

Night made target acquisition slow. He could barely distinguish the shape of the lead rider—a mass of shadow moving against slightly lesser shadow. But this was not an exercise. A clean kill required a hit anywhere on the body; it didn’t need to be the head. The mount would do as well as the rider.

He exhaled halfway. Held.

Pulled the trigger.

The barrel barely moved. The smoke rose. The lead rider simply—stopped. A quiver, a fall, and the horse continued without him.

This is my ground, Danny thought. This is where I belong.

“Did you see that, Malt?”

“Don’t lose focus. Next one is coming.”

“Already on it.”

He worked the bolt, settled, and began again.

He was perhaps a dozen targets in when he noticed it: multiple times he had acquired the lead rider, only to find—by the time the trigger broke—that the target was already going down. Falling sideways, always to the same side. Consistent.

Someone else was shooting.

The pattern was too precise to be random. He read it: a sniper positioned near one of the flanking sand hills, close enough to shoot through the torchless dark with something approaching certainty, hitting the torso reliably, predicting the rider’s path through the shifting desert wind before each shot rather than correcting for it after.

Is there another sniper in the army?

Danny didn’t know. He hadn’t been told. Could be someone from the precision shooting squad—or someone like him, a soldier from the gun battalion that His Majesty had equipped separately, given a special weapon and sent without fanfare.

He increased his pace.

He was not willing to lose to anyone. Not tonight.

Not with Malt watching.

“One remaining on your right. Two hundred fifty meters from the defensive line.”

“He’s mine.”

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