《Short Stories》Liam O'Flaherty: The Sniper
Advertisement
The long June twilight faded into night. Dublin lay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey. Around the beleaguered Four Courts the heavy guns roared. Here and there through the city, machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms. Republicans and Free Staters were waging civil war.
On a rooftop near O'Connell Bridge, a Republican sniper lay watching. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders was slung a pair of field glasses. His face was the face of a student, thin and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deep and thoughtful, the eyes of a man who is used to looking at death.
He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing since morning. He had been too excited to eat. He finished the sandwich, and, taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short draught. Then he returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment, considering whether he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in the darkness, and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk.
Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately, a bullet flattened itself against the parapet of the roof. The sniper took another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.
Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the parapet. There was a flash and a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He had seen the flash. It came from the opposite side of the street.
He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drew himself up behind it, until his eyes were level with the top of the parapet. There was nothing to be seen – just the dim outline of the opposite housetop against the blue sky. His enemy was under cover.
Just then an armoured car came across the bridge and advanced slowly up the street. It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards ahead. The sniper could hear the dull panting of the motor. His heart beat faster. It was an enemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless. His bullets would never pierce the steel that covered the gray monster.
Advertisement
Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head covered by a tattered shawl. She began to talk to the man in the turret of the car. She was pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer.
The turret opened. A man's head and shoulders appeared, looking toward the sniper. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. The head fell heavily on the turret wall. The woman darted toward the side street. The sniper fired again. The woman whirled round and fell with a shriek into the gutter.
Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang out and the sniper dropped his rifle with a curse. The rifle clattered to the roof. The sniper thought the noise would wake the dead. He stooped to pick the rifle up. He couldn't lift it. His forearm was dead. "I'm hit," he muttered.
Dropping flat onto the roof, he crawled back to the parapet. With his left hand he felt the injured right forearm. The blood was oozing through the sleeve of his coat. There was no pain--just a deadened sensation, as if the arm had been cut off.
Quickly he drew his knife from his pocket, opened it on the breastwork of the parapet, and ripped open the sleeve. There was a small hole where the bullet had entered. On the other side there was no hole. The bullet had lodged in the bone. It must have fractured it. He bent the arm below the wound. the arm bent back easily. He ground his teeth to overcome the pain.
Then taking out his field dressing, he ripped open the packet with his knife. He broke the neck of the iodine bottle and let the bitter fluid drip into the wound. A paroxysm of pain swept through him. He placed the cotton wadding over the wound and wrapped the dressing over it. He tied the ends with his teeth.
Then he lay still against the parapet, and, closing his eyes, he made an effort of will to overcome the pain.
In the street beneath all was still. The armoured car had retired speedily over the bridge, with the machine gunner's head hanging lifeless over the turret.
The woman's corpse lay still in the gutter.
The sniper lay still for a long time nursing his wounded arm and planning escape. Morning must not find him wounded on the roof. The enemy on the opposite roof covered his escape. He must kill that enemy and he could not use his rifle. He had only a revolver to do it. Then he thought of a plan.
Advertisement
Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed the rifle slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced the centre of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap clipped down into the street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left hand over the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop to the street. Then he sank to the roof, dragging his hand with him.
Crawling quickly to his feet, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeeded. The other sniper, seeing the cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killed his man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, with his head clearly silhouetted against the western sky.
The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of the parapet. The distance was about fifty yards – a hard shot in the dim light, and his right arm was paining him like a thousand devils.
He took a steady aim. His hand trembled with eagerness. Pressing his lips together, he took a deep breath through his nostrils and fired. He was almost deafened with the report and his arm shook with the recoil.
Then when the smoke cleared, he peered across and uttered a cry of joy. His enemy had been hit. He was reeling over the parapet in his death agony. He struggled to keep his feet, but he was slowly falling forward as if in a dream. The rifle fell from his grasp, hit the parapet, fell over, bounded off the pole of a barber's shop beneath and then clattered on the pavement.
Then the dying man on the roof crumpled up and fell forward. The body turned over and over in space and hit the ground with a dull thud. Then it lay still.
The sniper looked at his enemy falling and he shuddered. The lust of battle died in him. He became bitten by remorse. The sweat stood out in beads on his forehead.
Weakened by his wound and the long summer day of fasting and watching on the roof, he revolted from the sight of the shattered mass of his dead enemy. His teeth chattered, he began to gibber to himself, cursing the war, cursing himself, cursing everybody.
He looked at the smoking revolver in his hand, and with an oath he hurled it to the roof at his feet. The revolver went off with a concussion and the bullet whizzed past the sniper's head. He was frightened back to his senses by the shock. His nerves steadied. The cloud of fear scattered from his mind and he laughed.
Taking the whiskey flask from his pocket, he emptied it a draught. He felt reckless under the influence of the spirit. He decided to leave the roof now and look for his company commander, to report. Everywhere around was quiet. There was not much danger in going through the streets. He picked up his revolver and put it in his pocket. Then he crawled down through the skylight to the house underneath.
When the sniper reached the laneway on the street level, he felt a sudden curiosity as to the identity of the enemy sniper whom he had killed. He decided that he was a good shot, whoever he was. He wondered did he know him. Perhaps he had been in his own company before the split in the army. He decided to risk going over to have a look at him. He peered around the corner into O'Connell Street. In the upper part of the street there was heavy firing, but around here all was quiet.
The sniper darted across the street. A machine gun tore up the ground around him with a hail of bullets, but he escaped. He threw himself face downward beside the corpse. The machine gun stopped.
Then the sniper turned over the dead body and looked into his brother's face.
Advertisement
- In Serial70 Chapters
Law Of Karma
Yu Xiang had the good fortune of being reborn in this new world into a strong Sect. Now a fledgling Cultivator of his own, he seeks to go as far as his legs and soul will take him, hopefully causing the least amount of pain and misery possible to his fellow cultivators and mortal people alike. After all, with flying swords, reality-bending masters, and giant spiritual beasts running around, who knew if Karma was a thing here? Better to hedge his bets and be on his best behavior. If only it were that easy... ______________________________ Updates on Sundays. English isn't my first language so feel free to point out any weird sentences, or errors.
8 155 - In Serial23 Chapters
They Who Rule
They watch. They weigh. They rule. The Tu'i preside over the shadowy Motu 'Oe 'Otu Tu'i. Their tournaments run in perpetuity, constantly feeding their need for death and carnage. As the Advent of the 12th approaches, their machinations kick into overdrive. Some wish to see their leader's long-awaited demise. Others revel in the chaos. And still, others only live for the fight.
8 113 - In Serial45 Chapters
Chain Worlds: Rise of Three
Three friends leave their old lifes behind to search for their own future in the ranks of the rebellion. What starts out as a quest for adventure soon turns to a search for answers and the struggle to survive in a war where little is as it seems.The three of them are split up and have to find their own role in the war and the world it will change.As a Soldier at the front, a scribe in the city and a spy among enemies, the three play their part in the rebellion of Blackriver.
8 270 - In Serial7 Chapters
Blurred Border
When all your life comes to a halt, when you lose all motivation to do anything, would be that bad to lose yourself in a game? For Sophia, it was not even a question, just a quiet acceptance that her life heads that way. Since her mother bought her an experimental VR capsule she found herself fully enamored by a fantasy world of a game. A world where she can be herself, without societal pressure or expectations. Such a shame that real life stands in the way.
8 92 - In Serial15 Chapters
As You Are » Zarry ✔
"...I already know why you're doing this. You're doing this because of Harry's disability but people with mental disabilities can be loved too.""No. Get out of my house.".A heartwarming story of which one boy shows that even those who have any type of mental disability can be loved just as much as those who don't.4k+ comments
8 112 - In Serial55 Chapters
Lost in the woods:A Silmarillion fanfic
My life was normal. I had a job, I had a beautiful cat and i was living in a small flat among many in New York. For a long time nothing have changed. And I liked it.Untill one day my life changed completely... Because one day i found myself in Beleriad the first age. The age which Morgoth was the Great Enemy and Noldor was trying to get back the Silmarills. A Silmarillion fanfic .✳️~~•| I don't own any of the original Silmarillion characters except the characters I made.I don't own the pic of the cover or any pic in the story( i only have add the names on them)Started: May 1st 2020Finished: June 25th 2021*The user name in the bottom of the cover is my old one*
8 172