Luck of a Gambler: And other short stories

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Copyright 2019 © Edward Fletcher

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Disclaimer

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional.

The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.

Also by Edward Fletcher:

Six Wheels and a Full Tank

The Sniper

Movement from the enemy lines attracted the marksman again and the rifle was lifted into position. The sniper’s position in the trees overlooked a pockmarked paddy-field. This had been badly torn up from previous shell and mortar fire. Beyond this, a badly pockmarked field was even closer to the enemy lines – from where careless targets periodically drifted into view.

This soldier would be another easy victim, probably just as careless as the others. The sniper waited patiently, urging the victim closer, watching him slosh through the boggy ground, seemingly carefree – as though the war was in another section of the country!

The thoughtless soldier had already passed the designated No Man’s Land and was now heading across a badly torn-up paddy field where a vicious skirmish had taken place days before.

A fringe of palm trees momentarily concealed the soldier. The sniper waited patiently for the foolish soldier to re-appear.

The enemy’s disregard for his safety irritated the sniper as nimble fingers adjusted the rifle sights, allowing for the slight wind deviation.

It had to be another young soldier. That would explain his unbelievable behaviour. Anyway, it would be another easy target, the fourteenth victim in as many days.

There would be no reprieve for this foolish soldier searching for a silly souvenir – he would die. He was the enemy …

The sniper relaxed, waiting for the victim to walk into the fine threads bisecting the scope’s field of vision. Bending down the soldier seemingly retrieved something from the mud then, standing upright, scanned the trees as if sensing alien eyes observing him.

The sniper squeezed the trigger, enjoying the surprised look on the soldier’s face as he pitched backward into the mud. The rifle was returned to its support. It was time to relax now, wait for another target. If a search patrol was despatched, it meant a hasty retreat until it was safe to return. There would be another target later – it was only a matter of time …

Another one! Hawksly cursed. "This stinkin’ lousy war! Why don’t they come out in the open and fight like real men!"

Weston looked up from his secure position inside the sand-bagged compound. Well, anyone who goes out there hunting for souvenirs deserves a damned hole in the head!

But, Hawksly protested, he was only a damned kid! Only yesterday he showed me his girlfriend’s photo and –

I’ve got a girlfriend in Sydney, Weston retaliated, but that doesn’t mean I would walk out there to get a hole in me I don’t need!

But he was only nineteen, Hawksly persevered, still determined to make his point, now he’s dead an’ – !

Lay off!! Weston swore pushing to his feet. He was a large man with a lot of respect for loose bullets in this extended war. He also had plenty of respect for what the army had taught him about one’s survival.

He glared at the spindly form of Hawksly. How long have you been in this business, Hawk? he snapped.

Hawksly looked up, surprised at the question. Huh? You know I’ve been in eight years, the same as you. We joined together – remember? We –

"Then ain’t you learnt anything? Would you go out there chasin’ stupid souvenirs in ‘No Man’s Land’?"

No, but you missed the –

An’ didn’t you hear me earlier warning young Johnson to stay here? Weston’s nostrils flared. He shrugged defiantly. Johnson got what he was lookin’ for, ‘sides I don’t hear him complaining.

Well, that’s a fact, Hawksly reluctantly agreed, he won’t be complaining again …

Weston nodded, his only concern in this damned Army was just looking after himself!

He seemed a nice kid, Hawksly persisted.

Weston grunted non-committedly. He was happy to leave souvenir hunting for the more adventurous idiots. Just sit and relax here while you can, mate.

I guess you’re right, Hawksly returned and sighed. Johnson acted like an idiot going out there.

Weston lit another cigarette, spat out a string of tobacco then studied Hawksly. "You won’t get any medals worrying about Johnson. Anyway, you should be happy you’re not out there somewhere slogging your damned guts out with Bravo company – in this stinkin’ heat!"

Hawksly nodded and finally remained silent.

Anyway, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to go out there with that hot-pot throwing lead around, Weston continued and pouted thoughtfully. "That’s the third he’s nailed this week, ain’t it, heh?"

Before Hawksly could reply, Sergeant Bruchus swept in alongside. He quickly crouched down beside them. The pair watched in amusement as the obnoxious Sergeant first ensured he was safely installed behind the camouflage net. He then glared at both soldiers. His lips parted, showing his stained teeth, his eyes displaying his usual sullen glare.

"I’ve got a special job for two keen volunteers, he smirked, an’ you two look just what I need! Off your bums – now!" he ordered.

Weston cursed, flicked his cigarette away and stood. The steel in Bruchus’ eye indicated another obnoxious chore was lined up for them. Do the pig bins need cleanin’ again or do you want another latrine dug, sir? Weston inquired with tongue-in-cheek.

Bruchus eyed him coldly. Better than that, my boy-o, he ground slowly, seemingly considering whether Weston was being a little too smart. "Much better than that!" He took a deep breath and glared at the pair.

"The last time you morons cleaned those bins, you took most of the bloody coating off!"

We try to do the best we can, sir, Weston returned coldly.

You pair are just too keen! Bruchus ground sarcastically, seemingly considering whether Weston was being just a little too smart. "That is why I especially picked you two morons for this job! I like men who volunteer and never complain!"

Weston swore under his breath. What do have you in mind, Sergeant?

Bruchus smirked and pointed at the trees. "There’s a bloody sniper in there somewhere. You pair of morons can earn your keep and flush him out! Get your gear together, then see Preezy for extra ammunition. Now!"

Weston groaned, peered momentarily at the trees through the camouflage net then groaned again.

Bruchus smirked, seemingly enjoying Weston’s obvious discomfort. "Well, what are you two morons waiting for? he snarled. You’re not waiting for an order-of-battle briefing first, are you?"

Weston muttered dark oaths under his breath, unable to complain without digging himself into a further mire of trouble. Bruchus was born with a jerry-built brain and a double dose of mean malice!

"You did hear me?" Bruchus intoned impatiently.

"I heard, sir, Weston returned. Couldn’t we set up a couple of mortars and chop him out of those damned trees, sir?"

Bruchus spat on the ground then sneered. Why don’t I just ’phone headquarters for a couple of light bombers – with a load of bloody rockets also! His eyes blazed resentment. "Or better still, I could get Section B Artillery to drop a ten-minute barrage – for one lousy, stinkin’ sniper! His jaw tightened, highlighting the cold hardness in his eyes. It’s time you pair earned your board for a change!"

Both soldiers remained silent, enmeshed in individual thoughts.

Bruchus watched with increasing amusement. We’ve made up two dummy soldiers. At exactly 1400 hours we’re gonna move them out into view. Once we draw his fire, you two had better stop sucking your thumbs and be in a position to locate his hiding place.

That sounds like a good ploy, Sergeant, Weston finally offered benevolently, cursing the unenviable assignment tossed in their laps.

Make your initial shots tell – he could be a lot smarter than you pair and won’t be fooled a second time. Bruchus smiled coldly. "I’d hate to lose my two best soldiers! He grinned sarcastically. You can both stay out there till your mission is completed – and don’t waste any ammunition also! Understand?"

"If he’s still there," Hawksly added, trying not to display even more his aversion of the ridiculous operation. And Bruchus as well.

That is what you two are gonna find out! It may liven this damned place up for a change. He waved a beefy fist. "Now move it, you pair!"

The distant pop of small-arms fire sounded somewhere. The heavier staccato bark of a machine gun joined in, softened by distance as the two soldiers moved off.

Seems like a bit of action going on somewhere, Weston remarked eyeing his watch. We’ve got thirty-five minutes to locate that sniper before Bruchus brings those dummies into view.

To their left was the remains of shattered banana trees, further ahead a disgusting boggy field of churned-up mud beckoned them closer, beyond a badly-bombed road of sorts was going nowhere. There was little cover as the two men sloshed cautiously through the muddy field.

Weston studied the distant trees again, seeking any tell-tale movement. Both men then continued, both cursing as they ground through the offensive-smelling and drowned ground.

You reckon he’s still there? Hawksly groaned.

Most likely, Weston cursed, however, we have to get closer – we’ll probably only get one chance.

Hawksly looked up as three jets screamed overhead. "Why don’t you bastards fire a couple of rockets here where it will do the most good," he muttered bitterly watching the planes speeding across the sky as if they owned it.

Sloshing through the disgusting ooze while watching for trip wires or one of the other nasty tricks employed by the enemy they continued.

Countless men had lost legs from mines or been impaled by spiked boards suddenly whipping up. It was a damned war of hate, nerves and painful deaths.

A heavy barrage of artillery shells shrieked overhead. The solid ground beneath the smelly morass trembled as the missiles exploded miles away. I’m glad we’re not on the receiving end of that lot, Weston commented. See anything yet?

Hawksly cursed anew at the stinking morass he was crawling through Nothing. He might have already noticed us an’ is waitin’ for a closer shot.

Weston grunted, wanting to scratch an itch and resisting any undue movement. Sweat had soaked his uniform, the weight of mud clinging to him was like a disgusting second skin. It was an effort to keep his rifle clean – it was his true and ever-reliable friend …

Keep a sharp look out – we’ve got a little time up our sleeve.

He has to be set up in those trees ahead of us, Hawksly grunted in a bitter return. "Trees are like bloody army Sergeants – there’s just too many of the bastards!"

Hawksly chewed on his already tasteless gum. "Our target must be in that section to the left. That would provide