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Major Burke had a searing pain across his chest every time he moved his left arm. His ribs were broken, thanks to the point of the ax blade hitting him in the side. However, he was recovering, and he had a job to do. He trained to ignore pain and get on with the job. He relied on that now, as he crawled slowly and painfully through the pine forest surrounding the Cambria Cemetery.
It was dark, before dawn. Today was the funeral of Dr. Kipling. Major Burke had no interest in the funeral, other than to note the sequence of events leading up to when he would take part. He had the utmost respect for the man he was up against, which was the reason he was crawling into position in the darkness. To be in place before the first light of day, just in case the man did his own recon.
He found his blind, a place that gave him a clear view of the funeral chapel and the gravesites. From here, he could follow the ceremony from the chapel to the grave and back, enjoying total command of the theater of operations, if he have to act on his orders.
He lay in the cover of his blind while he opened the case he carried with him. Inside were the components of a high-powered sniper rifle. With utmost care, Major Burke checked each part before he assembled it. He had used it before, with great success. It was his preferred method of killing. From a distance, he could make a clean hit and extract himself quickly. It was simple, really. Preparation was the key, staking out the ground and selecting his blind and above all, being patient. He had to wait many hours now until after the funeral ceremony.
As the morning light filtered through the pines, Major Burke sighted through his scope, playing the many scenarios in his mind. It all depended on the position of the target when his mission went live.
Until then, he had to lay silent, waiting for the signal.
Major Burke wasn’t an emotional man. He couldn’t afford to be, in his line of business. However, he would have a small regret after this mission. After all, Commander Kipling was one of his own. A fellow soldier and a damn fine one. He also was the man who saved his head, as the Witch Doctor swung the ax towards his neck. It would be a shame to take him out.
The first shot could not miss. If the Commander moved out of his sights and located him, then he would have a battle royal on his hands. Forget his superior position over the field. Kipling would locate him easily, in these trees. He would move on him. He would carry a vengeance beyond even Burke’s comprehension. The man could move like no other he had seen in battle. Burke would not escape.
It was quite simple. He could not miss the first shot. If he did, he might as well turn the gun on himself.
As the sun rose and bathed the cemetery in California sunshine, as the people drove up and filed into the chapel, Burke waited for his signal to act. He had his orders from his superior, Gerhard Schraeder.
He would track Kipling all afternoon through his riflescope, preparing for the one critical shot. There would be a signal and he would act, without thinking.
He spoke his greatest wish in a soft voice, as if his quarry was near. He didn’t want the man to hear, but he wished he could tell him.
“Just shake the devil’s hand, Commander,” he said, in a whisper. “Just do me one favor and shake his fucking hand...”