Chapter 13

Whilst Emma and her family were munching through a hearty lunch in the French Alps, Archie Malcolm had co-ordinated his team and resources. He had a number of people reporting to him directly and, as Commander Edgar Bennett had confirmed, if he could justify it, then he could use the full force of the fleet and land forces.

The sniper hit the very centre of the target that was located over one hundred and ten metres from where he lay. A slight wisp of smoke blew across the range as the men took aim on the individual enemy targets. This test was important to them. Their Lieutenant Malcolm, respected and known as a strong team player, had confirmed that only full scores would be good enough. By this he meant ten perfect strikes on the centre bull and nothing less.

The look of concentration on each individual face said it all. The phrase ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ is so often true and, just by looking at this team of crack professionals, you could tell that they wanted to be winners, to be a part of whatever mission lay in store.

Archie had not been able to tell any of his colleagues what they were competing for, where they would be going, or who they might be up against. It was just another perfect unknown for these soldiers and this was, after all, what most of them lived and breathed for.

The original sniper was onto his seventh perfect shot and the pressure was on. A tear slowly peeled out of the corner of his eye as there was a slight wind and, despite being close to the end of the summer, it was a little cool at six thirty in the morning.

The range was located just off Portsea Island, where access could be controlled through the double sentry manned gates and the one tarmac entry and exit road. Up to eighty snipers could be firing at the same time, using a variety of targets over different distances. Archie’s eight hopefuls were firing their ten rounds over the longest distance with the smallest targets and Archie was enjoying it. He was willing them on. He wanted them all to be perfect and expected nothing less. His pacing up and down just behind their outstretched bodies was probably not helping his team to concentrate, but they were professionals and needed to deal with it.

As the marksman aimed carefully on his tenth and final shot, the cool air, which had allowed the single tear to roll down the bottom half of his cheek, started to make further progress downwards. It was one of those minor distractions, that is enough to irritate and put off the subject. The sniper blinked again and the single tear fell onto the top of the breach.

The pressure of the event meant that the sniper’s hands were slightly clammy. By now he ached from having lain prone, partially supporting the weight of the rifle, with the barrel of the weapon nestled on the sandbags. The tear put him off. His shot went millimetres away from where it should have been.

He was angry, he knew that he was as good, if not better than the rest of this group and yet he had failed. A soldier with years of experience and combat and yet he could no longer put together ten perfect scores on the rifle range. An off day, a very off day. Not happy. Who to blame? Not himself, no. Who was the up and coming young officer who thought he knew it all? Archie Malcolm. Well, Archie Malcolm, you cannot have it your way all the time. You have to have some downs as well as ups and Petty Officer Stuart Betts will make sure that for once in your perfect life, Archie Malcolm, you will have a down.