A Sniper's Life

 

My name is Anastazyev, and I'm a sniper. Not just any ordinary shotgun thrower, but the best of the best, a true master of his craft. You might think: murderer! Wicked! Ha, maybe you're right, but I'm proud of what I do, and above all, of the immense craftsmanship I represent. I'm currently lying on the roof of building no. 126 on Wyrwidęba Street, waiting for the opportunity to make me famous. My beautiful, rapid-fire Luger, manufactured in Germany using Israeli and Spanish parts, partially assembled in China, but with all the required manufacturing procedures, rests beside me, ready to fire. A watch lies a short distance away. Not just any ordinary timepiece, some artisanal junk you can buy in any supermarket. My Swanson is a true masterpiece of Swiss watchmaking, tested in the freezing Siberian cold and in the deserts of Egypt and Sudan, a gem used by American and Israeli commandos on their most dangerous missions. In my line of work, I can't afford mediocre equipment. The Swanson is showing 5 o'clock. God, how beautifully it shows. So professional and reliable. When I activate the anti-reflective system and the date flickers slightly in the upper right corner, just in case I need to know what day it is and suddenly forgot about it due to the chaos of the operation, then I know for sure that every penny I spent on the Swanson was the best investment. It's not that I underestimate the Luger; it's a masterpiece in its class, but after the mission is over, it sits hidden in a basement vault for a long time, and for safety reasons, I can't feast my eyes on it. I wear the Swanson every day and I'm delighted with it. The needle has now moved slightly, pointing to 5:15. The target should be in the firing line in about two minutes. Now, peace and quiet. I have to concentrate as hard as I can; I can only fire one, single shot. It will be too late to repeat it. The hell that will break loose afterward will give me five, maybe six minutes to escape. I focus on the image I see through the scope. The sidewalk and the people walking along it. Shops. First a grocery store, then a fishmonger's, then a drugstore. The scope moves to the left and stops. The door to the restaurant. That's where the prey will emerge. I just have to wait. I lie there and watch. I'm patient. Swanson has just signaled that the wind has picked up from the northwest. Great, thanks, friend. Something has appeared in the scope's field of view. I immediately adjust the focus and adjust the zoom. A false alarm, just some mutt walking along the sidewalk and stopping for a moment, probably attracted by the delicious smells emanating from the restaurant. I think he looked into my eyes for a split second, which is an idiotic assumption in itself,Because how could a mere dog spot a perfectly camouflaged sniper from fifty meters away? Ridiculous. I have to focus. Seconds tick by, my mind goes into overdrive, my heightened senses transform me into a perfectly functioning killing machine, Swanson is signaling.... WHAT THE HELL!!!! That damn mutt is staring into my scope again, and on top of that... God, I think I'm slowly going crazy, this must be a side effect of an overly focused mind. I think the dog is wagging its tail at me, and... no, no, it can't possibly be smiling. Certainly not at a perfectly camouflaged sniper. Why did he come back here? I'd like to believe it wasn't true, but this dog acts like he knows perfectly well I'm watching him. I don't have time; I have to ignore him and focus on the target. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and bring my eye back to the scope. The target will be leaving the restaurant any minute now. A dog parades in front of a restaurant, head held high, then suddenly stops and... I almost squeezed the trigger prematurely and missed the shot when I saw it. The dog had just done a somersault, landing on all fours and bowing slightly as if expecting a thunderous applause. Jesus Christ, is that some kind of fucking circus performer? Why isn't anyone else paying attention to his antics? Calm, calm. The restaurant door opens and I see a man leaving. He puts his hat on his head and walks toward the center. I zoom in on his face. Pointed nose, jutting chin, glasses, mustache, three-day stubble. That's not him. That's not my target. I return to my observation post. Swanson's shows twenty past five. It's past the time I'd set, but the target might be late. Maybe something kept him in the restaurant for a few more minutes. The important thing is not to get nervous. I have to wait. I feel a trickle of sweat dripping down my forehead. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of that damn animal again. I could have easily digested the fact that the dog had returned, but the fact that he'd brought a black tomcat with him, bowing to it and inviting it to dance made me seriously question my sanity. The animals danced in front of the restaurant door as if nothing had happened. At some point... Why not, come on, nothing will surprise me anymore. The cat, with immense grace and finesse worthy of a ballerina, had just performed a quadruple pirouette, sending his companion into unimaginable delight. Ignore them, think about the task at hand and the restaurant door. So what if the dog just threw himself on his back and started spinning on the sidewalk like some wild carousel. That's none of my business. And... OH MY GOD. A rat emerged from the manhole and is dragging... Of course, what's so strange about that? The rat sets up the drum kit, sits on a chair, and begins banging on the drums and cymbals with the sticks in his paws. The cat and dog jump with joy and surrender to the live rhythms. I'm not sure,But I think my blood pressure has spiked to the point of a heart attack. God, I'm going crazy. This is the end of my career, and it was supposed to be so beautiful. Mission accomplished, honors, medals... TASK!!! I return to the restaurant door. It's open. Damn, someone has left. I missed him. Several people are walking along the sidewalk. Three men, one older, two younger, and a woman. The woman is out. Which one is it?!! I can't fail the mission. This is tantamount to desertion; I'm facing a court martial. I'll probably kill them all. I'll explain myself later. I focus my sights on the older man's head. One goat death, I pull the trigger. The Luger responds with a dull, unproductive thud.

STOP ANASTASYEV, TASK COMPLETED, MISSION FAILED!

The voice comes from a loudspeaker set up below. Suddenly, armored personnel carriers full of soldiers roll onto the street, blocking traffic. Behind them appear command vehicles and two armored government vehicles. A helicopter hovered over the building.

LIEUTENANT ANASTASYEV IS REQUESTED TO REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO THE TEMPORARY COMMAND HEADQUARTERS.

The headquarters is a metal barracks brought in a few minutes ago by a massive truck. Soldiers have surrounded it with a tight cordon of fortifications and vehicles. Guards stand in front of the door, checking my papers. Strange, soldiers don't usually smile at the sight of documents. I pass through security, depositing my Luger. I'm about to face the commanders, who will probably give me a hard time. But that's nothing compared to what they'll do after hearing my report. I wonder if it'll be difficult to find civilian work after leaving the hospital. These days, it probably is. Inside the temporary quarters, I see three men.

"Lieutenant Anastasyev reporting as ordered," I say, saluting General Kaczorowski

. "Relax, Lieutenant," the general replies. "Please come in ." I'm

entering. The other men remain seated in their chairs.

"This is Major Podbierzalski from our technical corps," General Kaczorowski introduces. "And also Lieutenant Jacewicz from counterintelligence."

I greet them, wondering what prompted them to meet with me. The general himself could have handled the botched mission without the need for technical and counterintelligence services. Strange. General Kaczorowski walks around the table and turns to me.

"Well, Lieutenant, your mission was a complete failure, and I must admit we're very disappointed with your attitude." We put a lot of work and time into training you, and we hoped you'd be up to the task. Fortunately, this is just a training exercise and simulation, because under natural conditions, you'd be dead. Would you like to add anything in the way of commentary?

I feel my heart pounding in my chest. Too much excitement for one day. Maybe this whole army, secret missions, and assignments aren't for me. Maybe I've made a mistake about how I want to spend my life. Now I have a whole host of dilemmas. The men stare at me silently, probably waiting for me to blow my brains out.

"General," I say, "I'd like to inform you that during the mission, unexpected circumstances occurred that prevented the proper execution of the task.

" "Namely?

Exactly. How can I tell them this?

" "I got distracted.

" "You were trained for this purpose," Major Podbierzalski now spoke up. "You have no right to succumb to any influence and not focus fully on the mission. What was it?"

"I think it's a dog and a cat," I reply.

"What?!"

"And a rat, too."

The silence that followed makes me already convinced I'll be returning to my unit in a straitjacket.

"Organizing my thoughts, let's summarize." The general paces from window to wall, scratching his head. "One of our best snipers is failing because he's distracted by the sight of a dog and a cat. Do I understand correctly?"

"And a rat," I add. "He completely unsettled me.

" "You don't like animals, Lieutenant?

" "I do, but these were dancing and doing somersaults," I say, unable to handle the pressure. My nerves are frantic, causing a torrent of words, completely uncoordinated sentences, to pour out of me as if from a leaky bucket. "That was incredible. You might think I'm crazy, whatever, you'll definitely think I'm crazy, but I swear they were doing everything they could to distract me." They knew perfectly well I was sitting on the roof and winked at me, laughed, and danced. And the rat, the rat...

"What's wrong with him, Lieutenant?

" "THAT FUCKING RAT WAS PLAYING THE DRUM. A TINY ONE, AND SITTING ON A MINIATURE CHAIR, LIKE A DAMN RINGO STAR!"

Silence again. General Kaczorowski turned to Podbierzalski.

"What do you think, Major?

" "Well, it seems Animal Planet worked brilliantly.

Their words are reaching me with a delay. What are they talking about?

" "I must admit, my initial skepticism has been dispelled," the general continues. "Today has convinced me to this project.

I'm listening and I can't believe what I'm hearing.

" "Excuse me," I interrupt. "Could you, gentlemen, explain to me what this is all about?"

The general approaches me.

"In short, Lieutenant Anastasyev, you failed the mission, which is reprehensible from our point of view, but you're partially absolved of any wrongdoing because we allowed ourselves to test our latest sabotage and espionage equipment on you.

Bang. Like a slap to the head.

" "So, those, er... in front of the restaurant...

" "Yes, Lieutenant, they're the most technologically advanced equipment provided to us by the US Army as part of the offset for the purchase of B-729 bombers. The Pentagon is guarding the Animal Planet project like the apple of its eye, and as allies in peacekeeping missions on the fronts in Syria, Lebanon, Iran, Vietnam, and North Korea, we received four test kits in confidence. Today we conducted the first of them.

" "Kits?" I ask, the shock slowly wearing off.

"Yes," the general replies. "The first kit consists of cybernetic, remotely controlled, and programmable copies of a dog, a cat, and a rat, along with accessories.

" "For example, a drum kit?

" "Yes." This was supposed to further distract you and prevent you from completing your task.

Poor people who get their hands on Animal Planet.

"You're probably aware that Animal Planet's capabilities are enormous. As a dog, a cat, or a rat, but also a crow or a weasel, we can get behind enemy lines, carrying out espionage and sabotage missions. The cyborgs are operated via satellite from our main base. That's brilliant. But that's not all," the general visibly perked up. "As part of the offset agreement, suicide badgers and missile-launching hares will be manufactured at our plants in Mielec. Isn't that wonderful?

Truly wonderful.

" "You'll have to sign a declaration of state secrets," Lieutenant Jacewicz from counterintelligence spoke up for the first time. "From now on, we're placing you under constant protection. Apparently, the Russians suspect something and have doubled their espionage activities in our territory. They might want to intercept you.

" "So from now on, I'll be locked up, unable to move freely?"

"Nothing like that, Lieutenant," Jacewicz replies. "You have to act as if nothing had happened, and we'll take care of the rest.

" "But how...

" The dog brushed against my pant leg and barked friendly.

"Meet the T-364. From now on, it will be your companion. This way, we can conduct observation and monitoring without arousing suspicion. You will, of course, receive operating and maintenance instructions. There shouldn't be any problems.

The day is slowly drawing to a close. It's been a very busy and exciting day. I'm walking towards the city center, where my apartment is located on the fourth floor of a tenement building. The T-364 follows me like a shadow. I think I'll have to come up with a name for it. I know my life will change now. Jacewicz told me not to get upset when I see a rat in my apartment carrying listening equipment from one part of the apartment to another. It's normal. However, it will take me a while to get used to it. And I'll have to warn Maria about everything." I'm afraid this may be the most difficult task.