Mercenary’s War
Chapter 493 - 493 490 The Death of the Grim Reaper

493: Chapter 490: The Death of the Grim Reaper 493: Chapter 490: The Death of the Grim Reaper Martin, nicknamed the Grim Reaper, full name Martin Beniro Etro Beltes, held the rank of Sergeant and was a veteran selected for the Air Force Special Command Group due to his excellent performance and had served for four years.

Since the Air Force Special Command Group undertook tasks of a particular nature, Martin had never engaged in actual combat since being selected.

Instead, he participated more in training and exercises.

However, before joining the Air Force Special Command Group, Martin had served in combat multiple times with outstanding performance.

Before joining the Air Force Special Command Group, Martin was an army sniper who, in combat against guerrillas and drug traffickers, had achieved the impressive feat of 76 kills and was called the Grim Reaper by his comrades.

Because of his exceptional performance, Martin caught the attention of Air Force Command.

After a complex process, he was transferred from the army to the air force.

As a special talent, Martin, when transferring between branches, requested to take his sniper rifle to the new unit.

His request was approved, making him the only sniper in the entire Air Force Special Command Group to have his personal rifle.

Martin’s sniper rifle was the M24A2, a military derivative of the Remington M700, equipped with a Leupold LR/T M3 long-range tactical 10x40mm fixed magnification scope.

In contrast, the standard-issue sniper rifles for the Air Force Special Command Group were the M21 and M40A3.

This meant Martin’s sniper rifle was unique within the entire group.

As special talent, of course, he received special treatment.

Not only did Martin have a unique gun in the Air Force Special Command Group, but he also had the unique right to choose.

The snipers of the Air Force Special Command Group operated in teams, the principal shooter using the M40A3 and the backup shooter using the M21.

However, Martin, who preferred to work alone, did not have a backup shooter.

It was his choice and his privilege.

Without a backup shooter, Martin had to do everything himself.

He knelt on one knee and used his binoculars to scan the target area they were surrounding.

The weather was fine, clear and windless, perfect for sniper warfare.

Martin, who hadn’t participated in actual combat for a long time, hoped to engage in a battle today and add a new number to his kill record that hadn’t increased in four years.

Finally, Martin spotted the enemy through his binoculars.

A line of skirmishers consisting of dozens of men was slowly approaching his position.

Martin felt that his enemies this time were no different from those he had encountered before, although they used tactical movements more frequent; it was still the same old army tactics, crawling forward, rising to sprint while hunched over, and then crawling forward again.

The enemy seemed cautious, but Martin didn’t mind in the slightest.

He had seen many battles and knew what the guerrillas were made of.

Whether they were greenhorns who charged forward with their heads down or veterans who knew how to advance using cover, it made no difference to him.

Whoever he wanted dead was certain to die.

The enemy was still far off, a distance of one kilometer away.

Martin didn’t rush to put down his binoculars to grab his rifle.

He decided to wait until they were within range before taking aim.

For now, it was better to observe the enemy’s habits, get a feel for their patterns of movement, so that shooting them later would be more convenient.

Looking at his companions, who were on high alert, shouting, and clutching their rifles ready to shoot, Martin inwardly sighed.

Rookies were just rookies.

Even though they were said to be elite forces and underwent intense training with many exercises, if they hadn’t experienced actual combat, they were still greenhorns.

The enemy wasn’t even in range yet.

What was the point in getting so worked up?

Martin’s sniper rifle had an effective range of 800 meters, but he felt more confident within 600 meters, so he decided to wait until the enemy came within 800 meters before it was necessary to start aiming.

Old soldiers were old soldiers, and new soldiers were new soldiers.

Even new soldiers who had undergone rigorous training were still new soldiers.

Martin was the picture of calm and composed, whereas his comrades couldn’t keep as relaxed.

However, after seeing Martin’s demeanor, they began to steady themselves from the slight panic they felt upon spotting the enemy.

At this time, Martin, with his rich combat experience, became a valuable asset to the new soldiers lacking actual combat experience, playing a significant role in his team.

Martin’s conduct greatly reassured his comrades.

A deputy sniper from another sniper team about ten meters from Martin shouted at him, “Hey, Reaper, let’s see who gets more kills today, what do you say?”

Although he received special treatment, Martin got along very well with his comrades.

He was happy to accept the challenge because being challenged meant his comrade had already relaxed from the tension.

Martin smiled and said, “Sure, loser buys drinks, trust me, you can’t win…”

Martin didn’t finish his sentence, his mouth agape in shock, because the person who was speaking to him no longer had a head above his neck, it was gone,

The deputy sniper speaking to Martin had become a headless corpse, with blood spraying from his neck, staining a large patch of ground red in front of him.

As he watched the speaking deputy sniper turn into a corpse and his blood hit the ground, Martin heard two muffled gunshots.

Those two shots snapped Martin out of his daze, and then he realized that it wasn’t just that deputy sniper who died before him.

The main sniper lying on the ground had also been killed, a bullet entering through his shoulder, blowing apart the entire left side of his upper torso.

Martin quickly understood that it was a large-caliber anti-material sniper rifle.

The guerrillas didn’t have large-caliber anti-material sniper rifles, and even Martin, an experienced soldier, lacked experience in dealing with them.

“The enemy has a large-caliber sniper rifle, damn it, why didn’t those bastards from the Jaguar inform us, those damned…”

Here was another man who didn’t finish his sentence.

Martin just stared blankly at his commander, who was now severed into two pieces at the waist.

Every soldier wishes to have the cover of a sniper, and no soldier wants to see their commander killed, but once on the battlefield, soldiers tend to keep their distance from snipers and commanders.

Snipers and officers are definitely the enemy’s priority targets.

It’s better to keep your distance on the battlefield.

Encountering a sniper might be manageable, but what if you come across artillery?

Snipers and officers will try to disguise themselves, but in this encirclement operation, there wasn’t much detailed sniping camouflage because there was no time, nor was it deemed necessary—at least, they thought it wasn’t necessary.

In battle, officers would remove all insignia indicating their rank and blend in with the common soldiers; such was the best disguise.

Martin’s commander, a lieutenant, did exactly that—except he kept a small mustache.

Martin’s mind was in chaos.

He didn’t dare kneel on one knee anymore; instead, he lay prone on the ground, picked up his sniper rifle, and aimed it at the slowly advancing enemy.

Martin’s mind was a mess.

His eyes saw the enemy’s movements, but his thoughts were haunted by the horrendous image of his commander being blown apart.

He had once joked with his commander about shaving off his mustache to avoid exposing his officer status and becoming a sniper’s target.

Martin couldn’t remember what his commander had said in response; it was likely something along the lines of nothing bad happening, or a similar kind of answer.

Now, Martin wondered if the enemy had chosen their lieutenant as a target because they spotted his mustache or if it was just a coincidence.

Their lieutenant was just randomly selected as a target after all, could a sniper really discern a small mustache on the lips from over a kilometer away?

As an experienced soldier, Martin fell into a state of confusion that he shouldn’t have, acting no different than a green recruit.

Because his enemy’s abilities exceeded his imagination, the things they accomplished were unimaginable to him, leaving him with a more severe psychological impact than a new recruit.

“Grim Reaper, Grim Reaper!

Change position, change battleground!”

After hearing the hoarse screams of his comrades, Martin snapped out of his daze and immediately started crawling backward to retreat.

Needing a reminder from a comrade without combat experience embarrassed Martin, but at that moment, he was grateful for the reminder.

It was clear that the enemy was targeting their snipers.

If a sniper could pick out a small mustache on someone’s face, could they not also distinguish his sniper rifle?

Martin didn’t dare to stand up and move.

As he was rolling and crawling to a new position, a machine gun emplacement about twenty meters away from him opened fire.

Martin felt bewildered.

Their enemies were still a kilometer away, and their machine guns were the M249 Paratrooper model.

Its 5.56mm bullets couldn’t reach that far.

Firing now was just a waste of bullets and wouldn’t even have a suppressive effect.

But what else could they do if they didn’t fire?

They were a light, rapid-response unit equipped only with M249s and M4 rifles.

Even their sniper rifles could only hit targets within eight hundred meters.

If they didn’t start shooting now, would they just watch the enemy approach?

As he started to drift into idle thoughts, Martin saw the machine gunner’s head tilt to the side and then collapse.

He too had been killed by a sniper.

But his death was less gruesome, not blown apart.

The bullet that killed the machine gunner wasn’t powerful enough to tell Martin the caliber, but it definitely wasn’t 12.7mm.

The enemy was still a kilometer away.

Could the common 7.62mm bullet travel that far?

Certainly not, so the enemy must be using a different type of bullet, not the usual 7.62 NATO, right?

Martin’s mind was cluttered with many thoughts, and he began to miss the days when he was in the Army, supported by 12.7mm caliber machine guns.

The enemy had not officially charged yet, but several of their men were already down.

Martin didn’t know how to fight this battle or how they could continue fighting.

However, he finally confirmed one thing—that the enemy snipers must be shooting from the trees, otherwise, they wouldn’t have such a good line of sight.

Martin finally stopped moving, and after a brief analysis of the enemy sniper’s trajectory, he aimed his rifle at the deduced position.

A short search confirmed the presence of an enemy sniper.

The sniper Martin had spotted did not seem to bother with camouflage at all, boldly sitting on a tree branch.

However, Martin could not bring himself to shoot because the sniper was over one thousand one hundred meters away.

Having located the enemy sniper but out of range, Martin was at a loss for what to do.

To shoot would be meaningless, yet not to shoot and merely watch was even more unacceptable to him.

Martin saw a flash of light from the muzzle in his scope—the sniper had shot.

After a moment of being stunned, he realized he should dodge whether the sniper was aiming at him or not.

However, he found his reaction too slow.

Martin felt a hammer-strength blow to his right shoulder, his rifle’s butt falling to the ground.

He tried to turn his head, only to discover he couldn’t move at all.

Reaching with his left hand, Martin realized he had been shot near his right shoulder, close to his neck.

Martin wore a bulletproof vest, but the bullet had entered through a gap in the vest on his shoulder, rendering it completely ineffective.

At last, Martin felt the pain.

It was as if a fireball was searing his insides.

Lying on the ground, unable to move his head, although he could still see and feel pain, Martin knew he was dying.

Yet, he felt neither fear nor anger at that moment, just curiosity about how the sniper had managed it.

After being shot, Martin’s mind raced faster.

He knew the bullet that hit him was not of a large caliber; otherwise, he would be dead by now.

It must have been a medium-caliber sniper rifle, like 7.62mm.

After traveling more than a thousand meters, the bullet wouldn’t have much power left, but Martin couldn’t fathom the existence of a medium-caliber sniper rifle with such a long range and such a quick bullet.

It was illogical.

Martin’s agony continued for a long time.

Dying quickly would’ve been a relief, but he was unable to move or die immediately.

The enemy charged in, not quickly, but efficiently.

Their rush met little resistance.

The machine gunners barely had a chance to fire before attracting the sniper’s retaliation.

However, once the enemy assault team entered a range of four hundred meters, they started shooting, crawling forward, leaping up, firing, and quickly advancing.

They would drop down, leap up, fire, and continue to push forward in simple yet standard tactical movements, covering one another with rhythmic but unpredictable advancements.

None of the enemies charging towards them fell.

Finally, the enemies reached their position, but Martin did not draw their attention.

Martin’s vision was growing blurrier, but he saw an enemy’s foot approach and then crouch down.

Martin strained his eyes for a better look and to his surprise, he discovered the enemy was Asian.

Then, he heard the Asian man crouch in front of him and murmur, “Rabbit, there are several sniper rifles here, M21 and M40A3.

I also found an M24 over here.

Which one do you want?”

Martin understood English, having been trained in the language.

In his confusion, as darkness enveloped his eyes and he lost consciousness forever, Martin’s last thought was, “Did I really die without firing a single shot?” (To be continued.

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