Chapter 22 – The 1km Record
It was a warm, silent night in Ramadi. The base seemed calm, but Alex Rider knew that didn't mean it was safe. On days when everything seemed quiet, the chances of a surprise attack increased.
He was on top of a partially destroyed building, lying on a makeshift mattress of sand and empty sacks, his L115A3 propped on a bipod. Beside him, Connors, his spotter, was monitoring the area with his night vision binoculars.
"Nothing yet," Connors muttered, adjusting the binoculars. "Maybe it's just paranoia. But if it is, it's collective paranoia, because the Marines said the same thing earlier."
Alex didn't answer right away. His eyes were glued to the scope of his rifle. Every sound, no matter how small, was processed by the mind of a young man who had the training of elite veterans. He was alert to every shadow and movement, scanning every inch of the street below and the buildings ahead.
— "They attack when they think we're down," Alex said finally, his voice low and controlled. "And I'd rather be here watching than slacking off at the base."
Connors chuckled lightly, but before he could respond, a faint sound echoed in the distance. It was barely audible, but Alex heard it. He raised his hand for silence and adjusted the scope to zoom in.
— "There's something over there," Alex said. "Building at 10 o'clock. Middle window. There's movement."
Connors immediately adjusted the binoculars in the direction indicated.
— "I see... yes, three figures. They're adjusting something. It looks like... oh, shit, it's a fixed machine gun. They're positioning themselves to attack the Marine post."
Alex closed his eyes slightly, concentrating. The distance was significant, and the wind in the desert was not in his favor.
— "Mile, maybe a little more," Connors said, reading the rangefinder attached to his binoculars. "Can you do it, Rider?"
Alex didn't answer. He was already adjusting the rifle, taking into account wind, distance, and bullet curvature. He had trained for this, but a mile would be his longest shot yet. He felt the pressure, but he also knew he had no choice. If those insurgents set up their machine gun, the Marine outpost would be exposed.
— "Connors," Alex called, as he made the final calculations. "I need you to tell me the wind speed now."
Connors checked the instruments and answered accurately.
— "Wind at 9 km/h, east to west. Adjust 1.2 to the right."
Alex moved the rifle, breathing deeply. He knew that breathing was the key to an accurate shot. Controlling your heart, aligning your sights, and squeezing the trigger smoothly, as if it were a natural extension of your body.
— "I've got the main target in sight. Man in the black vest," Alex said. "He's giving instructions. He's the leader."
Connors just nodded. They knew that without their leader, the other insurgents would be disorganized and hesitant.
— "Fire authorized," Connors confirmed.
Alex held his breath, adjusted the sights a final millimeter, and pulled the trigger.
The sound of the shot echoed through the building, shattering the silence of the night. Alex watched through the scope as the bullet sliced through the air, traveling nearly a kilometer before hitting its target. The impact was instantaneous. The man in the black vest went down, and the other insurgents froze in surprise.
— "Hit!" Connors said excitedly. "Primary target down! You did it, man!"
But Alex didn't relax. He was already adjusting his rifle again.
— "They're regrouping. There are two more, and one of them is trying to get something out of the backpack. Probably an RPG. I'm aiming at him."
Before Connors could respond, Alex fired again. The second bullet found its target with precision. The insurgent fell backward, dropping the backpack he was carrying. Explosives rolled out of it, and the third man began to run.
— "He's running away," Connors said. "Are you going to try?"
Alex didn't answer. He just adjusted his rifle once more. He took a deep breath, held it, and fired. The last insurgent fell a few feet from the building's entrance.
Connors looked at Alex in disbelief.
— "Three shots. Three kills. From over a mile away. That's insane, Rider."
Alex finally relaxed, taking his eye off the scope and laying his head against the ground. His heart was still racing, but he knew he had done his duty.
— "It wasn't about being insane," Alex said. "It was about making sure our guys on the post stayed alive."
Connors punched Alex lightly on the shoulder, smiling.
— "Whatever, Awesome, you outdid yourself today."
The next morning, a reconnaissance team was sent to check the site. They confirmed the three kills and found the partially assembled machine gun and explosives in the second insurgent's backpack.
When Alex and Connors returned to the base, they were greeted with cheers from the Marines.
— "Rider, I heard you got a 1km shot last night," one of the sergeants said. "You're officially on par with our Devil of Ramadi."
Alex smiled slightly, but didn't let the compliments distract him. He knew the next day could be even more challenging. The war was relentless.
That night, Alex returned to his corner of the barracks, where he wrote in a small notebook that Jack had given him. He wrote down the highlights of each day, not as a diary, but as a way to reflect on everything he had experienced.
"Today I made my longest shot. 1km. Three targets. We saved the Marine outpost. Still, I feel like it's not about records or numbers. It's about responsibility. About making sure we all come back alive. I hope I never forget that."
He closed the notebook, put it under his pillow, and lay down, staring at the ceiling. The war was far from over, but Alex knew he was becoming the soldier he had always wanted to be. He wasn't just a rookie trying to find his place in the world. He was a sniper, a protector, and that night, the Haunting lived up to his name.
Chapter 23 – Surveillance on Patrol
The sun was beginning to set over the dusty streets of Ramadi, tinting the horizon with orange and red hues. Alex Rider crouched on the roof of an abandoned building, his L115A3 resting on a bipod.
He had been assigned as the surveillance sniper for his team's patrol, commanded by Sergeant Wilkinson. His mission was simple but vital: to provide cover for his teammates while they investigated suspicious areas in their assigned sector.
The team advanced a few blocks away, moving in tactical formation, while Alex watched every corner, window, and rooftop with utmost attention. Beside him, his radio was tuned to the platoon frequency, ready to report any sign of danger.
"Rider, this is Wilkinson," the sergeant's voice came over the radio. "Status?"
Alex reached for the communicator clipped to the collar of his uniform.
— "All clear so far, sir. Area appears calm, but there is a lot of civilian movement. I suspect they are watching us more than usual."
— "Understood. Keep your eyes open," Wilkinson replied.
Alex knew that "calm" was often a prelude to something dangerous. He adjusted his scope to scan a narrow alleyway where he spotted two men talking in low voices. One of them was carrying a large bag, which Alex couldn't immediately identify.
— "I have two potential targets, position 2 o'clock, approximately 500 meters," Alex radioed. "One of them is carrying something bulky. Possible threat?"
— "Roger," Wilkinson replied. "We are continuing to advance. If anything appears hostile, please report."
Alex watched as the two men walked away from the alleyway, disappearing around a corner. He had an uneasy feeling, but there was no concrete evidence to act on. He adjusted the scope again, shifting his gaze to an open window in a nearby building.
— "Civilians," he muttered to himself, seeing a woman peer through the curtain before quickly closing it.
The radio came to life.
— "Rider, we're entering a building 200 meters from your position. Watch for cover," Wilkinson said.
— "Roger, sir," Alex replied, already moving his rifle to focus on the entrance to the aforementioned building.
As he watched, something caught his eye. Three men emerged from a building to the south, moving quickly and carrying what appeared to be AK-47s. They were about 700 meters from Wilkinson's position, but Alex knew it was only a matter of time before they were spotted.
— "Wilkinson, three armed targets, position south, 700 meters," Alex reported over the radio. "Looks like they're coming your way."
The answer came immediately.
— "Understood, Rider. You can neutralize if you deem it necessary."
Alex adjusted his rifle, taking a deep breath. The wind was calm, and visibility was good. He lined up the first man in his sights and, with a light squeeze of the trigger, fired. The sound of the shot echoed through the building where he was.
Through the scope, he saw the man fall to the ground, the other two panicking and running for cover behind a wall. Alex quickly adjusted his sights to the next one.
— "Target down," Alex reported. "The other two are taking cover. I'll deal with them."
— "Do what you have to do," Wilkinson replied.
The second shot was fired, and the impact hit the man who was trying to run. The third insurgent, sensing the danger, dropped his rifle and tried to escape, but Alex didn't give him a chance. With a third shot, the last target fell.
— "Three targets down," Alex said over the radio. "Area secure for now."
— "Good work, Rider," Wilkinson replied. "Let's keep going. Keep your eyes open."
As Alex monitored the patrol, a faint, barely audible sound caught his attention. He adjusted his scope to the alley where he had seen the two men talking earlier. Now a small group had gathered, and Alex noticed something troubling: an RPG being readied.
— "Wilkinson, ambush imminent," Alex said urgently into the radio. "Alley 10 o'clock from your position, approximately 400 meters. I see an RPG being loaded. I'm targeting the shooter."
— "Roger, Rider. Report when to neutralize," Wilkinson replied, as his team took cover.
Alex quickly adjusted his sights and fired. The bullet hit the man holding the RPG before he could fire. The other insurgents scattered, but Alex remained calm. He fired again, hitting another target who was trying to retrieve the dropped weapon.
— "Two targets down," Alex reported. "RPG out of play. Rest of the group dispersing."
— "Excellent," Wilkinson said. "We'll move in to clear the area. Continue providing cover."
Alex watched as the team advanced, this time with extra caution. He saw Wilkinson lead the way into the alley, and within minutes the sergeant radioed in:
— "Area clear. Good work, Rider. Your vigilance saved us."
Alex felt a brief relief, but he knew the mission wasn't over yet.
Returning to base that night, Alex was exhausted but pleased with his performance.
Wilkinson called the team together for a quick debriefing. "I want to congratulate everyone on their work today, especially you, Rider," the sergeant said. "Your precision and vigilance ensured we avoided an ambush that could have cost lives."
The other soldiers nodded, and Connors gave Alex a slight smile. "Not bad, Amazing," Connors joked. "You keep surprising us."
Alex just shrugged, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. Later, back at his quarters, Alex opened his notebook and began to write.
"We avoided an ambush today. Three armed insurgents and a group preparing an RPG. They didn't stand a chance, but it just goes to show how much we need to be vigilant at all times. Wilkinson trusts me, and that means a lot. I want to keep pushing myself, not out of pride, but because I know my team depends on it."
Closing his notebook, Alex looked out the window of his barracks at the starry sky. He knew that a sniper's job wasn't just about accurate shots, but about saving lives. And tonight, he was certain he had accomplished his mission.
Chapter 24 – The Return Home
The scorching desert heat seemed less oppressive as the final days of the Ramadi deployment approached. Alex Rider, now more experienced and respected, spent his free time honing his techniques or exchanging stories with his comrades. Among the most memorable moments of this stay was his friendship with Chris Kyle, the famous sniper of Seal Team Three.
Learning from the "Devil of Ramadi"
— "You have talent, kid," Chris said during a conversation, as they adjusted their rifles in the base's improvised training area. "But talent only gets you so far. The real difference is patience and focus."
Alex smiled.
— "You say it like it's easy."
Chris gave a brief laugh, taking off his cap and running a hand over his sweaty forehead.
— "I never said it was easy. But I'm going to teach you something that might help. Always imagine the scenario as a dance. The target, the wind, the distance, even your finger on the trigger... everything has to be in sync. When you can see that, the perfect shot will come naturally."
Alex nodded, absorbing every word. Chris's teachings were clear, to the point, and came from someone who had faced extreme situations countless times. Over the next few weeks, Alex worked hard to incorporate these concepts, both in training and on watch.
Despite the difficult nature of deployment, Alex found rare comfort in talking to Chris. Even though he was American, Chris understood the pressure Alex was under, especially being so young in an environment dominated by veterans.
"It's weird," Alex confessed once, as they both cleaned their rifles. "I don't feel that different after all this. People talk about how your first combat changes you, but... I think my life before that prepared me."
Chris looked at him with a mixture of respect and curiosity.
— "You may have been through things that most soldiers will never understand. But listen, Rider... that doesn't mean you're immune. Sooner or later, the weight will come. Make sure you have someone to talk to when it does."
Alex was silent, thinking about Chris's words. His mind wandered to Jack, the only person he felt he could let his guard down with.
Over time, the insurgent presence in the area of operations diminished considerably. The combined pressure of the American and British forces seemed to have an effect, and Alex no longer felt the need to fire his rifle. Despite this, he remained alert, knowing that danger could arise at any moment.
On quiet nights, he would join his comrades for card games or to watch old videos brought by a soldier. It was a way to release the tension and remember that, even in the midst of chaos, camaraderie kept everyone together.
Chris, always with his light-hearted personality, made a point of teasing Alex.
— "Hey, Spooky, I heard you already have more confirmed kills than half the veterans here."
Alex rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile.
— "Maybe. But I'm still not in your league, 'Legend'."
They both laughed, the kind of laugh that was only possible between those who shared a unique and challenging experience.
Alex's team carried out their last patrol a few days before leaving Ramadi. It was a quiet, almost symbolic mission, but the weight of responsibility was still present. As they walked through the desolate streets, Alex felt a mixture of relief and melancholy. He knew he was ready to go home, but he also knew that part of him would remain here, in this war-torn country.
Upon returning to base, Wilkinson gathered the team together.
— "Good job, guys. This deployment wasn't easy, but we managed to accomplish our mission. For those who don't know, we have a total of 36 confirmed kills under our unit's responsibility, most of them carried out by none other than our Amazing, Alex Rider."
The soldiers applauded, and Alex felt his face heat up. He didn't like being the center of attention, but he appreciated the respect of his comrades.
— "Rider," Wilkinson said, approaching. "I'm sure you have a bright future ahead of you. It was an honor to have you under my command."
— "Thank you, sir," Alex replied, sincerely.
The flight back was a mix of contemplative silence and collective relief. Many of the soldiers were eager to reunite with their families and enjoy the months of rest. Alex, on the other hand, felt a growing curiosity about what it would be like to reintegrate into life in England after everything he had experienced.
As he stared out the plane window, Chris Kyle came over and sat down next to him.
— "So, what's next for you?" Chris asked.
Alex shrugged.
— "Training, probably. I want to keep preparing myself for whatever comes."
Chris nodded.
"You've got the right mindset, Rider. But remember: it's not just about being a good soldier. It's about being a well-rounded person, too. Don't let this thing consume you."
Alex looked at him, recognizing the wisdom in Chris's words.
"I'll remember that. Thanks, Chris... for everything."
Chris patted Alex on the shoulder.
"Take care of yourself, kid. I have a feeling you're going to do amazing things yet."
When the plane landed, Alex felt an immediate sense of relief upon stepping back onto British soil. He and the other soldiers were greeted with applause from officers and family members. Alex didn't think there was anyone there waiting for him, but that didn't bother him. He knew Jack would welcome him home with a warm smile and a home-cooked dinner.
Wilkinson shook his hand as they said goodbye.
"Until next time, Rider. Enjoy your rest."
"Bye, sir."
Alex left the terminal, grabbed his bags, and headed to the car Jack had sent to pick him up. On the way home, he looked out the window at the familiar streets. Despite everything, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
That night, after having dinner with Jack and sharing some lighter stories from his deployment, Alex retired to his room. He opened his notebook and began to write:
"Ramadi taught me a lot. Not just about war, but about myself. I learned that even in the midst of chaos, discipline and focus can make the difference between life and death. I made friends I will never forget, and gained experiences that will shape me forever.
Chris taught me valuable lessons, and Wilkinson trusted me in ways I never expected. Now, with 36 confirmed kills, I know that my role as a sniper is not just about killing, but about protecting those around me. I hope to live up to that in the future."
Alex closed his notebook, turned off the light, and lay down. He knew the next few months would be about rest, but also about preparation. After all, the world would not wait for him, and Alex was determined to keep pushing himself.
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