Snippet #1336217

Gunnery Sergeant Jackson Swagger frowned at the conversation around him. They were irritating. God they were irritating. 'Oh, right,' he thought, shaking his head. 'I don't believe in him anymore.'

Quelling the unsavery thought, Swagger laid out his rifle across the lap of his spotter sitting next to him...along with two other people that way. With a quick yank, he ripped back the chamber and checked inside, then let it go, pulled the first clip of the day, smacked it on his head, then shoved it in and racked the chamber. It clicked shut with a satisfying metalic snap. Swagger's spotter lifted the gun up and set it between Swagger's legs. "Eyes on that nick in the chamber arm," he grumbled. "It's been growing for a while, and I'm pretty sure it's gonna need fixing eventually. Be careful out there and watch your corners. I know you tend to drift off in the middle of a shoot."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Swagger growled. He wasn't being sarcastic. He was just talking. "Eyes open and wandering away from the scope, got it. You keep your head down and stay away from open spaces."

"Aye, Gunny," growled the spotter. He hadn't been with Swagger for too long. "Shit, kid, you scare me sometimes. Nineteen years old and already fifty eight confirmed kills, almost half of them sniping..."

"I'd be greatful for silence, Sergeant," Swagger growled. He didn't want the others to know about his early start and heavy kill count. They would depend on him. He wouldn't be there when they expected.

Suddenly Swagger became aware of the Russian girl's nickname and looked up. "Sounds like you're well liked by your squadron," he muttered, loud enough to hear but barely so. "Good luck out there, Pup. Chances are you could need it."