Sniper without the Gun

A Chapter by Corey Coreys

This is the first chapter and intorduces one of the main characters, Anthony Blood. He is a sharp tongued marine with a very candid look on the world. This chapter is written in prose. Enjoy

CHAPTER 1

Sniper without a Gun

Well, a new chapter of my life began then. I was laying in a Vet hospital, my military sniping days over with the lost of control over my left leg at times. The military had been all I loved, all I had known for the past 15 years, and having that taken from you was a little beyond shocking.

“Tony?” The doctor had re-entered my room, tickling my bare chest with his long fingers to check for muscular response. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright.” I said emotionlessly, not wanting to show my anger. How was I suppose to feel after my life was shattered by a recashe bullet that hit just in the right spot on my back. Happy, joyful and thankful to be alive didn’t even cut it. Sad and vengeful; maybe. But anger was the strongest, the fire that was swallowing me whole, the thing that took the edge off of the pain better than morphine and stronger than oxicodden.

“Your leg is getting better, but you’re still on the reserve list now. Your physical therapy has been going extremely well and you have totally movement in your leg again. We‘re discharging you tonight.”

“Yah, I know Doc. Thanks.”

He pulled the sheet back over me and over his shoulder he smiled, a little too sympathetically, and said, “You have a guest.”

Who the hell would care enough to come and visit me? I had military buddies, but they were out on the front. My family wouldn’t care enough to come and see me, and my love life was not actually hopping.

The door closed as the doctor thank fully left, and I was left alone for a moment. My leg was twitching again, but much less than the constant movement of weeks before. I had let my beard grow longer and it was actually beginning to become less then just stubble, more like the beginning of a goat man. The dark locks that had been so badly attended when I was out in the Gulf Coast now came down to my ears and fell almost into my eyes. I was tall for my age, though I was getting old; 35 is not exactly a spring chicken. What happened to the bright, muscular high school football center of 17 years ago, eager to follow in his father’s footsteps and make the country proud. I now was a tired, broken reserve marine, angry at the world and wanting nothing more than to get lost in a bottle alcohol, never to return.

I hadn’t noticed the door open again and the entrance of a new man until he was leaning over me, looking up and down. He had intense brown eyes that seem able to cut through a Pakistani sandstorm with ease. A head of thinning dirty blonde hair and a mustache of the same color gave him the look of a government worker. He wore a pressed white shirt, a black tie and jacket and a funny looking visitor badge from the hospital. The big clumsy green letters looked out of place on this neat and tidy man.

“Hello Anthony Blood.” His voice was addressing, demanding.

“Hello?” I replied, looking at the sharp face that stared back at my own

“I’m Robert Tobias, head of the Federal Beaurio of Investigation recruitment department.” Great, I had the FBI coming to talk to me! What did I do wrong this time? My head spun this question around a little as I moved to make my twitching leg more comfortable.

“What pleasure do I have to meet you, sir?”

He sat down in one of the chairs on the side of the room and scutted it over to my left, about at my elbow.

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright,” I said again, relaxing as my leg finally stopped twitching. For now.

“We have been watching you.” He paused as a nurse poked her head in and disappeared out quickly. Even better, they had been watching me! “And we need you to help us.”

“How? I’m not an active marine anymore.”

“The skills you have with a gun are quite impressive. Though your injury means you can no longer be a military marksman, it doesn’t mean you have to quit shooting totally.” I leaned in a little. As I have said, being a marksmen was the greatest joy I had in life, more than any woman, more than family, more than anything else. “There is an opportunity for a marksman such as yourself in the FBI.”

“What?” I gawked, stopping myself from laughing, “FBI is just mystery incorporated without the drugs and the dog.”

“You us all wrong.” Tobias growled, staring at me with a warning in his eyes, “We take down the worst criminals who threaten our country’s safety. Many of us are more skilled with weapons then you are with your gun. It’s a hodgepodge of skills, people and jobs.”

“Yah but I’m a marine, I’ll never be able to do that work.”

“Anthony,” He pulled out a dog tag from under his collar. It was half rusted and a little faded, but the words were still fairly clear.

Robert Tobias

First Infantry, Corporal

“Three tours in Korea, one tour before that in Vietnam. I spent 5 years in a POW camp in North Korea. After that I became an FBI agent and was given the golden cross 4 times. A marine can make an FBI agent.”

I looked out the window, running this new idea over and over in my head. An FBI job meant money and recognition, but at the same time, I’d have to chase petty criminals and do desk work. God, I hate desk work!

“What kind of jobs would I do?”

“Well,” He said, tipping a coffee I had just realized he had with him, “You’d go through training first, with your team----”

I cut him off, “Team?”

“Don’t interrupt me, kid.” He barked, “And yes, you will be working with others in your ‘class’, if you will. You will work on being a team and build relationships with them. Then we will partner you off with someone from that group and you two will go out into the force as a couple.”

“Couple?” I roared. I was so done with relationships, for now at least. Girls who fell in love with me lead to nothing but heartaches, a bad case of awkward moments and once or two, an STD.

“Two people working together in a close group.”

“I don’t work with people well. I’m a lone wolf.”

Tobias laughed coldly, “You will work with the group, like it or not. The only position that gets out of the group work is the desk jockeys. Is that more your style?”

“No!” anything other that desk work! I’ll scrub toilets and mop the worst floors you can think of before sitting behind a desk all day.

“That’s what I though.” He leaned over me to look into my eyes, “So, what do you say?”

“Give me a little while to think it over.”

“Just think of it like this,” He rose to leave, “You can serve your country and be a civilian at that same time, or you can lay in bed the rest of your life, wallowing in self pity and looking at your gun mounted on the wall,” The older man rose and slowly walked to the door, giving a minute or two to let the words set in. Being normal would be nice, and helping the country. But, drug dealers were nothing compared to Osama Bin Laden. But not being able to shoot at all would kill me before anything else could. But, going civilian was going soft. I was a built for something different, something more than anything a common man could. Yet I was still serving America, right. But, I couldn’t fit into society as it was now, having seen what I did and done what I did overseas.

The arguments were useless now, my mind was made up

“Tobias.” I called. He stopped and turned around, a wry and slightly creepy smile on his face.

“Yes?”

“I’m in.”

“Good man. Norfolk Base 0800.”

“Sir, yes sir.”