Confirmed Kill

Holding the line in Maine

To the Coalition:

Up here in Maine I have been noticing an overwhleming force of red bushytails, you know those little beady eyed, annoying bastards that when you deer hunting alert the whole woods where you are.

Anyways, evidently the state of Maine is also observant of the ever increasing movement of the vile little red rodents, because we can exterminate the overated rats every day, except sunday.

The confirmed kill takes place on a day in the middle of this past January. It was a typical Maine winter day, cold, grey, and snow everywhere. Although this day would be different, because the smell of death lingered in the cool, crisp air.

I had just recently picked up my new exterminating tool of the trade. An old remington 788 in 222, a rifle that I had put alot of time in heart into, and today was its day to spread its wings. To the range we went. Me Mike (one shot, one kill
), and my spotter John (the black gun) with his vast array of AR-15's. The morning started off very nicely, after an initial site in we placed out apples at 100 yards, envisioning them as the satanic little bastard's heads. One by one we pulled the trigger, and one by one the apples turned into vapor. And thats when it happened.

Whether it was the smell of fresh fruit in the air, or whether it thought a possible ambush on the resistance, the little satan spawn felt that it was his time to make a move. At roughly 135 yards, just behind the target the little bastard ran along the ground. Being in its sneaky, cowardly nature it ran from rock to tree stump evading our vision. That was untill, my spotter with his better than rifleman vision picked up on the targets location. "Mike 35 yards back, 30 yards to the left."I brought the rifle up to my soldier and magnified the background 12 times through my weaver K-12 scope. And there he was, the little demon, sitting on top of a fallen log, but he wasnt stupid he had managed to put a large ammount of bush between me and him. Then the mark made his fatal mistake, he ran up the log giving me a clean shot. I brought the crosshairs down on the razor toothed soldier of anarchy. Slowly I squeezed the trigger, I never heard the shot, maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was gods touch that saved my ears. Because gods glory was diffantely on that little 50 grain bullet, as it rocketed at 3200 feet per second at the evil filled fur coat. Well needless to say the bastard dissapeared from sight, it was time to confirm the kill.

Every so slowly, we crawled on our bellies to the targets area, careful to not alarm any other SC(squirrel cong) in the area. When we arrived, satisfaction was gained. That satisfaction only a soldier can feel when he sees his enemys blood and parts strewn over fifty feet. I looked at my spotter "target aquired, and elimanted"careful not to show the whites of our teeth, we shallowly smiled and belly crawled the hell out out of dodge.


---Mike(One shot) and John(the black gun)

(Maine---supporting the cause 365 days a year)

Copyright © 2002 SLM. All rights reserved.