"Smith, Wilbur - Courtney 03 - A Sparrow Falls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

The Mauser has a distinctive cracking report, a high and vicious sound
that Sean had heard so often as to be able to judge with accuracy its
range and direction.

This was a single shot, at about five hundred yards, almost dead ahead.

Van der Heever's head snapped backwards as though he had taken a heavy
punch, and the steel of his helmet rang like a gong. The chin-strap
snapped as the round helmet spun high in the air and then dropped to the
floorboards in the bottom of the trench and rolled on its rim into a
pool of grey mud.

Van der Heever's hands remained locked closed on the top rung of the
ladder for a moment, then the nerveless fingers opened, and he tumbled
backwards, falling heavily into the bottom of the trench with the skirts
of his greatcoat ballooning around him.

Sean stood frozen and disbelieving his mind not yet accepting the fact
that Nick was hit, but, as a soldier and a hunter, judging that single
shot with awe.

What kind of shooting was that? Five hundred yards in this murky light;
one fleeting glimpse of a helmeted head above the parapet; three seconds
to set the range and line UP, then another instant of time to sight and
fire as the head bobbed up again. The Hun that fired that shot was
either a superb marksman with reflexes like a leopard, or the flukiest
sniper on the western front.

The thought was fleeting and Sean started forward heavily and knelt
beside his officer. He turned him with a hand upon the shoulder and
felt the sickening slide in his guts and the cold grip on his chest.

The bullet had entered at the temple and exited behind the opposite ear.

Sean lifted the shattered head into his lap, removed his own helmet and
began to unwind the silk scarf from around his head. He felt a
desolation of loss.

Slowly he wrapped the boy's head into the scarf, and immediately the
blood soaked through the thin material.

It was a futile gesture, but it served to keep -his hands occupied and
detract from his sense of helplessness.

He sat on the muddy floorboards, holding the boy's body, his heavy
shoulders bowed forward. The size of Sean's bared head was accentuated
by the thick curls of dark wiry hair shot through with splashes and
strands of grey that sparkled frostily in the fading light. The short
thick beard was laced with grey as well, and the big beaked nose was