First to Kill by Andrew Peterson

to the external windage knob on his Nikon scope, while Harv set up his 10-to-50 spotter scope. Once in final position, they would be lying side by side with three feet of separation between them. He shouldered his weapon and began a slow visual sweep of the compound below through the rifle’s optic. “We’ll call the main building zero and vector from there.”
    “Copy.”
    “Elevation?” Nathan asked.
    “Nine clicks.”
    “Copy, nine clicks to zero. Plus three to the far side of the compound, minus two to the near side. Concur?” Nathan asked.
    “Concur.”
    Because his rifle was currently zeroed for a 300-yard shot, he knew an elevation adjustment for a 600-yard shot was twelve additional clicks, but since they were shooting downhill, a negative adjustment of three clicks was needed.
    “Here we go,” Nathan said. Moving in classic leapfrog progression from tree to tree, six men in woodland SWAT gear were approaching the compound from the south, their movements crisp and rehearsed. “Six o’clock low,” he whispered.
    Harv adjusted his scope. “Got them. I count six, with two more in flanking positions. I’ve got eight more moving in from the west.”
    Nathan tracked the second team. Six agents were advancing with two more flanking for support. Both teams were advancing at right angles, staying out of each other’s line of fire. Tactically sound. As the two teams approached the compound, he admired their precision and stealth. Moving through the sunlight filtering through the trees, not a glint of reflection bounced off anything they wore. Their helmets were matte green and even their boots had a dull finish. These guys were damned good.
    “Something’s wrong,” Nathan whispered.
    “Talk to me.”
    “It’s too quiet down there. We haven’t seen a damned thing. Nothing. No movement at all.”
    “Okay. ”
    “Start searching the trees. I’ll take the west end.”
    Harv adjusted his scope and began a slow pivot around the east end of the compound. Halfway through his sweep he stopped. “Shit.”
    “What’ve you got.”
    “Spotter’s nest at one-five-zero east, elevation, three-zero feet.”
    Nathan swung his rifle 150 yards east of the center of the compound and began looking in the trees thirty feet high. He saw it instantly. A sentry posted in a tree platform, the type deer hunters used. He was speaking into a radio and looking through a pair of field glasses in the direction of the advancing FBI SWAT team to the south. “They’ve been made.”
    Harv stayed in his eyepiece and cranked the scope to maximum zoom. “Nate, he just put the radio down. He’s got something else. He’s pulling an antenna on a remote.”
    Nathan swung his rifle back to the south and began sweeping the ground out in front of the SWAT teams. Through an opening in the trees, he saw a mound of pine needles at the base of a large sugar pine. The pile of needles was on the side of the tree facing away from the compound. Nathan searched for other piles. There. Two more piles, also facing away from the compound.
    “Son of a bitch. I think they’ve got IEDs or M-eighteens on the perimeter. Those piles of pine straw.”
    “Claymores,” Harv whispered.
    “They’re walking into a shredder.”
    “How close are they?” Harv asked.
    “Thirty yards.”
    “Shit, they’re in range. We have to warn them. Put one in the dirt out in front of the lead man. Elevation minus two. Clear to shoot.”
     

Chapter  4
    Sammy Bridgestone’s voice sounded metallic through the small radio speaker. “ We’ve got company. ”
    Ernie stood up and looked at his older brother.
    “What’s happening out there?” Leonard asked.
    “SWAT team moving in from the south. At least a half dozen, probably more!”
    “Calm down, Sammy. Are they at the perimeter minefield?”
    “Not yet. Almost.”
    “Blow the southern perimeter when they reach twenty yards. Wait a few seconds, then blow the rest. Hustle back here. Don’t wait.