This was made for school, like many of my short stories. I felt really good after writing this one, though which is odd for schoolwork. There are several words in here I had to include because they were vocabulary words, so I apologize if you don't understand every phrase. Please review and tell me what you think! Thanks for reading!

Silent Thunder

Maxwell cocked his rifle and tightened his grip on the forestock. He heard several messages sent over the radio through his earpiece, but he ignored the bulk of them, having only tangential importance to him. He shifted his body slightly; it was beginning to cramp up because he was in a prone position for a long time. The fact that he was laying on sand did not help either.

“Silent Thunder, are you in position?” a message asked.

“Roger, Stork. Ready when you are,” Maxwell responded. Maxwell was beginning to regret choosing such a dramatic appellation. It singled him out, which was not a good thing, since snipers were expected to blend in with their environments, whether they were fighting or not.

Then again, thought Maxwell, he had a large number of things to regret that were much more prominent. The ultimate was joining the Lebanese Cross Brigade. The terroristic organization did not give him much he cared for, and he was no idealist, unlike his comrades.

He actually wanted to be a translator at first. After all, he studied linguistics in college and always found it very easy to learn a local patois.

Nevertheless, the LCB recruited him as a sniper the moment they learned he could shoot an apple at 200 yards—without a scope. Maxwell never thought that it was so amazing. He hunted with his grandfather, as a child, and the skill never seem very special.

After a long road of perverted providence and a complete lack of serendipity, Maxwell Richards was chosen to be the sniper in the assassination of the Greek ambassador to Lebanon.

“All right, everything is in place,” another message informed through the radio. “Wait until my signal. We’re giving him one last chance. He’s as capricious as any other politician, so he might change his mind at the last moment.”

Maxwell pushed his lamentations of his countless vicissitudes to the back of his mind and focused on the door of the small building. At the moment, the ambassador was in a private meeting with a “friend” of his, and since he came secretly there was little security beyond the lone bodyguard who was probably watching the door from the inside.

Another message ran through the radio. “I’m calling him now.”

“Damn it, Stephens, don’t tell us everything! Just tell us when to shoot!”

The second one was a man who was in the LCB for a very long time. He had worked hard, but was almost never recognized. In fact, the leader of the team was much newer than him, and the man was commented earlier about how he was disgusted at the thought that a subordinate was put in charge of him.

Maxwell was annoyed at both of them. More so the latter, but Stephens dillydallied more often than needed. His largest crux was how much he deliberated on pointless information. He had ridiculous vagaries and countless quirks.

This bothered Maxwell, especially when he had to talk to him. The other man, though, was even worse. He had a vulgar tongue, and his speech was riddled with uneducated solecisms. It was little wonder he was never recognized; the superiors did not even respect him. In fact, there were rumors that the only reason he was kept in the organization was that he was a polyglot, and the superiors believed that they may need him in the future.

The man calmed down, and Stephens made the call. After another minute, he came back on the radio. “He’s brushing us off again. Let’s do this. Now I’m not a fatalist, but this situation is so propitious, there’s no way he’ll get out of that building alive. For the sake of Lebanon’s fut-”

“Quit the pep talk, Stork,” said someone over the radio, terminating Stephen’s potential speech.

“…All right, green light will be initiated in five, four, three…”

Maxwell saw the shadow behind the window to the side of the door move. He hoped that Stephens gave them permission to shoot soon.

“…Two…”

A drop of sweat ran down Maxwell’s cheek, onto his chin, and fell to the ground, where the desert earth consumed it.

“…One…”

Maxwell’s mind raced about the events that led him to this moment. The door of the building opened and the ambassador walked out followed by his bodyguard. Maxwell lined the crosshairs of his scope on his head.

“…Zero, green light is on!”

In his head, Maxwell screamed, “Oh God, please let me miss!”

Maxwell squeezed the trigger of his rifle and awaited the sequel of his actions.