The Sniper

== THE SNIPER ==
=== By Liam O'Flaherty ===
From The New Leader, 1923
The long June twilight faded into night.
Dublin lay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone
through fleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets
and the dark waters of the Liffey. Around the beleaguered Four Courts the heavy
guns roared. Here and there through the city, machine-guns and rifles broke the
silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms.
Republicans and Free Staters were waging civil war. 
On a roof-top near O'Connell Bridge, a
Republican sniper lay watching. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders
were slung a pair of field glasses. His face was the face of a student, thin
and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deep and
thoughtful, the eyes of a man who is used to look at death. 
He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had
eaten nothing since morning. He had been too excited to eat. He finished the
sandwich, and, taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short
draught. Then he returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment, considering
whether he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in
the darkness, and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk. 
Placing a cigarette between his lips, he
struck a match, inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately,
a bullet flattened itself against the parapet of the roof. The sniper took
another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away
to the left. 
Cautiously he raised himself and peered
over the parapet. There was a flash and a bullet whizzed over his head. He
dropped immediately. He had seen the flash. It came from the opposite side of
the street. 
He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack
in the rear, and slowly drew himself up behind it, until his eyes were level
with the top of the parapet. There was nothing to be seen just the dim outline
of the opposite housetop against the blue sky. His enemy was under cover. 
Just then an armoured car came across the
bridge and advanced slowly up the street. It stopped on the opposite side of
the street, fifty yards ahead. The sniper could hear the dull panting of the
motor. His heart beat faster. It was an enemy car. He wanted to fire, but he
knew it was useless. His bullets would never pierce the steel that covered the
grey monster. 
Then round the corner of a side street came
an old woman, her head covered by a tattered shawl. She began to talk to the
man in the turret of the car. She was pointing to the roof where the sniper
lay. An informer. 
The turret opened. A man's head and
shoulders appeared, looking towards the sniper. The sniper raised his rifle and
fired. The head fell heavily on the turret wall. The woman darted towards the
side street. The sniper fired again. The woman whirled round and fell with a shriek
into the gutter. 
Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang
out and the sniper dropped his rifle with a curse. The rifle clattered to the
roof. The sniper thought the noise would wake the dead. He stopped to pick the
rifle up. He couldn't lift it. His forearm was dead. 
"Christ," he muttered, "I'm
hit." 
Dropping flat on to the roof, he crawled
back to the parapet. With his left hand he felt the injured right forearm. The
blood was oozing through the sleeve of his coat. There was no pain just a
deadened sensation, as if the arm had been cut off. 
Quickly he drew his knife from his pocket,
opened it on the breastwork of the parapet, and ripped open the sleeve. There
was a small hole where the bullet had entered. On the other side there was no
hole. The bullet had lodged in the bone. It must have fractured it. He bent the
arm below the wound. The arm bent back easily. He ground his teeth to overcome
the pain. 
Then taking out his field dressing, he
ripped open the packet with his knife. He broke the neck of the iodine bottle
and let the bitter fluid drip into the wound. A paroxysm of pain swept through
him. He placed the cotton wadding over the wound and wrapped the dressing over
it. He tied the ends with his teeth. 
Then he lay still against the parapet, and,
closing his eyes, he made an effort of will to overcome the pain. 
In the street beneath all was still. The
armoured car had retired speedily over the bridge, with the machine gunner's
head hanging lifeless over the turret. The woman's corpse lay still in the
gutter. 
The sniper lay still for a long time
nursing his wounded arm and planning escape. Morning must not find him wounded
on the roof. The enemy on the opposite roof covered his escape. He must kill
that enemy and he could not use his rifle. He had only a revolver to do it.
Then he thought of a plan. 
Taking off his cap, he placed it over the
muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed the rifle slowly upwards over the parapet,
until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost
immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced the centre of the cap. The
sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap slipped down into the street. Then
catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left hand over the
roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop to
the street. Then he sank to the roof, dragging his hand with him. 
Crawling quickly to the left, he peered up
at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeeded. The other sniper, seeing the
cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killed his man. He was now standing
before a row of chimney pots, looking across, with his head clearly silhouetted
against the western sky. 
The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his
revolver above the edge of the parapet. The distance was about fifty yards a
hard shot in the dim light, and his right arm was paining him like a thousand
devils. He took a steady aim. His hand trembled with eagerness. Pressing his
lips together, he took a deep breath through his nostrils and fired. He was
almost deafened with the report and his arm shook with the recoil. 
Then when the smoke cleared he peered
across and uttered a cry of joy. His enemy had been hit. He was reeling over
the parapet in his death agony. He struggled to keep his feet, but he was
slowly falling forward, as if in a dream. The rifle fell from his grasp, hit
the parapet, fell over, bounded off the pole of a barber's shop beneath and
then clattered on to the pavement. 
Then the dying man on the roof crumpled up
and fell forward. The body turned over and over in space and hit the ground
with a dull thud. Then it lay still. 
The sniper looked at his enemy falling and
he shuddered. The lust of battle died in him. He became bitten by remorse. The
sweat stood out in beads on his fore head. Weakened by his wound and the long
summer day of fasting and watching on the roof, he revolted from the sight of
the shattered mass of his dead enemy. His teeth chattered, he began to gibber
to himself, cursing the war, cursing himself, cursing everybody. 
He looked at the smoking revolver in his
hand, and with an oath he hurled it to the roof at his feet. The revolver went
off with the concussion and the bullet whizzed past the sniper's head. He was
frightened Lack to his senses by the shock. His nerves steadied. The cloud of
fear scattered from his mind and he laughed. 
Taking the whiskey flask from his pocket,
he emptied it at a draught. He felt reckless under the influence of the spirit.
He decided to leave the roof now and look for his company commander, to report.
Everywhere around was quiet. There was not much danger in going through the
streets. He picked up his revolver and put it in his pocket. Then he crawled
down through the sky-light to the house underneath. 
When the sniper reached the laneway on the
street level, he felt a sudden curiosity as to the identity of the enemy sniper
whom he had killed. He decided that he was a good shot, whoever he was. He
wondered did he know him. Perhaps he had been in his own company before the
split in the army. He decided to risk going over to have a look at him. He
peered around the corner into O'Connell Street. In the upper part of the street
there was heavy firing, but around here all was quiet. 
The sniper darted across the street. A
machine-gun tore up the ground around him with a hail of bullets, but he escaped.
He threw himself face downwards beside the corpse. The machine-gun stopped. 
Then the sniper turned over the dead body
and looked into his brother's face.
Category:O'Flaherty
Category:The New Leader