American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 11 Hunting
Beta slowly walked to the edge of the bushes and gently placed the gun holster on the damp moss.

He squinted and looked around, his long fingers gesturing in the air to measure distances. Then he took a bright red apple from the side pocket of his holster, and stuck it between the branches of a birch tree two meters off the ground, stem facing outwards, glistening enticingly in the morning dew.

He picked up his gun holster and began to walk with precise strides, each step exactly seventy-five centimeters long, his heels firmly pressing into the mud.

Three hundred paces later, he turned around, put down his gun holster, and used his binoculars to observe the apple, which had become a small red dot.

The holster was opened, revealing a specially treated Mauser rifle. The barrel was wrapped in strips of linen, perfectly mimicking the rough texture of an old-fashioned hunting rifle. Beta lightly flicked the barrel with his fingertip, and the entire strip of linen slid off like a snake shedding its skin, revealing the finely crafted gun body gleaming with a deep blue patina.

He took a modified sports scope from his holster and clicked it into a pre-modified Picatinny rail. A miniature screwdriver was casually tucked into his breast pocket, the silver handle protruding just half a centimeter for quick access.

Beta slowly raised his rifle, his aura suddenly becoming sharp and focused, like a predator lurking in the morning mist finally baring its fangs. The moment the butt of the rifle touched his shoulder, the taut muscles outlined a precise contour beneath his hunting attire.

The cheap lens of the sports scope gleamed with a pale blue glow in the morning light.

300 meters away, the apple appeared in his field of vision as a trembling red blush, like paint soaked in water. Beta held his breath and stared for three seconds before releasing his index finger from the trigger, the trajectory of the barrel as it dropped creating a wisp of mist.

He pulled a brand-new WIX 515 filter from the holster, its galvanized steel casing gleaming coldly in his palm. The threaded connector meshed perfectly with the barrel, producing a sickening metallic scraping sound.

Although this temporary silencer will be torn to pieces by the high-pressure gas within three bullets, it can indeed make the gunshots more concealed at this moment, as the airflow is continuously reflected and absorbed in the annular filtration structure of the filter.

He shouldered the gun again, his breathing gradually synchronizing with the diamond-shaped aiming frame in the scope.

The blurry red dot became clearer as the diamond-shaped frame contracted, much like a cell sample gradually focusing under a microscope.

Suddenly, an untimely morning breeze tore through the thick fog, and sunlight poured down like spilled mercury.

The apple stuck between the birch branches began to sway restlessly, tracing unpredictable paths in the scope as the morning breeze rustled through the trees.

Beta remained motionless like a sculpture, the gun barrel as steady as a rock in the rising morning breeze.

The fog surged again, swallowing up the sunlight that had just peeked through, and the ground was once again shrouded in a gray, chaotic mist.

The wind stopped.

The apples hung from the branches, still and picturesque.

"puff!"

The gunshot, muffled and short after being weakened by the filter, sounded like someone patting their palm through a blanket. The sharp whistling of the bullet tearing through the air was clearly audible, and the bullet left a transparent ripple in the mist.

"Crack!"

The bullet grazed the edge of the apple and embedded itself deeply in the birch branch. Wood chips scattered like snowflakes, the milky white fragments fluttering down among the dark green leaves.

The apple, shaken by the shockwave, swayed violently, and a few drops of juice seeped from the edges of the bullet holes in the trunk, gleaming with an amber luster in the morning light.

Beta maintained his firing stance, pulling a screwdriver from his breast pocket with his left hand. The brass micro-position knob clicked softly beneath the blade, indicating a fine adjustment.

The screwdriver slid back into his breast pocket, and his right hand pulled the bolt. A scalding hot cartridge case ejected, sending a wisp of smoke rising from the humus. The next bullet slid into the chamber with a crisp metallic clang, like the meshing of clockwork gears.

The diamond-shaped slits locked onto the red dot again, slowly shrinking to the size of a pinhead in the still air.

The filter element, deformed by the high-pressure gas, had developed cracks. During this firing—

"Snapped!"

A distinctly distorted gunshot rang out across the wetlands, startling several wild ducks in the distant reeds. Inside the twisted filter, the honeycomb structure was disintegrating, the aluminum baffles tumbling out like crumpled tin foil. The second bullet tore through the air with a sharp whistling sound, but missed its target at the last moment.

With a sharp "snap," the bullet precisely severed the thin branch above the apple tree. The broken branch tumbled through the air a few times before finally falling into the dense bushes, startling several sparrows that had been hiding there.

Beta reached into his breast pocket with his left hand again, pulled out the miniature screwdriver from his fingertips, and gently turned the mil knob on the mirror mount to make a fine adjustment of 0.3 mil.

With a "clatter," the scalding hot cartridge case bounced and landed on the moss-covered rock, making a soft "tinkling" sound.

As a newly chambered bullet is pushed into the chamber, the firing pin spring makes a reassuring "click" sound.

Beta's third movement was as precise and fluid as a machine, aiming almost twice as fast as the previous two. The diamond-shaped aiming reticle rapidly contracted in the scope, locking on in almost the blink of an eye.

With a flick of the index finger, the filter, which had been subjected to excessive high-pressure gas, finally gave way and exploded with a "boom." The twisted metal pieces curled outward like trumpet petals, completely destroying the noise reduction effect.

"boom!"

Gunshots rang out across the wetlands, startling birds within a hundred meters.

The bullet pierced the morning mist, and in the scope's view, the red dot that had been swaying for so long suddenly exploded.

The apple burst open as if crushed by an invisible hand, its bright red flesh scattering like fireworks across the dew-covered grass. A few seeds traced parabolic arcs through the air before finally settling in the shadows of the bushes.

Beta quickly unscrewed the twisted and deformed filter from the muzzle with his left hand, and the scalding metal fragment slammed onto the rock with a clang.

His gaze pierced through the morning mist and locked onto a flock of startled mallards taking flight.

The tattered filter was still rolling on the grass, and the gun barrel was already raised. Between the three points, the flapping wings of the ducks were clearly visible in the scope.

"boom!"

The bolt was pulled back with a crisp metallic sound.

"boom!"

The bolt was pulled back again with a click.

When the gunshot ripped through the fog, Beta's shoulder didn't tremble at all due to the recoil.

Like kites with broken strings, the wild ducks traced chaotic arcs in the air before crashing heavily into the reeds. The collapsed reeds made a "whoosh" sound, creating ripples that spread outwards across the water.

Beta knelt on one knee, his fingers brushing across the damp moss as he picked up the five still-warm bullet casings one by one. The brass casings clinked crisply in the sealed bag before he carefully put them into his pocket.

He picked up the linen strips again, his movements like bandaging a wound. The modified Mauser rifle was re-wrapped into an inconspicuous shape and slowly slid into the velvet lining of the holster.

He hurled the mallard into the depths of the reeds, its wings tracing brief arcs in the air before disappearing with a splash into the dark green reeds. Beta kept only the fattest one, holding it upside down by its webbed feet.

Returning to the scarred birch tree, Beta drew his carbon steel dagger.

The knife tip precisely probed into the fresh bullet hole in the tree trunk, and with a gentle pry, "ding," the deformed lead-core bullet fell into the palm of the hand.

He weighed the metal block covered in sawdust in his hand, his arm muscles suddenly tensed, and the bullet sliced ​​through the air and fell into the pool of water twenty meters away, creating a ripple on the surface that quickly subsided.

　Using filters as silencers was proven in MythBusters, and it is indeed feasible, but it can only support the gun to fire 2 or 3 bullets before it becomes useless.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)