Sniper Ridge

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Caje Cole heard a distant rifle shot and thought, trouble.

The thing about trouble was that it always seemed to find him. He couldn't avoid it. Here in Korea, trouble was about as hard to lose as his shadow.

Cole froze, listening for more gunfire, cocking his head toward the faint echo. His gray eyes were so clear that they looked out at the world with the ghostly gaze of Civil War soldiers in old photographs. His eyes also glittered with something like excitement now. He sniffed at the air. Deep down inside him, some part of Cole actually welcomed the trouble to come.

"Spread out," he warned the others. He was with a squad of a dozen soldiers. They were all good men, and he knew that he could trust them not to get each other killed out of sheer stupidity. However, exhaustion from humping up the steep hill had dulled their edge.

"C'mon, that's a long ways off," someone grumbled.

"If you can hear them shooting, then it ain't far enough," Cole snapped. He didn't bother to explain that the same rules applied to both gunshots and thunder. If you were close enough to hear either one, then you were close enough to be struck by a chunk of lead or a million volts of electricity — both of which had about the same result.

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