Sniper of Moloch

My team held its position along the ditch next to the south road and waited. I fingered my radio and hugged dirt. I had drawn the short straw and gotten stuck with two moms with infant kids slung across the chests.A quarter mile south, I watched another team push forward in a short rush through my binos. I heard the sniper's distinct crack and saw a man's knee explode. He was left behind. That's a lesson we learned early.Other teams took advantage and pushed too. Might as well sprint now while the sniper was aimed at his crippled prey. Three more shots rang out, each finding a mark. Screams echoed in the dusty air."Get ready," I told my team. "That's four." The sniper had an internal magazine of five bullets.He was a demon, this sniper. No one else on the other team could get off shots as fast and precise as him. Running past his field of fire was a roulette and an endurance test. We knew him of old and hated him worse than cholera.The sniper shot again and killed again and my radio told me to go. I ordered my team to run for the bomb crater thirty yards in front of us. We tried our best. The last and slowest woman took a bullet in the breastbone, sent through her infant daughter's head first. The woman's sister screamed her grief but stayed under cover.The bastards made us take Moloch's deal every day. Sacrifice the innocent so the rest can live.The next section was down the trenchline that had been dug in the opening days of the war. It was harsh, slow work to belly crawl along, unable to so much as rise to a knee without exposure. But it was safe. The sniper's shots fell on the other teams who lacked our luxury route.The last section was the true killing field. One hundred yards of flat dust. Not a speck of cover between us and the UN lines. Only thing to do is count shots and then run like mad. I had made it before, but not against him.When the time came, every team went at once, maybe sixty people of the original eighty. He could only get off so many shots. Most of us would live.He focused on my women. The cunt. He knew by now which team was the slowest, and knew every inch of the ground. He killed us as we stood up to start the run.I heard the bullets zip behind me, heard the awful sound of metal on flesh, smelled the blood. The kids cried as they hit on the ground and tumbled.Of my team, only I made it to UN lines. I watched with no options as the sniper reloaded and picked off the weeping children who clung to their moms.Some days, I swear to God, I don't know why I bother.