Snipe me, Colonel!: A Dark Military Romance

~Macarena's POV~

I never imagined as a child that I would wind up in a multinational specialized unit, but the world has an amusing way of arranging the jigsaw pieces to fit perfectly. It shouldn't have surprised me, considering both my parents were high-ranking snipers, and I took after their path. Even now, at 26, I still recall the first time I held a sniper rifle in my hands. It made me grin, remembering how the gun was three times my size back then. Little girls of age five play with dolls, not with deadly guns, but I never had a normal life. Yes, I went through high school, but at home, the normality ended. My parents were most of the time on dangerous missions, leaving me in the care of my grandma, and when my parents had weeks or months off work, we would go to the shooting range. It was good we lived outside the city, far away from the obnoxious rioting in the metropolis.

School never piqued my interest. Maybe only a few classes, like math and geography, were courses that helped me in my shooting skills; calculating the distance to the target, and stellar land navigation. If I had desired to learn something, it was only to sharpen my sniper skills for the future. After I finished high school, I wasted not a day and signed up for the army, only to be rejected. That day, I was the most disappointed and angriest. Humble or not, I knew I was the best shooter. My aim was flawless, but when you're a woman and tiny, people tend to quickly judge.

My luck to get recruited to this special unit was because of my parents. They died one day after my graduation. It broke my heart, but deep down, I had been prepared for this day. After I grew up more from the mindset of a little girl, my parents opened up to me more, telling me about their job and what they were doing. They were working as solo snipers, hired by people to kill other people. At first, it took me a few sleepless nights to understand just who were my parents, and despite their dangerous and perhaps immoral work, I looked up to them. They were famous for their flawless employment, and one day, I promised myself I would become the best of the best.

The best sniper.

The specialized military unit heard of my parents dead, and when they heard they had a daughter who possess the same sniper skills, maybe even better, they were quick to track me down. I was a rare asset, especially at my fresh age, so they made the offer as attractive as possible, but I would have been dumb if I refused it. After being rejected by the basic army, I was dead set to take on every opportunity to achieve my dream.

Save to say, joining this organization changed my life. This unit not only is shadowed away from the public eyes, but it also holds people from all across the globe — some of them being former mercenaries, former soldiers from special troops, assassins, and so on. This organization that fights against terrorism recruited everyone for their special skills, like me. I didn't understand at first why this special unit was kept a secret, but after the first missions, I understood. We weren't heroes who fought against criminals, because we killed these criminals, not put them behind bars. Yet, we weren't criminals either, because everything we did was to protect the innocent ones. This organization lived on the grey side.

Not a villain, but not a hero either.

The first kill was the hardest. My luck was that my target was a mass rapist who not only sexually assaulted his victims but also ate them after his gruesome acts. Seeing the bullet fly through his skull was as satisfying as seeing his brain splatter behind him. Pleasurable shivers went down my spine after my first kill, and the rest became a piece of cake. The missions were easy; find the target, find the perfect opportunity, and hit. I was cold, calculated, and methodical, which earned me quite a reputation in the unit in a short time. My reputation even met the ears of the outstanding squad in the organization. The squad's name was Hydra, holding the veterans of this unit and the best men.

They were famous among the base, and everyone respected and feared them. They were men not to be messed with. One of them stood out to me in particular. The first thing that caught my attention was his height. I never saw a man so tall. He even towered over his comrades, but considering his height, 6'10, he towered over everyone in the unit. That man was a giant, and I also caught him crouching a little when he had to enter the cafeteria of the base.

Another aspect that tugged my attention on him was his mask. While mostly everyone wore a mask during the missions, he never once pulled it off. His mask was possibly the most unique in the unit. It was as black as night, resembling a gas mask with canisters on each side of his cheeks. Around the eyes, there is an orange glowing ashy tint resembling cigarette burn marks, and flowing from these burn marks comes blood resembling tears. He also doesn't make an appearance without the heavy tactical gear — black camo pants, tight-fitting tactical turtleneck, gun and knife holsters strapped to his thick thighs, military vest even around the base, but he only wore all the equipment on it during missions. Oh! And the tactical gloves. I swear I never saw him take these off.

It was like his mask and gear were an extension of him. No one knew his real name, as no one knew what he looked like underneath the mask, but he went by his codename. Berzerk.

I expected him to be grumpy, cold, and stoic, but the shock came to see how warm and laid-back he was. Not with everyone, obviously, but with his squad; he definitely was easy-going, almost carefree. The few glimpses of him at first ignited my curiosity about him, and my ears would perk up any time someone would talk about him.

Another information about him, I found out on my own, when I spotted the German flag badge on his black turtleneck where his massive biceps always flexed each time he moved. Another piece of this puzzle of a man I overheard when I was doing my daily workout in the gym at the base. Some soldiers were speaking about the Hydra squad, and I was like a startled deer when they spoke Berzerk's codename. Bewilderment filled me when I found out Berzerk was a colonel. He used to work in the special operation troops in Germany, actually leading the troops. It made me wonder what made him quit and end up in this secret unit. Also, his military rank gave away his age. Typically, it takes around 20-25 years of service to reach the rank of colonel, and assuming he entered the military at a young age, Berzerk must be around 40s years old. It made me blush a little, considering how old he must be compared to me.

Talk about Daddy-

Don't even think about it!

Other aspects about Berzerk, I learned through observing him from a distance. Being a sniper, I had a stealth mastership, so he never noticed me. One visible thing was his love for knives. He always had one, and he loved to play with them. It was hard to miss how skillfully he twirled these dangerous blades between his long and thick fingers, always hugged by the rough black material of his gloves. He would twirl or throw them up and catch them between his fingers in the cafeteria while eating, during meetings and briefings. Even when he was walking down the hallways of the base, he fucking whistled while doing so!

He seemed like a lunatic, and my assumptions were a little correct because I found more about him; aspects which made me anxious. He has ADHD, PTSD, and bipolar disorder. I wasn't being judgemental, but it made me question how could they recruit a man with so many problems. My question was answered when I was put on a mission with a few other snipers and the Hydra squad for the first time. The man was a killing machine on the battlefield. He moved through the battlefield with godly confidence to the point of toxic arrogance, but he was always calculated and systematic. He definitely wasn't a large-range fighter, but he knew how to use these guns and knives even more. A bullet through the enemy's head wasn't his style. More than 80% of his kills were by knife. I never saw so much brutality from someone. Berzerk almost looked like he enjoyed when he sliced the enemy's neck, seeing how blood vessels, bones, and tendons were cut like butter by his mighty hunting knife; serrated and as big as his forearm.

Goosebumps had erupted all over my skin underneath my sniper camouflage when I saw how his knife went in and out of one of the bad guys' backs before he picked the man off from the ground and knee-broke the enemy's spine on his sturdy knee. I almost gasped at the weird angle of the man's spine. Berzerk held so much raw power and skill, it was hard to look away from the scope of my sniper rifle. The wrongest part was the wet feeling between my legs, and back then, I realized something that made me see Berzerk in a different light. His brutality turned me on. Shame washed over me at this prospect, and for a moment back then, I wasn't focused. A mercenary from the enemy group we were fighting against almost had Berzerk's back with a machete.

My forest green eyes widened, and my professional side overcame me. A finger pressed on the trigger. I shoot the guy straight through the center of his forehead, killing him instantly before he could injure or kill Berzerk.

Perfect kill.

A silent sigh of relief washed over me, but I quickly tensed when I noticed through the scope that Berzerk looked in my direction, despite being half a mile away from him. He seemed to know from where my bullet came. Through the scope, I could see his eyes. They were a glacial blue, reminding me of Antarctica, full of ice. The blood-lust was evident in his pupils, and he did something that had my cheeks on fire.

He winked at me before he rushed back into the battlefield, gauging an enemy's eyes out. I was utterly stunned by his action, which I didn't know how to take. Teasing? Thankful? Grateful? Flirty?!

It had messed up my mind, but thankfully, the mission ended sooner than the commander expected, and we were on the plane, ready to go back to the base.

That's when the first interaction between me and Berzerk happened.

I was ready to pull off the ghillie suit that made me look almost like a spirit of the forest, with how easily I had blended into the vegetation. If I pulled the thick suit off, I would be only in my cargo pants and a black T-shirt. Right as I was about to pull it off, someone tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned around, my eyes widened, and my heart nearly stopped as I had to crane up my neck to look at the giant. Berzerk stood in front of me, tall and covered from head to toe in blood, and it wasn't his blood by the looks of it.

It was the first time he was so close to me, and I could see the color of his eyes underneath that eccentric mask. There was war paint around his eyes, which only made the color of his irises stand out more. They were a glacial blue, so intense and expressive. A million emotions swirled through them. His eyes were the only visible part of him.

"Danke back then, kleines Häschen," That moment was also the first time I heard his voice.

His voice surprised me. I had expected his voice to hold a deep baritone, almost like the Terminator, but his voice had a boyish tint to it; very husky and smooth, but his German accent made it a bit deep. His voice was like dripping honey, and my knees almost gave out the first time I heard Berzerk speak. There was genuine gratitude for my help in his voice, but also a hint of mischief when he called me something in German. Also, speaking of him talking in his native language. It made the heating sensation appear in my belly. My response to his gratitude was a curt nod, not trusting my voice.

That was the only interaction I got with him, and honestly, I cursed myself for making it short, but his approach took me aback. I didn't know how to react in that moment.

Also, I researched what he said to me in German, and to my stupefaction, he called me bunny. I questioned why he would call me such a nickname, but considering our size difference, I was indeed a small rabbit compared to him. My head barely reached his sternum. Another possibility was that of flirting, but maybe I was making fast assumptions.

For days, I prayed for an opportunity to talk with him, even if it was work-related. Anything to hear that smooth German accent and these icy blues so livid with emotions.

If only I knew my wish was about to be granted. I should have been careful about what I wished for because I might get more than expected.

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Snipe me, Colonel!: A Dark Military Romance by C.B. Blackburn