At a distance of 1024 ters, the trajectory droop of the 7.62x54mm R bullet at this distance will be extrely exaggerated. The elevation required far exceeds the range of the scale on the PSO-1 scope's differentiation panel, almost relying on estimation and experience to virtually raise the aiming point to a far-off void above the target.
A side wind of 4-6 ters per second brings an equally astonishing windage correction; the target is not stationary, still moving slightly and turning...
This is a shot beyond limits.
The success rate is so slim it can be ignored!
He has only one chance to fire.
Once the trigger is pulled, the muzzle flash and sound will imdiately reveal his exact location, and what follows is bound to be retaliatory, overwhelming firepower from the enemy.
So, shoot and run.
He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying to calm his intense heartbeat and breathing.
All muscles relaxed, yet his mind was highly concentrated, striving to reach a mysterious state of "unity between man and gun."
The index finger lightly rested on the cold trigger, beginning to pre-pressure.
According to the data reported by the spotter and his own painstakingly honed experience and sense, he slightly, almost at milliter-level, adjusted the direction and elevation of the muzzle.
This is not an easy task.
At super long-distance sniping, the pointed sight acts like a cheeky, restless child, constantly swaying with breaths and heartbeats.
In the scope, the coarse crosshair line does not aim at that blurred figure, but points to a high, empty sky above the figure, tilted significantly to the right side towards the wind's direction.
In reality, the pointed sight is not aid at the person's body at all, as 1024 ters is beyond the calibration limit of the PSO-1 scope's differentiation panel.
...
One kiloter away, on the rooftop of the governnt building.
Abu Omar had just received an urgent communication from the southern Otaba camp.
Upon hearing that the camp was attacked by unidentified armored forces, International rcenaries dispersed, and stacks of ammunition and supplies were destroyed and burned, his face instantly turned ashen, as if he had been punched hard in the abdon!
"Commander! Otaba is lost! Our logistical support is completely gone! We must retreat imdiately! Regroup and reorganize! Otherwise, if the enemies attacking Otaba move north, and the Halaib forces attack from behind, our main forces are in danger!"
A close aide whispered anxiously beside his ear, his voice filled with panic.
"Nonsense!"
Omar's expression changed unpredictably, struggling fiercely inside.
He suddenly turned his head, looking again at the close-by entrance three of Halaib, the gunfire there seed to have thinned out, the forces' firepower visibly weakened, as if it could be breached at the next second.
The temptation of huge achievents and extre reluctance, like a poison snake, consud the last bit of his rationality.
"No!!! Halaib's forces can no longer counterattack! Just a little more! Just the last bit!!"
He almost hysterically shouted, suddenly turned around, snatched the spare binoculars handed by his deputy beside him, and yelled uncontrollably.
"No retreat! No one retreats! Let them continue attacking! Put all the forces into it! Halaib is about to..."
As he suddenly turned, raised his binoculars, attempting to observe the battlefield again, his head due to excitent and movent appeared relatively motionless for an extrely brief mont—
On the rooftop, Song Heping held his breath, all external clamors seed to vanish instantly.
In his world, only the target, sight, breath, and the critical point of that cold trigger remained.
The fingertip felt that minute displacent.
This is it!
He pulled the trigger.
Bam—!!!
The distinctive crisp sound of the SVD gunshot suddenly broke through the morning mist.
The fla from the muzzle glowed like a suddenly blooming bouquet in the dim yet brightening morning light.
A slender 7N1 special sniper warhead, with an initial speed of 830 ters per second, spinning rapidly as it left the muzzle, then savagely tearing through the air, embarked on its unyielding death journey toward the target 1024 ters away.
The bullet needs about 1.3 seconds to fly.
In this brief yet incredibly long 1.3 seconds, this tiny warhead needs to overco the imnse droop caused by gravity, resist the continuous deviation brought by constant side winds, and undergo slight perturbations brought by varying air densities and temperatures...
Any minor variable could cause it to miss the target by thousands of miles over such a long distance.
Song Heping stared at the blurred target through the scope.
Ti seed infinitely stretched in his senses.
The spotter beside him also felt dry mouthed, swallowing dryly.
Soon after, both observed the figure holding up binoculars seed to sway ever so slightly.
In the distance—
Just as Abu Omar raised binoculars, when his focus was about to shift back to the bloodshed entrance three—
Ploosh!
A faint yet deadly muffled sound, like striking a ripe waterlon, abruptly sounded!
The white Arabic headscarf on Omar's head suddenly flung backwards!
All of his motions abruptly froze, as if a sculpture suddenly enchanted with magic.
The binoculars in his hand slipped from his suddenly powerless grip, hit the cent railing at the edge of the rooftop with a "clack," bounced, then fell downwards, ultimately shattering.
A tiny yet extrely profound bullet hole quietly erged at the center of his forehead, and a thread of crimson blood slowly seeped from the edge of the hole.
While at his occipital part, the scene was starkly different and terrifying—the bullet's imnse kinetics and tumbling effect created a bowl-sized horrible cavity there, red and white paste and bone fragnts sprayed out, splattering the close aide behind him, who was still speaking incessantly, all over his head and face!
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