"What are you waiting for?" Wu asked. "Go ahead and shoot a few more of them. We must strike fear into the hearts of the imperialists as always. Sitting here quietly achieves nothing."
Glancing over at the commissar, he saw that Wu wore a grin on his face, but Chen knew better than to mistake that smile for lightheartedness. No, Major Wu was deadly serious.
"For too long, the Chinese have been victimized by the imperialist nations," Wu said. "Now, Chinese warriors are on the move again to reclaim the respect that has been lost. We will push these invaders back into the sea."
Chen himself would have liked nothing better, and he silently agreed that Wu was right on several counts. The Chinese had a proud and rich heritage, but their culture in the previous two centuries had not kept pace with the innovations of the west. This insularity had put them at a disadvantage that enabled the western nations to exploit the Chinese. After the war had upset the world order, the trend of exploitation had finally come to an end with the rise of Chairman Mao and Chinese communism. This was a new way forward for their nation and people.
"The enemy is weak," Chen agreed.
"Never forget what we have lost and endured," Wu said. "Never forget that there is only one way forward for our people."
It was quite a speech, and wasted on Chen, who was a man of simple beliefs. In his mind, the enemy soldiers were like wild dogs trying to snatch away whatever scraps they could. Perhaps the major had spoken those words for his own benefit, rather than Chen's. Maybe it was the rice wine talking.
"Never benefit oneself; only benefit others," Chen said, repeating a popular Communist Chinese slogan that had been drummed into him, only because the speech seemed to warrant some acknowledgment.
"Good, good, very good. Come, Comrade Sniper," Wu said, grinning. "Carve out your place in history."
"If you see any targets, please let me know, Comrade Major," Chen said, pointedly. After all, it was Wu's job to be the spotter. Pretty speeches were not enough.
"You are right, of course," Wu agreed, making one of his amused chuckles, and brought the binoculars to his eyes. He scanned the American lines looking for any sign of movement.
Half an hour went by before Wu snapped, "There on the right!"
Chen swung the rifle in that direction, although swung wasn't the right definition. It was more that he adjusted the rifle a fraction until he saw the American soldier in his crosshairs.
The man had foolishly put his head above the rim of his foxhole. He was much too far away for Chen to see his face, much less read his facial expression, but he seemed to be staring out into the promise of the day. For him, the day would be short-lived.
Chen's finger took up tension on the trigger until the rifle bucked against his shoulder and hundreds of feet in the distance, the soldier crumpled into his foxhole.
Chen tensed, wondering if there would be an answering shot. If the American sniper was in his trench on the opposite side, then he would now know that Chen was plying his own trade and the other man would be hunting for him, just as Chen was now doing.
More time passed; the sun grew higher. Chen had a peasant's natural affinity for the weather and the sun was a welcome relief from the gloom that they had experienced for several days on end. Briefly, he took his face away from the rifle and turned it toward the sun. The sun even held a bit of warmth as if it had kept something back from the summer, but wanted to use it all up before winter arrived.
Overhead, the enemy planes soared and occasionally dropped their bombs and napalm on more distant sections of the ridge or more remote hills. So far, the American planes had not come close to where Chen and Wu lay hidden.
"I see something," Wu said after awhile. "It is a helmet."
Through the scope, Chen spotted the helmet, just visible over the rim of the trench. Frustratingly, a face did not reveal itself beneath the helmet. The helmet bobbed a bit in the way that a fisherman jiggles the bait.
"A trick," Chen said.
He looked more closely. What was that? He stared into the scope. Although the distance was great, he could see some sort of mark on the front of the helmet. He felt a mental flicker of recognition. Even at this distance, he thought that it might be the flag that decorated the American sniper's helmet. The sniper that he had faced before. In spite of himself, Chen's breath quickened.
He had no doubt now that this was the sniper that he had dueled with yesterday. To his surprise, it even seemed to be the same location. This seemed to be arrogance on the enemy sniper's part — or perhaps foolishness.
"Are you going to fire?" Wu wondered.
"No."
After a minute, the helmet sank out of sight. But Chen now knew where the sniper was hidden, even if he could not see him directly. His eye never wavered from that magnified circle in the rifle scope, in hopes that he might catch a glimpse of a target. All that he needed was a second, a moment, in which to pull the trigger. That was all that he had needed yesterday to shoot the spotter. Would he be so lucky again?
Occasionally, artillery exchanged fire, but the firing was desultory. Again, Major Wu seemed to grow bored. He was a man built for movement and not one to bide his time.
By now, he had drunk up all the wine, with Chen having just a few sips.
"That is the end of that," Wu said, giving the bottle a shake. "Where is that enemy sniper? I know a way to draw him out, which is why I have emptied this bottle for you."
"What way?" Chen wondered.
He realized from the careful way that Major Wu spoke that the political officer might be somewhat intoxicated.
Wu's next actions proved Chen's suspicions. The major took the empty wine bottle and placed it on top of a rock beside their hiding place, in plain sight.
"What are you doing?" Chen asked anxiously.
"Enough of these games," Wu said. "We need to show the enemy sniper where we are hidden so that he will fire at us and then you can return fire and finish him off."
That is a terrible idea, Chen thought. However, what he said was, "What an excellent idea, sir."
"Yes, yes, we've agreed. Now, keep your head down and let's see what happens."
But no shots came right away.
"I don't understand," Wu said, putting the binoculars back to his eyes and scanning the opposite ridge. Suddenly, he paused and murmured, "Wait, I don't believe it."
Through the scope, Chen saw at once what had caused Wu's astonishment.
"The Americans have done the same thing," Wu said. "They have placed, not a bottle, but maybe one of their canteens on a rock on their side."
One moment the object had not been there, and then it had. Chen wondered what it all meant. Was it a trick? Here was the bottle on their side, and the Americans had set up a canteen on their side.
He sensed that a gauntlet had been tossed down. Should Chen pick it up? He pressed his eye more tightly against the scope, searching for any movement on the American side, feeling the metal ring digging into the soft flesh.
"This is interesting," Wu said. "But what does it mean? Is it a signal of some sort?"
They did not have to wait long to find out. Moments later, a bullet struck the base of the rock that held the bottle. Fragments of rock flew, one of them even stinging Wu's face and drawing blood. Wu swore in a distinctly non-Maoist fashion.
Chen considered that the enemy's aim could have been better because the other marksman hadn't managed to hit the political officer or the bottle.
Another bullet came in, striking even closer, but again, sparing the bottle and Wu, who was keeping his head down.
After a glance at Wu, who was swiping at his injured face with a handkerchief, Chen went back to his rifle scope. He knew that he was well hidden in his own sniper’s den. It would take the eyes of a hawk to catch a glimpse of his camouflaged rifle muzzle or to detect the glassy glint of his telescopic sight. He worked in relative safety. With that knowledge, he decided that if it was a game that the other sniper wanted, then it was a game that he would get.