There Are Classic Story Techniques That Are Used Over and Over Again Quizlet

The Sniper

by Liam O'Flaherty (1897-1984)

Judge Word Count: 1619

The long June twilight faded into night. Dublin lay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of budgeted dawn over the streets and the night waters of the Liffey. Around the beleaguered 4 Courts the heavy guns roared. Hither and there through the city, machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms. Republicans and Free Staters were waging ceremonious state of war.

On a rooftop virtually O'Connell Bridge, a Republican sniper lay watching. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders was slung a pair of field glasses. His face was the face of a student, sparse and ascetic, simply his optics had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deep and thoughtful, the optics of a human being who is used to looking at expiry.

He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nix since morning. He had been as well excited to eat. He finished the sandwich, and, taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short drought. Then he returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment, considering whether he should take a chance a smoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in the darkness, and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk.

Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately, a bullet flattened itself against the parapet of the roof. The sniper took another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.

Charily he raised himself and peered over the parapet. At that place was a flash and a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He had seen the wink. It came from the opposite side of the street.

He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drew himself upward behind information technology, until his eyes were level with the top of the parapet. There was cypher to be seen--merely the dim outline of the reverse housetop confronting the blue sky. His enemy was under embrace.

Just and then an armored machine came across the bridge and advanced slowly up the street. It stopped on the reverse side of the street, fifty yards ahead. The sniper could hear the dull panting of the motor. His heart beat faster. It was an enemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless. His bullets would never pierce the steel that covered the grey monster.

Then circular the corner of a side street came an old adult female, her caput covered by a tattered shawl. She began to talk to the human in the turret of the automobile. She was pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer.

The turret opened. A human's head and shoulders appeared, looking toward the sniper. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. The head fell heavily on the turret wall. The woman darted toward the side street. The sniper fired again. The woman whirled round and fell with a shriek into the gutter.

Of a sudden from the contrary roof a shot rang out and the sniper dropped his burglarize with a curse. The burglarize clattered to the roof. The sniper thought the dissonance would wake the expressionless. He stooped to selection the rifle upwards. He couldn't lift it. His forearm was expressionless. "I'm striking," he muttered.

Dropping flat onto the roof, he crawled dorsum to the parapet. With his left hand he felt the injured right forearm. The blood was oozing through the sleeve of his coat. There was no pain--merely a deadened sensation, as if the arm had been cut off.

Quickly he drew his pocketknife from his pocket, opened it on the breastwork of the parapet, and ripped open the sleeve. There was a small hole where the bullet had entered. On the other side in that location was no hole. The bullet had lodged in the bone. It must have fractured it. He aptitude the arm beneath the wound. the arm aptitude back easily. He ground his teeth to overcome the pain.

Then taking out his field dressing, he ripped open the bundle with his pocketknife. He broke the neck of the iodine bottle and let the bitter fluid baste into the wound. A paroxysm of pain swept through him. He placed the cotton wool wadding over the wound and wrapped the dressing over information technology. He tied the ends with his teeth.

Then he lay withal against the parapet, and, endmost his eyes, he made an endeavour of will to overcome the pain.

In the street beneath all was all the same. The armored car had retired rapidly over the bridge, with the machine gunner'due south caput hanging lifeless over the turret. The woman'southward corpse lay all the same in the gutter.

The sniper lay notwithstanding for a long time nursing his wounded arm and planning escape. Morning time must not find him wounded on the roof. The enemy on the opposite roof coverd his escape. He must kill that enemy and he could not use his rifle. He had only a revolver to do information technology. And then he thought of a plan.

Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. And then he pushed the burglarize slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost immediately at that place was a study, and a bullet pierced the center of the cap. The sniper slanted the burglarize forrard. The cap clipped down into the street. And then catching the rifle in the center, the sniper dropped his left hand over the roof and permit it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he permit the rifle drop to the street. Then he sank to the roof, dragging his hand with him.

Crawling quickly to his feet, he peered upwardly at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeeded. The other sniper, seeing the cap and burglarize autumn, thought that he had killed his man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, with his head clearly silhouetted against the western heaven.

The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the border of the parapet. The distance was about fifty yards--a hard shot in the dim low-cal, and his right arm was paining him like a thousand devils. He took a steady aim. His mitt trembled with eagerness. Pressing his lips together, he took a deep breath through his nostrils and fired. He was nearly deafened with the report and his arm shook with the recoil.

Then when the smoke cleared, he peered across and uttered a weep of joy. His enemy had been hit. He was reeling over the parapet in his death desperation. He struggled to go on his feet, only he was slowly falling forward equally if in a dream. The rifle cruel from his grasp, hit the parapet, savage over, bounded off the pole of a hairdresser's store below and so clattered on the pavement.

Then the dying man on the roof crumpled up and fell forward. The body turned over and over in space and hit the ground with a dull thud. And then it lay still.

The sniper looked at his enemy falling and he shuddered. The animalism of battle died in him. He became bitten by remorse. The sweat stood out in chaplet on his forehead. Weakened past his wound and the long summertime day of fasting and watching on the roof, he revolted from the sight of the shattered mass of his dead enemy. His teeth chattered, he began to gibber to himself, cursing the war, cursing himself, cursing everybody.

He looked at the smoking revolver in his hand, and with an oath he hurled information technology to the roof at his feet. The revolver went off with a concussion and the bullet whizzed past the sniper's head. He was frightened back to his senses by the shock. His fretfulness steadied. The cloud of fear scattered from his heed and he laughed.

Taking the whiskey flask from his pocket, he emptied it a drought. He felt reckless nether the influence of the spirit. He decided to leave the roof at present and look for his visitor commander, to written report. Everywhere around was tranquility. There was non much danger in going through the streets. He picked upwardly his revolver and put information technology in his pocket. And then he crawled down through the skylight to the house underneath.

When the sniper reached the laneway on the street level, he felt a sudden curiosity as to the identity of the enemy sniper whom he had killed. He decided that he was a good shot, whoever he was. He wondered did he know him. Peradventure he had been in his own company before the split in the army. He decided to gamble going over to have a wait at him. He peered around the corner into O'Connell Street. In the upper part of the street there was heavy firing, just around here all was quiet.

The sniper darted across the street. A machine gun tore upward the ground around him with a hail of bullets, but he escaped. He threw himself face downward beside the corpse. The motorcar gun stopped.

So the sniper turned over the dead body and looked into his brother'south face.

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