He slept fitfully. The way soldiers always sleep on rock mattresses cradled against the surviving wall of a burnt out building. Spotlights of the enemy couldn't reach this flop-spot. There was a name for this war, Rattenkrieg. An old name from a century before when soldiers were flesh and blood, when guns shot lead bullets and not energy bursts. There was a name for real men who shot real enemies not these faceless searchers that fell from the skies, Sniper. He became one with the stone and the dirt, hidden, unseen.
Published in A-Z CITIES OF DEATH, an anthology edited by Dean M. Drinkel
Available at these booksellers:
Createspace: click here
Amazon US: click here
Amazon UK: click here