Callsign, Ghost: The Haunting Shot
by R.B. Carr
Genre: Mystery, Thriller
Publisher: Dove and Dragon Publishing together with Ruscsak Films and Publishing
Publication Date: November 5, 2019
Jack Kirby is a former Army Ranger and an elite sniper for the US Marshals. Until one foggy morning while on a mission in Nebraska the unthinkable happens, he suddenly can’t pull the trigger. Due to his inability to do his job, one of the most wanted men in the country is able to get off two last shots.
Now plagued by active PTSD and nightmares of all the men he has killed, he is guilt ridden and unsure of himself. On administrative leave to clear his head and work through his mental health, he returns to his hometown, only to find it isn't the same small town he left years ago.
The rural town is full of drugs and the problems that come with it. Reuniting with old friends, he wants to believe the modern problems haven't changed them but he can’t ignore it.
The question becomes how much have they changed?
Catherine Elizabeth Greene is a small town detective determined to stop an unknown killer; a man of skill,
who kills from ambush using a long ranged rifle.
Desperate for help she asks Jack, a man she barely knows for help.
Together, can they discover the killer?
Jack explained the name originated from his
days in sniper school. He told her how one night at
2100 hours he and his classmates were informed
that the following day they would be
participating in an exercise. The objective of
the exercise was to move across a small wooded
area and then across an open field to an
objective, a large open sided tent, without being
detected. For the next hour the class was then
briefed on the specific criteria of what was
expected of them. They were shown a map and
overhead photographs of the area to be
negotiated. To get to their goal the men would
have to navigate approximately 800 to 900
meters of ground covered in woods and open
field. The map showed the wooded area was
roughly 250-300 meters across depending on any
particular entrance point and from the
photographs it looked to be rather dense with
growth, making movement within it pretty safe for
the participants. The field, on the other hand
appeared to be long and open for about 450 to
600 meters. The only concealment available
appeared to be waist high grasses and some
gently rolling hills that could be used to the
advantage of the candidates.
The catch was there would a group of sentries
monitoring the forest and field on foot and with
trucks. Making it more difficult is the men
acting as sentries were both expecting them and had
been trained to spot the participants, a real
world worst case scenario the instructors
emphasized.
The candidates would be taken to the point of
entry in the early morning hours before dark.
Once on site, the instructors told the
participants they would be given approximately one hour to
prepare and ensure they were fully camouflaged.
Because it would be dark they were also
reminded light discipline was to be exercised
and anyone caught using a white light or other
unauthorized light source would automatically
be disqualified and sent to the commandant for
an integrity violation, which would result in
an immediate expulsion. After the command to move
out was given they would be have 8 hours to
make the objective.
Jack recalled some of his classmates
essentially gave up before the task even began, believing
that it couldn't be done based on the
information provided. The more confident members of the
class scoffed at the notion it would take 8
hours to cover the total distance of less than a half
mile.
At 0300 the next morning the candidates were
awoken and told movement would occur 30
minutes later. At 0330 the men were loaded into
the back of a 5-ton troop carrier. In the back of
the truck the guys got as comfortable as
possible on the wooden slat benches and metal floor,
unsure of how long the drive would take them;
as it was not a part of their briefing and they had
all failed to ask. Turns out they drove for
nearly an hour. Some of the candidates used the time
to go over their gear one last time, some
studied the maps they had each been issued while
others simply slept. Upon arrival at their
destination, the men in the back of the truck were
dropped off one-by-one at separate points,
ranging between 200 and 250 meters apart.
During the preparation period using only his
red lensed flashlight and feel of hand, Jack took
painstaking care to prepare his ghillie suit and
his weapon. Given the operation’s brief he was
more concerned about remaining concealed
crossing the field than while amongst the trees and
covered his suit with as much long straw
colored grasses as he could find near the prep area.
He wasn't quite finished when the command to go
was given,15 minutes early. He debated
remaining in his prep area to finish the suit
but reconsidered, thinking the early start was a ploy
to catch them flat footed. He deduced the
soldiers tasked with searching for them would likely
be canvassing the area shortly. Mind made up,
Jack shot an azimuth on his compass to ensure
his line of march, took a deep breath and moved
into the woods towards the objective.
As he and his classmates had practiced again
and again in the weeks leading up to the
exercise, Jack moved through the small wooded
area without a sound. Nonetheless, he moved
quickly through the wooded area wanting to
utilize the lack of light for as long as possible.
Despite the swiftness of his movements, he left
nary a trace of his existence, remaining
conscious of leaving a trail that could be
followed by one of the hunters if he were careless.
Just as the sun was beginning to rise, Jack
found himself near the edge of the field. Remaining
back in the shadows of the trees he reshot his
azimuth to confirming he was still on course.
Satisfied he was still aligned with the
objective, he studied the general line of travel he must
take; understanding that while maps and
overhead photographs are great tools, there is nothing
like getting a view of an area with one’s own
eye. He looked the field over thoroughly for a line
of travel across the expanse providing the
optimum concealment for his movements.
As he studied, Jack recalled deer hunting as a
child with his grandfather, who told him the key to
hunting was watching for movement. His
grandfather explained that the deer’s coloring allow
them to blend in with their background almost
perfectly and even the most practiced eye has
difficulty differentiating the deer from the
surroundings because of their god given camouflage.
However, the best hunters are successful
because their eyes have been conditioned to be very
good at picking up movements. Ultimately it is
the deer running, walking or even the less
obvious bob of the head or flick of a tail the
hunter will detect. With that in mind he picked the
line that offered the greatest concealment for
covering his movements, though it wasn't the
easiest or most direct path to his targeted
destination.
Satisfied with his planned line of travel, he
moved nearer the edge of the field, bellied down into
the grass and began the pain staking journey
across the expanse. He crawled on his belly
measuring his progress in inches. He was
cognizant of the wind and the bent grasses around
him and moved with them, trying to ensure he
left no sign of his presence an observer could
follow.
As he moved he periodically detected his
classmates moving far ahead of him. He also
observed the sentries moving directly towards
his overzealous classmates, tapping them on the
shoulder, confirming they had been identified
and thus eliminated. Most of the class were
spotted with in the first two hours, captured
within 150 meters of the objective by the roving
guards. The guards had set a perimeter around
the tent at approximately 100 meters and simply
walked back and forth, waiting for the men they
knew were coming. Along with the perimeter of
men there was also a Humvee driving in a circle
around the area, checking on the sentries and
carrying those “captured” back to the gathering
point.
It took Jack nearly 5 hours to cover the
distance to the perimeter, moving painstakingly slow to
ensure he wasn't spotted. As he moved he
continued to study his approach to the finish line,
looking for a hole in the watcher’s perimeter
to allow him to make it through. Finally, he
detected a pattern of weakness with one
particular sentry. While covering his area the sentry
would take the time to smoke and talk with the
pair of soldiers in the Humvee as it came by
every other time. With that in mind Jack
continued his crawl forward getting as close as he
dared before settling in to await the truck’s
return.
As he waited, “the smoker,” as Jack had labeled
the man in his head, had walked within 20 feet
of Jack twice without detection. Both times
Jack forced himself to look away afraid the man
would feel Jack’s stare. After having laid in
the same spot for what seemed an eternity Jack
heard the Humvee approach and then stop. Jack
watched the smoker walk to the big vehicle
and saw the driver and passenger step out. Each
man lit a cigarette and began talking idly to
one another. Jack took the opportunity to do
something he hadn't done in the six hours since the
test began. Arising from the ground, he made a
quick rush across the inner perimeter marked by
the rough line in the grass the truck made in
its circuitous rounds that morning. Once across, he
bellied down once again and silently proceeded
forward.
Inside the perimeter Jack kept low, focusing on
his objective. He continued to refuse to look at
any of the sentries for to long for fear one
would sense his gaze upon them. Before making the
tent he avoided 3 more soldiers walking around,
one who came within 12 feet of Jack as the
man took the time to relieve himself on a
nearby bush Jack had just left. Finally, he traversed
the remaining distance and stopped just short
of the tent where he remained hidden in a patch
of tall grass.
From his spot in the grass, Jack was able to
get a good look inside the tent where the other 11
candidates were all seated at tables in the
shade. He watched as they played cards and joked
around with one another. Jack was also able to
see and hear most of the range cadre in the
other corner of the tent discussing amongst
themselves whether Jack could have possibly
gotten lost somehow. The idea made Jack smile
and he was forced to stifled a laugh.
From his hiding spot Jack also couldn't help
but notice Instructor Bates remained isolated from
the others, sitting in a chair at the other
side of the canopy, a cup of coffee in his hand and a
slightly bemused look on his face. After what
seemed to have been forever laying there
unmoving, Jack saw the cadre in charge of the
exercise look at his watch and say time. He
directed a young E-4, assigned to the group, to
blow the air horn signifying it was time to muster
at the tent. Jack further heard the man in
charge say to the other cadre “I hope we don't have to
go looking for that kid”.
In response to the statement, Bates laughed
aloud announcing “You wont. He has been 20 feet
from here watching us for the last 40 minutes.
Get in here Kirby”.
At the word Jack stood. To the others he seemed
to materialize out of nowhere, candidates and
cadre alike. As he revealed himself, Jack heard
a few of those present speak. Amongst the
phrases uttered were “Bullshit,” “I’ll be
damned,” and “Are you fucking kidding me.”
After the shock of his presence was revealed
the class was debriefed on the exercise.
Following the debriefing, as they were awaiting
the arrival of the transport truck, Jack overheard
some of the instructors talking again.
“Have you ever seen that?” one asked.
“Hell no, I cant even remember the last time
anyone got to the inside of the perimeter, let alone
right next to the tent” said another.
Then Bates said as understated as ever “I told
y'all the kid is good, he’s a god damned ghost”.
Jack then told CB as they arrived at the scene
of the 4th victim, “From there forward I was
called the ghost for the rest of sniper school.
Then when I was given the outstanding soldier
award at course graduation, the commandant
announced the award to Specialist Jack Kirby,
AKA The Ghost. The name then followed me back
to the unit and stuck.”
Excerpt 2:
The pool hall was located in a strip mall in
Olathe, Kansas, yet another large Kansas City
suburb southwest of the city. The homes in
Olathe are more affordable than in some the more
affluent suburbs. It is also remains a
manageable commute to the US Marshall office, thus
many of the married SOG members with kids chose
to live there, given their limited government
salaries. Jack considered the pool hall out of
his way but since all his colleagues lived in the
area he went regularly with his coworkers whom
he typically socialized with.
Being ex-military, one of Jack’s biggest pet
peeves was being late for anything. Because he had
overslept, Jack was irritated when he arrived
to meet his friends, almost 30 minutes late.
Pulling into the parking lot, the pool hall was
already packed, despite it being relatively early for
a Saturday night. Instead of wasting further
time driving around looking for a closer parking spot,
Jack pulled into the first open spot available
near the back of the lot.
After parking, Jack climbed out of his truck,
pushed the lock button and began walking across
the large lot to the entrance. As he walked
Jack noticed three guys hanging around a 70’s
model Chevy truck drinking beers under one of
the parking lot lights. Having visited this
establishment before Jack didn't blame them for
pre-gaming, given the over inflated drink prices
inside.
The 3 men were all large. As Jack walked by he
gauged each of the 3 men stood a few inches
over his own 6 feet. The men were more than
just tall however, as Jack estimated the smallest
of the trio was a plump 250 pounds with the
other two easily pushing 300 plus. All three men
wore jeans and work boots. The small one had on
a red Kansas Jayhawks hoodie, while the
other two wore Carhartt style jackets; one with
a Jayhawks baseball cap and the other a
Jayhawks beanie. Jack nodded to the three men
as he passed by as the men were throwing
their beer cans into the bed of the truck and
followed him inside.
Entering the pool hall, Jack walked through a
set of double doors into an eight feet squared
room where two benches sat along either side
and then through a second set of double doors to
the main room, where there was another square
space where two bouncers sat. Having visited
the establishment previously, the inside was
familiar to Jack. The inside of the room was a large
rectangle with pool tables distributed evenly
throughout, in two long rows. To the left of the
doors, a bar ran the length of the room,
serving beer in bottles, fountain sodas and bar snacks
such as popcorn, nachos and hot dogs. To the
right was an area with bar height tables and the
restrooms.
Entering the main room, Jack stepped to his
left giving the 3 men behind him an opportunity to
pass, as he allowed his eyes time to adjust to
the dim lighting. As Jack was searching for his
friends, he heard someone say, “You need to
take that shirt off”.
Not realizing the remarks were directed at him,
Jack continued to scan the crowded room trying
to locate Chris and the others.
“Hey West Virginia, I said take that damn shirt
off! This is a Jayhawk bar," the raised voice
garnering the attention of the entire room.
This time Jack was acutely aware the statement
was directed at him. Peering to his left, he saw
the trio from the parking lot. “Take that
bullshit off. This is a KU establishment,” the smallest
man growled.
“Yeah, I don't think so pal," Jack replied
his voice dripping with contempt.
“Oh you're going to take it off, or I am going
to take it off you," the man sneered.
Any other day, under similar circumstances Jack
would have attempted to avoid the
confrontation. Today however he didn't feel
passive and stated matter of factly, “I’d like to see
you try fat boy. I’ll break your damn arm
before you can lay a fat finger on this shirt”.
“You and what army you fuckin punk!” raged the
small man stepping towards Jack cocking his
right arm.
“Trust me guy you don't want none of me, back
the fuck up” Jack said in an even tone stepping
forward with malice intent.
Before the pair of men could come together
however, the two bouncers stepped between them.
“Hey Jimmie! Cut that shit out. I told y'all
last time we don't do that shit here.” One of the two
intervening men said, “This is your warning,
one more and I call the cops and ban y'all from ever
coming back.
“C’mon man” the one with the beanie said as the
two larger men hurried Jimmie away, “no need
to waste your time on this guy”.
Though not before Jimmie could spout off,
“You’re lucky West Virginia.”
Jack watched the trio walk away. When he turned
back to the room, Chris and another member
of his team, Tom Ball, were standing there.
“What was that all about?” Tom asked.
“No idea, some idiot with liquid courage and no
common sense apparently,” Jack replied.
“Damn," Tom said. “I thought I was going
to get to see you tear into somebody other than us,”
referencing that Jack, in addition to his
sniper duties, was also the regional hand to hand
combat instructor for the US Marshal Office.
Chris chuckled at Tom’s remark before adding
“C’mon man we’re over here”.
Jack and his friends occupied a pair of tables
near the restrooms. For an hour, Jack and his
fellow Marshals shot pool and told stories of
better times. Tom and John Pearson, who was the
breach man for alpha squad, were easily the two
best pool players of the group though Chris
was able to give them both an occasional run
for their money. In total there were seven men
from unit present.
Jack recognized it took him a moment to wind
down from the earlier confrontation yet it was
very nice to just relax with his friends,
letting go of his worries. While the other six team
members were nursing beers, Jack chose to sip
Diet Cokes after waking hung over. After the
third soda, nature called and he needed to use
the restroom.
The men’s restroom was typical of public
restrooms. Inside the door there was a short area
walled on both sides leading to a big trough
sink on the left. Beyond the sink were a row of
three urinals and a single stall in the rear of
the room. After stepping from the dim lights of the
main room, the bright florescent lights of the
restroom were very harsh, showing the fading
green and cream colored tile. Walking into the
tight space, Jack stepped around a guy washing
his hands sink. He relieved himself in the
second urinal.
As he zipped up and turned to wash his own
hands, the door opened and the three fat guys
from the parking lot entered led by Jimmie.
Once all three were inside, the guy with the
baseball cap locked the door behind.
“I told you to take that fucking shirt off
asshole, now I am going to take it off for you," Jimmie
sneered.
Jack had always been taught and believed there
is a time for words and there is a time for
actions Jack knew Jimmie and his buddies
probably thought that since they locked the door
and out numbered him he would be scared. They
probably thought he would try to talk his way
out of the confrontation or would look to
retreat. They were mistaken.
As Jimmie finished speaking, he brought his
right hand back to swing the same haymaker he
wanted to unleash earlier before being stopped
by the two bouncers. Instead of backing up Jack
stepped forward on his left foot then simply
used the ball of his left foot as a pivot point, kicking
with his right foot from where it stood, a much
more efficient movement. The kick landed solidly
on the outside of Jimmie’s left knee. The sound
of the impact was a sickening crack in the
enclosed space. The knee buckled in a manner it
was never intended to go naturally. Jimmie
went down in a heap, as an ugly scream escaped
his lips.
Taking advantage of the momentary confusion of
the two fat guys, who were slow in processing
what had just happened to their friend, Jack
instantly sprung over the fallen body of Jimmie into
the guy with the beanie on his head. Using the
momentum of the jump, Jack got inside the guy’s
arms and smashed his head into the bottom of
the man’s chin. Instantly the big man’s head
ripped back, staggering him. With his arms
flailing as he tried to catch his balance, his
midsection was left open. Jack drove both of
his fists into the big man’s exposed diaphragm,
knocking the wind from his massive frame and
sending him further back on his heels. The
action sent the man into his partner with the
baseball cap, who tried to catch him but was
overwhelmed by the man’s size. The momentum
carried both men into the locked door where
they hit hard, before sliding down to the
floor. At the end of the crash the man with the baseball
cap was pinned on the ground under his friend,
unable to get his arms free.
Jack took the opportunity to place his knee in
the front man’s chest effectively immobilizing the
pair. “Next time your dumbasses decide to pick
a fight. Don’t" Jack yelled. Driving his point
home he swung a viscous backhand across the
face to than man on top, smashing his lips into
his teeth, bursting them instantaneously. Jack
raised his hand again and the man raised his
hands across his face to ward off another blow.
The guy beneath him had lost the baseball cap
and began to cry, trying to hide his face
behind his friends head and shoulders as his arms
remained stuck beneath his friend. “We good?”
Jack yelled. Both man began nodding furiously.
“We good?” Jack yelled again. Again they
nodded. “Say it, ‘we good’?” Jack yelled again.
“Yes, we’re good,” they responded in unison.
“Louder.”
“We’re good!” they yelled.
“Good, now I am going to get off you and you're
going to get up and open the door. You are
going to walk out and sit down at one of the
tables outside and we are going to call an
ambulance for your friend over there and wait
around for the cops to make a statement. And if
either of you try anything stupid I am going to
hurt you. Do you understand?”
Before they could answer, there was a pounding
at the door. “Jack, everything all right in there?”
Looking at the pair Jack said, “Understand?”
“Yes,” they mumbled.
“Good.” Jack arose and stepped back, kicking
back into Jimmie to ensure he didn't do anything
stupid. The pair of fat guys got up slowly and
carefully. The guy on the bottom upon rising
turned, unlocked and opened the door.
“Now go sit your fat asses down. I will be out
in a second.”
As the pair treaded away Jack turned and looked
at Jimmie laying on the ground still holding his
knee. “Ambulance will be here in a minute, do
you have any weapons or anything on you?”
“Man fuck you, you busted my goddamn knee!”
“Whatever asshole, you’re lucky I didn't bust
your damn skull. Now you got anything on you
before the ambulance gets here. Because if one
of the cops or paramedics get hurt helping your
ass I will do more than hurt you.”
“I ain’t got nothin man. You busted my leg, how
am I supposed to work like this?” he sobbed.
“Honestly I don’t care asshole. Maybe you will
think twice before you try that shit again with
someone.” Jack said as he pulled out his phone
and dialed 9-1-1.
The police and paramedics showed up within 10
minutes, as Jack was explaining what had
happened to Chris and the pool hall’s owner.
Jack’s rendition was confirmed with an occasional
nod from the two bigger guys, who were brothers
named Tom and Tony Rollins. The two men
were Jimmie’s cousins. Upon arrival the police
took Jack’s statement along with the brothers
who were arrested for assault and disturbing
the peace. Jimmie was also ordered under arrest
but was taken away by the paramedics. One of
the paramedics was overheard telling Jimmie
he would likely have to undergo reconstructive
surgery on the knee.
Upon finishing with the police and paramedics,
Jack’s mood again turned sullen. He tried to
remain engaged with his friends but he got more
and more uncomfortable as time went on. He
began feeling like everyone in the bar was
staring at him, talking about what had happened. By
10 pm he had enough and told the guys he was
heading home. His drive home took what
seemed an eternity as he felt tightness in his
chest as his hands shook the entire commute.
Born and raised in West Virginia, RB Carr is an attorney and well traveled veteran of the military. Having lived and worked all over the country, the experiences and people he has met provide a basis for the settings and characters for whom he writes about; both the good and the bad. While the characters of this book are fictional, they have all been inspired by the people he has met over the years, be it from his time in the service or in the halls of the court houses and prisons. Having recently returned to his home state, he and his wife are the parents of 4 children.
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