with the sort of thing around nowadays. Not that the basics had changed for centuries: trigger, on and off switch, sights and barrel.
I wasn't a weapons anorak, but I was familiar enough with the Russian weapon's history to know that, regardless of how it looked, these things had sent thousands of Germans to their graves on the eastern front in the forties. The arsenal marks stamped into the steel of the chamber showed it had been made in 1938. Maybe this was one of them. It had probably quite a history, including zapping American targets in Vietnam.
The one I had in my hands had been beautifully maintained. The wooden furniture was varnished, and the bolt action had been lightly oiled and was rust-free. I got it into the aim and looked through the quite unconventional optic sight, unsure if it was the original. It was a straight black and worn tube about eight inches long and about an inch in diameter mounted on top of the weapon.
It had to be a fixed power sight as there was no zoom ring to adjust the magnification, just two dials half- way along the sight the top one to adjust for elevation (up and down), and the one on the right-hand side for windage (left and right). The dials had no graduation marks any more the top discs were missing just some scratch marks where it had been zeroed.
Looking into the sight and aiming at a fuzzy book spine at this short distance, I could see I had a post sight to aim with. A thick black bar came up from the bottom of the sight and finished in a point in the centre of the sight picture.
Just below the point was a horizontal line that crossed the whole width of the sight.
I'd never liked post sights: the post itself blocked out the target below the point of aim, and the further away the target was, the smaller it became and the more the post blocked it out. But beggars can't be choosers, and as long as it went bang when I pulled the trigger, I'd be half-way happy. There were also conventional iron sights on the weapon a rear sight that was set just forward of the bolt, about where my left hand would go on the stock. The sight could be set between 400 and 1200 metres. It was set at the all-round 'battle sight' setting of 400. The foresight was protected by a cylindrical guard on the muzzle.
I placed the weapon on the table and went and helped myself to more coffee from the cooker. Thinking about this rifle's possible history reminded me that, years earlier, in the early eighties, when I was an infantry squaddie in BAOR (British Army of the Rhine), I'd owned a Second World War bayonet that an old German had given me. He told me he'd killed over thirty Russians with it on the eastern front, and I wondered whether he was bullshitting me, since most Germans of that generation said they fought the Russians during the war, not the Allies. I'd put it away in a cupboard at the house in Norfolk and forgotten about it; then, along with everything else, it had been sold to pay for Kelly7 s treatment. A skinhead with a stall in Camden Market gave me twenty quid for it.
I'd nearly finished pouring when Carrie returned.
'Do you know how to adjust the sights?'
'No.' It would save me a lot of time if I didn't have to experiment.
'It's got a PBZ at three hundred and fifty yards,' she said, walking to the table.
'Do you know what that is?' I nodded as she picked up the weapon and turned the dials.
'Stupid, I'm sure you do.'
I could hear the clicks even above the noise of the fans before she handed it to me. There, the notches are in line.' She showed me the score marks levelled off against the sight on both dials to indicate the correct position for the sight to be zeroed.
I put down my coffee, took it off her and checked out the dull score marks.
'Anywhere I can go to check zero?'
She waved her arms. Take your pick. There's nothing but space out there.'
I picked up the ammunition tin.
'Can I have some of your printer paper and a marker pen?'
She knew exactly what I needed it for. Tell you what,' she said, I'll even throw in some tacks for free. See you outside.'
She went into the computer room and I went out through the squeaking mozzie screen and on to the veranda. The sky was still brilliant blue. The crickets were going for it like there was no tomorrow, and a monkey or something was making a happy noise somewhere in the canopy. But I wasn't fooled. No matter:
after a shower and some cream on my back, the love affair with the jungle was back on.
Even in the shade of the veranda, it was already much hotter out here. I was glad I was beginning to feel better, because it was an oppressive heat.
My dizziness had all but disappeared, and it was time to stop feeling sorry for myself and get to grips with what I was here to do. The mozzie screen squeaked open and chopped off my train of thought as Carrie came out carrying a crunched up paper bag. She handed it over.
'I've told Luz you might go hunting later, so you want to try out the rifle.'
I'll be over there.' I indicated the treeline about two hundred metres away, to the right of the house. It was on the opposite side to the track, so if Aaron came back early from rescuing jaguars he wouldn't get a 7.62 in his ear.
'See you in a bit.'
As soon as I left the shelter of the veranda, the sun's fierce glare blinded me.
I screwed up my eyes and looked down. Most of the moisture had evaporated off the grass, but the heavy humidity meant the puddles were still intact apart from a muddy crust around the edges.
I could feel my shoulders and the back of my neck burning as I kept my eyes on the rough, thick-bladed grass. I knew that once
I got to the treeline things would improve. It would be just as hot and sticky, but at least this rabiblanco wouldn't be getting blow-torched.
I had a quick check of Baby-G. Unbelievably, it was only 10.56. The sun could only get hotter.
Carrie called out from behind me, still on the veranda.
'Look after it.' She pointed to the weapon.
'It's very precious to me.' I had to squint to see her, but I was sure there was a smile.
'By the way, only load up four rounds. You can place five in the magazine OK, but can't close the bolt without stripping off the second round got it?'
I lifted the weapon as I walked. I'd keep the PBZ (point blank zero), if it still existed. Why mess with something that might already be right? I might cock it up by trying to improve it.
I let my hand drop with the weapon and carried on towards the treeline, thinking of how the three snipers in London would have reacted to the idea of using a PBZ to drop a target, on top of ammunition that could have been made by the local blacksmith. To ensure consistency, they'd have pulled apart every one of the rounds I supplied them with to check there was exactly the same amount of propellant in each cartridge case.
PBZ is just a way of averaging out the averages to ensure the round at least hits the target somewhere in the vital area. Hunters use it; for them, the vital area is an area about seven inches centred on the animal's heart. The way it works is quite simple. As a round leaves the barrel, it rises, then begins to fall because of gravity. The trajectory is relatively flat with a large 7.62mm round like these: over a range of 350 metres the round won't rise or fall more than seven inches. As long as the hunter isn't further away than 350 metres, he just aims at the centre of the killing area, and the round should drop the bear or whatever else is charging towards him. My shoot should be from a maximum of 300 metres, so if I aimed at the centre of the target's sternum, he should take a round somewhere in the chest cavity what is known in sniper world as a target-rich environment: heart, kidneys, arteries, anything that will make him suffer immediate and catastrophic loss of blood. It was not as sophisticated as the London snipers' catastrophic brain shot, because the weapon and rounds weren't exactly state-of-the-art, and I hadn't had enough practice.
A heart shot would probably make the target unconscious, and kill him in ten or fifteen seconds. The same went for the liver, because the tissue is so soft;
even a near miss can sometimes have the same effect. As the round travels through the body, crushing, compressing, and tearing away the flesh, a shock-wave comes with it, causing a massive temporary inflation of neighbouring tissues that messes them up big-time.
