The Sniper Behind The Rifle Knew My Breathing Better Than I Did

off,” Kesler told the figure.

The sniper reached up. Slow. Deliberate.

When the fabric came away, my knees almost gave out. Because I’d buried him. I’d folded the flag myself. I’d watched them lower the casket in the rain eleven years ago.

He lowered the rifle just enough to speak.

“Hi, sis.”

My little brother. Alive. Breathing. Holding the codename I thought continue reading …