Hunter Killer - Alex King Series 12 (2021), A BATEMAN [urban books to read TXT] 📗

three-hundred-euro deposit and it’s fifty euros a day for the gun. This is a Browning A-Bolt. Three shots, bolt action. Just a three-round magazine. But you cannot carry it around town with the magazine in the weapon, and you must carry it only with the bolt back and the breech open so people can see that it is not loaded.”

King took the rifle from him and felt it, the weight, the balance and feel of it. The stock was what was referred to as synthetic, just a black plastic composite that required no maintenance, like modern military assault rifles. He could see from the bolt and magazine lips that the rifle had barely been fired, although it had been carried plenty of times, the stock and fore end were scratched, as was the barrel. “No telescopic sight?”

“You’re not going hunting. This rifle is for protection only,” the man said somewhat curtly. “The open sights are good for two-hundred metres, but if you need to use this, then you will have eight-hundred kilos of bear running you down at sixty kilometres an hour. In that scenario you do not want to be trying to shoot it looking through a magnified lens as you will struggle to keep up with the target. Scopes are no good for moving targets. If it is looking aggressive and coming straight at you, then wait until it is thirty metres away and fire. Miss and it will be twenty metres from you by the time you work the bolt. Miss again, and part of you will be in the beast’s mouth and he’ll already be eating you…”

King shrugged. He didn’t exactly need a lesson on firearms, scopes or ballistics, but he’d never hired a gun for bear protection before, so he had listened and taken in what the man had said. “Can I have an assault rifle instead?” he joked.

“No,” the man replied humourlessly. “Five-point-five-six millimetre will just piss the bear off anyway. We don’t use anything that small up here.”

King nodded. “Why this calibre in particular?” he asked purely out of interest.

Modern military weapons had bypassed .30-06 since the Second World War. He knew the legendary BAR troop support weapon chambered in .30-06 had been flawed by its heavy ammunition. Modern times called for a soldier to carry more ammunition and for the bullet to merely put an enemy soldier out of action, which in turn tied up more personnel in a support role, than simply killing just another soldier. That was why smaller, more specialised calibres were used on the battlefield. But a polar bear was an entirely different entity. A .30-06 was going to do more than sting a polar bear, but there were plenty more capable calibres out there.

“It packs a hell of a punch, without the huge recoil of the larger African game calibres. The government tested it against other calibres, and it ticked the most boxes for our unique purposes. Some of it had something to do with tighter necked bullet cases being affected by the extreme cold.” He put a leaflet down on the counter. “That’s the do’s and don’ts. Remember, you’re not here to bag a polar bear. The rifle is for your protection only. And don’t relax just because you’re in town. That’s when we get the most attacks or encounters as people let their guard down and before they know it, they’ve wandered to the outskirts. That and down on the shoreline. And the police don’t take kindly to not knowing if the rifle is unloaded or not. And they carry Glocks.”

“And that’s it?” King asked, mentally tucking away the fact the .30-06 performed well in cold weather, he’d be sure to discuss this with Simon Mereweather and see if he could take it to the MOD. Sometimes the simplest things could be overlooked.

The man shrugged. “You rent the ammunition, too.” He put a box of twenty Hornaday red tips on the counter. “Soft-nosed, expanding ammunition. Fifty euros for the box, but it’s returnable. However, I charge twenty euros per bullet used. Tends to keep down the number of people heading out of town to shoot beer bottles…” He said, then added. “But if you really must shoot something, there is a target range near Mine Two. It’s easy to find.”

King nodded as he strolled around the store and picked out an Arctic jacket, trouser and bib set and some more thermal socks. He also chose a pair of soft thermal boots and another pair of gloves. As he placed it all on the counter and the man started to tally it up, he added four chemical handwarmers and a Leatherman. The Leatherman was like a Swiss Army knife on steroids, with pliers, a sharp serrated blade and an array of other tools that could come in handy. He paid with the company card Ramsay had issued him with and shouldered the rifle on the leather strap. He tucked the bullets into his inside jacket pocket and slipped the overall trousers over his cargoes, swapped to the new boots, then loaded up with the bags. Outside, the air seared his throat and lungs, and he felt his nostrils stick together again as he breathed. King slipped on a pair of sunglasses he had bought back at Gatwick Airport. They were black Oakley wraparounds and as soon as he put them on, his eyes relaxed from the glare of sun on snow. He tossed everything but the rifle onto the rear seats, and rested the rifle on the passenger seat, with the stock in the footwell. He loaded three bullets into the magazine and tucked the magazine into his pocket. King wasn’t overly concerned about polar bears. The only predator that concerned him was the man who had stared long and hard at him back at the airport terminal. He knew the look. And he knew that hostile forces would soon come into play. He felt happier