Sniper Akin: Call Sign: Dark Horse
Akin was always a pain in the arse. He bucked authority every chance he had. His favorite past times were drinkin’, cursin’, and pissin’ people off. The last being his favorite. He’d get sloppily drunk at the pub and pick fights with guys twice his size. He’d let them get a few shots in, boost their confidence, then strike. The reality is that he wasn’t nearly as intoxicated as he let on.
It was during holiday across the pond that he came to the attention of Cobra via the Dreadnoks.
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“That’s my seat.” He looks up to see a surly-looking biker; mutton chops, dark sunglasses, red bandana. Wearing a black leather vest over his bare chest.
“Bloody ‘ell it is.”
“I’m not gonna tell you again.”
“Listen ‘ere you Village People reject, it’s my arse on the stool, so it’s my seat. now, bugger off!”
“What’d you say?” He puffs his chest. Glaring from behind his glasses.
“Are you bloody deaf?” The punch is expected, and it knocks me on my ass. He really does pack a wallop. I cough, tasting blood on my lips, “That all ya got. Ya fuckin’ cunt.” His buddies hoot and holler as he steps towards me, kicking me in the gut. I roll with the kick. As he steps up to take another shot, I catch his boot, twisting his ankle bringing him to the ground.
Zartan ended the fisticuffs with two pitchers of Bud thrown at our faces. “You’re a crazy bastard, you know that.”
“Bugger me arsehole!”
“I don’t know what the hell that means, but I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
I met the then Major Bludd a few days later. It’s been all downhill since then.
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“You expect me ta believe he’s never fired a rifle before?”
“That’s what he claims, Major.”
“‘Bloody ‘ell, send him to the Marksman.”
Earning the call sign “Darkhorse,” Akin went on to be a top-notch shot. Not the best Cobra had seen, but dan close. He ended up in the Amazon with the rest of the Viper’s Nest after being pulled out of Eastern Europe, where he saw action on a near-daily basis.
