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The story begins on a June evening, just after the twilight transitions into night in the city of Dublin. The city is dimly lit by moonlight, and there are roars of heavy guns around the Four Courts area. Occasional bursts of rifle and machine gun fire can be heard nearby in the city.
An unnamed Republican sniper lies in position on a rooftop, near O’Connell Bridge. A rifle lies beside him, and he wears a pair of binoculars over his shoulders. His thin face looks young, like that of a student. But his eyes, betraying a certain fanaticism, are “deep and thoughtful.” They are the eyes of someone who has seen death often enough that death has become familiar.
As he waits, the sniper hungrily eats a sandwich. It is the first food he’s eaten since morning because he has been too excited to eat. He pulls a flask from his pocket and gulps down some whiskey, then places it back in his pocket. He feels an urge to smoke, but pauses, thinking about the risk it might pose. The light might reveal his position to the enemy, and he knows that the enemy is watching.
Nevertheless, he strikes a match and lights a cigarette. He quickly inhales the smoke and puts out the match. Instantly, a bullet strikes the parapet. He takes another puff, puts out the cigarette, and swears under his breath, crawling away toward the left.
He raises himself carefully and looks over the parapet. Immediately there is a flash and a bullet barely misses his head. He lowers himself but has seen the flash of the muzzle from across the street. Carefully, he rolls over to the chimney and rises behind it, hiding, until he can see just over the parapet. All he can see is the outline of the housetop across the street. His enemy is well hidden.
An armored vehicle crosses the bridge and cautiously moves up the street, stopping on the opposite side, fifty yards ahead. It is close enough that he can hear its motor, and his heart rate increases when he realizes that it is an enemy vehicle. His instincts tell him to fire, but he knows that his bullets would never penetrate the vehicle’s metal frame.
An old woman, her head wrapped in a ragged shawl, steps around the corner of a side street and begins talking to the man in the armored car’s turret. An informer, she points at the roof where the sniper is hiding. The man in the turret rises to look in the direction that the woman is pointing. The sniper shoots and kills him. The woman quickly flees, but the sniper fires again. She spins and falls with a shout, collapsing into the gutter, dead.
