Hk416 Quotes

his job clearly had something to do with guns, because he held an HK416 rifle in his hand now, leveled at Court’s chest. He stood alone in the small doorway, but now the main hangar door slid open, ten feet off Court’s right, and an entire Special Activities Division Ground Branch field team walked out, each man carrying an automatic weapon.

It was, in fact, his weapon of choice—extremely accurate, with a manageable form factor, and most importantly, dependable. The thing never jammed, never malfunctioned. When an operator needed to spit a lot of lead in the bad guys’ direction, an HK416 would do it forever without complaining once. “Who the hell are you?” Trapp asked, eyeing the man with his steel-blue gaze. The shooter was dressed in dark combat fatigues and had the mark of a special operator about him—a cold, lethal tension that suggested he could snap into action with a millisecond’s notice. Out of the corner of his eye, Trapp saw that the man’s partner was dressed and armed exactly the same. Except the other shooter had his weapon raised and aimed directly at Trapp’s skull. He did the math, quickly, and decided for the time being to play it cool. In all honesty, he didn’t really have much of a choice. Either of the two operators could drop him before he moved a yard. The man ignored the question. “Get back on the helicopter!” he yelled, his voice a slow Arkansas drawl. Trapp’s brow furrowed. The hell? What was the point in dragging him halfway across the country just to send him back? And then it clicked. The operator wasn’t speaking to him. “But—” “No questions. Get back on the helicopter, and fuck off!” the shooter shouted, jerking his thumb to accentuate his point. Trapp glanced over his shoulder at the liaison officer’s dismayed frown, and a wide grin crept across his face. Maybe he didn’t mind being held at gunpoint after all.

black Heckler & Koch HK416 submachine gun

HK416s

He could still remember the feeling, sitting in another hide not fifty meters away, his eyes fixed on the Bedouins through the optic of his HK416. Whispering “Steady, steady” through clenched teeth as he willed the Egyptians to keep their nerve. And then all hell had broken loose, automatic weapons fire rippling out across the desert. Cutting down the shepherds—along with more than a few of their sheep. Alerting everyone within miles of their presence. They’d managed to regroup and storm the compound within the hour, but by that time anyone who might have once been there was already gone. Deserted

surveying the speaker—a man in his early thirties, who was cradling a black Heckler & Koch HK416 submachine gun in his grip. The man’s posture was relaxed but had an intense lethality about it. Trapp recognized the weapon instantly. It was standard issue for operators in the CIA’s Special Activities Division. That made sense. It was, in fact, his weapon of choice—