Recon Quotes

what's your name?" what?" i asked, squinting at the light. your name." I reconized Dr. Olendzki peering over me. you know my name." I want you to tell me." Rose. Rose Hathaway." Do you know your birthday?" Of course I do. Why are you asking me such stupid things? Did you lose my records?" Dr. Olendzki gave an exasperated sigh and walked off, taking the annoying light with her. "I think she's fine,

When each day is the same as the nest it's because people fail to reconize the good things that happen in thier lives everyday the sunrises,

Oh, Lily," He says shaking his head. "I know about love. About wanting and dreaming and wishing with every part of your soul. I know enough to reconize the parts that are real and teh parts that are only in my fantasy." Ge turns his head slightly to face me, and I find myself saying,"L-like what?" "Like when she cries and my heart tears in to little shreds, and all I can think of is making her forget the source of her sadness." His face is blank, emotionless. his words -and the underlying emotion bombarding me through the bond- more than make up for it. "That's real." my voice is barely a whisper when I ask, "And fantasy?" "Believing she'll ever feel the same way.

Sig Sauer. Nine millimetres. Thirteen in the magazine. Big bullets. One of these hits you and it could blow your head off; something even the magic can't fix. Other than that you should be all right, presuming you remembered to wear the regulation above-ground micro-fibre jumpsuit recently patented by me. Then again, being a Recon jock, you probably didn't.

Come on, " he said after a few seconds of content silence. "Let's go see the sights for a few hours. Pretend it's real." Zane's brow wrinkled "Pretend what's real?" Ty slid his hand down Zane's arm and linked their fingers again. "That I can hold your hand without worrying about being reconized.

Why are we sitting way back here?" "This way we can see the whole room and do some recon." "Great, here we go with the black op lingo. Were you a Navy SEAL or some special forces officer in a past life?" Sally asked. "It's a gift. It comes so naturally that you think I've had formal training." Jen winked. "Yeah, that's exactly what I was thinking. And, by the way, Hogwarts accepted you and is awaiting your arrival." "Ha ha, good one," Jen said dryly. "You have my vote – you'll be mayor in no time.

Yea though I walk through the Valley of the shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil...because I am the meanest motherfucker in the Valley.

Hardness," I was learning, was the supreme virtue among recon Marines. The greatest compliment one could pay to another was to say he was hard. Hardness wasn't toughness, nor was it courage, although both were part of it. Hardness was the ability to face an overwhelming situation with aplomb, smile calmly at it, and then triumph through sheer professional pride.

I smiled sweetly at his embarressment, beginning to walk again, kicking up golden leaves. I heard him scuffling leaves behind me. "And what was the point of this again?" Forget it!" Sam said. "Do you you like this place or not?" I stoped in my tracks, spinning to face him. "Hey." I pointed at him; he raised his eyebrows and stopped in his tracks. "You didn't think Jack would be here at all, did you?" His thick black eyebrows went up even farther. Did you evan intend to look for him at all?" He held his hands up as if a surrender. "What do you want me to say?" You were trying to see if I would reconize it, wern't you?" I took anouther step, colsing the distance between us. I could feel the heat of his body, even without touching him, in the increasing cold of the day. "YOU told me about this wood somehow. How did you show it to me?" I keep trying to tell you. You wont listen. Because you're stubbon. It's how we speek- it's the only words we have. Just pictures. Just simple little picters. You HAVE changed Grace. Just not your skin. I want you to believe me." His hands were still raise, but he was starting to grin at me in the failing light. So you brought me here to see this." I stepped forward again, and he stepped back. Do you like it?" Under false pretence." Anouther step forward; anouther back. The grine widened So do you like it?" When you knew we wouldn't come across anybody else." His teeth flashed in his grin. "Do you like it?" I punched my hands into his chest. "You know I love it. You knew I would." I went to punch him, and he grabed my wrists. For a moment we stood there like that, him looking down at me with a grin half-caught on his face, and me lookingup at him: Still Life with Boy and Girl. It would've been the perfect moment to kiss me, but he didn't. He just looked at me and looked at me, and by the time I relizeed I could just as easily kiss him, I noticed that his grin was slipping away. Sam slowly lowered my wrists and relesed them. "I'm glad." he said very quietly. My arms still hung by my sides, right where Sam had put them. I frowned at him. "You were supposed to kiss me." I thought about it." I just kept looking at the soft, sad shape of his lips, looking just like his voice sounded. I was probably staring, but I couldn't stop thinking about how much I wanted him to kiss me and how stupide it was to want it so badly. "Why don't you?" He leaned over and gave mr the lightest of kisses. His lips, cool and dry, ever so polite and incredibly maddening. "I have to get inside soon," he whispered "It's getting cold

Combat is fast, unfair, cruel, and dirty. It is meant to be that way so that the terrible experience is branded into the memory of those who are fortunate enough to survive. It is up to those survivors to ensure that the experience is recorded and passed along to those who just might want to try it.

The man looked really spooked. And a spooked Force Recon Marine with a head injury was not someone to fool around with.

- Ain't no one ever told you yet? I recon I thought you've all figured out. - What? - That all this stuff about happy-endings is lies. The only ending in this world is death.

This book is about entanglements. To be entangled is not simply to be intertwined with another, as in the joining of separate entities, but to lack an independent, self-contained existence. Existence is not an individual affair. Individuals do not preexist their interactions; rather, individuals emerge through and as pare of their entangled intra-relating . Which is not to say that emergence happens once and for all, as an event or as a process that takes place according to some external measure of space and of time, but rather that time and space, like matter and meaning, come into existence, are iteratively recon figured through each intra-action, there by making it impossible to differentiate in any absolute sense between creation and renewal, beginning and returning, continuity and discontinuity, here and there, past and future.

But he’d also gotten a personal prickly chill all over from his own thinking. He could do the dextral pain the same way: Abiding. No one single instant of it was unendurable. Here was a second right here: he endured it. What was undealable-with was the thought of all the instants all lined up and stretching ahead, glittering. And the projected future fear of the A.D.A., whoever was out there in a hat eating Third World fast food; the fear of getting convicted of Nuckslaughter, of V.I.P.-suffocation; of a lifetime on the edge of his bunk in M.C.I. Walpole, remembering. It’s too much to think about. To Abide there. But none of it’s as of now real. What’s real is the tube and Noxzema and pain. And this could be done just like the Old Cold Bird. He could just hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not let his head look over. What’s unendurable is what his own head could make of it all. What his head could report to him, looking over and ahead and reporting. But he could choose not to listen; he could treat his head like G. Day or R. Lenz: clueless noise. He hadn’t quite gotten this before now, how it wasn’t just the matter of riding out the cravings for a Substance: everything unendurable was in the head, was the head not Abiding in the Present but hopping the wall and doing a recon and then returning with unendurable news you then somehow believed.

Chip recons that he is charming as hell, and who am I to poke holes in his theory. That means that sometimes lies leave his mouth dressed like truth. He just can’t help it.

You were Recon in the Marines and undercover for the FBI, and you've never had a concussion? How the hell did you manage that? I ducked, Ty answered in a childishly honest voice.

Months and years!' he would exclaim. 'Why recon the days? One day is enough for a man to know all happiness.

And then I feel it. It saturates the water around me, thrumming withoug rhythm. The pulse. Someone is close. Someone I don't reconize. Slowly, I tiptoe backward, careful not to splash or slosh. After a few seconds, tiptoeing doesn't make a whole lot of sense. If I can sense them, they can sense me. The pulse is getting stronger. They're heading straight toward me. Fast.

NAMBLA's infiltrated First Recon,' Person continues after bringing the vehicle to a stop. 'There's a guy in Third Platoon, hes going to be collecting photographs of all the children and sending them back to NAMBLA HQ. Back at Pendleton he volunteers at the daycare center. He goes around collecting all the turds from the five-year-olds and puts them into Copenhagen tins. Out there everyone thinks he's dipping, but it's not tobacco. It's dookie from five-year-olds.

All they expect from you is your best effort. These Marines think that they are special. They are very well trained, very close knit, and they don't like outsiders. If you want their respect, you will have to earn it.

It don't mean nothin

The commander had decided to take offense at the fact that the first female officer in Recon’s history had been assigned to his squad. Recon was a notoriously dangerous posting with a high fatality rate, and Root didn’t think it was any place for a girlie. Well, he was just going to have to get used to the idea, because Holly Short had no intention of quitting for him or anybody else.

Can we just do this recon thing?" "I can multitask," I assured him, peering into the shadows of the first alley we passed. "Cat, raccoon in Dumpster, smell of pee," I catalogued for him. " See? Now talk.

Those outfits are super hot, by the way,” I say with a contented sigh. “They’re not outfits,” Liam says. “They’re work attire,” Mikey adds. “Whatever. They’re hot.” “Yeah, we kind of figured that, Red. You’re a fucking deviant.

PJs use parachuting skills to raid into enemy territory to rescue and save lives; army rangers parachute onto the battle field to kill enemy soldiers and capture ground, while a Green Beret will infiltrate a remote, hostile area to teach the local populace how to fight and defend themselves against an enemy. Recon marines can sneak into enemy territory and learn all their secrets. SEALs are small direct-action-oriented teams that can infiltrate areas by sea air, or land to accomplish their objectives, such as capturing or destroying high value targets. Air force combat controllers call in airstrikes, help seize enemy airfields, and use their air traffic control skills to orchestrate everything from large-scale aerial invasions to small insertions of American planes and soldiers. All of these elite units consider themselves exclusive brotherhoods. Members of these outfits live at the most dangerous extreme of human experience and entrust their lives to each other. They focus on a common mission and share unique experiences of adventure and danger.

It is the man on the ground with his rifle who ultimately wins the war.

Bad luck," he commiserated. "Afraid I can't do that, either, Freddie, Dad's sending me to recon. That's food reconnaissance," he added to Lulu and Sophie. "There's a chef in a restaurant in Stoke Newington he wants me to check out before anyone else gets to him." He looked at Lulu. "Come with me," he said. From the corner of her eye, Lulu saw Sophie's hand snake to grab Charlie's wrist-- she avoided looking at Sophie's expression. "Don't you want to take your sites?" she asked coldly.

Although Bryce’s body still buzzed with all she and Hunt had done, seeing that slender female body on the table, the prince kneeling, head bowed…Her eyes stung. Hunt’s fingers found hers and squeezed. “I knew,” Cormac said roughly. His first words in minutes. “I think I always knew, but…” Ruhn stepped to his cousin’s side. Put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Cormac leaned his brow against the rim of the examination table. His voice shook. “She was good, and brave, and kind. I never deserved her, not for one minute.” Bryce’s throat ached. She let go of Hunt’s hand to approach Cormac, touching his other shoulder. Where would Sofie’s soul go? Did it linger near her body until they could give her a proper Sailing? If she went to one of the resting places, they’d be dooming her to a terrible fate. But Bryce didn’t say any of that. Not as Cormac slid his fingers beneath the black cloth and pulled out a blue-tinged, stiff hand. He clasped it in his own, kissing the dead fingers. His shoulders began to shake as his tears flowed. “We met during a recon report to Command,” Cormac said, voice breaking. “And I knew it was foolish, and reckless, but I had to speak to her after the meeting was over.” He kissed Sofie’s hand again, closing his eyes. “I should have gone back for her that night.” Tharion, who’d been poring over the corner’s files on Sofie at the desk by the far wall, said gently, “I’m sorry if I gave you false hope.” “It kept her alive in my heart a little longer,” Cormac said, swallowing back his tears. He pressed her stiff hand against his brow. “My Sofie.

Tim Tigner began his career in Soviet Counterintelligence with the US Army Special Forces, the Green Berets. That was back in the Cold War days when, “We learned Russian so you didn't have to,” something he did at the Presidio of Monterey alongside Recon Marines and Navy SEALs. With the fall of the Berlin Wall, Tim switched from espionage to arbitrage. Armed with a Wharton MBA rather than a Colt M16, he moved to Moscow in the midst of Perestroika. There, he led prominent multinational medical companies, worked with cosmonauts on the MIR Space Station (from Earth, alas), chaired the Association of International Pharmaceutical Manufacturers, and helped write Russia’s first law on healthcare. Moving to Brussels during the formation of the EU, Tim ran Europe, Middle East, and Africa for a Johnson & Johnson company and traveled like a character in a Robert Ludlum novel. He eventually landed in Silicon Valley, where he launched new medical technologies as a startup CEO. In his free time, Tim has climbed the peaks of Mount Olympus, hang glided from the cliffs of Rio de Janeiro, and ballooned over Belgium. He earned scuba certification in Turkey, learned to ski in Slovenia, and ran the Serengeti with a Maasai warrior. He acted on stage in Portugal, taught negotiations in Germany, and chaired a healthcare conference in Holland. Tim studied psychology in France, radiology in England, and philosophy in Greece. He has enjoyed ballet at the Bolshoi, the opera on Lake Como, and the symphony in Vienna. He’s been a marathoner, paratrooper, triathlete, and yogi.  Intent on combining his creativity with his experience, Tim began writing thrillers in 1996 from an apartment overlooking Moscow’s Gorky Park. Decades later, his passion for creative writing continues to grow every day. His home office now overlooks a vineyard in Northern California, where he lives with his wife Elena and their two daughters. Tim grew up in the Midwest, and graduated from Hanover College with a BA in Philosophy and Mathematics. After military service and work as a financial analyst and foreign-exchange trader, he earned an MBA in Finance and an MA in International Studies from the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton and Lauder Schools.  Thank you for taking the time to read about the author. Tim is most grateful for his loyal fans, and loves to correspond with readers like you. You are welcome to reach him directly at tim@timtigner.com.

Okay, try this, ma’am,” Januscheitis said, setting down a shot glass with a clear liquid in it. “What is this?” Faith said. She sniffed it and her nose wrinkled. “Seriously? A Marine has to drink?” “Not has to, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “Just interested. And it’s chilled vodka. Try it.” Faith tossed back the drink as the assembled group watched with sneaky smiles. “Okay, that’s not bad,” Faith said, shrugging. “No reaction at all?” Paula said, looking shocked. “No coughing? No choking?” “Was there supposed to be one?” Faith asked. She picked up the bottle, poured another shot and tossed it back. “There, happy?” “Try this one… ” Sophia said, carefully, sliding across a shot of dark liquor. “Ick,” Faith said. “That’s not so good. What was it?” “Twenty-five-year-old Strathsclyde,” Sophia said. “Which is?” Faith asked. “Scotch, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “Good scotch.” “Tastes like piss,” Faith said. “Not that I’ve ever drunk piss. Okay, what else you got?” Thirty minutes later there were a dozen bottles on the table and Faith had had at least one shot from each. “Okay, rum’s pretty good,” she said, smacking her lips. “Not as good as Razzleberry tea but not bad.” “She’s not even slightly drunk?” Derek slurred. He was, for sure. “Isn’t it supposed to be doing something by now?” Faith asked, taking another shot of 151. “I mean, I’d just finished seventh grade,” Faith said. “I’ve been to, like, two school dances! I’m never going to get to go to prom… ” She took another drink and frowned. “That sucks. That’s one of the reasons I hate fucking zombies. I’m never going to get to go to prom.” “Marine corps ball, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. He’d stopped drinking when the LT started to get shit-faced. Which had taken enough straight booze to drown a Force Recon platoon. “Way better than prom.” “Really?” Faith said. “Really,” Derek said. “Marine Corps ball is like prom for Marines.” “Christ, it’s coming up, isn’t it?” Januscheitis said. “Time’s sort of gotten to be one of those things you forget.” “We gonna have one?” Derek said. “Bet you,” Januscheitis said. “Gunny will insist. Probably use the Alpha or the Money.” “That’d be cool,” Derek said, grinning. “Use the Alpha. Marine Corps ball on a megayacht captured from zombies? I can dig that. Besides it’s more trashed out. You know how ball gets… ” “Semper fucking Fi,” Faith said. “I get to go to prom.” “We’ll make sure of it, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “Great!” Faith slurred. “So why do I gotta puke?

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I used to be a gibber-poet. . . . assemblages of appropriated text from cereal box side panels. I’d spell every third word backwards to foreground the slipping signification of say, riboflavin, dextrose, whatever — the arbitrariness of the act is what charges the work with politically subversive anti-hegemonic gender inspecificity. Once you implode the ingredients hierarchy you’ve eradicated the implicit privileging of the phallocentric socio-economic taxonomy. The whole banana to slip . . . into pro-metaphoric usage is so de-centered you can bet your boots they won’t be recon-deconstructing Sugar-Frosted Flakes again till the cows some home to roost.

Obama Authorizes IS Recon Flights in Syria

Warm Up Stretch   6 Rounds for Time   400   meter Run 10     Push-ups 10     Sit-ups 10     Burpees   Cool Down Stretch Recon ** (Ability/Agility)   Warm Up Stretch   10 Rounds for Completion   10     Handstand Push-ups 30     second Squat Hold 60     second plank 30     second Mountain Climbers 10     Burpees   Cool Down Stretch

Got it,” Keaton said. “You stay here. I’ll do recon. If I’m not back in ten minutes, assume I’ve been captured. Save yourself.” Keaton started across the hotel lobby. He seemed to be walking as if the theme music to Mission Impossible played in the background. Ben rolled his eyes. Maybe if he tackled the guy he could get his twenty back.

Some other night he planned to get lost between her thighs, mapping every sensitive spot with his tongue, memorizing the topography of her pleasure. It would be the best damn recon he'd ever done, but it would take hours.

Richter refused to let Alexander go with Ha Si to capture Moon Lai. “That’s an order. That’s final. No. We have nine other guys who can go. You’re not going. One of the Yards will go. They’re still like death.” Alexander was barely listening to Richter, as he was getting his ammunition ready. “Colonel,” he said, “I’m also still like death.” “You haven’t stopped pacing for five days!” exclaimed Richter. “You can’t sit for five minutes without a cigarette. I said no.” “And yet,” said Alexander, “I managed to survive six days with six men in one foxhole. And months in the woods. And in a cell in isolation for eight months. I’ll be fine.” “That was twenty years ago! And in the meantime, sneaking up and scaring your mouse of a wife half to death on Halloween does not count as honing your recon moves.” “Anthony told you that?” said Alexander, disgusted. “I don’t think that boy can keep his mouth shut about anything,” said Richter, staring at Alexander in a peculiar way that made Alexander look away.

checking their

attacker had been unusually tall, with a steroid-poisoned wrestler’s build and what looked at a distance to be a high-and-tight jarhead recon haircut—shaven everywhere except the crown of his head, like a short Mohawk. He looked like an overweight Travis Bickle. I felt along the bridge of my nose. It wasn’t broken. No broken teeth either, though my upper lip was bleeding. I felt and tasted the blood. I took out my cell phone and hit redial, and when Garvin answered I said, “I have one more license plate for you.

Pike stood again, and once more faced the crowd. “I qualified as a scout/sniper and served in Force Recon, mostly on long-range reconnaissance teams, hunter/killer teams, and priority target missions. I’m black belt qualified in tae kwon do, kung fu, wing chun, judo, and ubawazi. I like to run and work out. I like to read.

Staying groovy had nothing to do with being cool. It was an expression used by small recon units and sniper teams in hostile terrain. They would tell one another to stay groovy when the danger level was so insanely high they popped amphetamines to stay awake and ready to rock twenty-four/seven, because anything less would get them all killed. Stay groovy; take your pill. Stay groovy; safety off, finger on. Stay groovy; welcome to hell. Stone had left a warning within his message, and Pike wondered why.

10% speed reduction in Kraken Form. Non-Stackable Recon Allows you to see the opposing team on your map while standing on your spawn point. Non-Stackable Opening Gambit Boosts your speed in both Inkling and squid form by 20% for the first 30 seconds of battle. Non-Stackable Last-Ditch Effort Boosts ink recovery rate (while submerged) 20% and weapon ink efficiency 15% for the last 30 seconds of battle. Non-Stackable Ink Resistance Up Reduces damage and movement penalties incurred

Against the velvet of the night sky, the boom operator seated in the tail of the U.S Air Force Lockheed Tristar K. Mk.1 tanker could not to see the Blackbird as it slowly approached. The recon aircraft’s matt fuselage and wings merged with the dark sky, the still secret matt black titanium, and carbon-fibre skin of the hypersonic SR71 designed to absorb most light and all radar waves. However, the hypersonic spy plane’s proximity radarscope clearly revealed the tanker.

formation of the "High Frontier" programs for space based weapons sytems in the early 60's. Talon Gold and Teal Ruby projects were a direct result of satellite recon photos of orbiting space craft of unknown origins. This

That brings us to the nub of the issue. The second reason for drawing lines even when drawing lines is not “cool” (as my daughter and son would say) is that the New Testament documents model the distinction between orthodoxy and heresy, even if these terms are not deployed exactly in their English sense. Despite the faddish popularity of religious pluralism, despite the erroneous historical reconstructions of Walter Bauer and others, despite the common practice of treating other religions with more deference than a Christianity that tries to conform to the Bible, the fact remains that there is something disturbingly unfaithful about forms of expression that attempt to be more “broadminded” than the New Testament documents themselves. True, most who read these pages will want to avoid the kind of obscurantist “fundamentalism” that is less concerned with fundamentals than with fences. But most who read these pages will not be tempted down that path, and so they scarcely need to be warned against it. It is a cheap zeal that reserves its passions to combat only the sins and temptations of others. We are more likely to squirm when we read words like these: Do you agree with those who say that a spirit of love is incompatible with the negative and critical denunciation of blatant error, and that we must always be positive? The simple answer to such an attitude is that the Lord Jesus Christ denounced evil and denounced false teachers. I repeat that He denounced them as “ravening wolves” and “whited sepulchres,” and as “blind guides.” The Apostle Paul said of some of them, “whose god is their belly, and whose glory is in their shame”. That is the language of the Scriptures. There can be little doubt but that the Church is as she is today because we do not follow New Testament teaching and its exhortations, and confine ourselves to the positive and the so-called “simple Gospel”, and fail to stress the negatives and the criticism. The result is that people do not reconize error when they meet it. It is not pleasant to be negative; it is not enjoyable to have to denounce and to expose error. But any pastor who feels in a little measure, and with humility, the responsibility which the Apostle Paul knew in an infinitely greater degree for the souls and the well-being spiritually of his people is compelled to utter these warnings. It is not liked and appreciated in this modern flabby generation.29

In 2006 I had begun the discernment process for locating my rightful geographic home. By the time my corporate pink slip arrived I had spent two years researching and taking recon trips to five different cities in southern California. Having crossed them off my list, in February 2008 I visited Sarasota, Florida, at the urging of a friend who winters in a neighboring town. Though Florida had never been on my radar, only minutes in Sarasota I knew I’d found home.

I don’t know why it is, Captain Short, but whenever you start agreeing with me, I get decidedly nervous.” Root was right to be nervous. If he’d known how this straightforward Recon assignment was going to turn out, he would probably have retired then and there. Tonight, history was going to be made. And it wasn’t the discovery-of-radium, first-man-on-the-moon, happy kind of history. It was the Spanish Inquisition, here-comes-the-Hindenburg bad kind of history. Bad for humans and fairies. Bad for everyone.

since day one. The commander had decided to take offense at the fact that the first female officer in Recon’s history had been assigned to his squad. Recon was a notoriously dangerous posting with a high fatality rate, and Root didn’t think it was any place for a girlie. Well, he was just going to have to get used to the idea, because Holly Short had no intention of quitting for him or anybody else. Though

GB officers constituted the main force at Stone and were selected from among the baddest-ass military units—SEALs, Marine Force Recon, Air Force Parajumpers, and the Army’s Combat Applications Group (formerly know as Delta Force). They wore civilian clothes and were equipped with the most advanced light weaponry on the planet.3

Holly kicked up her legs behind her, dropping into a steep dive. Diving was against Recon regulations. All approaches were supposed to be controlled and gradual, but what was the point of flying if you couldn’t feel the slipstream tugging at your toes?

We’ll look less suspicious if we’re eating,” Erica explained. “Like two kids who just went out for pizza, rather than two spies on a recon mission. Plus, I’m starving.

Walt and Muriel insisted on doing the dishes together. “It’s what Muriel promised, since she’d donate a kidney before she’d actually consider cooking,” Walt said. And once they were alone in the kitchen, he came up behind her at the sink and kissed her neck. “You handled that whole interrogation beautifully. Classic recon—evasion, resistance, escape. We could have used you in the army.” She turned in his arms. “What I did for a living was much more dangerous. But I agree with you, I am good.” “Then let’s get this kitchen cleaned up so I can follow you home, spend a little time away from the kids.” “I can get into that idea,” she said, grinning. At

She sneered at them. “Fucking Recon, my ass.” Another

That’s Force fucking Recon to you,” Nick said to the dead woman.

Therian Human Intelligence, Recon, Defense Squadron A.K.A the THIRDS, an elite, military-funded agency comprised of an equal number of Human and Therian agents and intended to uphold the law for all its citizens without prejudice. As

No one on my team is dispensable. No one is weak. No one… especially you. There’s no way we could do this without you and you know it. So man up. Stop looking so damn sad. You just took an arm clutch by a Force Recon Marine and didn’t scream like a bitch, so hold your goddamn head up.” Tech turned his chair back around, but God saw a little pride cross his face before he did. “So,

The 2016 presidential election had marked both an obvious tipping point and a turning point in the United States. But Vladimir Putin's intervention concealed it, precisely by diverting attention to hime and Trump and what Putin might have done (or not done) to put Trump in office. Just like 2020, the 2016 election was, and should have been, an acknowledgement of and reconing with long neglected issues. [There is Nothing for You Here]

One other thing—two men are about four times as effective as one man. There’s actually a study about it. ‘Non-Linear Tactical Factors In Small-Unit Engagements,’ I think the title is. It’s part of the syllabus at Recon School.” “Marines really do know how to read, eh?

The various branches of the US military have special operations forces. These are made up of units of soldiers who have been specially trained to tackle the most risky and dangerous military operations in the world—most of which are never heard about by the general public. Special-ops forces such as the Navy SEALs, Army Green Berets, Marine RECONs, and Air Force Special Tactics are comprised of the most elite soldiers in the world. Their training is beyond rigorous, and the qualifications to join such exclusive groups of warriors are extremely high. These elite soldiers make up a small percentage of the total military, but they are the tip of the spear when it comes to critical combat operations. These units usually operate in small numbers, drop behind enemy lines, practice tactics repetitively before executing a given operation, and train for every combat condition they might encounter. But even with an exceptional level of training and expertise, there is one critical component that is absolutely necessary for them to successfully reach their objective: communication. These elite special-ops fighters are part of a larger overarching entity with which they must stay in communication—SOCOM. This acronym stands for Special Operations Command.1 Key to their success from the elite soldier on the field all the way to the commander-in-chief is communication through SOCOM. A unit or soldier on mission in the theater of battle can have the latest weapons and technology, but they cannot access the fuller power and might of the military without the critical link—communications. If a satellite phone goes down or can’t access a signal, this life-or-death communication is broken. Without the ability to call in for air support when being overrun, medical evacuation when someone is injured, or passing on key intelligence information to SOCOM, an operation can be compromised. When communication is absent, things can go south in a hurry. In the realm of special military operations, communication is life.

been showing. He was certain she wasn’t wearing underwear either. She never did on days like this. That was something else the former Recon Marine knew for certain. Four months

Margaret Thatcher said: ‘Socialism only works until you run out of other people’s money.

It was unfortunate that they had been spotted by coincidence and hadn't been able to take out the man before he alarmed the camp, but in the end, it wouldn't make any difference. The outcome would simply be delayed by a few minutes. "Proceed as planned," he instructed his units on the ground, "Strike." The command was what Nephilim had been waiting for. Her artificial muscles sprang into action, and she rushed forward. So did the rest of her squad. Coming from all sides, they raided the settlement like a pack of hungry wolves. Within seconds the first houses were stormed and cleared without much effort. Most inhabitants were still half asleep and didn't give much of a fight when the blue-eyed killers invaded their homes, putting bullets through their heads. Screams of panic and agony could be heard everywhere, so loud that they almost drowned the shrill alarm. People tried to flee, ran helplessly in all directions, but there was no escape from an enemy that could move ten times faster. Others fell to their knees and begged for mercy, even though it was futile. The Angels knew no mercy. But soon it turned out that the inhabitants of the settlement weren't as helpless as recon had initially indicated. After the first few minutes, which had indeed been like a walk in the park, Nephilim and her comrades encountered heavy resistance. As they approached the inner area of the former industrial facility, the enemy opened fire. Through the eyes of her drone flying above her, Nephilim spotted shooters taking position on the roof of an old brick factory

caseless ammo

Don’t go anywhere for the first time. Study maps, do in-depth recon online, send scouts, or, best of all, go with someone who’d gone before.

We did eight hundred push-ups every goddamned day, some days over two hundred chins, and they ran us. Christ, we ran ten miles every morning and another five at night, and sometimes even more than that. We weren’t big guys, like badass football linemen or any of that, you know, Rambo with all those pansy protein-shake muscles bulging. We were skinny kids, mostly, all stripped down and hungry, but, hell, we could carry hundred-pound packs, four hundred rounds, and a poodle-popper uphill at a run all goddamned day. You know what we were? We were wolves. Lean and mean, and you definitely did not want us on your ass. We were fuckin’ dangerous, man. That’s what they wanted. Recon. That’s what we wanted, too.” —excerpt from Young Men at War: A Case by Case Study of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, by Patricia Barber, Ph.D. M.F.C.C. Duke University Press, 1986

read a long time ago, in another life, which said ‘if you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.’ Allowing things to happen to you changes you as surely as if you’d changed to keep them from happening. I’ve seen that, as well.

I smiled and we both just stood there. Neither one of us made a move to go, even though it was late. A mischievous grin crept across her face. “Are you tired?” I liked the glint in her eye and I had no intention of ending this night if she didn’t want to, no matter how tired I was. “No.” “Do you want to go TP Sloan and Brandon’s house?” My laugh made her eyes dance. “I know it’s a little tenth-grade retro,” she said. “But I’ve always wanted to do it. And you can’t TP a house alone—it’s a rule.” “We’ll have to show up there tomorrow and help them clean it up. Pretend it’s just a lucky coincidence,” I said. “Can you borrow a tool from Brandon? I can text Sloan in the morning to tell her we’re going to pick it up. She’ll cook if she knows we’re coming. Then we’ll get breakfast and atone for our sins.” She grinned. A half an hour later I was crouched behind my truck two houses down from Brandon’s, game-planning with Kristen. She still hadn’t taken out her curlers. “If they wake up,” she whispered, “we scatter and reconvene at the donut place on Vanowen.” “Got it. If you’re captured, no matter what they do to you, don’t break under interrogation.” She scoffed quietly. “As if. I can’t be broken.” She snatched her roll and darted from behind the truck. We made short work of it. Operation TP Sloan and Brandon’s was completed in less than five minutes. No casualties. We got back into the truck laughing so hard it took me three tries to get the key in the ignition. Then I noticed she’d lost a curler. I got unbuckled. “No curlers left behind. It’s Marine Corps policy.” We got out for a recon mission on Brandon’s lawn. I located the fallen curler under a pile of TP by the mailbox. “Hey,” I whispered, holding it up. “Found it.” She beamed and jogged across the toilet-papered grass, but when she reached for the curler, I palmed it. “You’re injured,” I whispered. “You’ve lost a curler. The medics can reattach it, but I’ll need to carry you out. Get on my back.” I was only about 50 percent sure she would go for this. I banked on her not wanting to break character. She didn’t skip a beat. “You’re right,” she whispered. “Man down. Good call.” She jumped up and I piggybacked her to the truck, laughing the whole way. Those thirty seconds of her arms around my neck made my entire night.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Tim Tigner began his career in Soviet Counterintelligence with the US Army Special Forces, the Green Berets. That was back in the Cold War days when, “We learned Russian so you didn't have to,” something he did at the Presidio of Monterey alongside Recon Marines and Navy SEALs. With the fall of the Berlin Wall, Tim switched from espionage to arbitrage. Armed with a Wharton MBA rather than a Colt M16, he moved to Moscow in the midst of Perestroika. There, he led prominent multinational medical companies, worked with cosmonauts on the MIR Space Station (from Earth, alas), chaired the Association of International Pharmaceutical Manufacturers, and helped write Russia’s first law on healthcare. Moving to Brussels during the formation of the EU, Tim ran Europe, Middle East and Africa for a Johnson & Johnson company and traveled like a character in a Robert Ludlum novel. He eventually landed in Silicon Valley, where he launched new medical technologies as a startup CEO. In his free time, Tim has climbed the peaks of Mount Olympus, hang glided from the cliffs of Rio de Janeiro, and ballooned over Belgium. He earned scuba certification in Turkey, learned to ski in Slovenia, and ran the Serengeti with a Maasai warrior. He acted on stage in Portugal, taught negotiations in Germany, and chaired a healthcare conference in Holland. Tim studied psychology in France, radiology in England, and philosophy in Greece. He has enjoyed ballet at the Bolshoi, the opera on Lake Como, and the symphony in Vienna. He’s been a marathoner, paratrooper, triathlete, and yogi.

but

From one of my favorite scenes... “Ugh.” Marisa rested her forehead on the chart. “I’m trying to have an intelligent conversation with a recon bot.

I think the real reason you’re such a goody-two shoes is because this is your Judicially constructed personality. The you you know is Judicial Recon, because you were a juvenille when what happened, happened. So they gave you a clear slate and a clean bill of health.

Don’t you wonder who you’d be without the clade? Without Judicial Recon? Without rightminding?

You think we should show her exactly how much fun we’d like to have with her, bro?” the clown asks.

Don’t need to tie you up,” he grunts as he spins me around, pinning my wrists together before securing them with the rope. “I just want to,

Come sit up here.” He traces his fingers over his lips. “I want to taste you.

Enjoy him fucking you, Red, because as soon as he’s done, you’re mine.

I wrestle against my restraints, desperate to touch him and hold on to something as he rails into me.

Fuck, baby. Can you come for me again?” he grunts, his fingers digging into my hips. “Yeah,” I whimper. “That’s my girl.

You did so good, baby,” he groans in my ear, “you feel so good squeezing my cock when you come.

I have never forgotten for a second who you really are, Mikey Ryan.” He runs his teeth over the curve of my jaw before he asks, “and who is that, Red?” “A man who comes home to his wife and children soaked in the blood of his enemies.

Just because you make me laugh more than any other person I know, and because you’re my best friend…” I suck in a breath and his eyes soften a little at those words. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know the kind of man you really are – the same kind you’ve always been.

Fully functional weapons were being haphazardly passed around by low-level officers and, in two confirmed cases, civilians. One warhead they were watching was currently parked in a retired captain’s storage unit. A recon team had managed to get a fiber optic camera through the ventilation grate and the Agency was now in possession of an honest-to-God picture of a hot nuke sitting next to a set of golf clubs.

But then again, representations are not (more or less faithful) pictures of what is, but productive evocations, provocations, and generative material articulations or recon-figurings of what is and what is possible.

Is RECON another acronym?” asked Mudflap. (RECON is not an acronym. It’s short for reconnaissance, because reconnaissance is a tough word to spell correctly.) “Um,” said Josh. “Yes. Yes, RECON is an acronym. Now—” “What does it stand for?” asked Splinters. Josh sighed. “Well . . . it . . . stands for . . .” Josh stared at the ceiling of his barracks. He felt instinctively that this was an important test of his leadership. Josh firmly believed that good leaders never admit when they don’t know something. And the fact was, Josh didn’t know what this acronym stood for. (Again, it wasn’t an acronym.) He began to blush a pale plum color. This was a tough spot. What could he do? “RECON stands for . . . Really . . .” He was off to a good start! “Enormous . . . Counterstrike . . .” O. O. O. “On . . .” Aha! Josh was almost there. He screwed up his eyes and willed all his blood to his brain. Josh’s face darkened and became the shade of a turnip. Just one letter left! His eyes lit up. The word came to him like a gift from his ancestors, inscribed in his mind with the ballpoint pen of principals past. “NIMBUSES!

You know how it is when you arrive in a new place and feel like you don't belong there? That hesitation to recon with a new geography. That knowledge that this place is not mine, these ways of talking are not mine, these silences are not mine, this etiquette is not mine.So many new things to absorb. And the place also takes a little time to accept the new person. Often you have to meet the place on its own terms. Sometimes you have to work hard to earn your little corner in it. Till that place become yours, till you find your own equilibrium, there will be a gap between you and the place.

But they were a brotherhood, even if they were different services. SEALs worked with other services on operations. Dane had worked with Delta Force, Marine Force Recon, Air Force PJs, the CIA, ATF, and DEA in the past.

I suspect the most we can hope for, and it's no small hope, is that we never give up, that we never stop giving ourselves permission to try to love and receive love. 카톡【ACD5】 텔레【KKD55】 한국최고의 약국센터 깔끔한 거래와 고객님들의 신상정보를 안전하게 지켜드릴수있는 신용과신뢰의 약국이 되겠습니다 원하신다면 저희가 후불제로 드릴만큼 제품의 품질 효과를 담보해드릴수있습니다 1. 발기부전 (erectile dysfunction)의 치료 이 약이 효과적이려면, 성적자극(sexual stimulation)을 필요로 한다. 이 약은 여성에 의한 사용을 그 적응증으로 하지 않는다. 2. 양성 전립선 비대증 양성 전립선 비대증의 징후 및 증상의 치료 3. 발기부전 및 양성 전립선 비대증 발기부전과 양성 전립선 비대증을 동반한 남성의 발기부전 및 양성 전립선 비대증 징후 및 증상 치료 Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it. 여성최음제,여성흥분제,남성발기부전치유제,비아그라,시알리스,88정,99정,정력제,남성성기확대제,카마그라젤,비닉스,센돔,남성조루방지제,네노마정,프릴리지,등많은제품판매하고있습니다 what's your name?" what?" i asked, squinting at the light. your name." I reconized Dr. Olendzki peering over me. you know my name." I want you to tell me." Rose. Rose Hathaway." Do you know your birthday?" Of course I do. Why are you asking me such stupid things? Did you lose my records?" Dr. Olendzki gave an exasperated sigh and walked off, taking the annoying light with her. "I think she's fine,

I suspect the most we can hope for, and it's no small hope, is that we never give up, that we never stop giving ourselves permission to try to love and receive love. 카톡【ACD5】 텔레【KC98K】 한국최고의 약국센터 깔끔한 거래와 고객님들의 신상정보를 안전하게 지켜드릴수있는 신용과신뢰의 약국이 되겠습니다 원하신다면 저희가 후불제로 드릴만큼 제품의 품질 효과를 담보해드릴수있습니다 1. 발기부전 (erectile dysfunction)의 치료 이 약이 효과적이려면, 성적자극(sexual stimulation)을 필요로 한다. 이 약은 여성에 의한 사용을 그 적응증으로 하지 않는다. 2. 양성 전립선 비대증 양성 전립선 비대증의 징후 및 증상의 치료 3. 발기부전 및 양성 전립선 비대증 발기부전과 양성 전립선 비대증을 동반한 남성의 발기부전 및 양성 전립선 비대증 징후 및 증상 치료 Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it. 여성최음제,여성흥분제,남성발기부전치유제,비아그라,시알리스,88정,99정,정력제,남성성기확대제,카마그라젤,비닉스,센돔,남성조루방지제,네노마정,프릴리지,등많은제품판매하고있습니다 what's your name?" what?" i asked, squinting at the light. your name." I reconized Dr. Olendzki peering over me. you know my name." I want you to tell me." Rose. Rose Hathaway." Do you know your birthday?" Of course I do. Why are you asking me such stupid things? Did you lose my records?" Dr. Olendzki gave an exasperated sigh and walked off, taking the annoying light with her. "I think she's fine

There's always a left behind footprint of every deeds, be it good or bad, which by eventuality will be recon with in time.

In Recon, they give you just enough to stay strong, but not strong enough to run very far.

She fascinated me because she and I are the same: Both of us came into the compound with nothing, and both of us desperately wanted to achieve something.

Marine Force Recon. Celer, Silens, Mortalis. Swift, Silent, Deadly.

line

In a 1991 short story first published in Omni magazine titled “They’re Made out of Meat,” sci-fi author Terry Bisson makes you regret being human. We are treated to a conversation between two ethereal aliens, where one tries hard to explain to the other that Earth humans are made entirely out of meat. A snippet of their pithy dialogue captures the astonishment:29 They’re made out of meat. Meat? Meat. They’re made out of meat. Meat? There’s no doubt about it. We picked several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, probed them all the way through. They’re completely meat. That’s impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars. They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don’t come from them. The signals come from machines. So who made the machines? That’s who we want to contact. They made the machines. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Meat made the machines. That’s ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You’re asking me to believe in sentient meat. The first alien later attempts to describe how humans communicate: You know how when you slap or flap meat it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat.

his