Sniper Rifle Quotes

And where were you when my mate was shooting ferals with a damn sniper rifle?" he demanded, exhaustion adding a bite to his words. Ryuu gave him a flat look. "Holding her ammunition.

Definition: 'Love' is making a shot to the knees of a target 120 kilometres away using an Aratech sniper rifle with a tri-light scope. Statement: This definition, I am told, is subject to interpretation. Obviously, 'love' is a matter of odds. Not many meatbags could make such a shot, and strangely enough, not many meatbags would derive love from it. Yet for me, love is knowing your target, putting them in your targeting reticle, and together, achieving a singular purpose... against statistically long odds...

Simon scoffed. ‘Sure, just a misunderstanding. There’s a sniper out there with a high-powered rifle and a laser sight who’s decided to use us as target practice. But yeah, just a misunder standing.’ He’d changed his tune.

You may never shoot a sniper rifle. You may never serve as part of an assault team, or stand security in combat, or board a hostile ship at midnight on the high seas. You may never wear a uniform; hell, you may never even throw a punch in the name of freedom. I’ll tell you what, though. Whatever it is that you do, you are making a stand, either for excellence or for mediocrity. This is what I learned about being a Navy SEAL: it is all about excellence, and about never giving up on yourself. And that is the red circle I will continue to hold, no matter what.

He was listed as right-handed. The army needed to know that because bolt-action sniper rifles are made for right-handers. Left-handed soldiers don’t usually get assigned as snipers. Pigeonholing starts on day one in the military.

she simply wasn’t one of those adrenaline junkies who got all jazzed up over rappelling out of a helicopter, or parachuting into shark-infested waters in the middle of a hurricane, or hiding out in a muddy ditch with a sniper rifle while wearing one of those camouflage helmets with a little bush attached to it.

Didn't go in, just hovered outside like homeless person because (a) place was too small and Detta would have spotted me, and (b) once you're through doors of shop like that, if you try to leave without buying anything, they shoot you in the back with sniper's rifle.

Definition: 'Love' is making a shot to the knees of a target 120 kilometers away using an Aratech sniper rifle with a tri-light scope. Love is knowing your target, putting them in your targeting reticule, and together, achieving a singular purpose against statistically long odds.

Now we hunt with high-powered sniper rifles, seeking trophies and the thrill of the kill. We're a box of matches in a child's hand. As a species, are we even capable on the whole of realizing the necessary balance in Mother Nature's web-of-life? Time will surely tell.

I like working the day shift,” I told Ro and Rolex as they put their sniper rifles down and we climbed off the roof. “Any shift,” Ro said. It didn’t take long for word to spread across Anbar. A new group of predators were in town now, and they were working around the clock.

A normal human would be dead of alcohol poisoning by now. He wanted to drive. “Give me the keys.” He considered it and dangled the keys before me. “What do I get if I let you drive?” I felt the weight of someone’s gaze, as if a sniper had sighted my back through a rifle scope. I turned. The building loomed about thirty yards away. The double glass doors leading to the balcony swung open, and Curran walked out. “What do I get if I let you drive, Kate?” I grabbed the keys from his hand. “To live!

Legend says Gabriel’s trumpet will sound the last judgment. I do the same sort of thing with my rifle.

Ryuu stepped forward. "When you get to the estate let me know, I will do all I can to help." Aiden looked at the squire with a sour expression. "And where were you when my mate was shooting ferals with a damn sniper rifle?" he demanded, exhaustion adding a bite to his words. Ryuu gave him a flat look. "Holding her ammunition." Aiden growled again in frustration. "Let's go home!

If intellectual capacity is a sniper’s foremost qualification, the number two trait is patience. We will take out any enemy we have to when the situation calls for it, whether that means using a rifle, a handgun, a knife, or our bare hands. Yet the sniper’s fundamental craft is not killing a person, but being able to get close enough to do so. Osman and I were on a classic sniper stalking mission: track, sneak up, observe, and disappear again, leaving no trace behind.

You. Man at the machine and man in the workshop. If tomorrow they tell you you are to make no more water-pipes and saucepans but are to make steel helmets and machine-guns, then there's only one thing to do: Say NO! You. Woman at the counter and woman in the office. If tomorrow they tell you you are to fill shells and assemble telescopic sights for snipers' rifles, then there's only one thing to do: Say NO! You. Research worker in the laboratory. If tomorrow they tell you you are to invent a new death for the old life, then there's only one thing to do: Say NO! You. Priest in the pulpit. If tomorrow they tell you you are to bless murder and declare war holy, then there's only one thing to do: Say NO! You. Pilot in your aeroplane. If tomorrow they tell you you are to carry bombs over the cities, then there's only one thing to do: Say NO! You. Man of the village and man of the town. If tomorrow they come and give you your call-up papers, then there's only one thing to do: Say NO! You. Mother in Normandy and mother in the Ukraine, mother in Vancouver and in London, you on the Hwangho and on the Mississippi, you in Naples and Hamburg and Cairo and Oslo - mothers in all parts of the earth, mothers of the world, if tomorrow they tell you you are to bear new soldiers for new battles, then there's only one thing to do: Say NO! For if you do not say NO - if YOU do not say no - mothers, then: then! In the bustling hazy harbour towns the big ships will fall silent as corpses against the dead deserted quay walls, their once shimmering bodies overgrown with seaweed and barnacles, smelling of graveyards and rotten fish. The trams will lie like senseless glass-eyed cages beside the twisted steel skeleton of wires and track. The sunny juicy vine will rot on decaying hillsides, rice will dry in the withered earth, potatoes will freeze in the unploughed land and cows will stick their death-still legs into the air like overturned chairs. In the fields beside rusted ploughs the corn will be flattened like a beaten army. Then the last human creature, with mangled entrails and infected lungs, will wander around, unanswered and lonely, under the poisonous glowing sun, among the immense mass graves and devastated cities. The last human creature, withered, mad, cursing, accusing - and the terrible accusation: WHY? will die unheard on the plains, drift through the ruins, seep into the rubble of churches, fall into pools of blood, unheard, unanswered, the last animal scream of the last human animal - All this will happen tomorrow, tomorrow, perhaps, perhaps even tonight, perhaps tonight, if - if - You do not say NO.

Max and Shane passed the joint back and forth as they sat in the crow’s nest, their sniper rifles resting across their laps. “Gets ya right there,” Max said, pounding his chest, his eyes on Kinsey below. “No shit, bro,” Shane replied after a long drag. “Those two, man. Too much love, too much pride.” “That’s why we never argue,” Max said. “I hate you and have zero pride in myself.” “Me too,” Shane said. “You are the bane of my existence.” He held up the joint. “And I try to cover my own self-loathing in a haze of the pot.

Maiha “Allow me to introduce you to the Children of Mars. On lead guitar and eight barreled Calliope Gatlin, Colonel Fujiyama. On bass and manning the double-barreled thirty millimeter PPC's we have Major Howard. Singing backup and key boards we have Fight Captain Benz with a lovely ten millimeter rapid fire gauss rifle. Her lovely partner Captain Martin on drums with her ten millimeter Hell-bore pulse laser rifle. And singing lead and front man, a true artist with a bang from the Castile sniper rifle, our Big Daddy, Papa of Death and Destruction, the one, the only, the man, the myth, the legend, Lord James Nakatoma- Bailey.” When I finished Alice was giggling out loud.

And I still believe that there are two basic kinds of people--people who cultivate the narcissistic delusion of being watched at all times through the viewfinder of a camera, and people who cultivate the paranoid delusion of being watched at all times through the high-powered optics of a sniper's rifle, and I think I fall--and have always fallen--into this latter category.

정품구입문의하는곳~☎위커메신저:PP444☎라인:PPPK44↔[☎?카톡↔kap6] 정품구입문의하는곳~☎위커메신저:PP444☎라인:PPPK44↔[☎?카톡↔kap6] 정품구입문의하는곳~☎위커메신저:PP444☎라인:PPPK44↔[☎?카톡↔kap6] 정품구입문의하는곳~☎위커메신저:PP444☎라인:PPPK44↔[☎?카톡↔kap6] 오랬동안 구소련에서 사용되어온 드라구노프 SVD는 뛰어난 저격소총임에는 틀림이 없으나 각국의 최신 저격 소총과 비교하면 구식화 되었기 때문에 IZHMASH의 Vladimir Stronskiy가 설계하여 최신 저격용 소총인 SV-98이 개발되었다. 1998년 부터 IZHMASH에서 생산이 시작되었다. Used in the Soviet Union, for a Dragunov svd is There is no doubt that excellent sniper rifle, but from all over the latest in comparison with a sniper rifle out of date because it.Of the izhmash vladimir a sniper rifle, the latest design is stronskiy sv - 98 were developed. Since 1998, produced in izhmash. Polyamide made of casting is a special order and thin layer made of plywood. Handle the front at the bottom of barrel is narrow and long holes. Butt stroke to the airborne, is wood, but the butt of a dedicated fiber glass and is paid. Butt plate, and cheek, adjustable safety, fire is possible. Butt grip is from slipping have a checkered. In addition, snipers on the butt in the face in accordance with the shape of control and butt stroke to the base is adjustable with gun shot in optimal conditions, makes you can do.

The shoot-to-kill order came through at zero one fifteen, relayed over a satellite radio. It’d been just three hours since the two-man reconnaissance team had reported the sighting. They lay in a shallow dugout on a windblown ridge, the leeward slope falling away steeply to an impassable boulder field. A desert-issue tarp all but covered the hole, protected from view on the flanks by thorny scrub. Shivering, they blew into their bunched trigger-finger mitts. The daytime temperature had dropped twenty degrees or more, and fine sleet was melting on their blackened faces. Darren Proctor extended the folded stock of his L115A3 sniper rifle. He split the legs of the swivel bi-pod and aligned the swivel cheek piece with the all-weather scope. Flipping open the lens cap, he glassed the terrain cast a muted green by the night vision. The tree line was sparse, a smattering of pines and cedars shuddering in the biting wind. Glimpsing movement on a scree slope fifty metres or so beyond, he focused in. The eyes of a striped hyena shone like glow sticks. He watched as the scavenger ripped at the carcass of an ibex or wild sheep. A second later it sniffed the air, ears pricked, and scampered off.

The whole world knew about the piracy case of the tanker Maersk Alabama, which three Navy SEAL sharpshooters saved the imprisoned ship captain. Those SEALs spent a full day lying in wait with their weapons trained on the pirate boat, waiting for the kill command. When the order came down, they instantly fired their sniper rifles, with their own vessel bobbing at a different rate from the pirates’ boat, having no room for error if the captive was to survive. The snipers took out all three pirates in a single shot while sparing the kidnapped victim. Captain Richard Phillips was freed unharmed from the close quarters of that little boat, while the dead bodies of the three armed pirates slumped around him. Details of DEVGRU training are not available to explain this feat of timing and marksmanship, but the results testify to its deadly effect. SEAL Team Six founder Richard Marcinko has said that his budget for ammunition for his men’s training was greater than that of the entire Marin Corps. The comment might be dismissed as braggadocio if not for undeniable results produced under intense and deadly pressure. Consequently, by the time Jessica Buchanan was being marched into a pitched-black desert to her own mock execution two years later, the same people at the White House who took note of her disappearance had reason to wonder if it might be time for another visit to the region from the men you don’t see coming.

The world recoiled in horror in 2012 when 20 Connecticut schoolchildren and six adults were killed at Sandy Hook Elementary School. . . . The weapon was a Bushmaster AR-15 semiautomatic rifle adapted from its original role as a battlefield weapon. The AR-15, which is designed to inflict maximum casualties with rapid bursts, should never have been available for purchase by civilians (emphasis added).1 —New York Times editorial, March 4, 2016 Assault weapons were banned for 10 years until Congress, in bipartisan obeisance to the gun lobby, let the law lapse in 2004. As a result, gun manufacturers have been allowed to sell all manner of war weaponry to civilians, including the super destructive .50-caliber sniper rifle. . . .(emphasis added)2 —New York Times editorial, December 11, 2015 [James Holmes the Aurora, Colorado Batman Movie Theater Shooter] also bought bulletproof vests and other tactical gear” (emphasis added).3 —New York Times, July 22, 2012 It is hard to debate guns if you don’t know much about the subject. But it is probably not too surprising that gun control advocates who live in New York City know very little about guns. Semi-automatic guns don’t fire “rapid bursts” of bullets. The New York Times might be fearful of .50-caliber sniper rifles, but these bolt-action .50-caliber rifles were never covered by the federal assault weapons ban. “Urban assault vests” may sound like they are bulletproof, but they are made of nylon. These are just a few of the many errors that the New York Times made.4 If it really believes that it has a strong case, it wouldn’t feel the need to constantly hype its claims. What distinguishes the New York Times is that it doesn’t bother running corrections for these errors.

Even after years of war, some men retained scruples about licensed homicide. [...] Lieutenant Peter Downward commanded the sniper platoon of 13 Para. He had never himself killed a man with a rifle, but one day he found himself peering at a German helmet just visible at the corner of an air-raid shelter--an enemy sniper. "I had his head spot in the middle of my telescopic sight, my safety catch was off, but I simply couldn't press the trigger. I suddenly realised that I had a young man's life in my hands, and for the cost of one round, about twopence, I could wipe out eighteen or nineteen years of human life. My dithering deliberations were brought back to earth with a bump as Kirkbride suddenly shouted: 'Go on, sir. Shoot the bastard! He's going to fire again.' I pulled the trigger and saw the helmet jerk back. I had obviously got him, and felt completely drained...What had I done?

Hitler derived several things from his experience and achievements in World War I, without which his rise to power in 1933 would have been at the least problematical, and at the most inconceivable. Hitler survived the war as a combat soldier—a rifle carrier—in a frontline infantry regiment. The achievement was an extraordinary one based on some combination of near-miraculous luck and combat skill. The interpretive fussing over whether or not Hitler was a combat soldier because he spent most of the war in the part of the regiment described as regimental headquarters can be laid to rest as follows: Any soldier in an infantry regiment on an active front in the west in World War I must be considered to have been a combat soldier. Hitler’s authorized regimental weapon was the Mauser boltaction, magazine-fed rifle. This gives a basic idea of what Hitler could be called upon to do in his assignment at the front. As a regimental runner, he carried messages to the battalions and line companies of the regiment, and the more important ones had to be delivered under outrageously dangerous circumstances involving movement through artillery fire and, particularly later in the war, poison gas and the omnipresent rifle fire of the skilled British sniper detachments. --Hitler: Beyond Evil and Tyranny, p. 96

You whom I could not save, Listen to me. Can we agree Kevlar backpacks shouldn’t be needed for children walking to school? Those same children also shouldn’t require a suit of armor when standing on their front lawns, or snipers to watch their backs as they eat at McDonalds. They shouldn’t have to stop to consider the speed of a bullet or how it might reshape their bodies. But one winter, back in Detroit, I had one student who opened a door and died. It was the front door to his house, but it could have been any door, and the bullet could have written any name. The shooter was thirteen years old and was aiming at someone else. But a bullet doesn’t care about “aim,” it doesn’t distinguish between the innocent and the innocent, and how was the bullet supposed to know this child would open the door at the exact wrong moment because his friend was outside and screaming for help. Did I say I had “one” student who opened a door and died? That’s wrong. There were many. The classroom of grief had far more seats than the classroom for math though every student in the classroom for math could count the names of the dead. A kid opens a door. The bullet couldn’t possibly know, nor could the gun, because “guns don’t kill people,” they don’t have minds to decide such things, they don’t choose or have a conscience, and when a man doesn’t have a conscience, we call him a psychopath. This is how we know what type of assault rifle a man can be, and how we discover the hell that thrums inside each of them. Today, there’s another shooting with dead kids everywhere. It was a school, a movie theater, a parking lot. The world is full of doors. And you, whom I cannot save, you may open a door and enter a meadow, or a eulogy. And if the latter, you will be mourned, then buried in rhetoric. There will be monuments of legislation, little flowers made from red tape. What should we do? we’ll ask again. The earth will close like a door above you. What should we do? And that click you hear? That’s just our voices, the deadbolt of discourse sliding into place.

The militia of which the Second Amendment speaks is not the National Guard, but the assembly of patriots who are willing to gather to repel invasions. They were the patriots who stood at Lexington and Concord. They were the snipers and guerilla fighters who fought with Francis Marion—better known as the Swamp Fox—to repel the British throughout the South. The militia is not an organized, standing military force; our militia is the armed citizenry. Throughout history, enemies have avoided invading our soil for a very simple reason: not only would they have to contend with the strongest military force known to man, but they would have to contend with millions of gun owners. Grandmas with handguns, ranchers with rifles, college students with Glocks—the threat of an intense guerilla war has just been too much for the enemies of America. We haven’t been invaded since the War of 1812. After decades of fighting to prop up the ludicrous notion that the Second Amendment supports a collective right to gun ownership, the 2008 Heller decision from the Supreme Court dashed the fading dreams of antigunners when they declared gun ownership to be an expressly individual right.

What are your people packing?” “MP7A1s with sound suppressors, chambered for DM11 4.6-x-30mm cartridges in thirty-round and forty-round box magazines. Penetrate any CRISAT,” Webb said, meaning the bullets would drill through a target made up of twenty layers of Kevlar with 1.6mm titanium backing at two hundred meters; they were the ultimate small arms body-armor-piercing rounds. “Glocks, M67 grenades; C-4 with remote-controlled detonators for IEDs, one M25 sniper rifle, and two XM25 grenade launchers. Those two are the real game-changers. Should be plenty.” “I’m not so sure,” Scorpion said, studying the iPad image. “I need eyes. We could use a drone.

Greer, a tall, thin man who looked like he might run marathons, shook hands and said, “Your reputation precedes you.” “Well, hell, nothing I can do about that,” Lucas said. “I’m in a rush, here, guys, but I need a couple of hot dogs and we gotta talk about how we’re gonna do this. If this is the sniper . . .” “Well, we got the hot dog place,” Wood said. “I brought a rifle and some gear for you, in case you didn’t have it.

Thomas Parker glanced at his watch. Five hours. He laid down his cleaning brush and picked up the scattered parts of his 7.62mm SV-98 sniper rifle, starting to reassemble the gun. It wasn’t his favorite weapon, but it would do the job. Anything of American manufacture was out of the question. He re-mounted the scope, brushing a fine layer of dust off the lens. Sand seemed to permeate everything. The scope wasn’t standard-issue, it had come from an American lens manufacturer whose name had been carefully ground off the side. It gave him magnification up to 10x and night-vision capability. More than he needed, but with it, he had placed bulls-eyes at fifteen hundred yards.

It was part of the bleedin’ deal,” Flaharty announced sharply, throwing back the lid of the gun case to reveal an Accuracy International L115A3, the thick barrel of the sniper rifle gleaming in the light. “I turned tout, and you sods stayed out of my business affairs.” Tout. An informant, in the British parlance. And that’s exactly what Flaharty had been, in his last few years with the Provos—and since. An Agency asset

But it is probably not too surprising that gun control advocates who live in New York City know very little about guns. Semi-automatic guns don’t fire “rapid bursts” of bullets. The New York Times might be fearful of .50-caliber sniper rifles, but these bolt-action .50-caliber rifles were never covered by the federal assault weapons ban. “Urban assault vests” may sound like they are bulletproof, but they are made of nylon. These are just a few of the many errors that the New York Times made.

Up on the overwatch where Dai was positioned, the two sniper teams were preparing to engage with their bolt-action rifles, but Dai called out to them before they fired their first round. “No!” he said. “There must be fifty or more of them. We will just draw fire on ourselves, and we can do nothing for our comrades below.

Considering most of the weapons and equipment used in Afghanistan were of Russian origin, Keegan suspected it was a Dragunov; a heavy sniper rifle developed by the Soviets back in the 1960s. They’d been killing people all over the world for the past fifty years, with great success. Like the AK-47, they weren’t exactly refined, but they did the job. Their 7.62mm steel-jacketed projectiles were powerful enough to defeat almost any body armour. A very dangerous weapon in the right hands

Only now did she retrieve her pistol and take the long sniper rifle off her shoulder, the weight of which

I wanted to walk along a beach with someone and not think about how far a sniper rifle can fire.

He’d lugged his fair share of those exact same bags in MI, though they’d all been khaki or olive drab. But he knew the type. It was a portable weapons locker. Sure enough, when she removed a small but sturdy lock from the zippers and hauled down on them, then flung the bag open, he could see a veritable armory inside. There were handguns and submachine guns and shotguns and some sort of sniper rifle, very high-tech-looking with a folding stock and a sleek body. But there were other weapons in there as well, knives and swords and axes and clubs and even an honest-to-God crossbow. It was like Dirty Harry meets King Arthur, and all in a seedy motel room!

There had been three pegs on the ground, marking the spots where the bodies had been found. He knew he should stop, think of something else, but he couldn’t, and soon he recalled the nightmare again, the flashes from years before: the flattened village, the blood splashed over the arid ground, the body of the boy, the peppery smell of high explosives and cloying death. He floated away from that, running onto all the other things he had done and seen in the service of Queen and country: dingy rooms and darkened streets, one hundred and thirty-six victims laid out in evidence of the terrible things he had done. A shot to the head from a sniper rifle, a knife to the heart, a garrotte around the throat pulled tight until the hacking breaths became wheezes that became silent, a body desperately jerking, then falling still. One hundred and thirty-six men and women faced him, accused him, their blood on his hands.

Kofia za chuma au sandarusi zenye uwezo wa kukwepesha risasi za wadunguzi na kuzuia mpaka risasi tatu za AK-47, ijapokuwa zimetengenezwa kuzuia risasi moja tu, ni miongoni mwa vitu 17 vilivyobebwa na makomandoo wa Tume ya Dunia; wakati wakitekeleza Operesheni ya Kifo au Ushindi Kamili (operesheni ndogo ya Operation Devil Cross ya Tume ya Dunia) katika Msitu wa Benson Bennett, Salina Cruz, Oaxaca, nchini Meksiko. Thamani ya vitu vya komandoo mmoja wa EAC ('Executive Action Corps') akiwa vitani ni zaidi ya dola za Kimarekani 65,000; ikiwa ni pamoja na magwanda ya jeshi ('Ghillie Suits'), kofia za chuma, miwani ya kuonea usiku (yenye uwezo wa kubinuka chini na juu), redio na mitambo ya mawasiliano migongoni mwao juu ya vizibao vya kuzuia risasi, vitibegi vya msalaba mwekundu ('Blowout kits' – katika mapaja ya miguu yao ya kulia, ndani yake kukiwa na pisto na madawa ya huduma ya kwanza), vitibegi vya kujiokolea ('Evasion Kits' – katika mapaja ya miguu yao ya kushoto, ndani yake kukiwa na visu na pesa na ramani ya Meksiko) na bunduki za masafa marefu.

Number of SWAT teams in the FBI alone in 2013: 56         Unlikely federal agencies that have used SWAT teams: US Fish and Wildlife Service, Consumer Product Safety Commission, National Aeronautics and Space Administration, Department of Education, Department of Health and Human Services, US National Park Service, Food and Drug Administration         Value of surplus military gear received by Johnston, Rhode Island, from the Pentagon in 2010–2011: $4.1 million         Population of Johnston, Rhode Island, in 2010: 28,769         Partial list of equipment given to the Johnston police department: 30 M-16 rifles, 599 M-16 magazines containing about 18,000 rounds, a “sniper targeting calculator,” 44 bayonets, 12 Humvees, and 23 snow blowers105

But a sniper rifle was a matter of pure mechanics. Brace it, breathe properly, squeeze rather than pull the trigger, and it was just a projection of will across distance.

It’s a Barrett .50-caliber sniper rifle. It can hit a target at 2600 meters.” Max picked it up by a handle connected to the middle top of the rifle. “Holy Christ! That’s like a mile away.” Bill had already forgotten the secret passage and room, which was obviously where Max kept a lot of supplies. Now, he was completely focused on the monster gun. “A little jackrabbit hunting?” he joked. “Ha. Not unless you like your jackrabbits in little tiny clumps. This is for killing someone a long way away, before he or she becomes a threat to you. Before the Barrett, only death and taxes were sure things.” Max grinned at his quip but then continued with purpose.

Late March 2003. In the area of Nasiriya, Iraq I looked through the scope of the sniper rifle, scanning down the road of the tiny Iraqi town. Fifty yards away, a woman opened the door of a small house and stepped outside with her child.

As to the “super destructive .50-caliber sniper rifle,” not only does the New York Times editorial get the law wrong, but it somehow neglects to mention that these guns have never been used to murder anyone, let alone used in the mass shootings that the editorial was discussing.7 Part of the reason for them not being used in crimes is that these guns are extremely expensive (at least $4,000), big, and very heavy (nearly four feet long and weighing twenty-seven pounds).

Snipers had to know their surroundings at all times while still focusing on their rifle. She wouldn't underestimate him again.

He haunts me. The sniper. In my dreams, he is a black shadow with his eye focused on the scope of a rifle. Sometimes, he puts down the weapon and walks toward me. Sometimes, he even touches me. But most times, he presses the trigger. And kills me.

Slow, shallow breaths. The firing reticle centered on the black man’s temple, holding steady. A couple hundred meters — just across the street, really. No crosswind. An easy shot. The sniper rifle was set up well back of the window, resting on a pair of packing crates and stabilized by sandbags. As rock-solid as it got. He saw the target’s hand move downward, beside his computer, to a phone on the desk. “Ready?

Caitlin Macguire was one of the best snipers he’d ever encountered. A veteran of the Ulster Volunteer Force in Northern Ireland, she’d been responsible for assassinating half a dozen IRA members before she’d turned thirty, plus one of her own men suspected of turning traitor. The Troubles might have simmered down since then, but Faulkner had found use for her. Time and again she had proven herself a ruthless and efficient killer, and she was sitting on a rooftop with a silenced sniper rifle barely two hundred yards away. ‘If I had, do you not think I’d take it?’ It took a brave man indeed to interrupt her during her work. ‘Little bastard’s dug in tight, so he is

The weapon was one of the variants of the standard SAS sniper rifle, the British-made Accuracy International PM — Precision Marksman — or L96A1. Designed for covert operations, the rifle Dekker had chosen was the AWS, or Arctic Warfare Suppressed, model. The name was a hangover from the days when the manufacturer produced a modified version for the Swedish armed forces, a move which spawned several different models generically known as the AW range. The stainless-steel barrel was fitted with an integrated suppressor which reduced the sound of a shot to about that of a standard .22 rifle. It was a comparatively short-range weapon, because of the subsonic ammunition, effective only to about three hundred yards in contrast to other versions and calibres of the rifle, some of which were accurate at up to a mile. Both the stock, its green polymer side panels already attached, and the barrel were a tight fit in the case, each lying diagonally across its interior. He pulled them both out, fitted and secured the barrel, and lowered the bipod legs mounted at the fore-end of the machined-aluminium chassis to support it, while he completed the assembly. Then he took a five-round magazine out of the recess in the briefcase, along with an oblong cardboard box containing twenty rounds of 7.62 x 51-millimetre rifle ammunition.

The rifle was disassembled into its component parts, with its stock, barrel, grip, and scope separate to allow it to fit inside a standard-sized briefcase. There was also a long suppressor. Victor’s was the latest variant of the SVD, with stock and hand guards made from high-density polymer to lighten the weight, instead of the original wood furniture. Though not as sophisticated or accurate at long range as some Western sniper rifles, Victor had a fondness for the Dragunov because of its reliability in all conditions and its no-nonsense mechanics. As a semi-automatic rifle, the Dragunov had a much better rate of fire than a typical bolt-action sniper rifle, though the greater number of moving parts that made the rifle semi-automatic also made it less accurate than a bolt-action. But as a semi-auto the SVD could also be used as an assault rifle and was fitted with conventional iron sights and bayonet mount for just such a use. The Soviet philosophy on arms manufacture had been ease of use and reliability over accuracy, and Victor had found there to be a lot of merit in the ideal. Weapons that were world beaters on the range weren’t much use if they didn’t work under battlefield conditions

On the far side of the square, a dark-coloured saloon suddenly appeared, one occupant visible behind the wheel, and it raced across to the fallen man. As it stopped, the car was directly broadside on to Dekker’s position, offering too good an opportunity to miss. He sighted again, the AWS sniper rifle cracked twice more, and both the tyres on the near side of the car blew in quick succession. ‘Now get going, Paul,’ he muttered, and quickly started to disassemble his weapon and pack it away

I grinned and asked, “But doesn’t that rule hurt a sniper? Isn’t it your job to hide in the bushes like a potato with your rifle held still?” “Enough about potatoes,” she snapped, tossing navy-blue sparks in my direction

I’m telling you, what you think is a ray of sunlight shining in your eyes might be,” she tapped a finger between her eyes, “the targeting laser of a sniper rifle.

At this time I wired Bill Otis, in Moline, Illinois, asking him to ship me some of his sniping rifles at once, addressing them to me at the nearest express office to Indiantown Gap. I also managed to get the folks on the phone and had a last word with my mother and father — went through the old routine (new at that time) — telling them that it would be a long time before I could write, but not to worry, everything would be okay. I also told them to ship my rifle as soon as it was returned from the factory, and to hurriedly send me a Lyman Alaskan scope with a G. & H. mount for a Springfield to my new A.P.O. number. We sailed before Bill could get his guns to me. I remember well the annoyance I felt at going up the gangplank without a good scope sighted sniper rifle, and I also remember the mental kicking I gave the seat of my pants for being so careless with my model 70. Actually, the only shooting items I had in my baggage were a few rounds of .30-06 hunting ammunition which I packed at the last minute. I had left my shotgun behind also — and I was destined to later regret that action very much, for several fine opportunities to shoot birds were missed on that account. Each member of the 132nd regiment looked at the green water with a great question mark in his mind. Few in the regiment knew where we were going, and there

A gunman is terrorising young women. What links the attacks? Is the marksman with a rifle the same person as the killer with a handgun or do the police have two snipers on their hands? BOOK 5: THE SHADOWS IN

Thus, the countersnipers are observers and can respond to a distant threat with their .300 Winchester Magnum—known as Win Mag—rifles. The rifle is customized for the shooter who is assigned the weapon. Each team is also equipped with one Stoner SR-25 rifle. Counter-snipers are required to qualify shooting out to a thousand yards each month. If they don’t qualify, they don’t travel or work.

I saw a strange and odd-looking little guy walk in to a gun show in Fort Worth, pay cash for a 50-caliber sniper rifle with nobody asking him any questions before he walked right out the front door with that thing strapped over his shoulder; I thought it was extra odd that he was such a little puny fellow and the sniper rifle was actually bigger than he was, making that very memorable for me. I’m not saying this little fellow can’t legally have a sniper rifle; I am saying we would all have much better security in knowing that he was legally cleared to have it and in knowing that if he gets weird on us, then someone will show up to legally take the sniper rifle out of his hands.

Next to her a man appeared, head to toe in brown camouflage, his own binoculars in his hands. Zoya knew Ruslan had a suppressed sniper rifle, a VSS Vintorez, on a bipod somewhere back there in the brush. Through the high-powered optic on the rail of the weapon, and not through the binos in his hands, he’d been watching Zoya throughout her visit here to the island

With her eye still in the scope, Zoya Zakharova pulled the charging handle back on the VSS rifle, chambering a 9-by-39-millimeter round. She hadn’t envisioned using the weapon this evening at all, and she hadn’t fired a VSS since her sniper training four years earlier, but she had a target downrange now, and she was committed to killing him. She followed the man’s head with the crosshairs of the rifle, holding just a touch high to account for the characteristics of this bullet at this distance

Olga was their spotter team; a two-man group positioned on the roof of a telecommunications mast about a mile west of the monument. One man was armed with a high-powered camera, the other with a decidedly more dangerous Dragunov sniper rifle. At a mile distant, any shot they took would be risky to say the least, but Kamarov had insisted on their presence nonetheless

Hathcock worked his rifle’s bolt so rapidly that his fire kept pace with Burke’s, whose bolt operated automatically.

Well then,” Georgia said, turning back to her food with a grin, “guess you better explain why putting yourself on the wrong side of her rifle is the best way of getting her attention.” “Yeah, man,” Parker said, leaning over the sink to snag Georgia’s other triangle of toast. “Can’t you just call or send flowers or explosives or something.” “Explosives?” Will choked. “Sniper,” Georgia offered. “Oh.” Parker pushed away from the counter and tilted his head. “Ammunition then? A fancy scope thingy?

…Two shots rang out simultaneously during the fifth and the longest second. They were executed synchronously, creating a single, stinging, deadly sound. The bullet from the sixth floor of the book depository went straight up into the sky, as planned. The second bullet shot out of a sniper rifle, held confidently in the arms of a woman behind the hedge, on the grassy knoll. It was her bullet that struck the head of the 35th US president, John Fitzgerald Kennedy. The woman walked quickly down the grassy knoll. Stepping only about five meters away, she put her rifle into a baby pram waiting there, with a real six-month-old baby boy whimpering inside it. She put on thick glasses and started walking away, exhibiting no haste. Only thirty seconds after the second shot, the woman was gone, nowhere to be seen… After the second or, rather, the third shot, the one from the knoll, President Kennedy’s head was tossed back. Jackie somehow managed to crawl onto the back hood of the car. A security agent from the escort car had already reached them. The motorcade picked up speed and disappeared under the overpass. Zapruder’s camera kept whirring for some seconds. He must have filmed the whole operation – that is, the assassination of an acting US president. But now he simply stood there without saying a word, completely dumbfounded..

…After seventeen minutes of panicky crowds destroying everything in their path, Eric could distinguish, despite all the chaos and hellish noise, the slight buzz of a second plane. He started counting to himself, watching the blazing inferno at the North Tower: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven… The second Boeing glided into the South Tower, WTC-2, and it seemed to Eric that this plane was flying slowly, that its impact was a soft one… Due to the pandemonium all around, the impact itself seemed not to be as loud as the first hit. Still, in a moment the second twin was also blazing. Both skyscrapers were on fire now. Novack looked up again at what had happened a minute before: the terror attack of the century. Then he started walking fast down Church Street, away from the huge buildings that were now on fire. He knew that in about an hour, the South Tower was to collapse completely, and half an hour after that, the same was to happen to the North Tower, which was also weakened by the impact. He knew there were tons of powerful Thermate in both buildings. Over the course of the previous two months, some fake repairmen had brought loads of it into the towers and put them in designated places around the trusswork. It was meant to make buildings collapse like card towers, which would only happen when the flames reached a certain point. The planes had started an unstoppable countdown as soon as they hit the buildings: these were the last minutes of their existence. Next in line was the third building: 7 WTC, which stood north of the Twin Towers. It counted forty-seven floors, and it too was stuffed with Thermate. Novack started getting concerned, however, that the third plane seemed to be late. Where’s the third plane? Why is it late? It’s already fifty minutes after the first impact, and they were supposed to hit the three targets with a time lag of about twenty minutes. Where are you, birdie number three? You are no less important than the first two, and you were also promised to my clients… People were still running in all directions, shouting and bumping into each other. Sirens wailed loudly, heartrendingly; ambulances were rushing around, giving way only to firefighters and emergency rescue teams. Suddenly hundreds of policemen appeared on the streets, but it seemed that they didn’t really know what they were supposed to do. They mostly ran around, yelling into their walkie-talkies. At Thomas Street, Eric walked into a parking lot: the gate arm was up and the security guy must have left, for the door of his booth stood wide open… …Two shots rang out simultaneously during the fifth and the longest second. They were executed synchronously, creating a single, stinging, deadly sound. The bullet from the sixth floor of the book depository went straight up into the sky, as planned. The second bullet shot out of a sniper rifle, held confidently in the arms of a woman behind the hedge, on the grassy knoll. It was her bullet that struck the head of the 35th US president, John Fitzgerald Kennedy. The woman walked quickly down the grassy knoll. Stepping only about five meters away, she put her rifle into a baby pram waiting there, with a real six-month-old baby boy whimpering inside it. She put on thick glasses and started walking away, exhibiting no haste. Only thirty seconds after the second shot, the woman was gone, nowhere to be seen… After the second or, rather, the third shot, the one from the knoll, President Kennedy’s head was tossed back. Jackie somehow managed to crawl onto the back hood of the car. A security agent from the escort car had already reached them. The motorcade picked up speed and disappeared under the overpass. Zapruder’s camera kept whirring for some seconds. He must have filmed the whole operation – that is, the assassination of an acting US president. But now he simply stood there without saying a word, completely dumbfounded...

Semi-automatic guns don’t fire “rapid bursts” of bullets. Fifty-caliber sniper rifles were never covered by the federal assault weapons ban. Such weapons may be “super destructive,” but the New York Times neglects to mention that there is no recorded instance of one being used in a murder, and certainly not in a mass public shooting.8 “Urban assault vests” may sound like they are bulletproof, but they are actually just nylon vests with a lot of pockets.9 These are just a few of the many errors that the New York Times made in their news article.