Dan Simmons - Darwin's Blade

Ned Jr. had turned nineteen during the 1991 Gulf War, precisely the age his father had been at Dalat.

Since the rising young officer’s posting to Camp Pendleton five years ago, Dar and Ned tried to have drinks and dinner together at least once a month. It had been Ned’s frequent deployments to places unmentioned that had interfered in recent months, not Dar’s schedule.

They talked a few minutes about family and mutual friends. Finally Ned set down his iced tea and said, “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Dar briefed the captain quickly and succinctly on the Alliance, Dallas Trace, and the Russian snipers, and then, uncharacteristically, found himself unable to finish. Even though Ned had not taken up his father’s specialty in the Marines, he waited now with a sniper’s patience.

“If you do me the favor I’m about to ask, it may endanger your entire career, Ned,” said Dar. “I will not only understand if you say no, I’m almost hoping that you’ll say no. It’s not just an unusual request, it’s illegal.”

Ned smiled very slightly. “Disclaimer noted, Corporal,” said the captain. “Three good friends—you’ve met them all—and I have some leave time coming. Whom do you want us to kill and how much do you want them to hurt first?”

Dar laughed politely and then realized that Ned was not joking. “No, no,” he said hurriedly, “I was just hoping that I could unofficially borrow some hardware. I can return it before it goes missing on anyone’s manifest.”

The captain nodded slowly. “We don’t have any extra Abrams M1A1 battle tanks here,” he said, “but would a Bradley armored fighting vehicle do?” Ned smiled when he said this, but it was the smile of a carnivore, not a jokester.

Dar sighed. “I was thinking of a rifle.”

Ned nodded again. “It seems to me that despite regulations way back then, you came home from that Vietnam fracas with a rifle as a gift of the 7th Marine Regiment.”

“The Remington 700,” said Dar. “Yes. I still have it.”

“Does it still fire?” said Ned.

“It’s been a few months since I had it on the range, but it was still able to put five rounds into the five-and-a-half-inch-square target head at six hundred fifty yards.”

The captain frowned. “Six hundred fifty yards? What’s wrong with the thousand-yard range?”

“I’m old,” said Dar. “My eyes are old. I use glasses now when I read for long periods.”

“Fuck that,” Ned said, and added, “Sir.” The captain ran his fingers along the knife edge of his fatigue trousers. “All right. This sniper attempt against you at home—what was the opposition using?”

Dar described the Tikka 595 Sporter.

Ned shrugged slightly. “It’s not expensive, but it’s a pretty good weapon. Domestic accurate high-power rifles like that tend to start at about $2,000—European sniper weapons run up from $8,000 or so—I think the Tikka retails at about $1,000. I don’t think that would be the main guy’s first choice in weapons.”

Dar nodded in agreement. “They sent the spotter after me. I suspect that the weapon was meant to be disposable in case of problems.”

Ned grinned again. “The spotter, huh? They don’t think much of you, do they?”

“There are some brilliant spotters,” Dar said softly. “I used to know one who was a better shot and braver man than any top shot I’ve ever met.”

Ned looked at him for a minute. Then he gestured for Dar to follow.

The warehouse was huge. Somewhere off in the shadowy distance, a forklift was humming, but other than that, they were alone.

Ned opened a crate. “If you’re looking to update your old M40, Darwin, this is a nice toy.”

Dar reached in to touch the weapon set in its foam lining.

“H-S Precision HSP762/300,” said Ned. “Comes with barrels and bolts for both calibers—regular NATO 7.62 rounds or .300 Winchester Magnums. The stock is made of Kevlar graphite and fiberglass, of course—no more splinters in Marines’ cheeks, thank you—and it comes with a bipod and adjustable butt plate much like our updated M24s. Look here—see how the fluted barrel is locked into the receiver by an interrupted screw thread and matching bracket plate? You can pack this away in a light twenty-three-byseventeen-inch carrying case and essentially have two different weapons on hand when you unpack it.”

“Very nice,” said Dar, “but I was thinking of using the old Remington 700 and Redfield scope for regular work.”

Ned frowned slightly. “Why don’t you just go buy a bow and a couple of arrows, Darwin?”

It was Dar’s turn to grin. “Not a bad idea. I hear they’re quieter and a lot cheaper than suppressors. No weapon is ever really obsolete.”

The captain nodded at that. “Not if it still kills,” he agreed. “You set for cutlery?”

“K-Bar,” said Dar.

Ned closed the crate and repadlocked it. “OK, you use your antique M40 for regular work up to the limits of your failing old codger-vision…What did you say that was?”

“I didn’t say,” replied Dar, “but ten yards would be about right.”

“Buy a shotgun,” said Ned. “Or better yet, a big, mean dog.”

“A lady friend gave me a nice Remington shotgun,” said Dar. “Well, loaned me one…”

Ned’s eyebrows shot up, not at the mention of the shotgun but at the phrase lady friend . Dar never spoke of lady friends. The captain said quietly, “All right, what was the special work you were interested in? Perhaps you were thinking of point-five-inch punch?”

“I’ve heard good things about the McMillan MI987R,” said Dar.

“I’ve used it,” said Ned, his voice serious now. “Very accurate. At twenty-five pounds it’s one of the lightest .50-calibers around. It’s got a recoil that would give an elephant hemorrhoids, but most of it’s absorbed by a pepper-pot muzzle brake and lots of recoil pads. We even stock the U.S. Navy SEALs’ ‘Combo 50’ variety with a folding stock. But it’s a standard five-round magazine bolt action. Do you envision needing any rapid fire in addition to your Remington’s slow work?”

Dar hesitated. Snipers were trained to think of one bullet, one kill. That was why the most modern Kevlar/fiberglass sniper rifles had largely reverted to single-shot bolt-action form that would be quite familiar to a sniper from the trenches of World War I. But he had the Remington for long-distance, light-caliber work…What would be his best choice for rapid fire? Ned’s father had saved Dar’s life several times in the forty-eight hours at Dalat with his accurized M-14 firing on full auto.

Ned put his arm around Dar’s shoulder and walked deeper into the corridor of crates. “Would you like to see something my fire team used in the Gulf War? It turned out to be very handy.”

“Sure.”

Ned opened a long box. “We called it the ‘Light Fifty’ over there in the desert. Officially, it’s the Barrett Model 82A1 Sniper Rifle…12.7-by-ninety-nine-mm Browning, just like the .50-calibers of old. It’s got a short recoil—the barrel is actually sent back two inches every time it’s fired and it has a huge muzzle brake. It weighs twenty-nine and a half pounds without a sight, comes with a ten-power Leupold and Stevens M3a Ultra scope, and—here’s the important part, Dar—it has an eleven-round detachable box magazine. It’s the only semiautomatic .50-caliber sniper rifle on the market.”

“What would it cost me?” said Dar. “Out the door, taxes, warranty, undercoating, and optional leather seats?”

Ned’s eyes looked very much like his father’s when he gave Dar a long, searching look. “You bring it—and yourself—back in one piece and it’s yours. I’ll even throw in a modern flak vest, three thousand rounds of regular ammo, and five hundred SLAPs.”