Shooter planned and supposed, but he did not act. The months passed, and at other times he wondered if he should not just forget Roy Elder. The man had lost everything, and he claimed to want nothing more to do with the county. Maybe that was enough. Maybe, but probably not.
+++
The country went to war and, as expected, Iraq was the target. The military accelerated everything. Due to former President Clinton’s cut backs, all of the services were far behind where they had once been. The army was small, the navy had fewer ships and men, and the Marines boasted only two, thinned-out fighting divisions. Equipment was old, there was barely enough ammunition for any weapon system, and training within most units was embarrassingly incomplete. Reserve units were placed on various levels of standby, and a few were activated.
The Coalition of The Willing, which described the United States, Britain, and a handful of smaller partners, poised on Saddam Hussein’s borders. The UN milled, France actively sought to undermine all intervention. Russia admonished and refused support, and Turkey—a much-needed partner—shivered in its formerly combative boots.
The Iraqis disbelieved American determination and defiantly paraded their military might.
Judging what was coming, Shooter Galloway ordered his Rock rifle.
Lieutenant Colonel N. A. Rock, USMC (retired), had upgraded his superb sniper rifle many times. Even before the latest modifications, Soldier of Fortune magazine had unequivocally declared that the Rock rifle was the finest military/law enforcement rifle in the world—bar none. Galloway already knew that.
Colonel Rock said, “When do you expect to be shipped, Galloway?”
“No idea, Colonel, Perhaps never. I just want to be ready.”
“Oh, you’ll go, Shooter. We’re in a religious war here, even if those boneheads in Washington won’t admit it.
“We aren’t fighting terrorists, we’re fighting Islamic fanatics that would rather die than live. We’ll be years thinning them down, and you mark my words, Galloway, the leaders of Islam will never stand up and put a stop to their people blowing up themselves, and everybody else they can reach. You won’t hear the mullahs proclaiming against slaughtering the innocent, the Islamic press won’t say squat in opposition, and the Islamic people as a whole and even individually will be eerily silent.
“We are dealing with an illogical, primitive emotionalism here, that modern civilization is ill equipped to deal with. Having religious nuts draped with bomb vests is horrible, and if they—hell, when they—get hold of something really big, they will put a world of hurt on us westerners.
“You’ll need your rifle, Galloway, because we will be in this war for generations to come. Here’s what I’ll send you.”
Rock’s description was lengthy and the vision of it charged Shooter’s senses. He should have gotten such a rifle long ago.
The Rock sniper rifle arrived already shot in, and Galloway began punching one-hole groups with only a click or two to zero for his eyes and style of shooting.
The rifle used a Remington 700 action with a Hart 20” barrel threaded for a Surefire suppressor. The rifle was chambered for the .308 Winchester, of course. The rifle’s forearm had been shortened two inches, which improved the look and removed an ounce or two of weight, but the rifle was not a lightweight. The thick but short barrel was heavy, and, with a silencer hung on the end, the weapon was as long as a conventional sniper rifle.
Colonel Rock had used a Gallagher adjustable cheek rest stock and bedded it in Titanium Devcon in a special process that made his rifles tougher than hickory logs. The entire weapon was painted in a camouflage pattern that would be correct for a Mid-Eastern desert. It was pretty clear where the Colonel believed Galloway would use his rifle.
Shooter planned on filling a WWII era cloth bandolier with Black Hills 175-grain match grade ammunition and wearing it around his waist the way the great Carlos Hathcock had in Vietnam.
Galloway put on his body armor, and removed layers of butt plate until the rifle rose to his shoulder as smooth as glass.
Too-long stocks enraged everybody, and the M16-armed grunt riflemen bitched about it just as they had in the first Gulf war.
Wearing armor, long stocks were difficult to use, and Shooter remembered Col N. A. Rock’s unsuccessful battles to get the Marine Corps to shorten M16A2 stocks to twelve inches.
Galloway wondered if Col. Rock’s website had short stocks for M16s for sale. If the Colonel did, Captain Galloway should encourage his own troops to purchase such stocks. The personal investments would be small, and if they got into actual combat, the rewards could be great.
Many experienced snipers and combat rifleman would have argued with Colonel Rock’s choice of telescopic sight, but Galloway agreed. The sight was Leupold’s new 3 1/2X x 10X variable power with an illuminated crosshair.
Galloway would always (and he added an extra mental always) carry his scope on its lowest power. If a target popped up close-in, he would be ready for it (just like a whitetail deer hunter) with clearly delineating low-magnification and a broad field of view. If he had to shoot long, the chances were he would have time to crank in an appropriately high magnification that could detail exactly what he was shooting at.
Even the rifle’s sling by Turner Leather was special with a desert-tan color to match the rifle. The slings were made to Rock’s specifications from a material used for machinery belting. The stuff looked like leather. It did not stiffen in the cold or become limp in the heat, and it did not stretch. The new, unbreakable sling was the first giant step since the almost-perfect leather sling had been replaced by a half-assed nylon strap.
Shooter’s new rifle also wore a Harris bipod, but Galloway valued it only for keeping his rifle from lying in the dirt. Marines shot supported-prone from their packs, and Gabriel Galloway knew that to be the best way. How often a combat rifleman got to shoot from a comfortable flattened-out position was moot anyway. Ex-Marine Sergeant Galloway did not recall many such occasions.
The rest was up to Galloway. He would begin the tedious process of obtaining a federal permit to purchase and own a sound suppressor. There was no law against an individual owning a silencer, but ATF regulations plus the two hundred dollar licensing fee made most people back away. Surefire would have the suppressor he needed, and they would send it the instant he had his permit. Colonel Rock’s accompanying letter explained that part.
Licensing and delivering the suppressor took three months. When he received the silencer, Galloway had to determine if the rifle would shoot to the same spot with or without the suppressor hung on the rifle’s muzzle.
It did not—exactly—and exactly was Shooter Galloway’s interest. With the suppressor screwed on, his zero at one hundred yards required a two-click change in elevation. Shooter found the two-click change to hold all the way out to one thousand yards. Simple, all he had to do was remember to change the scope’s setting when he added or removed the silencer.
Galloway was pleased that windage did not change. For field soldiers, windage adjustments were pains in the butt. Cross winds and the like were usually adjusted for by simple hold off—the technique had been called Kentucky Windage since the days when Kentucky riflemen use the method for their muzzle-loading longrifles.
Using Kentucky Windage, a rifleman judged the effect the wind would have on his bullet at whatever range he was shooting and aimed an appropriate amount into the wind to allow for the wind’s push against his bullet. Only practice taught that skill to most, and some were better at it than others. Shooter Galloway was a natural.
Captain Galloway immediately began planning how he would smuggle his personal rifle overseas, if he ever went. Hell, he was S3. He would have half a ton of administrative materials and equipment requiring shipping. He could probably ship a piano, if he wished. The S4, the battalion supply officer, was a buddy, and he officially controlled what went and what did not go. If Captain Galloway could not fit a ten and one half pound rifle in there somewhere, he did not de
serve to shoot a Rock rifle.
In fact, if he failed to ship the Rock rifle to Iraq, Shooter could punish himself by going to the Marine Corps and drawing one of the M40A3 eighteen-pound sniping monstrosities that idiots at Quantico were even now foisting off on their hapless snipers.
+++
President Bush ordered, and General Tommy Franks acted. As they had in the first Gulf War, American and British troops slashed through Iraq like hot knives in lard. The vaunted Iraqi Republican Guards collapsed and disappeared into the milling civilian populace.
The world believed the astounding victory won and prepared to peacefully rebuild the Iraqi nation. The intent was honorable, the objectives reachable. The efforts in committed manpower and wealth were unprecedented.
Fanatical and mindless, Seventh Century Islamic radicalism thwarted the intended rapid recovery. Military solutions were implemented and tours of duty in Iraq were extended.
As Islamic terrorists swarmed to Iraq to martyr themselves in hopeless and pointless attacks against the military authorities and the Iraqi populace, American forces reorganized and redirected their efforts. Reserve Military Police units were believed to be particularly necessary to enhance security, train a new Iraqi police, and develop an Iraqi civil defense force. Captain Gabriel Galloway’s battalion was among the first to mobilize.
S3 Galloway helped organize the shipping of men and materials. He designed the activation routines that hauled bewildered half-civilian troops into useful order, bussed them to Advanced Training, and finally—clawing and complaining—to Atlantic Coast shipping ports. Some departed by ship, most by aircraft, but in the summer heat of 2003, the battalion was assigned and serving in various Iraqi cities.
Captain Galloway, Battalion S3, rushed unit to unit attempting resupply, adjusting assignments and schedules, and striving mightily to make sense of a shoot-‘em up grade B war movie scenario. Confusion approached chaos, but they struggled ahead, and conditions began to improve. They really were getting it done.
Captain Galloway believed his best innovation was the creating of a number of demonstration and instruction teams that rotated through the battalion teaching subjects and techniques that the untrained military police were encountering.
One team taught basic infantry fire and maneuver—certainly not a typical police technique.
A second team retrained everyone in building-entry procedures. Galloway had interceded early when he observed squads attacking buildings using methods abandoned in the late seventies.
Shooter had butted in, explaining why an entry team should not sight over their aimed rifles. Galloway demonstrated as he explained.
“Shoulder your M16, but keep your muzzle low. If you aim, you cannot see anything ahead. With the muzzle low, your field of vision is wide and you can see what is happening all across your front.”
That same day, Captain Galloway, S3, located three men who had law enforcement SWAT experience, made certain that they operated the way he liked it, and ordered them into the field as an instruction team.
The third educational unit instructed in rifle marksmanship. An obvious fact was that many of the enlisted men, and virtually all of the commissioned officers were lousy shots. A captain could not do much about other officers, not even if he was Battalion S3, but Galloway could work on the enlisted personnel—and he did.
An irony noted by the marksmanship team was that men who had once diligently resisted learning how to shoot were suddenly willing and grateful for any information offered. When bullets ricocheted and snapped past helmets, soldiers, sailors, or Marines got intensely interested in hitting what they shot at.
With only his driver, Galloway dashed unit to unit in his unarmored Humvee, carrying his virtually unfired Rock rifle, and wearing his Carlos Hathcock bandolier of cartridges and a 1911A1 caliber .45 semi-automatic pistol.
Fellow officers considered him demented and said so, but on the other hand, Galloway had been there before, and they had not. A few sometimes thought about that.
The Soldier
Chapter 26
2004
It was probably a perfect day for the Iraqi desert in March. The sun was bright in a cloudless sky, and the temperature was moderate.
Captain Galloway was too exhausted to notice. He did observe that his driver was wandering a bit as they plugged along the hard dirt road. The Private First Class was undoubtedly as worn down as he was, but they had only a mile or so to go before they entered their battalion compound. Then they would both knock it off for at least a handful of hours.
Gabriel had slouched deep in his seat, but the driver could not enjoy even that meager comfort. The PFC gripped the wheel at the proper two and ten positions, but his head appeared frozen to his shoulders. Dead tired, of course. They had been out too long, and this time they had gotten into it, he more than the driver, but when bullets flew everybody got tight, adrenalin surged, and debilitating lethargy soon followed.
Conditions were tense throughout the Sunni triangle. Galloway’s MPs were stationed in three cities where they trained Iraqis and attempted to reestablish normalcy within a tumultuous society.
Almost as regularly, the American troops battled vengeful fanatics—not only leftovers from Saddam Hussein’s reign, but terrorist imports from Syria and other Arabic states.
American soldiers and Marines had killed Syrian snipers in full Syrian army uniform armed with Russian Dragunov sniper rifles. It was difficult to believe that the Syrians had deserted their army carrying full military gear and had traveled unremarked across borders and deserts into Iraq to fight the Americans.
Galloway believed the Syrian government was sending them, and he wished the United States would extend its current mission and melt down Syria’s belligerent dictatorship as it had Iraq’s.
Shooter did not doubt that someone would have to do it and, in the end, Israel might get the call because liberal American politicians were already wavering and sidestepping over their country’s Middle East interventions. Relying on tiny Israel, a country of only a few million souls—which was already involved in a massive terrorist war—did not seem entirely honorable to Galloway.
Syria was a terrorist nation; why not take them down right now? Shooter suspected that even reluctant Turkey might jump in to help—more with an eye on the spoils than doing what was right, but the result would be the same.
A Syrian sniper was partly responsible for Captain Galloway’s exhaustion.
Before dark, Galloway had conferred with a young Lieutenant commanding a detached platoon billeted within an old Iraqi police station. They had been deep in planning when gunfire punctuated by an exploding RPG round put them all on the floor.
The Platoon Sergeant swore and dove into a front hall that would lead to windows overlooking the building front.
The Lieutenant had radio contact with his men defending their building from various positions and listened carefully before issuing instructions.
He turned to Galloway. “This is their favorite time, Captain. It is too dark for our snipers to work, and they can get close and pepper the hell out of us.” They all ducked instinctively as another RPG round exploded against the front of the building.
“It’s a strong building, Captain.” The Platoon Leader sounded certain, but Galloway could see the officer’s teeth grinding in frustration.
The Lieutenant said, “We’ve got two sets of night vision goggles, but they aren’t any help to the snipers. Using the goggles, we can see the bastards shooting at us, but the snipers can’t see them at night through their 10X scopes.”
Galloway felt goose bumps rise. How long had he waited for exactly this situation?
He said, “I might do better with my rifle, Lieutenant. Let’s give it a try.”
Manning sandbagged windows and openings punched through the two-foot thick wall, riflemen waited for targets.
An MP equipped with night vision goggles said, “They’re all out there tonight, Lieutenant.”
A b
urst of small arms fire slammed against the building front, and a few bullets came in a window opening.
The MP said, “Those guys are standing right out in the open, but they can’t see any better than we can; they just shoot at the building. They move around a little after they shoot because we fire at their muzzle flashes. If we shoot, then they blast away at our flashes. It’s like we were both blindfolded and just hoping to hit something.”
Galloway waited out another long burst from an AK47 that hit no one. An M16 answered in three-shot bursts—probably equally ineffective, Shooter guessed.
Galloway aimed from within the room. With his low power and big objective lens scope, he could actually see quite well. And there they were, certainly more than a few dozen dimly seen figures, some in the open, others half-hidden behind anything that might stop a bullet.
Shooter asked, “Have there been snipers working on you?”
Shooter Galloway Page 28
