most classic sniper rifles in the world? Carl Hitchcock, the great Marine sniper of 1967, with his ninety-two kills, he'd used a 70T, with a sportsman's stock and an
8X Unerti externally adjusted scope. That would be the rifle to use.
What the hell was this Russian bird up to?
Could it be: no Model 70s available?
Well, he could check out combat losses through friends in the Pentagon, but it seemed impossible that the Russian wouldn't be able to pick up a Model 70. He could probably have gotten one of Bob's own Model 700 Remingtons if he'd wanted it.
What was there about the Ml that made it mandatory for the Russian's selection?
It was indeed a very accurate rifle. Maybe he'd wanted the semiauto capacity to bracket the target, to put three or four shots into the area fast, in hopes that one would hit.
Nah. Not at that range. Each shot had to be precise.
The problem with the Garand as a sniper rifle was it was at its best with national match iron sights. It ruled in service rifle competition in which telescopic sights were not permissible. But the weapon became difficult when a scope was added, because its straight-down topside en bloc loading and straight-up ejection made it impossible to mount the scope over the axis of the bore. Instead, through a complicated system never really satisfactory, the Ml had worn a parallel scope, one mounted a little to the left of the action. That meant at a given range, the scope was intersecting the target but it was not on the same axis as the bore, which made rapid computation very difficult, particularly when the target was not exactly zeroed, or moved, or some such.
Yet he chose this rifle.
What the hell was going on?
Bob mulled, trying to make sense of it all.
He had the feeling of missing something. There was a thing he could not see. He could not even conceive of it. What am I missing?
What in me prevents me from seeing it?
I can't even conceive it.
'Sir?'
'Oh, yes?' he said, looking up at the flight attendant.
'You'll have to put up your lap tray and straighten your seat back. We're about to land at Boise.'
'Oh, yeah, sorry, wasn't paying any attention.'
She smiled professionally, and he glimpsed out the windows to see the Sawtooths, the down-homey little Boise skyline, and the airfield, named after a famous ace who'd died young in war.
CHAPTER thirty-four.
Bob drove to the hospital straight from the airport.
During a brief gap in the power of the ibuprofen, his incision began to knit in truly exquisite pain. He knew bruising would start by tomorrow and the thing would be agonizing for weeks--but he didn't want to stop.
He drove through the quiet, bright streets of Boise, as unpretentious a town as existed anywhere, and finally reached the hospital where the crutches got him in, the ibuprofen got him beyond the agony again and an elevator got him to his wife's room, outside of which his daughter and Sally Memphis waited.
'Oh, hi!'
'Daddy!'
'Sweetie, how are you?' he said, gathering up his daughter and giving her a big hug.
'Oh, it's great to see my gal! Are you okay? You doin' what Sally says?'
'I'm fine, Dad. What's wrong with you?'
'Sweetie, nothing. Just a little cut on my leg, that's all,' he said, as Sally shot him a disbelieving look.
He chatted with his daughter for a bit and with Sally, whose response to him was cool. It seemed that Julie was sleeping now, but there hadn't been any real complications from the surgery. They thought she'd get out sometime soon and Sally had made arrangements to go to the small ranch in Custer County as Bob had planned. She agreed with him that it was a safe security arrangement, at least until the situation clarified.
Finally, Julie awakened and Bob went in to his wife.
Her torso was in a full-body cast that supported the arm on the side where the collarbone had been shattered.
His poor girl! She looked so wan and colorless and somehow shrunken in the cast.
'Oh, sweetie,' he said, rushing to her.
She smiled but not with a lot of force or enthusiasm and asked how he was and he didn't bother to answer her, but instead went on about her, caught up on her medical situation, checked on the security arrangements, finally told her he thought he was on to something.
'I could tell, you're all lit up.'
'It's a long story. There's something I can't figure out, and I need help.'
'Bob, how can I help you? I don't know anything. I've told you everything I know.'
'No, no, I don't mean about it. I mean about me.'
