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Shooter

Added: April 19, 2007

Briefing
One of the original pieces that established the world of Randy and Mike, this monologue follows a sniper discussing the ins and outs of killing people at long range. The big question: what would his mom think?

The Action
(Shooter is a calm looking, clean cut man in his mid-thirties. He is casually dressed in jeans and a button up shirt. The clothes are clean, but have clearly come out of a suitcase recently without being ironed. He is seated in an improvised studio, in what appears to be a hotel room in a developing country - possibly Africa. The windows are open, and the weather is obviusly hot. He is sweating slightly as he tells his story. He is a bit gritty, but not disheveled. He speaks very frankly, much like how a farmer would, with very clear detachment about the job that he performs. There is not a trace of malice - he is a professional from head to toe. If you were just watching his body language and manner without any sound, he could be talking about anything - bowling, gardening, a trip he took to Mexico, etc. He looks at the camera and talks without interruption (except an occasional sip of water) for the duration.

Shooter
When I tell people what I do for a living, I get a lot of questions.

I work for my government as a long range high accuracy marksman...some people call us snipers, some people call us cold blooded killers...I prefer long range high accuracy marksman myself...

People ask me when it started...was there a point when I knew that I was a killer...and I say, well it probably started on the day when I came outta my mom...or maybe it started with her mom...or maybe before that...kinda hard to tell.

There's been alot of soldiering in my family, and nobody was too surprised when I joined up.

Get to Know the Guy
In order to do this job right, you really gotta get to know 'em, you know what I mean? During the week or so that I'm watchin somebody, I usually learn more about them than their best friends know...I learn more about 'em than their wife knows...I gotta know what their up to, when they get up, when they go to bed, when they take a crap and everything they do in between...Its kind of odd when you think about it: The folks I have the closest relationship to in my life are the folks I'm gonna shoot sooner or later.

Sometimes I get enough good stuff out of 'em just watching them do their thing you know...then I just take notes, radio it all back to HQ...sometimes they'll go on for days and days fiddling around with maps and battle plans and strategy and crap like that and the boys back at base give me the signal to hang back and just keep watching and writing it all down...they're helpin out our side just fine and nobody needs to get hurt... But that doesn't happen much...Not much at all...by the time they go to the trouble to get me plopped down all the way out in God knows where, well, by that point, the big cheeses up the line have pretty much figured out that the fucker has got to go. I get to know 'em for a day or two, figure out a good time to make my move and then I cash in their chips for 'em...we get close, but its never much more than a one night stand.

Like a Scientist
The instructors back in training just kept hammering away on us day in and day out till we got it...

After a bad shot:
"Stop thinking like a soldier soldier, and START THINKING LIKE A SCIENTIST!"

After a missed factor:
"PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT THE INSTRUMENTS ARE TELLING YOU, that bullet's not gonna go where you it to go, its gonna go where the earth wants it to go!"

Somewhere in week 6 an instructor burst in on me while I was taking a crap and went after me with the question shotgun at the top of his lungs for all to hear:

"IS THE AMBIENT HUMIDITY GREATER OVER A BODY OF SALT WATER OR A BODY OF FRESH WATER?"

"What are the five most common mistakes in ranging?"

"Would you rather have a crosswind or a headwind?"

"What is the disadvantage of greater bullet rotation?"

"Would you rather make a shot in the sun or in the rain?"

"What kinda slug crossection to you like there soldier? Are you one of them modified boattail pussy motherfuckers? or are you a REAL MAN... gimme an answer son! TALK TO ME BOY! TALK TO ME!"

It went on and on.

Guess he figured I should have all that stuff right on the tip of my tongue, even when I was right in the middle of pushing out a big ol grumpy.

It didn't stick so good for most of the guys, they didn't get into the infantry to do a bunch of math in the rain, and after about the fourth week the empty bunks started getting pretty obvious.

This is definitely not for everybody.

A few guys got the drift and did pretty well. The instructors got their heads in the right place and they slowly started making some shots.

I ended up at the top of my class...don't really know how...I always thought that there must have been some sort of mistake or something...I didn't set out to proove anything to anybody. But, they looked at me real square when they gave me my little ribbon, so maybe it was for real.

Math
I was never really very good with math, but this job is all about the math....puttin a half dozen factors together and seeing what comes out the other side...

Back in ninth grade I always thought to myself what the fuck good is this ever going to do me, what the fuck will this really every apply to in real life? Figuring the coefficient of friction over the surface of my minivan? Calculating the exact hypotenuse of my fat fuckin ass as it sank into the couch cushion?

I just didn't see alotta applied math in my future...but now, well...I'm using Mr. Pythagoras every ding dong day...Thanks Pythagoras!...without you I wouldn't be able to get any of my stuff done!

...I don't know what my old math teacher Mr. Gregory would be thinking if he knew what I was using all that stuff he taught me for...maybe he'd be laughing at the odd irony of it...or maybe he'd be crying at the odd irony of it...kinda a fine line between those two you know...he seemed like a pretty nice guy...he'd probably be crying...

The Rifle: .338 Lapua
We get to choose any old rifle we want when we actually get out in the field and start shooting people...and I tell you, that was one hard choice...everybody has their own opinion, and everybody's willing to take a swing at cha if you disagree

I got tired of getting in daily fistfights while doing my survey, so I stopped talking to people pretty soon and started shooting everything I could get my hands on...In the end I ended up with a SAKO .338 Lapua from Finland shooting the regualar old 250 grain full jacketed lockbase round...It sends that big old bullet screamin out there past 1000 meters in real nice tight little groups. It outshoots everything I've every touched, and it makes the standard issue .308 SWS look like a girl scout weapon. Lotsa guys hate the rifle and the round...they don't like anything that doesn't say "Springfield" on it, and don't even know where the fuck Finland is, so they call me all kinds of names and don't invite me out for beers when we are in Belgrade to kill a few people...

I look at the groups that weapon makes at 1100 yards and I say fuck their beer. I've made shots with that thing that I'll never tell anyone about, cause I don't want the memory spoiled by their disbelief...I've made shots with that thing that still to this day give me chills when I think about their perfection.

You gotta take the curvature of the earth into account when you shoot that thing... Its a monster - its godzilla and king kong and Freddy fucking Kruger all rolled into one...

I call her Mary Anne, and she's the best girl I ever had.

The Twinge
I've had a twinge a couple of times...couple of folks who I got to know a little too well during my recon and it didn't feel so good making the shot. Afterwards I had a late night or two thinking about the meaning of what I'd done...but it always comes down to the same thing, which is the simple fact that every one of my kills woulda got me if they could. That nice old man who fed his dog the table scraps every night wouldna hesitated one microsecond to pull the trigger on me...He might've been someone I'da liked to get to know better, he might've been someone I could have laughed at the madness of life with over strange foreign intoxicants...maybe...in another time and place and planet. But in this world and this time and this place there's only one way to look at it: I'm the shooter and he's the target. The end.

Patriot
Can't say I'm a patriot...not really anyway. Folks have no conception of what goes on in the name of this country...no conception at all. When I think of a patriot I think of some fat bastard wavin a flag and singing along with the national anthem at the local parade...clueless...Can't blame anybody for it though...it makes a nice little story...we being the greatest nation in the history of the world and good old God chuckling and giving a fatherly smile every time we kick someone's ass...I remember thinkin that way at some point along the line...but that nice little fantasy went out the window pretty fast the first time I drew a family man for a target...I did the job, staked him for a day or so and then popped his top, but I got the keen sense that he was locked into the same kill or be killed scenario as I was, and that if I was God, I'd have a pretty tough time figuring out which one of us deserved to walk away and who deserved a .338 in the back of the head...but thats just me...most of the guys have one kind of tall tale or another they keep around to make sense of it all...Doing it for God and country is a pretty tried and true method, so I don't begrudge anybody for taking that angle...seems to keep 'em on the job pretty well.

...When it gets right down to it, we're just another brawler in the big ol' barfight of earth...scratching and biting and swingin wild with a broken pool cue so we don't end up face down in the peanut shells and beer...I don't have a problem with that...and I'm more than happy to do my part.

Wild Killers
People have this picture of wild eyed killers on a real long leash...saved from the electric chair for mass murdering a family and put to work shooting foreign nationals. Its just not that way. Truth be told, I just don't think about it much. I get set up and dug in and watch that target for a day or two and then I take the shot when I get it. There's a point where I'm watching the target in the scope, and then there is a moment when that target is no longer there and I get to go home.

I'm not out there just shooting anybody.

Its a very orderly process.

This is war folks...you want some random bunch of funny talkin', funny lookin' yahoos rolling into your town and calling the shots? Stringing up a couple troublemakers in the town square, gut shooting the mayor and then stealin all the tires outta the tire factory? No...you don't...believe me. I've been in enough countries where thats the scenario all day every day, and its no fun at all. Folks living under those conditions aren't doing any bar-b-quing on the lawn after work...no no no. Lotsa folks want our stuff, and we're so good at keeping them outta your town that you don't even know they're there...but they are...and they're just waiting for the chance to come and take all our stuff...right down to the last can of who-hash

...its my job to keep 'em outta earshot so that you can keep on bar-be-queing without interruption...

Is it Art?
What is a headshot at 1000 meters? A work of art? A war crime? I guess if you asked my mom, she would say it was a work of art. Moms are pretty funny that way - "I'll support you in whatever you want to do in life sweetie".

Good old mom.

The judgement of history, or the Hague, or whoever else comes along may have a different opinion of some of my more spectacular shots - but I can't really worry about that too much. I've got equations to run, humidity readings to factor in, headwinds to surmise...I've got a job to do and I don't really have time to screw around second guessing what some motherfucker on the other side of the planet who knows NOTHING about what really makes the world tick is going to think of it all ten years from now...

The can do or think or send down whatever resolutions they want, but as long as the earth continues to have an oxygen atmosphere, I'll be out there doin my job...

Magic
To me it feels like magic...to get it all right all at once... ranging, humidity, ambient air density, windage, heat distortion and target movement all together all at once...it's no easy thing and when its a real special feeling when it all comes together...Its like walking on water, or feeding 4,000 with a single fish. Not one man in 10,000 can do what I do...not one in 10 million...to me, that means something.

Conclusion
The most common question, the question that everybody asks - grade school kids, cute girls, grandma - everybody. The question that everybody asks is "do you like it?". And I'll usually roll out an answer of some kind...don't want anybody gettin too upset over their dinner ya know...so I'll usually give 'em something that they can handle...along the lines of duty and honor and protecting our way of life...all that stuff...don't want to unnecesarily keep anybody awake at night you know...

But the truth of it...the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

Well...

The truth is that if I didn't like it...

I would be doing it.

(The scene concludes with a fast sequence of faces, like cards flipping over and over, of all the people he has killed. The card flipping slowly crossfades to a closeup of the corner of his mouth turning up in a very slight smile).


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