Certainly, that’s what had sold these units to the federal government. When the United States Navy Band played a concert, every note was worthy of being heard, as was every word spoken by dignitaries and heads of state. Indoors or outdoors, the Model 9000 worked better than any other on the market.
Presently, the panel on the opposite hilltop was positioned as if the concert were being delivered away from Copley, and his scope was thus showing him the back side of the panels. His sight picture, then, was the Appalachian Acoustics logo, printed over and over in a pattern that appeared random, but in fact was anything but.
At this range, every environmental factor mattered, from the slightest breeze to the moisture content of the air. As far as the latter was concerned, thank God for the cold winter. At this temperature, the atmosphere was bone dry.
He’d entered the air temperature, windage, and ammunition data into his handheld ballistics computer, and the results were as astounding as they always were. While the target was stationary, he nonetheless had to compensate for the ten-mile-per-hour breeze and the impossibly long distance. His computer told him to correct for 260 inches of drop and a lot of drift. In a sport where half-seconds of angle resulted in huge misses, this business of sighting in his scope became ridiculously important. When the time came to take his real shot, there’d be no room for trial and error.
“The spotter is safe,” said Brother Franklin from his right. “Fire when ready.” A member of the Board of Elders, Brother Franklin was one of the original founders of the Army of God, and the second-best sniper in the group, next to Michael himself. Both had trained for years.
Trained for this one shot.
Copley ran the numbers in his head, and found the appropriate mark on the logo. He placed that spot in the very lower rightmost arc of his sight picture. He took a deep breath, let half of it go, and then caressed the trigger.
The firing pin engaged, and the weapon erupted, launching its massive, 660-grain bullet at 2,800 feet per second. As the shell casing flew from the receiver, the muzzle brake and floating barrel took most of the recoil, or the kick might have broken bones. It would take over a second and a half for the half-inch-diameter bullet to traverse its nearly 1,500-yard trajectory. He’d just brought his scope back to the sight picture when he saw the panel move.
He’d hit his spot precisely; but it wouldn’t be time to smile until he knew he’d hit the true target, which was beyond the panel, and out of his sight. A few seconds later, one of the children from the compound rose from behind the rock that shielded him and waved a white flag over his head.
“Dead center,” Brother Franklin said. “White means perfect shot.” He lay next to Michael on his stomach on the ground, peering through the eyepiece of a digital spotting scope. “Great job, Brother Michael.” Truly, it was a shot that the best snipers in the world would have trouble making.
“One more,” Brother Michael said. He again settled the reticle into the most unlikely part of the scope and launched another bullet.
The boy with the flag dove for cover after the bullet hit, and then sheepishly raised the white flag again.
“Perfect,” Brother Franklin said. He couldn’t help but laugh, and then he patted Michael on the shoulder. “It was a mean thing to do to the boy, but it was perfect. Two in a row is a trend,” he said.
Copley lifted his cheek from the weapon, and then pushed himself up to a kneeling position. “This is one amazing weapon,” he said.
“But hardly practical,” Franklin countered. “What does it weigh? Twenty-five pounds?”
“Twenty-eight and a half, empty,” Copley said. “Not my first choice for close quarters.”
Copley left the weapon on the ground and stood, brushing dirt from the front of his clothes. Franklin joined him. Together, they walked to the flat rock where they’d placed their backpacks and a thermos of coffee. Copley poured into Franklin’s cup first, and then into his own.
“It has cream and sugar,” Copley said. “I hope that suits.”
“In this weather, all that matters is that it’s hot,” Franklin replied.
They sipped in silence for nearly a minute. Finally, Copley said, “I had dual purposes for bringing you here, Brother Franklin.”
“I figured as much,” the other man said. “You rarely have only one thing on your mind.”
Copley smiled at what he perceived to be a compliment. “Even more so now that the war has begun,” he said. “I want you to speak freely.”
Franklin half nodded, half shrugged.
“What do you think of the video we put out on the Internet?”
“You mean of the User family? Wasn’t that the plan from the beginning?”
“A question is not an answer to a question,” Copley admonished.
Franklin’s whole body shrugged. “I think it’s what we needed to do. What’s the sense of having assets if you’re not willing to exploit them?”
“Did you feel that the recording and airing of the video were the evidence of hubris on my part?”
Franklin looked uncomfortable.
“Again, I ask you to speak freely.”
He took his time. “I don’t know how to answer you,” Franklin said. “Hubris means pride, and I suppose that pride is a sin, yet, you have every reason to be proud of what we are accomplishing.”
“Was it the right thing to do, in your opinion?”
“It was an important thing to do. The necessary thing to do. The entire point was to portray ourselves as a Muslim offshoot. That’s a main strategy.”
Copley found himself smiling at the words he’d wanted to hear.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you ask the question?”
“Brother Kendig,” Copley said. In its own way, that was a complete answer.
Franklin took a sip of his coffee and gave a conciliatory nod. “Well, yes. Brother Kendig has always been… careful. Is he the one who accused you of hubris?”
“On more than one occasion.” Copley paused to consider his next question. “What do you think of the good Sheriff Neen?”
There was that uneasy look again. “I think that he’s been a friend of mine for many years.”
Copley sat on the flat rock, ignoring the aching cold that seeped through his trousers and into his spine. “Do you think he is an asset to our mission, or a hindrance?”
Franklin joined his commander on the rock. “You ask me to speak frankly, and then you ask a question about loyalty. In time of war, the underlying accusation carries a death sentence.”
“For good cause,” Copley said.
Franklin took his time assembling his words. “I’ve known you for many years, Brother Michael. For as many years as we have both known Brother Kendig. If you’re harboring paranoid thoughts that he is somehow against what we are doing, then I respectfully-”
“Not against us,” Michael said, raising his hand to interrupt. “Just not entirely with us.”
“Two ways of saying the same thing, sir. The entire community has trained long and hard for this war. For those who are under twenty, they have trained their entire lives. Much of that training came from Brother Kendig. Without him, we would not be empowered as we are now.”
“But people change, do they not?”
Franklin considered that. “Of course they do. We all change. Our hair turns gray with time, and we get winded sooner during physical training. But I don’t believe that we change fundamentally. I believe that who we are remains who we are. That means Kendig is a talented soldier and loyal to the cause.”
“Yet he disrespects me,” Copley mused aloud. None of this was what he’d expected to hear. Brother Franklin’s words, in fact, made him wonder if a conspiracy of sorts might be in play.
“If you say, then it must be so. But if you’re seeking my counsel as an elder, then my advice to you is to think carefully about the space that separates disagreement from disloyalty.” He paused, obviously hesitant to state the rest. “One could argue that if a person holds an opinion deeply and firmly enough, disagreement could be judged the highest degree of loyalty. Sir.”