By Stephen Hunter
He's the main risky guy alive. He purely desires to stay in peace together with his kinfolk, and disregard the struggle that just about killed him...
It's unlikely to happen.
Stephen Hunter's epic nationwide bestsellers, Point of Impact and Black Light, brought hundreds of thousands of readers to Bob Lee Swagger, referred to as "Bob the Nailer," a heroic yet unsuitable Vietnam conflict veteran compelled two times to exploit his abilities as a grasp sniper to shield his lifestyles and his honor. Now, in his grandest, such a lot intensely exciting event but, Bob the Nailer needs to face his deadliest foe from Vietnam--and his personal demons--to shop his spouse and daughter.
During the latter days of the Vietnam warfare, deep in-country, a tender idealistic Marine named Donny Fenn used to be scale back via a sniper's bullet as he set out on patrol with Swagger, who himself acquired a grievous wound. Years later Swagger married Donny's widow, Julie, and jointly they elevate their daughter, Nikki, on a ranch within the remoted Sawtooth Mountains in Idaho. Although he struggles with the painful legacy of Vietnam, Swagger's maximum wish--to go away his violent prior at the back of and stay quietly together with his family--seems to have come true.
Then one idyllic day, a guy, a girl, and a lady set out from the ranch on horseback. High on a ridge above a mountain move, one thousand yards far-off, a peaceful, cold-eyed shooter, one of many world's maximum marksmen, friends via a telescopic sight on the 3 impending figures.
Out of his tortured earlier, a mortal enemy has once more stumbled on Bob the Nailer. Time to Hunt proves anew why such a lot of think about Stephen Hunter to be our greatest dwelling mystery writer. With a plot that sweeps from the killing fields of Vietnam to the corridors of strength in Washington to the shadowy plots of the hot global order, Hunter can provide the entire advanced, stay-up-all-night motion his fanatics call for in a masterful story of relations heartbreak and overseas intrigue--and indicates why, for Bob Lee Swagger, it truly is once more time to hunt.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Additional resources for Time to Hunt (Bob Lee Swagger)
What may perhaps prevent? not anything. If it was once within the playing cards, by way of God, it was once within the playing cards, and Daddy knew that, and confronted as much as it like a guy, seemed it within the eyes and spat in its black-cat face, till eventually it reared up and bit him in a cornfield at the Polk County line. not anything might prevent. Bob pressed on, sliding deeper into the fog. extraordinary the way it clung, like clouds of rainy wool; he’d by no means obvious something love it within the ’Nam, and this the following was once his 3rd travel. the terror started to devour at him, because it regularly did. a few fools stated he had no worry, he was once one of these hero, yet that in simple terms proved how little they knew. the terror was once like a chilly lump of bacon grease in his abdominal, challenging and rainy and slick, that he may flavor and consider continually. you couldn't make it leave, you couldn't forget about it, and anyone who stated you'll was once the worst damned type of idiot. cross on, be scared, he ordered himself. allow it rip. this can be it. however the something that scared him such a lot of all wasn’t loss of life, not likely; it used to be the assumption of now not doing the activity. That used to be whatever to worry within the middle. He might do the activity, through God; that he might. timber. He slid via them, tree to tree, his eyes operating, checking out, searching for probabilities. A conceal? A fallback? A line of stream no longer below hearth? a superb box of fireplace? rattling this fog, might he even see them? may well he learn levels, gauge the drop at the lengthy pictures? conceal or simply concealment? the place used to be the sunlight? Nope, didn’t topic, no solar. a skinny, chilly rain had started to fall. How could that have an effect on the trajectory? What used to be the wind, the humidity? How rainy used to be the inventory of the rifle? Had it bloated and was once now a few little swollen knot rubbing secretly opposed to the barrel, fucking up his aspect of impression? Had the scope sprung a leak, and used to be now a tube of fog, valueless, leaving him with not anything? Or: have been there NVA forward? Had they heard him coming? have been they giggling as he bumbled nearer? have been they drawing a bead while he thought of the prospect? He attempted to exile the terror as he had exiled his personal previous and destiny, and focus on the mechanical, the point of craft that lay sooner than him, how he may reload speedy adequate if it got here to that, because the Remingtons didn’t haven't any stripper clips and the M118 needed to be threaded in a single around at a time. may still he arrange his Claymores to hide his flanks? He didn’t imagine he had time. support me, he prayed to a God he wasn’t definite existed, perhaps a few outdated gunny up there above the clouds, simply observing out for undesirable boys like him on determined jobs for those who didn’t even recognize his identify. He halted. He was once in bushes, had solid tree hide, and stable fog, a fallback to a hilltop, after which he may perhaps reduce the opposite course. Professionally, he observed that this used to be it. an ideal choke aspect, with goals within the open, fog to hide him, a unprecedented chance to get on the NVA within the open, plenty of ammunition. If this is often it, by means of God, then this is often it, he concept, settling in at the back of a fallen tree, actually slipping right into a bush, as he squirmed to discover an excellent place. He stumbled on his providers, and even if he couldn’t get one leg flat at the flooring for the gouge of a rock or a stump, he bought so much of his physique down, drawing balance from the earth itself.