The best laid plans of minuscule precision.
He did cast a giant shadow. To see the pores in pock marked faces 500 hundred yards or more.
To reach across vast fields.
to walk a man down. to take his measure.
the final word said.assured was he that this was the golden moment.
Cross hatches that never lie, to zero.
two clicks right and two clicks high.
never mind spin drift. there was no rift.
The reticle spoke the language of
an eye for an eye as the muzzle let it fly.
Scope relief and slow exhale. The reticle
was on your trail. Would walk you in or lead you out.
adjust for drop a half click skyward.
a click to ease the windward push. do all these things and 'gently squeeze.
to never hear the tolling bell. to send a soul direct to hell.
The reticle knew his lines and spoke them well. Unblinking through the gates of hell.
Silence now darkness. nestled in repose. lost in foliage.
a hasty leave. No one will grieve the reticles loss.
Silently atop the knoll. sits the reticle.
left behind. forever. never to cast his chilling stare.
ten thousand suns will rise and fall as he looks down from his perch.
Oh how the might have fallen.
Cold steel. is all.
blink. and close an eye.
forever.
This is my take on the snipers. Scope. and the cross-hairs called the reticle. just another topic.
No love one way or the other.