Stephen England > Quotes

“A Belgian-made FN-FAL rifle was disassembled in the trunk of the car, along with a hundred rounds of 7.62mm NATO. The other half of the purchase was strapped to the Texan’s ankle: a short-barreled .357 Magnum. Some might have considered a semiautomatic a better choice, but he had always been partial to wheelguns. In any case, it was a back-up gun.”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“LONGBOW to EAGLE SIX, the target is sweating profusely,” Thomas announced. Harry couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “You can see that?” “Listen, a 14x Leupold and I can count the drops for you. Interested?”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“Got you,” he heard someone murmur, looking over to see one of his team members—Nate Carson, a former Air Force pararescue jumper or “PJ”, as they were known—aim his index finger at the frozen image on the laptop screen, pantomiming getting off a shot.
And so they had, or at least were as close to it as they had been in months, the big man thought as he laid down the yearbook, pushing his way past Carson as he made his way to the door of the tent. Their best intelligence on Hassan's location since their abortive raid in late March, having come through just the previous day. And now all they awaited was the all-clear from Washington. For the politicians to make up their mind, as ever.
The desert heat of the Sinai struck him full in the face as he stepped through the flap. Dry, choking heat—impressive even by the standards of east Texas, where he'd spent the majority of his childhood, before leaving home at the age of 18 to join the Corps.
Seemed like he'd been spending his life in the desert ever since, as the Marines—and now the Agency—sent him to one desolate waste after another.
North Camp was located some twenty kilometers south of the Mediterranean and not far from the border with Israel—a six hundred plus-acre compound that served as a forward operating base for the Multinational Force & Observers, the international peacekeeping force based in the Sinai ever since the Camp David Accords of '78.
And now, for their team—through some special dispensation obtained by the Agency's seventh floor. All of it so far above his pay grade as to be beyond his concern.”
― Stephen England, Quicksand

“He’d been facing away, Harry thought, the Sig-Sauer still drawn in his hand as he limped forward. And he had put three shots into the man’s back—the first two between the shoulderblades, the final one into the base of the neck.
Mozambique Drill.
It hadn’t been a fair fight, but he hadn’t intended it to be. Honor was something for another era, a nobler time”
― Stephen England, Embrace the Fire

“The .338 Lapua Magnum bullet shot from the Barrett’s muzzle at a speed of 2,750 feet per second, striking its target almost before the sound had reached his ears. Farouk’s head exploded like a ripe melon, blood and brains spraying over the surrounding worshipers as he went down. He never had a chance to react, no final words, no prayers for mercy. Quite literally, the 300-grain slug was the last thing to enter his mind.”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“Oh, well that can’t have been me,” Harry smiled grimly, clapping a hand on Malone’s shoulder as he moved past the big man. “You’re still alive. . .”     7:03”
― Stephen England, Embrace the Fire

“He was on the fifth floor of the hotel, two hundred and fifty yards from the meeting site, according to the laser range-finder that he had brought with him. He could have made that shot over iron sights, but the scope gave him an added measure of security. The Texan was nothing if not cautious. Finishing his work, he laid the rifle on the bed and slapped a loaded magazine into the mag well of the gun. Ready to go.”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“Thomas Parker glanced at his watch. Five hours. He laid down his cleaning brush and picked up the scattered parts of his 7.62mm SV-98 sniper rifle, starting to reassemble the gun. It wasn’t his favorite weapon, but it would do the job. Anything of American manufacture was out of the question. He re-mounted the scope, brushing a fine layer of dust off the lens. Sand seemed to permeate everything. The scope wasn’t standard-issue, it had come from an American lens manufacturer whose name had been carefully ground off the side. It gave him magnification up to 10x and night-vision capability. More than he needed, but with it, he had placed bulls-eyes at fifteen hundred yards.”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“To ride the chaos, remake the world in their own image. It takes a special kind of hubris to throw the world into the fires and believe you can pull it back out without being consumed yourself.”
“So that’s what this is all about?” Roth asked, the irony clear in his voice. “A ‘better’ world?”
“Isn’t it always?” Harry allowed himself a grim smile. A nameless wag had once observed that the reason history repeated itself was that no one had been listening the first time around. Not that they ever did. “They believe they can accomplish with this what none of the wars they bled and died in ever have—eliminate the Islamist threat to the UK, once and for all. A ‘final solution’, you might call it.”
― Stephen England, Embrace the Fire

“It was an impossible stand-off, so close together there in the darkness, barely ten feet separating them. No way for either of them to miss, Harry thought, staring through the sights of his 1911 at Massoud. The man had aged since the photo in his CIA “jacket”, far beyond his years”
― Stephen England, Lodestone

“Tex swiveled the FN-FAL on its bipod, identifying the source of the hostile fire. Two men, kneeling on the bow of a boat in the marina. The scope’s cross-hairs centered on the forehead of one of the shooters and he squeezed the trigger. Target eliminated, Tex thought coldly. The man collapsed, the top of his head nearly blown away by the heavy bullet. Next target. Before he could draw down on the second shooter, a rifle boomed from somewhere in the marina and the man toppled over the rail, his body falling into the lagoon.”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“The surface-to-air-missile system was the flower of Russian technology. A further development of the competent SA-15 “Gauntlet”, as code-named by NATO, the TOR-M1 9M330 had been supplied to Iran in December of 2005. It was a system capable of detecting and tracking forty-eight targets, and engaging two targets simultaneously with over a 92 % kill probability, making any sort of low-level attack a virtual suicide mission. The twenty-nine transport launcher vehicles, or TLVs, which Tehran had purchased had cost them the equivalent of over a billion dollars in U.S. currency”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“The two CIA men had donned flak jackets and unslung their own rifles, accurized AK-74s. The sight of the Eastern Bloc weapons had raised a few eyebrows at first, but there were no comments now. Just silence. And they waited.....”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“Hamid checked the silenced Heckler & Koch MP-5SD submachine gun for a third and final time before slapping a thirty-round magazine of 9mm hollowpoints into the mag well. Four more magazines were held in pouches around his belt”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“look like to see a modern army truly unleashed against a civilian populace.”
― Stephen England, Lion of God: The Complete Trilogy

“The sun was already coming up, Richards thought, casting a critical glance toward the eastern horizon as he strode toward the line of waiting vehicles, his Mk 14 EBR in one hand—adjusting the straps of his plate carrier as he moved. The brim of his Texas Longhorns ball cap keeping the glare out of his eyes.
This reminded him far too much of his time in Afghanistan—heading out from the FOB to track down Taliban insurgents. Working with the locals.
His gaze fell on the up-armored Egyptian Army HMMVs outside the gate—on the young corporal standing in the open roof turret, feeding a long, glistening brass belt of ammunition into the loading port of the mounted M60. Some things never changed.”
― Stephen England, Quicksand

“Barukh haba, mother,” he said, forcing a smile. Blessed be the one who comes.”
― Stephen England, The Lion's Paw

“A pistol materialized in the man’s hand as he leaned down, pressing it against Quasim’s forehead. “Good-bye,” the young man whispered, a smile crossing his face. A smile as cold and dark as his eyes. Fire erupted from the gun’s muzzle. Fire and blackness…”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“.Adonai Elohenu, Melech Haolam sheasa nisim laavotenu bayamim hahem bizman hazeh.”
― Stephen England, The Lion's Paw

“Gratitude is the disease of dogs was a maxim people lived by in the Beltway.”
― Stephen England, The Shadow Warriors #1-3

“Riflemen, roadside IEDs—I don’t suppose I bloody well need to tell you how to set up this type of thing. You sods did more than enough of that in Iraq. Provided you have men with the experience.”
― Stephen England, Embrace the Fire

“The third man was reacting now, too late—his rifle coming up even as two more fighters came around the corner of the hallway.
And then he heard the rattle of Nick’s AK from behind him—saw the man go down, the acrid, heady smell of burning gunpowder filling his nostrils as the kill zone emptied of targets.”
― Stephen England, Lodestone

“War teaches a man that he has only his brothers.” And sometimes not even them, Harry thought—feeling anger swell within him at the memory of brotherhood betrayed. Hamid Zakiri. “That they are all that matters—because at the end of the day, they’re the only ones comin’ for you. And it’s that brotherhood that Conor Hale is leveraging to achieve his objectives. The sacred trusts of men who have been through the fire together.”
― Stephen England, Embrace the Fire

“After a moment’s thought, he opened the diplomatic case and threw in an extra set of identification papers, under a Belgian passport. It had served him well in the past and it never hurt to plan ahead. The case also contained his Colt .45, two loaded magazines, and a box of Federal Hydra-Shok hollowpoints. Being able to carry the gun through security was one of the benefits of his diplomatic immunity. If he was forced to use it…well, that was another story”
― Stephen England, Pandora's Grave

“Good reason. The trigger broke under his finger, recoil pummeling Harry’s shoulder as the thunder of a .308 reverberated through the hallway.
He saw the man’s head snap back from the impact of the round, but he was already traversing to the next target, shooting the second militant twice in the chest. Iron sights now”
― Stephen England, Lodestone

“He was shot dead aboard his yacht Khaybar, four days ago. This,” he said, his fingers trembling as he laid a small, coin-shaped object on the table between them, “was found in his mouth.”
Hesitating for only a moment, Tarik reached forward, picking up the object. It wasn’t a coin, but rather a poker chip.
A poker chip with the word Bellagio emblazoned in the center”
― Stephen England, Embrace the Fire

“Omar’s choice of the .357 Magnum was more prosaic, based on a simple bit of advice from a fellow inmate. The man had been an unrepentant infidel, serving a life sentence for rape and murder, but his advice had been sound. Revolvers don’t eject their shell casings. Keep your shots few and effective and you can walk off the crime scene with half the evidence the cops usually depend on.”
― Stephen England, Day of Reckoning

“e’ll be landing within an hour and a half, Mr. President.” The Secret Service agent was a heavy-set man of medium height, his suits expertly tailored to conceal the Sig-Sauer P229 he carried underneath his jacket.”
― Stephen England, Day of Reckoning

“The CIA officer came over to the parapet to stand beside him, his eyes hidden by the polarized Wayfarers. “I. . .spent some time in Afghanistan, few years back. Rotated out to Kabul Station. Lost more than a few good men to sniper fire. You get a feel for where they’re hiding.”
― Stephen England, Embrace the Fire

“Twenty-seven years, Colin Hilliard thought, buttoning his suit as he strode out from under the cover of Balmoral’s carriage porch—the early afternoon sun shining down on the Commander’s snow-white hair.
That was how long he’d been with the Met’s Protection Command, guarding first the palace at Buck House—as it was colloquially known—then the Royal Family itself. Nearly half his life. He’d been on Her Majesty’s personal detail for twelve years, its ranking officer for the last five.
The Glock 17 dug uncomfortably into his side as he moved, a reminder of the realities of his work as he glanced back toward the castle—its main keep looming large behind him, the walls thick and solid, constructed of Invergelder granite.
Relic of an England gone by”
― Stephen England, Embrace the Fire