One Shot (Jack Reacher, #9)

by Lee Child

Long-term military records show that a modern army scores one enemy fatality for every fifteen thousand combat rounds expended by its infantry.

Yard Invitational. Gunny Samuel Cash, third place. Then there were three signatures from three adjudicators. “You’re Sergeant Cash?” Reacher said. “Retired and scuffling,” the guy said. “Me too.” “But not from the Corps.” “You can tell that just by looking?” “Easily.” “Army,” Reacher said. “But my dad was a Marine.” Cash nodded. “Makes you half-human.” Reacher traced his fingertip over the glass, above the bullet holes. A fine group of five, and a sixth that had drifted just a hair. “Good shooting,” he said. “I’d be lucky to do that at half the range today.” “Me too,” Reacher said. “Time marches on.” “You saying you could have done it back in the day?” Reacher didn’t answer. Truth was he had actually won the Marine Corps 1000 Yard Invitational, exactly ten years after Cash had scraped third place.

He had served overseas for most of thirteen years and had never met anyone who cared what was tied to trees back home. As long as someone sent paychecks and food and water and bullets, and wives stayed faithful, most guys were happy enough.