Samuel

“Not their time, not now—the death angel passing over once more. Close enough to feel the air rush beneath its wings. Time to move. He slung the FN-FAL over his back, tucking the suppressed 1911 under his jacket as he rose from behind the vehicle. “Back my play.”
― Stephen England, Lodestone

“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

“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

“An FN-FAL battle rifle was strapped to his leg with paracord, its weight reminding him of their purpose. The reason for this jump.
Forty minutes till landing. Another twenty, maybe twenty-five till they were on the target.
Might as well enjoy the ride”
― Stephen England, Lodestone