“Of course, old boy,” he said. “I’ll toss in the blue barrel first, then the red and the yellow at fifteen-second intervals, steadily increasing the visibility problem. The blue one is going to present you with a very difficult shot.” He thumped one barrel, which gave back a hollow clanging echo. It contained only ten gallons of gasoline, so the remaining space was packed with explosive fumes. “The captain is making a steady twenty knots and will hold her course straight whenever you are ready. Make all three shots from prone, if you will.”

A section of the aft railing had been removed, and Swanson slid into the familiar position flat on his stomach and dug the toes of his deck shoes into the rubberized mat. One problem with designing a new generation of sniper rifle was that he had not been allowed to actually shoot an enemy soldier with it in a combat situation, which made all the difference. Range targets cannot think and react or shoot back, while a human being might turn, duck away, trip, or break into a run in a microsecond and spoil an otherwise perfectly good solution. This field test was designed to duplicate those sorts of unexpected movements, as the floating colored barrels would rise, fall, spin, and bounce unpredictably in the waves.

Jeff came down the ladder, his eyes bright with excitement. “The lads upstairs are primed and hungry for adventure, so don’t get nervous on me now, Kyle,” he said in a tight voice.

Kyle pushed the cool fiberglass stock of Excalibur, the best sniper rifle in the world, hard into his shoulder. It had been molded to fit him like a custom-made Armani suit. “Be quiet, Jeff,” he said.