The crosshairs in the sniper's scope settled firmly on the man's forehead. It was an easy shot, even at this distance. In fact, those sitting near the target would hear only the dull thud of the bullet and see the resultant spray of blood, bone, and brain tissue as a life was  swiftly ended; the life of one who had not so swiftly ended the lives of many others.

Those standing more than two meters away, engaged in idle chatter, would be startled by the screams and turn to find only a body prostrate on the ground, the head unrecognizable as such. There would be no open casket funeral for this man. Those closer than two meters who were speaking with or looking at the man would only remember the surreal impression of his head seeming to suddenly swell slightly and then disintegrate as an invisible force slammed him backward and off of his chair. They would have the scene replayed in slow motion in their dreams for months afterward.

For a few split seconds confusion would reign until it dawned on some to look for the source of the sudden demise of their acquaintance. Had one of them been looking directly at the sniper's position, he would have seen neither the shooter nor any indication that a shot had been fired from that location. It would be futile to run for help or call a medic, though it was doubtful that any would. The man was as feared by those close to him as he was hated by those who knew him from a distance. He had no friends, only those who did his bidding because they knew the terrible consequences of doing otherwise.

The shooter was the best of the best, able to narrow his concentration so effectively that in live fire exercises when others sent their shots wide of the center circle on the target, there was often debate about how many rounds he had actually fired into a circle no larger than a quarter. Now he needed to be that good because the order called for a head shot. His commanders wanted to be sure that the target was dead, and not just wounded. They also wanted those witnesses present to be permanently warned that no one, no matter how powerful or dictatorial, was outside the reach of "extreme prejudice."

Finn, as he was called by his friends because he hated the name Phineas with which he had been saddled by his parents, had thought about this moment many times. With the other members of his unit, they had concluded that the world would be a much better place if the man whose head was now in the crosshairs of his rifle would be sent to meet his maker. There were several "believers", along with Finn, who debated whether it was right to take a man's life from half a mile away as he sat having lunch on his patio. They were all, however, men who believed that the Bible sanctioned war as a last resort when people's freedom hung in the balance.

But was this kind of "assassination" a part of war? Was it right to calmly pull the trigger on a weapon that was specifically designed for this gruesome task and loaded with ammunition that would literally decapitate the target if it were to hit him in the neck and not in the head? It was one thing to defend himself against an enemy who was bent on killing him, but this man, albeit a known terrorist, was  drinking tea with his family and friends, not shooting at him from a dozen yards away. Finn could see clearly enough in his scope to tell that there was a light hearted atmosphere on the porch where his target sat, and in just a few seconds, that would all change.

Those thoughts ran through Finn's mind as he awaited the final order to "execute" the carefully laid out plan that would end the man's life whose face he could clearly see in his rifle scope. At Finn's side, his spotter was rechecking the range to target and watching for signs of wind that would affect Finn's bullet as it sped to it's deadly mission. They both wore radio headsets on which they would receive the shoot/no shoot order. Why they had to wait was beyond Finn. Either this man deserved to die, or he didn't. Finn had managed to stay out of the debate about whether or not the terrorist should be brought to trial for his crimes. To Finn, it seemed a waste of time and money to try a man for crimes that you knew he had committed. What did they expect to do, uncover that the target's brutality had been the result of a less than proper upbringing? Would some glory seeking lawyer try to be the first to bring before an international court the insanity plea on behalf of one who had committed crimes against humanity?