Sniper's Honor (Bob Lee Swagger)

Sniper's Honor (Bob Lee Swagger)

Stephen Hunter

Language: English

Pages: 464

ISBN: 1451640234

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


In this tour de force—part historical thriller, part modern adventure—from the New York Times bestselling author of I, Sniper, Bob Lee Swagger uncovers why World War II’s greatest sniper was erased from history…and why her disappearance still matters today.

Ludmilla “Mili” Petrova was once the most hunted woman on earth, having raised the fury of two of the most powerful leaders on either side of World War II: Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler. But Kathy Reilly of The Washington Post doesn’t know any of that when she encounters a brief mention of Mili in an old Russian propaganda magazine, and becomes interested in the story of a legendary, beautiful female sniper who seems to have vanished from history.

Reilly enlists former marine sniper Bob Lee Swagger to parse out the scarce details of Mili’s military service. The more Swagger learns about Mili’s last mission, the more he’s convinced her disappearance was no accident—but why would the Russian government go to such lengths to erase the existence of one of their own decorated soldiers? And why, when Swagger joins Kathy Reilly on a research trip, is someone trying to kill them before they can find out?

As Bob Lee Swagger, “one of the finest series characters ever to grace the thriller genre, now and forever” (Providence Journal-Bulletin), races to put the pieces together, Sniper’s Honor takes readers across oceans and time in an action-packed, compulsive read.

Termination Orders (Dan Morgan, Book 1)

The Last Oracle & The Doomsday Key (SIGMA Force, Books 5-6)

Blacklist Aftermath (Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell, Book 7)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

may be separated when we report. For various reasons. Look, let me tell you something that will help you.” “All right.” “You love her, I love her, she was a hero, she deserves to be remembered forever. But under no circumstances should you tell anyone of your time with Mili Petrova.” “What? Why—” “There are politics here. You do not understand them. It would take to the end of the war for me to explain them to you. But it may have developed, by certain realities, that she is considered a

dinner party in my suite at the hotel. Seven P.M. You have dress uniform?” he said to Salid. “Of course.” “Seven P.M., bathed, shaved, dress uniform. Meet the generals and the department heads who control what is left of German Ukraine. Impress them, they will give you everything, put you at the head of every line. Tomorrow night I will introduce you to an officer, and if you charm him, those three panzerwagens will be permanently assigned to Police Battalion, no waiting, no explanation, no

building. His next move was to go by area rather than specialty and to ask the institute’s database if, on a country-by-country or region-by-region basis, there were any missing men, units, whatever. Again not much. But . . . But . . . Yes, there was a little “but . . .” In Grozny, capital of Chechnya, a former sergeant in the Chechen army turned up as disappeared, though his vanishing was resolved when it was learned he had been in prison. However, on his release, whoever had been watching

dispatched, with his sharp eyes and handsome features, with his brutal charm and steel will, and he handled whatever that difficulty might be, whether it was a hang-up in machine gun deliveries or the recalcitrance of a certain general officer in the Baltics. He was a fellow known to get things done. But she thought: Why would a big shot be so interested in a matter like Kursk? “Comrade Sniper,” he said, “I see from reports that your leg has healed, I see that you have been serving dutifully in

“Swagger, I’m scared.” “To be expected. Get your mind off it. Make phone calls. Check your e-mail. Give me your latest. Do you have any long shots? You only scare yourself into ineffectiveness if your mind goes empty or numb. So just fill it with little shit, and you’ll be all right.” Threading the cartridges through the lips—rather sharp, actually—so that they nested against the follower or the round against a spring pressure that grew only as the amount of rounds pushing it down grew, too,

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