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Posted on 12/21/2001 5:12:30 AM PST by tom paine 2

KANDAHAR, Afghanistan -- Marine Sgt. Christopher G. Jacox brought a Wisconsin hunting license with him to Afghanistan. And he intends to use it.

Each night, ready for the kind of hunting the Marines trained him to do, he perches atop the remains of the control tower of Kandahar International Airport with a 7.62 mm sniper rifle capable of hitting a man a thousand yards away.

The snipers have one of the most cold-blooded jobs in the military. Pilots bomb without seeing the bombed. Navy crews launch cruise missiles from the far side of the horizon. Combat troops get into firefights where anybody could get hit. But snipers coolly pick out their targets, shoot them from a distance, and, through powerful scopes, see them fall. "I can actually watch the bullet travel through the air and hit a person," says Sgt. Jacox. Catching himself, he adds, "Or, I should say, target."

This is, in the sergeant's words, an "up-close-and-personal" way to kill someone.

Sgt. Jacox, a slender 29-year-old from Racine, Wis., with a close-shaved head and thin mustache, has been a sniper for a year and has yet to take his first real-life shot. But he has it all planned out. Instead of concentrating on the man he is about to kill, he'll focus more on the cross hairs themselves. And he doesn't expect to spend those critical moments contemplating the rights and wrongs of taking a life.

"If you stop to think about it, that's when the human factor kicks in," he says. "I try to think about it like deer hunting."

Formally known as scout snipers, Marines in Sgt. Jacox's business are trained to roam deep behind the lines, provide detailed intelligence on enemy strength and plans, and shoot generals or other prominent figures in the hopes of confusing and demoralizing the troops. The idea is that a single shot, now, can save thousands of lives later.

But it takes a certain kind of man to be a sniper. Sgt. Jacox's girlfriend would like him to do something else instead -- anything else -- in the Marine Corps. His parents, even his father, a retired Marine, don't ask him much about what he does. But for the sergeant, it's perfect. He had a 7 1/2-year hitch in the Army, two of them as a Ranger, and when he left the service he found it hard to fit into the civilian world.

"You can't trust the person who's standing next to you out there," he says.

Two months after getting out, he decided to re-enlist. But, as he went in to do that, in April 1998, a Marine recruiter intercepted him. In the Corps, he feels, he has a community he can trust with his life, and he offers that same fidelity in return. After basic, and infantry, training, the Marines asked him to become a scout spotter, and two years later, at Camp Lejeune, N.C., he went through the elaborate process of becoming a sniper.

Sniper school, naturally, involves weeks of nonstop shooting. Sgt. Jacox usually uses the 7.62 mm sniper rifle, painted in camouflage browns. But in extreme situations, snipers shoot a huge .50 caliber rifle that fires explosive-tipped rounds that can penetrate a truck's engine a mile away, or blow through a wall to hit an enemy soldier who dares to show his head at a window.

Perhaps the toughest part of the three-month course is when the aspiring snipers learn how to work and survive behind enemy lines. Scouts are expected to collect tactical intelligence on their missions, which means remembering tiny details of what they see. A discarded tin can might indicate something about food supplies or morale. A bunch of cans might suggest the size of the enemy force. "Every little thing counts," says Sgt. Jacox.

So the Marines teach their snipers to be painfully observant, using the "Keep in Memory Sniper" game. In a game of KIMS, instructors put 10 items on the floor and -- while yelling and throwing things to create a distraction -- give the Marines one minute to look at them. Then the students take a run or go to class. Hours -- or even a day -- later, the instructors give the men three minutes to draw each item from memory, describing its nature, size, shape, color and condition. A passing score is eight out of 10.

When the instructors really want to challenge the Marines, they will change their surroundings in small ways and quiz them about it. They might, for instance, secretly replace a photo from a row of pictures in the hallway leading to the classroom, and then, once the students are in class, ask them to write down anything unusual that they noticed on the way in. Or they might show a 15-minute video, then ask the Marines to recall one small visual detail.

"It helps you improve your memory, because you often can't stop while on patrol," says Sgt. Jacox.

The snipers also learn how to stalk their targets. In a stalking test, the sniper starts about 500 yards from two instructors standing, with their binoculars, in a Humvee. The goal is to get to within 200 yards of the Humvee, fire two blanks, and creep away unseen.

He wears camouflage face paint, no helmet and a utility suit covered with netting and burlap straps that are intended to break up the human outline. As the sniper approaches, he stuffs grass, leaves and sticks in the netting from time to time, to alter his camouflage so as to blend in with the changing foliage. The game can last two hours or more, requiring the sort of patience a sniper must have if he is to survive on the battlefield.

A perfect stalk earns 100 points. Each student has to perform 10 stalks in woodlands, tall grass, short grass and swamps -- at least three of them with perfect scores -- and earn 800 points altogether in order to graduate. Sgt. Jacox loves the stalking, and, in the woods at Camp Lejeune, was sometimes so well concealed that other Marines stepped on him without realizing it.

"When you're moving, it can take as little as kicking a small branch for them to lock onto you," he says.

Capt. T. Shane Tomko, a 38-year-old from Quincy, Ill., is commander of Kilo Company, where Sgt. Jacox was posted for his first few days in Afghanistan. Gung-ho to the extreme, Capt. Tomko observes: "Machine-gunners are criminals. Snipers are just smarter criminals. They're more stealthy."

At Kandahar's airport, where these days about 1,500 Marines are holding down the fort without venturing far from the perimeter, Sgt. Jacox spends his time on observation duty, not scouting behind the lines. The control tower, with five of its 12 tilted windows blown out during one war or other, offers a 360-degree view of the scallop-shaped terminal, the pomegranate orchards over by Kilo Company's front lines, the minefields past the runway and, below him, the detention center where 15 Taliban and al Qaeda fighters are being held. On the desk is a satellite photo of the vicinity, and on a shelf below are pictures of the FBI's most-wanted terror suspects, including Osama bin Laden and Taliban spiritual leader Mullah Omar, just in case.

Near dusk, the sergeant has his four spotters make field sketches of their surroundings. They draw the runway, the razor-wire barriers, the light-armored vehicles camped below and the long trenchline between the airport and the tan, barren mountains in the distance. That's the direction he thought was most worth watching Wednesday night. He rested his weapon on the right shoulder of Cpl. Andrew Sullens, 23, of Houston, and scanned the scene, four rounds in the magazine, but none in the chamber.

Thursday, the sergeant would write up green range cards, measuring distances to 18 landmarks around the tower so the spotters -- using night-vision equipment -- could help guide him to any enemy trying to infiltrate the base. Wednesday, however, the klieg lights from the detention facility were too bright, making the night-vision equipment less effective. Lance Cpl. Bill Townsend, 19, of Pulaski, Tenn., radioed the command post. "It's blinding our right side," he reported. A few hours later the light was turned away from the tower. That's pretty much all the excitement there was that night.

On the satellite map, other Marines jotted down significant events during their watches this week. An arrow near the trenchline points out where three people were spotted scavenging. Further out from the perimeter, a note records: "Herd of sheep, one sheepherder moving east."

Sgt. Jacox lifted his rifle and again looked through the scope as a pair of Sea Knight helicopters landed, their whirling blades generating an electrostatic glow in the dark. The sniper longed to do what he is trained to do. "We're just sitting here," he says, "watching pretty much nothing."

Write to Michael M. Phillips at michael.phillips@wsj.com

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