Action

The riveting start of Mike D'Orso's "The Sniper," The Virginian-Pilot, March 22, 1987:

The sun lay low in the Vietnamese sky. Steam rose from the damp jungle mulch. The only sound in the sweltering stillness was the buzzing of flies and gnats as they swarmed above Carlos Hathcock's body, collecting on his neck, probing the corners of his eyes, digging into the creases of his mouth. His knees and elbows were blistered and bleeding. His pants were soaked with urine. But Hathcock felt nothing. He had moved beyond feeling. He had climbed into "the bubble," and he was ready for the kill.

For two days Hathcock and his partner Johnny Burke had crawled through ferns, mud and rotting leaves, silent as…