Sniper 3

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Roger that. Target confirmed. Fire at will.

Make your target, Corporal.

You got a time problem, gentlemen.

Lock your TRS and get this over with.

TRS verifying target.

Just eyeball the f***er and pull the trigger.

I heard that, Beckett.

We got incoming bogeys.

Range, 650 yards.

We have a 5-mile-an-hour wind,

midrange, coming from your Lima.

Attempting to confirm target.

Sir, Evers's pulse, respiration and GSR

are maxing out.

What about Beckett?

No, steady as a rock.

It's like he's taking a nap.

You're running out of time, gentlemen.

Take the shot, Evers.

- I could hit a hostage, Master Gunny...

- Take the f***ing shot.

Stand down.

Stand down, gentlemen.

You okay, Master Gunny?

Perfect. Abso-f***ing-lutely perfect.

Target status:
Target destroyed.

He made that damn shot.

I can't believe it.

He made that goddamn shot!

Game over.

Your position

was about to be compromised.

- Your directive was to abort that mission.

- We're Marine Scout Snipers, Captain.

We don't abort unless we stop breathing.

You weren't supposed to make that shot.

No one's supposed to.

Well, I completed my mission.

Back in my days...

F*** your days!

That was the luckiest f***ing shot

in the history of lucky f***ing shots!

Sorry I broke your toy, Captain.

But if a sniper had to depend on that,

he'd end up dead.

It's not a video game out there.

It's all about one shot and one kill.

You're a risk, you know that?

You're a goddamn liability...

that I, for one, am not going to risk...

Getting bored, are we?

I'm not cutting

into your precious drinking time, am I?

Begging the Captain's pardon, sir,

but yes, sir, I am. And yes, sir, you are, sir.

I don't like you, Master Gunnery Sergeant.

And I don't care about that f***ing deal

you made with the Corps!

You fail that medical next week,

I'll bury your ass back in the real world.

And that's a promise.

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

- Who is it?

- It's me. Open the f***ing door.

About f***ing time...

You got it? Tell me you got it...

Who the hell are you?

Hey...

He's a big buyer. Lots of money.

He's okay, trust me.

- You look like a cop to me.

- F*** you.

He's no cop. He'll f*** me.

You'll f*** me too...

C'mon, baby...

- How much?

- Twenty.

She said 15.

She's full of sh*t.

Just pay him, for f***'s sake.

He's got good stuff.

Only the Cobra's...

Shut up!

How much. Let's see it.

Just relax! Put the gun down!

They said they'd put me in jail!

I can't go to jail!

You f***in' b*tch!

Just put the gun down!

He's got cops everywhere!

I got him. Get your sniper.

- Congratulations, Neil.

- Hey, buddy.

Congratulations.

Hey, nice going, Neil, buddy. Good job.

Mum, it's time.

No, he said he'd be here.

- It's okay.

- I talked to him yesterday...

Come on, the TV people

want a shot of us cutting the cake.

- We can't wait any longer.

- Okay.

Sorry, Mum.

This looks more like a campaign

photo opportunity than a wedding.

We decided to forgo the speeches today...

because of an unavoidable absence.

If that's Beckett you're talking about,

he probably got lost on the way to the bar.

Well, he's right.

No way I could do this

without a couple of tall ones.

Sydney.

You knew I'd make it.

- Do me the honors?

- Okay.

Actually, these kind of affairs

scare the hell out of me.

Many years ago, your old man

made me promise him something.

That, were he not able to attend your

wedding day...

I would read this letter to you.

"If that grunt Beckett is reading this,

then I didn't make it.

"I'm hoping this part of the letter

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