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If paper targets came to life just once, I’d never return to the range—I might set down my weapon forever—but while they’re silhouettes of simple black on simple white, I’ll shoot until the world is out of ammo, and surprisingly the opposite doesn’t spook me: Read the rest of this entry »

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Nobody has ever asked me to find anybody they didn’t want me to kill. I don’t mean to complain. Unlike others in our group, I have a clear objective, but it’s not the way I’d like to be defined, as a killer per se, Read the rest of this entry »

How you begin is who you are. Only a killer can do it alone; for others, whether you slice, chop or do field surgery, have someone reliable hold the bird by the wings at the shoulders. Read the rest of this entry »

He says he has to release the tape in service to the truth. I think he means The Truth, but the truth is the story’s not his to tell. He’s embedded with us again, running tape while we clear this mosque again of insurgents and search it again for weapons. Read the rest of this entry »

If ghosts could kill themselves, they would. I have it on good authority. They long to be here or there. Neither body nor yet pure light, they are shadows on the houses they lived in. Read the rest of this entry »

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The pen name David B Dale honors my parents Beatrice and Dale. David+B+Dale = davidbdale

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