Beirut 1983, Multi-National Peacekeeping ForceF
rom the roof of a three-story building in Hay-es-Salaam east of the Marine positions at Beirut International Airport, Gunner Shake Davis scanned the winding streets below through the Starlight Scope fitted to his M-16 rifle. There wasn’t much to see this late. In the greenish glow of the scope’s reticle he spotted two old geezers arguing about something on a street corner and a woman emptying the family slop bucket into the foul-smelling gutter that ran parallel to what passed for the main drag. It was all typical goober activity in the ramshackle little Arab ville that the Marines called Hooterville.
“Ain’t much happening tonight.” Corporal Chris Grey rolled over from behind an M-40A1 sniper rifle and adjusted his trousers in an attempt to
