Chapter 7 - THE SHADOW OF THE PAST
The explanation was simple, almost dismissive, but nobody on Range 4 believed for a second that simple hunting in the Big Horns produced an operator capable of putting five rounds through the same atom of concrete at one hundred and fifty yards.
Master Sergeant Donovan stepped up beside Mercer, her eyes fixed on Emma’s hands.
She reached down, gently taking the M4 carbine from Emma's grip. Donovan opened the action, cleared the chamber, and inspected the rifle’s receiver, sights, and barrel. It was, in every respect, a standard-issue military rifle. The front sight post was standard iron. The trigger was a standard heavy mil-spec pull. There were no custom match barrels, no hair-triggers, no specialized optics.
The weapon was ordinary.
The person holding it was a ghost.
"Sir," Donovan said, looking up at Mercer. "Permission to run a secondary test."
Mercer didn't take his eyes off Emma. "Granted."
Donovan walked over to the range-control station and pulled out a fresh, unmarked white silhouette paper target. She walked down to Lane 7, unclipped the previous "clean" target, and mounted the fresh white sheet onto the wooden frame.
She didn't place a red bullseye sticker on it. She didn't draw a black sight-picture marker in the center. It was a completely blank, white piece of paper mounted against the yellow grass at fifty yards.
Donovan walked back to the firing line, pulled a fresh thirty-round magazine of 5.56 ball ammunition from her web gear, and slapped it into the M4. She racked the bolt back, sending a round into the chamber, locked the safety on, and handed the rifle back to Emma.
"Three rounds, Private," Donovan instructed, her tone devoid of any hostility, filled only with intense, professional curiosity. "Rapid fire. The target is blank. Give me a group."
The thirty soldiers of Combat Group Charlie pushed forward against the concrete barrier, crowding three-deep behind Bay 7. The mockery was gone. The jokes were dead. Every man was leaning forward, their eyes wide, holding their breath to witness what was about to happen.
Emma accepted the M4.
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She did not adjust her posture. She did not perform any theatrical preparation.
She stepped up to the concrete bay, raised the rifle to her shoulder, flipped the safety switch to SEMI with her thumb, and took a single, half-second breath.
