Chapter 4 - FIVE SHOTS AT TWENTY-FIVE YARDS
BANG!
The sharp, concussive crack of 9mm ammunition detonated inside Bay 7. The spent brass casing flew up and to the right, glinting in the amber sunlight before striking the concrete divider.
Without a millisecond of recoil drift, the muzzle of the Glock settled instantly back on target level. Sarah’s arms moved in a fluid, mechanical arc—pivoting from her hips, not her wrists—transitioning seamlessly from the first paper target to the second.
BANG!
Target two jerked violently downrange as a neat hole opened up in the paper.
BANG!
Target three was struck before the second spent casing hit the ground.
BANG!
Target four tore open.
BANG!
The fifth shot rang out, completing the entire sequence in a rhythm so precise, rhythmic, and blindingly fast it sounded like a single burst from an automatic weapon system. Five controlled shots fired across five distinct long-range targets in under three seconds.
The echo of the final gunshot rolled across the open bluffs, fading into the ocean breeze. Smoke drifted lazily out of the Glock's hot barrel.
Sarah immediately lowered the weapon into a compressed low-ready position, her finger indexed high above the trigger, her chest rising and falling in smooth, rhythmic breaths. She did not look excited. She did not look surprised.
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Beside her, Mercer’s confident, condescending smile slowly, completely disappeared. His mouth remained half-open, his eyes wide with absolute disbelief as he stared downrange at the five paper silhouettes hanging twenty-five yards away.
Behind him, the four young Marines had fallen completely silent. The banter, the nudging, and the laughter were gone, replaced by a stunned, suffocating shock.
