Chapter 5 - THE SUPPORT HAND
Claire settled her cheek against the adjustable foam cheek-piece of the M110 stock.
She did not touch the trigger yet. Her index finger rested flat, rigid, and straight along the smooth metal of the lower receiver, well clear of the trigger guard.
Admiral Kane took half a step closer, his eyes scanning every inch of her body as she lay on the rubber mat. He wasn't watching the rifle itself anymore; he was watching her posture, her mechanics, and the hyper-specific geometry of her body alignment.
Then Claire positioned her off-hand.
Standard military sniper doctrine instructed shooters to place their non-dominant hand beneath the toe of the rear stock, holding a small beanbag or squeezing a rear monopod to adjust elevation.
Claire didn't do that.
She extended her left arm back toward her chest, wrapping her gloved hand in a strange, highly inverted grip beneath the lower receiver housing—pinching the structural metal of the magazine well and stock junction between her thumb and knuckle in a bizarre, rigid tripod configuration. It was a technique never taught in any conventional U.S. military marksmanship manual, SWAT course, or Special Operations sniper school.
It was an archaic, forgotten technique designed exclusively for stabilizing heavy weapons on erratic, moving maritime platforms or high-vibration aircraft.
The moment Admiral Kane saw that specific, inverted support grip, his face changed again.
This was no longer just the pale shock of recognizing a faded mark on her arm.
It was pure, unvarnished disbelief.
Kane's jaw dropped slightly, his eyes bulging as he stared at her left hand. His hand reached up involuntarily and grabbed the edge of the wooden firing bench to steady himself.
"Where did she learn that?" Kane breathed, his voice barely a rasp in his throat.
Range Master Ellis stared down at Claire's hand, his brow furrowed into deep, dark trenches.
"That's what I'm trying to understand, sir," Ellis whispered back, his voice shaking. "That grip was retired thirty years ago when the Special Activities Division shut down the Maritime Interdiction Group. Nobody alive under fifty uses that placement."
Claire remained completely still on the mat, oblivious or indifferent to their whispering.
She began her breathing cycle.
Four counts in through her nose.
Hold.
May you like
Four counts out through her mouth.
The long, heavy barrel of the M110 rested immovably on its bipod, pointing out toward the desert.
