Chapter 3 - EIGHT HUNDRED METERS
Admiral Kane folded his heavy arms over his decorated chest, stepping closer until the shadow of his broad frame fell over Claire’s work area. The sarcasm on his face deepened, though a sharp, inquiring edge glinted behind his dark lenses.
"Is that so?" Kane asked, leaning down slightly. "And at what distance do you 'just shoot', Private?"
Claire didn't blink. She didn't look at the laughing junior officers, nor did she look down at the dirt. She stood up from the gravel with a single, smooth, athletic movement, her legs straightening without a hint of strain, her body rising to stand five-foot-seven directly in front of the towering flag officer.
"Eight hundred meters," Claire stated plainly.
The laughter from Lieutenant Brooks cut off instantly, replaced by an even sharper, incredulous scoff. Brooks stepped right up to the boundary tape, looking at her with total disbelief.
"Eight hundred meters?!" Brooks laughed, pointing out toward the shimmering heat haze dancing over the desert floor. "Do you even know what eight hundred meters looks like through a reticle, sweetheart? That target out there looks like a postage stamp stuck to a mountain!"
Claire turned her head two inches, her hazel eyes locking onto Brooks's face.
"Yes," Claire answered softly. "I know exactly what it looks like."
Thirty yards away, standing near the range-control podium beside the heavy brass spotting scopes, Range Master Ellis stopped what he was doing.
At sixty-two, Ellis was a legendary former Marine Scout Sniper who had supervised this long-range testing facility for fifteen years. His face was weathered, lined like tanned leather by decades of desert sun, and his graying hair was cut into a tight taper. He wore a faded tactical vest over a plain polo shirt, holding a pair of heavy binoculars.
Unlike Kane and his entourage of young officers, Ellis didn't look at Claire's plain, rankless sleeves.
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He looked at her hands. He watched the absolute stillness of her fingers, the relaxed drop of her shoulders, and the subtle, mechanical precision with which she held her posture against the howling desert crosswind.
Ellis's weathered eyes narrowed into tight, razor-sharp slits as a sudden, intense memory stirred in the back of his mind.
