Chapter 9 - THE RAPID STRING
Claire didn't pause to celebrate. She didn't look back to see if Kane was watching.
The M110 was a semi-automatic system, built for rapid target engagement, and Claire operated it like an extension of her own nervous system. As the bolt cycled and stripped the next match round from the magazine, her eye remained locked through the scope reticle, tracking the subtle shift in the wind flag downrange.
CRACK!
CLANG!
CRACK!
CLANG!
CRACK!
CLANG!
Three rapid shots left the muzzle in less than four seconds. Each high-velocity round sliced through eight hundred meters of heat haze, crosswind, and thermal drift, striking the steel target with terrifying, rhythmic regularity.
Through his spotting scope, Range Master Ellis’s jaw tightened in sheer awe.
All four bullet impacts downrange were touching each other—a single, tight cloverleaf cluster of bare lead no larger than a silver dollar, placed precisely over the target's heart. At eight hundred meters, in gusting desert conditions, such a grouping was not just expert marksmanship; it was a physical impossibility for ninety-nine percent of military shooters alive.
Claire fired her fifth and final round.
CRACK!
CLANG!
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The final steel ring echoed across the salt flat.
Claire immediately engaged the safety lever with her right thumb, removed the box magazine, and pulled the charging handle back to lock the bolt to the rear, exposing the clear, empty chamber. She laid the rifle flat on the foam pad, stepped back from the bench, and turned around to face the staging area.
