Chapter 6 - Mason Had Been Watching The Wrong Lesson
Mason found me back at the range two days later.
The investigation into the dog tag placement had become an administrative issue for logistics and security.
Evan admitted what he had done.
His contractor access had long since expired, but the equipment placement had occurred while his company still had legitimate access to the old frames.
He had violated policy.
There would be consequences.
No arrest spectacle.
No secret operation.
Just a retired man explaining why grief had convinced him he was entitled to use government equipment as a message board.
Mason stood beside the firing lane.
“You staying?”
“In the course?”
“Yes.”
“Why wouldn't I?”
He looked embarrassed.
Good.
Then:
“About the first day.”
I waited.
“I was out of line.”
“For?”
“Throwing the target.”
More.
“Mocking you.”
More.
He sighed.
“For trying to make the whole group treat distance as a measure of whether you deserved to be there.”
Better.
I nodded.
Then he surprised me.
“I knew you were good.”
“What?”
“Before the first shot.”
My expression changed.
“How?”
“Previous qualification record.”
Of course.
“So why laugh?”
He looked at the ground.
“Because Colonel Hale was observing me.”
There it was.
The same disease in a newer generation.
“What did that have to do with me?”
“I wanted the block to look demanding.”
“So?”
“You took the easy target first.”
“Because that was the sequence.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew that.”
“Yes.”
“Then why call it weak?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because I wanted Hale to see I wasn’t impressed.”
I almost laughed.
Twenty-seven years.
Different range.
Same stupid hunger.
A younger man needing a senior officer to see that he could not be impressed by someone underneath him.
Mason saw my face.
“What?”
“You should talk to Hale.”
“Why?”
“Ask him what happens when making sure a senior man sees you challenge somebody becomes more important than the actual training.”
Mason frowned.
“I didn't tell anyone to ignore you.”
“No.”
“I threw a paper target.”
“Yes.”
“That's not the same.”
“No.”
Important.
I looked at him.
“It doesn't have to be the same for you to learn from it.”
He went quiet.
Good.
Then Mason asked:
“Why did you take the long shot?”
“Because you told me.”
“That's it?”
“No.”
He waited.
I admitted my part.
“Because I wanted everybody to stop laughing.”
“Did it work?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It felt good.”
He almost smiled.
I didn't.
“I hate that.”
“Why?”
“Because you gave me a room where proving myself felt easier than telling you the way you were running it was stupid.”
Mason nodded.
“Would you do it differently?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Make the shot.”
He frowned.
I smiled slightly.
“Then complain afterward.”
He laughed.
Good.
No need to become passive just because pride existed.
Skill was still skill.
The problem was what we made it mean.
Colonel Hale arrived ten minutes later.
Mason looked at me.
I looked back.
“Go ahead.”
He walked over.
I couldn't hear the beginning.
Didn't try.
That was their conversation.
Later, Hale found me.
“What did you tell Briggs?”
“To ask you about ego.”
His expression tightened.
“Enjoying this?”
“A little.”
“Figures.”
Then he looked toward the dog-tag evidence envelope on the range office desk.
“Your father wants it.”
“I know.”
“So does Evan.”
“I know.”
“What do you want?”
That was the first useful question anyone had asked about the object.
I thought.
“Neither of them gets it yet.”
Hale looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because everybody keeps treating it like it proves who loved her correctly.”
He nodded slowly.
“What will you do?”
“Find out who she was.”
His face changed.
“You know.”
“No.”
“I've told you—”
“You told me how she died.”
That stopped him.
“Different question.”
Yes.
I wanted stories that did not begin with the range.
Hale stared at me.
Then smiled faintly.
“I have one.”
“What?”
“She hated raisins.”
I frowned.
“That’s your opening?”
“She once removed every raisin from my trail mix and put them in my boots.”
May you like
I stared.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
