Chapter 4 - THE THUNDER AND THE MISS
The chatter behind the safety line instantly ceased, replaced by the quiet hum of digital cameras and high-magnification spotting scopes.
Claire drew a single, deep, controlled breath into her lungs. She held it for two seconds, letting her heart rate drop into the lower forty-bpm range, then slowly let half of the air escape through her lips.
Her index finger slipped smoothly inside the trigger guard, making light contact with the match-grade flat trigger blade.
The wind flag at twelve hundred yards dropped three inches as the crosswind died down into a brief, three-second lull.
CRACK.
The rifle erupted with a sharp, thunderous roar that sent a shockwave ripple through the dry dust surrounding her bipod feet. The heavy muzzle brake redirected the high-velocity gases sideways, kicking up a small cloud of sand, but Claire’s body absorbed the recoil effortlessly, her optic tracking straight back onto her target frame without losing alignment.
The large-caliber match round tore through the afternoon air at over nearly three thousand feet per second, slicing through the thermal currents and ascending high into the sky over the high desert.
Everyone on the line waited.
One second passed.
At 1,050 yards—the location of the official competition target—nothing happened. The white steel silhouette remained completely motionless under the sun.
The digital electronic scoreboard mounted above the main viewing grandstand instantly flashed bright red:
LANE 14: MISS
Grant immediately burst into a loud, booming laugh, throwing his hands up in the air as he turned around to face the crowded spectator stand.
"There it is!" Grant shouted, grinning broadly as several junior officers joined in the laughter. "Clean miss! She didn't even hit the dirt mound!"
The spectators erupted into low murmurs and amused chuckles. A shooter of Claire’s caliber completely missing the target board on a clear day was an absolute absurdity—a failure that would undoubtedly end her competitive season before the finals even began.
Through it all, Claire remained completely motionless behind her rifle. Her face was pressed to the stock, her right eye staring through the clear glass reticle, her body frozen as if she were made of stone.
May you like
One second passed.
Then two seconds passed.
