Chapter 8 - LOCKDOWN ON RANGE 19
The atmosphere on Range 19 transformed from a routine training exercise into a high-security crime scene within seconds.
Major Nathan Rourke, now desperate to regain control of the situation and cover his own lapse in judgment, reached for his tactical radio handset.
"Range Safety, this is Major Rourke," he barked into the mic, his voice tight. "Initiate an immediate range lockdown. Nobody leaves the firing line, nobody approaches the vehicle park. MP response requested at Range 19 immediately."
Down on the firing benches, thirty young soldiers stood bewildered, their weapons resting on the concrete, watching the officers cluster around the stainless-steel table.
Margaret moved past Nathan with calm, unhurried steps, her walking shoes making no sound against the gravel. She approached the side of the inspection table where the supply crates had been unloaded.
She reached into her pale blue jacket pocket and pulled out a small, high-magnification jeweler's loupe. She didn't ask for permission. She leaned down over the second M4A1 resting on the foam pad, opening its dust cover with a gentle flick of her fingernail.
Daniel leaned over her shoulder, watching intently.
Through the loupe, Margaret examined the internal lip of the receiver. There, glinting faintly in the bright daylight, was another microscopic flake of blackened titanium—identical to the first.
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"Number two is rigged," Margaret reported flatly. "If your men had loaded live magazines and initiated rapid-fire drills, you would have had multiple casualties on the line within sixty seconds."
Nathan swallowed hard, his hand trembling slightly as he held his radio. "Dear God..."
