Chapter 4 - THE ARRIVAL ON THE FIRING LINE
The outdoor firing range was a sprawling, brutal landscape of concrete firing lanes, sun-bleached shooting benches, and tall, dry grass berms stretching out into the heat haze of the North Carolina horizon. A line of red, white, and yellow wind flags fluttered continuously along the three-hundred-meter perimeter, snapping back and forth under the influence of shifting, unpredictable gusts.
Dozens of soldiers, range safety officers, and experienced marksmen were already positioned along the firing line, their modern, customized tactical rifles resting on sandbags atop the concrete benches. High-end spotting scopes and electronic targets monitored every shot, feeding data back to digital tablets.
Elena walked down the gravel pathway behind the firing line with a steady, relaxed stride.
In her right hand, she carried only the old, scarred wooden-stock rifle—no heavy tactical drag bag, no electronic spotter, no bipod, and no optic. The bare iron sights—a thin front post and a small rear aperture—stood out sharply against the worn metal rail of the receiver.
As she passed behind the shooting lanes, nearby shooters stopped adjusting their gear to look at her. Whispers began to ripple along the firing line.
"Is she really using a wooden stock?" "Look at that receiver... that thing looks forty years old." "Where's her optic? Is she doing a iron-sight run on a three-hundred-meter popup course?"
Standing at Lane 4 was Captain Noah Bennett. Noah was an experienced, highly respected marksmanship instructor with multiple deployment tabs on his shoulder. He was leaning over his own customized rifle, fine-tuning an advanced magnified optic, when he heard the distinct, heavy clatter of a wooden stock being placed on the adjacent concrete bench.
Noah turned his head, his sharp eyes taking in the scratched walnut stock, the blued steel worn down to raw metal, and the total absence of mounting hardware on the top rail.
"That’s really your assigned rifle?" Noah asked, his voice containing genuine curiosity rather than malice.
Elena set her wooden ammunition box down on the bench beside the rifle. She glanced at Noah with a polite, subtle nod.
May you like
"It's the one I was given," Elena replied simply.
Behind her, the heavy double doors of the briefing room swung open again. Ryan Cole and Derek Hayes stepped out onto the gravel staging area, followed by a dozen curious soldiers from the briefing room. They took up positions along the rear spectator railing, crossing their arms, eager to watch Elena's public failure unfold under the harsh light of the outdoor range.
