Chapter 4 - Three Thousand Five Hundred Forty Meters
Evelyn’s first shot did not kill Blackglass.
It struck the stone wall beside his firing position.
That was intentional.
At 3,540 meters, wind could alter the bullet’s path by dozens of feet. Snow obscured the ridge. Evelyn had one functional arm and dangerously low blood pressure.
She could not afford to fire at a shadow.
She needed him to move.
The round shattered the rock sheltering his left side.
Blackglass shifted right.
Walker saw the movement through his optic.
“Half a body. Twelve degrees east.”
Hayes looked between them.
“You missed.”
“No,” Evelyn whispered. “I moved him.”
She adjusted the scope.
The next problem was the storm.
Wind descended through the ravine, struck the southern trees, and curled upward toward the ridge. The gusts were irregular, but Evelyn had watched snow travel across the valley for nearly an hour.
She used the mountain itself as a wind chart.
A second muzzle flash appeared.
Blackglass fired toward Talon Team.
The bullet struck a rock inches above Hayes.
Evelyn exhaled and squeezed the trigger.
The sound rolled through the valley.
Walker kept his eye on the ridge.
Several seconds passed.
Then the enemy rifle slipped from behind the stone and tumbled down the slope.
Blackglass never fired again.
Hayes looked at Evelyn.
“You made the shot.”
She lowered her head against the rifle stock.
May you like
“No. We survived it.”
Then she lost consciousness.
