SEAL Admiral Asked Her Rank As A Joke — Until He Noticed Her Sniper Tattoo And Froze
Chapter 4
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"Standard issue Leupold," she says. "Same as everyone else.""No way. No way someone shoots like that with standard gear." Brooks looks at Kane. "Sir, I'd like to inspect her rifle. Make sure there's no unauthorized modifications: laser sights, stabilizers, anything that might give an unfair advantage."Kane nods once. "Do it."Brooks moves toward lane seven, hand outstretched. The woman watches him come, but doesn't move to stop him. He picks up the rifle, turns it over in his hands, checks the scope mounts, the trigger assembly, the barrel. His face grows progressively tighter as he finds nothing. Nothing except a well-maintained, completely standard-issue M110 with a Leupold Mark 5 scope. No tricks, no modifications, just a rifle.He sets it down harder than necessary. "Fine, so you can shoot. Doesn't mean anything. One good string doesn't make you a sniper. Could have been luck, wind, anything."Ellis steps forward before he can stop himself. "Lieutenant, that wasn't luck." His voice carries across the range and several heads turn. "That was—""Range Master Ellis, stand down," Kane interrupts, voice flat. "Thank you for your input."Ellis's mouth closes, but his eyes stay locked on the woman. She meets his gaze for just a moment. Something passes between them—recognition maybe, or warning. Then she looks away, turning her attention back to the rifle.Kane walks slowly to lane seven, boot heels clicking on concrete. He stops beside the bench, arms still crossed, studying her like she's a puzzle he needs to solve. "Where did you train?""Various locations, sir.""That's not an answer.""It's the only answer I'm authorized to give, sir."Brooks makes a disgusted noise. "You're not authorized? You don't have clearance. You're just some nobody who got lucky with a rifle." He leans in closer. "Probably had someone teach you. Probably practiced this exact range, this exact setup so you could show off. I've seen it before: people memorizing one trick to impress the brass."The woman doesn't respond, just starts breaking down the rifle again, hands moving through the disassembly sequence without needing to look. Muscle memory.Kane's eyes narrow. "If you're really as good as that one string suggests, you'll have no problem demonstrating it again under more rigorous conditions."She pauses, bolt carrier halfway out. "What conditions, sir?""Official qualification test. Tomorrow morning, 0800. Different range, different distance, time limit. The works. If you pass, you get certified. If you fail, you're off my range permanently." He leans down, voice dropping. "And I'll make sure everyone knows you were just a one-hit wonder.""Sir, with respect, I'm not trying to impress anyone.""Then you won't mind proving it." Kane straightens. "0800. Bring your own gear. And if you're thinking about backing out, don't bother showing up at all. I don't have time for people who waste my resources."Brooks grins. "This is going to be fun. I'll make sure to bring a camera—for the records, of course."The officers drift away, voices rising again in speculation and jokes.Ellis stays where he is, 20 feet back, watching. The woman finishes disassembling the rifle, lays each piece in its foam-lined case with care, and closes the lid. She stands, picks up the case, and turns to leave.