SEAL Admiral Asked Her Rank As A Joke — Until He Noticed Her Sniper Tattoo And Froze
Chapter 6
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Lieutenant Brooks sits in the small office he shares with two other junior officers, laptop open, coffee going cold beside his elbow. He's been staring at the same screen for ten minutes, watching the range footage on repeat: the woman, the rifle, five shots, 18 seconds, every single one dead center. The timestamp in the corner reads 15:47:22 to 15:47:40.18 seconds."That don't make sense." He rewinds it again. Watches her settle into position, watches the rifle barely move with each shot, watches her work the bolt like she's done it 10,000 times—which he realizes with growing unease she probably has.Nobody shoots like that without serious trigger time. Serious training. The kind of training that doesn't show up in a standard enlistment record.The door opens and one of his roommates walks in, dropping a gear bag on the floor with a heavy thud. "You still watching that? Let it go, man. She got lucky.""Lucky?" Brooks doesn't look away from the screen. "Five shots, 800 meters, 18 seconds, all tens. That's not luck, Jensen."Jensen shrugs, pulling off his boots. "So she's good. Big deal. Plenty of good shooters in the military.""Not that good. Not at that distance. Not that fast." Brooks finally tears his eyes away from the laptop. "I've been doing this for eight years. I qualified expert marksman three years running. My best time at 800 meters is 32 seconds for five shots, and I was happy with that. She did it in 18, and her group was tighter than mine ever was.""So she's better than you. Happens. Get over it."But Brooks can't get over it, because there's something else bothering him—something he can't quite put his finger on. The way she moved, the way she breathed, the way she didn't react when Kane and the others were riding her. Like she'd heard worse. Like she'd survived worse. Like public humiliation was just background noise compared to wherever she'd been before.He closes the laptop, leans back in his chair. "I'm going to check her gear tomorrow before the test. Make sure everything's regulation.""Dude, Kane already said—""I know what Kane said, but I want to see it myself. Something's off. She's too good, too calm. It doesn't add up."Jensen gives him a long look. "You know what your problem is? You can't stand that some random woman just rolled up and outshot you in front of the admiral. That's what this is about.""That's not—" Brooks stops himself.Maybe Jensen's right. Maybe he is just bitter. But it doesn't change the facts: nobody shoots like that without a story, without a history. And whatever her history is, she's keeping it locked down tight. No name tape, no rank, no unit patch—just a uniform and a rifle and skills that don't match the blank slate she's presenting.He stands, grabs his jacket. "I'm going to run her through the system. See what comes up.""You don't even have her name.""I've got her face. I've got the time and date she was on the range. That's enough." Brooks heads for the door, then pauses. "And if I'm right, if she's hiding something, then tomorrow's test is going to get real interesting."