"Consider it a professional development opportunity." Hendrickx's smile had returned. He'd turn this from public humiliation into official business. Clever.
"Unless you'd like to admit now that your credentials are questionable." Sarah looked at him for a long moment, then quietly. "Sure." The word hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. The group moved en masse toward the combat training facility.
A small army of observers swept up in the promise of spectacle. Word spread through the base with the speed of wildfire. By the time they reached the range, the observation gallery held more than 50 personnel SEALs in training instructors, administrative staff, even some civilian contractors who had heard something interesting was happening. The range master, a grizzled SEAL senior chief named Kowalski, met them at the entrance. "Admiral, we need proper safety briefings if you're bringing in an untrained."
"She's got qualifications." Hendrickx cut him off. "Just set up the standard operator assessment." Kowalski looked at Sarah, really looked at her and something in his expression shifted. He'd been doing this job for 15 years.
He knew what a faker looked like. This woman standing calmly in maintenance coveralls while 50 people gathered to watch her fail wasn't faking anything. "Yes, sir. What level difficulty?"
"Let's start simple. Static target shooting. Then we'll escalate if she's actually competent." Hendrickx gestured magnanimously.
"Choose your weapon, Miss Chen." The armory offered the standard training weapons. M4 carbines, M9 pistols, SIG Sauer P226s. Sarah walked past all of them to the secure locker at the back.
"May I?" Kowalski raised his eyebrows but nodded. She opened it and removed a Barrett M82A1 50 caliber anti-material rifle, 29 lb unloaded. Park actually laughed.
"You can't be serious. That thing weighs more than you do." She lifted it with proper carry technique, weight distributed perfectly across her frame, and walked to the firing line. The rifle looked absurd in her small hands. Several people in the gallery pulled out phones, anticipating a viral video of someone's humiliation.
Walsh closed his eyes briefly. He'd fired a Barrett exactly once in his career. The recoil had bruised his shoulder for a week. "Target distance?" Sarah asked.
"800 m," Hendrickx said generously. It was an impossible shot with a Barrett for anyone except specialized snipers. He was giving her enough rope to hang herself publicly. She loaded a single round, settled into prone position and looked through the scope. Her breathing slowed, steadied.
10 seconds passed. 15. She was reading the wind, calculating drop, measuring every variable. The shot cracked like thunder. 800 meters down range, the center of the target exploded. Kowalski checked through the spotting scope.
"Dead center." "Holy cow." Hendrickx's jaw worked again. "Different distance. Make it 1,200 m."
Three more shots. Three perfect hits. She adjusted for wind, for distance, for the slight elevation difference. And every round found its mark. When she stood there wasn't a trace of strain on her face.