“That is the general idea,” Cooper said.
“Hell, if you’d told me that earlier, I would have filled these things out a lot faster. Let’s rock and roll.”
They used one of several all-white golf carts parked behind the main building to drive out to the range, Cooper behind the wheel.
As they drove, Alex looked out at the maze of roadways and clusters of buildings, which reminded her of a trip she and Danny took with their parents to Universal City, back before all the shit came down. This facility had the feel of a Hollywood backlot. “How big is this place?”
“Couple hundred acres,” Cooper said. “Give or take.”
Deuce frowned. “What do you need all the room for?”
“Research and development. Training. That kind of stuff.”
As they passed the last cluster of buildings, they came upon an elaborate obstacle course to the right that looked as if it had been plucked directly out of a war-torn, Middle Eastern city, complete with bombed-out buildings and makeshift hidey holes.
“Jesus,” Deuce murmured. “This is like a mercenary’s wet dream.”
“Or a combat vet’s nightmare,” Alex told him.
They heard intermittent gunfire long before the firing range came into view — a pair of shooters, maybe three at most. The firing range itself was in a rectangular clearing surrounded by twenty-foot-high mounds of dirt meant to catch any stray bullets. It was long, eight hundred meters at least, with half the firing line covered to protect shooters from the sun and elements, and half not. Behind the firing line was a long, thin building that Alex assumed served as the armory.
Once out of the cart, they passed through a gate into the range. The shooters were down at the other end under the roof. There were three targets set up down range, two at fifty meters, and the last at three hundred.
Another shot echoed off the embankment. Though there was no way to see exactly where it had hit, Alex did notice the far target jerk with the impact of the bullet.
As they turned down the wide concrete walkway that ran between the building and the firing line, a man who was standing at the far end watching the shooters looked over and started walking toward them.
He was tanned and toned, with cropped hair and a purposeful walk that bespoke yet another military alum. Stonewell seemed to be crawling with them.
“Coop,” the man said. “These them?”
“Yes, sir.” Cooper motioned to his two companions. “Alexandra Poe. Deuce Jones.” With a glance at them, he said, “And this is Carl Dugan. First sergeant, retired. He’s the range master.”
Alex had a momentary urge to jump to attention, but it passed quickly and she held out her hand. “Mr. Dugan,” she said.
He gave her a once-over, then took her hand as a smug little smile creased the left side of his face. “Ms. Poe.”
Alex knew immediately what that smile meant. There had been guys like him in her unit in Baghdad, guys who thought she belonged at home making snacks for the boys, or down on her knees worshipping the great god Johnson.
When Dugan shook Deuce’s hand, most of his disdain had disappeared. He focused back on Cooper. “Standard checkout, right?”
“Right,” Cooper said.
Dugan turned to Alex. “So, ladies first? Happy to give you a little lesson, if you like.”
Alex stared at him, expressionless. “Deuce will go first.”
Dugan smiled again. “Whatever you’d prefer, ma’am.”
The standard check involved shooting a Beretta 92A1 9mm pistol at a target twenty-five meters out, and an M16A4 military-grade rifle at a target two hundred meters down range. To pass, the shooter had to hit within the outer boundaries of the target eight out of ten shots.
Dugan led them down to one of the empty lanes under the roof, then retrieved the weapons and ammunition from the armory.
“You load,” he told Deuce after he set the pistol and box of 9mm ammo on the counter.
Deuce popped the mag, filled it, and jammed it back in. While he was doing this, Dugan clipped a target to the auto-positioning wires, programmed in the required distance, and set the target on its way. He handed out adjustable earmuffs, and clear shooting glasses.
“You want to take a few practice shots?” he asked Deuce.
“Sure.”
“Have at it.”
Deuce stepped up to the line, pulled on his earmuffs, and raised the pistol. He held his position for several seconds, then let off five quick shots.
“More?” Dugan asked.
“No, I’m good.”
Dugan brought the target in and changed it for a fresh one. Alex was happy to see that Deuce had landed all five shots within the large circle. Once the new target was in place, Deuce took aim again. This time he shot in bursts of two, until he finished the needed ten.
The target whizzed back. Nine shots within the circle, the tenth just barely outside.
“Dammit,” Deuce said. “Can I try again?”
“Nine’s passing,” Cooper told him.
“Yeah, but ten’s better.”
“Let’s just keep moving, shall we?”
Deuce took longer between shots with the rifle. This time he got credit for all ten.
“All right, you pass,” Dugan said. “Congratulations. Though you could use some work on tightening things up.”
Deuce grunted dismissively, but Dugan ignored him and gestured to Alex. “All right, ma’am, your turn.”
Alex switched places with Deuce, snatched up the nine, and reloaded. Once the target was twenty-five meters out, she moved into position and aimed down the barrel.
Dugan came up beside her. “Take as many practice shots as you want, ma’am.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said.
“You sure? Don’t forget, it’s eight out of ten or you fail.”
She looked at him. “I’ll take my chances.”
That rueful smile came out again. “Just trying to be helpful.”
Alex eyed the target and immediately slipped into the zone, waiting for that moment when instinct and training became one — just as her father had taught her when she was thirteen years old. Then she pulled the trigger in steady succession—bam, bam, bam, bam, bam—until she finished her tenth shot.
Dugan was still smiling as he pushed the button to retrieve the target, but his condescending expression disappeared the moment he got a good look at what she had done.
Not only had she placed all ten shots within the large circle, every single one of them was contained within the much smaller circle in the center.
“I’d call that a pass,” Cooper said.
Dugan, looking considerably less cocksure than he had a moment ago, mounted a new target and sent it rushing down the range.
“It’s a combined test,” he said. “Still gotta pass the rifle.”
Alex picked up the M16. Though it had been years since she’d held one, its heft was familiar. She sighted down the range, and let off a single shot. Even at this distance, she could tell that while it was in the smaller circle, it had hit slightly off center. She compensated for the discrepancy with the sight, and shot off another round. This one was near perfect.
Eight shots later, she was done.
Once the target was back, Dugan looked at it, then at her. “I take it this isn’t your first time out.”
Alex removed the magazine from the rifle and popped the remaining bullet from the chamber. “I’ve had my share of practice. But most of the targets were shooting back.”
“She was also brigade champion for two years running,” Cooper told him. “Did I forget to mention that?”
Dugan leveled his gaze at Cooper. Without looking at Alex, he said, “You pass.” He folded up the target and walked back to the armory.
Deuce watched him go. “Guy’s kind of a prick, isn’t he?”