Читать книгу Breaking Point - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

BAY FELT ADRENALINE leak into her bloodstream as she settled prone, on her belly. The Afghan sun beat down hard on them at the small shooting range the SEALs had created years earlier at this FOB. The wind was inconstant, blowing intermittently across the area. The range was far away from Operations. Helos were constantly coming and going, the reverberations and thumping noise pounding and chopping through the dry air.

Gabe helped her set up the .300 Win Mag because it was the sniper rifle, not the regular hunting rifle Bay was used to. The bipods were set at the front of the barrel and he made sure the fiberglass stock was settled firmly against her cheek. The entire SEAL platoon, including the officers and chief, was present. Bay didn’t seemed rattled at all. She went about the business of picking up any rocks that could jam into her torso and legs when she went prone. She studied the flags waving off to one side of the square wooden targets in the distance, sizing up the wind factor and direction. The rest of the team stood behind Hammer. There was a wooden table nearby where ammo was collected.

Bay settled her cap on backward so the bill scraped the nape of her neck. She wore her sunglasses, the sun burning down on her. She felt Gabe’s quiet presence as he knelt nearby with the spotter scope on a stand between his knees. There were three dials on the Win Mag, the same as she was used to using back home. Ten feet to her left, Hammer was settling down in the dirt on his belly, bringing his Win Mag into his arms. His spotter was Oz, another SEAL shooter who was his best friend.

“Okay,” Gabe told her quietly, leaning toward her so that only she could hear him, “just relax.”

His deep voice washed across her. The tension in her shoulders dissolved. Bay hadn’t expected the officers of the team to show up. That added more pressure to her. Well, they wanted to know if she was going to be a liability or another gun in the fight on patrols. Bay couldn’t blame them for wanting to know.

Listening to Gabe’s direction and information, she dialed in the elevation and compensated for the windage. She’d lived in mountains, albeit not high ones, but the formula was the same. Mountains made their own weather, and wind was the single biggest challenge to a sniper or a hunter. The wrong assessment of wind speed could knock a bullet off course.

Bay studied the large square wooden targets that were set at twelve hundred yards. There were three red circles to create the bull’s-eye. It was understood their shots had to hit the center. If they fell outside the center, then that shooter was the loser. She had three shots and so did Hammer.

Lifting her chin, Bay angled a look up at Gabe. “Hey, is Hammer a sniper like you?”

“Yes, he is. The medic we just lost was another of our snipers. The chief’s in a bind because there’s no one available to come into our team who is sniper qualified. He doesn’t like us without two snipers on every patrol.”

“Can’t blame him there,” Bay agreed. That was bad news because, as she’d found out by going on patrol with Special Forces teams, those snipers were a must. There were so many situations when a sniper would make the difference between a team taking on casualties and not. Snipers were called “force multipliers” for a reason.

Gabe watched her expression. He couldn’t see her eyes behind those wraparound sunglasses and wished he could. Her mouth was soft and she was relaxed. “Okay, we’re taking the first shot. Ready?”

Nodding, Bay settled down into her position. This was a natural position her father had taught her. It was the rifle in her right hand, resting against her right shoulder. Her left arm was tucked in front of her chest, the bipod giving her rifle stability. The stock had to fit firmly and comfortably against her right cheek. She wasn’t using a scope, rather the iron sights on the rifle itself. Hammer had insisted on iron sights only. It made hitting the target tougher. Very few ever used iron sights, the scopes superior and delivering on target all the time.

* * *

GABE GENTLY PATTED her cap, an old sniper signal that meant “shoot.”

The multiple variables of the shot ran through Bay’s mind as her eyes narrowed, her finger brushing the two-pound trigger, her right hand steady on the Win Mag stock. Her father had taught her there was a still point between inhalation and exhalation. It was when her breath left her body and before her lungs automatically began to expand to draw in a breath of fresh air into the body—this was the perfect time to fire the rifle.

The Win Mag bucked hard against her shoulder, the brute force of the recoil rippling spasmodically through her entire body. Gabe was watching through the spotter scope, following the telltale vapor trail of the bullet.

“Bull’s-eye!” Gabe yelled, thrusting his fist into the air.

Relief sped through her. Bay eased out of the position, amazed. “Really?” she asked Gabe. He was grinning as he turned to her.

“You hit it perfect, Doc. Good going. You’re dialed in.” Gabe lifted his head to see Hammer snarling a curse as he settled into position. He then turned back to Bay. “What? You didn’t think you’d nail it?” He laughed heartily.

Hammer nailed the first shot, too. There was a lot of clapping and cheering from the platoon as he’d made a successful shot. No one had clapped for her. Maybe, Bay figured, the guys were stunned she’d made the first shot at all. Gabe was the only one who believed in her. Knew she could do it. She felt warmth flow through her. There was an unexpected kindness to him that wasn’t easily discerned on the surface, but she was privy to it. That and the care and protection she could literally feel he’d encircled her with. It was unspoken, but there. In spades.

“Okay,” Gabe said softly, studying the flags. He watched the heat waves dancing across the flat area in front of them. They were showing a wind direction change. Leaning down, he told her to dial in to a different windage setting.

Bay settled in, focused. Her mouth compressed and she willed her body to relax. She desperately wanted to make this next shot, but the breeze was erratically shifting. It lifted several stands of her curly hair as she took a breath and let it naturally leave her body. Finger pressed against the trigger...breath out...still...fire... The Win Mag bucked savagely against her shoulder, the bark of the shot booming like unleashed thunder throughout the area.

“Bull’s-eye!” Gabe hooted, pumping his fist above his head.

There was some unexpected, serious applause going on behind Bay. She twisted around and saw all three officers and their chief strongly clapping, a show of support for her. They grinned at each other like raccoons finding a bunch of crayfish in a stream. As if congratulating themselves on having the good luck to have her in their platoon. Turning back around, Bay saw the look on Hammer’s face. He sneered at her and then settled in to take his shot.

Gabe patted her on the cap. “Damn fine shot. You’re doing great, Doc.”

“Couldn’t do it without you, Gabe. You’re feeding me good intel.” And Bay knew that a good spotter could make all the difference as to whether the shot was accurate or not.

“Bull’s-eye!” Oz shouted triumphantly as Hammer made the center circle.

More clapping, hooting and hollering erupted from the SEALs standing behind Hammer.

Bay wiped sweat from her upper lip. She could feel it running down her rib cage and between her shoulder blades. It was hotter than hell out in this afternoon sun on top of this eight-thousand-foot mountain.

Gabe’s hand settled briefly on her shoulder, giving her a silent order to get relaxed back into the prone position. Bay felt less trepidation as his long fingers curved around her shoulder, as if to tell her it was all right, that she was doing fine. He appreciated her efforts.

Gabe gave her spotter info, the flags now stronger and then falling off. It was the worst kind of wind to shoot in accurately, and Bay compressed her lips, worried. She placed the stock against her cheek, feeling the perspiration between her skin and the fiberglass stock. Inhaling, she allowed her breath to escape until she was in that millisecond still point. She squeezed the trigger. The Win Mag recoiled hard, jerking her shoulder, the tremors rippling down the right side of her body all the way to her booted foot.

“Bull’s-eye!” Gabe shouted, slapping her on the back, grinning.

A few more SEALs were clapping now. The officers looked elated. Chief Hampton, from what Gabe could see, appeared damn relieved. Again, Hammer cursed loudly and seemed furious. Gabe gave his teammate a wicked grin.

Bay got to her knees, clearing the chamber and safing the Win Mag in her arms. She sat down with the butt of the rifle resting on her hip and watched Hammer shoot.

“Bull’s-eye!” Oz shouted.

The SEAL came out of prone position, glaring over at her, triumph written on his hard, lined face.

“It’s a draw,” Chief Hampton called.

“Like hell it is!” Hammer protested. He jabbed a finger toward Bay. “Let’s do one shot offhand, standing.” His lips curled away from his teeth. “That will separate the men from the pantywaist girls here.”

Bay was startled at the dare. Standing position at a twelve hundred yards? Nothing to support her rifle but herself? Gulping, she swung a troubled gaze over to Gabe, who was kneeling at her side. He scowled hard at Hammer. And then he shifted his gaze and locked onto hers.

“Want to try it?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve never shot offhand at home,” she admitted, worried. “I always used a tree limb or tree trunk to steady my rifle barrel if I had to stand.”

Bay tried to ferret out what she saw in his narrowing green eyes as he considered her statement. Then Gabe rose fluidly to his feet, the spotting scope in his right hand.

“Hey, Hammer,” he called.

“What?” the SEAL snarled, dusting off the front of his cammies, holding his rifle above the dust rolling off him.

“Tell you what,” Gabe said in a reasonable tone. “Whoever gets closest to the red center is the winner.”

Snorting, Hammer grinned. “Your girl ain’t gonna make the grade. No one shoots a sniper rifle without some kind of bipod to steady it.” He patted his Win Mag affectionately with is hand. “Me? I do it all the time.”

Gabe nodded. “Fair enough. But if she comes closer to the center than you, then the money’s coming her way. Agreed?”

Shrugging, Hammer laughed. “Yeah, fine, Gabe. You’ve always been one for dotting i’s and crossing t’s. She ain’t gonna make the center. I know that. So, sure, I’ll agree to it. She’s gonna lose. And I’m going to shoot first.”

Feeling desolate, Bay stood up after handing the sniper rifle over to Gabe. Her stomach knotted with tension. Never had she fired without her Win Mag being braced. The rifle was very heavy, and shooting without support was tough for anyone, man or woman. Bay’s heart dropped.

Dusting herself off, she stood, arms crossed, watching as Hammer got into position. She had shot in all the positions at Camp Pendleton, used a number of rifles and pistols, but never standing and shooting over four hundred yards with any weapon. It was, in her mind, nearly impossible to shoot at twelve hundred yards standing.

Hammer fired. The bullet hit just outside the red center. The SEALs went crazy with clapping and yelling. Oz was slapping his friend on his meaty shoulder, yelling triumphantly.

Turning, Bay took the rifle from Gabe, feeling glum. When she looked up at him, he held her gaze.

“You can do this,” he told her. “I’ll talk you through it, Doc. Just listen to me and follow my directions.”

His husky words flowed through her, giving her hope. Bay nodded wordlessly. She planted her feet apart. Gabe told her to shorten her stance a bit. She did. It felt more comfortable to her. Then, as she lifted the long-barreled rifle, Gabe came over and moved her right hand an inch forward. As she rested the stock against her perspiring cheek, he stood behind her and helped her adjust the stock more tightly against her face. Some of her fear dissipated as the rifle began to feel like a living extension of herself. Gabe planted the butt of the rifle deep into her right shoulder. His eyes met hers.

“Now,” he told her, “it’s very important to hold this exact position. It will give you the balance you need to steady this rifle.” He turned and used the spotter scope one more time. She’d already dialed in, but he was double-checking. The wind was inconstant. A gust blew across the area. If she’d fired at that moment, she would have miss the target. Gabe stood beside her, talking in a low voice, giving her direction, settling her nerves.

“Now take two or three breaths. Watch the barrel move as you do. First one, find your still point and then watch where that barrel rests at that time. Then take another breath, watch the barrel move slightly upward. Make sure you have that barrel pointed at the red circle through your iron sights as you come down on the exhale. See where it rests at the still point. If the barrel is slightly off, keep breathing, keep finding your still point until you know that barrel is exactly where you want it on the red center. Then fire.”

His words resonated. Thanks to her hunting background, Bay could focus. It was easy to listen to Gabe, fall into his quiet, low tones as he guided her, reinforced her.

It took three breaths, but as Bay reached the still point the third time, she squeezed the trigger. The Win Mag jerked hard against her shoulder. Bay was prepared for it, her slightly bent knees and legs absorbing the powerful jolt.

Gabe watched the vapor trail of the bullet. It struck just inside the red center. He gave a shout of victory, turning and slapping her on the shoulder. Bay took off her sunglasses, stared openmouthed at the target, and then up at him, feeling profound disbelief. He laughed deeply and shook his head, as if he didn’t believe it himself.

Clapping and yelling broke out sporadically among the SEAL team. The officers looked at one another, amazement written on their faces. Chief Hampton stood there, grinning like a feral wolf, rubbing his hands together. No doubt about it, he’d just discovered another sniper for his platoon.

“Bull’s-eye. You made it, Doc. Damn good shooting!” Gabe placed his hand on her head and patted her on the cap. “Damn good!”

Bay couldn’t believe she’d hit within the target! Even better was Gabe’s happy, deep, rolling laughter. It made her feel good. Equally important, Bay had proven her shooting ability to the platoon. Now they realized she was another gun in the fight. She might not know patrol tactics, but Gabe would teach her and she’d become an asset to them.

Glancing behind her, she saw the officers and chief applauding. Was it relief she saw in their faces? Bay thought so. She was incredibly grateful that the contest was over.

Hammer cursed, slammed the toe of his boot into the dirt, raising a cloud of dust. He glared over at her.

“You just got lucky, Thorn. That’s all.”

Gabe took the rifle from her, safed it and rested the barrel down toward the ground. “Oh, come on, Hammer, at least be a good sport,” he cajoled, grinning. He stepped over to where Hammer and his entourage stood, holding out his hand. “You owe Doc money.”

Oz pulled out a wad of cash from his left cammie pocket and bitterly slapped it into Gabe’s palm.

Bay left Gabe’s side and walked over to Hammer. She offered her hand to him. “That was mighty fine shooting, Hammer. You’re right, I just plumb got lucky. You’re a better shooter than I’ll ever be.”

Hammer stared at her and then at her hand. Whether he wanted to or not, he reached out, grabbed her hand and shook it.

“This settles nothing,” he growled softly. “So you can shoot at targets. Big deal. Let’s wait and see how you do in the middle of a firefight.” He turned and walked away, the Win Mag thrown over his shoulder.