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