Hover by Anne A. Wilson

Author:Anne A. Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781466861930
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

26

“Clear on the left! Clear on the right! Clear on the firing line!” bellows Senior Chief Messenger, the chief master-at-arms.

I stand at the end of a row of five people on our “shooting range,” which is actually the flight deck. Next to me, Zack, Matt, and Chad have just completed the donning of their safety goggles while Emily fidgets with her ear protection. We’re shooting for marksmanship ribbons with the standard-issue Beretta M9, a semiautomatic 9mm pistol. Even though I already carry an Expert pistol medal, if the opportunity for target practice arises, I take it. I don’t get to practice too often and it’s something I enjoy. Like precision flying, accurate shooting requires steady hands, sharp eyes, and a gentle touch.

There are fifty of us today and we’ve fired in prone, kneeling, and standing positions at ranges of fifteen and now twenty-five yards. In this last round, we’ll fire a standard magazine, fifteen rounds, in forty-five seconds—seven kneeling and eight standing.

Once the range is declared clear, I take aim. I fire one round every three seconds, creating a nice cluster in the center of my target. The shooting holes for Em, Matt, and Zack form starburst patterns over their targets, the entry points spreading far and wide. I doubt they’ll even get the minimum score for Marksman. Chad’s shots look better, probably in the Sharpshooter range, and he’s receiving high fives for his efforts.

Senior Chief Messenger and his men from the master-at-arms division walk forward with us to tally our hits.

“Highest score of anybody today, ma’am,” he says, writing my point total, 292, on the target sheet. “Impressive.”

“Thanks, Senior.”

I glance over to Emily. She’s joking and laughing with Chad, Zack, and Matt, and I’m noticeably excluded from whatever they’re finding humorous. The subtle shift in the dynamics of our group is happening once more, just like it was prior to Hong Kong. First, the flight with the SAS, then two more SEAL flights in the two subsequent nights, all with me at the controls and all without explanation.

“I said, you wanna keep this as a souvenir?” Senior Chief Messenger asks.

“Excuse me. What?”

“The target sheet, ma’am. Would you like to keep it as a souvenir?”

I look down at the paper he holds, ripped from the target backing and rolled into a tight cylinder.

“Oh, um, sure,” I say, catching Emily’s eye for a quick moment, an accusatory look, before she whips her head around, returning her attention to her boisterous group.

That look … That’s not fair.

I march straight over to her and tap her on the shoulder.

“Em, what is this?” I ask, the anger simmering.

“What is what?” she asks, mirroring my tone.

Chad, Matt, and Zack scuttle away as Emily turns toward me.

“This,” I say, motioning to the three that hurry across the flight deck. “And that look and getting ignored and all of it. You know this flying thing isn’t my fault. I have no control over any of it.”

“Don’t you?” she asks sharply.

“What? No!”

“I don’t see you complaining,” she says, crossing her arms.

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