PART 2 — The Name Behind the Redactions
Lieutenant Commander Reyes looked through the spotting scope again.
Then a third time.
Maddox’s nervous smile disappeared.
“Well?”
Reyes finally straightened.
“Impact.”
Nobody moved.
Maddox frowned.
“Where?”
Master Gunnery Sergeant Plotkin checked the secondary scope.
His expression changed.
“Center plate.”
Silence.
Then someone behind us whispered:
“No way.”
The electronic range system updated.
HIT CONFIRMED.
One shot.
3,600 meters.
Thirteen elite shooters had missed.
I hadn’t.
Maddox walked toward the monitor.
“That system needs recalibration.”
Plotkin looked at him.
“It was calibrated this morning.”
“Then she got lucky.”
I started clearing my rifle.
Reyes picked up her pen.
“No.”
Maddox turned.
“No what?”
“That wasn’t luck.”
She pointed toward my notebook.
“Voss tracked the wind cycle for more than two hours.”
Maddox scoffed.
“So she watched flags.”
I closed the bolt case.
“Among other things.”
He looked at me.
“You want to explain those other things?”
“No.”
That irritated him immediately.
Range staff recovered the target data.
The impact sat 6.8 centimeters from geometric center.
Not perfect.
But close enough to end the argument.
Maddox stared at the screen.
Then at me.
“What unit are you attached to?”
“Naval operations.”
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
“It answers what you need.”
His jaw tightened.
“You some instructor?”
“No.”
“Competition shooter?”
“No.”
“Then where did you learn to read conditions like that?”
Reyes answered before I could.
“Cole.”
Her tone changed.
He looked at her.
“Drop it.”
For the first time, he listened.
Almost.
Then his eyes went to my rifle.
A faded engraving beneath the receiver caught the sunlight.
V-9.
Maddox leaned closer.
“What’s that?”
I closed the case.
“Nothing relevant.”
Plotkin stopped moving.
His face had gone strangely still.
“V-9?”
I looked at him.
He knew.
That was unfortunate.
Plotkin stepped closer.
“Ma’am… were you with Valley Nine?”
The range fell quiet again.
Maddox looked between us.
“What is Valley Nine?”
Nobody answered.
He laughed once.
“Seriously? More secret-squirrel nonsense?”
Reyes closed her clipboard.
“Staff Sergeant, enough.”
But Plotkin was staring at me now.
“I was on the recovery team after Kandahar Ridge.”
My chest tightened.
That name hadn’t been spoken around me in years.
Maddox heard it.
“Kandahar Ridge?”
Plotkin nodded slowly.
“Seven personnel isolated above the valley. Air support delayed. Weather collapsing.”
Reyes watched me carefully.
I gave the smallest shake of my head.
No operational details.
Plotkin understood.
He kept it simple.
“Someone held the corridor open long enough for us to reach them.”
Maddox looked at me.
“You?”
I said nothing.
Reyes did.
“Her record is redacted for a reason.”
That should have ended it.
Instead, Maddox smiled.
A different smile now.
Defensive.
“You expect everyone here to believe she’s some classified legend because she hit one target?”
I zipped the rifle case.
“No.”
He blinked.
“I don’t care what you believe.”
Before he could respond, an SUV stopped beside the range-control building.
A senior officer stepped out.
Reyes immediately straightened.
Plotkin whispered:
“Oh, hell.”
The officer walked directly toward us.
Three stars on his fictional command insignia.
He stopped beside Reyes.
Then looked at me.
His expression softened.
“Petty Officer Voss.”
I stood.
“Sir.”
Maddox stared.
The officer looked at the target screen.
Then at my notebook.
And smiled faintly.
“Still waiting for the wind to tell you when?”
I didn’t answer.
He turned toward Maddox.
“Sergeant, do you know why most of her file is blacked out?”
Maddox swallowed.
“No, sir.”
The officer’s smile vanished.
“Good.”
Then he looked back at me.
“Because some records are classified.”
He paused.
“And some are buried because the people inside them were never supposed to be found.”