PART 2 — THE SHOT THEY DIDN’T EXPECT
So I became very good at silence.
And that morning, I intended to keep it that way.
The registration officer called the competitors toward the firing line.
“Number seventeen!”
I stepped forward.
Derek looked at my vest again.
“Seventeen?”
I nodded.
He laughed under his breath.
“You know this isn’t one of those office competitions, right?”
“I know.”
“This is an advanced field course.”
“I know.”
“You’ve actually trained for this?”
I looked at him.
“More than you think.”
His smile faded.
For the first time that morning, Derek didn’t have an immediate joke.
One of his teammates nudged him.
“Maybe let her shoot.”
Derek shrugged.
“Sure.”
Then he leaned closer.
“Just don’t embarrass the family.”
I said nothing.
The range officer raised his hand.
“First stage. Three hundred meters. Five rounds. Wind from the left. Shooters will fire when instructed.”
I settled behind my rifle.
The world changed.
That was something I had never been able to explain to my family.
The moment I looked through a scope, everything unnecessary disappeared.
No brother.
No parents.
No old comparisons.
No jokes.
Only distance.
Wind.
Breathing.
Pressure.
And the tiny movement of the target.
The command came.
“Fire.”
The range erupted.
Five rifles cracked almost simultaneously.
I fired once.
Then again.
Then three more times.
The range officer called ceasefire.
Targets were pulled forward.
The first results appeared.
Derek’s group had scored well.
His teammates congratulated him.
Then the officer reached my target.
He stared at it.
Then looked back toward the control tower.
“Number seventeen?”
I raised my hand.
“Come here.”
Derek smirked.
“I think they’re going to ask if you accidentally used the wrong target.”
A few men laughed.
I walked forward.
The officer held my target in his hands.
Five shots.
All tightly grouped.
He looked at me.
“Where did you learn to shoot like this?”
“Different places.”
He frowned.
“That isn’t an answer.”
I smiled politely.
“It was the answer.”
He looked at the scoring sheet.
Then announced the results.
“Number seventeen: forty-nine out of fifty.”
The laughter stopped.
Derek’s expression changed.
One of his teammates looked at him.
“Derek…”
He didn’t answer.
The officer continued.
“Top score of the first stage.”
Someone behind us whistled.
I walked back toward my position.
Derek stepped into my path.
“You got lucky.”
I looked at him.
“With five shots?”
He clenched his jaw.
“You know what I mean.”
There it was again.
The sentence he’d been using my entire life.
You know what I mean.
But this time, I didn’t let it pass.
“No, Derek.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“I don’t.”
Before he could respond, the range officer called everyone back.
“Second stage!”
The next course was different.
Moving targets.
Shorter distance.
Reduced visibility.
A timed sequence.
Derek had always been good at this.
It was the event he had won twice.
He walked to his lane with the confidence of someone who already knew the ending.
Before the timer started, he glanced toward me.
“This one’s mine.”
I didn’t answer.
The buzzer sounded.
Targets appeared.
Derek fired rapidly.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
He finished with seconds to spare.
His teammates erupted.
He turned toward me with a grin.
“Still counting bullets?”
I looked at the timer.
Then at the targets.
“Apparently.”
My lane activated.
The first target appeared.
I fired.
Second.
Third.
Fourth.
The fifth target appeared only briefly.
I waited.
Derek shouted from the next lane.
“She’s going to run out of time!”
I pulled the trigger.
The target disappeared.
The timer stopped.
The range went quiet.
The officer walked toward the scoring station.
Then he stopped.
He looked at Derek’s target.
Then mine.
His expression became impossible to read.
He turned toward the observation tower.
“Can we get the senior evaluator down here?”
Derek’s smile vanished.
A few minutes later, an older officer walked onto the range.
He examined my target.
Then he examined the scoring sheet.
Finally, he looked directly at me.
“Who trained you?”
I hesitated.
“Sir, I’ve had several instructors.”
He shook his head.
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
He pointed at the target.
“Your final shot was taken after the target began moving behind the obstruction.”
I nodded.
“You waited for the opening.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You couldn’t see the full target.”
“No, sir.”
“So how did you know where it would reappear?”
I looked toward the distant obstacle.
“The wind changed.”
He stared at me.
Then slowly smiled.
“You read the dust.”
Derek looked confused.
His teammate wasn’t.
The teammate whispered:
“She wasn’t guessing.”
The evaluator turned toward the range staff.
“Run her score again.”
They did.
Then again.
Same result.
The evaluator walked toward Derek.
“What’s your relation to Number Seventeen?”
“My sister.”
The older officer looked at me.
Then back at him.
“You’ve been calling her an armory clerk?”
Derek’s face reddened.
“She works in munitions.”
The evaluator nodded.
“So you never asked what she does there?”
Derek didn’t answer.
The officer turned back to me.
“How long have you been studying ballistic behavior?”
I said nothing for a moment.
“Years.”
“Why?”
I looked at Derek.
Then at the target.
“Because nobody ever expected me to be good at it.”
The evaluator’s expression changed.
He glanced toward the observation tower.
“Bring me her full service record.”
Derek suddenly stepped forward.
“Sir?”
The officer looked at him.
“What?”
“Why?”
The older man held up my score sheet.
“Because this isn’t ordinary marksmanship.”
He looked directly at me.
“And if her records are what I think they are…”
He paused.
“…your sister isn’t supposed to be competing in this category.”
Derek frowned.
“Then why is she here?”
The evaluator folded the score sheet.
“That’s exactly what I’m about to find out.”
I watched him walk away.
For the first time in my life, Derek wasn’t looking at me like his little sister.
He was looking at me like a problem he couldn’t solve.
Then the loudspeaker crackled.
“Attention, competitors.”
Everyone turned.
The range officer announced the next stage.
“Final course. Long-range precision evaluation.”
Derek looked at me.
His confidence slowly returned.
“Now we’ll see.”
I adjusted my gloves.
“No.”
He frowned.
“See what?”
I looked toward the far end of the range.
“Now you’ll understand.”
Because I knew something Derek didn’t.
The final course wasn’t designed for ordinary competitors.
And twelve years earlier, I had helped design it.