Jackson follows quickly – of course – and is already pulling himself up onto the platform before I’ve barely pulled the gun out of its bag. Jackson murmurs his admiration as I set up the gun and then he settles down with his back against the low rail, pulling a book out of his bag but not moving to open it.
“What,” I say, laying on my belly and turning to peer at him. “You’re just going to watch?”
“Watch my gorgeous mate shoot a state-of-the-arts sniper rifle at a target five hundred yards out?” His face bursts into a smile. “Hell yes I’m going to watch.”
I laugh, shaking my head at him as I turn back to the gun, concentrating. “Okay, just don’t interrupt.”
Jackson doesn’t say a word in response and I honestly forget he’s there, falling into a bit of a reverie as I go over the Captain’s instructions about how to take aim, how to concentrate, how to pay attention to the elements as well as my own breathing. Then, slowly, I exhale and begin to shoot.
The first few shots go wide, but I adjust every time. And then, after a few pulls of the trigger, I’m gratified by the sudden grey hole in the fabric of the target. I grin, incredibly pleased, and shoot until I count ten bullets.
Then I sit up, and take the scope off of the gun, using it to peer at the target.
Three hits – all erratic and nowhere near to the bull’s eye.
But still, three hits.
I can’t keep the smile off of my face.
“How’d you do?” Jackson asks, his voice a deep grumble in the morning light.
“I hit it,” I say, shrugging, trying to play off how pleased I am.
But he just laughs at me, because he can feel it down the bond. He raises his chin at the scope. “Can I look?”
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