Chapter 3 - The Long Walk
"Looks like the Master Sergeant is going to show her where the paper is!" a soldier chuckled as Donovan marched downrange.
But Donovan didn't stop at the fifty-yard line.
She walked straight past the pristine, untouched white silhouette target.
The laughter from Combat Group Charlie began dying away, slowly replaced by a heavy, confused silence. The only sound left was the violent snapping of the red safety flags in the wind.
Colonel Mercer unfolded his arms, his smug smile faltering slightly. "Sergeant Donovan?" he called out, his authoritative voice carrying across the gravel. "Where are you going? The target is at fifty yards."
Donovan didn't answer him. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, continuing her long march toward the distant, heavily scarred concrete backstop situated exactly one hundred yards away.
Back at the firing line, every single infantry soldier watched in absolute, breathless silence.
Emma remained perfectly motionless, holding her unloaded M4 low across her body. She didn't look nervous. She looked like she was simply waiting for the inevitable.
Donovan finally reached the massive, towering concrete back wall.
She crouched down slowly, her boots crunching loudly against the dry gravel. She pulled off her right tactical glove. Her bare fingertips slowly, deliberately moved across the rough, bullet-scarred surface of the concrete.
The cinematic tension on the range spiked to a paralyzing peak.
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Suddenly, Donovan’s finger stopped over something extremely small.
👉 Donovan stared at the concrete wall, and her expression of mild suspicion violently morphed into absolute, earth-shattering disbelief.
