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"No need to apologize." She paused and then decided this was the right time to push her agenda. "You know what this means?"
"No."
"It's yet another example of why we need to get Orion up and running. How in hell can we expect our assets to operate in this environment? It's bad enough that we won't get tough with these guys ... it's inexcusable that we won't even consider a rescue op. He's one of our own, for Christ's sake!"
Stansfield was not surprised that she'd brought it up. He would have done the same thing if he was in her place, but during a crisis like this it was a common mistake to hurry things that needed time. "I want this to happen as badly as you do, Irene, but it can't be rushed. If we send a bunch of half-baked assets into the field, we'll end up spending all our energy trying to pull them out of the fire. Trust me ... I saw it firsthand back in Berlin. Just try to be patient for a few more months. If a couple of these guys can prove that they have the stuff, I'll greenlight it, and support you every step of the way."
Kennedy took it as a promise but couldn't get her mind off Cummins and what he was enduring. Her thoughts for some unknown reason turned to Rapp. She hoped he was the one. The weapon they could turn loose on these murderous zealots.
CHAPTER 13
LAKE ANNA, VIRGINIA
THEY each ran the obstacle course three more times and then double-timed it back to the barn for breakfast. They stuffed their faces with eggs and pancakes, then were given thirty minutes to digest their food and make sure their bunks were squared away. Rapp was somewhat relieved that Victor used this time to pester someone else. Then it was off to the pistol range, which was a two-mile hike back into the woods. It was not a leisurely hike, however. They were given twelve minutes to get to the range and were told that anyone who was late could pack his bags. Rapp was starting to get the idea that they would be doing a lot of running, which was fine by him. He kept a pace or two off the lead and made it look as if he was struggling to keep up, but he wasn't.
The range was adjacent to the obstacle course. It was twelve feet wide and one hundred feet long, and was as bare-bones as you could get. Basically a tractor had scooped out a ten-foot-deep trench that ran between a row of pines. It was lined with old car tires and covered with camouflage netting, which in addition to the tree branches made the light pretty weak. There were three shooting stations made out of pressure-treated plywood and lumber. Silhouette targets were already hung at twenty feet and silenced 9mm Beretta 92Fs were loaded and ready to be fired. The first three guys stepped up, and when Sergeant Smith ordered them to commence firing all three methodically emptied their rounds into the paper targets.
Rapp swallowed hard when they were done. The first two guys punched soup-can-sized holes through the chests of the black silhouettes. The third target had a nice neat hole about the size of a silver dollar in the center of the face. There was not a stray shot among the three. Rapp was impressed, but the thing that really surprised him was the reaction of Sergeant Smith. The instructor had a smile on his face.
Sergeant Smith stood beside the last shooter and said, "Normally I don't like you SEALs, but goddamn! They sure do teach you boys how to shoot." He gave the recruit a rough slap on the back and ordered the next three up. The results were similar--at least as far as the first two were concerned. They had both punched nice neat holes in the chests of their targets. Rapp's target, however, looked a little rough.
Rapp lowered the pistol and took in his handiwork. He'd only started shooting a few months earlier, and without any actual training from an instructor, the results were lacking. The target looked like a piece of Swiss cheese, with holes from the chest all the way down to the groin. He set the heavy Beretta down on the flat plywood surface and grimaced as the instructors fell in, one on each shoulder.
"Definitely not a SEAL," Sergeant Smith said.
"Nope," Sergeant Jones replied. "Not a D Boy either. Might be a gangbanger, though. That's how those little fuckers shoot. Just spray it all over the place and hope they hit a vital organ."
"Definitely not the way we do things around here," Sergeant Smith sa
id.
"Son," the taller of the two said, "where the fuck did you learn how to shoot?"
Rapp cleared his throat and admitted, "I don't know how to shoot, Sergeant."
"You mean you've tried and suck, or you've never been taught?"
"Never been taught, Sergeant."
There was an uncomfortable pause while the two instructors tried to figure out what to do. Unfortunately, Victor took the opportunity to throw in one of his asinine comments. "He shoots like a girl."
Underneath Rapp's bronzed skin his cheeks flushed. He had known that, due to his lack of training, shooting would be one of his weaknesses. Still, it embarrassed him that the others were so much better. Rapp looked to Sergeant Smith and asked, "Any pointers?"
The shorter man looked up at Rapp and regarded him for a moment before nodding and saying, "Let's see you do it again." Sergeant Smith handed him a fresh magazine.
Sergeant Jones yelled, "All right, Victor, you jackass. Get up here and show us what you can do."
The other five stood back and watched in silence while two fresh targets were put up. Sergeant Smith stood at Rapp's side and quietly issued instructions. He watched Rapp squeeze off one shot and then reached in to adjust his grip, elbow position, and feet. With each shot the instructor issued corrections and the grouping of shots grew tighter. This time the holes were still loose, but at least all of them were in the chest area, as opposed to all over the entire target.
Rapp heard someone giggle and he looked over at Victor's target. The clown had shot eyes and a nose in the target and five more shots made a downturned mouth. The remainder of the shots were concentrated in the groin area.
"Victor," Sergeant Jones said, "what in hell are you doing?"
"Long-term strategic planning, Sarge."
"I doubt your pea-sized brain could attempt any such thing."
"Population control," Victor said, spitting a gob of chew on the ground. "Shoot the nuts off all the hajis and no more baby terrorists. Twenty years from now we declare victory. Brilliant, if I say so myself."
