Chapter 14

Carry takes over the Narrative:

The following new character appear in the next few chapters:

Major Jones

Mercenary Commander, 5’-11’’ tall, 210 pounds, 40 years old, short black hair, blue eyes

Saturday morning I didn’t want to get up. Chuck and I had made love twice last night before finally cuddling up together under the blanket and sleeping for a good nine hours. It was nice and warm here under the blanket with him, and I was one very satisfied woman lying next to the man who I had enjoyed the night with. I had just about decided that I could get used to waking up everyday like this, and that was when Chuck farted and spoiled the mood entirely. I slapped him on the arm.

“Don’t do that,” I told him, and then passed gas myself.

“Shit!” I said in disgust and moved out from under the blanket. Chuck was also awake now.

“You okay, Babe?” he asked in a half-awake voice.

“Yes, it’s time to get up. We have things to do today,” I reminded him.

“What things?” he asked as he rolled over to look at me. We were both still naked and he had his usual morning hard-on.

“None of that!” I told him. “We did that last night, and may do it again tonight, but not right now. It’s time to go to breakfast before they stop serving,” I reminded him.

“Okay, Babe,” he agreed, and we went into the bathroom to shower, take care of our morning business, brush our teeth, and Chuck shaved. We stopped by my old room to wake Chris and Roy, but they were already up, and we all went to breakfast.

It was a lot cooler up here in Virginia than it had been at home in Georgia, and we all wore coats to the dining facility. Once seated at a table with our food, I brought up the schedule for today.

“We need to go to the range today,” I told the others.

“Range?” the guys asked.

“Yes, you’ll lose your edge if you don’t practice regularly, and it’s been quite a while since any of us have been to the range to practice,” Chris agreed.

“We also need to start back running again,” I reminded them. “But that can wait until this afternoon. It needs to warm up some first,” I finished.

“You girls really take this stuff seriously, don’t you?” Roy asked.

“Yes. We have been doing this since we were little. We take it very seriously. It’s how we have lived,” I told him in a determined voice.

“Okay, okay, Babe. Take it easy. We’ll go with you. I don’t believe that either Roy or I did anything over the time that we were off but drink beer,” Chuck told us with a grin.

“You left out eating too much,” Roy added.

“Didn’t we all though?” Chris asked.

We left for the range after retrieving more ammunition for our pistols and picking up our shotguns and their ammunition. There was a caretaker at the range when we arrived. He wasn’t happy to see us.

“You can’t use those shotguns on this range,” he told us as soon as we entered.

“We know. We’ll be using them on one of the other ranges,” Chris told him.

“They aren’t open today,” he told us in return.

“We’ll see about that,” I assured him, as we all picked up ear muffs, shooting glasses, and targets before moving to the range. Chris and I sent our targets out to the 25 yard line on our lanes after selecting positions, while the guys set their targets closer.

“You need to practice at 25 yards,” Chris told them.

“Why?” Roy asked.

“It will be easier to hit a target at 10 yards if you can hit one at 25 yards,” she told him. He looked skeptical.

“Try it,” I told him before Chris and I started firing on our targets. When we pulled them back, we were disappointed.

“Those are damn good targets for 25 yards,” the caretaker told us on looking at them.

“We’re way off today,” I told him in return, as Chris and I posted new targets and reloaded our pistols. The next targets were better but not our best still the caretaker was impressed, and Chuck and Roy had been watching also.

“Damn, that’s better than I can do at 10 yards,” Chuck said.

“Then you need more practice ... a lot more practice,” I told him and moved over to his lane to watch what he was doing.

Chuck loaded his pistol, one of the polymer .41 caliber jobs, and then proceeded to take five shots at his target while I watched him. He brought the target back on finishing, and it wasn’t bad but could use improvement.

“As children, we started with .22s and learned to shoot with them. We wore those guns out but got very good before we switched to the large caliber pistols,” I told him before taking my pistol out.

“Try my pistol, and see if it is easier to get a good target with it,” I told him. Chuck loaded my pistol and fired a new target. It was better, and I started coaching him on how to improve his use of the pistol. I could see that Chris was also coaching Roy. After a short time Chuck’s targets were much improved.

“I thought it might be something wrong with the pistol,” he told me after a time.

“Let’s see,” I told him, and picked up his pistol, loaded it, and ran a target out to 15 yards. I then fired five well aimed shots at a slow fire pace making sure to recover completely following each shot. When I pulled the target back, it had a very tight group.

“There is nothing wrong with this pistol’s shooting, but it is a lot more powerful than what I am used to,” I told him. “Maybe that’s part of your problem,” I finished.

“Yeah, maybe!” Chuck said absently, looking at the target and then the pistol which I had returned. I looked over at Chris, and it appeared that she and Roy had finished. The Administrator arrived right after that wearing a holstered pistol.

“It appears that you have all been busy this morning,” she said looking at all of the fired cartridges cases on the floor.

“We were just brushing up some, it’s easy to lose your edge if you don’t practice,” I told her.

“Yes, I know. Do you mind if I play through?” she asked using a golf metaphor.

“Go ahead. We were just finishing,” Chris told her. The Administrator posted a target at 15 yards and proceeded to fire on it as we watched. When she brought the target back it had a very tight group on it.

“You’re a very good shot,” I told her, looking at the target.

“I don’t get enough time to practice though,” she told us before noticing the shotguns over by the wall.

“I hope you weren’t planning on firing those in here,” she told to us.

“No, we were planning on using them on the outdoor live fire assault range, but the attendant said it wasn’t open,” I told her.

“No, it isn’t normally open on weekends,” she told us, but stopped for a few seconds, as if considering something.

“However, I would like to see what you four can do. I’ll have the assault range open in an hour or so,” she told us before leaving. We were still policing up the brass from the floor when I realized that I had never talked to Chris about seeing her bubble in the smoke and tear gas at the first ambush site. How could I have forgotten that, I wondered before remembering all of the excitement following our return?

“Chris, we need to have a chat but not here,” I told her, as we finished picking up the brass and deposited it in the can near the door to be reloaded. We collected our targets and guns before filing off the range and returning the ear muffs and safety glasses to the range attendant.

Outside it had warmed up some, and we took our time walking over toward the open air assault range. I stopped part of the way there in the open and away from all of the benches, walls, trees and bushes.

“What’s up, sis?” Chris asked.

“Remember during the first ambush when we ran into the smoke and tear gas?” I asked.

“Yeah, we needed to close our bubbles,” Chris answered.

“Yes, but I also saw your bubble in the smoke, or maybe what I saw was an absence of smoke in the area where your bubble was,” I told her. “Policing up the brass at the range brought the memory back. I was going to tell you about it when we got to Camp Darby but forgot with everything else that was going on. In any event, we need to try to avoid situations involving smoke or fires,” I finished.

“Could you see me inside the bubble?” Chris asked in a distraught voice.

“No, I couldn’t see you, just your bubble,” I told her to reassure her.

“What does this mean for us?” Roy asked in a concerned voice.

“Since you can’t disappear, it would only mean that your bubble would be visible with you inside it. Of course if the smoke is really thick, any of us would only be visible to those very close to us,” I told all of them.

“It would have no effect on your bubble. It would only make it visible to those close to you,” Chris assured him. We continued on to the assault range then. Shortly after arriving there, several range personnel arrived and began to prepare the range for use. Marge, the Administrator, arrived shortly before it was ready to open.

“Are you ready to begin?” she asked when signaled that the range was open.

“Yes, we’re ready,” I assured her. There are six lanes on the assault range, and we spread out in two groups. Chris and I were on one side, and Chuck and Roy were on the other side of the range with the two empty lanes between us. The Administrator stood back near the tower where the targets were controlled from. There was a target controller for each pair of lanes.

“Firers watch your lanes,” we head from the tower booth, and soon targets began popping up near us. Since the targets were made of thick steel plates, we weren’t worried about our shotguns damaging them. We fired on targets as necessary as they appeared in our lanes and began moving down the hundred meter long course.

We wound up running the course twice but changed lanes the second time. We were sweating by the time we finished. The range personnel were talking to the Administrator, as we trooped back to the starting line following the second run.

“You all did very well,” the Administrator informed us. “Even the men outscored most of the instructors here and you ladies both have a nearly perfect score. Congratulations,” she finished with a smile. We all left for lunch following that, but stopped to put up our shotguns and take a quick shower and change clothes first.

We only ran four miles later that afternoon since it hadn’t warmed up as much as we had hoped it would. On Sunday, we worked out in the gym because while it had warmed up, it rained for most of the day.

In Atlanta that weekend, the lawyer, Stevens, met with his client / partner on Saturday at his estate.

“I have been approached by a man who claims to be able to solve our problem,” Stevens told the large man in expensive clothes, once they were seated in his den with drinks.

“And just how does he propose to do this?” the large man demanded before adding, “And what does he expect to get out of the deal?”

“He is asking for $135,000 to permanently remove the entire family from the land and from this life,” the lawyer answered calmly.

“Just who is this contact and how does he intend to accomplish this?”

“The name that he gave me was Mr. Gray, and obviously it is not his real name. He claims to have access to professionals who will do the actual removal,” the lawyer told him, but didn’t mention Gray’s connection to the Agency, or their desire to remove the two daughters.