Lilith
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 6: Aftermath & Transition
The CheyTac roared. The recoil pushed into her shoulder as she stayed in the scope, watching—
3.2 seconds of flight time.
Waiting.
Watching.
The bullet racing across 1,847 meters of Iraqi desert, dropping, drifting, spinning through the superheated air—
Through the magnification, Shira saw the impact.
Abu Rashid al-Ansari’s head snapped back. He collapsed from his chair like a puppet with cut strings.
The courtyard erupted in chaos—bodyguards diving for cover, weapons raised, scanning for threats they couldn’t possibly see. Men shouting. Someone dragged al-Ansari’s body toward a building, but the way he moved—limp, boneless—said everything.
“Hit,” Palmer breathed. “Center mass, high chest. He’s down. Confirm kill.”
Through the scope, Shira watched two men bend over al-Ansari’s body. One checked for pulse, shook his head. The other looked up, screaming orders, pointing in random directions.
“Confirmed kill,” Shira said quietly. “Target eliminated.”
Palmer keyed her radio. “Overwatch to Command, Jackpot. I say again, Jackpot.”
Jackpot—the code word for successful HVT elimination.
There was a pause on the radio, then Lieutenant Colonel Hayes’ voice: “Confirm Jackpot?”
“Confirmed. Target is down, no movement. Mission success.”
Even through the radio, Shira could hear the relief. “Outstanding work, Overwatch. Execute exfil immediately.”
Collins appeared beside them. “Let’s move. We’ve got maybe fifteen minutes before they organize a search.”
Shira broke down the CheyTac quickly—disconnected bipod, stowed in drag bag, secured her gear. Palmer packed the spotting scope. Within two minutes they were moving down the back side of the ridgeline.
The security element formed around them, weapons ready. They moved fast but controlled, retracing their route toward the extraction point.
Behind them, the compound was chaos—vehicles racing out, armed men spreading across the terrain, searching for an enemy they’d never find.
But the team was already gone, melting into the rocky landscape like ghosts.
EXTRACTION POINT - 1547 HOURS
The MRAPs were waiting, engines running. The team loaded up fast, doors slamming shut.
“Go, go, go!”
The vehicles accelerated, putting distance between them and the target area. Inside, Shira finally allowed herself to breathe.
She’d made the shot. 1,847 meters. One bullet. One kill.
Abu Rashid al-Ansari, ISIS regional commander, was dead.
Collins grinned at her. “Lilith, that was the most insane shot I’ve ever seen. Over a mile. One round. Perfect.”
Kim shook his head in disbelief. “I watched through binos. He just ... dropped. Like someone turned off a light switch.”
“That’s what a .408 round does at that range,” Palmer said. “3,200 foot-pounds of energy. Doesn’t matter how tough you are.”
But Shira was quiet, processing. She’d just killed a man from a distance where he couldn’t even hear the shot. Surgical. Precise. Impersonal.
It was what she was trained for. What she was good at. But it didn’t feel like victory—just completion of a mission.
Hayes noticed her silence. “You good, Abrams?”
“Yes, Sergeant. Just ... tired.”
“Understandable. You just made military history. That’s the longest confirmed kill shot by a U.S. Army sniper in this theater. Maybe anywhere.” He paused. “How does it feel?”
Shira thought about Ari on a bus that exploded. About Saul bleeding out in her arms. About every Ranger she’d protected over the past three months.
“It feels necessary,” she said finally.
Hayes nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s the right answer.”
FOB MAREZ - 1830 HOURS
The base was buzzing when they returned. Word had spread—Lilith had dropped a high-value target from over a mile away. Rangers from other platoons wanted to shake her hand. Officers wanted details for their reports.
But all Shira wanted was to clean her rifle and sleep.
Master Sergeant Garrett found her in the armory. “Battalion commander wants to see you tomorrow. Something about a commendation.” He studied her. “You don’t look happy.”
“I’m fine, Master Sergeant.”
“Bullshit. You just made the shot of a lifetime and you look like someone died.”
“Someone did die. Several people, actually.”
Garrett was quiet for a moment. “You know what al-Ansari did? The villages he burned? The people he tortured and executed? The IEDs his network planted that killed dozens of Iraqi soldiers and three Americans last month?”
“Yes, Master Sergeant.”
“Then you know you saved lives today. Maybe hundreds. Maybe thousands if we prevented future attacks.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t lose sight of that. What you do matters. The killing serves a purpose.”
“I know,” Shira said. And she did know. Intellectually. But emotionally...
“Get some rest,” Garrett said. “You’ve earned it.”
JUNE 2015 - RECOGNITION
The battalion commander, a full colonel, presented Shira with an Army Commendation Medal with Valor device in a small ceremony. The citation read: For exceptionally meritorious service and extraordinary heroism in connection with military operations against an armed enemy...
She stood at attention while he pinned it to her uniform, feeling the weight of it. Another piece of metal to mark another piece of her soul given to the war.
Afterward, Lieutenant Colonel Hayes pulled her aside. “Your deployment is almost complete. You’ve been here four months, and you’ve accounted for 56 confirmed kills, including today’s HVT elimination. That’s remarkable.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m told you’re on the list for promotion to sergeant. Well deserved.” He paused. “I’m also told you’ve been requested for another deployment. Afghanistan. Different theater, different enemy, but they need experienced sniper support.”
Shira felt something tighten in her chest. Another deployment. More missions. More kills.
“When, sir?”
“You’d have six weeks at home, then rotate to Afghanistan in August. You’d be attached to a Ranger unit operating out of Kandahar and Helmand Province. Mountain warfare, different challenges than Iraq.” He studied her. “It’s voluntary. You’ve done your share here. You can decline.”
She thought about going home to Virginia. Seeing her parents. Sleeping in her own bed. Not carrying a rifle for a few weeks.
It sounded wonderful.
It also sounded impossible. She was a sniper. This was what she did.
“I’ll go, sir.”
Hayes nodded, unsurprised. “Thought you might say that. Orders will come through in a few days. Wheels up for CONUS on June 15th.”
CONUS—Continental United States. Home.
JUNE 15, 2015 - DEPARTURE
Third Platoon gathered at the airfield to see her off. She’d be leaving ahead of them—her deployment cycle was complete, while they had another month in Iraq.
Master Sergeant Garrett shook her hand. “You saved a lot of lives, Lilith. This platoon will remember that.”
Collins hugged her—unprofessional but genuine. “Stay safe in Afghanistan. Those mountains are no joke.”
Palmer handed her a small patch: the 75th Ranger Regiment scroll with “LILITH” embroidered below it. “Unofficial, obviously. But you earned it.”
Kim, Hayes, Martinez, Rodriguez—all of them said goodbye. She’d been with them for four months, but it felt longer. Combat had a way of compressing time, building bonds faster than years of peacetime service.
“Come back and visit,” Rodriguez said. “And try not to get shot in Afghanistan.”
“I’ll do my best.”
As the C-17 lifted off, Shira looked down at Iraq disappearing below—the desert, the FOB, the land where she’d become Lilith.
56 confirmed kills. Dozens of missions. Zero Rangers lost under her watch.
She’d done her job.
But as the aircraft climbed into the sky, she felt exhausted. Not physically—emotionally. The constant vigilance, the calculations, the life-or-death decisions. It was wearing her down in ways she hadn’t fully acknowledged.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
FORT BENNING, GEORGIA - JUNE 17, 2015
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