Poe by Brett Battles

with their parents to Universal City, back before all the shit came down. This facility had the feel of a Hollywood backlot. “How big is this place?”
    “Couple hundred acres,” Cooper said. “Give or take.”
    Deuce frowned. “What do you need all the room for?”
    “Research and development. Training. That kind of stuff.”
    As they passed the last cluster of buildings, they came upon an elaborate obstacle course to the right that looked as if it had been plucked directly out of a war-torn, Middle Eastern city, complete with bombed-out buildings and makeshift hidey holes.
    “Jesus,” Deuce murmured. “This is like a mercenary’s wet dream.”
    “Or a combat vet’s nightmare,” Alex told him.
    They heard intermittent gunfire long before the firing range came into view—a pair of shooters, maybe three at most. The firing range itself was in a rectangular clearing surrounded by twenty-foot-high mounds of dirt meant to catch any stray bullets. It was long, eight hundred meters at least, with half the firing line covered to protect shooters from the sun and elements, and half not. Behind the firing line was a long, thin building that Alex assumed served as the armory.
    Once out of the cart, they passed through a gate into the range. The shooters were down at the other end under the roof. There were three targets set up down range, two at fifty meters, and the last at three hundred.
    Another shot echoed off the embankment. Though there was no way to see exactly where it had hit, Alex did notice the far target jerk with the impact of the bullet.
    As they turned down the wide concrete walkway that ran between the building and the firing line, a man who was standing at the far end watching the shooters looked over and started walking toward them.
    He was tanned and toned, with cropped hair and a purposeful walk that bespoke yet another military alum. Stonewell seemed to be crawling with them.
    “Coop,” the man said. “These them?”
    “Yes, sir.” Cooper motioned to his two companions. “Alexandra Poe. Deuce Jones.” With a glance at them, he said, “And this is Carl Dugan. First sergeant, retired. He’s the range master.”
    Alex had a momentary urge to jump to attention, but it passed quickly and she held out her hand. “Mr. Dugan,” she said.
    He gave her a once-over, then took her hand as a smug little smile creased the left side of his face. “Ms. Poe.”
    Alex knew immediately what that smile meant. There had been guys like him in her unit in Baghdad, guys who thought she belonged at home making snacks for the boys, or down on her knees worshipping the great god Johnson.
    When Dugan shook Deuce’s hand, most of his disdain had disappeared. He focused back on Cooper. “Standard checkout, right?”
    “Right,” Cooper said.
    Dugan turned to Alex. “So, ladies first? Happy to give you a little lesson, if you like.”
    Alex stared at him, expressionless. “Deuce will go first.”
    Dugan smiled again. “Whatever you’d prefer, ma’am.”
    The standard check involved shooting a Beretta 92A1 9mm pistol at a target twenty-five meters out, and an M16A4 military-grade rifle at a target two hundred meters down range. To pass, the shooter had to hit within the outer boundaries of the target eight out of ten shots.
    Dugan led them down to one of the empty lanes under the roof, then retrieved the weapons and ammunition from the armory.
    “You load,” he told Deuce after he set the pistol and box of 9mm ammo on the counter.
    Deuce popped the mag, filled it, and jammed it back in. While he was doing this, Dugan clipped a target to the auto-positioning wires, programmed in the required distance, and set the target on its way. He handed out adjustable earmuffs, and clear shooting glasses.
    “You want to take a few practice shots?” he asked Deuce.
    “Sure.”
    “Have at it.”
    Deuce stepped up to the line, pulled on his earmuffs, and raised the pistol. He held his position for several seconds, then let