Chapter 4
Marcus O’Yellerin died in Helmand Province during a rescue operation that was still spoken about in fragments.
He and his team had been pinned down by heavy fire.
A wounded Marine was trapped in open ground.
The wind was so strong that the first two precision shooters missed.
Then Marcus took his old rifle, crawled under fire, and made one impossible shot through dust, heat, and fear.
That shot gave his unit eight seconds.
Eight seconds was enough to pull the wounded Marine out.
Eight seconds was enough to save five lives.
Marcus did not make it home.
But the rifle did.
When Nora opened the long case after his funeral, the wood still smelled faintly of oil, dust, and him.
People told her to keep it on a wall.
She didn’t.
She trained with it.
Quietly.
Before school.
After work.
In the rain.
In the cold.
On ranges where men rolled their eyes until she started hitting targets they had already missed.
She joined the Marines because of her father.
She stayed because of herself.
But Hollister had made sure every step hurt.
From the first week she arrived at the advanced marksmanship program, he treated her like an insult to tradition.
He called her “legacy.”
He called her “princess.”
He told younger Marines she was only there because command loved a good story.
And when she requested approval to use her father’s rifle for the memorial demonstration shot, Hollister laughed in the office for thirty full seconds.
“You want to honor your father?” he said. “Don’t embarrass his name.”
Nora had said nothing.
She had just signed the range form and walked out.
That silence made him angrier than any argument.
May you like
Now the entire base was watching.
Read Part 5 to see whether Nora could make the shot Hollister was praying she would miss.
