Badass in Disguise
<b>Chapter </b><b>82 </b>
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:
“Would you prefer observing from the field?” Colonel Edwards asked, gesturing toward the door.
Ethan shook his head. “I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.” He lifted a pair of high–powered binocrs from his briefcase. “This vantage point gives me a better perspective on the entire operation.”
Edwards looked surprised but nodded. “As you wish, Mr. Haxton.”
Ethan positioned himself by therge window overlooking the training grounds, adjusting the focus on his binocrs. His eyes methodically scanned the students below until they locked onto a particr figure – Jade Morgan observing her with unusual intensity.
“What’s different about this year’s challengepared to previous years?” Ethan asked casually, not lowering the binocrs. “Particrly regarding the physical capabilities of the students.”
Edwards shrugged. “Standard parameters. Though we’ve incorporated more tactical elements this year.”
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Ethan continued his observation for another half hour before finally setting the binocrs down. As he turned away from the window, he missed Jade ncing up toward his position, her eyes narrowing slightly before returning her attention to her team.
Before heading out, Ethan instructed his assistant to deliver high–protein energy bars and electrolyte drinks to support the participants in the challenge.
“Didn’t realize you cared so much about Princeton freshmen,” Edwardsmented.
Ethan’s face remained impassive. “Just supporting my alma mater. I remember how demanding these challenges can be.”
Jade’s POV:
“We should form a direct assault team and charge straight through the main entrance,‘ suggested a stocky guy named Trevor, jabbing his finger at the tactical map we’d been given. “Speed is our advantage.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. ssic amateur thinking. No reconnaissance, no diversionary tactics, just frontal assault and hope for the best.
“That’s suicide,” I said tly, drawing everyone’s attention. “We’d be exposed from multiple angles with no cover.”
Trevor scoffed. “Got a better idea?”
“Actually, yes.” I leaned forward, pointing to different sections of the map. “We split into three teams. Sniper team takes position here on this ridge for overwatch and enemy suppression. Assault team approaches from the eastern
12:20 Mon<b>, </b>Sep <b>22 </b>
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(62
nk where there’s more cover. Support team creates a diversion at the south entrance, drawing attention away from the main operation.”
The six other students stared at me, some with surprise, others with skepticism.
“How do you know this would work?” asked a girl with thick sses.
I shrugged. “I y a lot of tactical shooters. This is basic stuff.”
After a moment of silence, Trevor nodded reluctantly. “It… actually makes sense.”
“Who should be in charge?” asked another teammate.
Before I could speak, three people pointed at me. “Her,” they said almost in unison.
“Jade should be our tactical coordinator,” said the girl with sses. “She clearly knows what she’s doing.”
I epted with a nod, ignoring the flutter of satisfaction. <i>It’s </i><i>been </i><i>a </i><i>while </i>since I <imanded </i><i>a </i><i>team</i><i>. </i>
At the equipment station, we received our gear: tactical vests equipped with sensors<b>, </bmunication earpieces, and infrared–emitting rifles that registered hits on the electronic scoring system.
I checked my rifle automatically, field–stripping it halfway before catching myself. <i>Too </i><i>professional</i>. <i>Dial </i><i>it </i><i>back</i><i>. </i>
“Wow, you really know your way around that thing,” remarked Sergeant Ford, watching me from a few feet away.
“Video games,” I exined with a practiced casual smile. “Spent way too many hours in first–person shooters.”
Ford’s expression remained skeptical<b>, </b>but he moved on to inspect other students,
In the briefing room, Ford outlined our mission: “Today’s challenge is a tactical hostage rescue simtion. You’ll navigate through the mock urban environment, locate the hostage, and extract them safely. Teams will be scored on time, uracy, and casualties.” He tapped a diagram on the screen. “Teamwork and precision shooting are equally important. Individual performance contributes to your team’s overall score.”
I memorized every detail of the terrain map, identifying optimal routes, potential ambush points, and key tactical positions. This is child’s ypared to actual operations in <i>Kabul </i>or Bogotá.
The challenge began with a piercing siren. I positioned myself at the highest point in the simted urban environment, assuming the role of both coordinator and primary sniper. Through my scope, I could see everything.
“Trevor, hostile at your two o’clock behind the blue barrel,” I said calmly into mym. “Wait for my mark… now.”
<b>12:20 </b>Mon, Sep <b>22 </b>
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<i>A </i>
<b>62 </b>
Trevor fired and hit his target square in the chest. “How did you see that guy? He waspletely hidden from my position.”
“Good eyes,” I replied simply. “Lisa, two tangos approaching from the alley. Jamal, cover her six.”
My teammates moved with increasing confidence under my guidance, trusting my directions without question. <b>I </b>tracked every movement, calcting angles and predicting enemy positions with ease.
“This is uncanny,” whispered Lisa over them. “It’s like she has a satellite view or something.”
The opposing team set up an ambush at the hostage location, catching two of our teammates in a crossfire. <i>Shit</i>. <i>Recalcting</i>.
“Everyone hold position,” I ordered, scanning for a solution. “I’m going to create an opening.”
I took a deep breath, aimed, and squeezed the trigger three times in rapid session. Three perfect hits on three different targets<b>, </b>creating a gap in the enemy defense.
“Assault team, move now. Support team, suppressing fire on the second–floor windows.”
My team executed wlessly, extracting the hostage without taking additional casualties. As we reached the
extraction point, the final buzzer sounded.
Ford checked the electronic scoreboard, his eyebrows rising slightly. “Team Fourpletes the challenge with the fastest time and… perfect uracy from their sniper position.” He looked directly at me. “Morgan, you registered twenty–three hits on twenty–three shots. 100% uracy<b>.</b>”
My teammates erupted in cheers, pping my back and calling me their “tactical genius.”
As we walked back to the barracks, I felt Ford’s gaze following me, his expression thoughtful and calcting.
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