Chapter 4 - The Leather Notebook
Avery’s brown leather notebook had belonged to her grandfather.
Sergeant Major Thomas Cole had trained Army marksmen decades earlier.
He taught Avery to record everything.
Wind speed.
Temperature.
Elevation.
Ammunition lot numbers.
The exact moment a shot broke.
“Memory changes when pressure arrives,” he used to say. “Ink does not.”
Avery recorded every Blackridge shot.
That morning, she had also written down the target serial number painted on the steel frame.
Miles confirmed it through the spotting scope.
When Ward compared Avery’s notes with the torn scorecard, the mismatch became undeniable.
Raines laughed coldly.
“A personal notebook is not official evidence.”
Avery turned several pages.
Each entry was signed by Miles as spotter.
Some also carried the initials of range technicians who confirmed equipment checks.
Raines’ eyes narrowed.
“Why have you been collecting signatures?”
“Because my ammunition changed twice without authorization.”
The evaluator looked up sharply.
“What?”
Avery explained that sealed boxes assigned to her lane had been replaced before two earlier tests.
Both replacement lots produced inconsistent velocity.
Each time, Raines blamed her shooting.
Miles had begun photographing the lot numbers.
Ward held out her hand.
May you like
“Show me.”
👉 The switched scorecard was only the latest attempt to disqualify Avery—someone had been sabotaging her ammunition for weeks.
