It was almost like electricity. Static flowing through the air. Palpable. Manic. It made Manuel's hair stand up, set his teeth on edge. He felt adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart rate doubling. He struggled not to speed down the long main base road. And it was all because of Luz.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, sitting there, leg bouncing relentlessly, fists clutched tightly in anticipation, and that barely restrained grin on her face.

When Camilla had been alive, and when Luz had been little, she was a regular ball of energy. Moreso then Manuel had seen in other children her age. Prone to thoughts of fantasy, imagination unrestrained, and brimming with unrestrained energy that could not be exorcised in any way. Luz would color on walls, stack chairs and climb them. One time Manuel came home to find Camilla asleep sitting in a dining room chair. He thought something had happened when he could not rouse her until he saw she was exhausted. Fatigued. He left her there, he would help her to bed or the couch later, and went seeking Luz.

Luz proved difficult to find. He paced from one side of the house to the other, panic growing. She had to be in the house still, there was no sign she had left, he was certain she couldn't get past the child-proof knobs.

He looked around until he heard a giggle coming from above him.

It is amazing that people so rarely look up, for there was Luz, sitting, on top of the refrigerator. To this day, he is not sure how she managed to climb so high with no help. But he did remember her looking down at him, giggling, before saying in a whisper, "Hiding."

After the accident, Luz had grown sullen. Withdrawn. It wasn't until he put her in a few sports and youth programs on the base they lived on at the time that she opened up again. But she was different. She was focused, precise, dedicated wholly to the craft she found herself practicing. This escalated until she was ten, when she told Manuel her intentions, that she was going to become a Marine. Like him. Not as in, similar to him, but to be like him. Luz said she wanted to be the first female to graduate from Recon school, and the first to command a Recon Platoon. Recently it had upgraded to becoming the first female Commandant, the highest ranked Marine in the entire Corps. At every chance he pressed her.

That path, he told her, would be difficult, nearly impossible. The military progressed behind society in most ways, and the Marine Corps was particularly slow to adopt new social standards. Female infantry was not a new thing by now, but many females failed out of infantry school, fewer still rose in rank with it. None had even passed the test to be admitted to Recon school, let alone attend. It would be a lot of firsts for one girl. But the look in her eyes, the resolve, it inspired even him. And he knew, if she set her mind to it, and if he encouraged her, she could do the impossible.

Which is why what he had to do today was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever done.

He looked again. Luz was positively giddy. She always got this way when they went to the Range. Luz loved firearms, she loved learning about them, and she loved firing them. It was all her uncles fault, Sharpe. That wasn't a nickname. He just happened to be one of the best snipers that Manuel had ever known. As though the bullet was an extension of himself. Sharpe had been the one to teach Luz how to shoot, when Manuel was overseas on an assignment he had entrusted Luz to him.

Sharpe proved quickly to be one of Luz's favorites. Sharpe was disabled, having lost a foot and part of his lower leg on his last deployment. He had a small cabin on a large piece of property in Montana.

Luz had spent a summer there, exploring the property, through the fields, the woods, the creeks and mountains. Sharpe taught her how to track, how to prepare game that was caught, how to survive. Sharpe was a believer in the individual, in being autonomous and self sufficient. He imparted part of this onto Luz. But most of all he introduced Luz to the love of her life: the SIG 556 SWAT.

Luz found that she had a intuition about guns, and a knack for marksmanship.

"Luz if you don't calm down, I am not giving you a gun," Manuel said flatly.

"I am calm!" Luz yelled excitedly before clearing her throat and regaining composure, "I mean, yes sir."

"Good. You're young but I know you can maintain discipline," he said, a sly smile crossing his face as he reached over and gripped her shoulder reassuringly.

"Yeah," Luz said, "I just- you know- I don't get shoot that often anymore. I don't want to lose my expert qual."

Qual was short for qualification. Every year the Young Marines let their cadets test their metal and fire a few rounds to see if they qualify for a ribbon. The ribbons were ranked in three, marksman, sharpshooter, and expert. Luz had managed to get to expert after a few years in sharpshooter; talent only took you so far.

That did sadden Manuel a bit. "I know mija," he said, "I'm sorry. It's been a busy year at the school."

"I get it dad, I do, but you know, still don't like it."

Manuel was going to try to say something, but Luz excitedly blurted out, "Up ahead!" Pointing excitedly, there was the dirt road that led to the Rifle Range.


Down the road and a parking space later, Manuel walked measuredly down the path to the concrete armory building. Luz walked ahead of him, faster, and at a more frantic pace. Manuel carried a cooler with him, filled with some drinks and a couple small lunches.

After fighting with the Armory, not literally, but Armorers acted like you were stealing their personal stockpile every time you wanted to check something out, Manuel and Luz left their supplies and walked to the designated stall reserved for them.

Manuel and Luz donned their PPE, eyeglasses, earplugs and headphones. Manuel set the rifle, a HK416, on the stall counter, stepped back and let Luz enter. He stood behind her, just out of arm's reach, ready to act if she did something unsafe. She wouldn't, he knew, but it was that protective instinct inside of him.

Luz reached down, hands steady, and grasped the rifle. She pointed it down range, checked the ejection port, ejected the magazine, and inspected it, then reloaded it. The spring loaded magazine would reload the cylinder automatically. Luz exhaled slightly, then raised the rifle butt to her shoulder, looked down the sights, flicked off the safety, and calmly depressed the trigger.

It had been a while, and the recoil was more then she remembered but she controlled it. She watched. 50 yards away the target sat.

Her dad raised his binoculars and said, "Off center by five inches."

"Five inches?" Luz said incredulously. That was, quite frankly, unacceptable.

"It's kinda windy today," Manuel offered.

"At this range and this caliber that shouldn't matter dad," Luz retorted, "Not by five inches at least."

"Well stop complaining and fix yourself," Manuel said.

"Roger," Luz said and looked down the sights again. She calmed her mind, breathed, focused on her heartbeat. As she breathed, she willed her heart to slow. Uncle Sharpe had taught her how to do that, but it had taken years of training to master it. She still couldn't fire between beats, but the slight tremble at the end of the barrel was reduced to a mere wobble.

Luz depressed the trigger again and felt the rifle kick back into her shoulder. She watched down the range to the target.

"Off by two this time. Good job, Luz," Manuel said, genuinely impressed.

Luz grinned, still looking downrange and whispered, "You haven't seen anything yet Dad."


Fifty rounds later, and Luz's arms and hands were worn out.

"Break time!" Luz declared.

"Lunch time more like it," Manuel said, "Get it all out of your system?"

"Not anywhere close," Luz responded. "But it was a start."

Luz and Manuel sat at a picnic table nearby under a tall tree. They unpacked their respective lunches, sandwiches, and ate in silence.

There was a tenseness in it. Manuel mustering courage.

But Luz spoke up first, "You ok dad?"

Manuel blinked, coming out of thought. "What?"

"You ok? You were just staring at the table."

"Oh, uh, yeah, I'm fine Luz, just kind of, thinking."

"Mom?"

Again, he was taken aback. "What?"

"Were you thinking about mom?"

In a way he was, he supposed. Luz and Camilla were inseparably linked in his mind. Luz looked so much like her. She seemingly inherited nothing from him, besides a bit of his personality he supposed.

Luz spoke again, "It's almost time, isn't it?" She was sad. She was usually sad when she spoke of her mom.

"Yeah. Two more months. I miss her."

"I do too, Dad." She reached out and grasped his fist, he hadn't realized he was clenching it. He relaxed his hand, and grasped her hand back, squeezing slightly. He looked at her in the eyes, seeing that affection there, and felt that familiar paternal love swell in his chest. And along with it came that drive to protect.

"Luz," he said, voice wavering slightly, "I need to tell you something."