If someone made Kyle choose between the Delta Selection psychological evaluation and a CIA debriefing, he’d be hard pressed to decide which was more irritating.
There were always two analysts in the small steel room they’d stuck him in within minutes of boarding the Littoral Combat Ship USS Freedom. Though not always the same two. As if they were kaleidoscopically interchangeable.
Freedom. He’d tell them his actions on the mission, such as he sprinted from the cliff to the hacienda.
One would ask for clarification.
He’d been focused on live and mobile targets, of which he hadn’t seen anyone closer than fifty meters.
The other one would start to argue that Kyle hadn’t said that to begin with and then proceed to totally misconstrue his words.
Don’t you mean fifteen meters? Because fift
