Chapter 3 - THE CODE RED"Corporal Carter," Gunny Vance said, stepping forward until he loomed over the end of the table where Dominic stood paralyzed. "Where do you think your battalion's heavy armored transport reserves come from during a rapid-deployment drill?"
Dominic blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "I... I don't know. Supply command?"
"They come from the 89th Airlift Wing," Vance barked, his voice snapping like a whip. "And two years ago, when your unit was stranded in the Horn of Africa with zero ammunition and hostile militia closing in on your compound, who do you think flew the unscheduled midnight airdrop that saved your entire platoon from being overrun?"
The color vanished entirely from Dominic’s face. He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself.
"That was... that was an automated drop," Dominic whispered, his voice trembling. "Our commanding officer said it was a Phantom-class heavy lift drone..."
"There were no drones flying in those weather conditions, son," a sergeant sitting near the middle of the table murmured, staring at me with sudden, profound awe. "That was a manual override profile. Only a lunatic with ten thousand hours of stick time could thread a C-17 through a mountain pass in a sandstorm like that."
I slowly lifted my iced tea glass, taking a quiet sip before setting it back down on the coaster.
"It wasn't a drone, Dominic," I said softly, my voice carrying effortlessly across the room. "I was flying the tail-end bird. We dropped three pallets of ammunition directly into your sector while taking small-arms fire from the ridge. I remember reading your unit designation on the manifest. I even checked the comms to see if you were in that sector."
Dominic stared at me as if he were looking at a stranger—a terrifying, unfamiliar entity wearing his sister's face.
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"You..." Dominic choked out. "You knew? You knew I was down there?"
"I always know where you are, Dominic," I replied evenly. "I’ve spent the last six years pulling your unit's logistical reports out of the fire every time your command makes a tactical error in supply routing. I keep you alive from thirty thousand feet, and you thought I was a secretary."
