Chapter 12 - The Ghost from the Past
By noon, the command tent was buzzing with activity. Telephones were ringing off the hook as division headquarters demanded updates on the sudden leadership shakeup. I was elbows-deep in supply requisitions when a sharp knock sounded on the open door frame.
I didn't look up immediately. "Come in."
The footsteps that entered didn't sound like a nervous captain or a frantic logistics officer. They were slow, heavy, and carried the unmistakable cadence of an old soldier walking into a tribunal. I raised my eyes. Standing in the doorway was a man I hadn't seen in six years—Brigadier General Arthur Hayes, the current deputy division commander, and the man who had pulled me out of the burning Bradley in Fallujah.
Hayes looked older, his hair completely white, but his eyes were still as sharp as a razor blade. He closed the tent flap behind him, locked it with a flick of his wrist, and leaned against the wooden table.
"You really couldn't wait twenty-four hours before staging a coup, could you, Mara?" Hayes asked, a dry, knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"I didn't stage a coup, Arthur," I said, leaning back in my metal chair and crossing my arms. "I cleaned out a trash can. You sent me here because the 3rd Armored was rotting from the inside out. You didn't really think I was going to spend my first week sipping tea with corrupt battalion commanders, did you?"
Hayes let out a low chuckle, pulling a cigar from his pocket before remembering he was inside a command tent and tossing it back onto the table. "Thorne was politically connected. His uncle is sitting on the House Armed Services Committee. You just kicked a massive hornet's nest, and Washington is already buzzing."
"Let them buzz," I countered coldly. "If Washington spent half as much time inspecting their combat readiness as they do protecting lazy officers, we wouldn't have half the vulnerabilities we're facing overseas right now. Did you come all the way down here to read me a riot act, or did you bring the authorization I requested for the night-firing drills?"
May you like
Hayes pulled a sealed manila folder from his briefcase and dropped it squarely onto my desk. "Authorization granted. But keep in mind, Mara—if your battalion fails the live-fire test tomorrow night, Thorne’s allies will use it to strip your command before the week is out. You're walking a tightrope over an active volcano."
"I built the tightrope," I said, opening the folder. "And I know how to dance on it."
