Chapter 3 - The Weight of Command
I set my glass down on the polished wood. The sharp clink sounded like a gavel falling in a courtroom.
"Sergeant Major," I said quietly.
"Ma'am!" Vance snapped back instantly, his hand dropping to his side in a reflex as old as his service ribbons.
"Is this how the regiment welcomes new leadership? By playing musical chairs with strangers and offering unsolicited culinary advice?"
Vance’s face flushed a dark, furious crimson. He turned back to Miller and the younger accomplice, whose boots were now glued to the floor by pure terror. "You two. Outside. Now."
"Colonel, we didn't know—we thought she was just—" Miller stammered, his bravado entirely evaporated, leaving behind a pathetic, sweating boy in a flannel shirt.
"You thought wrong," I cut in, sliding off the remaining stool—which Vance had already kicked back into place for me—and standing to my full height. At five-foot-eight, I wasn't the tallest person in the room, but twenty years of armor command gave you a gravitational pull that made height irrelevant. "That’s the primary hazard of making assumptions in my command. It tends to end careers."
The entire room was watching us now. Thirty pairs of eyes—hardened, skeptical, and suddenly hyper-attentive—were locked onto my face. They were looking for weaknesses. They were wondering if the Pentagon had sent down some desk-jockey paper-pusher with a shiny pin and zero dirt on her boots to run one of the toughest combat units in the country.
"Listen up," I said, projecting my voice just enough to fill the low-ceilinged room without raising it an octave. "I didn't drive four hours through a coastal storm to spend my first night playing disciplinary counselor to a couple of undisciplined scouts who can't tell the difference between a civilian and their commanding officer."
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Vance puffed out his chest, ready to drop the hammer, but I raised a single finger to stop him.
"Let them stay," I added, looking straight at Miller, who looked like he was about to vomit his IPA. "Let them finish their drinks. They’re going to need the liquid courage for what’s on the briefing agenda at 0500 hours tomorrow."
