《Warlords ledger》


 Before the bullet

    "This is not good... this is not good!" The panicked words came from a private, fresh out of SF school, his voice trembling with despair. "No one''s responding to our radio calls! LT, what the fuck do we do now?!" a corporal bellowed, his voice straining to rise above the relentless hammering of gunfire raining down on their position. "Op is compromised¡ªswitch to the main channel and send mayday. I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anyone else left on the shadow channel," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the chaos.


    "They knew we were coming¡­ How the hell did they know we were coming?" the first sergeant growled, a mix of anger and despair in his voice. I was asking myself the same question. This was an off-the-books operation, deep in hostile territory. Legally, we weren¡¯t even supposed to be here. No one outside a handful of senior officers and the men on this mission should have known about it. So, who the hell leaked the intel? "The fuck... LT, I can''t get on the main," the first sergeant said, his voice tense. Blood rushed from my face. "What the hell do you mean you can''t get on the main channel?" I snapped. "The bloody radio¡ªit''s busted! I can''t switch frequencies!" My stomach twisted into a knot. We were completely cut off.


    "GRENADE!!"


    Somebody screamed the warning as a 40-mike-mike from a launcher arced into our position. The moment stretched, a split-second of terrible clarity. We ran. The explosion ripped through the air before most of us could take cover. It wasn''t a standard HE round¡ªit hit harder, felt sharper, something different. One of those prototype rounds. One of the many reasons we were in this shitshow to begin with.


    I tried to move, but something was wrong. I couldn¡¯t feel my left arm. Or my leg.


    Gone.


    I was on the ground. Smoke. Screams. Blood. Last seven men standing from my team of twenty-five. Or was it twenty to begin with? I couldn''t even remember anymore. What I did remember was the bodies. The ones it killed instantly. The ones still screaming. Two of my men were still on their feet, trying to fight back, but we were overrun. I saw it happen. The private¡ªthe new kid¡ªhis face disappeared in a burst of red as a rifle round punched through his skull. The corporal went down screaming, his body convulsing under a storm of automatic fire. There was nothing left but death.


    Then I heard them. "Is it all of them?" Someone asked in a foreign accent. "Let me check first." A voice I knew. One that sent ice down my spine. Footsteps crunched toward me. I could still hear the occasional shots being fired. Finishing off the wounded. Someone stood over me. I couldn¡¯t make out his face, then he squatted down, and I saw him clearly. The brigadier, he smirked. "You¡¯re one persistent fucking cockroach, aren¡¯t you, Lieutenant?" He raised his pistol and pressed it to my forehead. "So long, Lieutenant." I exhaled, accepting it. Damn¡­. I brought this on myself.


    Since the day I joined the army, I¡¯d been a pain in the ass for my senior officers. Always butting heads with them, calling them out for being incompetent pieces of shit. I wouldn¡¯t say I was the best officer. The best leader. But I was respected by the enlisted men under my command. I stood up for them. And because of that, I was never liked among my peers. They made sure I would never get promoted. It was a miracle I even made it to Second Lieutenant. I believed if you did the right thing, no matter how bad the situation, it would work out in the end.


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    Man¡­ how stupid I was.


    They transferred me from one unit to another. From one base to another. Always the worst assignments. I went through recon school. Then SF school. Earned my badge. At least that went well. And then, somewhere along the way, I met a girl. Was it a club? A bar? I couldn''t even remember anymore. What I do remember is that we drank, had fun, went back to her place. Then there were more dates. A lot more. Eventually, I proposed. We got married. And just like that, she became part of my idealistic, fucked-up life. Every time I got transferred, she begged me. "Please¡­ don¡¯t do something stupid. Don¡¯t make enemies with your CO. Even if he¡¯s the most incompetent motherfucker you¡¯ve ever met¡ªjust let it go." But I never listened. I always ignored her. I kept fighting battles I couldn¡¯t win. Kept screwing up both of our lives at the same time. "Honey, please¡­ I can¡¯t keep living like this. Our lives aren¡¯t supposed to be this way¡­ please." She begged me. Every damn time. And every damn time, I ignored her. Because ¡®a man should be true to his ideals¡¯ How stupid can one man be.


    First, I was deployed to a non-hostile base near a city, where families were allowed. We were close, Argued sometimes. But it was okay. Then came a shit base in the middle of nowhere. Our arguments turned into fights. Then I was deployed to hostile territory. No leave for months, sometimes almost a year. Somewhere along the way, we started growing apart. A part of me knew our marriage was over. But I denied it. Until one day, I got unexpected leave. I wanted to surprise her. Walked into our house. Saw her kissing another man.


    I lost it.


    She tried to calm me down, but it was too late. I don¡¯t even remember how many times I hit him. But the aftermath?


    Dislocated jaw, Fractured skull, and Shattered ribs.


    Not something I¡¯m proud of. One ugly fucking divorce.


    After ruining my marriage and barely dodging criminal charges, I threw myself into my work¡ªbecause the only other option was drinking myself into oblivion. Day in, day out, it was the same routine: work, barracks, repeat. No purpose, no direction¡ªjust grinding through each day, too numb to care. I thought I had hit rock bottom. But I was too blind to see that my worst mistake was still ahead of me¡ªone I had walked straight into, all on my own.


    One day, I had nothing to do, and the boredom was eating me alive. So I decided to hit the range. I headed to the armory, where a lone quartermaster was on duty. He snapped to attention as I entered. I waved him at ease and asked for a DMR. He nodded and disappeared into the back to retrieve it. As I waited, my eyes drifted across the room and landed on a fresh shipment of gear.


    That¡¯s when I saw them¡ªthe new prototype rifles. Sleek, futuristic-looking, designed to fire some cutting-edge sci-fi ammunition. Part of a classified project aimed at revolutionizing infantry combat. I never understood the exact science behind it, but what I did know was this: greater range, devastating stopping power, lighter, sturdier platforms¡ªhell, even the recoil was somehow absorbed on its own. And it wasn¡¯t just rifles. The shipment included mortars, LMGs, HMGs, grenades, even new body armor. All of it distributed to SF regiments for field testing.


    Then I noticed the manifest lying on the table. Just out of curiosity, I picked it up. Wanted to see what else they had sent us.


    That single moment¡ªone casual decision¡ªwould turn out to be the worst mistake of my life.


    ¡°The fuck?¡± I muttered, frowning as I scanned the manifest again. The numbers didn¡¯t add up. The rifles in the crates were fewer than listed. The ammo count was off too¡ªseveral boxes missing. That¡¯s when the quartermaster returned, rifle in hand. "Here¡¯s your rifle, Lieutenant. How much ammo do you need?" he asked. I ignored his question. "Where¡¯s the rest of the rifles and ammunition?" "Sorry?" His voice wavered. Something was off. I met his eyes, my tone turning sharp. "The prototype rifles and ammunition¡ªwhere are they?". Something wasn¡¯t right. And for the first time in a long time, I had a very bad feeling.

 Before the Bullet - Part 2

    "Where is the rest of it?" I asked, my tone sharp.


    The quartermaster hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering he placed the gun on the counter and took the clipboard from my hands. "Some soldiers were ordered to test them. We¡¯ve already issued the rifles and munitions," he said. I wasn¡¯t convinced. Not one bit. "Show me the entry register," I ordered. His expression barely changed, but there was something in his stance¡ªa stiffness¡ªthat told me he was hiding something. "Only the colonel has permission to issue those rifles. I get orders directly from his office, and I record them in a separate register¡­ which I can¡¯t show you."


    A lie.


    It wasn¡¯t the words that gave it away¡ªit was the way he said it. The slight shift in his voice, the way his fingers tightened around the clipboard he was holding. He knew I didn¡¯t have clearance for that register. Only the colonel or someone with written authorization could access it.


    And I had a feeling I¡¯d never get that permission.


    But if what I suspected was happening here was true, there was still a way to prove it.


    "Show me the inventory catalogue."


    His face went pale.


    "Sir, you¡¯re in violation of protocol. You had no clearance to see the cargo manifest¡ªyou could be arrested on charges of espionage." He was trying to bluff. But I knew better. Every commissioned officer had the right to access the inventory catalogue. And no warrant officer¡ªnot even a quartermaster¡ªcould deny that.


    I took a step closer, lowering my voice to a calm, almost casual tone.


    "Quartermaster, you have two options. Either you show me the inventory catalogue, or I break your legs, read the catalogue myself, and then drag you to the MPs. Choice is yours."


    His breath hitched. His hands trembled.


    And then¡ª


    "Sir¡­ please¡­ I didn¡¯t want to do it."


    He broke.


    I grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the ground. He crashed into a stack of crates, the dull clang of empty magazines rattling across the floor. "Where are they?" My voice was sharp, seething¡ªbarely contained rage spilling through every word.


    "I don¡¯t know¡ªI swear, I don¡¯t know!" He gasped, panic choking his voice. I wasn¡¯t satisfied. I yanked him back up, forcing him to meet my eyes. His hands trembled, his breath shallow. He kept insisting¡ªhe didn¡¯t know where the rest of the shipment had gone. "I was only told to log what arrived," he stammered. "To look the other way. They¡­ they said they¡¯d pay me for it." I clenched my jaw. Bribery. Of course. But then his voice dropped lower¡ªbarely a whisper. "I told them no. That I would report it." He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the door like someone might be listening. "That¡¯s when they showed me the pictures." A shiver ran through his body. "Pictures of my family. My wife. My kids. My son leaving preschool. They said¡­" he choked, his voice breaking. "They said if I didn¡¯t do what they ordered, they¡¯d kill them. Make it slow. Horrible. And then they¡¯d pin everything on me." I let go of him after his answer. This wasn¡¯t just theft. It was blackmail. Threats. A level of corruption far worse than I expected. And I had just stepped right into it.


    "Who told you to do it?" I asked, my voice low, controlled¡ªbut carrying an unmistakable edge.


    His face twisted in fear. "You don¡¯t want to get involved in this," he muttered, almost pleading.


    I exhaled sharply. "Listen to me. You have two choices." I stepped closer, towering over him. "Tell me now, and I might be able to get you out of this quietly. Or I drag you to the MPs and let them tear through every log, every shipment, every damn transaction you¡¯ve ever touched." His breathing was ragged, his eyes darting like a trapped animal.


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    For a moment, I thought he¡¯d keep resisting. But then¡ª"The colonel," he finally admitted. "And¡­ some others. I don¡¯t know who, but I could tell they were military."


    I felt my pulse slow. The colonel. I had my answer. But it only led to bigger questions.


    "What about the cargo manifest?" I asked. "If this discrepancy gets reported¡ªanonymously or not¡ªit would trigger a full-on investigation."


    The quartermaster hesitated. "The manifest is only verified by a National Security Council (NSC) officer at the manufacturing facility. After that, it gets confirmed by the Chief Warrant Officer of Logistics in the presence of the regiment commander, then by me. No one else has clearance to review it."


    So that meant any official audit would have to pass through them.


    "But¡­" he hesitated, lowering his voice. "To be safe, they told me to bring the cargo manifest to them, tonight." That gave me an idea I stepped back. "Clean this up. If anyone asks, you slipped on cleaning liquid. Do what they told you, and this conversation never happened." He nodded quickly, wiping the sweat from his brow. As I walked out of the armory, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. A friend in CID¡ªa major I trained with at the officer¡¯s academy. The line clicked. Before he could speak, I cut in. "I don¡¯t care how, but find a reason¡ªor make one¡ªto be on my base tonight."


    "You threw him to the ground?" The major shot me a look, half amused, half exasperated, as we sat in his car a safe distance from the armory. Outside, we waited for the quartermaster to make his move. "Don¡¯t you have CCTV in there?" he asked. "What if someone on watch duty saw and reported it?" I smirked, leaning back in my seat. "Be honest¡ªwhen we were fresh out of the academy, did we ever keep our eyes on the screens during watch duty? "He snorted. "Fair point."


    How the hell are you going to get away with this?" the major asked, his voice edged with skepticism. "You got this intel from classified documents you had no clearance to access." I shrugged. "It was a coincidence. The manifest was just lying on top of his desk, and the weapon crates were right there. It¡¯s not like I broke into anything. It was just¡­ there." He gave me a deadpan look. "You know you¡¯re still getting reprimanded for this, right?" I let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah? Like I have an illustrious career to protect." he major exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Maybe you don¡¯t see it, but soldiers talk." I raised a brow. "And?" "I¡¯ve heard about the missions you¡¯ve been on," he continued, his tone more serious. "You¡¯re one of the best military leaders of our generation. And as someone who trained alongside you, I know for a fact that none of us can hold a candle to you."


    His eyes met mine. "Whether as a soldier or a leader¡ªwe¡¯re no match for you."


    They didn¡¯t send me on those missions because I volunteered. They were suicide runs. Death sentences wrapped in orders, a convenient way to get rid of me. But I pulled through. Me and my men. Every damn time. And when that didn¡¯t kill me¡ªwhen it made me a hero instead¡ªthey buried me in desk duty. The major¡¯s words lingered in my mind. Was it all worth it? I never got promoted. My wife cheated on me. And now, here I was, chasing ghosts in the dark. I pushed the thoughts away. No point dwelling on the past.


    Instead, I smirked. "Keep praising me like that, and I¡¯ll kiss you." The major groaned. "Come on, man, I¡¯m serious." "I¡¯ll use my tongue if you want." "Fuck you, you disgusting shitbag," he muttered, laughing. Then I saw it¡ªthe quartermaster¡¯s car pulling out of the armory. The humor disappeared. "Start the car. We¡¯re live."


    We followed him for quite a while¡ªout of the base and into town. Eventually, he pulled up outside a small bar, its neon sign flickering dimly in the night. He stepped out of his car and went inside. We parked in the lot of a convenience store across the street. "Go grab some snacks," I told the major. He frowned. "Why?" "Just do it." Grumbling, he went inside. A few minutes later, he came back with a bag of chips and an energy drink. "Alright, happy now? Where''s our guy?" I took a sip of my coffee, eyes still on the bar. "Gone. Left a while ago." His head snapped toward me. "What the fuck?! And you didn¡¯t think to call me?!" His voice was a mix of shock and frustration. I waved him off. "Relax. The exchange already happened." "The fuck do you mean?" he asked, eyes narrowing. I smirked. "I did my homework." He crossed his arms, waiting. "First, our quartermaster always drinks at the pub near base. Not here. Second, he wasn¡¯t in there long enough for a drink. No way he stopped here for a casual pint." The major exhaled, running a hand down his face. "Alright, genius, so what now?" I raised my binoculars and scanned the people leaving the bar "We look for someone who didn¡¯t even touch a glass of water in there." A few minutes passed. Then,


    "Bingo," I muttered as two men stepped out. Jeans, t-shirts, completely sober. No hesitation in their movements¡ªjust a quiet urgency. They slid into a beat-up sedan and pulled away from the curb. "That¡¯s our guys," I said, lowering my binoculars. The major clicked his tongue. "Great. Because tailing people in the dead of night never ends badly.¡± I gave him a grin. "Relax. What¡¯s the worst that could happen?" He sighed, shaking his head as he started the car. "You just had to say it, didn¡¯t you?"


    He started the car and we followed.

 Before the bullet - part 3

    We¡¯re en route to the industrial district," the major said into his phone, speaking to someone from his unit. I couldn¡¯t hear the other side of the conversation, but after a brief pause, he responded, "Detain him. Take him to the station and wait for us." Then he hung up. He glanced at me. "One thing I don¡¯t get¡ªwhy the hell did you send me for coffee and snacks back there?" I smirked, eyes still on the road. "Because I figured someone was on overwatch outside the bar. Keeping an eye out, making sure no one tailed the quartermaster." The major frowned. "And?" "And I needed us to look like two guys making a late-night stop, not an op in progress." His expression shifted slightly¡ªrealization. "Sneaky bastard," he muttered, shaking his head.


    After a while, we reached the industrial district, still tailing our perpetrator. The place was eerie as hell at night¡ªdark, empty, and lifeless, the kind of place where bad things happened in the shadows.


    "Smart choice on their part, I¡¯d say," the major remarked. "No shit, Sherlock," I muttered. "God knows what else goes on here after dark¡­ or what¡¯s going on right now besides this." He chuckled. "Yeah, that¡ª and the fact that with every kind of factory here, they have access to every kind of chemical. If they¡¯ve got someone who knows what they¡¯re doing¡­ well, let¡¯s just say they have at least a thousand and one ways to alter those documents." I frowned. "Huh?" I tried to mask my uneasiness. Ahead, the sedan turned into a warehouse lot. The major didn¡¯t follow directly. Instead, he took a turn one block before the warehouse, circling around to the opposite side. "Better not make it obvious we¡¯re tailing them." He pulled up at the corner, parking just out of sight. The headlights had already been killed long before we stopped.


    He grabbed his laptop from the bag on the back seat, powered it on, and typed in the address. "Let¡¯s see¡­ constructed by some logistics company¡­ something-something happened¡­ company went bankrupt seven years ago¡­ lawsuit followed¡­ bank seized it almost a year ago, and then it was sold¡­" He paused, frowning. "To a 104-year-old lady¡­ two months ago!?" His expression twisted in surprise and confusion. "Well, that¡¯s not suspicious at all.¡±


    I scanned the outside of the building for surveillance devices. "So, some fragile hundred-year-old relic sitting in a hospice is the mastermind behind the greatest military sabotage in history?" I muttered, making a poor attempt at comedy. "You¡¯re not entirely wrong about the hospice part," the major said, turning his laptop toward me. "Her last known whereabouts were at a retirement home on some tropical island¡­ five years ago." I frowned, staring at the screen. Something about her name tugged at my memory. Then I saw her last name¡ªand it hit me. "That¡¯s the colonel¡¯s grandma!" I blurted. "She died five years ago." The major¡¯s head snapped up before he quickly turned the laptop back toward himself, fingers flying across the keyboard. A moment later, his expression hardened. "You¡¯re right," he muttered. "Here¡¯s her obituary. She was cremated. But¡­" His voice trailed off. I leaned closer. "But what?" He exhaled sharply. "Nobody ever filed for her death certificate here. On paper, in this country¡­ she¡¯s still alive.¡±


    "So, the colonel is keeping his dead grandma alive on paper to run this racket and cash her social security checks?" I said, amusement creeping into my voice. "That¡¯s what it looks like," the major replied. "We can book him for this, right?" He shook his head. "Using a dead person¡¯s name to buy property is a civil matter. We have no jurisdiction." "But if we go in there and bust them with classified documents, then it becomes a military matter, right?" The major exhaled. "Yeah. But what proof do we have that those papers are even in there? There¡¯s a good chance you just made us follow some random guys." Before I could respond, the low rumble of a motorcycle made us both turn. A bike pulled up behind us, and a woman dismounted, walking straight to our car. She knocked on the window. The major unlocked the door, and she slid into the backseat. She was a sergeant major from his investigative unit. "What¡¯s the situation, Major?" she asked. "Two targets inside the warehouse. No probable cause to go in," the major replied. I turned to her. "Did you get the quartermaster?" "Yes, sir." I pulled out my phone, flipping through the pictures I had taken when the suspects got into the car earlier. Handing it to her, I said, "Send this to someone at the station. Have them ask the quartermaster if he recognizes either of these two. Tell them LT is asking." She nodded and made the call. A few moments later, she spoke up. "He said these are the guys who threatened him." A slow grin spread across my face. "Got them."


    "There¡¯s one problem," I said. "They¡¯ve got cameras watching every approach." "Can I see, sir?" she asked. I handed her my binoculars. After a quick scan, she lowered them. "It¡¯s one of those wireless home security systems. Should be easy." "Easy?" the major asked, frowning. She held out her hand. "Can I have your laptop, sir?" The major shot me a confused look but handed it over. She started typing rapidly, explaining as she worked. "Civilians don¡¯t know this, but the government can access their devices at any time. Companies are legally required to provide access. Sure, local police need a warrant. But if it¡¯s a matter of national security, federal counterintelligence agencies can access these feeds without permission. No paperwork, no trail. And as a senior officer in Military Police CID, you¡ªMajor¡ªalready have the clearance." The major blinked. "I do?" I sighed, shaking my head. "Dude, how many dicks did you have to suck to make major?" The sergeant major squinted hard, trying not to laugh at her CO. "Shut the fuck up, man," the major shot back. "I never handled this kind of shit. And I was barely awake during those briefings¡ªyou can¡¯t blame me, they were boring as hell ."The sergeant major held out the laptop. "Sir, your clearance code?" He grumbled but typed it in. She hit a few more keys, her eyes locked on the screen. "Recording¡­ aaaaand¡­ looping. Bingo. They won¡¯t see us coming."


    "Alright then, let¡¯s get to it," I said, pushing open the car door. "Wait," the major cut in. "We should hold off for backup. We don¡¯t know what kind of firepower they have." I smirked. "I came prepared." His expression shifted from concern to suspicion. "What was in that duffle bag?" "What duffle bag?" the sergeant major asked, frowning. I walked around to the trunk, popped it open, and pulled out a heavy, oversized duffle bag. Unzipping it, I revealed the contents just as they stepped out of the car. The major stared. "Please tell me you have clearance to take this off base." I chuckled. "Heh, no. Matter of fact¡­ I haven¡¯t even had it issued to me." The major closed his eyes, tilted his head toward the sky, and let out a long, exhausted sigh.


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    Within minutes, we were stacked up at the warehouse''s back door.


    The major and I were fully kitted out¡ªbody armor, helmets with night vision and recording cameras, short-range radios, compact automatic rifles, and non-lethal grenades. The sergeant major, on the other hand, carried only her duty pistol. She pulled out her lockpicking kit and silently worked on the door. A click. It swung open. The entrance was empty¡ªjust rows of dusty old shipping containers, probably left behind when the bank seized the property. Against the far wall, an elevated office sat on scaffolding, with a metal staircase leading up to it. Further inside, a single overhead light illuminated a section of the warehouse floor.


    I signaled them. "You two take the ground level. I¡¯ll clear the office. Wait for my signal." They nodded. We moved. I crept up the stairs, rifle raised, and positioned myself at the office door. A whisper into my radio: "In position. On standby." The major¡¯s voice crackled back. "In position. Standing by." "On three. One. Two. Three." I kicked the door in. Inside, a single guy sat in front of security monitors, watching the feeds. "HANDS IN THE AIR! HANDS IN THE AIR!" I barked, my rifle trained on him. In the distance, I heard the major shouting orders¡ªthey had found more targets. My guy was sloppy. His handgun sat on the desk¡ªout of reach on the far side of the room. "Turn around. Walk toward my voice. And don¡¯t even think about reaching for that gun." He hesitated, then complied. Two steps forward. "Stop." "Get on the ground. Hands spread wide." He obeyed. Keeping my pistol trained on him, I swung my rifle to my back, secured by its sling, then quickly frisked and zip-tied him. From the office window, I could see the rest of the warehouse¡ªand where the others were. I hauled him up and escorted him down the stairs. The major had three more suspects facedown on the floor, their hands restrained. I shoved my guy down beside them. "Well, would you look at that," I muttered. "They¡¯ve got a full-blown chemistry lab down here." "Where are the guns?" the sergeant major demanded.


    Silence.


    I handed her my rifle. "If any of them move, shoot." Then I turned to the major. "How far out is backup?" "Any minute now." "Let¡¯s check the containers." We pried them open. Empty. Every single one. Then¡ªthe deep rumble of rotor blades. A helicopter team arrived, securing the site. Minutes later, army trucks rolled in, carrying more investigators and forensic teams. The detainees were loaded up and hauled off. The major stayed behind to coordinate the forensics. I stuck around, watching as the team scoured the warehouse for evidence. Half an hour later, the major walked up. "Let¡¯s go." We climbed into his car and pulled away¡ªheaded for his station.


    On the drive back, the major and I discussed the quartermaster''s situation¡ªwhether we could cut him a deal and flip him as a witness. We went over every angle until we pulled up to the station. Just as we were about to enter, I asked, "Did you get the colonel?" The major smirked. "Way ahead of you. The sergeant major had him arrested before we even hit the warehouse." We walked straight to the interrogation room where they were holding the quartermaster. His eyes snapped to me the moment we stepped inside. "You said you¡¯d get me out of this mess." I pulled out a chair, sat down beside him, and met his gaze. "And I intend to keep my word." I gestured toward the major. "We¡¯ve been discussing your situation all the way here. We¡¯re willing to cut you a deal. Become a witness in this case. Tell us everything. You and your family will be placed in witness protection¡ªno one will touch them." The quartermaster listened intently, but I could see the tension in his hands. "But," I continued, "you¡¯re still losing your job. That¡¯s not negotiable. Or¡­" I let the word hang in the air for a second. "You can refuse to cooperate. If that happens, you¡¯ll be charged as an accomplice and court-martialed alongside the colonel. And if, God forbid, they¡¯re found innocent¡­" I leaned in slightly. "You know what happens next." He looked down, deep in thought. A long silence stretched between us. Then he raised his head, locking eyes with me. "I¡¯ll do whatever you need. Just protect my family." A slow nod. "Good. Someone will be in shortly to record your statement." I stood up and left the room.


    As we stepped into the hallway, a 1st lieutenant walked up and handed the major a report on the raid. The major flipped through it, nodded, and dismissed him. I folded my arms. "Do we have IDs on our arrests?" He skimmed the pages and whistled. "Ex-military. Dishonorable discharges. Assaulted a CO. Forged documents. Attempted rape of a female enlisted. Theft of government property. Et cetera, et cetera." I exhaled sharply. "Holy shit. That¡¯s serious." The major nodded. "And this is just the beginning. We still need to track down those missing weapons. God knows what else is waiting for us." He motioned for a first sergeant to approach. "Sergeant, take the lieutenant¡¯s statement and get it signed." Then he turned to me. "Once that¡¯s done, you¡¯re free to go." With that, he walked off. I followed the sergeant, gave my official statement, then headed to the armory to return all the gear I had "borrowed" earlier. Finally, I made my way back to my barracks¡ªexhausted but far from done.


    I woke up in the morning, went through formation, then headed to my desk job, expecting MPs to come knocking any minute. But¡­ nothing happened. No reprimand. No questioning. No fallout. My company commander didn¡¯t say a word about the gear I had "borrowed." Something was off. A nagging unease crept in as I made my way to HQ. The first thing I noticed was the colonel¡¯s car parked outside. I took a few steps back and looked up at his second-floor office window. There he was. Sitting at his desk.


    Alive. Untouched. Unbothered.


    Fury surged through me. I turned on my heel, stormed to my car, and drove straight to the MP station. I barreled into the major¡¯s office, slamming the door behind me. "What the hell is going on?! Why is the colonel still free?" I shouted. The major raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Lieutenant, listen¡ª" Before he could finish, the door swung open. Two people walked in. I turned to look at them. One was a brigadier. The other¡ªan older woman in plain clothes. The major and I immediately snapped to attention. The brigadier waved us off. "At ease." The major cleared his throat. "Lieutenant, meet the Chief of Military Intelligence." He gestured toward the officer. Then he motioned to the woman. "And this is the NSC¡¯s Operations In-Charge." The brigadier stepped forward, extending his hand. "We¡¯ve been waiting to talk to you, Lieutenant."