Chapter 15 - The General’s Stand
Captain Miller opened the heavy steel service door a fraction of an inch, peering into the rain-slicked darkness of the inner courtyard. The storm that had been brewing over the Potomac all evening had finally broken, washing over the asphalt in violent, sweeping curtains of gray water. The red collision lights of the control tower blinked weakly through the downpour, cut off from the main grid, running on limited battery reserves.
"Clear," Miller signaled.
We moved as a tactical trio—Miller leading, Daniel stumbling between us like a prisoner of war, and myself covering the rear. We slipped beneath the shadow of the covered walkway connecting the officers' mess to the base transport pool. The entire installation was locked down; floodlights were dead, and the only movement came from two patrol humvees creeping slowly across the distant perimeter fence, their headlights dimmed to tactical black-out slits.
"The motor pool is five hundred yards west," Miller murmured, her voice steady despite the torrential rain soaking through our wool dress jackets. "If we can reach one of the staff sedans, we can cut through the engineer's gate."
"No," I said, catching her shoulder. "Look at the airfield road."
Through the storm, three black government Suburbans were moving with purposeful speed away from the headquarters building, their heavy tires kicking up rooster tails of white spray. They weren't heading toward the main gates. They were heading directly toward Hangar 14—the decommissioned testing hangar situated at the far edge of the restricted proving grounds.
Beside the road, abandoned in the grass near the motor pool perimeter, sat an open-topped military police vehicle, its hazard lights blinking erratically. Slumped against the steering wheel was an MP corporal, unconscious, a dark pool of blood washing off his forehead in the rain.
I vaulted the low chain-link fence, Miller right behind me, dragging Daniel along. I reached the vehicle, checking the corporal's pulse. It was thready but strong; he had been struck with a blunt object, not shot. His radio had been systematically ripped from the dashboard, the wires dangling loose like severed nerves.
"Colonel!" Miller called out, gesturing toward the back of the maintenance shed twenty yards away.
Sitting in the shadow of the shed, soaked to the bone, was General Hayes.
His dress uniform was covered in mud, the three silver stars on his shoulders gleaming faintly under the distant tower beacon. Two young aides sat beside him, their hands bound with heavy plastic zip-ties, while Hayes held a field bandage against a bleeding gash on his temple. Despite the blood and the rain, his posture was as rigid as iron.
"Marcus," Hayes growled, his voice a low rumble like rolling thunder. "Took you long enough to get down here."
"General," I said, dropping to one knee beside him. "Who hit you?"
"Vance's private dogs," Hayes spat, coughing slightly. "They presented an executive detention order with a forged White House seal. My security detail tried to verify it with the Pentagon command center, but Vance’s men jammed local comms, drew down on us in the staff parking lot, and disarmed my security. The Deputy Undersecretary is currently offloading the final manifests from the central server into a mobile terminal at Hangar 14."
Hayes’s eyes shifted, locking onto Daniel, who was trembling violently in the downpour.
May you like
"Captain Carter," the General said, the sheer weight of his voice cutting through the howl of the storm. "I trusted your father. I gave you every opportunity to prove yourself worthy of his name. And you turned this command into a clearing house for treason."
Daniel looked down at his muddy shoes, unable to speak, weeping silently into the rain.
