Chapter 4 - The Pressure Builds
By 1145, Derek Stone felt as though he had been dragged through twenty miles of low-crawl trenches under live fire.
The review panel had not yelled. They had not insulted him. They had done something far more destructive: they had dismantled him with calm, clinical precision. Sarah Collins had not asked a single question about tactical maneuvers or textbook combat doctrine—areas Derek had memorized to perfection.
Instead, she had questioned his maintenance log discrepancies. She had asked why Alpha Company had three non-commissioned officers request transfers to other battalions within a ninety-day window. She had asked how he handled disagreements with civilian logistics contractors. She had quoted specific lines from an anonymous climate complaint filed six months ago that Derek had believed was buried in Colonel Vance’s personal drawer.
When Hale finally declared a two-hour recess for lunch, Derek barely managed to salute before retreating through the heavy door.
He didn't walk to the dining facility. He walked directly to the administrative wing of the 2nd Battalion headquarters, his polished boots striking the linoleum floor with violent, hurried thuds.
He shoved open the door to his office, slammed it behind him, and ripped his garrison cap from his head, throwing it across his desk. It knocked over a brass pen set, sending it clattering against the floorboards.
“Son of a bitch!” Derek hissed, driving his knuckles into the edge of his desk.
His phone buzzed on the blotter. He grabbed it. It was a text from First Lieutenant Owen Parker: *How’d it go? Dinner tonight at the club?*
Derek dialed Parker’s number immediately. Parker answered on the second ring.
“Derek, man, how’d the panel go? Did you blow them away?”
“Shut up, Owen,” Derek snarled, keeping his voice down to a harsh whisper. “Where are you?”
“Motor pool. With Reed. What’s going on?”
“Get over here right now. Both of you. The side entrance. Do not let anyone see you looking nervous.”
Ten minutes later, the door to Derek’s office clicked open. Lieutenant Parker walked in, carrying his usual cocky posture, though his eyes were darting around the hallway. Lieutenant Mason Reed followed him, looking pale, his cap clenched tightly in both hands.
“Lock the door,” Derek ordered.
Reed turned and threw the deadbolt.
“What happened, Derek?” Parker asked, leaning against the filing cabinet. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“That woman in the dining facility,” Derek said, his chest heaving as he paced behind his desk. “The one sitting at the command table.”
Parker chuckled nervously. “What about her? Did she try to complain to the staff duty sergeant?”
“She’s the lead assessor from the Regional Assessment Cell,” Derek spat.
The silence that hit the room was total. Parker’s grin vanished instantly, his jaw slacking.
Reed took half a step backward, his face losing whatever color remained. “You’re... you’re kidding. Derek, please tell me you’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Derek snapped, pointing a trembling finger at Reed. “She was sitting right in the center of the board. Next to Hale. She had my entire personnel jacket spread out in front of her. She’s not just an assessor—she’s the lead evaluator on my promotion track.”
“Oh, God,” Reed whispered, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, God, I laughed. I was standing right behind you and I laughed. We’re dead. We’re completely dead.”
“Shut up, Mason!” Parker hissed, though his own voice had lost all its bravado. “Derek, did she... did she bring up the water?”
“Of course she brought up the water!” Derek shouted, then immediately caught himself, glancing at the thin drywall separating his office from the battalion executive officer’s space. “She recorded it. It’s on the official board transcript. Hale backed her into the corner and threatened to reassign me to laundry duty if I didn't cooperate.”
“What did you tell them?” Parker asked frantically.
“I told them it was an accident,” Derek said, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “I told them the cup was knocked over during a conversation about garrison traditions.”
Reed looked up, his eyes wide with terror. “An accident? Derek, you picked the cup up off the table, leaned over her, and poured it down her shirt! Maria Alvarez was standing ten feet away watching the whole thing! Corporal Bell from the motor pool was sitting right at the next table!”
Derek lunged across the desk, grabbing the front of Reed’s blouse and hauling the younger lieutenant forward until their faces were inches apart.
“You listen to me, Mason,” Derek whispered, his voice trembling with coiled malice. “You listen to me very carefully. If the board comes asking you questions—and they will—you tell them the table was jostled. You tell them I gestured with my hand, caught the lip of the cup, and it spilled. You say it was an unfortunate accident, and that I apologized immediately. Do you hear me?”
“Derek, that’s lying on an official inquiry,” Reed whimpered, his voice cracking. “That’s Article 107. That’s a career-ender!”
“Your career is already over if they decide I’m guilty of assault!” Derek snarled, shoving Reed back against the wall. “Because if I go down, I am taking both of you with me. Who do you think signed off on those missing night-vision goggles last month, Owen? Who signed the maintenance bypasses for your platoon, Mason? I did. You stand with me on this, or we all burn together.”
Parker swallowed hard, his throat clicking. “What about Maria? And Bell?”
Derek straightened his uniform, pulling his lapels flat. His expression hardened into something cold, calculating, and desperate.
May you like
“Maria is a civilian contractor. Her company’s contract is up for renewal with the garrison commander next quarter. Colonel Vance is my father’s former executive officer. She won't say a damn word if she values her job. And Bell...” Derek grabbed his garrison cap from the desk. “Bell works for me. I’m going to go have a word with Corporal Bell right now.”
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