Chapter 31: The Paper Trail

The peace of the base was shattered forty-eight hours later by the rhythmic thrum of a Black Hawk. It wasn’t a resupply bird, and it wasn’t a MEDEVAC. It was the "Gray Ghost"—the personal transport of Major Sterling.

I was sitting outside the motor pool, cleaning the grit out of my radio’s battery housing, when I saw him step off the ramp. He looked pristine, his uniform pressed in a way that seemed impossible in the Afghan dust. He didn't look like a man coming to offer praise for the HVT mission. He looked like a man coming to clean house.

"Ramírez," Viper said, appearing beside me. His face was a mask of grim concern. "Get to the TOC. Now. Don’t wait for an invite."

I didn't ask questions. I dropped my tools and hurried toward the command shack. As I approached the plywood door, I heard Sterling’s voice, sharp and unforgiving.

"It’s not a request, Charles. It’s an order. The paperwork is already filed through Bagram. Specialist Ramírez is being reassigned to the 101st Support Group, effective immediately. Her gear needs to be on the next bird out."

"On what grounds?" James’s voice was low, vibrating with a rage he was barely keeping in check.

"On the grounds that this unit has become a circus!" Sterling barked. "I’ve heard about the letter. I’ve heard about the 'incident' on the ridge. You’re compromised, James. You’re prioritizing one soldier over the cohesion of your entire command. If I leave her here, she’s a target for the men and a distraction for you. She’s gone."

I stood frozen outside the door, the river stone in my pocket feeling like a block of ice.