Chapter 6 - The Trap Closes
The parade deck seemed to tilt beneath Brock Sullivan’s feet.
The heat drained from his face, leaving behind a sickly, grayish pallor. The confidence, the swagger, the unyielding arrogance that had defined his twelve-year command crumbled like wet chalk.
"General..." Brock whispered, his knees trembling slightly. "I... I did not know. The insignia—the uniform—"
"You thought I was weak," I interrupted.
I took a step toward him. He instinctively wanted to back away, but the reviewing stand stairs trapped him. For the first time, he looked into my eyes not as a man looking at a nuisance, but as a condemned man looking at the executioner.
"You thought that because I wore the bars of a Captain, you had the right to treat me like an object to be dismissed," I said, my voice cutting through the stillness. "You believed that because you had a Trident pinned to your chest, the Uniform Code of Military Justice ceased to exist at the perimeter of this grinder."
"General Hayes, please," Brock choked out, raising his hands in a frantic, placating gesture. "It was an operational misunderstanding! We are under heightened alert! I perceived a security breach—"
"A security breach?" I reached into my inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small black remote control.
I pressed the single button on its surface.
High above the parade field, mounted to the light towers surrounding the grounds, four high-definition multi-spectral lenses whirred and rotated, pointing directly down at the podium.
"At 0845 hours, this entire inspection began live-streaming via encrypted satellite link to the Pentagon War Room," I told him. "General Miller is watching. Admiral Cooper is watching. The Secretary of Defense is watching."
I touched my lip again with the handkerchief.
"And every single one of them watched you strike an officer because your ego couldn't stomach waiting five minutes for a briefing."
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From the edge of the formation, a soft clatter broke out. A junior sailor had dropped his rifle from pure shock, the metal clanging against the pavement. Nobody yelled at him. Nobody moved to correct him.
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