Chapter 4 - The Army Doesn't Forget
At 0200 hours, the house was silent except for the creaking of the floorboards as Caleb paced the hallway downstairs.
I stood by the office window, watching the rain slick the driveway. In my left hand, I held an encrypted satellite radio linked directly to the Command Element of the 75th Ranger Regiment’s Special Troops Battalion at Fort Liberty.
"Warrant Officer Brooks," a deep, familiar voice answered on the first ring. It was Chief Warrant Officer 5 Marcus Vance, my former team leader and a man who had pulled me out of a burning Humvee in Kunduz. "Report."
"Chief," I said, keeping my tone dead and level. "I have a Code Red situation at my home residence. Homicide of an active-duty spouse. Destruction of evidence. Ongoing threat to a newborn military dependent."
There was a three-second silence on the line. I could hear the rustle of papers and the click of a zippo lighter.
"Say again, Daniel?" Vance’s voice dropped into the terrifying register he used before initiating an artillery strike.
"My wife, Emily, was murdered by domestic actors for estate liquidation," I said cleanly. "Local medical authorities are compromised. I have video and audio confirmation of the act, including conspiracy to defraud the Department of Veterans Affairs and military trusts. I need a joint CID and State Police tactical escort to secure the scene before the evidence is moved."
"Who are the actors?" Vance asked.
"Margaret Brooks and Caleb Brooks."
Vance didn't ask questions about family ties. In our world, blood didn't protect a traitor.
"I'm dispatching a detachment from the local CID field office out of Fort Meade," Vance ordered. "Major Sarah Chen is leading the team. They’ll have a state forensic team and a federal warrant signed by a military magistrate within ninety minutes. Where are you?"
"I am securing the high ground inside the residence," I replied. "I am armed with non-lethal assets and my personal sidearm. The subject premises are locked down."
"Hold your position, Warrant Officer. Do not engage unless the infant's life is threatened. Help is coming."
"Copy that, Chief. Out."
I lowered the radio, tucked it into my belt, and walked over to the closet. Behind a false wall panel in the back, my personal tactical gun safe clicked open with a light biometric beep.
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I didn't take my assault rifle. I took a heavy-duty tactical flashlight, three pairs of high-tensile zip-cuffs, and my black Sig Sauer P320 service pistol. I loaded a full magazine of hollow-point rounds, chambered a shell, and engaged the safety.
If my family wanted a war inside my home, I was going to give them an operation they would never survive.
