Chapter 22
I turned on the gas fireplace in the living room, the orange light casting long shadows across the hardwood floor while Rachel brought three mugs of tea from the kitchen.
Maya sat on the edge of the leather sofa, her shoulders hunched as if she were still trying to stay small in a drafty tent.
“My unit was in the northern valley near the border,” Maya said, staring at the blue flames. “We were five miles from the supply line when the first mortar landed.”
Rachel sat in the armchair opposite her, rubbing her temples with her thumb and forefinger, a stack of legal briefs already waiting on the side table.
“The official report said it was a routing error,” Rachel said. “They said you were outside the secure corridor.”
“We were exactly where the coordinates told us to be,” Maya said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “When the light vehicles took fire, the side panels did not just dent. They shattered like cheap dinner plates.”
I leaned against the mantle, the warmth of the fire doing nothing to clear the sudden chill in my chest.
“The ceramic armor,” I said.
“It was supposed to be grade-four defense plating,” Maya said, her fingers tightening on her wrist. “Two of my friends did not make it out of the carrier because the fragments went straight through the cabin walls.”
“Did you report the failure to command?” Rachel asked.
“I tried,” Maya said, looking up at me. “Three days later, Harrison Vance came to the field hospital in Germany. He sat at the foot of my bed and told me that if I mentioned the plates again, he would ensure I faced a court-martial for abandoning my post.”
She paused, the quiet of the high-rise feeling heavier than before.
“He had the paperwork already filled out,” she added.
“He has a way of making threats look like administrative standard procedure,” I said, thinking of the forged marital waiver.
“He told me my career was over if I said another word about the alloy,” Maya said, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her arm. “But somebody else was listening.”
May you like
“Who was listening, Maya?” Rachel asked, leaning forward.
“The doctor who did my skin grafts,” Maya said. “He told me he had a friend in intelligence who was tracking the entire supply chain.”
