My Boss Forced Me To Approve Defective Armor For Frontline Soldiers—When His Enforcer Grabbed Me In The Base Washhouse, I Put Him On The Floor And Uncovered His Darkest Secret
The night air was thick and humid, the kind that promised rain but delivered only sweat. I was in the motor pool workshop, meticulously consolidating all the evidence: Ward’s logbook, the Saigon lab report, the telex from Vanguard, and Silas’s meticulously detailed findings on Gerald Albright. My entire case was contained within a single, tattered leather folder.
Suddenly, the harsh glare of headlights cut through the workshop door. A jeep roared to a halt outside. Corporal Brogan jumped out, flanked by two burly men in Vanguard security uniforms. They carried heavy wrenches and flashlights.
“There she is!” Brogan snarled, spotting me through the open door. His face was contorted with a mixture of rage and satisfaction. “The little traitor. Albright wants his evidence back, Kincaid. And then he wants you off this base for good.”
My heart hammered. They were coming for the last of my proof. They were coming for me.
“Get her,” Brogan commanded. “And make sure that folder gets incinerated.”
The two Vanguard guards moved towards the workshop, their faces hard and unyielding. They were mercenaries, paid by Finch to ensure his secrets stayed buried.
I braced myself, clutching the folder tighter. I wasn’t going to let them take it. Not now. Not after everything.
Just as the first guard reached the doorway, a shadow detached itself from the side of the building. Staff Sergeant O’Brien stepped into the light, a heavy-duty torque wrench held casually in his hand.
“Hold it right there, boys,” O’Brien said, his voice deceptively calm. “What seems to be the problem?”
Brogan scoffed. “Stay out of this, Sergeant. This is Vanguard business. This woman is a spy.”
“A spy, huh?” O’Brien drawled, slowly adjusting his grip on the wrench. “Funny, I thought she was just an engineer trying to make sure our boys had proper armor.”
Behind O’Brien, four more figures emerged from the shadows. Base mechanics, their faces grim, each carrying a heavy wrench, a tire iron, or a length of pipe. They fanned out, forming a silent, imposing line.
The Vanguard security guards hesitated. They were armed, but their weapons were holstered. Finch had probably given orders to retrieve the evidence quietly, without a public incident. And five angry, gear-savvy mechanics with heavy tools were a different kind of problem.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Brogan snapped, his confidence wavering slightly.
“It concerns me when civilian contractors start raiding my motor pool,” O’Brien retorted, taking a step forward. “And it concerns me when military personnel are acting as private muscle for a corporate executive.” He nodded towards Brogan. “Especially when that corporate executive is paying them under the table.”
Brogan’s face flushed crimson.
The first Vanguard guard, a burly man with a permanent scowl, took a step forward, his hand hovering over his sidearm. “You don’t want to do this, Sergeant. These are orders.”
“These are private orders, son,” O’Brien said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Not Army orders. And last I checked, we take our orders from the Major, not from some corporate fat cat.”
A tense silence fell over the staging yard. The crickets chirped loudly, oblivious to the confrontation. The air crackled with unspoken threats.
Then, with a barely perceptible nod from O’Brien, one of the mechanics stepped forward, twirling his pipe like a baton. The clink of metal on metal was sharp in the night.
The Vanguard guards looked at Brogan. Brogan looked at O’Brien and the mechanics. He could call their bluff, but the risk of a messy brawl, with potential injuries and a much bigger incident, was too high. Finch wouldn’t want that.
Brogan’s shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he snarled. “We’ll get her later.”
He climbed back into the jeep, slamming the door. The two Vanguard guards hesitated for another moment, then slowly backed away, their hands away from their weapons. The jeep spun its wheels and sped off, leaving a cloud of dust.
O’Brien and his mechanics stood their ground, silent and unmoving, until the headlights disappeared. They had disarmed Brogan’s men without firing a shot, securing my complete file, and giving me a reprieve. But I knew this wasn’t over. Finch would just find another way.
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