PART 2: Beneath the Uniform

A thick voice came through the communications-center door. "Riley, open up. Maintenance inspection."

Riley went rigid beside the console. "That’s Sergeant Vance. He belongs to Sterling’s Special Detail."

I studied the armed shapes visible beneath the door. They were not regular Military Police responding to an alert.

Sterling’s private Special Detail had sealed us in. Their authority began and ended with the Major.

Riley swallowed hard. "They answer to him alone, ma’am. If he sent them here, they’re probably here to make you vanish."

The man outside tested the handle again, harder this time. His maintenance story had already worn thin.

I searched the room for another route. Standard command buildings repeated certain designs, even in remote installations like Camp Vora.

"Is there access under these racks? A cable channel, ductwork, anything leading to another building?"

Riley pointed behind the server cabinets toward a grated panel sunk into the floor. His hand trembled.

"Fiber lines run beneath the floor to administration," he said. "There’s a cable trench, but it’s barely wide enough to crawl through."

"Open it," I said.

Outside, Sergeant Vance struck the door with his fist. "Riley, release the lock now."

The pretense of a routine check disappeared from his voice.

Riley knelt at the grate and worked the stiff catches with frantic fingers. Metal complained as he forced them free.

The panel lifted, exposing black cables packed into a low concrete passage. Dust hung in the opening like smoke.

"Get down there," I told him.

He stared at the trench. "I can’t abandon a secured station. That violates—"

"Sterling has turned this base against us. Your duty is to survive long enough to expose him. Move."

Riley looked once toward the door, then lowered himself into the darkness.

The handle shook again. A sharp impact rattled the frame, but the door still held.

I dropped the grate quietly into place behind us and eased down after Riley.

The trench forced us onto our elbows and knees. Cables pressed against my shoulders while the concrete scraped through my fatigues.

Above us, footsteps crossed the communications center. Voices moved among the servers, close enough that I could hear their equipment shift.

I held still until the sounds passed away from the grate. Riley understood without being told.

Then we crawled.

The air below the floor tasted of heated insulation, stale moisture, and old dust. Each inch forward required care not to snag a cable or strike the concrete.

Riley led through the narrow channel, breathing too fast but refusing to stop.

Time stretched in that buried passage. My knees burned, and the space seemed to close tighter around my chest.

At last, the flooring overhead changed. The hollow vibration of office boards replaced the hard sound of the communications-center linoleum.

"Administration," Riley whispered.

He found an access panel and pushed it upward slowly. We climbed into a supply closet crowded with mops, buckets, and cleaning chemicals.

I braced myself against the sink, forcing my breathing under control. Grime and cobwebs covered my uniform beneath the mess-hall stains.

Before I could question Riley further, the public-address system snapped alive across Camp Vora.

Feedback shrieked through the walls. Then Major Sterling spoke in a composed, measured tone.

"Attention, Camp Vora personnel. This is Major Sterling."

His announcement carried through every speaker on the compound.

"A Code Red security breach is in effect. An armed hostile has entered this installation while impersonating a senior officer."

Riley’s face drained of color as Sterling continued.

"This individual is dangerous and has attempted to compromise our communications systems. Special Detail teams are authorized to employ lethal force."

Sterling paused just long enough to make the threat settle in.

"All other personnel will return to quarters and remain locked down. Anyone aiding the hostile will face charges of treason."

The speakers clicked silent.

"He’s made you the enemy," Riley said.

"He’s written himself an alibi," I replied. "If his men kill me, he’ll call it a defense of the base."

Riley looked toward the closet door. "We’re cut off. The jammers are running, and nobody outside knows what he’s doing."

"Then we obtain evidence before he can erase it. Tell me what Sterling is protecting in his logistics network."

Riley hesitated, then answered. "For months, there have been shipments leaving through the east gate in the middle of the night. They never appear on the normal records."

"What kind of shipments?"

"I don’t know. The manifests use local encryption. The files are only accessible from the Quartermaster’s secure server room."

That explained the lockdown. Weapons theft, concealed transfers, and an officer desperate enough to turn a base into a trap.

"We go to the Quartermaster," I said.

Riley gave a strained nod. "It’s across the compound. We’ll have to cross the motor pool."

I checked the route in my mind and listened for movement outside the closet. "Then we use the dark and stay ahead of his detail."

We slipped into the abandoned administration corridor. Desks stood empty, paperwork untouched, as every clerk obeyed Sterling’s lockdown order.

At the rear exit, I paused and checked the open ground beyond it.

We left the administration building as floodlights swept across the motor pool and Sterling’s armed patrols began searching for us.