12/25/2025
“Remove your uniform,” the Admiral commanded. She smiled calmly and replied, “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.” See more: https://fcsunearth.blog/kfxf59
The Mirror and the Badge
The cold steel of the mirror frame reflected back my own resolve. Lieutenant Maya Thompson. Thirty-two years old. Four gold Naval Intelligence bars gleamed around my neck. The Hawaiian morning sun streamed through the window, but it wasn’t the tropical glow, but rather the echo of warships anchored at Pearl Harbor that resonated in my chest. This place, a monument to surprise and betrayal, was now the stage for my own confrontation.
I had spent weeks living in the shadows. Three shipments. Javelin missiles, classified targeting systems, prototype naval mines. They disappeared. No, worse than that: they were exchanged for forged documents so perfect they would fool anyone who wasn’t looking for patterns. But I do look for patterns. It’s my job. It’s my obsession. And the evidence, cold and mathematical, had led me to a terrifying conclusion.
My secure tablet vibrated. Third diversion confirmed. I sent my contingency protocol’s encrypted message, a digital lifeline, to the only person I trust outside my bubble of terror: Colonel Dana Mitchell.
“Package ready for delivery. Contingency Alpha may be necessary.”
The Call to the Lion’s Den
The intercom on the desk buzzed, breaking the silence like a gunshot: “Lieutenant Thompson. Admiral Callahan requests your immediate presence.”
My assistant’s voice was tense. Too tense. I knew something was up. I secured the tablet, the heart of my investigation, in the built-in safe. I wouldn’t leave any loose ends.
The walk to Command Building felt like a death march. The Marines stood at attention, but all I saw was history repeating itself. Lieutenant Commander Alex Parker, a noble and loyal man, gave me a look of genuine concern as he passed. “He’s been in a bad mood all morning,” he whispered. “Take care of yourself in there.” Bad mood. Yes, I suppose bad mood is the appropriate reaction when you realize that the man who swore to protect this fleet is handing over its weaponry to an enemy.
The Confrontation at the Summit
Admiral Callahan’s office is on the top floor. Three stars on his shoulder, 62 years old, countless decorations. A man who believed himself to be a god. The windows overlooked the harbor, the same place that was once consumed by fire.
I knocked on the heavy oak door. “Come in,” a gruff voice replied.
The Admiral had his back to me. His hands were clasped behind his back, watching the fleet. There was no hurry. No panic. Just the chilling calm of a man used to getting his way.
“Lieutenant Thompson, reporting as ordered, sir.”
The silence stretched for what seemed like a minute. Then, the words.
Continued in the first c0mment ⬇️💬
