Page 22 of My Forbidden Commander

The other thing, though? The other thing I’m walking straight into.

11

GABRIEL

The convoy is nine minutes late. I’m standing at the window of the command hut, watching the gate detail wave two trucks through the wire. Okafor meets the trucks at the vehicle point, where eight figures dismount into the mud with their gear.

The big one with black hair going gray at the temples comes off the lead truck first and has his people formed up before their boots finish sinking. That’s Maddox. The blond corporal beside him is already grinning at something and bouncing on his heels. Walker. The medic, Bishop, and the woman, Quinn, move last. Her eyes are scanning the perimeter like she’s already on patrol.

Second truck. Callahan drops down and rolls his shoulders. Sykes and Liu fall in behind him without being told. The last man off the truck doesn’t look at the base at all. He looks at the ridge.

Brown hair, lean build, carrying his rifle case like it’s his child, and his eyes go straight up to Hill 604 and stay there while everyone else is finding their footing. Wilder.

I decide I like him before he’s said a word, which is rare for me and usually reliable.

Okafor leads them up the road, and I step back from the window and take my place at the map board. A colonel who watches new arrivals through a window like a nervous landlord is not the first impression I intend to make.

They file in, dripping. The command hut wasn’t built for this many bodies, and it quickly fills with the smell of wet canvas and truck exhaust. Maddox’s four stack along the left wall, Callahan’s along the right.

“Colonel Wolfe,” Maddox says. His salute is textbook. So is Callahan’s, half a beat behind.

“Staff Sergeants.” I return it and let my eyes make one pass down each line. Walker meets my stare with a grin he should reconsider. Quinn meets it level. Bishop is already cataloging the map board over my shoulder. Wilder is looking at the sector sketch pinned beside it, at the range fans drawn off the guard towers, and I’d bet a month’s pay he’s found the gap in them.

“Welcome to Kestrel.” I tap the map. “Eleven kilometers that way is the border. Behind it, someone’s been doing their homework.”

I give them the short version. The patrol windows. The observer on Hill 604. The hide, the range card, the three units logged over multiple days, the patrol times recorded to the minute.

“Border Wolves,” Callahan says. Not a question. A muscle in his cheek twitches.

I nod. “You’ve heard of them.”

“Heard interpreters go quiet when you say it. That’s usually all the intel I need.”

“Then you know what we’re dealing with. They mapped this base’s routine like a train schedule, so as of six days ago, Kestrel doesn’t have one.” I draw a line through the old patrol windows chalked on the board. “Patrols go out on random windows. No set times, no set routes, no pattern for anyone on that ridge to log. You’ll get warning orders with short fuses. Sometimes an hour, sometimes less. I expect every element on this base ready to step off at any minute of any day. Weapons maintained, kit staged, boots findable in the dark. If I call a window at 0300, the only acceptable response is the sound of your gear going on.”

“Outstanding,” Walker says under his breath, and it’s not sarcasm. His grin has widened. The way Maddox looks at him lets me know he gave up trying to corral him long ago.

“Corporal Walker has a question?” Maddox asks flatly.

“No, Sergeant, Corporal Walker has enthusiasm,” Walker says.

“Ration it. You’ll need it up here.” I move down the board. “Staff Sergeant Callahan, your element runs as our second patrol unit. You’ll rotate windows with my first element. You’ll meet them at chow, and you’ll know Corporal Hayes by sound before you know him by sight. Sergeant Wilder.”

Wilder’s eyes come off the sector sketch.

“That ridge is yours. Somebody’s been glassing this base, and I want somebody glassing back. Tomorrow you and I walk the ground and pick your positions.”

“There’s a gap in the tower fans,” he says. “Northwest, where the wire bends around the rocks. If I were them, that’s my approach.”

Four seconds in the hut, and he found it faster than the engineer who built the towers.

“Tomorrow,” I say. “Bring your solutions.”

He nods once and goes back to the sketch. Contained. Just like the psych eval said.

“Staff Sergeant Maddox, your team stays intact. Command’s orders. You’ll take tasking directly from me. Sergeant Quinn.” She straightens a degree. “Your evaluations say support. Your patrol logs say otherwise. Up here I go by the logs. You’ll sit in on route planning starting tonight.”

She blinks once, the surprise on her face there and gone. Bishop glances at her sidelong, and a corner of his mouth quirks up.