Chapter 2 - THE SOLDIERS WHO STOPPED LAUGHINGAt 0500 the next morning, Maya expected an empty training field.
Instead, twelve soldiers waited beneath the floodlights.
Marcus stood in front.
Jessica Porter, Diaz, Rodriguez, and several others stood behind him.
Maya stopped.
“What is this?”
Marcus shifted uncomfortably.
“We want you to train us.”
Maya almost laughed.
“Yesterday you called me broken.”
“Yesterday I was an idiot.”
“You were an idiot for three weeks.”
Diaz unsuccessfully hid a grin.
Marcus nodded.
“Fair.”
Maya folded her arms.
“What exactly do you think I can teach you?”
Marcus hesitated.
Then the arrogance disappeared.
“How not to freeze.”
That changed everything.
Marcus told her about his older brother Daniel.
Daniel had served overseas.
He had returned physically alive but psychologically trapped somewhere else.
He checked exits.
Avoided windows.
Slept with lights on.
Sometimes woke screaming.
Before Marcus enlisted, Daniel had told him not to join.
Marcus had interpreted it as disrespect.
So he became louder.
Stronger.
More aggressive.
Maya understood.
Fear often wore armor.
“All right,” she said.
Marcus straightened.
“We start with weapons?”
“No.”
“Combatives?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Awareness.”
For the next hour, Maya made them walk through an abandoned training structure.
No rifles.
No tactical gear.
Only observation.
“How many exits?”
“Two,” Jessica answered.
“Three.”
Maya pointed toward a narrow window.
Diaz frowned.
“I could barely fit through there.”
Maya nodded.
“Exactly.”
He sighed.
“Why am I always crawling through things?”
“Because you're useful.”
For the first time in months, Maya laughed.
The sound surprised her.
Ghost 7 had laughed constantly.
Cole joked during mortar attacks.
Ramirez once complained about military coffee while stitching his own arm.
Henderson could insult an entire room without anyone becoming angry.
Remembering their laughter used to feel like betrayal.
Now it felt different.
Alive.
Over the following weeks, twelve trainees became thirty.
Then sixty.
Maya was never officially made an instructor.
Nobody stopped her either.
Marcus changed fastest.
Not because he became tougher.
Because he stopped needing everyone to know he was tough.
Jessica became exceptional at navigation.
Diaz discovered that pressure sharpened his concentration.
Rodriguez developed into one of the company's best marksmen.
And Maya began sleeping again.
Not every night.
But enough.
Then five days before graduation, Morrison returned.
He carried an unmarked folder.
Maya knew immediately something was wrong.
Inside was a surveillance photograph.
A thin gray-haired man leaving an airport.
Maya stopped breathing.
Elias Ward.
CIA liaison.
Operation Nightfall.
Official status:
Killed in action.
The photograph had been taken three days earlier.
“He died,” Maya whispered.
Morrison shook his head.
“No.”
Maya looked at him.
“If Ward survived…”
She couldn't finish.
Morrison did.
“Then the Nightfall report was false.”
Maya's fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Where is he?”
“Protective custody.”
“Why are you telling me?”
Morrison hesitated.
“Because he contacted the Department of Defense.”
Maya waited.
“And asked for you by name.”
A cold sensation moved through her chest.
“What does he want?”
May you like
Morrison's answer brought eighteen months of nightmares rushing back.
“He has the recording from Nightfall.”
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