Scott drifted in and out of sleep as his alarm and phone erupted in overlapping tones — a chaotic symphony he’d learned to live with. The sounds cut through again, sharper this time. His eyes snapped open.
He rolled out of his cot, slid his sandals on, grabbed his toiletry bag, and shuffled toward the latrine with the rest of the half-conscious soldiers. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. No one spoke.
At the sink, he unpacked with mechanical precision: brush, toothbrush, toothpaste, razor. Steam hung in the air. Water ran. Steel sinks clanged. Routine.
After shaving and brushing up, Scott walked into the office and flipped on the lights. They flickered once before flooding the armory floor in harsh brightness, revealing soldiers still asleep on cots between lockers and equipment cages.
Most of them stayed overnight during drill weekends. Some lived too far away to justify the drive. Gas wasn’t cheap. Sleep was cheaper.
Scott had recently accepted a promotion at the Army National Guard unit he’d served in for years. E-5. Sergeant. A long time coming.
Jeffrey Scott stood five-foot-nine, two hundred pounds solid. In civilian life he drove trucks cross-country. In uniform, he carried himself like someone who understood responsibility. A strong Black man, trained well, steady under pressure.
“Wake up!” he barked.
Groans.
“First formation is at zero-seven-hundred. It’s zero-six-thirty. You’ve got twenty minutes!”
His voice carried authority now — not forced, not inflated. Earned. The soldiers scrambled.
Scott took his role seriously. He didn’t let rank swell his head, but he wore it properly.
By seven-ten the company stood in formation outside under a brutal July sun. Ninety degrees and climbing. Heat shimmered off the pavement. The NCOs emerged from the leadershipmeeting with the First Sergeant and lined up with purpose. Platoons squared off.
“Company! Attention!” First Sergeant McGee thundered.
“IRON SWORDS!” the Two-Five-Seven roared in response — some louder than others.
A few barely moved their lips.
First Sergeant McGee addressed AWOL concerns first — stern, unmistakable.The consequences would be severe. Then appreciation. Then tasks. Big ones. Small ones. Everything in between. He nodded to the commander.
Captain Kershaw stepped forward, soft-spoken but clear, reiterating the message in calmer tones. Same mission. Different delivery. Sweat rolled down backs. Silent grumbling passed between the ranks.
“Why are we outside for this?”
“Just let us go already.”
Courtesy exchanged. Command returned to First Sergeant.
“Dismissed to your platoon sergeants.”
The machine broke into smaller machines.
Platoon guidance. Squad-level expectations. Assignments stacked neatly.
First Sergeant McGee was fair. Respected. The kind of leader everyone liked — unless he was angry. Captain Kershaw? Competent. Quiet. Out of sight, out of mind.
Scott faced his section.
“Alright. We’ve got Saturday and Sunday to knock out this list. Take your time. Stay out of sight, stay out of mind. If you’re caught messing around, I’m smoking you in my favourite place — the grave.”
A few soldiers chuckled nervously.
“Don’t mess up. Move.”
They dispersed.
Scott walked toward the heavy equipment bays with a small, controlled smile. His team trusted him. They laughed when he joked — but they knew not to test him.
“Another day on the job,” he muttered. “Buttholes and elbows.”
Private Sam jogged up behind him.
“Hey, Sarge!”
“Quit shouting at me, bro. What you got?”
Sam snapped to parade rest.
“Staff Sergeant Dates told us to go clean the latrine.”
Scott tilted his head. “Is that your staff sergeant?”
Sam blinked.
“…Negative.”
“Then screw that. Let him find his own people. Stay near me. Out of sight, out of mind.”
Relief flashed across Sam’s face. “Roger that, Sarge.”
Scott watched him rejoin the group. Leadership wasn’t always about yelling. Sometimes it was shielding your guys from nonsense. Inside the back maintenance office, Scott dropped into a worn computer chair beside Staff Sergeant Miller.
“Finally got your E-5, huh?” Miller grinned, boots still propped up.
“Roger that.”
“Don’t get used to this air-conditioning. Privates out there are green as grass. It’s like breaking equipment is part of their job.”
Scott smirked. “They’re new. Can’t break dirt. They just need guidance.”
Miller grabbed more coffee.
“I remember when I was brand new,” Scott added. “Takes time.”
Released for the day, Scott stopped by the store for beer.
“Games, TV, crash,” he muttered. “Solid plan.”
Inside Walmart, fluorescent lights hummed. He grabbed a twelve-pack and wandered a bit — habit more than need. At checkout, he froze. Sergeant Wans. Scott’s face brightened. He extended a hand. Wans stared at it. Not confused. Cold. The grin on Scott’s face faded slightly. After a long second, Wans slowly extended his hand as if the contact physically cost him something.
“Good afternoon … Sergeant Scott,” Wans said. Each word heavy. Deliberate.
“Good afternoon, Sarge. How you been?”
“Yes.”
The sharpness in Wans’s tone made Scott’s stomach tighten.
“You okay?” Scott asked casually.
“Yes,” Wans snapped again.
Scott stepped closer, voice lowering.
“Wans … are you okay?”
A long stare. Then a thin smile.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Wans had always been the conspiracy guy. Complained about the government. Mocked reenlistments. Talked about getting out as if it were freedom from prison. But today? He wasn’t ranting.He was calm. Too calm.
The cashier waved Scott forward. “Sir?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Scott hesitated, then nodded toward his beer.
“Come by. Have one.”
“No, thank you,” Wans replied quickly, eyes dropping to the bottled water and canned goods filling his cart.
As Scott paid, he glanced back.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Wans said quietly.
Scott frowned. “You’ve got my number.”
No response. Wans didn’t look at the cashier while unloading his items.
Later, Scott unlocked his apartment and stepped inside. He cracked a beer before even sitting down. One sip. Set it down. Turned on a movie. Routine.
Sergeant Wilkins texted around nine-thirty. Scott told him about the encounter.
“He seemed happy. But mad. I don’t know. Different.”
Wilkins responded quickly.
“Keep an eye on him.”
Scott rolled over in bed.
Phone buzzed again.
“Thanks.”
He exhaled sharply. Another buzz. He muttered under his breath.
“Goodnight.”
He rolled over, staring at the dark ceiling. Please don’t ring again. Silence. Finally.
Scott closed his eyes.
Across town, somewhere in the quiet of the night, something unseen was already moving.