In just a week, Jeffery had the operation running like a machine.Search grids mapped. Day and night rotations steady. Survivor processing smooth. But there were things sitting in his chest like rusted nails.
After the shift that evening, Scott walked straight to the other company’s staging area. He stopped their acting First Sergeant.
“Hey. Can I have a word with you? First Sergeant Jeffery Scott. Two-Five-Five.”
The man barely slowed down.
“I’m busy. Get with one of my section guys.”
He kept walking. Scott’s jaw tightened.
“Hey!” he barked. “I’m active First Sergeant Scott of the Two-Five-Five. You will give me a minute.”
That made him stop. The man turned slowly.
“My time isn’t free. It isn’t demandable. And it definitely isn’t for the taking. What do you want … whatever your name is.”
Scayes heard it from twenty feet away. He moved fast and grabbed Scott by the shoulder.
“Hey, hey. Big man. We are exhausted. We got work. Let’s not do this right now.”
Scott didn’t break eye contact. He pointed once at the other First Sergeant. Then walked away.
But it wasn’t over.
Back at his tent, it was past 1900. Adume’ was still there — gearing up late. Scott stopped.
“Adume’. Why are you still here?”
He tried to keep the edge out of his voice.
“I got me. You worry about you.”
Scayes muttered, “It’s that kind of day. Everybody wants a piece of you.”
Scott stepped forward.
Before he could speak, Adume’ shoved him.
Hard.
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Scott roared.
“YOU THINK YOU’RE UNTOUCHABLE?” Adume’ shot back, voice cracking. “Big shot First Sergeant?”
“I AM ACTIVE FIRST SERGEANT!” Scott shouted. “You think I get downtime? I haven’t stopped since we got here!”
Adume’ charged him. Scott kneed him in the stomach and flipped him over. They rolled across the floor, trading punches as if they’d been waiting weeks to do it.
No rank.
No structure.
Just anger.
Five straight minutes. An E-4 burst in mid-swing and froze.Both men stood slowly, bleeding and breathing hard. Scott wiped his nose.
“I’ll give you this,” he said. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Adume’ spat blood to the side.
“It’s been hard, Scott.”
“Yeah,” Scott said. “It has. Now get back to work. I don’t care if you like me. But you will pull your weight. Are we good?”
Adume’ looked down. Then back up.
“…Yeah. We’re good.”
From that day forward, Adume’ changed.
The next twelve-hour shift found nothing. Not a single soul.Neck-deep water. Rot. Collapsed homes. At 1830 they returned soaked and silent.
That’s when it happened. A group from the other company started pointing and laughing at Scott’s crew — muddy, stinking, exhausted. Two of Scayes’ soldiers moved first. Then one of Scott’s. And then everyone. It wasn’t a fight.
It was a brawl.
Mud flying. Blood mixing with floodwater. Weeks of exhaustion boiling over. Their first sergeant stormed out.
“My name is First Sergeant Dark! You will obey me!”
Scott stood dripping and furious.
“You’re active First Sergeant,” Scott shot back. “Not First Sergeant. Don’t get it twisted.”
“Stand down!” Dark screamed.
Scott punched him square in the mouth. Dark dropped. Silence.Everyone looked at Scott. This was the moment. He could let it become war. Or he could end it. Scott stepped back.
“Two-five-five!”
“IRON WILL!” his company roared.
“Get some rest. We’re done here.”
He turned his back on the other company. And walked away.They followed. Dark never forgot that.