Chapter 3 - THE WET MARBLE STEPS
The heavy steel exit doors of Fort Holbrook Headquarters swung open into a wall of freezing air, driving sleet, and swirling gray fog.
The storm had turned the wide, imposing grand marble staircase leading down to the central courtyard into a treacherous slide of wet stone and slush. Heavy gray concrete pillars rose on either side, framing the grand entrance with the cold, brutal architecture of mid-century military bureaucracy.
Guard One and Guard Two dragged Maya out into the blizzard.
Guard Two—a thick-necked, aggressive tactical officer in full combat gear—held Maya by her upper left arm, his heavy gloved fingers digging into her muscle with brutal force. Guard One, a younger sergeant with pale skin and anxious eyes, held her right arm, though his grip was visibly looser, his boots slipping slightly on the wet marble.
They didn't lead her gracefully. They shoved her down onto the second landing of the grand staircase, forcing her down onto her knees against the freezing, rain-slicked stone.
"Keep her down!" Guard Two growled, slamming his heavy boot heel down beside her knee to lock her in place.
Across the courtyard, forty yards away behind the chain-link perimeter fences, dozens of base personnel, shift workers, and junior officers were gathering under the concrete overhangs. They stared through the driving sleet, whispered among themselves, and pointed at the sight of a decorated logistics sergeant being held down in the ice by Sterling's personal detail.
Commandant Sterling stepped out of the heavy brass doors, walking down the upper steps with slow, deliberate authority. He pulled a pair of black leather gloves onto his hands, his boots making sharp, echoing impacts against the marble.
He stopped three steps above Maya, looking down at her bowed head, her soaked brown hair plastering itself against her temples in the freezing wind.
"You had a path out, Vance," Sterling said, his voice easily cutting through the howl of the storm. "You chose the hard way. And in my command, soldiers who disrupt operational readiness lose their ability to serve."
Sterling reached out with his right boot, stepping heavily onto the back of Maya’s left calf, locking her frame flat against the wet marble. He pointed a gloved finger straight at her right wrist—her saluting arm, her trigger arm, her life.
"Damage her saluting arm," Sterling ordered flatly. "A compound fracture of the radius. Let's see how well she types manifests when she gets to Leavenworth."
Guard One’s face went pale. His hands shook around Maya’s right wrist, his gloved fingers tightening, then loosening, then tightening again in visible distress. He looked up at Sterling, his eyes wide with sudden panic.
"Sir..." Guard One stammered, his voice trembling against the freezing wind. "Sir, there are personnel watching from the motor pool—"
"I gave you an order, Sergeant!" Sterling barked, his voice snapping like a whip. "Break it!"
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Maya turned her head on the wet stone, looking up into Guard One's pale, panicked face. Blood trickled down her split lip, mixing with the freezing rain on her chin.
"Don't do this, Miller," Maya whispered, calling Guard One by his name. "You know what he's shipping out of Sector 4. You've seen the manifests. Don't ruin your life for a traitor."
