The Commander Asked the Homeless Veteran's Rank as a Joke — Then 'Major General' Made Him Freeze
Chapter 6
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"Reaper? Marcus?" He stopped just short of grabbing him. "Brother... we thought you were dead! Half the fleet thought you were dead!" His voice cracked. "Where the hell have you been?"Marcus couldn't answer. His throat had closed. Four years of walls were crumbling, and he didn't know if he could survive what was underneath.Rodriguez didn't wait for an answer. He gripped Marcus's shoulder. "Three pilots. Storm coming. 15-foot swells. Current pulling them toward shipping lanes. We've got four birds and 15 crew, but nobody who can coordinate this without getting us all killed. I need you. Right now. Not the you that used to exist—the you that's standing here."Winters stepped forward. "Sir, he's not active duty. He's not cleared for—""I don't care," Rodriguez cut her off. "Emergency protocols allow civilian expert consultation during life-or-death scenarios. Commander Sullivan is the definition of expert." He turned back to Marcus. "I know you've been gone. I don't know why, and I won't ask. But those pilots have maybe 90 minutes before hypothermia or the storm kills them. You're the only person I know who can bring them home. Will you help us?"Marcus looked down at the mop in his hands. Then at the patch in his pocket—the one with dried blood on it. His brothers had died. But three more were dying right now. And maybe... just maybe... this was why he was still alive. Not to suffer, but to save.He dropped the mop. It clattered on the concrete. When he spoke, his voice was stronger:"I need access to weather data, real-time satellite imagery, and direct comms with all four birds. And I need it 30 seconds ago."Rodriguez's face split into a grin. "That's my Reaper." He spun toward the crew. "Chen, get him a console in the command station! Torres, brief him on bird capabilities and crew experience levels! Winters, pull up everything: weather, ocean currents, shipping traffic, everything!" He grabbed Marcus's arm. "Let's go save some lives, brother."Marcus followed Rodriguez toward the command station at the back of the hangar. Behind them, Callahan tried to reassert control:"Now, wait just a minute! I'm the ranking officer in this hangar, and I did not authorize—"Corporal Foster stepped between Callahan and Marcus, stood at attention. "With respect, sir, you're about to watch a master class in what actual military service looks like."Chen moved next to Foster. Then Winters. Then Torres. A wall of personnel blocking Callahan from interfering. The lieutenant's face turned purple, but he said nothing: he'd already lost, and everyone knew it.The command station was a semi-circular desk covered in screens and radios. Chen pulled up satellite imagery on the main monitor: the Pacific Ocean, gray and churning, with three red dots marking the last known positions of the downed pilots. Weather overlay showed the storm moving northeast at 43 knots.Marcus stared at the screen, and everything else disappeared: the hangar, the people, the four years of homelessness. There was only the mission, only the math, only the lives that needed saving.