“You invade my installation and manufacture crimes.”
I turned the page.
There was a communications log listing coded contacts, transmission windows, and payments routed through a chain of shell accounts.
Most of the names were numbers.
One was not.
Lieutenant Aaron Hale.
His name appeared beside our reconnaissance route, extraction time, call signs, and the precise location of the ridge where the blast had struck us.
I read the entry slowly.
Hale cut across me.
“That document is fabricated.
Morrison has suffered a traumatic injury.
Her judgment is compromised.
General, order her to cease transmission.”
“Lieutenant Hale,” Lawson said, “you will remain off this channel unless addressed.”
The authority in his tone silenced everyone.
Outside, wind hammered snow against the building.
Somewhere near the armory, a metal panel banged in irregular bursts.
I could feel my strength draining with every second I remained upright.
My left boot was slick inside.
I did not look down.
Petrov saw the tremor in my rifle.
His confidence began to return.
“You will collapse before anyone reaches you,” he said quietly.
“Give me the folder, and I may permit my medic to keep you alive.”
“Your medic is in the southern barracks.”
A flicker crossed his eyes.
I had studied the firebase before entering.
Heat signatures behind frosted windows had shown me where most of the garrison had taken shelter from the storm.
The communications building was isolated from them by a vehicle yard and two locked security doors.
Petrov spread his hands.
“Then you know how alone you are.”
“I was alone outside the fence.”
I glanced toward the radio operator.
“Disconnect the internal alarm.”
He looked at Petrov.
Petrov did not need to speak.
The threat was in his face.
I lowered the rifle a fraction and fired one round into the control panel beside the operator’s shoulder.
The sharp report filled the room.
Sparks burst from the panel, and every light except the backup system went dark.
Four rounds remained.
The radio operator stumbled sideways, unharmed but terrified.
“The alarm is disconnected,” I said.
General Lawson’s voice returned through the surviving speaker.
“Morrison, an emergency response team is being redirected, but weather is blocking the northern approach.
Can you prevent the artillery launch?”
I looked at the clock above Petrov’s map.
Thirty-eight minutes remained until sunrise.
“Yes, sir.”
It was not a promise based on certainty.
It was the only acceptable answer.
Petrov began laughing.
“You cannot walk.
You have no team.
Half my garrison is between this room and the guns.”
