Brock attempted a smile.
“There is no Task Group Meridian.”
“Correct,” Reed replied.
“Not on any record you are cleared to read.”
The smile disappeared.
Reed faced the formation.
“Nine years ago, an American recovery team was trapped behind a closing border with twelve civilians and six wounded service members.
Captain Hayes planned the route that brought them out.
When the extraction aircraft could not land, she remained on the ground and led the group for eleven hours through hostile territory.
Thirty-seven Americans came home because she refused to leave anyone behind.”
Avery felt every eye turn toward her.
She had not wanted that history revealed.
The mission belonged to the people who survived it, not to her reputation.
“Sergeant Major,” she said gently.
Reed understood the warning and stopped.
But he gave Brock one final look.
“You did not strike an officer who lacked operational experience.
You struck one whose record was classified because the country still depends on the work she did.”
Brock’s face had gone pale, yet his defiance remained.
“Then she should know better than to undermine a commander in front of his troops.”
Avery stepped away from the podium.
“I did not undermine you.
I asked why three injury reports had different timestamps.
I asked why medical personnel were instructed to revise their notes.
I asked why Petty Officer Ruiz’s equipment was missing from the evidence locker.”
She held his gaze.
“Your answers undermined you.”
A medical officer arrived and examined Avery’s lip and cheek.
She recommended immediate evaluation for a possible fracture.
Avery agreed to leave once the initial evidence transfer was complete.
Before that could happen, a civilian attorney hurried from the administration building, followed by two investigators carrying locked cases.
Brock recognized the attorney as Martin Vale, regional counsel assigned to advise command leadership.
“Martin,” Brock said, relief entering his voice.
“Tell them this process is unlawful.”
Vale did not approach him.
He handed Admiral Cole a document.
“Sir, we received a preservation notice from the Inspector General.
All digital systems connected to Commander Sullivan’s office are now under legal hold.”
Avery watched Brock’s hands.
His right thumb rubbed the edge of his index finger, a tiny repetitive motion she had noticed during interviews whenever the Kestrel files were mentioned.
“Include his personal command tablet,” she said.
Brock stopped rubbing his finger.
Vale nodded.
“Already listed.”
“You cannot seize private communications,” Brock said.
“Communications made on government systems are not private,” Vale replied.
“Personal devices may also be examined if authorized evidence establishes official use.”
Chief Mercer spoke from beside the podium.
“He used his personal phone after Kestrel.”
Brock spun toward her.
“You have no proof.”
Mercer lifted her chin.
“You sent me photographs of the altered equipment and told me which parts to remove before investigators arrived.”
Avery asked, “Do you still have the messages?”
“Not on my phone.”
