We canceled Battery One and locked its targeting motors.
Battery Two had not yet been loaded.
The third vehicle—the one absent from our satellite images—was operating independently from the western yard.
Its crew began moving as soon as the cancellation appeared.
Through a camera feed, I saw soldiers climbing onto the vehicle and rotating its launcher toward the valley.
Twelve minutes remained.
Remote shutdown failed.
The young officer explained that the vehicle had been disconnected from central control on Petrov’s orders.
It could fire manually.
I gave General Lawson its exact position.
“Strike aircraft cannot get a clean lock through the storm,” he said.
“We need a visible designation.”
The laser marker was outside, on the far side of the yard.
I looked down at my leg.
The young officer understood.
“I go,” he said.
“You know the marker?”
He nodded.
I gave him Petrov’s key card and the radio operator’s sidearm.
He ran into the storm while I remained at the control console, watching the camera feed.
Petrov’s soldiers were spreading through the firebase now.
Some moved toward communications.
Others surrounded the armory, unaware of the device behind the ammunition cache.
I used the internal speaker system.
In English first, then through the radio operator’s translation, I announced that Petrov had ordered an illegal strike on a protected civilian convoy.
I told them the artillery battery was disabled, their commander was restrained, and coalition aircraft were monitoring the base.
I also told them the armory had been compromised.
“Leave your weapons in the vehicle yard and move to the southern perimeter,” I said.
“Anyone entering the armory may trigger the fuel and ammunition.”
Petrov shouted from the radio that I was bluffing.
A soldier opened the armory service door.
The tripwire snapped.
The incendiary device ignited the leaking fuel beneath the parked vehicle.
Fire raced across the floor, bright enough to turn the snow outside orange.
The primary ammunition cache had been positioned behind a protective barrier, delaying the larger detonation, but everyone in the firebase now knew I had told the truth.
Soldiers began abandoning their positions.
The western artillery crew did not.
On the camera, they elevated the launcher.
Five minutes remained.
The young officer appeared through the storm carrying the laser marker.
He dropped behind a concrete barrier and aimed it at the artillery vehicle.
A confirmation tone sounded over the radio.
General Lawson’s voice became calm.
“Target designated.
Morrison, clear your people.”
I relayed the warning across the base.
The artillery crew saw the laser too late.
The precision strike hit the empty ground beside the vehicle first, overturning it and disabling the launch system without igniting its loaded rockets.
A second impact destroyed the engine compartment.
The convoy continued through the valley untouched.
For several seconds after the blast, the only sound in artillery control was the ventilation fan.
Then my strength disappeared.
I lowered myself against the console, but the floor rose faster than expected.
The radio operator caught my shoulders before my head struck the metal grating.
“Stay awake,” General Lawson ordered through the handset.
