Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Commander Mercer lifted the heavy manila folder from the lectern, its faded cardboard cover bearing red stamps that marked internal investigations. The fluorescent light reflected against the dull brass brads holding forty separate pages together.
She opened the file without looking at Ethan, turning page after page with measured clicks of paper that resonated like small hammer blows. The names recorded inside belonged to junior specialists, fuel technicians, and mess hands.
"Six formal grievances were submitted over four months," Mercer stated, her voice quiet enough that everyone leaned forward. "None of them reached the commanding admiral because someone in personnel deliberately marked them as administrative disputes."
Ethan’s mouth parted, but no breath moved across his tongue. He recognized the dates because each matched a distinct afternoon when he had asserted authority over those he believed lacked the right to contradict an operator.
Beside him, Marcus Reed wiped a trembling hand across his chin. He looked away from Ethan, as if distance could cleanse him of guilt or make his uniform invisible under Mercer’s cold, sweeping inspection.
"You took credit for maintenance overhauls completed by third-class petty officers," Mercer continued, reading from an affidavit. "When a boatswain’s mate politely corrected your tactical inventory, you had him assigned thirty extra night watches."
Senior Chief Hale remained standing by the wall like an iron statue, his hands clasped behind his spine. His scar seemed paler against his weathered skin, but his gray eyes never wavered from Ethan's face.
"Dismissed," Mercer commanded softly, closing the file with a deliberate thud. "Return to your quarters. No private calls, no official network access, and no attempts to contact base personnel until tomorrow morning."
The officers began filing out of the briefing room in complete silence, their polished boots clicking rhythmically against the linoleum. Nobody brushed against Ethan’s shoulder; nobody whispered encouragement or offered a supportive glance.
Daniel Price lingered near the exit row, his helmet held tightly beneath his left arm. He looked at Ethan with deep sorrow, but he too turned away when Hale stepped quietly between them.
The base corridors seemed narrower as Ethan walked back toward officer housing. The long industrial lights hummed with electrical vibration, casting harsh white lines across the pristine walls lined with operational photographs.
Every portrait of past commanders seemed to stare at him with severe disappointment. Men and women who had endured freezing surf and hostile shores appeared to judge the golden lieutenant bars pinned to his collar.