“We’ve been waiting to meet you,” the brigadier said, extending his hand. I hesitated before shaking it, my grip firm but cautious. My mind raced with questions. Why was the Chief of Military Intelligence here? Why was the NSC Operations In-Charge personally involved? And the biggest question of all—

  Why the hell is that colonel still free?

  I kept my expression neutral, but my instincts screamed that something bigger was at play. The brigadier gave me a knowing smile. “I think you have a lot of questions. Am I right, Lieutenant?” “Last night was a long one, sir. I didn’t get enough sleep to process the surprise I woke up to this morning,” I replied, keeping my tone measured. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. Your work is far from undone. In fact, I’d say we owe you a debt,” the NSC In-Charge added, her voice calm but firm. “Pardon me, ma’am, but I don’t understand,” I said, my brows furrowing. The brigadier gestured toward the chairs in front of the desk. “We’ll brief you on everything. First, have a seat.” Major turned to the private stationed at the desk outside the office. “Bring an extra chair.” The private rushed off, returning quickly with a metal foldable chair. I took a seat at the corner of the table, still unsure of what I had just walked into.

  The NSC In-Charge folded her hands on the desk and leaned forward. "What you witnessed yesterday was just a small fraction of a much bigger operation," she began. I listened intently as she continued. "It all started when one of our analysts noticed something… off. At first, it was just a nuance—barely worth looking into. One day, they saw a discrepancy in a cargo quantity report. The numbers logged by the dispatch officer at the manufacturing facility were different from what had been confirmed the day before. A minor clerical error, or so their superior thought. It was dismissed." She exhaled, shaking her head. "Most of the time, our agents don’t remember exact numbers. They process hundreds of shipments daily. But then… it happened again. Another analyst spotted a mismatch. This time, they confronted the agent responsible for confirming the shipment." I raised an eyebrow. "And?" "He remembered the original number." "How?" Her lips curled slightly. "Because the last two digits were 69." I blinked. "...Wait. So, you're telling me a stupid sex joke is what gave them away?" I bit my lip, trying hard to contain my laughter. The brigadier sighed, rubbing his temples. "Believe me, Lieutenant, it’s as ridiculous as it sounds. But yes… that's how we knew weapons were going missing."

  "But bureaucracy got in the way," the NSC In-Charge continued, her tone laced with frustration. "An agent’s statement alone wasn’t enough to authorize a full-scale investigation. To formally investigate any branch of the military, we needed a warrant from the Secretariat. And that? That takes time—too much time." She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "So, instead, we assigned an agent to observe. We also deduced that whoever was behind this operation was extremely paranoid. If we spooked him, he’d disappear—and with him, any trace of the missing weapons. So, we played the long game. Kept watching. Kept waiting. And we informed Military Intelligence, told them to keep their ears to the ground." "But so far, nothing," the brigadier cut in. "We were coming up empty. We were this close to shutting the whole thing down." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Until last night." His sharp gaze landed on me. "Until we got a report from Military Police—about an unsanctioned raid conducted by an investigation unit, based on intel provided by a lieutenant—and that they had a witness and tampered classified documents in custody."

  “An arrest like that—a colonel—would have made waves,” the brigadier said, his voice measured. “Given the scale of this operation, whoever’s behind it would have gone underground the moment they heard about his arrest.” I clenched my jaw. That bastard should be behind bars. But the brigadier wasn’t finished. “That’s why, just minutes after you left, I got a call—from the brigadier himself. His orders? No charges. Keep the evidence, destroy every document—hard copy or digital—connected to it. Instead, we had Sergeant Major assigned to watch the colonel and act like nothing happened.” Major finally spoke up, cutting in. “That’s why you saw him in his office today.” I exhaled slowly. Well… shit. “Now this is awkward,” I muttered under my breath. I dared not look at the major, but I could feel his stare—like he was waiting for an apology for the way I’d barged in earlier.

  What about the men we arrested in the raid?” I asked, crossing my arms. “The car they were using that night turned up stolen—fortunately,” the major said. I raised an eyebrow. “And?” He smirked slightly. “We made it look like they were picked up by a local PD patrol unit. The officers’ biometric scanner just so happened to be busted, so they couldn’t ID them, and since the men kept their mouths shut, they got processed like any other unidentified criminals.” I nodded slowly, beginning to see where this was going. “Since the army and local PD share a holding facility," the major continued, "they’re indirectly under our custody—without anyone in the military even knowing they exist.” I let out a low whistle. “That’s… clever.” The major gave a half-shrug. “I have my moments.”

  So, are you going back to ‘just observing’ again?” I asked. “No,” the brigadier said firmly. “Now, we act.” His voice carried a weight that made the air feel heavier. “We have intel that the stolen weapons are being moved out of the country by a gunrunner network. We’re forming a special joint investigation unit to track them down and eliminate everyone responsible.” He pulled a paper from the dossier in his hand and slid it across the table toward me. "Special Assignment Order" was stamped at the top in bold letters. “There will be a black ops team under this unit—roughly the size of a platoon—to handle the heavy lifting,” the brigadier continued. “You’ve proven yourself to be more than just capable for this job. That’s why I want you on this team.” I stared at the paper. A real mission. Back in the field. A chance to prove myself again. For the first time in years, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be. “I’ll be in the investigation team,” the major added. “If this operation is successful,” the brigadier said, “I will personally see to it that you get the recognition you deserve—and the promotions that were denied to you.” I clenched my jaw, pushing down the bitter memories of every transfer, every lost opportunity. This was it. My second chance. “It would be an honor to be part of this team, sir,” I said. “Wonderful.” The brigadier stood up. Me and the major followed suit. He shook my hand, gripping it firmly. “See you on the field, soldier.” As he turned to leave, I hesitated before calling out. “Sir, who will be the C.O. of the black ops team?” The brigadier glanced back with a smirk. “You are, son. You’ll be responsible for recruiting your own men.” With that, he walked out alongside the NSC officer, leaving me standing there, the weight of the assignment settling on my shoulders. The moment they were gone, I let out a long breath and dropped into my chair. The major did the same. “Man, I need a coffee,” I muttered. “Me too.” The major ran a hand over his face. Then, after a pause, he smirked. “Got anyone in mind for your team?” A grin spread across my face. “Yeah… I know a few knuckleheads who’d be perfect for this job.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Two days later, I found myself in a quiet rural town by the sea. In that time, I had contacted the NSC agent handling the case—he got me up to speed on where to meet, how to get there unnoticed, and what to expect. I had also gathered my team. Well… more like I found one guy, and he handled the rest. As instructed, my first stop was the post office near the railway station. I walked in, used my alias to claim a lockbox, and opened it with the key I had been provided. Inside, I found a burner phone and a single phone number. I dialed. The moment the call connected, a voice on the other end spoke—low, direct. "Walk two blocks east. There’s a pub. Go inside, get yourself a beer, wait for me… and get rid of the burner." Then he hung up. No questions, no introductions. I started walking. As I moved, I casually snapped the burner in half, tossed the pieces into a bin, and kept going. The pub was exactly where he said it would be. I stepped inside, ordered a pint, and leaned against the bar, keeping my eyes on my surroundings. The bartender slid the drink across the counter. The moment I wrapped my fingers around the glass, I heard it. The same voice from the phone. "Follow me." I turned my head just in time to see a man slip through the storage room door at the back. Not wanting to lose him, I chugged my beer, left some cash on the counter, and moved quickly. I stepped through the storage room, out the back door, and into the alleyway. There, parked in the lot behind the was an old, rundown pickup truck. The same man was already in the driver’s seat, waiting. I hesitated for just a moment, staring at the battered vehicle. Then, without a word, I climbed in.

  "You really risked falling behind for that pint of beer?" he asked, throwing me a sideways glance. I shrugged. "Dude, I’m from the army. We don’t let good booze go to waste.” He scoffed. "And they made you the CO of a black ops team? You better not fuck this up." I ignored his jab. Instead, I leaned back and asked, "What was all that super-spy shit you pulled back there?" His expression stayed neutral as he kept his eyes on the road. "The gunrunner gang we’re after is in this town. We suspect they’re moving the stolen weapons and planning to smuggle them out by sea—small vessels, remote beaches. If that’s true, then they’ve got eyes on anyone who looks out of place around here." I nodded slowly. "So, all that cloak-and-dagger stuff was just to stay under the radar?"

  "Exactly."

  Something still nagged at me. "What about the bartender? What if someone asks about the guy who just disappeared into thin air from his pub?" He smirked. "He’s our informant. Knows exactly what to say." His confidence made it seem like he had everything under control. I wasn’t sure if that reassured me… or made me even more suspicious.

  Soon, we pulled up to an old homestead, sitting at the edge of town—isolated, far from civilization. "This is it," the agent said, cutting the engine. "For the entirety of the mission, this will be our base of operations. As far as anyone else is concerned, you’re part of a small property development company. You buy and restore rundown properties for B&B businesses across the country. He handed me a dossier. "You’ve been hired by a company that just purchased this homestead. They want to turn it into a secluded, off-the-grid retreat." I took the file, flipping through the documents. It was detailed—ownership records, contracts, employee IDs—the kind of cover story that could hold up under scrutiny. As I skimmed the paperwork, the agent got out of the pickup and disappeared through the side entrance into the backyard. I was still in the truck when another man emerged from the house—the contact I was supposed to meet. "Finally made it, Lieutenant?" he said, extending a hand. I shook it, smirking. "Yeah, and the ride was just delightful. My driver was all sunshine and rainbows." The agent chuckled. "He gets cranky, sure—but he’s a damn good field agent. Don’t let it get to you. He’s here to maintain our cover so you can focus on the task at hand. "He gestured toward the front door. "Shall we?"

  Walking inside, I noticed a room filled with server racks—probably the only room in the house with a working air conditioner. "Follow me, please," the agent said, leading me down a set of stairs to the basement. The place was something else entirely. A massive screen dominated one wall, with rows of chairs neatly arranged in front of it. A large investigation board covered in pinned documents and red string stood off to the side. And in the corner, a weapons cache sat securely locked behind a reinforced cage. "Where the hell did you find this place?" I asked. "NSC’s had this safehouse for a long time," the agent replied. "It wasn’t in use for years, and the division responsible for maintaining inactive safehouses pretty much forgot about it." I smirked. "Well, that kind of worked in our favor—helped build up our cover." The agent gave a half-shrug. "Eh… you could say that." The sound of footsteps echoed down the stairwell behind me. "Okay, it’s not a complete dump," came a familiar voice. I didn’t even have to turn around. "At least it’s better than where they locked up your sorry ass before," I said. I finally turned to face him. "With no due respect—fuck you, LT," he shot back. I grinned. "Fuck you too, Sarge." He had been part of my platoon—the one that followed me into those suicide missions meant to get rid of me. The only man I could entrust with my life—and this mission. Before joining this team, he had been locked up in prison. His last company commander had been harassing a female enlisted soldier, so he beat the bastard to a pulp. That got him court-martialed. He was the last of my old unit still in the army. The others had long since said goodbye to military life and retired. I wouldn’t have trusted anyone else for this job. So, I pulled some strings with the NSC, got him pardoned, and brought onto my team. I left the rest to him—told him to recruit the others. I had been out of the field for too long. I couldn’t judge a soldier’s skill or trustworthiness just by looking at their file. But he could.

  A group of men followed behind him, descending into the basement, escorted by a second agent. I glanced at them, then turned to First Sergeant. "This is the team you put together?" "Yup. Straight from the bowels of the military, just the way you always liked it," he said with a smirk. My eyes landed on a young guy, clearly the new kid. His body language, the tension in his face—I could tell this was his first real op as an SF commando. "You sure he's up for it?" I asked, still watching the kid. Sarge didn’t hesitate. "Tough as nails. Can handle gun and fight just fine. And most of all—I trust him." That was enough for me. I nodded. "If he has your trust, that’s all I need to hear."

  Not long after, the major arrived as well. "When the hell did you get here?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "I left the same day we met with the brigadier," he replied casually. "I’m part of the intel team—naturally, my work is more important than a bunch of muscles." I scoffed. "You wouldn’t even be here without me, you fucking dickhead." "Alright, gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?" The agent standing next to the screen called out, cutting through the banter. "Fun time’s over, people," the major added, his tone turning serious. "We’ve got work to do."