"Yes, Chief."
Reardon flipped open a file. "Mildenhall. Al Udeid. Kadena rotation. Two years stateside."
Dante nodded.
"You clean injuries. You keep these kids running. You don’t break 'em. You don’t fix their trauma. You don’t get in their heads. You understand?"
"Understood, Chief."
Reardon tossed a keycard toward him. "Weight room’s yours. If one of them blows out a knee trying to be John Wick, that’s your problem."
Dante caught the card without a word.
Reardon looked him over once more, eyes narrowing. "You Air Force through and through, Olivo?"
Dante didn't flinch. "Yes, Chief."
"Good. You’ll fit in fine."
U.S. AIR FORCE ACADEMY – DAY 4 OF BASIC CADET TRAINING – 0637 HOURS
The air was thinner than she expected. Her boots struck the pavement in rhythm with the rest of Lima Squadron, every step calibrated by muscle memory and sheer refusal to fall behind.
Three days into Basic and already her body ached from effort added on effort. Her squad was tight, a moving wall of sweat and determination, but the strain was showing. A few cadets were drifting off cadence. One had been sent to medical after passing out on Day One. No one wanted to be the second.
Across the formation, a voice rose, just loud enough to carry. “Lima, tighten your line. Your fatigue is not our concern.”
Shannon didn’t need to look. That tone belonged to Cadet First Class Krueger, Lima’s upperclass squad leader. His posture never bent, and his voice never rose beyond calm precision. He didn’t bark like the others. He just waited for mistakes to prove him right.
He walked the line now, eyes scanning, lips pressed in a neutral line. “McKenna, your heel strike is uneven.”
She kept her eyes forward, pace steady.
“You run like someone used to getting credit for showing up.”
The insult didn’t need volume. It was meant to reach her and only her.
Shannon clenched her jaw and kept moving. Krueger passed without further comment, but she felt the heat of his stare a few strides longer than necessary.
Later that afternoon,she returned from laundry exchange with her uniform bundled under one arm and saw them down a hallway off the athletic wing. It was mostly quiet, and the foot traffic was low.
Krueger stood at the end of it, blocking another cadet against the wall. Male. Shorter. Younger. Definitely a basic. Shannon didn’t recognize him.
Krueger had one hand braced flat on the wall beside the cadet’s head, his body angled too close. He wasn’t touching him, but he didn’t have to. The boy’s back was stiff, his eyes locked straight ahead.
Krueger’s voice was low, almost conversational. “You know how this works. You keep your mouth shut; I remember yourname when it matters. If not... well, you’ll learn what silence buys faster than the others.”
Shannon stopped.
The cadet’s eyes flicked toward her.
Krueger followed the look. He didn’t move. Neither did she.
Three seconds. That was all.
She walked past without speaking. But her heart was pounding now, and she didn’t know if it was anger or something colder.
Behind her, the hallway stayed quiet.
