Chapter 5 - The Red Carpet Trap
By two o'clock in the afternoon, the summer sun beat down relentlessly on the concrete flight line at Fort Bragg.
Richard had spent two hours personally inspecting the honor guard, making sure every brass button shone like polished silver.
He had forced Tyler into an ill-fitting dress suit and stationed Major Yates at the foot of the receiving line.
Richard was convinced this sudden visit from the Chief of Staff was his golden opportunity to regain control.
He believed General Vance was arriving to restore order, reprimand the arrogant JSOC colonel, and put Claire back in her place.
“Stand up straight, Tyler!” Richard hissed under his breath, adjusting his white parade gloves.
“When General Vance steps off that aircraft, you look him in the eye and shake his hand like a Bradley.”
“I’m going to recommend you for a direct civilian liaison commission before this day is over.”
Tyler shifted uncomfortably, pulling at his stiff collar while sweat dripped into his eyes.
“Dad, are you sure about this? Look across the runway.”
Richard turned his head and froze.
Parking near the edge of the hangar were two matte-black armored Suburbans bearing federal government plates.
Out stepped Colonel Nathan Vance, followed by four Tier-One operators in full combat kit.
And walking between them, wearing a tailored charcoal suit and carrying the red steel-mesh folder, was me.
Richard’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together.
“What does she think she’s doing?” Richard muttered furiously. “She has no authority on an active flight line during a four-star arrival!”
Before Richard could send Major Yates to intercept us, the deep, rhythmic thrum of heavy rotor blades echoed over the tree line.
Army One—the VIP Black Hawk carrying the Chief of Staff—touched down cleanly in the center of the painted circle.
The turbine engines whined down, and the heavy cabin door slid back on its tracks.
Richard immediately snapped to rigid attention, saluting with textbook perfection as General Marcus Vance descended the steps.
The four-star general walked with the deliberate, heavy stride of an old infantryman who had seen too many battlefields.
His uniform bore rows of combat ribbons spanning four decades of warfare.
Richard took three brisk steps forward, his hand still pinned to his brow.
“General Vance, sir! Welcome to Fort Bragg. I apologize for the procedural irregularities this morning—”
General Vance didn't even slow down.
He walked straight past Richard Bradley’s outstretched hand, leaving the three-star general saluting empty air.
General Vance marched directly past Major Yates, past the sweating Tyler, and stopped three paces in front of me.
Then, before the eyes of the entire base honor guard, the Chief of Staff of the United States Army raised his right hand.
And snapped a crisp, razor-sharp salute.
“Director Bradley,” General Vance said, his voice ringing across the quiet tarmac.
May you like
“On behalf of the President and the Joint Chiefs, I thank you for your service on the Caspian front this morning.”
Richard’s arm slowly dropped to his side, his eyes widening in complete and utter disbelief.
