Page 52 of Promises in the Dark

Capt. just gave her a hard look in return, clearly not happy with her questioning.

“It seems you haven’t learned your place yet, Doctor”, he snapped, his tone icy and hostile. “This is a military base not a four-star resort.”

My blood pressure was already through the roof, and now it spiked even further. I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to slam my hand into the wall.

I stepped forward, my elbow connecting with Red’s ribs, a not-so-gentle reminder for her to shut the fuck up before she got us both buried.

She shot me a glare, but thank fuck didn’t say anything else.

“We’ll make it work, Captain,” I replied, quick and to the point.

We turned to leave, both wanting to get the fuck out of there, but before we could take a single step, the captain’s voice stopped us dead in our tracks.

I looked over at him and felt myself tense up as I held back the urge to knock him the fuck out so we could finally leave.

“Hold on a minute. I still haven’t received your medical report, Lieutenant. What the hell happened?”

For fuck’s sake, can’t a man catch a fucking break?

Of all the things that could go wrong, now I had to deal with paperwork bullshit.

I let out an internal groan, my mind racing to find a suitable excuse that would’t land us in hot water. But before I could open my mouth to respond, Red interjected with her own explanation.

“Sir,” she spoke up, “we had to leave the hospital in a hurry. But I’ll make sure to call the med camp and have them send it over immediately.”

Capt.’s stern gaze shifted to Red, his eyes drilling into her.

“You better. The government has been trying to cut our funding, and we don’t need any more reasons for those bureaucratic cunts to screw us over.”

That was too fucking close for comfort.

“Understood, sir,” she said, speaking with confidence and clarity, “I’ll get it sorted.”

She managed to say the right words to appease the captain’s ego and put a stop to his bitching.

He leaned forward, resting his wrinkled hands on the cluttered desk, old papers and coffee-stained mugs scattered around like a damn pigsty.

“Lieutenant,” he said, his voice gruff as sandpaper. “Tomorrow, I want a full report about that mission where your squad got wiped out. I want to know every single detail, every move you made, every decision you took.”

I paused, choosing my words carefully. No way in hell could I tell him what I really thought. He was too stubborn to hear it, and I couldn’t afford to lose his trust. My team deserved better, and I owed it to them to find out what the hell really happened out there.

“Yes, sir,” I replied instead, trying to keep the resentment out of my voice.

“And I want a damn good explanation,” he continued, leaning even closer. “I sent a special team to extract your ass from that godforsaken hole you were in, and I want to know what went wrong. You better not be holding out on me, boy.”

I swallowed hard, my Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a buoy in the ocean. I knew what he wanted—a scapegoat, someone to blame for the failure.

“I’m still trying to piece together what happened.”

Captain Asshole just nodded, his face set in a hard line. “Good,” he grunted, leaning back in his chair, crossing his massive arms over his broad chest.

I was standing there, staring at his pudgy, sweat-drenched face, wondering what kind of sick, twisted game he was playing.

“Sir, may I ask about the extraction team? Did they take any hostages for information?”

He eyed me up and down, looking like he wanted to chew me up and spit me out. “There were no Taliban survivors, Rogue. No one to take hostage,” he said, smirking like he’d just won some great victory.

It was like going to a casino, putting all your money on black, and having the house just smile and hand it all back to you.

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