Page 31 of Anchor
“This is Tree Town One,” Killian said evenly. “Your team. Your responsibility. Eighteen of the best we pulled, and now they’re yours.”
Noah’s voice followed, clipped and final. “Introduce yourself, Anchor.”
Reid stepped forward. “Reid Hanlon. Call sign Anchor because I hold the line when things break. Last Navy op was the Sahel. Comms blackout. Three hostages. I led the walkout.”
He let that sit for half a breath, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. “Ian Chase and Martin Bailey don’t roll dice. And I don’t lead ghosts. You show up; I’ll carry the weight. I’ll be first through, but there are no passengers.”
He pulled a chair into the center of the arc, sat down deliberately, grounding himself in their circle. “Let’s start for real. Name. Call sign. Last time you got hit and stood up.” His gaze swept the room once more, steady. “Let’s go.”
One by one, they gave their names and call signs. Spartan. Shade. Blink. Apex. Stack. Flint. Relay. Ghostwire. Torch. Fuse. Lockjaw. Scope. Bluebird. Hush. Riot. Static. Trace. Drift.
Each carried their fire in different ways—scars, silences, sharp edges, or calm. Eighteen operators, proven in their own battles, now looking to him.
Reid stood, gaze steady. “Apex, you are my XO. You’ve all followed orders. Now you follow each other. No lone wolves. You move together or not at all.”
The room was silent. Not hesitation—alignment.
“First training is zero-six-hundred sharp.” His voice cut through the stillness. “Show up ready.”
No nods. No chatter. Just focus locking into place. Exactly what he wanted.
Chairs scraped softly against the floor as the operators filed out, quiet, efficient, already moving like a unit. Reid stayed where he was, watching their shoulders disappear through the door. The silence that followed was heavier than the meeting itself.
“Apex.”
Dean Kozlow paused mid-step, glanced back once, then peeled away from the rest without a word. He came to stand across from Reid, posture rigid, waiting.
Reid met his eyes. “You’re my XO now. That means we don’t waste time. We start tonight.” He gestured to the table, still warm from bodies and presence. “Sit. Let’s map the team.”
Dean pulled a chair without hesitation, lowering himself into it. Reid dropped into the seat beside him, already stripping the situation down to bones.
“Strengths first,” Reid said. “Who stood out to you?”
Dean’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. “Spartan. Still carries the limp, but he doesn’t quit. Torch—burned but unflinching. Fuse—arrogant but sharp. Good points and liabilities both.”
Reid nodded. “Agreed. Relay and Ghostwire—tech minds. They’ll need to sync, or they’ll step on each other. Bluebird, Scope—eyes from above and distance. They’ll either complement or clash.”
“Stack, Riot,” Dean said flatly. “Frontline. Force and voice. Balance them right, and they break walls. Wrong, and they break each other.”
Reid leaned back, filing it all. Already, the picture was taking shape—threads weaving into structure.
“Zero-six, we test them,” Reid said finally. “Tonight, we set the ground. Roles. Rhythm. They learn each other, or they fail.”
Dean gave a single sharp nod. “I’ll hold the line with you.”
For the first time that night, Reid let out a breath that wasn’t tight in his chest. “That’s all I ask.”
Reid and Dean were still bent over the pad, ink and shorthand carving tomorrow into order, when the annex door opened. Noah Paulsen stepped through, pushing a small garment rack with the same quiet precision he carried into every room.
“Anchor. Apex.” His tone was calm, direct. “Yours.” He slid the hangers apart, showing two full sets of each. “Work uniform.” Dark tactical fatigues, Chase insignia stitched above the heart, sleeves reinforced.
“Casual uniform.” This set was a black shirt and jacket, charcoal-gray insignia distinct from the team’s charcoal-gray shirt with black insignia, and black BDUs. “Leads wear these. You’ll stand out, but only to the right eyes.”
“And dress.” Noah drew forward the last set—sleek black suits, lean cut, formal but functional. “For boardrooms and funerals. You’ll know which when the order comes.”
Reid’s gaze lingered on his, the sharp line of the jacket like a second skin waiting. Beside him, Dean’s fingers tested the fabric at the cuff, expression flat but approval clear.
“You’ll issue the rest in the morning,” Noah said. “Uniformity starts with you. Let them see who leads.”
