"No," Ruiz said coldly, disgusted by the young
man's pride. "You're doing a fine job of that
yourself."
James stepped back, gently massaging his
throbbing wrist. He glanced down at his watch. It
was 9:34 AM. Twenty-six minutes until the
ceremony.
And then, from the west, came a sound.
At first, it was subtle. A low, rhythmic
vibration that seemed to travel through the asphalt
beneath their boots. It sounded like the distant
approach of a heavy thunderstorm rolling over the
hills.
But the sky above was a bright, cloudless blue.
The vibration grew steadily louder, deepening
into a mechanical, synchronized roar that shook the
air.
Boyd stopped glaring at Ruiz and looked down
the long stretch of the highway toward Fort
Kendrick. "What the hell is that?"
James calmly reached out and picked up his
leather riding gloves from the motorcycle seat. He
began pulling them on, one finger at a time.
"That," James said softly, looking toward the
horizon, "is my schedule catching up with me."
Chapter 5
The Call to Action
Twenty miles away, behind the heavily
guarded gates of Fort Kendrick, the morning had
begun long before dawn.
The installation was a hive of organized,
meticulous chaos. On the main parade field,
hundreds of soldiers in perfect formation stood at
parade rest, their dress uniforms immaculately
pressed. A military brass ensemble rehearsed
beneath a large, temporary white canopy, the sharp
notes of trumpets cutting through the crisp air.
Nearby, mechanics in coveralls performed last-
minute alignments on a beautifully restored World
War II-era transport truck, ensuring the engine
purred flawlessly for the display.
Inside the imposing brick headquarters
building overlooking the field, Brigadier General
Rebecca Lawson stood near a massive window, her
arms crossed tight against her chest. She wore her
Class A uniform, the silver star on her shoulder
gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She looked at
her watch for the third time in ten minutes.
"Where is he?" she muttered, the tension
evident in her sharp tone.
A young Captain, standing a respectful
distance behind her, checked the tablet in his hands.
"General, Mr. Harris departed his residence at zero-
six-fifteen. He had ample time. He should have
arrived at the main gate at least twenty minutes ago."
Lawson frowned, turning away from the
window. "Did he accept the MP escort we offered?"
The Captain winced slightly. "He declined it,
Ma'am. Respectfully, but firmly."
Lawson let out a short, breathy chuckle that
held no humor. "Of course he did. Stubborn old
mule."
The heavy oak door to the office swung open,
and a young Major rushed in, his face pale and his
breathing slightly elevated. He didn't bother
knocking, a breach of protocol that immediately
signaled a crisis.
"General," the Major said, coming to attention.
"We have a situation. The state highway patrol
dispatch just contacted the Provost Marshal’s office
regarding a protected identification record."
Lawson’s eyes narrowed instantly. "Name?"
"James Franklin Harris."
The atmosphere in the room shifted from
anxious anticipation to sudden, cold alarm.
"What happened?" Lawson demanded,
stepping toward the Major. "Is he injured? Was there
an accident?"
"No accident reported, Ma'am. Two county
patrol officers initiated a traffic stop on State
Highway 18, approximately eight miles east of our
perimeter. When they ran his license, the system
flagged his protected status and routed the
confirmation to our PMO."
"Why was he stopped?"
"The county dispatch doesn't know, Ma'am.
The officers on the scene haven't reported a specific
citation yet. They are holding him on the shoulder."
Lawson’s jaw clenched tight. She looked at the
clock on the wall. 9:36 AM.
"They are holding the guest of honor for the
United States Army Transportation Corps' highest
commendation ceremony on the side of a highway
for a traffic violation?"
The Major swallowed hard. "Yes, General."
Lawson didn't raise her voice, but the sudden,
icy calm in her tone was far more terrifying than a
shout. "Captain."
"Yes, General!"
"Contact the Provost Marshal immediately. I
want a rapid response element mobilized now. I
want the command element of the 14th Sustainment
out the gates in two minutes. We are going to
retrieve our guest."
"Ma'am, what about the county police
jurisdiction?" the Captain asked hesitantly.
Lawson walked over to her desk and grabbed
her cover, placing it sharply on her head.
"James Harris drove transport trucks through
the frozen hell of the Chosin Reservoir in Korea. He
ran supply lines under heavy artillery fire in
Vietnam. He has a Silver Star, two Purple Hearts,
and a protected record because he spent fifteen years
doing things for military intelligence that those
county cops couldn't comprehend if they read it in a
book."
She marched toward the door, the junior
officers scrambling to keep up.
"They have detained an American hero