Chapter 3 - The Mission They Erased
They dismissed the formation early, but not before word spread like dry grass catching fire. Emily stood in the small conference room ten minutes later, the door closed, Whitaker on one side of the table, Hayes on the other.
“Tell me,” Whitaker said.
She took a breath. “December twelfth, eighteen months ago. Nighttime insertion into a remote valley. The objective was to extract a downed pilot before enemy forces reached the site. Colonel Hayes commanded the operation from headquarters.”
“And the pilot?”
“Lieutenant Elias Whitaker.” She paused. “Your son, sir.”
Hayes slammed his palm down. “This is fabrication!”
“Let her finish,” Whitaker said quietly.
Emily kept going. “The extraction team was ambushed before we got there. I was the only one who made it to the crash site. Elias was alive — hurt, but alive. We moved on foot. When the building we sheltered in came under fire, he tied me to a pipe to keep me from being crushed by falling debris. Then he went back out to draw them away.”
Her voice wavered. “He didn’t come back. I was found twelve hours later, still tied there. The report that reached you said he died alone. That no one else was there.”
May you like
Whitaker sat very still. “And the scar?”
“From the cuffs. They were too tight. Circulation cut off. The doctors said I was lucky not to lose the hand.” She looked at Hayes. “And then Colonel Hayes changed the records. Removed my name. Said the mission was solo.”
