Fallout - Chapter 4

The sun hadn’t even crept over the horizon, but the base was already alive with the low hum of movement. I clipped my weapon to my hip, scanning the yard as I moved through my morning drills. Every step was muscle memory – march, check, reload, repeat. No room for distraction.

The mission yesterday was tucked away behind a layer of discipline and routine, but the weight of it pressed at my ribs like an unspoken reminder. The new team arriving had thrown quite a ripple throughout the base. Nothing official yet, but everyone was waiting – watching.

I made my way toward the gear check station near the hangar, part of my rounds. The familiar faces were there, but someone new stood out – a guy, lean, quiet, moving with that practiced precision you don’t see in new recruits. I caught him adjusting the straps on a rifle, his jaw tight with focus.

I paused, arms crossed, letting the moment hang longer than usual. His eyes flicked up just once, steady and unreadable. He didn’t know me yet, but I knew his type.

“Gear check looks solid,” I said to Sergeant Adams who was watching over it. There was a mix of new recruits, soldiers coming back from long missions, and the new team joining us.

He nodded, “Thanks.”

I didn’t linger. There was too much noise behind the silence. I turned and walked away, my mind already shifting back to the endless list of things I had to keep in line – training, maintenance, the weight of everything I refused to let show.

I kept moving, the weight of my boots hitting the pavement steady beneath me. The morning air was sharp, biting at the edges of my skin but I barely noticed. I was focused on the tasks ahead – inspections, drills, the endless cadence of military life.

Passing the mess hall, I cought a few nods from the guys on duty, faces worn but alert. No chit-chat, it was too early.

My squad was waiting by the obstacle course, stretching, warming up. Their eyes flicked to me – part respect, part curiosity. I wasn’t the warm-and-fuzzy type. Never had been. But they knew I pulled my weight.

“Steele,” Jenkins said, his voice low. “You look beat.”

I shrugged. “Just tired.”

He gave a half-smile. “That’s the base motto, huh?”

“Yeah.” I kept moving toward the course. “Let’s get it done.”

As we ran through the course, each obstacle burned the lingering adrenaline from yesterday’s mission out of my system. Focus was my refuge. The routine of it all was my armor.

Still, under it all, the new team loomed in the back of my mind. The CO’s words echoed – “She doesn’t take shit from anyone.” They were talking about me. I’d built my walls high, and I wasn’t planning to let anyone climb over them.

But that guy at gear check…

There was something about him. Quiet, competent. Not a rookie. Not someone to take lightly.

I shook it off as I finished the last sprint, chest heaving, sweat stinging my eyes.

No distractions. No ghosts. Not yet.

By the time we finished the obstacle course, the sun had fully broken over the treetops, casting long shadows across the asphalt. My shirt clung to my back, soaked through, but the ache in my muscles felt earned. Needed.

I dismissed the squad and headed for the armory, waving off a medic who tried to ask if I needed my wrist taped. It was just stiff. Everything was always stiff.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. I dropped my rifle off for cleaning and scanned the log. Still no official listing for the new team – no names, no details. Just a fresh line marked “Classified – Pending Clearance.” Typical.

I left the armory and slipped into the back hallway that led towards the showers. A couple of other operators passed me, laughing about something I didn’t bother catching. I didn’t have the energy to engage even if I wanted to.

After a quick rinse, I stood infront of the cracked mirror in the locker room, watching myself.

Dark circles under my eyes. A faint red line where my tactical vest had rubbed my collarbone raw. Nothing I hadn’t seen before.

But for a half second, I wondered what that guy – gear check guy – had seen when he looked up at me. Had he recognized the weight I carried? Or just seen a cold-faced soldier doing her job?

Probably didn’t think twice.

I threw on a fresh shirt, tied my hair back, and left before the quiet could get too loud again. Out on the path near the range, I slowed for the first time that morning. The breeze carried the smell of oil and spent power – sharp and familiar. I used to find comfort in it.

Now it just reminded me that I’d buried everything I used to feel. I rounded the corner, nearly colliding with Captain Delaney.

“Steele,” he said, stopping short.

“Sir,” I replied, snapping to attention.

He raised an eyebrow as he gave me a signal to relax. “You’ve been through hell this week. Take the afternoon off if you want it.”

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask”

I stiffened again, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. And keep an eye on the new arrivals. They’re integrating faster than expected.”

I held back a sigh. “Understood.”

He started to walk off, then paused. “That Knight guy – he’s got experience. More than most. Might be worth watching.”

“Noted.”

He disappeared down the walk, and I turned back toward the range, a sour taste creeping up the back of my throat. Knight. So that was his name. Figures.

The rest of the day moved in fragments. Paperwork, a briefing, more gear inventory. I kept busy. That was the trick – stay moving, stay sharp. Don’t let the silence get a grip on you.

Around 1400, I walked the perimeter near the north fence, half patrol, half excuse to clear my head. The air was hotter now, sun burning down, sweat trickling between my shoulder blades under my shirt.

As I looped back toward the motor pool, I heard voices – low, clipped, serious.

“...ran three tours before this placement. Special forces out of Benning.”

I slowed my steps, not eavesdropping, not really. Just listening the way soldiers do when they’re trained to catch the things people don’t say out loud.

“I hear he’s got a commendation list longer than my arm,” someone else added. “Guy doesn’t talk much though.”

My boots scuffed the dirt enough to break the moment, and both privates snapped their heads toward me. I gave them a look – a warning without a word. They straightened and nodded as I passed.

I assumed they were talking about Knight. Most people were.

I didn’t know why it stuck in my head the way it did. I’d seen a hundred men just like him. Quiet. Capable. Scarred. The ones who didn’t brag were the ones who’d seen the worst of it. That kind of silence was earned, not faked.

I ended up in the gym later, hammering out reps until my arms shook. Pushups. Pullups. Core. Anything to burn out the restless energy in my chest. When I finally dropped onto the floor, breath ragged, I felt a bit lighter. Not good. Just manageable.

The gym had mostly emptied out, but I caught a figure in the far corner, rewrapping his hands.

Knight.

He hadn’t seen me, or if he had, he didn’t react. Just finished taping, checked the tension, and started hitting the heavy bag. Controlled. Brutal. Like he was working out something that wouldn’t stay buried.

I should’ve looked away. I shouldve left. But I stood there a beat too long, watching the way his fists met the bag. Not wild, not reckless. Just…precise.

When he finally paused to catch his breath, his eyes flicked toward me. That same unreadable stare from gear check.

Neither of us said anything. I grabbed my towel and walked out without a word, heart pounding harder than on my run.