Chapter 3: The Point of No Return

Chapter 3: The Point of No Return

The stack of folders on Captain Alex Ryder’s desk had become a monument to human folly. The "Volkov file" was no longer just a file; it was a character in the daily drama of his company, a silent, malevolent presence that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day. The honorable discharge paperwork, the DA Form 4187 he’d filled out in good faith, lay on top of the pile like a tombstone marking the death of a naive idea. He hadn't touched it since his return. To sign it now would be to reward the very chaos he was sworn to contain.

His First Sergeant stood across the desk, arms crossed. "Sir, we have to do something. The platoon is walking on eggshells around her. She's a morale vampire, sucking the life out of the NCOs."

"I know, First Sergeant," Alex said, rubbing his temples. The temp agency incident was a new gold standard for idiocy, but it was still just an administrative headache. It wasn't criminal. It didn't cross the line that would allow him to bring the full weight of the Uniform Code of Military Justice down on her. He was trapped in a gray area, a purgatory of official counselings and non-judicial punishments that Volkov treated like water off a duck's back. He needed something more. He needed her to make a fatal mistake.

As if on cue, the company runner knocked and entered, a young Specialist with wide, nervous eyes. He wasn't looking at Alex; he was looking at the man trailing behind him.

Specialist Volkov, Anya’s husband, stood hesitantly in the doorway. His uniform was immaculate, but his face was a wreck of exhaustion and defeat. There was a fresh, angry-looking scratch running down his cheek.

"Sir, Specialist Volkov asked to speak with you," the runner said.

Alex dismissed the runner and gestured for the Specialist to enter. "Close the door. What can I do for you, Specialist?"

The infantryman twisted the patrol cap in his hands, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Sir… I can't do it anymore. I… I need to make a statement. A real one this time."

Alex and First Sergeant Miller exchanged a look. This was it.

"Tell me what happened," Alex said, his voice calm and steady, betraying none of the cold anticipation coiling in his gut.

"It was last night," the Specialist began, his voice barely a whisper. "We got into a fight about money again. She… she spends it as fast as it comes in. I told her we had to budget, that her little schemes were going to get us both kicked out. She just laughed." He paused, taking a shaky breath. "Then she went to the kitchen. I thought she was just walking away, but she came back with the same knife as before. She held it up and said if I ever tried to 'control her' again, she'd 'gut me like a fish in my sleep.' I tried to grab it from her… that’s how I got this." He gestured to the scratch on his face. "I slept in my car last night, sir. I'm afraid to go home."

The air in the office grew heavy and still. This wasn't a vague "domestic incident" anymore. This was a specific, credible, terroristic threat with a weapon. The husband’s fear was palpable and genuine.

"Are you willing to write that down and sign it as a sworn statement for the MPs?" Alex asked, his voice like ice.

Specialist Volkov finally looked up, his eyes meeting Alex's. For the first time, Alex saw not just fear, but a flicker of resolve. He was a cornered animal finally deciding to fight back. "Yes, sir. I am."

First Sergeant Miller quietly escorted the shaken Specialist to the MP station. Alex stared at the Volkov file. The knife attack, now corroborated and formal, was a serious felony. The deal wasn't just dead; its corpse was now on fire. The path was becoming clearer, the gray area shrinking with every insane decision Anya made.

He still didn't realize how much clearer it was about to become.

The phone on his desk rang, its shrill tone cutting through the silence. It was Captain Davis, the commander of the adjacent transportation company.

"Alex," Davis said, his voice strained with that unique blend of fury and disbelief only a fellow commander could truly understand. "I've got one of your soldiers in my office. Or rather, I've got one of my soldiers who was with one of your soldiers. We need to talk. Now."

Ten minutes later, Alex stood in Davis’s office, listening to a story that defied all logic.

One of Davis's Privates, a young kid fresh out of training, had failed to show for PT that morning. His squad leader had found him in his barracks room, still drunk from the night before. After being grilled, the Private confessed everything.

He’d met Private Volkov at the chow hall. She’d been friendly, flirtatious. She told him she knew a place in Honolulu where they could have a good time. Last night, he’d taken a taxi with her to a seedy club just outside of Waikiki. A place notorious for underage drinking and prostitution.

There, in the dim, strobing lights of the club, Anya Volkov had taken the stage. In