Chapter 6: The Final Insult

Chapter 6: The Final Insult

The call came from the legal office on a Tuesday morning, shattering the productive calm of the company headquarters. Alex took it in his office, and First Sergeant Miller, seeing the grim set of his jaw, stood by silently, already knowing no good news came from that number.

"Captain Ryder," the voice on the other end, a junior JAG officer, said, "I'm calling to inform you that Detainee Volkov is being released from the Naval Brig, effective immediately."

Alex felt a surge of cold fury, which he immediately suppressed. "On what grounds?" he asked, his voice dangerously level.

"She's pregnant, sir. Army regulations prohibit the pre-trial confinement of pregnant soldiers. She's being returned to your custody pending her court-martial date, which has been set for nine days from now."

The system, the great, lumbering machine of rules and regulations he had used to cage her, had just been used by Anya as an escape hatch. She had found the one loophole he couldn't close.

"I understand," Alex said, and hung up.

Miller’s face was a thundercloud. "Sir. You cannot be serious. They're sending her back here?"

"For nine days, First Sergeant," Alex said, his eyes already distant, calculating. "Nine days until her trial. She'll be housed in the barracks, restricted to the company area, and require a constant NCO escort for any movement." He looked at Miller. "It's going to be a long nine days."

An hour later, Captain Theo Morgan escorted Anya into the office. Morgan was practically glowing, his smarmy confidence fully restored. He’d found a crack in Alex’s perfect case and clearly believed he’d regained the upper hand. Anya stood beside him, her smirk firmly back in place. She wasn't wearing a prison jumpsuit anymore, and her defiant posture had returned with her uniform.

"Captain Ryder," Morgan began, spreading his hands magnanimously. "A new development, as you see. My client is in a delicate condition. I've had a frank discussion with her about the… precariousness of her situation. She understands the need for perfect behavior between now and her court date."

"Does she?" Alex asked, his voice devoid of inflection.

"Absolutely," Morgan said, puffing out his chest. "In fact, I personally vouched for her with your battalion commander. I staked my professional reputation on it. You will have no trouble from Private Volkov. She will be a model soldier for the next nine days. My word on it."

Alex looked past the preening lawyer to the soldier he was defending. Anya’s eyes held a glint of pure, malicious triumph. She thought she had won. She believed that her condition had made her untouchable, a protected species. She had no intention of behaving. This wasn't a reprieve for her; it was a victory lap.

The next seventy-two hours proved him right. The reports flooded in with agonizing predictability.

Day one: Anya refused to clean her barracks room for inspection, telling the NCO on duty, a battle-hardened Sergeant, that she was "too sick" and that "forcing a pregnant woman to do chores is abuse."

Day two: She broke curfew. Her escort, a patient Staff Sergeant, found her an hour past lights-out in the common room, loudly talking on her phone with a friend off-post, laughing about how she had all the NCOs running around like her personal servants.

Day three: The final straw. She was scheduled for a mandatory pre-natal appointment at the base hospital. When her escort arrived at her door, she refused to open it, yelling through the wood that she didn't trust Army doctors and was going to find her own. She was willfully disobeying a direct order and refusing necessary medical care provided for her own well-being.

Alex picked up the phone. "Captain Morgan," he said when the lawyer answered. "Be in my office in thirty minutes. Bring your client."

The confrontation felt like a repeat of their first meeting, a twisted déjà vu. Morgan and Volkov stood before his desk. Morgan looked annoyed, as if this were a petty waste of his valuable time. Anya looked bored, idly examining her fingernails.

"Captain Morgan," Alex began, his voice a low, dangerous hum. "You staked your reputation on your client's good behavior. In the last three days, she has been insubordinate, broken curfew, and directly refused a lawful order regarding her own medical treatment. Explain to me how this constitutes 'model soldiering.'"

Morgan waved a dismissive hand. "Come now, Captain. A little friction is to be expected. She's hormonal, under stress…"

"Do not insult my intelligence," Alex cut in, his voice dropping even lower, colder. He ignored Morgan and fixed his gaze directly on Anya. For the first time, he spoke to her not as a commander to a soldier, but as a man stating undeniable facts.

"You had a deal," he said, his voice slicing through the air. "An honorable discharge. A clean slate. All you had to do was not set the world on fire for ninety days. You chose to file a false sexual harassment complaint against a good man instead."

Anya's head snapped up, her eyes flashing with anger. "He was—"

"You had a home," Alex continued, speaking over her as if she hadn't made a sound. "You had a husband who, for some reason, was willing to put up with you. You chose to threaten him with a knife, to tell him you'd gut him in his sleep. So he left."

"He was the one—"

"You had your freedom," Alex's voice was relentless, a hammer striking steel. "Every day, you were free to walk around this beautiful island. You chose to go to a filthy club in Honolulu and strip on a stage for money. You chose to drag another young soldier down with you."

"I needed the money! You don't understand my life!" she shrieked, the victim narrative kicking into high gear. Her face began to crumple, the tears starting to form. This was her ultimate weapon, the one she used when all else failed.

Alex leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers, refusing to let her look away. "Every single thing that has happened to you, from the moment I took command, has been the direct result of a choice you made. You are not a victim, Private. You are a volunteer. You are the architect of your own misery. And now you're trying to use your own child as a human shield, another tool in your pathetic game. The only difference is, this game is over."

Anya completely broke, the calculated tears turning into genuine, hysterical sobs. "You're a monster!" she wailed, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You hate me! You've been trying to destroy me from day one! He's obsessed with me!"

Captain Morgan, seeing his case imploding, stepped forward to shield her. "That's enough, Captain Ryder! You are badgering my client! She is clearly distraught! I will not have her subjected to this abuse!"

"Abuse?" a new voice echoed from the doorway.

All three of them turned. Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Ryan stood there, his arms crossed, his expression carved from ice. He had been listening from the hallway, an arrangement Alex had made with a single, quiet phone call.

LTC Ryan’s gaze swept past Alex, past the sobbing Anya, and landed squarely on the stunned face of Captain Theo Morgan.

"Captain Morgan," Ryan said, his voice dangerously soft. "You stood in my office three days ago. You told me you had this situation under control. You staked your reputation on it."

Morgan's face went pale. "Sir, with all due respect, my client is pregnant and under extreme emotional duress caused by Captain Ryder's… vendetta."

Ryan took two slow steps into the room, his presence sucking all the air out of it. He stopped directly in front of the JAG officer, forcing the smaller man to look up at him.

"Let me be crystal clear, Captain," Ryan snarled, his voice a low, furious growl. "I was in the room at the Brig when your client, this masterful actor right here, lied to my face about being denied food. I know exactly who and what she is. The only person demonstrating a lack of judgment in this room is you. You vouched for a walking catastrophe. You put your name next to hers. That makes her failure your failure. And I do not tolerate failure in my officers."

Captain Theo Morgan stared, his professional arrogance vaporized by the pure, undiluted fury of a battalion commander whose trust he had betrayed. His career was flashing before his eyes. He had tethered his reputation to a sinking ship, and now the anchor chain was wrapped around his own neck. Anya's sobs died in her throat as she realized her shield had just become the target. The game wasn't just over; the board had been flipped, and now her own lawyer was in the crosshairs.