A SOLDIER'S CREED

📖📖 Chapter 5 - Shadows in the Safehouse

Location: CIA Safehouse, Kandahar City

Time: 20:40 Hours

The safehouse was supposed to be secure. But Michael Rockefeller had been in enough warzones to know walls were only as strong as the men guarding them, and he didn’t trust these walls one bit.

The operators filled the operations room in uneasy silence. The fan creaked overhead, the lightbulb flickered, and the heat pressed down on them like a second enemy. On one side of the table sat Rockefeller’s team—Sarah, Naomi, Bear, the hardened special forces agents whose loyalty had been tested in fire. On the other side, lounging like jackals in borrowed gear, sat Kruger’s mercenaries.

The divide was obvious. The air between them thick with contempt.

“Cute maps,” one of Kruger’s men drawled, tapping the satellite photos spread across the table. His beard was patchy, his smirk lazy. “But we all know we’re walking into a meat grinder. Tell me, Colonel, when’s the part where Washington admits we’re not coming back?”

Bear leaned forward, voice a low growl. “Say that again.”

The merc snorted. “Relax, big guy. Just making conversation.”

Rockefeller slammed a fist down on the table. The maps jumped. The room went silent. “You want to joke, do it when this mission’s over. Until then, you follow orders, you keep your mouth shut, and you remember why you’re here.”

Kruger smirked in the corner, arms crossed. He hadn’t said a word, but the amusement in his eyes said enough.

---

Later, the team dispersed. Sarah found Rockefeller in the armory, stripping his rifle with steady hands. She leaned on the doorframe, voice low. “You don’t trust them.”

Michael didn’t look up. “Should I?”

“Depends which one sells us out first.” Her words were quiet, but sharp.

Naomi joined them, tying back her hair. “The old man at the tea stall wasn’t lying. There’s a leak. Maybe it’s CIA. Maybe it’s those mercs. Either way, you’re acting like you already know.”

Michael slid the bolt carrier into place, the metallic snap echoing in the room. “I don’t know. I just have a feeling.”

He didn’t add the rest—the serpent’s warning echoing in his head, coiled tight in his thoughts.

---

The night stretched long. Some of the operators played cards in the common room, their laughter too forced, their jokes too thin. The mercenaries smoked by the window, eyes watchful, muttering in a language Rockefeller didn’t recognize.

He walked the halls alone, checking doors, counting rifles, listening to the rhythm of the safehouse. Every creak in the floorboards, every hum of the fan, every scrape of boots sounded louder than it should.

By midnight, the city outside was silent. No gunfire, no shouting, no barking dogs. Just silence. Too much silence.

---

Location: Rooftop – CIA Safehouse

Time: 00:57 Hours

Michael stepped onto the rooftop. The air was hot, dry, heavy with dust. Kandahar stretched in every direction, its lights dim, its shadows endless. He leaned on the parapet, scanning alleys, rooftops, the broken skyline.

Then he froze.

Movement. A shadow slipping across the neighboring rooftop, too fast, too quiet to be casual.

Michael’s hand went to his sidearm. He crouched, steady, eyes locked on the shape. The figure paused, as if sensing him, then melted into the dark.

A test? A scout? Or his imagination twisting the night?

Behind him, the door creaked. Kruger stepped out, cigarette glowing between his fingers. “Can’t sleep, Colonel?”

Michael didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on the rooftop across the alley. Empty now. Silent.

Kruger smirked, exhaling smoke. “Careful. Stare too long at the dark, and it starts staring back.”

The words hung heavy, curling with the smoke.

Michael said nothing. But deep inside, he knew—something had been out there. Watching. Waiting.

And the serpent was already moving