The Untouchable Commander

Chapter Three

The address was in a bad part of town.

Kael limped down the cracked sidewalk, his cane tapping against the concrete. The buildings were rundown. Graffiti covered the walls. Broken windows stared out like hollow eyes. This wasn't the kind of place where soldiers lived. This was the kind of place where people went to disappear.

Reyes had given him the address. Dawson's last known location before he was reassigned. A cheap apartment above a laundromat. The kind of place you rented when you didn't want anyone to find you.

Kael climbed the stairs. His leg screamed with every step. He ignored it.

The door was at the end of the hallway. Number 4B. The paint was peeling. The lock was cheap. Kael pulled out the tools Reyes had given him and got to work. Thirty seconds later, the door swung open.

The apartment was empty.

Not just empty. Cleaned out. No furniture. No personal items. No sign that anyone had ever lived there. The windows were covered with newspaper. The floor was swept. The kitchen was spotless.

Kael limped through the rooms, his eyes scanning for anything out of place. Nothing.

He was about to leave when something caught his eye. A corner of the floor. The carpet was slightly lifted. Like someone had pulled it up and then put it back.

Kael knelt down. His leg screamed. He bit through the pain and peeled back the carpet.

Underneath was a loose floorboard. He pried it up with his fingers. Inside the gap was a small envelope.

He pulled it out. Opened it.

Inside was a photograph. Old. Faded. The kind of photograph that had been folded and unfolded many times.

Kael stared at the image. His blood went cold.

It was a picture of his father. In uniform. Standing next to another soldier. Both young. Both smiling. Both alive.

The other soldier had his arm around Kael's father. They were laughing like old friends.

Kael turned the photograph over. On the back, in faded handwriting, were two names.

Vance and Harris. Brothers in arms. 1998.

Harris. Dawson's last name was Harris.

Kael pocketed the photograph. His mind was racing. His father had served with Dawson's father. Had been friends with him.

And now Dawson had killed his son.

But why? What had happened between their fathers all those years ago? And who had sent Dawson to do this?

Kael needed answers. But he also needed something else.

He needed power.

The next morning, Kael stood in front of Colonel Marks's office.

His leg was still healing. The cane was still necessary. But he'd dressed in his best uniform. His medals were polished. His back was straight. He looked like the soldier he was supposed to be.

"Come in," Marks called.

Kael pushed open the door. The office was sparse. Functional. A desk. A computer. A flag in the corner. Marks sat behind the desk, his face unreadable.

"Sergeant Vance," Marks said. "You're supposed to be on medical leave."

"I need to talk to you, sir."

Marks gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

Kael sat. His leg protested. He ignored it.

"I want back in, sir," Kael said. "Active duty. Full operational status."

Marks raised an eyebrow. "You're still recovering. The doctors say you need more time."

"I don't have time, sir." Kael's voice was steady. "My brother is dead. The investigation is closed. You called it an accident. We both know that's not true."

Marks's face tightened. "The investigation found equipment failure. Weather conditions. It was a tragedy, but it was an accident."

"I found a photograph, sir. My father and a soldier named Harris. Dawson Harris was on that mission. He was the one who cut my brother's rope."

Marks was silent for a long moment. Then he leaned back in his chair.

"You don't have proof of that."

"Not yet. But I'll get it. And when I do, I'm going to find out who sent him. Who's really behind this."

Marks studied him. His eyes were calculating. "What do you want from me, Sergeant?"

"I want to be reassigned. I want to work my way up. I want to become someone who can't be touched. Someone who has the resources and the authority to find the truth."

Marks was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.

"There's a position opening up. Special Operations. Advanced training. Elite unit. The kind of unit that operates in the shadows. The kind of unit that gets things done."

Kael leaned forward. "I want it."

"It won't be easy. The training is brutal. The missions are dangerous. And you'll be starting from the bottom. No special treatment because of your brother's death. You'll have to earn every inch."

"I understand, sir."

Marks stood up. Walked to the window. Stared out at the base below.

"Your father was a good man," Marks said. "I served with him. Briefly. He was respected. Honored. Everyone who knew him spoke highly of him."

Kael's heart skipped. "You knew my father?"

"I knew of him. We were in different units. But I heard the stories. He was a hero. Saved his entire squad during an ambush in '98. Carried a wounded soldier through the jungle for miles. Got him to extraction. The soldier didn't survive, but your father didn't leave him behind."

Kael thought about the photograph. The soldier with his arm around his father. Harris.

"That soldier," Kael said. "His name was Harris."

Marks turned back to him. His face was unreadable. "Yes. Your father was haunted by that mission. He never talked about it. But I heard... the soldier who died, Harris, he had a family. A wife. A young son."

Kael's blood went cold. "Dawson."

"He would have been about ten when it happened," Marks said. "Young enough to be shaped by grief. Old enough to remember his father."

"Someone must have told him a lie," Kael said. "Made him believe my father was responsible."

"That's possible. The military is full of secrets. Full of people who twist the truth for their own purposes." Marks walked back to his desk. Sat down. "You want to find the truth, Vance? You want to become untouchable? Then prove yourself. Earn your place in Special Operations. Show them you're not just a grieving brother. Show them you're a soldier worth having."

Kael stood up. His leg ached. His heart pounded.

"I will, sir. I won't let you down."

"I'm not worried about you letting me down." Marks's voice was cold. "I'm worried about you getting yourself killed. The people who killed your brother are powerful. Connected. They won't hesitate to do the same to you."

Kael met his eyes. "That's why I need to become untouchable, sir. So they can't touch me. So I can find them and make them pay."

Marks nodded slowly. "Your application will be processed. You start training in four weeks. Don't waste this chance, Vance. Your brother's killer is still out there. And they're waiting for you to slip up."

Kael turned and limped toward the door.

"One more thing," Marks called after him. "Your father's dog tags. Do you have them?"

Kael stopped. Turned back. "My mother gave them to me before she died. Why?"

"Keep them close. They might lead you somewhere you need to go."

---

Kael limped out of the building and into the bright sunlight.

His mind was churning. His father. Harris. Dawson. The mission. The lies. Somewhere in all of this was the truth. And he was going to find it.

But first, he needed to become something more. Something untouchable.

He thought about the promise on the back porch. The hunger. The cold. The vow he and Dorian had made to each other.

We become untouchable.

He'd said those words when he was fifteen. He'd meant them. But he'd never truly understood what they meant.

Now he did.

Being untouchable wasn't just about being a good soldier. It was about being the best. The kind of soldier who commanded respect. The kind of soldier who had resources. Connections. Power.

The kind of soldier who could find a killer and make them pay.

Kael limped to his car. He sat in the driver's seat and stared at the photograph. His father and Harris. Smiling. Laughing. Alive.

"I'll find the truth, Dad," he whispered. "I'll find out what happened. And I'll make it right."

He put the photograph in his pocket. Started the engine.

He had four weeks before training started. Four weeks to prepare. To heal. To plan.

The hunt was just beginning.

But Kael wasn't going to rush. He wasn't going to make mistakes. He was going to be patient. Methodical. Untouchable.

Because the people who killed his brother were powerful. Connected. And they were still out there.

But not for long.

---

That night, Kael sat in his apartment with the box of his mother's belongings spread out before him.

He'd been through it a dozen times. Photos. Letters. Small trinkets. Nothing that seemed important.

But then he found it.

At the bottom of the box, hidden beneath a layer of tissue paper, was a small leather journal. Worn. Old. The cover was cracked and faded.

Kael opened it carefully. The handwriting was his father's.

Mission logs. 1998. Operation Desert Storm.

His father had kept a journal. Detailed records of his missions. His thoughts. His fears.

Kael's hands shook as he flipped through the pages. Most of it was mundane. Day-to-day operations. Boredom. Waiting.

Then he reached the last entry.

We lost Harris today.

The ambush came out of nowhere. We were outnumbered. Outgunned. I tried to get him out. I carried him through the jungle. Every step was a battle. But I couldn't save him. He died in my arms.

I made him a promise. I told him I'd take care of his family. His wife. His son. I'd make sure they were okay.

But I failed. I couldn't save him. And now I have to live with that.

I'll never forgive myself.

Kael read the entry three times. His father had carried Harris through the jungle. Tried to save him. Promised to take care of his family.

But something had gone wrong. Harris's family hadn't been taken care of. Dawson had grown up believing lies.

What had happened?

Kael flipped to the next page. It was blank. The journal ended.

But on the last page, there was a name. Written in his father's shaky handwriting.

Marcus.

Kael stared at the name. His cousin. The golden child. The one Aunt Claire had always favored.

Why had his father written Marcus's name in his journal? And what did Marcus have to do with Harris's death?

Kael's mind raced. Marcus had been young. Too young to be involved in the mission. But his father had known something. Something about Marcus.

Or about his aunt.

Kael closed the journal. His heart was pounding. The pieces were coming together. Slowly. Painfully.

He thought about Beatrice. Marcus's new girlfriend. His brother's fiancée. The way they'd been laughing in the kitchen on the day of the funeral.

Marcus was connected to this. Somehow. Some way.

And Kael was going to find out how.

He looked at his father's journal. The photograph. The name written on the last page.

Marcus.

Kael's eyes hardened. His jaw tightened.

The people who killed his brother were powerful. Connected. But he was going to become more powerful. More connected.

He was going to become untouchable.

And then he was going to bring them all down.