Chapter 651
[ 509 words ]
Chapter 651:
Caroline released the girl’s wrist, letting the arm drop as if it were a piece of garbage. She turned her full attention to Instructor Reynolds.
“There’s a simple way to end this, Drill Sergeant,” she said calmly. “I suggest you take DNA swabs from underneath Private Hendon’s fingernails. If she was in a fight for her life, she would have scratched her attackers. Their DNA will be present.”
She paused, letting the silence stretch.
“And I would also recommend a full blood spatter analysis of their uniforms. If they were defending themselves from an attack, the bloodstains from Hendon would be high-velocity impact spatter, small, atomized droplets. If they were the aggressors, beating a victim who was already on the ground, it would be cast-off and saturation stains, large, smeared patterns. The evidence is written on their clothes.”
DNA. Blood spatter. The words were alien, terrifying. They were from television shows, from a world of crime labs and federal agents. Blair and her followers were just bullies. They had no idea if the base even had the capability for such things, but the sheer, confident authority with which Caroline spoke shattered their nerve.
One of the followers began to tremble, her eyes darting between Caroline and the instructors. She opened her mouth to speak.
“Shut up!” Blair hissed, but it was too late.
𝖬𝗼𝗿𝘦 𝗻𝗼vе𝗅s 𝘰ո 𝘨аlno𝘷𝗲𝗅s.𝘤о𝗺
Instructor Sharpe was not a fool. She saw the panic, the guilt, the crumbling lies in their eyes. The truth hit her with the force of a physical blow. She had almost been played.
A deep, guttural roar of pure, undiluted fury erupted from her chest.
“MPs! Get these three to the interrogation rooms! Separate them! I want a full statement from each of them before the sun sets!”
As the MPs dragged her away, Blair twisted her head, her face a mask of pure, venomous hatred, her eyes locking on Caroline. It was a promise of revenge.
Caroline watched her go, her expression as placid and untroubled as a frozen lake. The battle was won.
The heavy footsteps of the MPs and their prisoners faded down the long corridor, leaving a ringing silence in their wake.
Instructor Sharpe turned, her face a thundercloud of fury and something else, a deep, unsettling curiosity. She walked slowly back to Caroline, her eyes conducting a new, more intense assessment.
“True crime podcasts,” she said, her voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Is that where a civilian nurse learns about blood spatter analysis?”
Caroline’s expression remained perfectly neutral. She had anticipated this question. “I’m a voracious reader, Drill Sergeant. And I find the science of forensics fascinating. It’s a hobby.”
It was a simple, plausible, and utterly American explanation. In a country obsessed with crime dramas and podcasts, it was the perfect cover. Sharpe’s eyes narrowed, filled with suspicion, but she had no grounds to challenge it. It was a dead end.
Instructor Reynolds stepped forward, breaking the tense standoff. She glanced at her watch. “Morning formation is over. You have fifteen minutes to get to the mess hall. O’Malley, Thompson, move out.”
Brenna snapped to attention. “Yes, Drill Sergeant!” She turned to go.
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