Chapter 3 - The Shadow of the Barracks
The digital clock on the bulkhead read 1945. Most of the non-watchstanders had already gone ashore or retreated to the cramped confines of the berthing compartments below. The ship hummed with a low, restless vibration—the eternal pulse of a floating city waiting for its next deployment order.
I walked the narrow steel corridors alone, my combat boots ringing sharply against the deck plates. Every turn brought back the smell of gray paint, oil, and damp wool.
When I reached the midship berthing hatch, I found it half-open. Inside, the blue-lit gloom of the triple-stacked racks hummed with the quiet rustle of sleeping men and the low murmur of a portable radio playing distant classic rock.
Brandon was sitting on the edge of his bottom rack, his civilian hoodie pulled over his head, staring blankly at a metal locker door three feet away. His sea bag lay unzipped on the deck, half-packed with civilian clothes, sneakers, and a framed photograph of our father in full dress uniform.
I stepped across the high coaming, the metal clanging softly beneath my boot.
Brandon flinched, looking up with red-rimmed eyes. The arrogant, easy swagger that had defined his entire existence was completely gone. In its place was something panicked, cornered, and entirely fragile.
“You’re ruining everything,” Brandon whispered, his voice cracking. He didn't stand up. He stayed slumped on the narrow mattress like a teenager caught stealing from a convenience store. “You couldn't just let it go. You always had to be the smart one, didn't you? Always had to prove you were better.”
“This isn't about me being better, Brandon,” I said, stopping two feet from his rack. I looked down at the open sea bag. “You falsified equipment transfer logs to cover a twenty-thousand-dollar parts shortage. You used Miller to sign off on it because you thought an unannounced inspection would never hit this hull.”
Brandon let out a harsh, bitter laugh that sounded like a dry cough. “You think I came up with that system? You think I’m smart enough to figure out how to work the supply chain?”
I froze. The ambient hum of the ship seemed to drop away.
“What are you talking about?”
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Brandon looked up, a twisted, miserable grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Ask Dad. Ask the man who taught me how easy it is to make things disappear when people are too busy looking at your medals to check your math.”
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