Chapter #75: The Judgment of Ice
After two full weeks excavating beneath the frozen earth, Miles finally returned to the surface of Briggs. The change was brutal. The air—though biting—felt clean compared to the damp dust of the mines. Each breath burned his lungs, not from the cold, but from the tension he had carried for days.
He couldn't deny it: he was afraid to see the General.
It wasn't cowardly fear, but something deeper. Miles was now Olivier Armstrong's right hand—her Major, her shadow within the base. Sooner or later, he would have to face her. Avoiding her was not an option.
He entered his assigned quarters and dropped his mining gear onto the floor. It was coated in grime, grease, and hardened ice. Hygiene in the mines was nearly nonexistent; drills, picks, and stone showed no mercy. Without thinking much, he headed to the shower and let hot water pour over him, washing away weeks of dust and exhaustion.
When he finished and changed into a clean uniform, he sat on the bed.
The silence hit him hard.
Two weeks earlier, in the cave. The vapor. The closeness. The flare. The moment that never happened… and yet had happened far too much.
Miles clenched his fists. He didn't know whether to feel shame, confusion, or a strange sense of calm. Not a single word had been spoken since. The General had continued her work. He had buried himself in the mine. Absolute professionalism. Total distance.
A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Come in."
The door opened and Buccaneer walked in without ceremony. The first thing he did was look Miles up and down, evaluating him as always.
"Well," he said, "you're still in one piece. That's already an achievement after two weeks underground."
Miles allowed himself a faint smile.
Buccaneer placed something on the bed: a pair of new glasses with gray lenses, and a sturdy band to tie back his hair.
"Here's what you asked for," he said. "Had to go pretty far to get it, but it was worth it. Not easy to find decent gear in this damned ice."
"Thanks," Miles replied, picking them up.
He put on the glasses, tied back his hair, and glanced at himself in the mirror for a moment. He looked different. Steadier. More… Briggs.
"Captain," he asked, "where's the General?"
Buccaneer crossed his arms.
"Outside the wall. Testing the new rocket launchers. Measuring range and spread."
He smirked.
"You know how she is. If a new weapon exists, she tests it first. Always. Says she won't order something she wouldn't do herself."
Miles nodded.
"Thank you."
He left without another word.
The wind struck his face the moment he passed through the inner gates of the base. He walked quickly, jacket tightly closed, posture straight, eyes forward. To anyone watching, he was Major Miles: unshakable, cold, disciplined.
Inside, cold sweat ran down his spine.
He saw her in the distance.
Olivier Armstrong stood atop an improvised platform, surrounded by soldiers and technicians. The rocket launcher was aimed toward the frozen forest beyond the wall. Each shot made the ground tremble. Trees exploded into splinters and fire, leaving smoking craters in the snow.
The General was laughing.
Not with joy, but with pure satisfaction—that dangerous smile she only showed when something worked exactly as she intended.
Miles approached with a steady stride.
"General!" he shouted to be heard over the roar.
Olivier turned immediately.
Her eyes locked onto him.
For a fraction of a second, Miles thought he saw something different in her gaze. Recognition. Tension. Perhaps… surprise.
Then, without warning, the General swung the launcher.
And aimed it directly at him.
The world seemed to stop.
"General…" Miles managed to say, not understanding.
Olivier smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
"Goodbye, trash," she roared.
She pulled the trigger.
The missile launched with a deafening blast, tearing through the air at brutal speed. Miles didn't think. He didn't shout. He didn't run.
He stood perfectly still.
The projectile passed within inches of his body and slammed into a rock formation behind him, detonating in a colossal explosion. The shockwave hurled him several meters back. He rolled across the snow, stunned, ears ringing, vision blurred.
Shouts. Orders. Soldiers running.
Miles slowly pushed himself up, coughing, breathing hard. He was alive. Intact.
He looked up.
Olivier Armstrong was already standing in front of him.
"What the hell are you doing standing still when a missile is pointed at you?" she snapped. "Do you want to die?"
Miles stared at her, still in shock.
"I thought… you were going to kill me, General."
She studied him in silence for a long second. Then she leaned slightly closer.
"If I had wanted you dead, you wouldn't be breathing."
She turned to the soldiers.
"Test passed!" she shouted. "Increase the range by five more degrees. Reload!"
The soldiers obeyed immediately.
Miles remained there, standing, finally understanding.
It hadn't been an attack.
It had been a test.
Olivier passed by him and, without looking directly at him, spoke in a low voice:
"At Briggs, Major Miles, ice does not forgive hesitation. If you're going to stand at my side, you must learn not to tremble… not even when hell is aimed straight at your face."
Miles snapped to attention.
"Understood, General."
She nodded once and returned to her testing, as if nothing had happened.
Miles stayed where he was, his heart still pounding in his chest, grasping a fundamental truth:
At Briggs, even trust is earned by surviving.
(end of chapter )