Senator's Fatal Choice

The summons came at dawn.

"Staff Sergeant Jenkins," Colonel Marcus Thompson's voice crackled through the intercom. "Report to the command center immediately."

I found him hunched over satellite maps with two Canadian officers. Their uniforms bore the distinctive maple leaf insignia of the Royal Canadian Armed Forces.

"Ah, there she is," Marcus said, straightening. "Gentlemen, this is Staff Sergeant Elisabeth Jenkins, our senior medic."

The older Canadian officer—Major Beaumont according to his nameplate—extended his hand. "Pleasure. We've heard good things about your work here."

"Thank you, sir," I replied, keeping my tone professional despite the flutter in my chest. Three years of anonymity were crumbling by the minute.

Marcus gestured to the maps. "We're planning a joint training exercise in the northern mountains. Medical evacuation scenarios, combat triage, that sort of thing."

"And you need me to..." I began.

"Lead the medical component," Marcus finished. "The Canadians have requested our best, and that's you."

I felt a chill run down my spine. High-profile training exercises meant visibility. Visibility meant attention. Attention meant...

"Is there a problem, Staff Sergeant?" Major Beaumont asked.

"No, sir," I said quickly. "When do we start?"

---

The mountains loomed gray and imposing against the morning sky as our convoy wound its way up the narrow road. I sat in the lead medical vehicle, reviewing the exercise parameters on my tablet.

"Complex terrain, multiple casualty scenarios," I murmured to myself. "They're not messing around."

The exercise unfolded like clockwork. I established three field medical stations, coordinated evacuation routes, and implemented a triage system that earned approving nods from the Canadian medical officers.

"Your people are impressive," Major Beaumont commented during a lull between scenarios. "Especially you, Staff Sergeant."

I was about to respond when my radio crackled: "Medic to sector four, priority one."

Sector four was a steep ravine where the soldiers were practicing rope rescues. As I scrambled toward the location, I heard shouting and saw figures gesturing wildly.

A young private lay sprawled at the base of the cliff, his leg bent at an unnatural angle. Above him, three more soldiers clung to ropes, their descent halted by what appeared to be a tangled harness.

"Report!" I barked.

"Private Wilson fell ten meters," the nearest soldier called down. "The safety line snapped!"

I dropped my medical pack and began assessing Wilson's injuries while barking orders. "Get me a splint from the main pack! Someone call for the evacuation helicopter!"

As I worked, I became aware of another presence—a woman in civilian clothes standing at the edge of the rescue zone, observing intently.

"Who are you?" I demanded without looking up from Wilson's leg.

"Sloane Wheeler," she replied, her voice cool and measured. "I'm here to observe the medical operations."

My hands froze momentarily before resuming their work. Sloane. Vincent's fiancée. Here.

"What's she doing here?" I muttered to Luna, who had materialized at my side.

"Official observer," Luna replied quietly. "Came in with the second Canadian contingent."

I glanced up to find Sloane watching me with calculated interest. Her perfect makeup and tailored clothes seemed obscenely out of place amid the chaos of the rescue operation.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere safe?" I called to her.

"I'm perfectly fine here," she replied with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm interested in learning more about military medical operations. After all, I'll be a political wife soon."

The way she emphasized "political wife" made my stomach clench.

---

The final scenario of the day involved a simulated avalanche rescue. The soldiers had constructed an elaborate training ground with unstable snow formations and multiple "buried" casualties.

I was directing the medical team when I heard a scream from the far side of the training area.

"She's trapped!" someone shouted.

I turned to see Sloane struggling near a precariously balanced snow formation. She'd somehow wandered into the danger zone during the simulation.

"Stay where you are!" I called, rushing toward her while signaling for the safety team to follow.

As I approached, I noticed something odd—the safety rope that should have been securing the snow formation had been cut cleanly through.

"Help me!" Sloane cried, her voice trembling perfectly. "I was just trying to get a better view!"

I reached for her arm, but before I could pull her away, there was a sharp crack above us.

"Look out!" Luna shouted.

The snow formation began to shift, then cascaded downward in a roar of white.

I threw myself forward, pushing Sloane toward Luna while trying to shield her from the falling snow. The world turned white as the avalanche engulfed us.

When the snow settled, I found myself half-buried with Sloane clinging to me, her face streaked with genuine terror.

"You saved me," she gasped, her eyes wide with shock.

But as the rescue team pulled us free, I caught sight of something in her expression—something that looked remarkably like satisfaction.