They Benched the Wrong Guy

Ryan's first move as acting lead? Straight to my station.

He tapped my desk, chin tipped up. "Lieutenant Chadwick, per regs, all specialized gear in your locker gets turned in during your suspension. Here's the key. Empty it. Now."

No effort to hide the contempt.

I said nothing. Opened the locker. Set out my tweaked tweezers, custom cutters, mini scope—one by one.

He looked pleased. "From now on, we stick to standard procedures. Those 'homemade' toys? Obsolete."

I looked up. "Quick question. You hit a bomb—epoxy packed with steel beads, strapped to an artery. The manual says use solvent. That solvent burns skin, causes secondary damage. What do you do?"

Ryan's face locked up. He stumbled. "Then... w-we follow the manual. Strictly. It's been verified over and over. It's the most scientific approach."

No flexibility. Just parroting regs.

I flashed back—years ago. My mentor, Clark Wayne, the Army's 'Master Defuser'. He'd clapped my shoulder. "Kid, rules are dead. People are alive. I care about how you think outside the box."

Now? I just sighed.

I started coasting.

A few days later, a bank flagged a standard "Thunderbolt" timer bomb. I got stuck on logistics.

Scene photos came in. I opened my laptop, pulled the standard Thunderbolt breakdown, and sent it over.

One of the senior techs called, voice tight. "Cole, isn't there a trap in the B2 circuit? Thought you mentioned it."

I answered flat. "Per the manual, B2's a standard fuse line. No special notes. Follow procedure."

I hung up.

That day, for the first time, I walked out the second my shift was over.

I skipped the workshop—no bomb study. Hit the range instead and burned through five full mags.

Meanwhile, Ryan rolled out this ridiculous "equipment verification checklist" in Alpha Squad.

Thirty-plus pages. Two people had to cross-check everything three times before and after every mission, then sign off on it all.

That process alone tacked on fifteen extra minutes before every deployment.

The frustration stayed quiet—but it spread.

"Is Lieutenant Cocke serious? By the time he finishes that checklist, the hostages are already gone."

"Last time at the chemical plant, he stuck to procedure. We showed up five minutes late—almost blew the whole thing."

"All theory, zero field sense. Guy doesn't know a damn thing about real ops."

Some of the longtime guys came to me on the low, looking for answers.

I just poured one a glass of water. "Lieutenant Cocke's acting lead. We follow his orders. Everything by the book."

With me checked out and Ryan stacking bad calls, the squad's response time—and win rate—took a hit.