Chapter 16 Missing Ammunitions
Maverick arrived back at the base in the early hours of dawn. The air was sharp and cold, but his body felt light and so did his spirit.
He didn’t go to his office. Instead, he walked straight towards the armory, his expression carved in stone.
John had called earlier that another set of ammunition had gone missing.
The platoon members on duty were already assembled, tension rippled through the air. As soon as John spotted him, he came forward briskly.
“Sir!”
“The ammunition doesn't match what is written on the records,” John explained.
“When did this happen?” Maverick’s voice was calm, but it carried weight.
“Last night.”
Inside the armory, the air smelled of oil and metal. Boxes of 5.56mm rounds were stacked neatly, except for one section where a crate’s lock hung broken, its seal half-torn.
“Run another inventory check,” Maverick ordered. “Every round, every serial number. I want this place sealed until I say otherwise.”
“Yes, sir!” John responded, immediately barking orders to the others.
Military police began dusting for fingerprints while others crouched to study the faint shoe prints in the dusty floor.
Maverick’s cold gaze swept the room, chevking for CCTV cameras before landing on the quartermaster, he was nervous, sweat beaded his forehead. His nameplate read Sgt. Miro.
“Sergeant Miro,” Maverick said, his tone dangerously quiet. “When was the last inventory record taken?”
“Yesterday, sir. At 2100 hours.”
“And who signed the log?”
“Private Peter, sir. He was on duty.”
Maverick’s eyes flicked to the open logbook on the table. He flipped through several pages, before he looked up.
“Tell Private Peter to report to the investigation room. Now.”
He turned and strode out, John followed closely behind.
“Captain,” John said in a low voice once they were outside, “do you think this could be connected to Captain Boyle?”
Maverick didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened, his gaze distant and cold.
When he finally spoke, his tone was steady but heavy with meaning.
“We’ll find out.”
Private Peter sat coolly in his chair, fingers locked together, trying too hard to look unbothered.
John and another military police officer stood behind him, silent and still, like shadows on guard.
Across the table, Maverick flipped through the armory logbook, his eyes traced the inked signatures before lifting slowly and piercing to the man in front of him.
“You signed this entry last night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You logged that forty crates of ammunition were received and secured.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Except there were only thirty-nine this morning.”
Peter blinked, he still maintained his coolness. “Sir, I counted them myself….”
“Then its either you can’t count,” Maverick cut in, his voice low, controlled, laced in ice, “or you’re lying.”
The silence that followed pressed thickly around the room. Peter’s throat bobbed under the weight of Maverick’s stare.
“Sir, I swear I….”
“You handled the storage alone?” Maverick interrupted again, sharper this time.
“Corporal Vance was there, sir.”
Maverick’s gaze flicked to John. “Get me Corporal Vance. Now. And check both their quarters…his and Sergeant Peter’s.”
John straightened immediately. “Yes, sir.”
The sound of his boots echoed as he exited, leaving Maverick and Peter in the cold hum of the fluorescent light.
Heaven’s heart thudded in her chest.
Did Butler Rose know something?
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Before she could respond, a voice called from the hallway.
“Butler Rose, Mrs. Edwards is here. She came to see Madam.”
Rose turned quickly. “Oh, alright. Excuse me, young madam.”
She stood, wiping her palms on her apron as though brushing away a thought she didn’t want to linger on.
Heaven sat frozen, her mind fogged with unease.
What did she mean by that question?
Had she seen her that night? Or perhaps… something else?
Outside the door, Butler Rose’s thoughts flickered back to that morning, the one she’d tried to forget.
When she had entered the second young master’s room, she’d found the bed linens stained, the faint traceof blood refusing to leave her mind. She hadn’t known what to make of it.
All she wanted was to ask if Heaven had seen something too.
“Welcome, Madam Edwards. Good to see you,” Rose greeted warmly, taking the woman’s bag.
“Good to see you too, Rose,” Mrs. Edwards replied, removing her shawl. “Where’s Eleanor?”
“I’ll take you to her.”
Together they walked down the long corridor toward Boyle’s altar room. The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, curling through the silence like smoke.
Mrs. Richard looked up from where she sat before Boyle’s portrait, her face pale and drawn.
“Eleanor…” Mrs. Edwards said softly. “I’m so sorry. I came as soon as I could.”
Mrs. Richard’s lips trembled, but no words came. Her eyes drifted back to the framed photo of her son.
Kiara Edwards stepped forward, lit an incense stick, and bowed before placing it by the altar. Then she knelt beside Eleanor, taking her cold hands.
“He was buried without a body, Kiara,” Eleanor whispered, her voice cracking. “Do you think… maybe he’s out there somewhere? Lost, trying to find his way home?”
Kiara’s chest tightened. She pulled her friend into a gentle embrace. No mother should have to lose her child. The weight of grief hung between them too heavy for words. Silence was the only comfort she could offer.
Later, they moved to the sitting area by the glass wall overlooking the gardens. Servants brought tea, but neither woman reached for it.
“When did you return? How’s Eva?” Eleanor asked faintly.
“Last night,” Kiara replied. “Eva’s fine. She didn’t come back with me this time, but she’ll be here soon to pay her respects.”
Eleanor nodded, eyes distant.
“And Maverick? How is he holding up?” Kiara asked quietly.
Eleanor exhaled, her shoulders sagging. “You know how he is. He doesn’t show emotions. Always so... cold. He left early this morning.”
Before Kiara could respond, movement caught her eye.
Heaven walked silently through the hallway, heading toward Boyle’s altar. Her steps were slow, her figure graceful even beneath the weight of mourning.
Kiara’s gaze followed her; she was breathtaking even in simplicity. Her pale skin glowed faintly under the soft light, her brown hair catching golden strands of sun. Those hazel eyes, even from afar, carried quiet sorrow.
Mrs. Richard noticed the look. “That’s Boyle’s wife,” she said, her tone clipped.
“Oh…” Kiara murmured, still watching her. “She’s the one you chose? Why is she walking like that?”
“I made her bow a hundred times before Boyle’s altar yesterday,” Eleanor replied flatly, her voice drained of warmth.
Kiara blinked but didn’t press further. Her eyes lingered on Heaven until the young widow disappeared down the corridor.
“Eva will be back soon,” Kiara said finally, forcing a lighter tone. “It’s time we go ahead with the engagement. It’ll brighten the household again… perhaps having little Richards running around will ease the pain a bit.”
For the first time, Eleanor’s expression softened. Her eyes gleamed faintly with that fragile hope.
When it was time for Mrs. Edwards to leave, she squeezed Eleanor’s hand.
“I wouldn’t tell you not to grieve,” she said gently, “but don’t let it consume you.”
Eleanor nodded and watched her friend go.