Chapter #76: The Missile That Never Fell
Miles was terrified.
He didn't run. He didn't scream. He didn't try to shield himself. His body simply refused to obey him. He stood frozen, eyes locked on the rocket launcher the General had aimed straight at him, feeling the world narrow until it became a tunnel of noise and icy wind.
He waited for the impact.
The shriek tore through the air with brutal violence… and passed him by.
The missile didn't hit him. It skimmed past just meters from his side and veered into the open sky, striking with surgical precision a Dracman reconnaissance balloon floating high above. The explosion lit the horizon like an artificial lightning bolt, and the burning remains of the balloon began to rain down in flames onto the snow.
It took Miles several seconds to react.
His legs were shaking. His breathing was uneven. Reality snapped back into place like a slap.
"Miiiiiles!" roared General Armstrong's voice from the platform.
That shout pulled him back into the world.
Miles ran—not out of fear, but out of reflex. He sprinted up the snowy rise until he reached Olivier, snapping to attention immediately, his chest still heaving.
"Did something happen in the mine?" the General asked, frowning, as if nothing extraordinary had just occurred.
Miles opened his mouth to answer… and fell silent.
He thought of the cave. The vapor. The flare. The awkward moment they had buried beneath tons of professionalism and silence. His face flushed red before he could stop it.
Olivier studied him closely.
"Miles," she said firmly. "Did something happen in the mine, or why did you come up so fast?"
Miles swallowed.
"T-the tunnel to the bunker is almost finished, General."
"And then why are you here if the job isn't done yet, Major Miles?"
The silence stretched between them.
"General… I wanted to see you. And inform you, that's all."
Olivier raised an eyebrow.
"Miles, it's not like we're a newlywed couple," she shot back with dry irony. "Go pick flowers and pull petals—she loves me, she loves me not."
A few nearby soldiers stifled their laughter. Miles lowered his gaze, embarrassed.
"Miles, please," she continued. "Be serious."
"General… I wanted to talk about what happened with the worm," he finally said.
Olivier sighed, tired.
"Nothing happened, Miles. Nothing. I'll only say this once: do your job and that's it. I'm counting on you. You are my right hand… and if I want to use my hand for other things, that's my business."
With that, she turned away and walked off, furious, ordering the technicians to continue the tests.
Miles remained standing there, frozen.
"For other… things?" he murmured to himself, completely thrown off.
He didn't insist. He didn't ask. It wasn't his place.
With his stomach in knots, he returned to the mine.
Physical labor was a refuge. Every strike of the pick against the rock cleared his mind. Every new tunnel restored a sense of control. Down there, beneath tons of ice and earth, doubts felt smaller.
Miles kept digging.
During one of the deeper excavations, something caught his attention. Embedded in the frozen rock were crystals: transparent, hard, unmistakably brilliant even in the dim light of the mine.
Diamonds.
Miles stared at them for a few seconds, incredulous. It wasn't common to find something like that at Briggs—certainly not in such quantity. He called the miners, confirmed the find, and ordered an extremely careful extraction.
The crystals were sent to the surface.
When Olivier received the report, she didn't smile. She didn't celebrate. She simply took note.
That same night, she ordered the diamonds to be discreetly sold through intermediaries in Central. The money was not allocated to new weapons or secret projects.
It was sent directly to the families of the workers.
Widows. Children. Elderly people who depended on the mines for survival. At Briggs, there was no real civilian economy: the base, the mines, and survival were all that existed.
Miles learned about it days later.
He said nothing.
But he understood something important.
General Olivier Armstrong was not cold because she didn't feel. She was cold because if she allowed herself to feel too much, the weight of the North would crush her. Her way of protecting her people wasn't through words or gentle gestures, but through hard, silent decisions.
Miles returned to the surface at the end of the day, covered in dust and exhaustion.
From atop the wall, he saw the General reviewing reports, standing against the wind, firm as a statue of ice.
He didn't approach her.
Not yet.
He knew that at Briggs, even important conversations had to wait for the right moment… or the moment never came.
(end of chapter )