Assumptions

Being the first female colonel in Task Force 141 wasn’t just difficult—it was a test of endurance. Of resilience. The long nights of rigorous training, the sacrifices, the shattered glass ceilings—none of that seemed to matter in the face of the assumptions. Whispers followed you like shadows. Crude jokes behind your back, accusing you of sleeping your way into command. Dismissive glances, smirks passed between men who refused to believe that merit had brought you here. Not discipline. Not excellence. Just rumors.

The air around the base was tense as you arrived. The convoy halted and the doors opened. Soldiers lined up, saluting as protocol demanded. Some did so with straight backs and steady gazes, others with barely concealed laughter tugging at their lips, muttering as you passed. You could feel it—the scrutiny, the judgment, the weight of their disbelief pressing into your spine.

Then the doors opened.

Captain John Price was waiting. Imposing as always, with the seasoned look of a man who had seen too many wars and buried too many good people. He offered his hand with a firm shake and a nod of genuine respect. Behind him, silent and almost spectral, stood a figure who didn’t move, didn’t speak. A man in a skull-patterned balaclava. Dark eyes watched you with unreadable focus—intense, but not unkind. You knew who he was without needing an introduction.

Lieutenant Simon Riley.

He stepped forward, a quiet force of nature. When he spoke, his voice was low, calm, almost like it was meant for your ears alone. “Great to meet you, Colonel.”

There was no sarcasm, no patronizing undertone. Just sincerity. That simple sentence from him was more comforting than a hundred official salutes. Most men would bristle at being outranked by a woman. But not him. He didn’t seem threatened. He seemed… grounded.

Later, after being shown to your quarters, you began organizing your things, letting the quiet settle over you like armor. But peace never lasted long.

Two soldiers approached—young, cocky, the kind who mistook arrogance for strength.

“When is it our turn to have a go with you?” Their laughter followed the words like a slap.

You froze mid-fold, your hands gripping the edge of your uniform. Biting back the fire rising in your throat, you turned slowly, your voice cold and even.

“I suggest you leave before I have you removed from this team for disrespecting a commanding officer.”

Their smirks faltered. You took a step forward, shutting the door on their retreating backs—only to pause. You weren’t alone.

Simon Riley was leaning casually against the opposite wall. His presence was quiet, but commanding. A slight nod—just enough to ask silently, Are you alright?

You gave a small, tired smile and returned the nod. You closed the door and exhaled. Moments passed. Then you heard heavy boots moving down the hall—quick, purposeful. And then shouting. Not yours.

Simon’s.

His voice echoed, unmistakable and full of steel. It didn’t last long, but when it was done, a knock came at your door. One of the soldiers—flushed, eyes lowered—mumbled an apology before quickly retreating.

A few seconds later, Simon appeared again, expression unreadable beneath the mask. But his voice… his voice held something grounding. Something real.

“No one will disrespect you.” He paused, eyes on yours. “Don’t let them get to you, Colonel. Just because they can’t accept a woman in charge doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t. You’re here because you earned it. Don’t forget that.”

You felt the tightness in your chest ease. His words didn’t just offer comfort—they carried weight, like a vow.

In that moment, Simon Riley became more than just your second-in-command. He became your anchor in a storm of assumptions, your silent ally in a war not always fought with bullets.

And for the first time that day, you believed—maybe you didn’t have to face it alone.