CHAPTER 4 – Oathbreakers and Patriots

  The quiet hum of efficiency at the Pentagon was almost hypnotic, a backdrop of orderly sounds—keyboards clacking, faint murmurings from distant offices, and the occasional intercom announcement. Within the gray walls of military rigidity, Colonel Zeke Haywood’s office stood as a small but distinctive haven of purpose. The walls were lined with neatly framed certificates, military accolades, and patriotic artwork: an American flag, an eagle mid-flight, and an expansive photo of Arlington Cemetery. Zeke’s large oak desk, scratched from decades of use, was cluttered with a delicate mix of chaos and method—documents and digital tablets revealing classified data, tactical reports, and financial spreadsheets.

  Colonel Zeke, a broad-shouldered, silver-haired man of fifty-seven years of age, leaned back in his chair, his piercing blue eyes scanning the document in front of him. His face, weathered by years of command and hard decisions, was focused but troubled. He had seen too many anomalies lately—small inconsistencies in the chain of action, whispers of movement within budgets that didn’t make sense. His instincts, sharp as ever, told him something was off. Something big.

  A sharp knock at the door broke his concentration. His eyes darted up from the papers.

  “Enter!” he barked in a voice laced with natural authority.

  The door opened smoothly, and Major Amma Enki, an officer in her early forties, entered with precision and grace. A striking woman of African descent, her long, straight, dark hair was tied back in a regulation ponytail, and her dark brown eyes held a quiet intensity. Her uniform was immaculate, and she moved as if every step had purpose. She came to a halt directly in front of Zeke's desk and saluted crisply.

  “Sir,” she said clearly, her voice steady as a rock, “Major Amma Enki reports as ordered.”

  Colonel Zeke returned the salute with a nod, allowing some of the weight in his shoulders to relax momentarily.

  “At ease, Major,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

  “What’s the word?”

  Major Amma sat down but kept her spine straight, professionalism radiating through her posture. She took a deep breath, then placed a folder on the desk in front of him.

  “Sir,” she began, “while reviewing activity on our financial systems, I discovered something deeply troubling. There are misappropriated funds in our budget—MASSIVE misappropriations. The total amount siphoned... at last count... is $1.3 trillion.”

  Colonel Zeke’s initial reaction was disbelief, revealed only by the subtle twitch of his jaw. He leaned forward and opened the folder, scanning the pages Major Amma had handed him. His brows furrowed as his sharp mind processed the intricate web of financial transactions laid out before him.

  “TRILLION?” he repeated, his voice low and disbelieving.

  “With a ‘T’? That’s not a leak—that’s... an entire dam bursting. Do we have any leads on where it’s going?”

  Major Amma nodded, her seriousness deepening.

  “Yes, sir. From what I’ve traced, the funds are being funneled through a maze of shell corporations. Many of the transactions indicate connections to foreign accounts—some tied to high-risk entities. It looks like a coordinated effort to launder the money and bury the trail.”

  Colonel Zeke leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully under his chin. His sharp eyes flicked back to Major Amma, and his voice dropped into the tone of a seasoned officer who had seen far too many betrayals in his lifetime.

  “This isn’t just troubling,” he said darkly.

  “This is treason.”

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  “Yes, sir,” Major Amma agreed.

  “We have to act quickly. If we let this slide under the radar, it could compromise everything—our military readiness, our credibility, and beyond. We need to take this to General Berg at once.”

  Colonel Zeke nodded grimly, straightening his back.

  “You’re right. Let’s move.”

  A few minutes later, both officers stood outside the office of General Ralph Berg, one of the Pentagon’s top-ranking officials. Berg was an imposing man in his early fifties, with short, dark hair brushed neatly to the side and piercing green eyes. His expression always carried a smugness that suggested he knew things others didn’t.

  When a brusque “Come in!” sounded in response to their knock, Colonel Zeke pushed the heavy door open. General Berg sat behind a glossy black desk, tapping away on his keyboard. The office was spartan but intimidating, with a giant map of the world mounted on the wall behind him. Red pins dotted every major continent.

  Colonel Zeke and Major Amma entered and saluted in unison. Berg returned the salute half-heartedly and gestured for them to speak.

  “What brings you two here?” he asked, his tone curious but nonchalant.

  "You're looking a bit... grave.”

  Colonel Zeke stepped forward, his posture rigid and voice steady.

  “Sir, we’ve uncovered some serious financial discrepancies in the budget. $1.3 trillion appears to have been siphoned off and funneled through shell corporations, tied to foreign accounts.”

  There was a beat of silence as General Berg leaned back in his chair. To their shock, a slow, almost amused smile spread across his face.

  “$1.3 trillion?” General Berg said, his tone light, almost mocking.

  “Well, isn’t that a tidy sum.”

  Major Amma’s brows shot up in disbelief.

  “Sir, this is no laughing matter! This could be corruption at the highest levels of our chain of command.”

  General Berg’s expression changed instantly. Any hint of amicability dropped like a mask falling away, revealing cold, calculated arrogance underneath. He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with something sinister.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t call it 'corruption', Major,” he said, his voice calm yet chilling.

  “I’d call it... strategic alignment.”

  Colonel Zeke’s stomach dropped.

  “Strategic alignment?” he repeated slowly.

  General Berg nodded.

  “You see, the $1.3 trillion wasn’t stolen. It was... redirected. Every cent is being put to good use, funding initiatives that will secure the future of the global order.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Major Amma whispered, appalled.

  “It means,” General Berg said, smiling coldly, “that I’ve been personally overseeing this operation. It also means I’ve earned myself a seat at the table of the Old World Order.”

  The air seemed to leave the room. Colonel Zeke and Major Amma exchanged a glance, their disbelief mirrored in each other’s faces.

  “You’re admitting to this?” Colonel Zeke said, his voice tinged with rising anger.

  “Betraying your oath, your country, your own men and women who serve under you—for... what? A seat at the table of elites who see us as pawns?”

  General Berg spread his hands, utterly unbothered.

  “Why not? The masses are nothing but tax cattle. They exist to be fleeced for everything they’re worth. Freedom? Democracy? Patriotism? Those are fairy tales we tell the na?ve to keep them complacent.”

  Major Amma stepped forward, her face hard as granite.

  “You realize what you’re doing is treason, sir. Against everything this country stands for.”

  “Treason?” General Berg laughed coldly.

  “Treason is what fools call progress when it threatens their outdated ideals. Major, wake up. You can either adapt or be crushed.”

  Colonel Zeke’s hands clenched into fists, his years of discipline barely holding him back.

  “So that’s how it is,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “You’re asking us to sell out everything we swore to protect.”

  The general leaned back smugly.

  “Asking? No, Colonel. I’m offering.” He gave them a calculating look.

  “Here’s the deal: $100 million for each of you. Immediate promotions to general. And—best of all—a guaranteed spot at the Old World Order’s table in three years. All you have to do is fall in line.”

  Major Amma’s expression darkened, and she asked icily, “And if we refuse?”

  General Berg’s smile thinned.

  “Then your careers—and your lives—are over.”

  Colonel Zeke took a step forward, his voice firm.

  “You can take your blood money and shove it,” he said, locking eyes with General Berg.

  “I follow the Constitution—not you.”

  Major Amma backed him up, her voice cold and unyielding.

  “We’ll die on our feet before we kneel at your table.”

  For a moment, a flicker of irritation passed over the general’s face. Then, with a sneer, he reached for his phone.

  “Fine,” he snapped, dialing a number.

  “You’ve made your choice.”

  Within moments, four uniformed soldiers entered the room, their movements sharp and intimidating.

  “Arrest them,” Berg ordered.

  “They’ve just confessed to insubordination and conspiracy against high command.”

  As they were handcuffed and led out of the office, Zeke’s voice echoed back toward Berg, filled with righteous fury.

  “This isn’t over. You’ll answer for this, Berg. One way or another.”

  General Berg simply smirked, watching them go.

  “Keep dreaming, Zeekey-boy.”

  In the dim halls of the Pentagon, as Colonel Zeke and Major Amma were marched away, both officers knew their lives had changed forever. But their resolve remained unbroken.

  Oathbreakers and Patriots! This chapter unfolds a harrowing narrative filled with tension, moral conflict, and the stark realities of betrayal within the ranks of power. Colonel Zeke Haywood and Major Amma Enki epitomize the struggle between adhering to one’s ethical convictions and the seductive lure of ambition cloaked in false ideals.

  $1.3 trillion misappropriation reveals not just a financial scandal but a profound betrayal of the principles that underpin the very fabric of their service. General Ralph Berg emerges as an emblem of corporate avarice and moral decay, using euphemisms like “strategic alignment” to mask his treachery. His willingness to sacrifice the oath of office for power and wealth emphasizes a chilling reality: how easily loyalty can be twisted into manipulation at the highest levels.