November 19, 2025 — 11:38 PMMOA Complex – Hangar 4
The hangar was dark, lit only by soft red work lights clipped along the walls. Their glow cast long shadows across the floor, bathing the massive gray frame of the C-17 Globemaster III in a muted hue. Engines cold, wings still, the aircraft waited like a beast in slumber—too large to ignore, too quiet to announce itself.
At the side entrance, the heavy steel door opened with a hydraulic hiss.
Marcus stepped in first, followed by Chief Warrant Officer Ortega and a four-man loading crew handpicked from the Quartermaster division. All of them wore plain gear—no identifiers, no name tags. Just black fatigues, work gloves, and headsets on a secure comm loop.
No one spoke.
They had their orders.
Behind them rolled in the first two supply sleds—heavy steel carts loaded with reinforced crates. Ortega tapped her tablet, checking the manifest as she walked briskly beside the pallets.
