REBORN AS A NECROMANCER : BUILDING THE ULTIMATE UNDEAD ARMY-Chapter 42: Bullseye - Change of plans

A convoy moved slowly through the city streets—three black SUVs with tinted windows.

The lead vehicle housed Colonel Steele’s personal security detail, the middle one carried the man himself, and the rear guard swept for potential threats.

Steele sat in the back seat, staring through bulletproof glass at a city that seemed to mock his failures.

The radio crackled with routine check-ins from the security teams. "Alpha-One, all clear." "Bravo-Two, no contacts."

But today, the voices sounded different. More distant. Like they were reporting from a world he no longer fully inhabited.

His phone buzzed with text messages from subordinates who wanted updates on the capital meeting. His email inbox was flooded with operational reports that documented another week of declining performance.

"ETA five minutes, sir," his driver announced through the intercom.

Steele nodded without looking away from the window. Five minutes to figure out how to save his career, his organization, and possibly his life. The general’s words echoed in his head like a death sentence: "Get your unit back to operational excellence, Colonel. I don’t want to see these numbers again."

The convoy pulled through the security gates of Shadow Guard headquarters. The guards snapped to attention as they recognized the vehicle configuration.

The vehicles stopped in formation in the underground garage.

Steele stepped out of the vehicle and made his way to his office without acknowledging anyone.

The elevator carried him to the third floor, where Margaret Chen, his secretary was waiting.

"Sir," she said, matching his pace as he walked toward his office. "How did the meeting go?"

"Schedule a meeting with all unit executives. Immediate priority. I want everyone in the conference room in thirty minutes."

Margaret made notes on her tablet without missing a step. "Yes, sir."

"And call Major Gwen. I want to see her in my office before the meeting."

"She’s already in the building, sir. Should I have her report immediately?"

Steele paused at his office door.

"Send her in."

Margaret nodded and headed toward her desk, already reaching for her phone to coordinate the meeting arrangements. Steele entered his office and closed the door, then walked to his desk and sat down heavily in his chair.

The office felt different now. The military commendations on the wall seemed like artifacts from someone else’s career.

He’d built his career on the ability to make difficult decisions quickly and implement them without hesitation.

But the problems facing his organization weren’t the kind that could be solved through tactical planning or operational adjustments. They required resources he didn’t have, political support that was evaporating, and time that was running out.

A knock on the door interrupted his brooding. "Come in."

Major Patricia Gwen entered with her usual confident stride, but Steele could see the wariness in her eyes.

"Sir." She stopped three feet from his desk and delivered a perfect salute.

"Sit down, Major." Steele gestured to the chair across from his desk. "We need to talk."

Gwen settled into the chair with the kind of controlled movement that suggested someone who was prepared for conflict.

"Why haven’t you been coming to work?" he asked without preamble.

"Sir, I’ve been maintaining my regular schedule—"

"Cut the shit, Gwen. You’ve been leaving earlier than usual, you’ve been unavailable for missions, and your performance evaluations show a pattern of disengagement." Steele leaned forward across his desk. "What’s the problem?"

Gwen’s expression shifted from professional neutrality to something more complicated. Not exactly insubordination, but not the automatic compliance he was used to receiving from his subordinates.

"I’ve been engaged with other priorities, sir."

"Other priorities?" Steele’s voice cut through. "Major, our unit is on the verge of collapse. The general is unhappy with our performance, casualty rates are up, and we’re facing potential reorganization or dissolution."

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city that his organization was supposed to protect. "We’ve had more deaths in the past month than in the previous six months combined. The political support we depend on is evaporating. We need change, and we need it now."

Gwen was quiet for a long moment, her eyes studying his face, then she smiled.

Not the kind of smile that suggested agreement or support. The kind of smile that suggested someone who’d been waiting for this conversation and was about to say things that would change everything.

"With all due respect, sir, I’ve been giving my best until I realized it was useless."

The words hit Steele like a physical blow. He turned from the window to face her, his expression shifting from authoritative to genuinely surprised.

"Excuse me?"

"I’ve been trying to reduce casualties, improve operational efficiency, and maintain unit morale. But you haven’t been doing your part." Gwen’s voice remained professionally level, but there was steel underneath. "Sending recruits alone on their first missions, not providing backup for operations in time, making tactical decisions based on budget considerations rather than mission success. These are the reasons for our problems."

Steele felt anger rising in his chest, but underneath it was something worse: the recognition that she was right.

"You’re out of line, Major."

"Am I?" Gwen leaned forward in her chair. "More than ten recruits died in the warehouse district operation because you sent them against established vampire nest without adequate support. The restaurant incident could have been handled with half the resources you allocated, but you wanted to make sure there were no survivors to complicate the political narrative."

Each word was a precision strike against his decision-making process. Gwen had been paying attention, analyzing his methods, and drawing conclusions that he’d hoped no one would voice.

"You’ve been using tactical deployments to manage political problems instead of focusing on mission success," she continued. "And now you’re surprised that our casualty rates are up and our effectiveness is down."

The office fell silent except for the hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of traffic from the street below. Steele stood by the window, his mind working through the implications of what Gwen had just said.

She was right. He’d been making decisions based on budget pressures and political considerations rather than tactical effectiveness.

But admitting that would be admitting that he’d been sacrificing his own people for financial gain.

"I’ve taken a new strategy," he said finally, his voice controlled, as he tried to regain his composure. "There’s going to be a meeting with the executives, and I’ll explain it to them."

He walked back to his desk and sat down. "But first, we need to channel everything we have toward eliminating this X and O killer. It’s been the highest cause of death this past week. If we can eliminate it, we’re back in the game."

Gwen’s expression shifted to something more attentive.

"We need to do whatever it takes," Steele continued. "Whether by hook or by crook. This is our chance to demonstrate operational excellence and get back into the general’s good graces."

"Understood, sir."

"That’s all, Major. You’re dismissed."

Gwen stood and saluted, then walked toward the door. She paused with her hand on the handle.

"Sir? For what it’s worth, I hope the new strategy works."

The door closed behind her, leaving Steele alone with his thoughts and the growing certainty that his current approach was insufficient for the challenges he faced.

He waited until he heard her footsteps fade down the hallway, then reached for his phone and dialed a number.

The phone rang once. Twice. Then a familiar voice answered.

"Governor’s office."

"This is Colonel Steele. I need to speak with the governor immediately."

"One moment, please."

The hold music went on for some moments, then, "Marcus." The governor’s voice rang out. "How did the capital meeting go?"

"We need to talk about funding for our next operational strategy."

"Ah." The warmth disappeared from the governor’s voice. "I was wondering when we’d have this conversation."

"We have the manpower, but we lack the equipment to implement new tactics against vampire threats. The federal office is expecting immediate improvements in our performance metrics."

Governor Harrison Walsh was a politician who’d built his career on the ability to balance competing interests while maintaining public support. He understood the Shadow Guard’s importance, but he also understood the political realities that governed budget allocations.

"Marcus, that’s exactly the problem. Our income generation factors have been reduced to almost half since vampire activity forced businesses to limit operations to daylight hours."

The governor continued. "Fear of being hunted or killed has reduced commercial activity, tourism revenue, and tax collection. There’s not much funding available to circulate."

"The only way to end this vampire surge is by investing everything in the hunt," Steele said. "If we can eliminate the immediate threats, business confidence will return and the economy will recover."

"That’s not possible, Marcus. I can’t channel every available fund to the Shadow Guard. There are other municipal priorities that require attention."

Steele felt desperation rising in his chest. "Make it possible, or there won’t be a way around it."

"I’ve been funding your operations for years, and there’s been no significant improvement in the situation. Maybe I should channel resources to private contractors instead of continuing to support an organization that can’t deliver results."

The words hit Steele like a death sentence. Private contractors would mean the end of the Shadow Guard, the end of his career, and the end of his primary source of income.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Private contractors charge significantly higher rates than we do. How many contractors can you possibly hire for this level of operation? That would cost more than half the city’s budget."

Steele pressed his advantage. "The Shadow Guard consists of hundreds of trained soldiers. Hiring more than a hundred private contractors would be exponentially more expensive than our current funding requirements."

The phone line went quiet. Steele could hear the governor breathing, processing the economic implications of what he’d just said.

"I’ll see what I can do about it," the governor said finally.

The line went dead.

Steele set down the phone and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling tiles. He’d bought himself time, but not much.

The governor was right about the economic realities, and the general was right about performance expectations.

His only source of income came from a position that forced him to make decisions that violated everything he once believed about military leadership and human decency — or perhaps it was the need to press Benedict for answers that troubled him most."

The meeting with his executives was scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes, and he still hadn’t figured out how to save his organization without destroying what was left of his soul.