“I am the law here,” the local officer laughed, pressing my face against his cruiser at my mother’s funeral. He saw my skin color but ignored my General’s rank. He threw me in a cell, unaware that my biometric tracker had just authorized a Code Red military rescue mission. Then, the helicopters arrived

Part 2

The ride to the Oakridge police precinct was a masterclass in psychological restraint. I sat in the cramped, sour-smelling back seat of the cruiser, my wrists throbbing against the unforgiving steel of the handcuffs. Up front, Officer Vance was whistling a tuneless melody, entirely too pleased with himself.

“You know,” Vance drawled, turning onto Main Street, “people come down here thinking they can flash some fake medals and play the victim. We don’t tolerate that disrespect.”

“Those medals were awarded by the President of the United States,” I said evenly, staring a hole into the back of his neck. “And the transponder currently broadcasting my coordinates to the Pentagon is also federal property.”

He laughed, a sharp, grating sound. “Right. And I’m the Commander in Chief.”

Vance pulled into the gated lot of the precinct, jerking the car to a halt. He dragged me out of the back, his grip unnecessarily brutal, and frog-marched me through the heavy glass doors. The station was a dismal, fluorescent-lit concrete box. A half-dozen officers looked up from their desks.

“Got a live one, Clint?” the desk sergeant asked, barely glancing at me.

“Resisting arrest, impersonating a military officer, and matching the description of our hit-and-run suspect,” Vance lied effortlessly. “Process her. Throw her in Cell 4.”

“I am Major General Sarah Sterling,” I announced, projecting my voice so it carried to every corner of the room. “I demand my one phone call. I demand you run my fingerprints through the federal database. If you process me into that cell, you are committing a federal crime under the Uniform Code of Military Justice.”

The room went dead silent for a fraction of a second. Then, a heavy-set man with a gold captain’s badge stepped out of a back office. Captain Miller. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on the three stars on my shoulders, then on the color of my skin.

“Vance, what the hell is this?” Miller muttered, though he didn’t sound particularly alarmed.

“She was causing a disturbance at the cemetery, Cap. Refused a lawful order,” Vance replied.

Miller sighed. “Strip her of the costume, take her prints, and put her in the back. We’ll figure it out.”