“Who are you going to call, a black? No one’s going to take a slave like you seriously. Go back to Africa where you belong,” Sergeant Cole barked.

He hadn’t even asked her name — just saw her skin and let the poison spill out.

General Regina M. Cal blinked, more stunned by the tone than the words themselves.
The way that man looked at her — as if she were filth, as if her rank and honor meant nothing.

“Excuse me,” she said firmly, calm but unflinching.
“What seems to be the issue, officer?”

“The problem is you’re in a car that isn’t yours, dressed like some wannabe soldier,” Officer Henkins sneered.

He circled her vehicle, pretending to inspect it. “Pentagon plates, huh? Who gave them to you — your pimp?”

Regina felt her blood turn to ice.
Two officers who couldn’t even read a badge were now speaking to her like she was nothing.

“My name is General Regina McCallum. You’re both committing an er—”

“Shut up,” Cole snapped, pulling out handcuffs. “I don’t care if you say you’re the Black Michelle Obama. This car’s stolen, and you’re under arrest.”

Before she could react, they yanked her from the seat.
Cold metal dug into her wrists as they shoved her down.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Henkins whispered with a disgusting grin. “Maybe they’ll treat you better in jail. Or maybe you’ll get to clean toilets. Now hand over your phone.”

“You’re going to wish you’d never laid a hand on me,” she hissed.

“Your phone,” Henkins mocked, rummaging through the SUV like it belonged to him.
“What’s this? A government-issued iPhone? Man, this country’s gone to hell.”

He waved the phone in her face like a trophy. “Who gave this to you, black girl? Did you steal it — or take it off some soldier after warming his bed?”

Cole laughed harshly, his voice dripping with years of unfiltered hate.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s one of those Army inclusion experiments,” he said, tightening the cuffs until her skin burned. “They hand out titles to any monkey now. And look — they even talk proper.”

Regina’s eyes dropped to the asphalt. “You’re violating federal protocols,” she said through gritted teeth.

“And you think I care, ape?” Cole sneered. “The only law that matters here is mine. On my road, no black b***h with a superiority complex drives a car like this.”

Henkins opened the glove compartment and tossed out papers and credentials.
“Look at this, Cole — classified documents? This woman really thinks she’s someone.”

Cole smirked. “Maybe we should call immigration. Or animal control.”

Regina stood frozen. Her wrists ached, her skin burned, and her uniform was a mess.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” she whispered.

Henkins grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up.
“All I know is that you’ll spend the night in a cell — without your fancy uniform, without your name. Out here, you’re nobody.”

Cole picked up one of the letters they’d thrown out — a document stamped Department of Defense.
“Hey, Henkins — this says Brigadier General Regina M. Cal. You buy that?”

“Yes,” she said, barely lifting her chin. “And if you’ve got half a brain, you’ll hand me back that phone. Right now.”

Cole slapped her. The blow cracked sharp and fast. “One more, black girl,” he growled close to her ear. “One more, and I’ll make you forget who you were.”

The hit didn’t knock her down, but it staggered her.
The taste of blood filled her mouth. Still, Regina didn’t cry or beg — she just burned with a cold, surgical rage.

“Now you see how things work, General,” Cole spat, crouching down. “You’re not in the Pentagon now — you’re on my highway. My rules.”

She turned her head, eyeing the phone still in his hand. “That phone is a direct line. If you do anything else, this is going to blow up in your face.”

“Your phone!” Henkins shouted and slammed it against the pavement.

Cole smirked. “You know what I think? You’re not even military. Probably bought that costume online. What’s next, you gonna tell us you’re an astronaut?”

Henkins laughed. “With that ass, maybe a stripper at a base, sure.”

Cole shoved her to her knees. “Don’t get proud now, slave. Look at you — kneeling, bloodied, right where you belong. Nothing.”

Regina took a deep breath. Her face stayed hard, but her eyes spoke differently — a warning, not a plea.

Still on her knees, bleeding, she looked straight at Henkins. “Last chance. Give me the phone. You can still stop this.”

Henkins spat in her face. Cole laughed again — but the edge was gone. Something in her tone unsettled them.

Regina looked up, calm and steady. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Afraid one call might cost you your badge?”

Cole scoffed but didn’t meet her eyes. Henkins stepped back, uncertain.

She struggled to her feet. “Give me one minute — just one. If I’m nobody, if you’re so sure I’m fake, then why not let me make a call?”

“Are you threatening us?” Henkins said, but his voice faltered.

“I’m giving you a chance to step off the tracks before the train hits,” she said evenly. “Because if I dial that number, it’s over. Not just for you — for your boss, your department, this county.”

Cole tried to laugh but his lip trembled. “You can’t call anyone. We smashed your toy.”

Regina smiled faintly.

Then, a young woman across the street — curly hair, thick glasses — ran over, holding out her phone. “Use mine!” she shouted. “Call whoever you need!”

“Back off!” Cole barked, moving toward her.

“She’s a general, you idiot!” the woman snapped. “I serve too. I know that uniform!”

A burly man in a veteran’s cap stepped between them. “Touch her,” he warned, “and you’ll need backup.”

Regina lifted her cuffed hands. The young woman placed her phone in them.

Regina dialed from memory.

“Click.”

“Defense Communications. Identify yourself.”

Her voice was calm. “Brigadier General Regina M. Cal, code 4481-Lima. Illegally detained by Stafford County officers, Interstate 95, Exit 140, Marconi gas station. You are destroying federal property and compromising operational security.”

The crowd gasped.

Cole froze. Henkins went pale.

“I repeat,” Regina said. “Armed officers, hostile conduct, racial profiling. Alpha priority. Confirm coordinates.”

The voice on the line snapped to attention.

Regina barely got out, “GPS active, visual triangulation required—”

“It’s over!” Henkins shouted, smacking the phone away. It hit the pavement. But it was too late — the call had gone through.

People shouted. Some filmed. Some clapped. Cole backed up, cursing. Henkins looked lost. Regina just raised her chin, bloodied but unbroken.

Minutes later, three unmarked black vehicles rolled up, braking with precision. Two men stepped out in gray suits — no badges needed.

“General McCal,” one said.
“Yes,” she replied, standing straight.
“Confirm coercion?”
“Yes.”

The second agent flashed a gold-sealed ID. “Officers, lower your weapons. Now.”

Cole’s voice cracked. “Who the hell are you?”
“Federal Protection Agency. That woman you cuffed is part of the Pentagon’s strategic high command.”

Silence fell.

Regina lifted her wrists. “Take these off.”
The agent did — click. The cuffs dropped.

“You knew what you were doing,” the agent told them coldly. “Now stay still until federal jurisdiction takes over.”

Cole stammered. “We were just verifying—”

“Verifying?” Regina cut in. “You called me a monkey, a slave, a bitch. You cuffed me. You spit on me. That’s not verification — that’s hate.”

An officer handed her a tablet. “Ma’am, disciplinary protocol. Would you like to file a complaint?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I want them to feel it — the fear of not knowing when the fall is coming. To wonder if tomorrow they’ll still have their badges.”

“Activate protocol,” she added.

A red icon flashed. The clock started.

“You’ll remain here,” one agent told them. “JAG officers are on their way. You’ll have counsel, but charges will be read within hours.”

Cole whispered, “Charges?”
“Everything’s recorded,” the agent replied. “Abuse of authority. Racial profiling. Assault on active-duty personnel.”

Regina stood tall, blood drying on her cheek. “I don’t need to shout,” she said. “I have rank. I have evidence. And I have time. What’s coming isn’t a bullet — it’s a slow fall, and it’s public.”

The agents nodded. “Their superiors have been notified. All footage secured.”

Cole’s last defense was a mumble. “I was confused…”

“Confused?” Regina said, her voice breaking slightly. “You mistook me for what? A threat? Someone beneath you?”

She stared them down. “I didn’t destroy you. You did that yourselves. I just made the call.”

Minutes later, JAG officers arrived.
Badges, weapons, and credentials were taken on the spot. Both men were suspended without pay pending federal charges.

Cole lowered his head. Henkins was pale and trembling.

Regina watched them taken away — silent, strong, resolute.

When the agents turned to her, one asked, “Would you like an escort, General?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll drive myself.”

“Medical report?”
“No. What I needed has already begun.”

As the sun set over the highway, the black cars disappeared into the distance.
General Regina McCal stood alone — finally, in peace.