Chapter 1 - Break Her Before the Parade
"Make sure that knee doesn't carry her onto the parade field."
Lieutenant Brad Miller said it as casually as if he were ordering coffee. Rain ran off the hood of the maintenance truck behind him. Private Lowell looked at me, then at the steel wheel chock in Staff Sergeant Rusk's hand.
"Sir?" Lowell asked.
"You heard me." Miller climbed onto the truck's step, where the awning kept his uniform spotless. "Sergeant Vance refuses to admit she can't march. Give her a reason."
I stood on wet asphalt with my left knee already burning. The Silver Star I had earned overseas was locked in my barracks room; tomorrow I was supposed to wear its ribbon at the governor's parade. Six hours of rehearsal had left me struggling to keep my weight even. I could still stand. That didn't give Miller the right to turn my injury into entertainment.
"Private, step back," I told Lowell.
Rusk came from my blind side. I heard metal scrape, turned, and saw him shove the heavy chock into my bad leg. Pain flashed white. My knee folded and I caught myself against a truck bumper. Somebody sucked in a breath. Nobody moved.
"Again," Miller said.
"No, sir." The words came out before the shaking stopped. "That's an unlawful order."
His smile vanished. "What did you say to me?"
Specialist Jax Morales left the formation. His old neck scar stood out like a pale rope. "S-Sir, she's on a medical profile. I saw the paperwork."
"Then you'll both be reported." Miller pointed at my bent leg. "You're embarrassing this unit, Sergeant."
Across the motor pool, an older man in a raincoat stepped out of a black sedan. He had silver hair, a slight limp, and an expression I remembered from beneath a wrecked Humvee three years earlier.
May you like
Retired General Marcus Henderson watched Rusk raise the steel chock a second time.
Then he took out his phone.
