Chapter 2 - The Missing Profile
"Don't straighten it," Doc Jenkins warned. "Not unless you want the knee to lock for good."
I sat on the exam table while she cut away the wet athletic tape. Purple bruising spread under my kneecap. Through the open clinic door I could hear preparations for the parade: engines turning over, boots running, somebody calling for more flags.
"Rusk hit you with what?" Doc asked.
"A wheel chock. Miller called it a corrective drill."
Her face hardened. "A wheel chock isn't physical therapy."
I reached for my phone. "My profile limits prolonged marching. Show it to the commander."
Doc turned her monitor toward me. The parade-readiness copy of my restrictions was gone. In its place was a new unit scheduling entry clearing me for unrestricted ceremonial duty. It carried her name and a time stamp from that morning.
"My actual medical record still has your restrictions," she said. "I didn't authorize this clearance."
"Could somebody have made a mistake?"
"A mistake doesn't replace a diagnosis, Clara. Someone entered this while I was treating a patient in another building." She printed both the audit alert and the original visit note. "We preserve these. We don't guess who did it."
Jax arrived with two dry towels, a bottle of water, and the grim expression he wore whenever his stutter threatened to catch. "M-Miller's filed a report. Says you refused training and threatened Rusk."
"Rusk attacked me."
"I know. Private Lowell knows. But Lowell has a sick mother and thinks a lieutenant can wreck his life."
Doc put a fresh brace on my knee. "I am placing you on a temporary no-march restriction. You will not make this worse to prove a point."
I almost argued. My father had spent my childhood telling me that a promise meant showing up, even when showing up hurt.
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Instead, I looked at the printed clearance. Down in the approval field, beneath Doc's stolen name, were three initials that didn't belong to any medical provider.
B.M.
