Lieutenant Easton Wyler crossed his arms over his chest, tucked his thumbs into his armpits, and looked over at Principal Valerie Thorne with a thin, pleased smile.

“There you go, everybody,” Wyler said, moving half a step closer to the carpet runner in the middle.

“Straight from the mother’s own mouth.”

A metal chair leg screeched hard across the polished maple gym floor behind the display booth next door.

A heavy white paper cup tipped over on the next table, spilling dark morning coffee across the blue tablecloth of the Maritime Heritage Museum exhibit.

Retired Master Chief Harlan Vance came out from behind his folding table, his gray beard set in a hard, stiff line as his leather boots hit the gym floor.