“You handled that the right way, Master Chief,” Vance said in his deep, slow growl.

“A quiet knife cuts cleaner than a loud gun.”

“Thank you for stepping up to that mic, Master Chief,” I said, holding out my hand.

He shook it once, his grip dry and solid as weathered teak.

“I’ve owed you that since Helmand Province in 2017,” Vance said.

“We don’t forget who clears the road in front of us.”

He turned and headed for his green station wagon four spaces down the lot.

Matty came around the front bumper of my truck and stood next to me on the pavement.