Wyler checked his watch again, his thumb flicking at the gold clasp.

“Then you’ll correct it on paper, or you won’t take the stage on Friday at eleven-thirty.”

“I’ll give my official record to Principal Thorne myself,” I said.

“Principal Thorne leaves military qualification checks to the base liaison,” Wyler said.

“Which happens to be me.”

I picked my beige folder up off his desk and slid it carefully back into my leather briefcase.

“Thanks for your time, Lieutenant.”