I turned around, rubbing the brass buckle of my service uniform belt with my right thumb.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” I said.

“I want to be sure we understand each other before Friday morning,” Wyler said, stopping three feet from my bumper.

“He’s eleven years old, Lieutenant.

All he knows is that I deploy with elite teams,” I said, keeping it plain.

“Military precision matters,” Wyler said, his loud, lecturing tone rising over the noise of an idling delivery van.

“Civilian students and school administrators don’t know the technical difference between naval warfare designators.”