Tank gave one low bark as Kenneth set the casing down on the rubber bed liner.

I folded Wyler’s personnel sheet twice and tucked it into the left pocket of my blue-gray work uniform shirt.

“Does Master Chief Vance know about this?” I asked.

“Vance sat on the selection board for Class 312,” Kenneth said.

“He signed the drop paperwork.”

My hand went to the brass buckle of my service uniform belt, my thumb resting on its cold metal edge.

“Vance signed it himself?” I asked.