“Every entry on this clipboard needs a matching stamp or the barrier stays down.

You understand that?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Then who at headquarters benefits from a quiet gate?”

Dewitt did not answer.

He looked back toward the road, where a dust cloud was settling behind a supply truck.

I put the carbons in the red hardbound binder and wrote the tag count on the inside cover.

At eleven I walked to the guardhouse office with the clipboard under my arm.

Private Salas had the week’s duty rosters spread across the metal desk.

He stood when I came in.

“Sergeant, they moved three names off Gate Six for the week.

No annex, no signature.” Salas tapped a pencil line.

“The duty clerk wrote it in pencil at 0645.

Garrison headquarters called it in.”