At noon I ate a sandwich standing up at the sink and then walked the copies across the parade ground to garrison headquarters.

Garrison Commander Miller ate at the same table every day, the corner by the window, with a paper napkin folded under his coffee cup.

“Sergeant Conroy.” He moved the napkin an inch.

“Sit down, since you’re standing there.”

I laid the copies beside his tray and turned them so the signature read right side up.

He chewed, looked at them, and chewed again.

“Where did these come from?”