“Ma’am.” My voice came out wrong on the word, so I straightened my cap instead of saying anything else.

She turned a page of the binder and read something she had written herself.

“The brick building behind supply.

The quartermaster archive room.”

“I know the building, ma’am.”

“Tomorrow at eight.

Nineteen ninety-six, Fort Hood, every box with an administrative transfer stamp coming out of the MP school.

Bring gloves.