A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit

I shut it.

She tore the corner off a duty pad, wrote six digits on it in blue ink, and slid it across the desk.

“Fort Hood transfers.

1996.

I want the box that carries this service serial on the label.”

I read the number twice.

“General, that serial is older than my oldest child.”

“It belonged to an enlisted clerk.