General Vance stopped three paces down the corridor and turned his tall frame until his back was against the painted cinderblock wall.

Corporal Mason Reid stood by the water cooler, his dress cover tucked tight under his left arm and his hands clasped behind him.

“You gave that young man a narrow bridge to cross, Sarah,” General Vance said, his deep voice echoing faintly off the vinyl tile.

“He has to earn his way back, sir,” I said.

“A full court-martial would have put him in the brig for six months and sent him home with a bad-conduct discharge,” Vance said.

“He’d have spent the rest of his life sitting in bars, telling people the military ruined him.”