There was an uneasy, combative tension in the way the young Marine carried himself, an arrogant bearing that pointed to poor unit discipline.

They were traveling on standard transit orders, with no idea that the woman sitting thirty feet away had their battalion’s official evaluation seal in her jacket.

I smoothed the top edge of my travel packet and lined up the corners precisely.

I tucked the stamped document neatly away in my jacket pocket.

The loudspeaker over Gate C27 crackled to life with a sharp burst of static.

The airline agent adjusted her headset microphone and told the concourse that Flight 1482 to Dallas was overbooked by four passengers, asking for volunteers to give up their boarding passes in exchange for travel vouchers.