At Gate C27 a Cocky Marine Ridiculed My Army Rank, Right Before a General Showed Up
My right thumb went up to the back of my right collar to check the brass fastener holding my gold oak leaf.
The metal back was still loose, just as Daniel had said back at the curb by the parking garage.
“Let it go, Carter,” the third Marine, Pete Thomas, said from his chair.
“She’s a lieutenant colonel.”
“She’s a desk jockey,” Evan said, louder, shifting in his seat until his boot heel started drumming fast against the tile floor.
“Real officers don’t spend six hours fussing with their paperwork at Gate C27.”
A businessman two seats down lowered his tablet and looked over at Evan.
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