At seven the next morning, the sun broke clear over the Hudson River, turning the water a bright, cold silver.

I pulled my Army vehicle onto the gravel turnout above the parade field overlook and turned off the engine.

Down below, a fresh company of summer cadets was already out on the granite, their dark blue uniforms moving in precise, four-count ranks.

The cadence caller’s voice rose through the crisp air, clear and sharp against the morning breeze.

They were nineteen years old, learning how to march, how to stand up straight, and how to rely on the person next to them.

I rested my hands on the steering wheel and watched them finish their wheeling turn near the superintendent’s tower.