Four Text Messages Sent on a Tuesday Morning Changed How Sarah Mitchell Saw Her Family
The parade field is quiet now, and my service belongs to the soldiers I lead.
I reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the brown manila folder holding my transfer orders.
I started the engine, put the vehicle in gear, and coasted down the winding access road toward the south gate.
The guard at the sentry box came to attention and gave a crisp salute as my bumper cleared the barrier.
I glanced in my rearview mirror once and watched the gray stone gates of the academy fade into the morning distance behind me.
Three days later, I took up my new command at Fort Liberty, taking charge of an airborne brigade combat team before the month was out.
I spent my first weekend in North Carolina unpacking footlockers, setting up field gear, and organizing my official quarters near the main parade grounds.
On my new desk, my brass clock sat beside my silver class ring, catching the sharp morning light.
I adjusted my collar, stepped out into the sunlight, and never looked back.