Four hundred cadets stood in gray dress uniforms across the wide stone apron while families filled the lower grandstands with cameras and seat cushions.

General Thomas Vance walked down the front rank during the final practice inspection, his black leather boots clicking on the flagstones.

He stopped right in front of me, his wire-rimmed glasses catching the midday light.

“Your family bleachers look empty, Captain Mitchell,” Vance said, his voice low and commanding.

“They couldn’t make the trip, sir,” I said, keeping my chin level and my eyes straight ahead.

General Vance took off his wire-rimmed glasses and pulled a small square of blue silk from his breast pocket to polish the lenses.