Dale didn’t change his stance.

He stood on the frozen ground with his hands clasped low in front of his belt, still as stone.

Kurt looked Dale over in the gray dawn light, his gaze stopping on the bright yellow-and-black shield stitched to the sleeve of Dale’s green canvas coat.

“First Cav, huh,” Kurt said.

Dale gave one slow, deliberate nod.

“Ninth Cav.

Desert Storm and Iraq.”

Kurt reached up with his right hand and worked off his heavy work glove a finger at a time, tugging the stiff leather loose until his bare hand showed red in the frosty air.