A sergeant major with thirty years of service and three combat deployments stepped forward before the XO stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
These men and women had watched me crawl through mud, run until I vomited, and study law until I could barely keep my eyes open.
Now they had watched my father try to demolish me publicly for sport.
I tasted copper.
I had bitten through the inside of my cheek.
Blood pooled warm against my tongue.
I swallowed it.
I did not cry.
I locked my knees, snapped a razor-sharp salute toward the reviewing stand, and stared through my father’s forehead as though he were a pane of dirty glass.
That dirt field taught me my first real survival lesson.
Strip away all expectations of love from your enemy.
Never reveal your real weapons.
I turned on my heel and marched toward the barracks without looking back.
