Kyle’s cigarette slipped from his fingers, bouncing off his polished boots. Connor took a nervous step backward, suddenly realizing that the badge his father wore meant absolutely nothing to the men currently surrounding him.
General Carter ignored the two thugs completely. He bypassed them as if they were nothing but ghosts. His eyes were locked solely on me as I stood up from the curb, straightening my jacket and brushing the dust from my jeans. The silence in the parking lot was deafening, broken only by the idling engines of the government vehicles. The tension was thick enough to cut with a combat knife, and Connor was starting to sweat.
General Carter stopped three paces in front of me. He didn’t speak. Instead, he snapped his heels together with a sharp crack and raised his hand in a flawless, rigid salute.
Part 3In the United States military, protocol dictates that all ranks, even a four-star general, must initiate a salute to a recipient of the Medal of Honor. It is a sign of ultimate respect for the highest decoration of valor.
I straightened my posture, ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder, and returned the salute with sharp precision.
“Master Sergeant Owens,” General Carter said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silent parking lot. “It is an honor to see you, sir. Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Good to see you too, Ray,” I replied, dropping my hand.
Connor’s face had drained of all color. He looked like a fish gasping for air. “Wait… Master Sergeant? What is going on here?” he stammered, looking frantically between the General and the heavily armed MPs.
