My mom had gasped a little, but he didn’t look at Lauren, who was staring at him with a puzzled expression.
He looked right at me.
He circled the head table with precision, stopping in the center of the dance floor so I could see my back table well.
Then he woke up, his heels cracking sharply together, his back upright, his hand raised in a salute so perfect and precise that it cut through the talk like a dagger.
The tent was silent, absolutely silent.
“Major General Mercer,” he said, projecting his voice from his diaphragm in the way that leaders are trained to do so over the clamor of battle. “Ma’am.” He spoke easily in the quiet.
He held the salute, his fiery eyes staring into mine.
There, I saw the memories for the first time. Blood, dust, the roar of rotor blades. A night in Helmand Province six years ago. I was a Colonel then. Green and frightened, he had been a Second Lieutenant.
As I pulled him from a burning Humvee, rounds crackled overhead like angry hornets, and I remembered how heavy his body was, how he kept apologizing despite the blood on my clothes, and how I told him to keep quiet and stay with me while I bandaged his leg.
He remembered.
I cautiously rose from my chair, straightened my jacket, and returned the salute with a heartbeat.
“Captain,” I nodded.
“Thank you on behalf of every soldier who has ever served under your command,” Ryan said, his voice trembling a little with emotion but still loud.
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