PART 2
Vance leaned closer.
“Listen, lady. I don’t know who your husband is. Staff sergeant? Lieutenant? Some desk captain with soft hands? I don’t care. My platoon has been eating dust on the range for six hours. You can wait until real Marines get fed.”
He reached for an empty tray and slapped it against my chest.
Not enough to bruise.
Enough to make his point.
I did not move.
That irritated him more than if I had screamed.
Men like Vance need a reaction.
They feed on flinching.
I gave him nothing.
“I suggest you check your bearing, Sergeant,” I said.
His jaw shifted.
“What did you say?”
“You’re blocking the line. You’re putting hands on someone in a federal facility. You’re embarrassing your rank. And you’re doing all of it before lunch, which is almost impressive.”
Somebody behind me coughed.
It might have been a laugh.
Vance heard it.
His face went red from the neck up.
“Cute,” he said. “You think you’re cute?”
“No,” I said. “I think you’re loud.”
The nearest tables went silent.
A private sitting by the soda machine stared at me like I had just pulled the pin on a grenade and handed it to Vance with a smile.
Vance stepped into my space.
“My bearing is fine,” he said. “My problem is civilians acting like they own the place because they married into the Corps.”
Married into the Corps.
That almost made me smile.
I had given the Corps twenty-two years, three deployments, one reconstructed knee, partial hearing loss in my left ear, and enough memories to make sleep feel like a negotiation.
But sure.
Maybe I got all that from a husband.
“Move,” he ordered.
“No.”
That single word landed harder than a slap.
Vance stared at me.
The two corporals behind him stopped smiling.
The Marines at the tables shifted in their seats, suddenly very interested in the slow-motion disaster happening between the salad bar and the hot entrée station.
I could feel their discomfort.
I could also feel their fear.
Not fear of me.
Fear of him.
That told me more about Vance than his mouth ever could.
A good NCO does not make the room shrink.
May you like
A good NCO does not make junior Marines stare at their trays like eye contact might cost them their weekend.
A good NCO does not shove strangers in a chow line because he thinks no one important is watching.
