The young soldier hit the floor just as Colonel Evelyn Hart opened the door.
Nobody moved.
A sergeant stood over him.
Four other soldiers lined the wall.
The room smelled of sweat and fear.
Hart looked at the private on the ground.
Then at Sergeant Doyle.
“What is this?”
Doyle immediately straightened.
“Training, ma’am.”
The private slowly stood.
A red mark crossed his cheek.
Hart’s eyes moved toward it.
“What kind of training?”
“Corrective instruction.”
“Authorized by whom?”
Doyle hesitated.
“Unit tradition, ma’am.”
The phrase changed the room.
Hart stepped inside and closed the door.
“Everyone except Sergeant Doyle and the private, leave.”
Nobody moved at first.
Hart’s voice hardened.
“Now.”
Four soldiers disappeared into the hallway.
The private looked terrified.
Not of Hart.
Of Doyle.
Hart noticed.
“What’s your name?”
