GRRRRRRR.
Arthur Vance let out an ear-splitting, strangulated shriek, his hands clawing feebly at the wet stone:
“GET IT OFF ME! PLEASE! I AM A FORMER FEDERAL JURIST! YOU CANNOT EXECUTE A MILITARY ATTACHMENT ON A PRIVATE RESERVE!”
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TACK.
TACK.
TACK.
The sound of hand-welted naval leather bridge boots stepping off the deployment ropes onto the asphalt was slow, unhurried, rhythmic, and concussive.
Every single step fell with the mechanical, heavy cadence of a naval battery firing across an enclosed harbor.
Walking onto the apron behind the tactical stack…
Wearing his full Service Dress Blue uniform of heavy midnight-blue wool despite the driving rain, four solid-silver cast stars blazing on his shoulder boards, ten dense rows of combat decorations covering his broad chest including the Navy Cross with gold star, the Silver Star with two oak leaf clusters, and the Distinguished Service Medal…
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Was my grandfather Arthur Mercer Senior’s surviving younger brother.
