The sharp clicking of dress shoes echoes through the halls
of the Special Forces’ joint command center.
Both officers and their assistants roam the corridors in their semi-formal
uniforms, as they do like any other day.
Their monotonous pattern is interrupted by the not so formal sound of
flip flops. They turn and pause as a
sandy-blond man with uncharacteristically long hair and a two-day old beard
approaches. His khaki shorts and t-shirt
make him appear out of place. The only
thing discerning him to be a soldier is the rigid posture he keeps. He has both been on and led teams that have
carried out missions of monumental proportions. The personnel he passes, quickly glance from
his appearance to the sealed envelope in his hand.
At the end of the long corridor, he enters the small office
space adjacent to his Colonel’s office at fifteen hundred hours sharp. The Colonel’s assistant, Sargent Woods greets
him. The secretary, stands up hurriedly
to salute him. Nervously, she hits her
knee against the desk and her coffee sloshes out of the mug. He asks her to sit down as the protocols are
not needed. She tugs at her pressed
skirt to straighten it out before searching through her desk drawers for
anything to clean up the mess. She
watches as Jayce picks up the coffee mug and wipes up the mess with the bottom
of his t-shirt. Puzzled as to why he
would do this, she still thanks him for the gesture.
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