The young Marine slammed his shoulder forward before I had time to turn. My boots skidded across the greasy tile, and my back hit the stainless-steel counter.

At zero-two-hundred hours, Camp Pendleton was wrapped in a blanket of thick coastal fog that rolled off the Pacific, turning the streetlamps into blurry halos of white light.

The base was asleep, but in the transit quarters, sleep was impossible.

Bruno had moved. He had dragged his heavy cast across the floor until his head was resting directly against my knee where I sat on the low frame of the bed. His breathing was deep, punctuated occasionally by the small, twitching dreams of hunting dogs—a phantom stride across an imaginary field of poppies, a soft whine when the scent of an old enemy passed through his memory.

I rubbed the scarred leather of his ears, feeling the notch where a fragment of an RPG shell had torn away a piece of his flesh eight years ago outside Musa Qala.

"You remember that ditch, don't you, boy?" I whispered.

Hayes was sitting in the corner on a steel folding chair, cleaning his service pistol. He didn't need to clean it; it was already spotless, but Marines clean weapons the way monks count beads. It keeps the hands steady while the mind waits for the dawn.

"I still dream about the smell of that river," Hayes said into the shadows, his voice barely louder than the hum of the refrigerator. "The irrigation canal behind the market. Smelled like diesel and rotten melon."

"And wet dog," I said with a faint smile.

Hayes stopped his rag, looking down at his disassembled slide. "If Bruno hadn't hit that tripwire handler before he could depress the plunger, none of us would have made it back to the LZ. I had two rounds left in my magazine, General. My radio operator was already dead. You were out of ammunition, throwing rocks to keep their flankers from getting over the mud wall."

"Bruno took four pieces of shrapnel that day," I said. "And when the Black Hawk set down, he refused to get on the bird until every wounded man from the second squad was loaded."

"He’s not a dog," Hayes said softly, looking over at the Malinois. "He’s a better Marine than half the men wearing the eagle, globe, and anchor on this base today."

"That’s why Mercer’s boot matters, Raymond."

Hayes nodded slowly. "It’s not just the kick. It’s what the kick represents. These kids... they come in now with their supplements, their six-year enlistment bonuses, their sports cars at twenty percent interest. They think the uniform is a brand. They think it’s a jersey they wear on the weekend so people will buy them drinks at the airport."

"It’s not their fault," I said. "It’s the men who lead them. Men like Bradley Briggs, who trade the integrity of their command for a promotion recommendation from a defense contractor."

Hayes looked up, his eyes catching the light from the desk lamp. "Conrad Mercer landed at Lindbergh Field forty minutes ago. Commander Lin’s people tracked his Gulfstream. He’s already at the front gate in a chauffeured town car."

"Did he bring counsel?"

"Two corporate attorneys from Washington. Partners at Latham & Watkins. Heavy hitters who charge twelve hundred dollars an hour to tell the government why their clients don't have to follow federal law."

"Good," I said, rising to my feet. Bruno immediately stirred, his ears perking, his tail giving that steady, loyal thump against the wood. "Let them bring their briefcases. Let Briggs bring his brass. We’re going to show them what an audit looks like."

I walked over to the desk, took my service dress cover from its box, and set it beside the computer. The gold embroidery on the bill—the oak leaves of a general officer—gleamed in the soft light.

"How’s your leg, Bruno?" I asked.

The dog pushed himself up, his front left leg stiff in its blue fiberglass cast, but his three remaining limbs locked with balance and authority. He walked three steps toward the door, his chin held high, his nose testing the air beneath the door frame.

He wasn't limping out of weakness. He was walking out of duty.

"Raymond," I said, reaching for my uniform. "Tell Commander Lin to have the CID tactical team stage their vans behind the courtroom. And Hayes?"

"Ma'am?"