You could see it on their faces—boys who’d been cocky thirty seconds ago now staring at the ground like it had answers.
Because what they’d just heard wasn’t a cool war story to brag about later.
It was a wound that never really closed.
The General took a breath like he was setting down something heavy.
“You think command sent her here?” he said, scanning them again.
“You think this is some pity transfer?”
He stepped forward, voice firmer now—not louder, just sharper.
“Sergeant Grace Mallory had every right to walk away.”
“She could’ve taken the discharge.”
“Could’ve gone home with honors and no one would’ve questioned it.”
He let the silence do the rest.
“But she didn’t.”
“She asked to come back.”
A few recruits blinked like they’d misheard.
The General nodded toward them.
“Not to sit behind a desk.”
