"Ma'am, with all due respect, what's your call sign? The question lobbed across the table in the noisy mess hall was coated in a syrupy almost theatrical curiosity. It came from a marine captain, his desert marat sleeves rolled to a perfect knifeedged crispness. His name tape read Davis. He leaned forward, a conspiratorial grin playing on his lips, aimed not at her, but at the two junior lieutenants flanking him. It was a performance. Sierra Knox didn't look up from her tray. She calmly finished

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