Young Lieutenant Dixon was still sitting there, answering questions and filling in the nine thousand seven hundred and eighty-fifth form of the day when a loud bang, like a door being kicked open, reverberated throughout the building. Lost in his own thoughts Nathan all but jumped out of his seat, jolted by the noise into a sudden flashback to his first days at VMI. With a shake of his head Nathan regained his composure and previous posture as quickly as he could. As he did so he noted that everyone in the office, including the cool and collected clerk who had been preparing more forms for Nathan to fill out, was frozen in place with one ear cocked, waiting for whatever came next.

From the hall outside the office, a raspy voice bellowed. “ADJUTANT! Get me Captain Cockran, NOW!”

From an adjoining office a voice Nathan assumed belonged to the adjutant called out in response as the tromp of boots stormed down the long hall. “Do you want him on the phone or in your office, sir?”

The angry footfalls stopped where Nathan guessed the door of the adjutant’s office opened into the corridor. Through the open door that connected the adjutant’s office to the one he was in, Nathan saw a helmet fly across the room before it smacked into a wall with a loud thud. “In my fucking office, Captain,” the helmet thrower responded in an irritated voice that echoed throughout the building.

The senior clerk, a sergeant first class, let out a sigh of relief and whispered, “Thank God he missed the window.”

The clerk in front of Nathan, now reassured that he was not going to be the object of the intruder’s wrath, leaned forward over the pile of forms closer to Nathan. “That, sir, is Lieutenant Colonel Norman Blackwell, the battalion commander. He must have been displeased with the inspection of the rifle range Cockran’s company is running.” Easing back in his seat, the clerk paused a minute before returning to his incessant paperwork, watching with glee as Nathan’s apprehension about the coming interview with his new battalion commander multiplied by a factor of ten.

He didn’t have long to wait. After making a call to B Company, the adjutant gingerly stuck his head around the corner into the open doorway that connected his office with that of the battalion commander. While the clerks around him threw themselves back into their work, Nathan strained to hear the exchange between the adjutant and commander. “Sir,” the adjutant choked out, “Captain Cockran isn’t in right now. First Sergeant Pruit isn’t quite sure where he is. But,” the adjutant hastened to add, “he promised he’d find him most ricky tick and send him up here.”