The private swallowed nervously in his pressed greens. “Excuse me, Sargent?”
“You’re here to call me back out of retirement for some emergency that only I could possibly handle. But it’s all wrong. First of all, you’re supposed to be at least a colonel. An old buddy of mine from back in the day, unless you got killed off in a sequel. Not some damned private.”
Francis turned from the bird feeder. The private, head still shaved in a forest of hair stumps, was not doing a bad job. The kid was mostly steady, even if he couldn’t keep the waver out of his voice.
“You are Sergeant First Class Francis… Drake, right sergeant?”
“Call me Frank. I’m retired. And yes, my parents had a horrible and educated sense of humor. What’s the emergency?”