It was none of her business, really. It belonged to me and George. I fell in love with him all over again that Christmas... or a couple of weeks after Christmas. I had been deeply ashamed when the pharmacist and clerk in the drug store had asked about the woman and her children whom George had helped. He had asked them to call me to let me know he was going to be late. They had. I had been miffed that he was going to be late for our traditional Christmas Eve and didn't bother to ask him details. Damn, would I ever learn to get rid of that stupid stubborn streak? He had driven in the snow for over two hours so that a woman, tired and alone with her three children, could be with someone who cared for them rather than sit in the cold at all hours of Christmas Eve at the mercy of uncertain bus schedules.I went home that night after I found out the whole story and waited for George. The children had plans of their own but I refused to let them leave until he came home and I could. I felt guilty for souring her good mood, perhaps it had been futile to press Vasiliev about it.The Staff Sergeant and the Marines suddenly snapped to attention, saluting us. I was momentarily confused until I realized that they weren’t saluting ‘us’, they were saluting someone behind us. I turned to see a short man with a greying beard standing in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back, two Marines flanking him to his left and right. He was wearing a pristine, white uniform in contrast to the blacks and blues of the soldiers, a Navy cap perched upon his head. I recognized the golden wreath that was emblazoned on it, and my eyes wandered down to his breast, which was decorated with numerous colored ribbons and medals. It was an Admiral, I had never seen one in person before.The recruits and I saluted, the pack of Borealans following suit after a moment, the gesture unfamiliar to them.“I-I’m sorry sir,” I stammered, “we didn’t see you.”“At ease,” he grumbled, his voice gruff.
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