17
“It can’t be me.” The major was staring through the dark side of a mirrored observing-room window as if she’d seen a ghost. The major stood to Connie’s right and John to her left. This was the closest Connie had let him come to her in three days. A kiss. That’s all it had been. Repeating her mantra of the last three days still wasn’t making any dent in her desire to repeat the experience.
“What can’t it be you?” Connie looked into the room, seeking the major’s problem, but she saw nothing exceptional. Before them, on the far side of the one-way glass, sixteen glassy-eyed applicants stood in neat rows. They all wore Army sweats and coveralls. No insignia. No rank. Not during Assessment. All the same, enlisted and officer, gunner and master pilot.
“I know her.” The major didn’t need to
