The Distant Clue
The frost had not yet broken on the tarmac, a thin glaze of white that cracked under the weight of my boots as I stood before the rusted gate of the old signal station, a place that had ceased to exist on any map of the United States Army for the better part of two decades. I am a man who has spent his life in the service of order, a rigid architecture of rules and regulations that I believed...
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