The marine captain joked when he asked my call sign in the chow hall — he stopped smiling when the whole base suddenly stood up
Ma’am, with all due respect, what’s your call sign? The question lobbed across the table in the noisy mess hall was coated in a syrupy, almost theatrical curiosity. It came from a Marine captain, his desert MARPAT sleeves rolled to a perfect knife‑edged crispness. His name tape read “DAVIS.” He leaned forward, a conspiratorial grin
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