Chapter 4 - The Honor Guard
Four men in crisp, midnight-blue Air Force dress uniforms stepped into the ballroom in absolute unison.
The polished brass buttons on their jackets gleamed under the lights. Their stride was disciplined, measured, and entirely unyielding. At their head was Colonel Thomas Vance, a tall, iron-haired pilot I had pulled from a burning cockpit in the Horn of Africa three years ago.
The entire room turned around, gasping as the four officers marched down the central aisle, ignoring the stunned guests entirely.
Margaret let out a sharp, breathless cry and grabbed the back of a chair for support.
Colonel Vance and his detail reached the base of the stage, stopped dead, and executed a crisp, simultaneous salute that looked like a single mechanical motion.
The sight of active-duty military officers saluting me sent a visible shockwave through the front rows. Several local city councilmen instinctively stood up and half-saluted back out of pure reflex.
I raised my right hand, executing a slow, precise, flawless military salute in return.
"Major General Ulette," Colonel Vance’s deep voice boomed through the quiet hall. "Escort detail reporting as ordered, Ma'am."
"Thank you, Colonel," I said, my voice calm and steady. "At ease."
The four officers dropped their arms in unison and stepped to the sides of the stage, forming an impenetrable wall of blue and brass between the wedding party and the audience.
I turned back to my father.
Gerald looked as though he had been physically struck. His mouth opened and closed silently, his eyes darting from the officers to me, finally comprehending the sheer, terrifying magnitude of the miscalculation he had made tonight.
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"You... you brought soldiers to a wedding?" Gerald whispered, his voice finally losing its thunder, replaced by a pathetic, rattling disbelief.
"Not soldiers, Dad," I said, stepping down the stairs until I was standing right in front of him, looking down into his wide, panicked eyes. "Family."
