He stood, staring straight ahead in his starched uniform. The speeches, the tirades, the admonishments, the praise, the bonds, and the blood. Always with his heels together, his toes turned apart at a forty-five degree angle, his arms at his side, his shoulders back, his chest stuck out, his chin up, and his eyes straight ahead. Unflinching. Without emotion or reaction. He was the disciplined killer they wanted him to be, standing in formation like a deadly robot. A terminator with no orders.

Today, he could not maintain it. The grim detachment and self-discipline could not hold. His military mind let go and stepped aside. The old criminal in him stepped up.

The hoodlum, the rebel, the troublemaker, the outcast, and the stranger. It came flooding back with just one word. His whole military bearing was gone with two tiny words that the CO had spoken into his ear during the inspection. Pure rage flushed through his brain and he couldn’t control his fists or boots.

“Sand nigger,” the Captain had hissed.