Light laughter followed.
“Not everyone’s cut out for the hard stuff,” he added with a grin. “Someone’s gotta keep the chairs warm while the rest of us do the real work.”
More laughter. Gentle. Comfortable. Dismissive.
My mother stared at the grass.
I felt the heat rise in my chest—but I didn’t react. Years of training had taught me how to stay still under pressure.
“Someone has to organize the files, Dad,” I said quietly.
He chuckled, satisfied.
I checked my watch.
1600 hours.
What “Computers” Really Meant
Most people imagine war as explosions and gunfire. My battlefield was a windowless room filled with glowing screens that never slept.
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