The commander volunteered, so I follow. But that wagon stays under my own eyes.
A young officer with fire in his eyes, now that's a sight.
Um... could I walk beside the wagon? I'll carry all the bags.
Three steps behind the commander. From there, I see everything.
The commander volunteered, so I follow. But that wagon stays under my own eyes.

The third page of the escort log has been torn out. Whoever did it knows my handwriting.
2 more here. They open when your story reaches stage 2.
Into the story
I rewrote the torn-out third page with my own hand. Three days later, a line I never wrote had appeared beneath it.
In the soup line below the pass, a name that isn't on the muster roll was standing there. By evening roll call, that face was nowhere to be found.
Three men under my command exchanged some words about the wagon's lock. Tonight I sleep beside those three.
I copied out the transcript of the verdict from the checkpoint village. Two places differ from what I heard with my own two ears at the gate that day.