An angry lieutenant colonel screamed at a young woman in a subway car, but when she removed her coat, his face became white 
The rumble of the wheels, a few soft chats, and the aroma of coffee from thermoses filled the train with the morning silence. People were rushing to work while engrossed in their phones.
A young woman with a neat bun, a serene face, and a slim build entered one of the stations. She had on a beige coat that was buttoned up to the neck and had a belt.
She took a seat across from a medal-studded man in a military outfit. He had the severe, self-assured stance of a man accustomed to power; he was a lieutenant colonel.
He scowled as he looked at her. Something dark green and official-looking that he believed he glimpsed beneath her coat might have been a military collar.
An expression of annoyance flashed across his face. Maybe he was bored, maybe he was proud, but something made him take action.
He leaned closer and demanded forcefully, “What’s that under your coat?”
The young woman gave him a startled glance but remained silent.
He raised his voice and said, “Where did you get that uniform?” — Are you now acting like a soldier? Or did you purchase it for likes on the internet?
Some of the passengers looked about, interested.
Slowly, the woman let out a breath.
She answered quietly, “I apologize, but I didn’t give you permission to speak to me in that tone.”
He said, “Didn’t you give me permission?” — Having spent twenty years in the army, I will not put up with someone who has no connection to it donning a uniform! It is holy! Remove it right away!
He talked so loudly and firmly that even the other passengers in the vicinity stopped murmuring. The young lady sat still, staring into his eyes.
“Are you done?” she inquired softly.
As she carefully unbuckled her belt and removed her coat, the lieutenant colonel was about to reply when he froze. He was shocked by what he saw at that moment and sincerely regretted what he had spoken.
Beneath the coat was a neatly ironed military uniform bearing a major’s insignia and the special forces emblem. On her chest, medals shone. She pulled out her military ID and held it up to him.
Without raising her voice, she responded steadily, “Major of the special forces.” It’s encouraging to see how fervently you uphold the army’s honor. That you do it by yelling at a fellow officer in public is odd, though.
The subway vehicle fell into a thick hush. Lips quivering, the lieutenant colonel went pale. He wanted to talk, but he was at a loss for words.
As she buttoned her coat again calmly, she added, “I imagine command will be interesting to see how you “protect the army’s honor” — and with whom you think you can speak like that “.” Or would you just like to say “I’m sorry”?
After taking a deep breath, the man leaned back and spoke, almost silently: — I’m sorry, comrade major. I had no idea.
Without glancing at him, she nodded.
At the next station, she quietly added, “There are times when it’s better to know who you’re talking to first,” and then she got out, leaving the car in nervous stillness.
The lieutenant colonel merely sighed deeply as the passengers gazed at him without raising his head.
