Front Line at the Threshold

I marched straight to the front entryway to launch my promised morning patrol, but found the heavy wooden exit shut tight against me. A lesser scout would turn back, but not this fundraiser. Spotting an abandoned brass house key resting on the low shoe bench, I hopped onto the polished wooden ledge and drove my bill straight through the key ring. With a resolute backwards tug, I dragged the heavy metal tag forward, producing a sharp, resounding clatter across the floorboards. The door may still be closed, but I have already sounded the alarm and secured our first piece of shiny field equipment right at the perimeter.