SCPO Buford Dawkins jumped into the breech as always. Let's go! We'll load on one at a time. Devereaux! Push Command One up to the tanker.
Jim Cruiser, chuckling, walked over to join Brannigan. That Randy is one hell of a kid, isn't he?
Roger that, Brannigan said. That's what I mean about the real meaning of discipline. He sees a situation that needs fixing and he sets about putting things right.
Do you think we could talk him into joining the SEALs? Cruiser asked.
Do you think he could make it through BUD/S?
Not a chance, Cruiser commented.
Randy's right where God meant him to be, Brannigan said. He turned and motioned Frank Gomez to come over to him. Gomez left Command Three, where he and Doc Bradley had been working all day. What's going on, sir?
Fire up that Shadowfire radio, Gomez, Brannigan said. Tell 'em we need another DPV ASAP.
Aye, sir. I suppose having a spare would be a good idea.
This one isn't for us, Brannigan said, gazing at Randy Tooley sitting on his motor scooter.
Chapter 5
OPERATIONAL AREA
8 APRIL
1100 HOURS
EIGHT of the Brigands' DPVs moved in a slightly lopsided vee formation across the desert expanse, kicking up clouds of fine dust. This man-made irritation was dealt with by the use of goggles and head scarves wrapped around noses and mouths.
The ninth vehicle, Commando Two with Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz AKA the Odd Couple was out to the front a couple of kilometers ahead of the pack. As usual, the two buddies were doing recon chores as the detachment continued on a northerly course toward its destination for the day. Mike performed the driving chores, while Dave sat up in the gunner's position keeping an eye on the surrounding terrain through his binoculars. Their AN/PRC-126 radios with the LASH headsets were on frequency and warmed up for intra-detachment commo.
Earlier, Brannigan had called a halt an hour after they left Shelor Field, and had everyone stand down for familiarization firing with the HK-416 carbines. The evening before had been spent learning field-stripping and how the weapons functioned. This class was given by Bruno Puglisi in his role as the detachment's main weapons man. He had attended both the light and heavy infantry weapons courses conducted under the Army's USASFC at Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
While out on the desert that next morning, each SEAL shot up a couple of thirty-round magazines, pumping out short fire bursts and individual shots into the distance. The weapons seemed to operate well enough, but there were no suitable targets to test the accuracy. The ever-grumpy Puglisi summed up everyone's thoughts when he remarked, I'm glad this ain't a real hot mission. Them rounds could have been going anywhere. He shrugged. But at least they seem to head out in the general direction we're aiming.
Well, Miskoski replied, if them HK-Four-Sixteens don't measure up, we'll just have to throw rocks.
Chad Murchison laughed at the remark. How pristine, Joe! It would be much more propitious if we employed bows and arrows.
Jesus, Chad! Miskoski groaned. Your sense of humor is as fucked up as the way you talk.
After the small arms were taken care of, attention was turned to the big M-2 .50-calibers on the vehicles. Everyone enjoyed firing the powerful weapons, whooping and hollering, until SCPO Dawkins came unglued at the frivolity. He took the fun out of the game by having them practice coordinating their fire bursts to cover a hundred- meter range to their direct front as they swung the muzzles back and forth across the width of their overlapping fields of fire. This went on for a half hour until Brannigan decided it was time to resume the patrol. The detachment quickly secured from firing, restacking the ammo boxes onto the vehicles.
.
USS COMBS
SPECOPS CENTER
NOON
LIEUTENANT Commander Ernest Berringer stepped from the passageway into the crowded compartment of working people, desks, and computers. He made his way back to the corner, where a small space had been allotted him and Commander Carey. Carey was at their one desk preparing a map of the SEALs' OA to mount on the bulkhead. He raised his eyes as Berringer walked up. I hope you picked up some positive info down in commo.
Berringer, who had four typed message sheets in his hands, dropped the first one down on the desk. Carey picked the missive up and read it. What the hell is this all about? Why in hell would Brannigan request an additional DPV from Station Bravo? He laughed. Well, he sure isn't going to get it.
Berringer dropped the second sheet down. As stated here, sir, his audacious request was approved.
Good God Almighty! Carey exclaimed.
Now Berringer produced the third sheet. And it's already on its way to Shelor Field via the next scheduled C- One-Thirty.
Brannigan never ceases to amaze me. Well! All I can say is that there must not be much of a demand on the inventory. In fact, there must not be any demand at all if they shipped one out so quickly.
And here's the last and the wordiest. Now get ready for this, Berringer warned him, handing over the fourth message.
Carey, his curiosity boiling, began reading the words. He spoke as much to himself as to Berringer as he made a running commentary. He's launched active patrolling...left Shelor this morning at oh-five-hundred...vehicles topped off with fuel and carrying two additional five-gallon jerry cans as contingencies...fuel did not come through normal supply channels... special arrangements At this point Carey stopped speaking.
What sort of special arrangements could he have made, sir? Berringer asked.
Oh, God, Carey moaned, I don't even want to know!
.
OPERATIONAL AREA
1400 HOURS
PETTY Officer Third Class Chad Murchison sat in the gunner's seat of Green Two, the wind blowing hard, making the scarf over his lower face flutter rapidly. The DPV bounced across the desert at a bit less than fifty miles an hour, with Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson deftly handling the wheel as he carefully steered to avoid rough patches of terrain.
Chad would have preferred the empty passenger seat on the right side of the vehicle, but he sat at the M-2 .50-caliber machine gun as per Lieutenant Bill Brannigan's SOP. The Skipper wanted the heavy weapons locked, loaded, and manned during transit at all times.
Without exception. Always. Unremittingly. Constantly. Wild Bill had thus spoken, and he was therefore obeyed.
At that particular moment in time, the young SEAL was going through mixed emotions. Their final destination for that day was the UNREO camp. His girlfriend Penny Brubaker was there in her role as an instructor in basic hygiene and sanitation. He hadn't seen her for over a year, and he was not looking forward to this meeting. The thing that was so perplexing for Chad was that he didn't fully understand this hesitancy on his part.
FOR almost his entire life, Chad Murchison had adored Penny Brubaker, who was a year younger than he. Both their families were members of the higher echelons of the Boston financial and banking community, and they had shared the experience of being raised in stunning wealth and privilege among friends and classmates who were their social peers. All the kids went to the best private elementary schools the city offered, then to the prestigious Marchland Preparatory School in New Hampshire. Chad and Jenny began going steady at Marchland and everyone including the young couple assumed they would eventually be engaged, then married, and begin procreating to carry on the dynasties of their powerful families. But during her senior year, after Chad had graduated and gone off to Yale, Penny unexpectedly dumped him for a jock. This betrayal caused Chad's world to come apart at the seams.
His grief at losing Penny was so great and pressing, it was nearly unreal. He lay in his dormitory room at Yale unable to get up to go to class, eat, or sleep. Dehydration and exhaustion set in during his mental and physical deterioration until he was looking so bad that the dormitory superintendent was notified by Chad's frantic friends.
