Murdock handed him the three pages.
"Did you get me an appointment with the old man or do I just drop by?"
"I'd call him and set it up. He's getting very Navy all of a sudden."
"I'll win this one for the Gipper."
"You didn't even play football."
"Is that what the Gipper is all about? Damn me."
Jaybird slipped in the door with a cold Coke and a pair of hamburgers and put them in front of Murdock.
"Figured you didn't get any chow, Skipper. Don't want you to pass out on our swim this afternoon."
"Who said anything about a swim?"
"Nobody. Just figures. How far?"
"Point Zuniga round trip."
"Good, I was figuring ten miles. You still want the troops ready at 1400?"
"Yeah, right. That'll give my burgers time to digest."
Lieutenant Edward Dewitt brushed his flattop with his good right hand and stared hard at Murdock. Then he chuckled.
"You set me up, didn't you?"
Murdock laughed and flipped him a French fry he had found with his burgers. "Yeah. A habit. Comes with the stripe. That Seattle ticket is still open, on me."
Dewitt took a long breath. He crinkled his brow, then shook his head. "Fuck no, I'm having too much fun here."
18
Murdock broke off the swim at two miles and before they reached the announced halfway goal of Zuniga Point on the far end of North Island. The SEALS had entered the water wearing their cammies, masks, and flippers. Murdock led them at an even stroke knowing precisely how fast to swim to cover a mile in thirty-five minutes.
After two miles he signaled for a halt and turned the men around.
"Jaybird, take the con, lead us back to the home beach in exactly an hour and ten minutes."
"That's a roger, sir." Jaybird was not the best swimmer in the platoon, but now it didn't matter. The men would move at the pace he set. A light breeze had picked up and the ocean showed an occasional whitecap. The water was not summer-warm yet — about sixty degrees, Murdock figured. It had often been much colder. Top summer sunshine might boom it to sixty-nine or seventy-four degrees, but that would be the top of the scale.
Open-ocean swimming is not easy with the swells and the current. Now the small chop and the whitecaps made it that much tougher. "Remember that four-knot current we'll be going against," Murdock told Jaybird. The Platoon Chief waved and struck out for the distant shoreline just off the SEAL training base.
They had stayed on top of the water since they didn't have any breathing gear. Once they came to a small school of eight-inch jelly fish, their long arms trailing into the water.
Jaybird slanted them around the hundred or so creatures. They weren't the hard-stinging kind, but could bring a welt.
Once, looking seaward, Murdock saw a half-dozen Pacific porpoises jumping and playing around the hull of a two-masted sailing ship.
Nothing else distracted the SEALS from a relaxing afternoon swim in the bright blue Pacific Ocean.
Jaybird led them up the beach across from the grinder, and Murdock checked his watch.
"You're two minutes early, Jaybird. Guess it's better to be early rather than late. On a hot mission what would you have done?"
Jaybird took off his mask and picked up his flippers. "On a mission I would have checked my time of arrival. If I was early, I'd have kept the platoon at least five hundred meters offshore and waited for the exact time to hit the beach."
"Good. Now, the rest of the day is free. Tomorrow we really get down to the business of training. We should have the three new men we talked about. If all goes well, they should report in tonight. Get them set up with gear and equipment."
"Yes, sir. What's up for tomorrow?"
"A surprise, Platoon Chief, even for you. Arrange with the mess for a patrol-type full breakfast for the platoon at 0430. We'll be in transport by 0530."
The Third Platoon formed up in two squads and double-timed across the sand and into SEAL country. Murdock found Ed Dewitt waiting for him in his office.
"Those three replacements are here. I sent them over to supply. Master Chief Mackenzie said Jaybird would get them outfitted when he got back. Is that Chinese guy the linguist?"
"He is. He speaks a whole pot full of languages. I just wish he knew Arabic. I figure we're going to have some more Near Eastern time before long. You like the looks of the three?"
"I do. Especially the big guy, Ronson. He going to be the HW man?"
"How did you guess? How are you feeling? Any more dizziness?"
"No. I just got the wrong meds. Fit for duty. What's on for tomorrow?"
Murdock took a sheet of paper from the top drawer of his desk and handed it to his second in command. Dewitt read the first few lines and then scanned it.
"We're back in Hell Week, only it's for just two days," Dewitt said.
"You want to come along? You do everything the rest of us do including the survival drill."
Dewitt read the paper again. Slowly he shook his head. "I can't make it through all those exercises and tests and drills with this damn broken arm."
"True. You want that week's leave or should I put through a light-duty form for you?"
"You cleared this training with the Commander?"
"No. The facility is not being used for the next three days. I reserved two of them. We leave at 0530 tomorrow."
"Masciarelli is not going to be thrilled, as you know."
"Keeping my platoon in top condition is my responsibility. I checked with the motor pool and we'll have a twenty-passenger bus ready and waiting."
Dewitt squirmed in his chair.
Murdock took three pills from the plastic bottle on his desk and downed them with some lukewarm coffee. He looked at his friend and combat buddy. "So, which way are you going?"
"Seattle for four days. About all I'll be able to stand. Then I'll be back here and working out with you whenever I can do the drill."
"Done. Master Chief Mackenzie will take care of your leave and your transport. Have a good visit with the family."
"I'll try. Provided you get the rest of that shrapnel out of your ass so we don't have to call you Old Ironbutt anymore."
The twenty-seat bus had rolled out of SEAL country at 0528 the following morning with all fifteen SEALS of Third Platoon on board. Murdock had had to go to the CO of the motor pool to get permission for Red Nicholson to drive the bus. He had a military driver's license, and said he used to drive a school bus.
They had loaded up the rig with all of the ammo, weapons, and gear they would need for their two-day stay. There was plenty of field rations and supplies, but no blankets or sleeping bags. The men had noticed that up front.
"What the hell is this, fucking Hell Week all over again?" Martin "Magic" Brown had asked, his black face more curious than angry.
"How do you get a week jammed into two days?" Ron Holt had asked.
"With a fucking SEAL shoehorn," Jaybird had screeched, and they all had laughed.
The bus had rolled down the Silver Strand highway into Coronado. Murdock got mad when anyone called it Coronado Island. Even some of the people who lived there called it an island. They should have known better. Radio and TV newscasters were always calling it Coronado Island. Actually, it is a large bulge on the end of a long narrow strip of land that encloses San Diego Bay and is called the Silver Strand. Technically Coronado is on the end of a peninsula. A peninsula is described as a portion of land nearly surrounded by water and connected to a larger land mass by an isthmus. An isthmus is a narrow strip of land connecting two larger land masses. Murdock had long ago given up correcting people aboutcoronado. It irritated him, and he made sure that his men knew the difference, but he'd given up on the rest of the English-speaking world.