As the activity continued among the nine individual groups, Senior Airman Randy Tooley came driving up on his Vespa to see how the SEALs were getting along. On this day, the T-shirt he wore proclaimed:
SOCCER PLAYERS DO IT WITH BIG BALLS!
He rode the motor scooter inside the hangar and braked to a stop. Brannigan noticed the little guy as he came in, and he put down the wrench he had been using to loosen an air filter. The lieutenant walked over with Jim Cruiser at his side, hoping for some good news. The Skipper asked, How's it going, Randy?
Pretty good. I checked on that gasoline you're waiting for, but it ain't in the pipeline yet.
Bummer, Brannigan grumbled.
But I may have a way for you to work around that, Randy remarked.
Brannigan was interested. Yeah?
There's an Army transportation company on the other side of the field, Randy said. They get their supplies from the quartermaster depot in Kandahar. They make regular convoy runs in their gas trucks over there and back. I bet I could talk them into giving some of their fuel to you. When your own comes in, you can pay them back. That would include motor oil and coolant too.
Cruiser was suspicious. How are you going to manage to talk them into that, Randy?
They owe me some favors, Randy replied. I got them some refrigerators through a contact of mine.
Cruiser looked at Brannigan. Sounds solid to me, sir.
Me too, Brannigan said. He gave a Randy a close look. And what would you want in return?
Randy glanced past him to the vehicles inside. I'd be proud to have my very own personal DPV for me alone.
Cruiser sputtered, Jesus Christ!
It will be done, Randy, Wild Bill Brannigan proclaimed.
Randy immediately leaped back aboard his Vespa and roared out of the hangar. Brannigan and Cruiser returned to the vehicles to resume the maintenance work.
.
1600 HOURS
THE SEALs were cleaning the windshields of the DPVs and wiping down the chassis in the final phases of the PM session. The hours of crawling in and out of the little vehicles had given them all an intimate knowledge of the inner workings. Brannigan noted that the work done that day was beneficial beyond the mechanical aspects. The men had begun developing real affection for the vehicles they would be driving in Operation Rolling Thunder. They were now referring to them in feminine terms, and the names Ol' Bessie, Sweet Lil, and others like them could be heard during conversations among the crews.
The squealing of loud tires and a rumbling engine sound interrupted the activity. The detachment looked up to see Randy Tooley on his faithful motor scooter leading an M-35 fuel tanker across the aircraft parking area. They drove straight into the hangar before coming to a halt. Randy got off his Vespa and gestured to Brannigan. Wheel them DPVs up here. They'll top you off. We got twenty-five gallons of motor oil and enough coolant so's you'll have some left over. We got some lube too, and they're lending you a couple of grease guns.
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.