Chapter 3

Camp Pendelton, Ca

The staff sergeant at 1st Mar Div reception paused to look at the lance corporal reporting in, mostly to evaluate his stack. Seeing that the young Marine had done some shit in the sandbox, the staff sergeant did something rare and asked the big Marine if he had any preferences. “I dunno, Staff Sergeant. Is there a BLT in a pre-deployment work-up that needs another 0311?”

“You know what, Marine? 1/5 is about to depart for a work-up in Japan. It will be a tight schedule, but they sure as fuck could use an experienced guy.”

“Thanks, staff sergeant. Please, send me right fuckin now.”

The Staff Sergeant endorsed his orders and stapled another layer of documents to his orders. “Ok, sign here and here ... See that shuttle outside the double hatch? Its fourth or fifth stop is 1/5. That battalion is in a total cluster-fuck getting ready to go, but they’ll be happy to see you coming. Good luck, Marine.”

“Aye, Staff Sergeant. Thanks much.” O’Brien almost skipped out of the reception building and into the transport shuttle.

1/5, 62 Area, Camp Pendleton

“I’ll be gloriously fucked. Look at this, boss. Division is still sending them. And this one is good to go. The battalion admin staff sergeant took O’Brien’s SRB print-outs from the corporal and thumbed through it, stopping at certain pages to actually read his service record.

“Bravo would love this guy. I’ll bet their first shirt would give me a blow job for this Marine ... sit down over there, Marine. I’m going to make a few calls.”

O’Brien was a bit perplexed that the S-1 staff sergeant was not just immediately sending him off to a line company. O’Brien had no idea why the this admin puke had to call around just to send someone to a line company. He would have to wait.

Almost thirty minutes later, a gunnery sergeant walked into battalion S-1. “Where is he, Handers?”

Pointing to the bench against the side wall. “Waiting right there, gunny.” O’Brien stood when he realized he was being referenced.

The gunny took a quick look at the young Marine, “Let me see his SRB.” The gunny zero’d in on a few pages in the service record, then told O’Brien, “Follow me, Marine.”

O’Brien grabbed his sea bag and followed the gunny down a long corridor, out the end hatch, and into the next building where the gunny opened the first hatch, marked ‘S-2 Authorized Personnel Only’. O’Brien had a ‘What The Fuck’ moment but suppressed it and followed the gunny into the office space.

“Get him logged in. He has a Final Secret. Is the Captain in?”

“Yes, gunny. He’s talking to the top.”

“Good shit. Drop your sea bag, Marine. You’re gonna report to the S-2 officer. Pretend you know what you’re doing.”

O’Brien had no idea what the gunny was talking about, but he dropped his sea bag next to the bulkhead and followed the gunny into an inner office. The gunny stepped off to the side. O’Brien stood at attention in front of a captain’s desk while he talked to a master sergeant. The top and the captain stopped their conversation, both looking at the young lance corporal in front of them. The top looked at the gunny with confusion. “What the fuck are you doing, Gary? You know you can’t have him. The Bravo first shirt is gonna go ape-shit on you.”

“Top, I know the instructors that ran his DM course. I knew his platoon sergeant. Let’s talk.”

“Son, do you know why you’re here?”

“No, master sergeant.”

“Ostensibly, this is a screen for the battalion scout/sniper platoon. But you have already been put on Bravo company’s T/O. So tell me about your DM experiences at 2/5.”

O’Brien was caught flat-footed, but recovered enough to provide the standard spiel. “Company and platoon over-watch. Various assignments for counter-sniping and fire control. Patrols for the commander.”

“How many kills?”

“Uh, dunno, master sergeant.”

“Geez, Marine. Fucking guess.”

“Uh, no disrespect, master sergeant. But I cannot talk about some stuff. The MEF G-2 had me sign some papers that restricts what we can say about Fallujah. They said I would go to the brig for a long time.”

“Was your platoon sergeant Staff Sergeant Kimberly?”

“Yes, master sergeant.”

“Sir, I’ve heard of this operation. I recommend that we stop this conversation, send him to his unit, and talk to division G-2 before we land our asses in a sling.”

The S-2 officer, in a command voice, “Gunny, return him to S-1 for disposition and execution of his orders ... Marine, this conversation will not leave this office. Understood?”

“Aye, Aye, sir.” O’Brien, while a bit freaked, remained centered and under control until he was returned to S-1.”

O’Brien almost collapsed onto the waiting bench after he was shoved back into the S-1 shop. O’Brien sat there for over an hour while the office pukes performed all manner of mysterious computer machinations. Stapling yet another set of papers to his orders, O’Brien was given directions to Bravo Company. With a great sense of relief, O’Brien left the battalion offices to find his new unit.

Bravo Company, 1/5

O’Brien’s first week with 1st platoon, 1st squad was not spent with 1st squad. Check-in was made onerous by the unit’s preparation for a training deployment to Japan. S-4 claimed they ‘literally have nothing left to issue’. BAS would not accept his medical record because there was ‘no one to review any more records’. S-3 told him to go away because ‘he didn’t need anything from the three-shop’. Battalion supply attempted to issue O’Brien torn and dirty body armor and other gear, but he refused to sign for the issue unless the supply chief described the condition of the issued gear. The armory said it had no M16s that were not already packed, and to come back tomorrow to see if an M4 was available. They were many other problems from other attempted check-in points.

During morning PT, O’Brien found himself directly behind his squad leader during the run. “Sergeant Braun, I need help with checking in. Who do I see?”

“Oh yeah, O’Brien? What problems?”

After the sixth or seventh issue, Sgt Braun told O’Brien to shut up, and broke formation to run next to the platoon sergeant. They talked for a few minutes until Sgt Braun re-joined the platoon formation. “O’Brien, come see me after morning formation.”

Now he was getting somewhere because these marines were on his side. O’Brien, almost with glee, replied “Aye, sergeant!”

Sgt Braun sent O’Brien to get his orders and check-in forms. After the formation dispersed, O’Brien and his squad leader and his platoon sergeant were standing in front of the company gunny. “Give me your check-in sheet, Marine.”

Gunny Shiloh shook his head as he read through the comments and rejection notes on the check-in sheet and the attached gear issue cards. “Abso-fucking-lute fucking stupidity. The first sergeant needs to see this shit. Maybe he’ll take it to the sergeant major. Just fucking insane! I can’t believe these people are stupid enough to put this shit in black and white!”

O’Brien did not know if he was supposed to say something in response to the gunny’s statements. But as there was no direct question, he chose to remain silent. The gunny thought for a while. “You up to date on your shots?”

“Aye, gunny.”

“Passed a PFT?”

“Several days ago, gunny.”

“Recent rifle qual?”

“Not for a while, gunny. But I have done the DM course and was a DM in a previous unit.”

“Fuckin good enough for me ... Braun, can you think of any reason O’Brien should not deploy?”

“No, gunny. Except I do not want him in my squad without a rifle. An M4 is not T/E, but its better than nothing. Ok if the armorer issues a 4, gunny?”

“We can get it fixed in Okinawa. And the rest of the shit can be fixed on that rock ... Staff Sergeant Eberly, let’s take this bullshit check-in sheet and go see the man.”

As the two staff NCOs stomped away, O’Brien was embarrassed and chagrined. “Sergeant Braun? Sorry about all of the trouble. So what should I do today?”

“Get to the armory and get an M4 issued. If they give you any shit, tell them to call Gunny Shiloh ... then report back to the barracks. We’re going do an unofficial gear issue.”

“Got the rifle issued, Sergeant Braun. What’s next?”

Sgt Braun turned to bellow into the barracks, “First Squad! Front and center, fucking now!” After a minor scramble, nine more bodies appeared in front of Braun. “I know you criminal fuckers have them. I want a pack, molle gear, pouches, a camel, and two canteens. You’ll get your shit back when the battalion gets its shit together in Japan. The battalion has abandoned O’Brien. But first squad will never walk away from one of its own.”

After a brief chorus of oohrahs and other yelling, O’Brien’s new squad mates scattered to go through their respective ‘spare’ gear stashes.

About 10 minutes later, gear started appearing on O’Brien’s rack. “Wait one, corporal. I need to write this down.” Pulling out his little green notebook, O’Brien identified each piece of gear and the donor. “Thanks, much, Marines.”

Braun looked at the gear and was happy with his squad. He had one more thing remaining as part of O’Brien’s check-in. Braun yelled through the barracks, “Brown and Norton, come here now!” The two fire team leaders assembled in front of their squad leader. “Which one of you fuckers wants him?”

Cpl Brown answered first. “Geez, sarge, you know we both need O’Brien, the squad has been short for a long time. If we go with extra guns, then I’ll need a big guy. Otherwise, I guess we flip a coin or something.” The squad had started to gather around the three NCOs, knowing that this would affect some of them directly.

“I dunno, Brown. How ‘bout a single poker card deal?”

“Fuck you, Norton. Only if someone has a new deck. You’re too slick and quick for me...”

“Well, shit, people. O’Brien, you get to decide what game is used.”

“Sergeant Braun? I don’t understand.”

“Fuck me. Choose a card game, a coin toss, what-fucking ever, just fucking choose.”

“Aye, sergeant. I choose Rock-Paper-Scissors.”

“You got it. Brown, Norton, on three. You ready?”

After three rounds, neither corporal had ‘won’ O’Brien. But Sgt Braun persisted. “Again, on three. One ... Two ... Three.” Norton had paper and Brown had rock. Braun shouted with triumph, “O’Brien goes to the third team ... Everybody stay here. It’s been a tough week for us, and O’Brien was never really introduced to the squad. Here’s his bio. His previous deployment was with 2/5 where he played around in Fallujah. He got his dumb ass shot up and was in Walter Reed for a few months. We got dibs on his patched up body, but he seems to work ok. He’s been through the DM schoolhouse and did some shooter stuff in the sand box. He’s mine, now.”

One by one, the members of first squad introduced themselves. They did not expect him to remember, as they did not know that O’Brien had a well-trained memory. O’Brien’s first impressions were that the squad was a good bunch of Marines. He tried to not measure Braun per Sgt Jay. He knew there would never be another Sgt Jay. And Sgt Braun deserved to be ‘measured’ on his own merits. Cpl Norton yelled at O’Brien for chow formation. O’Brien stuffed his newly ‘issued’ gear into his wall locker, grabbed his cover and headed to the front of the barracks. As they marched to morning chow, O’Brien was feeling that he had finally returned home.

Finding his team-mates, he sat down and started to chow-down. The team did not fail to notice his choice of breakfast. “You from the south, O’Brien?”

“Nah. Is that what I sound like, Sanchez?”

“No, but you do have an accent.”

“I’m from south Texas. Where you from?”

“Salinas, California. Central valley. About 350 miles north of here.”

“What about you, Ash? Where ya from?” Ash looked to be a shy country boy. But he had predator eyes.

“Millington, Tennessee. Its next to Memphis.”

“Any of y’all fish or surf?”

Only Ash responded. “We fished a lot as a kid. At least until my grandfather died.”

Ash changed the subject, “So what was your last deployment like?”

“Actually a bit weird. They did things like put our company on-line for a sweep through parts of Fallujah. They sent out platoons by their lonesome with no air or arty suppport or back-up platoon. It was an ‘in-between’ time. The army had just pulled out and Fifth Marines was starting to move in. I was not there very long. We got shot up early on then spent the last half of the deployment in surgery and re-hab.”

Hello Mac,

I am at 1/5 Bravo, 1st Plt. They are a decent guys. I try hard not to compare them to our squad. There will never be another Sgt Jay. Sgt Braun is younger than Jay. He has two previous deployments. Braun is a good man. He is not married. It seems his life is his squad, which I think is good. Nobody here surfs or fishes (what the fuck???). Most of the squad has done a pump, so ahead of the game there. I meditate in the early morning or after taps. If anyone in the squad has seen anything, they do not seem to care. So that is cool.

We are going to Japan for several months of training before we hit the sand box. I am not certain but it looks like we trans-pac in 6 days. The battalion will be scattered across Okinawa and maybe other places. We do not know what the assignments will be and no one has seen a training schedule.

Our platoon commander was sent to Japan before I got here, so do not know about him. Braun says he is good to go and the plt sgt does not say anything bad about him. So at least I have a good LT. Which is better than last time.

There are two fire teams that had an open slot. Sgt Braun had the two team leaders play rock-paper-scissors to see which team got me. The squad thought is was funny. I thought it was sort of stupid and not logical. I remember that Sgt Jay said to never abandon logic. I guess it really does not matter which fire team got me, but is still seems that Braun should have made the decision.

I know that we are not supposed to talk about it, but I will say that there may be something going on with those 2 kids. I made friends with a guy in comm plt, and he said he has heard some weird shit from high places about our old platoon.

I think about you a lot about you and wonder what it would have been like if you could have come back to the FMF with me. I guess I cannot have everything.

They said that there will be no internet for us in Japan. I am using my gmail for this last letter. If you want to send me a message, you will have to actually write something on paper. But do not worry about writing and shit like that. But I do want to know how your re-hab turns out.

Get better. Stay cool.

Opie

Okinawa, Japan

“O’Brien, that’s out-fucking-standing ... See that, sarge? Door gone in one, cleared in three with no good guys hit...”

“Keep your dick in your pants, Norton. We’ve still got most of today and tomorrow doing the multi-level stuff.” Sgt Braun pulled his corporal aside for a more private comment, “Friday and Saturday the squad is going to the towers - mostly fast-rope shit. But starting Saturday, we lose O’Brien for about two days. Those S-2 pukes are up to something. I’m gonna talk to the staff sergeant and LT. They’re fucking up our training for no good reason.”

“I know what ya mean, sarge. Battalion just can’t keep their dick skinners off of us.”

“We’ll let O’Brien know after evening chow.”

“Ok, sarge. We’re outa here.”

Cpl Norton’s team loaded up their gear and trotted off for the more complex MOUT simulator about a click down the road.

“O’Brien, you’re the second man this time. Sanchez you are number one. It’s our first large room. Take your time.”

About three seconds after the fire team’s stack was through the hatch, there was one or two holes in the head or upper torso of all five bad-guy targets. This was followed by a stunned silence. Only one of them had fired their weapon. “What the fuck, O’Brien? What did you not understand about take your time.”

“Sorry, corporal. But being 2d guy through gave me a chance to scan the room. Did not have to beat down the door or worry about positioning myself to get the whole stack through. Once I had a clear scan of the room, just did them sequentially, port to starboard.”

Ash and Sanchez, who were previously smiling, burst into raucous laughter. The instructor cadre that was watching from a catwalk joined in the laughter. Norton looked up at the instructor, “Staff sergeant, can I do this several times without my Texas super-stud shooting up the place?

“Yeah, give me five, corporal.”

Norton’s fire team was standing outside the simulator building while the instructors set the room up for another run. Sanchez was still laughing. Ash smiled at O’Brien. “Why don’t we just whack it open, send in the big guy, and drink coffee while he clears the room?” This set Sanchez into another fit of laughter.

“Shut the fuck up. For the next run, O’Brien is first and on the hatch, Sanchez and Ash are second and third. Watch your muzzles because it’s a big room. Keep the room covered. We ready?” About three seconds after the team’s stack was in, they started to separate, but did a good job of keeping the whole room covered. O’Brien let his team-mates take out most of the bad guys, until he noticed a target placed directly behind a good guy that was partially obscured by a curtain. While the team was shooting up the obvious bad guys, O’Brien did a quick aim and put a round through the target’s lower forehead. The shot was done so quickly that the instructors did not see it.

After weapons were cleared and safed, the instructor began his critique. “Entry was good, coverage was ok, but you are still scanning the room like robots. And you people missed one.”

Cpl Norton scanned the room. “We got them all, staff sergeant.”

“Look at the target behind the girl and the curtain.”

Cpl Norton was about to concede when O’Brien interjected. “We got him, staff sergeant.” O’Brien walked up to the target, pulled the curtain back, and pointed to the hole in the forehead.

“Who made that shot?”

O’Brien raised his hand like a third-grader in elementary school.

“I should have known. Ok we have two more drills and then you’re done with this one.”

The two subsequent live-fire exercises were successful and uneventful. When Cpl Norton exited the large MOUT simulator, he saw the next fire team waiting, and some other Marines shooting the shit, but could not find his sergeant or anyone else in his platoon. “We got nothing else on the schedule today. Let’s get to the tents and clean weapons. After we eat, let’s do a short time with the weights ... Unless someone has a better idea...”

Sanchez piped up with, “how about a few beers and a blow job, corporal?” This got the usual reaction from his team-mates, with O’Brien applying a congratulatory slap on Sanchez’s back.

Norton was able to suppress his impending laughter, but he could not stop the smile on his face. “Get your shit, people. Let’s go.” The fire team trotted back about two clicks to the bivouac of inflatable tents. They immediately went to the benches, fished out their cleaning gear and went to work on their rifles. About the time Cpl Norton’s team was re-assembling their rifles, the rest of first platoon trickled in.

Sgt Braun looked at his watch. “Norton, we got about 45 minutes before chow. Get O’Brien and let’s see the boss.”

The lieutenant was standing in front of his ad hoc desk, reading a print-out. He looked up as his troops walked in.

“O’Brien, S-2 apparently has background on you that is not in your record. We do not know what they want from you, but I am telling you to be circumspect. Be careful. Assume that there is always more than what they are telling you.”

“Sir? I do not understand. They talked to me when I checked into the battalion, but only said is was to screen me.”

SSgt Eberly glanced at his platoon commander, who only shrugged. “What were they screening for?”

“For the sniper platoon, staff sergeant. It makes no sense that they would be screening me for the sniper platoon. I’ve never been to the school, and other than the two-week DM course and about two months of doing over-watch in Iraq, I have no experience with that stuff. And I never volunteered...”

Lt de Salvo knew the S2 alpha officer enough to understand that the intel people always had a hidden agenda. The platoon commander saw no good reason to discuss this further. “Just be careful, Marine. At 0730, be standing next to the S-2 hatch. Dismissed, O’Brien.”

“Aye, Aye, sir.” O’Brien left the officer’s hutch feeling less confident than when he walked in with his squad leader.

O’Brien walked back to the platoon’s tent while listening to the various sounds of an over-developed sub-tropical island. He knew the beach was only a few clicks distance, but he had no time and no fishing gear. He resigned himself to two days of weird shit with the S-2 weenies. When he saw the company chow formation, O’Brien forgot about the atypical command shit that a 19 year-old lance corporal should not have to worry about and hopped into the rear of the formation.

With gravy covering everything except the small salad, O’Brien dived into his meatloaf, mashed potatoes, cornbread, milk, and coffee. With a over-loaded mouthful O’Brien looked up to see his squad mates watching him eat. He emitted a barely intelligible “What the fuck?”

Cpl Brown smiled at the Marine. “Don’t sweat it, O’Brien. Norton says that you are mostly harmless, but to keep our hands and fingers clear of your eating area ... I think we’re safe, boys.”

Cpl Norton, almost yelling down the long table, “Brown, I never said he was harmless. Just let him eat, and no one will die.”

The squad continued to exchange quips and insults and comments for the remainder of chow. With the exception of Sgt Braun, all squad members were targeted. Braun listened to his troops, observed body language, and was again happy that there was no malice. He further noted that O’Brien, other than a shrug or other non-committal gesture, never replied to any comment directed at him. “Norton, Brown, what you got going tonight?”

“Weights, sarge. Have something else going?”

“Nah. Just wondering. But weapons cleaned first, people.”

“Aye, sarge. We’re on it.”

Braun flicked off the lights to the platoon’s tent, and before he could find his cot, his squad started.

Sanchez: “Good night, John Boy.’

Ash: “Good night, Elizabeth, you cock-teasing bitch. Good night, Daddy.”

O’Brien “Good night, boy. Good night, Mary Ellen. Any blow jobs tonight?”

Cudro: “Good night, Daddy. No blow jobs. I’m worn out from you butt-fucking me. Good night, Mama.”

Hashin: “Good night, Mary Ellen. Your blow jobs are lousy anyway. Good night, Jim Bob.

Hernandez: “Good night, Mama. Is Daddy gonna rail you tonight, mommy? Good night, Erin.”

Clausewitz: “Good night, Jim Bob. Good night, Ben, you two-timing faggot. You said your butt-hole was mine.”

Dankin: Good night, Erin. Good night, everybody. Good night Chesty.”

Braun rolled over to face Norton’s and Brown’s racks and said with mock seriousness, “find out who started this shit and shoot him.”

“You got it, sarge.”

The only response was muted laughter from the rest of the platoon as the Marines drifted off to sleep.

After the third trip down the rope with no problems, first squad was sent to the rapelling tower. The only incident was on the first reppel when L/Cpl Hashin’s karabiner gate caught on the safety line and opened up enough such that the main rope popped clear of the karabiner and left Hashin dangling on the safety line.

Hashin was about half-way down the free line, so it was not that obvious to the instructors what had happened, and even worse, since it was the first rappel, the rig had been set up by an instructor. Hashin remained calm, in fact he seem rather bored with it, as they lowered him down. The senior instructor was waiting at the deck for Hashin. “Don’t touch anything, Marine. Just stand there. Hands away from your body. The gunny yelled at the two corporals standing next to him. “Get your asses up there and send down those two fuck-tards! I mean fuckin now!”

SSgt Eberly moved next to Hashin to look at his rig. It looked like the second karabiner was not tied into the harness and the first karbiner had been looped through a weird place. A sergeant and a corporal scrambled down the tower and stood in front of their gunny. “Take a look, dip shits. Tell me what you see.” The sergeant rattled off a list of five items that were incorrectly configured. “Both of you are restricted to the shop. Go nowhere except to take a piss ... Fuckin go.”

The gunny looked at Hashin. “You did good, Marine. But you should have said something about the backup karabiner, it was pretty damn obvious.”

Eberly was pissed. He was not about to let his troops take any blame for a total fuck-up by the instructors. “Bullshit, gunny. Fuckin total bullshit.”

“Say what, staff sergeant?”

“I said total bullshit, gunny. Your instructors’ lectures included the statement to, once on the platform, to not talk back to the instructor or question him in any manner. You fuckheads set this up for a single-point failure then try to deflect blame to the Marine that did what he was told, did not panic, and performed fucking perfectly.”

As parts of first platoon started to gather around their platoon sergeant, Lt de Salvo decided that he had better get involved. “Gunny, is that correct? Were those instructions provided as part of the lecture?”

“Aye, sir. The staff sergeant is correct.”

Lt de Salvo thought for a moment, then pulled a small green log book out of his day pack. “Gunny, please write down this conversation and the five rigging errors that your sergeant found. Then sign and date it.”

The platoon commander and platoon sergeant found a quiet place to talk. “You going to calm down, Ebbie?”

“I’m fine, sir. Just have seen too many times where the trooper takes it in the butt for someone else’s fuck-up while the command stands back and lets their troops get railed. The gunny was looking for mitigation for a possible article 32 hearing, sir.”

“For what its worth, did you notice that I did not read him rights prior to asking for a statement?”

“Uh, now that the lieutenant mentioned it, why not, sir?”

“So the gunny will not be paranoid about what he writes; that is, to get a completely honest statement. His statements would probably would not be admitted in any post-article 32 hearings, but they sure as hell will protect our Marine. Now lets get past this and find a way to maintain the training schedule.”

“Aye Aye, sir. And pretty fucking clever, boss. Guess that’s why you’re paid the big bucks.” SSgt Eberly, once again, thanked the gods that he had an lieutenant with common sense and good tactical awareness.

Lt de Salvo waited patiently off to the side while the gunny scribbled multiple pages in the logbook. The gunny subsequently handed the log to the LT. “Sir, I did write in there, in two places, that this shit was written before and without any article 31 notification.”

“That’s by design, gunny; by design ... Now how do we keep this going. We’re wrecking the training schedule. And I really need my people to have more iterations on the towers.”

“Sir, we have extra people on the fast-rope trainer. I’ll put them on this tower. We’ll be ready to go in less than 30 mike, sir.”

“Thanks, gunny. Let’s move on it, ASAP.”

“Aye Aye sir.”

Lt de Salvo was looking up at the tower platform when he noticed his staff sergeant next to him, “Ebbie, what are those idiots doing?”

“Just being typical Marines, sir. Unfortunately, probably more typical than usual ... Look on the bright side, sir. There is no liberty scheduled for the company while on the rock. They could be doing ‘typical’ jarhead shit out in town.”

O’Brien was standing next to the S-2 offices at 0720, wondering why the place was still locked up and deserted. His platoon had already been up for almost three hours and were starting the training schedule. O’Brien had no idea what S-2 did and did not care. He had meditated both last night and this morning. He felt centered and ready for any mind-fuck games that S-2 people may have planned.

A corporal walked up to the second hatch down, unlocked, entered, then returned a few minutes later wearing a duty belt with an M9 and a large green logbook. Noticing that O’Brien was still standing next to the restricted hatch, “Who are you here to see, Marine?”

“Dunno, corporal. Was told by my staff sergeant to be at S-2 by 0730.”

“Tell you what. Give me your ID, I’ll log you in and you can wait in the outer office.”

“Aye, corporal.”

O’Brien sat in the corner, watching the S-2 staff slowly trickle in. The non-rated troops wandered in between 0750 and 0805. Then a staff sergeant and a gunny arrived, the same gunnery sergeant that had tried to shanghai O’Brien when he checked into the battalion, walked in around 0815, and the bulk of the senior S-2 staff had drifted in between 0830 and 0900.