Chapter 2: Quiet Tumult

Moffet Air Field, Silicon Valley, Ca

The SeaBee senior chief was interested in verifying one person - Staff Sergeant O’Brien. The sailor and O’Brien went behind another aircraft to talk.

“Wow!? Who belongs to this Pilatus?”

“Some Google executive. The owner flys it himself ... Staff Sergeant, I’ve been working with SOCom and CIA people for twenty years. I’m going to burst your bubble. Your people are doing this mission not only because the DIA has been severely compromised, but because they need new faces unknown to the intel community that are disposable and because your people are lab rats. They are testing their ideas for adapting military skills and techniques for internal personnel control.”

The senior chief stepped back when O’Brien let loose with a loud guffaw.

“Well fuck us raw, senior chief. We all know that. And ‘Personnel Control’? What a fuckin euphemism. So SOCOM and the spooks are now comedians? My people have been fucked over and used by about every federal three-letter organization with the exception of the EPA. Nothing new here. And my unit is becoming well-known to spooks. So what’s the point?”

“Seems that the point is that I should have known. Damn jarheads. You people seem the relish misery, and it looks like you have walked into this with wide-open eyes. Let’s get you ready. We have three large vans available - all different makes and models.”

“I suppose that is so we can switch off the tailing vehicle to avoid detection?”

“Mostly, but also for redundancy. If a vehicle fails or is crashed, activate the disable switch and abandon the vehicle. The disable switch will cause the destruction of several sensor and control systems, in addition to the ECU. All three vehicles have GPS, moving map displays, and non-stock engines ... and here they come...”

After gear checks and comm systems were verified, O’Brien and Cheeseburger mounted up in the lead van, while the security team of the two army rangers drove the other two vans.

“The top and I were talking. If we can find the target in a secure location, I’m gonna construct it to have the appearances of a robbery. Otherwise, we catch the target in an isolated location with no security system, quickly pop him and vamos. I might need you to be a blocker for any scenario.”

“Sounds good. It’s about 15 clicks to the city building, and his appointment is not until 0930. How about a drive through? There are two In-n-Outs in the Mountain View area. They’re usually open until 0100.”

“Let’s clear it with the top.” O’Brien keyed his radio. “Hey, top. Wanna stop at in-n-out burgers?”

“I Like their chow, Opie. but always too many people. Let’s find a ‘tacky bell’ or a ‘burger barf’; something with less exposure to large crowds.”

“Roger that, top. Will let ya know ... Cheeseburger, no go on the in-n-out, dude. Know of a another fast food joint still open but with minimal crowds?”

“Yeah, get off on next exit. Del Taco. Shitty, but Tacky Bell closes at 2400.”

O’Brien heard his headset key and held his palm up to Cheeseburger.

“Yeah, go ahead, top ... Roger that ... army will go in. What you want?”

After the orders were broadcast over their comm systems, SFC Mickey Sifuentes drove into the Del Taco parking lot. Parked in the far corner, which enabled a LOS for the two sides of the building, both parking lots, and the entrance to Del Taco. After thirty seconds of surveillance, Sifuentes adjusted his pistol, making certain it was under his shirt and trousers, and walked in. After the order was received, carrying large bags, Sifuentes observed two young males, with obvious bulges in their pants, about to enter, so he immediately headed for the restrooms to wait out the impending robbery. After much shouting and some clattering and banging noises, it was abruptly silent. As Sifuentes exited Del Taco, he saw the two robbers peeling away in a black Civic.

Sifuentes, quickly drove up to the other two vans and almost yelling to his master sergeant, “yo, top. Fucking place was just robbed.”

“Anyone see or talk too you?”

“Nope. Only talked to the person that took the order. Then I went into the latrine to wait when I saw the gang-bangers approach.”

“Damn good job, soldier.”

O’Brien, listening to the exchange, “uh, Mickey? Were those scumbags in a black Honda?”

“Yeah. They drove away in a black Civic.”

O’Brien pointed to the far corner of the business parking lot.

“That vehicle pulled into the lot about 30 seconds ago. Look like them?”

“Holy shit, Marine. Its 50 meters and closing. Don’t know...”

“They’re coming this way.”

“Shit, now the chow will get cold.”

“Cheeseburger, Mickey. Get into the back of my van. You know what to look for.”

O’Brien’s assumption was valid. He knew that Sifuentes was from inner Detroit and knew of the idiocy and insane tactics of urban gangs. O’Brien rapidly removed a taco from the bags and leaned his back to the van, starting to casually consume his chow.

In broken, heavily accented English, the local boys exited the Honda with the pompous bravado typical of urban gang-bangers.

“Whats that you have for us?”

Hoerner had drawn his pistol, holding it behind him as he leaned up against the forward quarter panel of his van. His only reply to the locals was, “Huh?”

One of the three had already drawn his pistol and was ridiculously holding it sideways, but not yet pointing the weapon at anyone. O’Brien continued to eat the taco, which seemed to irk the local boys. The apparent leader, in Spanish, said something about their lack of respect.

“I said, what you have for us. Give us your shit.”

O’Brien smiled a chesire cat grin.

“Damn, boys. Get your own shit. We had to wait in line 15 minutes.”

“No man. Listen to me fucker. Give me your shit.”

“Jesus, man. I’ve already eaten mine.” Cocking his head, only slightly, towards the top, “dude, you wanna give these boys some of your shit?”

“Fucking pendejo! Cabrón! What you got in your wallets?”

O’Brien, with his version of an exaggerated and slow East Texas accent, “Uh, my driver’s license, picture of my mother, about twelve bucks, my insurance card, and some other shit. Why do ya wanna know what’s in my wallet?”

The gang banger-leader was further angered by his ‘victims’ lack of proper response and his inability to instill fear. O’Brien calmly finished his taco and fished around in the food bag for his next entree, which was a large burrito. O’Brien was careful to handle the burrito with his left hand. The head gangbanger signaled to his troops. As they started to withdraw their pistols, O’Brien and Hoerner immediately closed the two to three meters separation, knocking down the two nearest bangers. Cheesburger, coming out of the back of the van from behind, sunk his ka-bar into the side of the third would-be assailant. Cheeseburger and Sifuentes kicked the prone heads of the other two gang bangers to ensure an unconscious state.

Top Hoerner looked around the area for surveillance or witnesses. Observing nothing he ordered, “Get your coveralls and gloves on then finish them and put them in that vehicle.”

Sifuentes and Cheeseburger dragged the bodies into the Honda, then dispatched their respective baggage with a knife thrust to the neck.

“Opie, we need to find a quiet spot to wait and maybe sleep.”

“Lets head south to Palo Alto, top. Find a shopping center parking lot.”

“Stanford shopping center, boss. Just a few clicks down El Camino Real.”

O’Brien woke to Cheeseburger pawing through their early morning Del Taco run for leftovers.

“Gonna go to the coffee shop across the street. Want something, Marine?”

“Yeah, boss. Large cup, black.”

“Do a quick double horn honk if something comes up. I’ll ask the top if army wants some coffee.”

City Government building, San Jose, Ca

“We have the tango in rear parking. Wearing a dark suit. Black briefcase. And he now has a mustache.”

O’Brien was uncertain if ‘tango’ meant target or terrorist. He considered that both were apt descriptions.

“Roger that top. You have his vehicle description?

“White Camry. Small Hertz sticker on right rear bumper. License Romeo Alpha Queer 7322.”

“Got that, Cheeseburger?”

“Aye, boss. Did the top say ‘queer’?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s army humor.”

O’Brien re-keyed his head-set’s PTT button.

“Is he going into the aft passageway, top?”

“Wait one ... That’s affirm, into the rear entrance.”

“Okay. Have your guy park across the street and watch the side hatch.”

“Roger that. He’ll watch the side DOOR, Opie.”

Cheeseburger was unable to let this pass.

“Fucking army. Those boys are going to have to learn to use proper English.”

And O’Brien was unwilling to make any comments that would encourage further rants, thus remained silent. O’Brien handed Cheeseburger the binoculars.

“Shut up and watch the front of the building.”

O’Brien climbed into the back of the van and escaped consciousness within 15 seconds of going horizontal.

Less than 45 minutes later, Cheeseburger yelled back at his sacked out boss. “Yo ... boss!?! We got company.”

O’Brien popped up to see a group of six or seven exiting the building’s main portal.

“Top, tango is exiting building with a group of civilians. Everyone stand fast.”

“Roger that.”

“The group is separating. Tango and a civie are walking around front - probably to your pos.”

“We have eyes. They are going to separate vehicles.”

“You have the first tag, top. Cheeseburger and myself will follow you. And record the plate number of that other civilian.”

“Roger that ... exiting the parking lot to the north ... tango appears to be following the civilian in a black Volvo, plate is charlie fox nine three eight seven.”

“Got that, Cheeseburger?”

“Affirm, boss.”

“Now in the left turn lane ... Going into a strip mall with several restaurants...”

“Mickey, park across the street where you can see this lot and strip mall. I’ll follow the top into the tango’s lot.”

After another watch and wait period, the target and his chow guest parted ways. As the tango turned left, the obvious assumption was that he was heading for his hotel room. They followed him up the 101 to the Four Seasons hotel in Fremont. After the tango entered the hotel with his bags, O’Brien parked about 20 meters down from the target’s Camry.

“Top, we’ll wait about an hour to see if he’s going somewhere. After that, You and Sifuentes can go find some chow then come back and relieve us.”

After an hour of painful boredom, MSgt Hoerner and SFC Sifuentes headed out in search of food in the same vehicle.

“I’m guessing that the taxpayers are paying for his fancy hotel stay?.”

“Yep. Our tax dollars at work ... What the fuck?! The target is exiting the hotel. He changed clothes, has a different attache case and is heading out somewhere...”

O’Brien keyed the PTT button, “Top, the tango is moving. You need to return...”

After two more communications attempts. O’Brien affirmed that they were out of range or were dead-zoned.

“Cheeseburger, get Mickey’s van. Follow me out.”

The target’s first stop was a bank. Because the time at the bank exceeded 45 minutes, O’Brien assumed that this was not a simple deposit or withdrawal. Extrapolating further, O’Brien realized that there were other things happening. Why would someone, from the east coast, do banking with a west coast regional bank? The target exited the bank and turned south on 101 then exited to southbound Willow Road. About half a click down the road, the target turned left into a small strip mall.

“I’m gonna keep going south. You follow him into that strip mall.”

“Roger that.”

O’Brien immediately turned right onto an adjacent street, did a u-turn, turned back north onto Willow Rd, then entered the strip mall lot. A quick look to his left indicated that Cheeseburger was parked in front of two restaurants, but he did not see the target’s Camry. O’Brien continued around the parking lot until he found the Camry behind the building. He parked further down, behind the market and next to a dumpster.

Keying the transmitter, “I’m parked on the opposite side of the building. Where did the target go?”

“Into an Indian restaurant. He’s talking to a middle-aged Asian male, about five-ten, black hair, skinny build. He’s wearing a light blue long sleeve shirt and tan pants.”

“Ok, I’m less than twenty meters from his Camry. Let me know if anything changes.”

“Roger that.”

O’Brien exited the van, pulled the hoodie over his head, and walked around the south end of the building. He saw no security systems, and there was no foot traffic behind the building. O’Brien returned to the rear of the building, walked past the van, and stood in the early afternoon shadows of the dumpster.

He could not believe he was about commit this act mid-day, and in an urban area. He had disallowed any hope that the next day or two would offer a more isolated and opportune location. O’Brien closed his eyes and ‘centered’ himself.

“Boss! Target leaving restaurant. Probably walking to the car.”

“Roger that. After he turns the corner, delay about ten or fifteen seconds and follow him to the rear of the building. This is it.”

“Roger.”

O’Brien walked to the rear of the van and waited. He mind was moving through various outcomes and was listening, looking, smelling for anything that would indicate he should abandon the take-down. The target walked to his vehicle, appearing to be oblivious to his surroundings. O’Brien saw his profile and noted he was a bit more portly than the briefing images, and was walking slow.

The target turned his back to O’Brien to operate the remote door unlock, where he had to press twice to get the short ‘tweet’ of an unlocking door. During the target’s first and second button press on the remote control, O’Brien pulled the small army knife and closed the distance just as the tango opened the car door. As the man turned around, O’Brien, with efficient motion, shoved the length of the blade into the side of the victim’s upper neck. The man, almost silently, dropped to the asphalt where his release of the attache case made more noise when it clattered off of the asphalt.

Cheeseburger turned the corner to the rear of the building just in time to see the tango drop to the deck. Running up to O’Brien, he quietly asked, “where we going to put him?”

“In the trunk.”

O’Brien picked up the dark briefcase. He was surprised to find that it weighed about three or four kilos.

“Get the trunk open.” O’Brien grabbed his victim’s legs and pulled him to the rear of the Camry when the trunk lid popped open. “Let’s get him in. Don’t get any blood on ya.”

After they dumped him in the trunk, O’Brien quietly ordered Cheeseburger, “Get everything out of his pockets. Bag his wallet and phone.”

O’Brien surveyed the interior of the vehicle, opened the glove box, and determined there were no other items of importance.

Pistochini offered the wallet and phone, in a small cloth bag, to O’Brien and had arranged the contents of his personal effects onto the top of the tango’s torso for O’Brien to review. O’Brien brushed the contents off of his torso and into the trunk, saving only a piece of paper with several phone numbers.

“Drop the keys and remote next to the driver’s door, set the lock, and lets return to the hotel parking lot.”

O’Brien paused before leaving the strip mall to remove the target’s phone battery, and to consider if he should search the briefcase for tracking devices and other electronics. He silently shrugged to himself and continued to secure the scene in haste.

With no further comment, Cheeseburger ‘cleaned’ the area and secured the Camry while O’Brien put the cloth bag in the attache case and quickly walked to his vehicle and drove out of the parking lot. Cheeseburger followed a few moments later for the short drive to the hotel.

“Cheeseburger, don’t go to the hotel. Turn right at Woodland and go into the first parking lot.”

“Roger that, boss.”

“Top, this is O’Brien. Your pos?”

“Hey Opie. We were wondering about you. We’re at the hotel. What’s up?”

“Let’s return to Moffet. First mission complete.”

“See you at the hanger.”

O’Brien dialed ‘999’ and waited for about 20 seconds.

“This is Garza.”

“Good evening, sir. First part of mission complete. We’re returning to Moffet Field at this time. Request target two status and travel instructions.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Uh ... sounds good. We’ll send the senior chief ASAP. He will have the most recent information packets for the second target.”

Senior Chief Conrad arrived in a USMC-marked M939 truck. The driver was obviously a jarhead, but was in blue coveralls that had no insignia. O’Brien noted this as interesting and as a subject to be filed away for a possible further query.

Conrad pulled out three large manila envelopes and handed them to O’Brien.

“The bird will probably be at least another two hours. You and the top might want to go through that pallet as soon as we unload it.”

“Roger that, senior chief ... Cheeseburger, there’s a forklift in the next hanger. See if it has the keys in it and get that pallet off that stake bed.”

“Aye, boss.”

After unloading the pallet, Hoerner and O’Brien huddled in the corner of the hanger to review the contents of the info packets.

“The target still plans to rent a cruiser. The only big change I see is that he is traveling with someone.”

“Did you see that the agency has designated this guy as ‘Target Three’?

“No. Where did ya see that, top?”

“Last page - under ‘appended tasks’. So how will you do the contact?”

“If we can get their boat at least 10 km off the coast, we’ll make contact there. Preferably during daytime. If they are standing watch, we shoot. If not, we blow the boat. Either way, we sink the boat. That’s why I want contact during daylight hours.”

“And if they hug the coastline?”

We shoot at night, tow the boat out, and fuckin sink it. Maybe do a little fishin.”

“Fishing gear?”

“That’s part of our cover story per this shit. Our rental comes with gear, so it would behoove us to return with some fuckin fish.”

“Sounds good.”

The M939 driver was dismissed by Conrad and immediately drove the truck to parts unknown. Cheeseburger was walking back into the hanger to watch the soldier and Marine tear into the equipment cases and boxes on the pallet. When O’Brien extracted a large medic’s kit.

“They know something that we don’t, top?”

“Probably some packing over-sight discovered by your staff sergeant. Opie, what did you people ever do to rate someone like Carlton? She’s so damned smart and effective that she scares my people.”

“She’s safe, top. Keep her well-fed and busy and we’ll all be okay...”

“I’m serious. How did your platoon ever get your G-2 to release her to your battalion? And then get detached from the Marine Corps to a black unit? What’s her story?”

“Really don’t know, top. She’s a Marine’s Marine. I suspect that our S-3 weapons officer, who has been bouncing around the Corps for ‘bout 26 years, had some influence. The other part is that, while she is probably about the best intel analyst in the Marine Corps, she doesn’t like that shit. She wants to go to the field with the grunts. So she probably yelled at the gunner and G-2 chief until they kicked her loose to go play with grunts.”

“What’s her personal story?”

“Typical over-motivated jarhead that’s probably the smartest person in our new organization. She was married to a scout/sniper platoon sergeant and sniper instructor until his death. So I’m guessing that immersing herself in her work is her therapy. She is, and her husband was, some of my most close friends. Pistochini and myself consider her family. She’s a big sister to the platoon.”

“Your people are a good group. Do not let the CIA fuck it up.”

“Don’t intend to, top. So we got everything?”

“Freaking everything and then some. We may have to leave some of this stuff here. And look at this box. And what’s with the winter MREs?”

“Holy shit, batman. Its a joke or someone has gone over the edge ... The aircrew may balk at all of this shit. Its too much to transport in a C-20 both here and in Florida. But we cannot just leave munitions and other shit sitting in this hangar. And we have all of this material from the first target that needs to get turned in...”

“We’d better call the LT or ask that senior chief. Where is he?”

“Dunno. Disappeared after he delivered all of this shit...”

Hoerner, O’Brien, Sifuentes, and Hartman used the subsequent three hours to review and re-review the latest intelligence packets, sort through gear, and build their kits for the second part of the mission. After the team was satisfied with their mission prep, they did what all good soldiers and Marines do while awaiting mount out - they slept.

Sometime after 1900, the team’s ennui-driven slumber was broken by the increasing sound of large turboprop engines. Walking out of the hanger, the team was greeted by a C-130 taxiing towards their end of the ramp. They were surprised when the large aircraft locked its port landing gear and pivoted until the aft section was pointed at the hanger, then backed into place using ‘beta’ thrust.

As the aft cargo ramp was being lowered, Senior Chief Conrad walked down the ramp to the team.

“Let’s get loaded.”

“Where’d you find this aircraft, senior chief?”

“They’re based out of McDill. They were sitting on the tarmac at Fallon doing nothing, so I politely asked SOCOM to borrow it for a while. I think I owe some Air Force major a bottle of Bushmills...”

Coast Guard Station and Aviation Training Center, Mobile Regional Airport, Alabama

“We’ve got at least 36 hours until the coastie airplane arrives with the target. Our boat rental starts tomorrow. The aircrew said that we can crash on their bird. Or you people can go find a hotel room and I’ll stay with the gear.”

Top Hoerner, inasmuch he was a ‘tough’ ranger, was not open to jarhead austerity when not required. After an askance look at O’Brien, “You boys go crash at a motel. I’ll stay with Staff Sergeant O’Brien. Mickey you stay with Hartman. Take your pistols and two magazines.”

“Where’d the aircrew go off to, top?”

“Don’t know. They said something about staying at the beach and fishing for a few days.”

“Who’s gonna be gear watch after we leave?”

“Guess you didn’t get the senior chief’s last comment - you were loading the pallet. He said that some Marines from Elgin Air Force base would be here tomorrow about 0930 to 1000 for equipment security.”

“Huh? Probably from the EOD school. They should be good to go.”

Hoerner and O’Brien sat in the shadow of the C-130 eating a delivery pizza and watching the moon set over the airfield. Hoerner took a last swallow of his coke and moved to the other side of the landing gear, sat down, and looked to the South, as the day ended, once again, on perfect schedule. “Times like this ... makes me wish I was a ‘believer’ with a mindless faith in the almighty.”

“Why’s that, top?”

“My wife had a very deep spiritual belief system. She seemed to receive delight and meaning from every sunset and sunrise. And she was forever entertained by whatever nature had to offer. Her parents were laypeople in their church and were sincere, but not evangelical, in their beliefs. They seemed to enjoy everything about their simple life. Per the New Testament, they were most true Christians I’ve ever known.”

“I dunno top, a deep christian belief system would make it fuckin difficult to do this job. ‘Thou shall not kill’, yet we do it with impunity and have remorse only if one of our own gets hurt. Did your wife try to convert you?”

“Not really. But she lived an honest life per her beliefs. Her sincerity and faith always impressed me, but I guess I do not have the religion gene.”

“My mother was the same way. Never forced the church on me, but always made it a point to gently remind me of her God’s grace. It obviously did not take - as we’ve killed fuckin hundreds as part of our chosen vocation. My mother’s God seem to have deferred my ‘soul’ to the spirits of Odin and Chesty Puller.”

They both contemplated the twilight until it was time to set up watch.

“Opie, go crash and I’ll wake you in a few hours. We’ve got some serious fishing to do in a few days.”

“Roger that, top.”

O’Brien picked up the evening meal’s debris and stuffed it into a shit can next to the hanger, then boarded the C-130 to sleep on a paratrooper bench seat.

“Hey, Opie. Brought some chow.”

“Good thing, Mickey. Where’s the coffee?”

“Cheeseburger has the coffee and other stuff.”

O’Brien yelled up into the C130 hatch, “yo, top. The boys are back. Chow’s on deck.”

Top Hoerner stuffed the breakfast burrito down his gullet and emptied a large coffee post haste as he was reading some papers and replacing them into a folder.

“We gotta get the boat rental that Acorn set up as soon as they open. With my Florida ID and Florida boat license, should be no problem.”

“Where is this place, Top?”

“About 30 clicks south. The marina is on the Dog River inlet.”

Northeastern Gulf of Mexico and Environs

Hoerner and O’Brien studied the nautical maps while Cheeseburger manned the wheel and slowly motored away from the Dog River bridge, heading due east.

“When you see 3.3 on the GPS offset, turn starboard to 185.”

“Aye, boss. Hoist the Jolly Roger? We should’ve brought our NCO swords. Ya know - board vessels. Steal their food and booze, and take their women.”

O’Brien, did not look up from the maps and chose to ignore Cheeseburger.

“You think we can make 15 knots when we get past the inlet, top?”

“Probably not. Its going to be a little choppy. Lets plan for ten to eleven knots.”

“Much less rate of closure, but would probably be more quiet.”

“That’s true. And remember that the sea condition will be more of an affect to the boat that the target has booked. Also, did you see the third info packet? The CIA included fishing licenses for all of us.”

“Damn good, top. That means its mandatory that we fish because its on the CIA’s agenda for this mission. Where’s the fishin gear, Mickey?”

“Stored under rear bunk with the rifles.”

Cheeseburger had finished turning South, cleared the area for other vessels, so engaged Sifuentes on proper English.

“No, no, sarge. It’s ‘stowed beneath aft rack’. Can’t have that weird army talk while deployed at sea.”

Sifuentes laughed at the young Marine, while Top Hoerner chose to ignore the Marine. Although O’Brien did respond.

“Cheeseburger, shut it. keep your speed to five knots until we pass that marker, then stay below 10 knots. Fuckin watch the road. If we hit anyone, I’m gonna tie the anchor around your neck and feed you to the fish.”

“Aye aye, skipper ... Top, what about fishin the bay. Any good stuff?”

“Probably not much in the center of the channel. If we move 50 to 100 meters closer to shore line at edge of the marked channel, we might see something. The really good stuff will be out in the gulf, starting about twenty clicks off shore.”

O’Brien’s mind had moved on to the mission-critical subjects.

“The map says about 35 kilometers. But I remember in our planning it being about 45 clicks ... So about 100 kilometers to the Pensacola area. That means we get to our ‘hover’ point in about two hours, depending on sea condition and wind. And we’ll be about five clicks from the mouth of the bay.”

“Sounds correct.”

“What if the fucker turns his AIS off?”

“Then we rely on eyes.”

“So ... distance to horizon, or to top of boat cabin, gives us about a 10 to 15 click radius of visibility. Not enough. We’ll never find the fucker, top. We need an actual time he departs the dock. Otherwise we’re probably fucked.”

“I’ll call the head shed.”

O’Brien’s mission phone vibrated and emitted a subdued ‘chirp’.

“This is O’Brien ... aye, sir, we’re about six clicks outside the inlet ... roger that, sir.”

“Top, they left the dock and are about three clicks down the bay. White, small cabin cruiser, blue canopy. Rate is approximately seven knots. So the target should exit the inlet in less than three hours. Let’s move within three clicks of the shoreline and about two or three clicks west of the inlet ... Mickey want me to take the helm?

“I’m good. I’ll drive for a while.”

O’Brien moved the GPS overlay on the LORAN map cursor on the helmsman’s display.

“Ok, Mickey. Navigate to this point, then we’ll loiter facing east.”

O’Brien yelled down into the boat’s hold.

“Cheeseburger, need you on the deck with binos after about 1100 ... Top, I’m gonna hit the rack for an hour or two. We have a long night ... Mickey, yell at Cheeseburger when you want a relief ... Top, you know where I am if you want a relief.”