Chapter 41

Monday, October 29^th, 1991

Outside room 147 Dwinelle Hall

University of California, Berkeley, CA 94720

Mark Wheeler walked by the open door of the classroom, glad he was wearing bluejeans and a polyester sweater over a tee-shirt today. This was the heart of the enemy, to his thought, the home of the anti-military left-wing establishment at Berkeley, the legacy of the hippies and the Sixties. Well, maybe it's not that bad, but they'd still call me 'baby-killer' here if I were in uniform.

A quick glance inside, and he'd seen what he'd hoped to – a girl dressed relatively conservatively, wearing a Cal sweatshirt and bluejeans. Carefully, artfully, he took up a surveillance position on the stairwell, a hardcover book in his hand, and waited until the class ended. Only five more minutes.

When the hallway started to fill, he saw the brunette in the Cal sweatshirt coming his way. She's really pretty, and she's got something about how she walks ... down boy. As she started down the stair, he trotted down behind her, his eye picking out the hints of her outline under her sweatshirt as she moved.

"Excuse me, do you have a moment?" he asked as she left the building.

Surprised, she turned to him. "Do I know you?"

"No, ma'am. Do you by chance know Lenore Collins?"

Instantly wary, the other gave him a guarded look. "I do..." the invitation clear for him to explain himself.

"I'm Mark Wheeler, and I'm supposed to collect her homework while she's out this week."

Not satisfied, the brunette stopped walking. "Who does Lenore work for, Mark?"

Recognizing the challenge for what it was – proof that this woman certainly knew – Wheeler answered, "The Department of the Navy and the United States of America, ma'am. I'm Lieutenant Wheeler in my day job."

With a sideways smile, she told him, "You're out of uniform, Lieutenant Wheeler. I'm Denise Bruckner, and yes, I'm Lenore's friend." She cocked her head to the side, a gesture that Wheeler didn't fail to notice, and told him, "I think I understand why you're in mufti. I'll tell you what – I'll either bring you her assignments, or have Midshipman DiPietro bring them to you, at your office. Deal?"

Wheeler was, he knew, not going to get any more out of this woman, as much as he'd like to get, say, her phone number.

"Deal," he said, as he smiled and waved. Damn, she's got something mysterious going on. If you see her again, maybe ... but don't push it for now.

04:10 Tuesday, October 29^th, 1991

SEAL Beach

Coronado NAB, CA

Paddling boats sucks, Lenore quickly decided. It isn't any easier in the Goddamned surf, that's for fucking sure. Novotny had dropped them off, literally dropping the rubber boat off the stern of the Navy's boat, and Lenore jumped in the cold water with the other seven men. She didn't think it had been more than a hundred yards, and now her pectoral and trapezoidal muscles were screaming in agony.

Not soon enough to Lenore's thinking, they reached the sand, where everyone unassed the rubber boat, a term she'd come to appreciate over the last few days of working with the platoon. They unassed in pairs, counting as they left. Now in the 'movement over terrain' phase of the workup, the rubber-boat insertion was only the prelude to the day's exercise.

The others had heavier packs and more strange gear, and Lenore felt like the weak-sister in comparison. In silence, the men beached the black rubber boat and four of them stashed it next to rocks, while Lenore stood and watched with three others, sure she would only get in the way if she tried to help.

Five minutes later, they paddled back to where Novotny was holding the Navy's boat. Then the other half of the platoon paddled toward shore like some sort of a crazed, giant water bug.

There was no grumbling. Lenore wasn't sure if that meant they actually liked doing this.

08:40 Tuesday, October 29^th, 1991

Military Access Rd (12 Area)

MCB Camp Pendleton, CA

Lenore had been watching the coast out the window since before Carlsbad, her eye picking out shore features she'd seen from the water earlier. The drive wasn't too long, about forty minutes, but at eight o'clock in the morning, all six lanes of I-5 were packed. Soon, Chief Vales parked the van, and everyone unassed the van. Lenore smiled again, mentally repeating the word.

The day was warm and dry, nearly 90 degrees in the late October sun, and it would be warmer further inland. Lenore slathered on more of the Coppertone sun block.

The fire team formed loosely around Electrician's Mate Second Artesano, who was, Lenore knew from the morning brief, filling in for Novotny as Point man and Navigator for the day while Novotny and Kostowe parked the boat instead of coming along for the fun. She watched, her arm and side leaden from the effort of paddling the boat that morning, as they took turns looking at the compass and map Artesano held, and each nodded. She took her turn in line, forming a vague impression that the line segment he was showing was about an inch long, and was somewhat east-northeast, but what sort of terrain feature was at the far end of it, she didn't have time to see. Feeling helpless, she gave him a wry smile and nodded in her turn. She wasn't sure if she saw contempt in his eyes as he turned from her.

If it were, it'd be deserved. What the hell am I doing here?

The whole exercise, she was sure, was only put on for her benefit, to see if she could 'hang'. Taken that way, it was a compliment, she thought, that they'd go through this much effort to integrate her into the platoon for the evolution. Put another way, as they began to run in groups of two, it was scary that the kind of men she was trying to associate with thought nothing of spending hundreds of gallons of the Navy's fuel and taking a day out of an evolution to, in effect, go play in a sandbox while putting out crippling physical effort. Lenore was sure there was no way the platoon would actually paddle onshore in camouflage with MP5s and go in force to install snooping equipment in a cell tower near a drug lord's mansion ten miles inland for real, though this was the stated 'mission' for the exercise today.

Her arm and shoulder began to feel better after a few minutes of running, and she began to consider that maybe these crazy people might just do that. Wrestling with the problem for a while, she came to the conclusion that that might be a last-resort sort of thing, that subterfuge and guile, and movement by less-incriminating means should someone be discovered, was probably the ticket.

After they'd run a few minutes up the ravine they were following, Lenore heard a sharp grunt, and a short whistle from behind her. Lenore turned to see her 'swim-buddy' for the exercise, Electrician's Mate Second Lievano, on the dirt, holding his ankle and rocking.

"Twisted it," he hissed, "I can't run. Take my pack, finish the run. Follow this ravine up, about ten klicks, there's no turns, the objective is a rock with red paint on it. When you're done, get back here with Artesano. I may move back toward the beach. Drink water," he told her, as he shrugged out of his pack.

Lenore nodded, frustrated. I don't think he's faking this or setting me up, this looks real. Oh my God, this pack is heavy.

Every step was painful, the heavy pack on her shoulders seeming to drive her into the ground. Her own, lighter pack was tied to the top of Lievano's, making her feel top-heavy. Making things worse, she could not get the small hose from the water bottle in her pack to her mouth. Lenore was aware that she was struggling under the extra weight.

Dimly, Lenore was aware that one of the last pair of men had caught up to her, and was running behind her. Crazily, she wondered why he didn't pass her. I guess he's waiting for me to fall. Well fuck him!

The headache was growing, and reflected sunlight from some rock face ahead in the hilly California terrain stabbed into her eyes, causing her more pain. Lenore's world shrank to the dull shock of each step, the constant watch for loose footing, and the whole-body ache and burning in her lungs.

How long it lasted, Lenore could not say. Finally she saw the other two groups of men, crouched by an outthrust of rock, overlooking a large rock in a flat area that had been used as a target for paint grenades, spattered with red.

The other four men watched as Lenore and the man with her approached. She saw the frowns on their faces as they took in Lievano's absence and saw his pack on her back. Leading Petty Officer Delafuente, eyebrow raised, invited explanation, while Lenore stood, swaying, gasping for air.

"Lievano twisted his ankle, gave her his pack." The explanation came from the other man who'd been running behind her. "I left Escurita with him."

"That'll go over well, that he had to give his pack to a girl to finish the evolution." There were appreciative snickers all around for Delafuente's witticism.

"How do you feel?" he asked Lenore as he moved to unsnap the pack belt from her hips. "You don't look so good."

Lenore thought about it dully for a moment, and then answered honestly as Delafuente got the belt undone. "Aside from feeling like shit, it's like having the Gunny jackhammer me for three hours." Talking was hard, her tongue didn't want to move right, and her mouth was desert-dry.

Lenore heard the men laugh outright. Then, as Delafuente lifted the pack from her shoulders, her headache exploded and the world receded, sliding down a dark tunnel while the sickening, twisting nausea rose. She never felt the ground rise up to hit her.

"Welcome back."

"Ugh." Lenore felt sick.

"Drink. You're being rehydrated, so you can just swirl and spit."

Lenore focused on her arm. There's a tube in my arm. Looking up, she met Delafuente's eyes. "I passed out?"

He nodded. "Yeah. You passed out. You're supposed to drink water before becoming dehydrated and exhausted enough to do that."

Lenore closed her eyes, and quickly reopened them, as the nausea was worse with them shut. "Next time, LPO, okay?" Then she was struck by a thought. "Um. There will be a next time, right?"

Shaking his head, he told her, "Yeah, there'll be a next time. You ran a fifty-kilo load about seventeen klicks, that's a hundred and ten pounds in that pack for over ten miles. You kept the operator behind you hustling. All this after paddling through the goddamned surf this morning." He paused, and made sure she was looking at him. "Next time you take someone else's pack and leave him behind with his weapon, you might want to leave his basic load, his ammunition behind, too. And his water. Serves him right, though."

Lenore looked around, and seeing no one close, said, "Then I didn't fuck up?"

"I didn't say that. You fucked up by leaving your swim-buddy, but you didn't know about that, so you get a pass. You fucked up by not drinking, and costing us about forty minutes while that bag of Ringer's Lactate drains into your arm, but in the great scheme of things, it's not a major fuckup. There's a lot these guys know about that you don't, and there's no fucking way you'll learn all of it. You can't go through BUD/s, and you won't be part of a fire team conducting any assault. But I think Chief Vales isn't going to have any problem with you supporting us, especially if you apply yourself to learning how not to fuck up while we're here."