Ed DeWitt had worked out a new training schedule, and now on Monday morning when Murdock looked it over at 0630 in his office, it seemed about right. They had to totally integrate the two new men. Frank Victor had performed well on the shoot-out at the Osprey drop. The other new man, Tracy Donegan, hadn’t been as involved, but had done nothing to hurt his position. Training was what they needed. More conditioning, more live firing in the hills, and more all-night problems all aimed at teamwork, each SEAL supporting and protecting every other SEAL.
He looked at the schedule again. Monday, they would start with a run through the “O” course with their times recorded. Then they would take a six-mile swim underwater with full combat gear. When they got back it would be rubber-duck time, with each squad in a duck working on surfing in to the beach. Too often they had to come in through high surf on foreign shores so they could hit the beach at the exact place they needed. It was a fine art to time the wave exactly right. He’d have his best surfboard riders working the boats today. They had the right feel for the Southern California waves, and could tell when they were washing out or breaking up. Last year on a similar training workout, one boat had flipped and knocked out one of the SEALs. They’d found him just in time to keep him from drowning.
“Morning, Skipper,” Senior Chief Petty Officer Timothy Sadler said. He slid into a chair across the desk from his boss and sipped at a cup of store-bought coffee. Sadler was the top EM in the platoon, and at six-two and 220 had the size to do the job.
“My guess the workouts get tougher today,” Sadler said.
“You win the million dollars, Senior Chief. We need to get that edge again. We had it before Sierra Leone. We need to sharpen it up and push the men.”
“Aye, sir. Can I see the schedule for today?”
Murdock handed over the write/wipe board that had the day’s schedule on it in green ink.
“Yes, sir, looks good. Only, before the O course, let’s start with fifty sit and push.”
Murdock looked up and nodded. “Easing them into it?”
“Yes, sir, but we’ll soon be at a hundred three times a day. Sharpens the muscles and the mind.” Damn yes, they can do it, Sadler sniped at himself. He was the oldest guy on the platoon. If he could handle it, the rest of the kids could too. They did or they got the hook back to the regular Navy.
Lieutenant Ed DeWitt came in and dropped into the chair that the senior chief quickly vacated.
“Where’s the coffee?” Dewitt growled.
“And a good morning to you too, Ed. Sounds like you got up on the wrong side of a minefield this morning.”
“You should see it from inside my eyeballs,” Ed said, scowling. “I’m never civil until after 1100. How do you like the training sked?”
“Looks good for a start,” Murdock said. Ed could be a slow starter when he wanted to be. They’d handled the platoon together now for going on three years. A long time for the officer team in the platoons. Ed had married his lady, Milly, and he had mellowed out a little this past year. “How’s my favorite married lady?”
“Milly has had another job offer out at Deltron Electronics. Some hyperfink wants to raise her salary to sixty-five thousand and send her up to Silicone Valley. She asked me about it, and after Milly unglued me from the ceiling, she said she’d already turned down the job.”
“She’s a classy lady, DeWitt, and twice as smart as all three of us put together.” Murdock looked at the senior chief. “Milly is way up there high in the computer stratosphere,” Murdock said. DeWitt grinned at the compliment to his lady. Then Murdock turned to his top EM.
“Senior Chief, is there any reason we should continue to use the Colt M4Al carbine?” Murdock asked.
“The Colt?” Sadler asked. “Well, what we use it mostly for now is the forty-mike-mike, smoke, and HE. Hell, we’ve got both of them now on the Bull Pup. Like we saw in Sierra Leone, the smoke from the twenties isn’t as much as you get from a forty grenade. But you can put two or three WP twenties into the target and get the same result.” He furrowed his forehead a moment and wiped one hand across his face.
“Then too, Cap, we can use the smoke now out to a thousand yards with the Bull Pup,” DeWitt said. “I’d think we can phase the Colt right into the armory.”
“The only problem is getting enough of the Bull Pups,” Murdock said. “It isn’t fully developed yet to the manufacturing stage. The military won’t be issued any until 2006. How many do we have on hand now, JG?”
“I’m not sure. Seven that I can think of. I’ll talk to my men and our armorer and get an exact count.”
“If we don’t have enough, we’ll fill in with the MP-5’s,” Murdock said. “Let’s get the new look in weapons as soon as possible. Only Lam and Ching have the Colt in Alpha.”
“Did I hear something about a new vehicle we were going to be able to test?” Sadler asked.
“News travels fast,” DeWitt said. “Fact is, Senior Chief, we’re going to check it out this afternoon. It’s called the Turtle right now. The Defense Department calls it their Combat Entry Attack Vehicle, or CEAV. Somebody called it a Humvee with fins, but it’s more than that. I saw it this morning for about five minutes. Three company engineers are with it and they said they’ll give us a ride. Basically it’s an amphibian, something like the old ducks of World War II. Only small enough to be inconspicuous, a true amphib that holds eight men and can make fifteen knots in water and do up to forty miles an hour on land.”
“This I got to see,” Sadler said. He shook his head and chuckled. “You know, this could knock the IBS in the head. If she’s small enough to get on an Osprey…”
“Doubt that, Senior Chief,” Murdock said. “Get me a final count on how many Colts we have and who uses them in Ed’s squad.”
Promptly at 0800 Murdock heard a whistle blast in the assembly room outside his office. He took a look out the door.
“Fall in, you tadpoles, do it by squads, let’s have an official roll-call count this morning,” Senior Chief Sadler barked.
The twelve enlisted SEALs grumbled and scurried to the two squads facing the senior chief.
“Alpha Squad all present or accounted for,” Jaybird bellowed.
“Bravo Squad all present or accounted for,” Miguel Fernandez shouted.
Sadler looked over at Murdock and saluted. “Third Platoon all present or accounted for, sir,” he barked.
“Carry on, Chief,” Murdock said, returning the salute. He turned to DeWitt, who had been watching out the door as well. “Starting to sound like the regular fucking Navy around here.”
Sadler looked at his team. “At ease. Can anyone tell me why the hell we’re still packing along the old Colt M-4Al?”
“Shit, we shoot it,” Jaybird shouted, and the squads laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. This is my rifle, this is my gun. This is for shooting, this is for fun. Besides that, what can the Colt do that the rest of our weapons can’t?”
“Fire the forty-millimeter grenade,” Fernandez said.