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There was a small cheer. Murdock broke out a Cyalume light stick, twisted it, and held it up as high as he could. He put the radio back in the zippered wet-proof pouch.

"How the hell did you guys think those RIBs were going to find us, with a Ouija board?"

"A what?" Quinley asked.

"That's a fake game from the fifties that you ask questions and then shove a little pointer around to the answer you want," Mahanani said.

"I knew they'd find us all the time," Fernandez said.

"Like shit you did. You sounded dumb-assed scared," Douglas snapped.

"Can it you two, or you'll both swim back to the destroyer," DeWitt barked. "I want to see both of you as soon as we get to the carrier."

Three hours later, Ed DeWitt had the two SEALs from his squad braced at attention in front of him in the assembly room. The rest of the platoon had finished putting gear away and headed for their compartments.

"Now, we have this place to ourselves. I want to know what the fuck is going on. You two have been at each other's throats for half of this mission. Who wants to tell me what it's all about?"

Neither SEAL said a word or moved.

"Fine. Fernandez, go down to the far corner of the compartment and sit down."

"Sir…"

"Move it, sailor."

Fernandez looked back as he walked to the far end of the Ready Room. When he was sitting down, DeWitt stepped up so his face was an inch from Douglas's.

"Talk," he roared. "Sir. Just a minor disagreement. Nothing more."

"Go on."

"That's it, sir. Stupid little argument. It's nothing."

"It's enough that it could get one of you killed on a mission, that's what it is. You act like you hate his guts, and Fernandez looks like he'd like to make mincemeat out of your heart."

"Yeah, well, maybe."

"No maybe. What happened?"

"Couple of months ago at a party. Little disagreement. I'll forget about it if Fernandez will."

"Just a little disagreement?"

"Right. Bet Fernandez will tell you the same thing."

"Anything else, sailor, before I bust your butt back to the regular Navy and ship you out to Adak, Alaska?"

"No, sir."

"Move it down to the other end of the compartment and sit on it." DeWitt waited until Douglas sat down; then he bellowed at Fernandez. The SEAL ran up to DeWitt the way they did in BUD/S.

He braced in front of the JG and stared straight ahead.

The officer took a softer tone with Fernandez. "Miguel, I want you to tell me exactly what the friction is between you and Douglas. I don't care whose fault it is, just lay it out for me."

Fernandez took a deep breath, kept staring straight ahead.

"No big problem, sir. Just a small thing. I can work it out."

"Before or after you get yourself and one or two of the other members of this squad killed on a mission?"

"No worry about that, JG. I'll do my job."

"Douglas said the whole thing was just a little disagreement, is that right?"

"Yes, sir. Just a minor disagreement."

"Happened a couple of months ago?"

Fernandez took a quick look at his lieutenant, then nodded. "Yes, sir, couple of months back."

"What kind of a disagreement, Miguel?"

"Personal kind, sir." "Kind you can't talk about?"

"Yes, sir."

"Anything more to say about it?"

"No, sir."

DeWitt scowled. If it was personal, he could go no farther. He had to, but he couldn't.

"Douglas, get your ass up here," DeWitt called. When Douglas stood beside Fernandez, both stared straight ahead. DeWitt paced back and forth in front of them. He stopped and stared hard at each one.

"I've about had it with both of you. Anymore jawing at each other, any physical confrontation of any kind, and you're both out of SEALs, you read me?"

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir," both shouted in unison as if they were back in BUD/S. "Fernandez, you'll walk third in the platoon lineup. On fieldwork, Douglas is next to last in the line. I don't want you to talk to each other, never tie yourselves together with a buddy line, and just the fuck stay away from each other. Maybe I should ship both your asses up to Adak and let you freeze your balls off."

Both SEALs stared straight ahead without saying a word.

DeWitt's scowl was so deep it hurt his cheeks. "Get the hell out of here. You two will be toeing the mark in every fucking jot and tittle or you're booted out of SEALs. You two read me?"

"Yes, sir, JG," the two men roared in unison.

"Good. Dismissed."

Fernandez ran for the door. Douglas let him go ahead, trailing behind, but wanting out of the compartment fast.

Ed DeWitt slammed his palm down on the nearby table. Nothing. He had gotten absolutely nothing out of them. He still had no idea what the problem was. It was the kind of situation that could split a squad in half and cause somebody to get killed. He'd watch them closer than ever the next few days.

Captain Irving Olson, Commander Air Wing on the Monroe, sat in the CIC watching the display panels around him. He had ten F-18's out looking for targets of opportunity along the roadways leading to the front lines. So far they hadn't found much.

"Home Base, this is Buzzer Sixteen."

"Go, Sixteen."

"Got me a convoy coming south. Must be twenty-five, thirty miles north of the old DMZ. I'm out of ammo. Even used up my last Maverick on what I figured must be some kind of an Army headquarters just north of the old DMZ. These trucks could use a good hosing down with twenty mike. Anybody in this area?"

"Come home if you're dry, Sixteen. I'll vector somebody else up that way. The trucks using lights?"

"Home Base, they use them until they hear an aircraft, then go dark."

"Roger that, Sixteen."

"Home Base. This is Buzzer Ten. I'm north of the DMZ about ten. What part of the DMZ has those trucks, middle, east, or west?"

"Buzzer Ten, this is Sixteen. Almost due north of Panmunjom. Follow that road up north and you can't miss them. My guess is about twenty trucks. Good hunting."

CAG Olson rubbed his forehead. The damn headache was back. Too much coffee, no sleep, too many planes in the air. He tried to think when he'd slept last. From 0400 to 0600 way back yesterday. He checked his watch. Just after 0300 now. Hell, he hadn't even been up twenty-four yet.

"Sir," one of the techs said.

CAG Olson thought he heard something.

"Captain, sir, the radio needs you. Buzzer Ten is calling."

The CAG shook his head to clear it, and grabbed the handset. "Yes, Buzzer Ten, Home Base here."

"What a sight, Captain. Like a string of pearl lights. I've got them. Head-on for the first go-round. I've got a full load of twenties. I'll make it a damn sharp angle and get a better concentration of hits. I'm moving and their lights are blinking out. Got them."

"Go, Ten." CAG Olson held the handset so tightly he felt his fingers go numb. He put it down, eased up, then changed hands, and took it back.

Buzzer Seven landed on the big carrier; then Buzzer Thirteen set down. Olson still had eight out there on a hunting trip.

"Oh, yeah, CAG. This is Buzzer Ten. I buried the first one in line and then some more so they can't get around him. Two of the bastards are on fire. Makes for a better target."

"Scratch them all, Ten. You have any Mavericks left?"

"Yes, sir, two, but I can't find any tanks."

"Use them on the trucks. Hunt some more when you splash those."

"Roger that, CAG. I'm around again, going in for a run. Damn but those burning trucks are a big help down there."

Captain Olson shook his head to fight off drooping eyes and checked the displays. He still had seven birds out there.

"Home Base to Buzzers. Anybody need a drink? Talk to me."

The reports came in with percentages of fuel left. Everyone was in good shape. They were so close to the front that there was little fly time between takeoff and action.