Joint Task Force #3: France by David E. Meadows

Author:David E. Meadows [Meadows, David E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9781101220665
Google: CWJyCkvoRNMC
Amazon: B000O76OMM
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2004-09-07T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

TUCKER SHIVERED SLIGHTLY AS HE STEPPED FROM THE passageway into the captain’s in-port cabin. The sudden drop in temperature brought by the air conditioning of the ship rippled across wet clothes and a body covered in sweat from the high temperature and higher humidity of the African summer. He paused long enough to use his handkerchief to wipe the stinging sweat away from his eyes while the other hand shut the door.

On the other side of the short conference table that doubled as Captain Bennett’s private dining table, the intelligence officer was busy laying out photographs and papers. Master Chief Collins stood quietly near the porthole behind the Intel officer with his hands clasped behind his back. Tucker was glad Klein had elected to stay with his battalion instead of coming with him, the master chief, Brute—he still wasn’t convinced that big was better—and Ricard—why did he washout of EOD?—who was going along as the explosive expert. Washing out of a Navy school was considered a mark against you. That wasn’t something he and other Navy officers discussed, but in the back of Tucker’s mind was the unwritten Navy belief that it was better to never have tried than to have tried and failed.

Explosive Ordnance Disposal personnel were trained to disarm mines and bombs both ashore and beneath the waves. Their training dovetailed slightly with the SEALs when it came to weapons training and learning how to jump out of perfectly good aircraft expecting twenty pounds of silk to safely carry you to the ground with a hundred pounds of gear strapped to your back. His eyes lingered longer than he intended on Ricard, who stood next to Master Chief Collins. Tucker might feel better about the sailor who was going to be carrying twenty-five pounds of C4 explosives if he knew why he had washed out of EOD.

Ricard raised his head slightly and met Tucker’s stare. Tucker nodded and moved his gaze around the compartment. It wasn’t lost on him that Ricard neither acknowledged his scrutiny nor his nod.

The skipper of the USS Mesa Verde, Captain Xavier Bennett, was talking softly to a lieutenant commander. The exchange between Bennett and the unidentified officer showed an easy confidence between the two Surface Warfare officers. Easy confidence between Surface Warfare officers was an anomaly as far as Tucker was concerned. A happy Surface Warfare officer was one who had no time for friends, too much work to ever complete, and an opportunity to take work from others. How did the Navy story go about Surface Warfare officers—those officers who commanded ships at sea and got woodies at the idea of getting underway? Oh, yes: “Put a surface warfare officer in a room by himself with only a pencil and a piece of paper and within thirty minutes he’ll have developed a watchbill for himself.”

Master Chief Collins moved away from the porthole, through the patch of sunlight, to the coffee pot against the aft bulkhead. “Light’s on,” the master chief said

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