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issue her coveralls and gear, they’d be getting under way soon for the exercise. Then he turned away, nuking a cig. The main propulsion officer, Lieutenant (junior grade) Osmani—the Wizard of Oz, right—was younger, and not bad looking. Rangy, his uniform tailored better than the chief’s, with a dark complexion. He shook her hand, but his look skated around the fantail, the sky, everywhere but at her. “What’s up with the ankle?”
    â€œI sprained it in boot camp. Sir. It’s feeling better, though.”
    â€œBeen on a mixed ship before?”
    â€œThis is my first ship, sir. Boot camp’s integrated now, though.”
    â€œWell, you’ll like this better than boot camp. We’ll see some good liberty ports, we’re a MEF deployer.”
    â€œI’m not sure what that is, sir.”
    â€œMideast Force, means we deploy to the Persian Gulf. So we’ll see a Med liberty and then do the Suez Canal. Jebal Ali and Bahrain, maybe Oman. You’ll see the world, Fireman Kassie.”
    â€œKasson, sir. I’ll try to do a good job for the division.”
    Osmani said to come see him if she had any questions, then let her go. She looked around. Helm was gone, but Ina stood by the door that led down to the main deck.
    â€œSo, wot’re you doing this afternoon, love?”
    â€œI didn’t sleep much last night. Maybe I better just crash.”
    â€œOh, no, you don’t. ’Ow’s the Strip sound? One of the fellows in my division has a van. Be at the brow at fifteen hundred. Wi’ your bathing suit.”
    She shuddered at the thought of her boot camp-issue suit, all she had with her. Well, maybe she could buy something. “Who else’s going?”
    â€œMe and Patryce, maybe Lourdes. Might be a girl from S-4, too. Come on, we’ll have some sodding fun before we get under way. A bar. A dance place.”
    She winced even thinking about dancing, on this ankle. But she didn’t want to get marked as a loner. So she said, “Well, okay. If you’re not going to stay out real late.”
    â€œWhere you ’eaded now?”
    She remembered then Helm wanted her back in Main One. He was probably waiting for her there. She told Ina this, then limped quickly down the ladder and started changing with the other girls in the noisy crowded compartment. Two dozen sweaty women shouting at each other and throwing clothes and spraying deodorant.
    She grinned suddenly buttoning her denim workshirt with KASSON stamped on the front. A sailor, aboard her first ship. Learning the gear. Tonight she’d hit the beach and hammer down a few brews.
    Then her fingers slowed as she remembered what the new skipper had said. About being headed into danger, everyone having to pull together if they were going to make it. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
    Who could tell? She might even be going to a war.

3

Naval Special Warfare
Development Group,
Dam Neck,Virginia
    Y OU! Sasquatch! Out, out, out!” Marty Marchetti yelled, kicking the biggest turkey out of the van. The name had just come to him, but it seemed to fit. The other melonheads rolled and tumbled out, too, fingers carefully lifted off triggers. They hit the ground running, sprinted fifteen or twenty yards, heads bobbing, sand spurting up from their boots, and flopped down clumsily, or went to one knee, racking the slides on their weapons to feed the first round.
    The ground was speckled with silver coins of sun and moving blurs of shadow. A breeze from seaward brought the crash of the surf. But here in the close, trapped air of the pine woods back of the dunes, everybody was sweating. He was, too, under the harness, gear, the life vest he insisted every man who’d volunteered had to wear today.
    The candidates for USS
Horn’s
Maritime Intercept and Boarding Team, and Marchetti thought what a sorry bunch they were, wore blaze orange float coats and green nylon