“Anybody shoot back?” Dale was busy tying a tiny Texas flag on the stanchion that held the mosquito netting over his rack. “We never heard no firing.”
“Dude standin’ watch on Hotel Company’s lines said he saw the muzzle flash. He called it into the COC but they never responded.”
“Maybe I’ll PT with you tomorrow,” Dale joined Stone at the window and stared out at the gloom over BIA. “We can take weapons and ammo. That dude does it again, we just turn around and light his ass up.”
As soon as the CH-46 Sea Knight settled on the rolling deck of the helicopter carrier steaming offshore, Gunny Barlow hefted his laundry bag, moved to the rear exit ramp and stepped onto the flight deck. A sailor in a yellow jersey and cranial helmet waved him toward a hatch leading to the ship’s interior. Barlo
