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“And for the next hour, Don told me more about all the nasty situations he’d faced on base patrol than I ever wanted to know. Apparently drunk Marines are the biggest problem because they’re always looking for a fight. Even on a dry base they’d get it shipped in. Once an attack helicopter, I think he said it was a Viper.”
“AH-1Z,” Holly said, as if that illuminated anything for him. He’d kept an eye out, but never once spotted Holly around the rear of the plane.
“Yes, one of those,” Mike covered. “They shipped it into Afghanistan with a fuel tank full of Southern Comfort whiskey.”
“Three hundred and seven gallons,” Jeremy observed. “Let’s see. Whiskey weighs about 7.411 pounds per gallon, so that’s one ton, two hundred and seventy-fiv—”
“That’s a lot of whiskey. Maybe he wasn’t tel
