Dedication for this work goes to SOFREP sister: Ms. Jessica Rose Johnson

The morning Mecca to the small arms range was interrupted by our Troop Sergeant stepping through the door:

“FRAGO, boys. We’ve got a Chinook support aircraft this morning to do whatever we want. Recall the guys and kit up for some water operations at Mott Lake; get a Zodiac down from the loft and whatever else you want. Don’t game this — let’s make good use of this opportunity, alright?”

That announcement was answered by a sporadic and disorganized smattering of “hooahs” as we dropped weapons off and milled about upstairs in our waterborne locker. Yes, Delta had those at one time. The previously missing Sam Foster burst through the lounge door pulling off his shirt and hopping forward on one leg while pulling loose the laces on the shoe of the other.

He clearly already knew what was going on.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chill D asked in his self-perceived omniscient tone of voice, suspecting all along that “Good Deal” Sam was the driving force behind the auspicious appearance of a waterborne training opportunity.

“I was at chow, Lord William.”

“Chow? And I suppose you don’t know anything about us suddenly getting a Chinook this morning to do water operations at Mott Lake?”