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Poker Night Keeper: Doug Iannelli Saturday, December 20th, 1997. 1340 hours. . . |
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| Keeper: | After nearly two hours of interruptions, you have finally begun to make headway on the enormous mound of documentation strewn across your desk and with the assistance of Spacek, who has relieved you of the burden of having to constantly check on Fuller's condition, the end of the paper tunnel is at last in sight. |
| Boudreaux: | Ah, finally. . . |
| Keeper: | All relevant treatments and procedures have been recorded and the injured seaman's medical records have been pulled so that they may accompany him on his flight out of Liberty in the morning. The only item remaining for inclusion in Fuller's tranfer packet is a copy of the accident report. Unless his condition changes markedly, your work is through save for monitoring the comatose man until the transport arrives. |
| Keeper: | Parked behind your desk for the better part of an hour and a half, nothing abnormal has occurred. The wind still moans mournfully outside the infirmary and the frigid gray skies, as observed through your office windows, have begun to assume a more steely composure. Corpsman Spacek occasionally flits by your open office door while carrying out his duties. |
| Boudreaux: | What time do we expect the transport flight to arrive? |
| Keeper: | ETA, 0730 hours. |
| Boudreaux: | What time does the poker game start tonight? |
| Keeper: | Usually about 2000 hours, give or take fifteen minutes. |
| Boudreaux: | (thinking to himself) "We will get him through the night and on to that plane." I get up and check on Spacek. |
| Keeper: | Crossing the hall to your corpsman's office, you find Spacek kicked-back, feet on his desk, engrossed in an issue of Penthouse. Upon seeing you at the door, he shares with you a wonderful spread of two beautiful women engaged in a graphically-amorous embrace. |
| Boudreaux: | "Ah, the joys of military life. . . the abundance of women. Hey, you ready for the game tonight?" |
| Keeper: | Spacek looks up from the magazine, distracted. |
| Spacek: | "Huh?" |
| Boudreaux: | "Are you ready for the game tonight? Got your money ready for me?" |
| Spacek: | "Oh, de game. Yeah, yo. I'll be dere." |
| Keeper: | He looks back at the magazine intently. |
| Boudreaux: | "Are you okay?" |
| Spacek: | (eyes never leaving the pages before him) "Jus' lookin' at all dese freaky bitches. You think dey really like pussy an' shit?" |
| Boudreaux: | "I have no idea, Julius. But it's a shame when a woman's getting more than I am!" |
| Spacek: | "Yeah, yo. I hear dat shit." |
| Boudreaux: | "Listen, can you keep an eye on Fuller a little while longer? I want to go see how the work outside's going." |
| Spacek: | "Yeah, no problem." |
| Keeper: | The wiry young man returns his attention to the skin mag, obviously engrossed by the subject matter. |
| Boudreaux: | I retrieve my cold weather gear and don it, then head out to check the site of Fuller's accident. |
| Keeper: | Wading out into the numbing winds again, you exit the MTF and head west (left) down Valley Drive to the flightline tank site about 150 yards away. The hard rubber soles of your boots report with a loud clap with each step you take on the frozen asphalt. Nearing the site, which lies just south of Hangar 3 at the southernmost junction of the two airstrips and adjacent to the ATC tower, you can barely perceive the extreme rear of a bulldozer resting at an angle and protruding from a line of upturned soil on the ground. |
| Boudreaux: | (thinking to himself) "Fuller's lucky to be alive." |
| Keeper: | Closer still, you begin to discern the scope of the mounting operation. The other dozer, operated by Pavliska, is being positioned for use in the recovery effort. Two large deuce-and-a-half trucks are also parked at the site to each side of the seabee and his dozer. Bumper-mounted tow cables are extended from the two trucks and disappear over the lip of the collapsed tank. Two more thick cables are secured between the blade of Pavliska's dozer and the rear of the one in the pit. Men scurry about the area, engaged in a variety of tasks. |
| Boudreaux: | I'll watch for a few minutes, trying to find a position out of the wind. Does everyone look okay? No outward signs of any problems? |
| Keeper: | Everyone visible seems to be behaving normally and there are no readily recognizable problems. Galloway, leaning on the hood of his Cut-V, is fighting the wind trying to annotate something on a clipboard. Looking up, he spies your approach and raises a gloved hand to wave. He shouts to you above the roar of the heavy equipment behind him. |
| Galloway: | "Hey! How goes it with Fuller?!" |
| Boudreaux: | (approaching Galloway) "He's doing good. . . stabilized. Spacek's keeping an eye on him. He'll be okay, I just wanted to make sure everyone is as well." |
| Keeper: | Galloway nods his hooded head exhaggeratedly, eyes masked by aviator sunglasses. |
| Boudreaux: | "How are things here?" |
| Keeper: | The man points to the sheaves of paper held tenuously in place by the spring- loaded clip on the clipboard in his hands. |
| Galloway: | "Cap's got me handling the accident report. Another of my 'XO' duties, he says. You finished all your paperwork yet? We're gonna need to submit all these dead trees together." |
| Boudreaux: | "Yeah, I just finished up. All I need is a copy of the report." |
| Keeper: | Marlon hands you the clipboard, then opens the driver's door of the Cut-V and withdraws a Thermos bottle from the front seat. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, his raises the steaming cup/cap to you. |
| Galloway: | "Want some?" |
| Boudreaux: | "Sure. Thanks." |
| Keeper: | Handing you the plastic cup, he points to the clipboard in your hands which holds an official DoN Service Member Accident Report Form. The original and carbon copies are fairly ravaged from their exposure to the harsh elements. Marlon looks at the material and shrugs. |
| Galloway: | "I'm probably gonna have to redo all that shit later on after the goddam wind gets through with it. If it's not completely shredded first." |
| Boudreaux: | "Nah, let them come out here and try and write a damn report if they want a neat one so badly." |
| Galloway: | "Everything I've got so far corroborates Pavliska's and Doty's description of how things went down." |
| Boudreaux: | "I figured as much." |
| Keeper: | Gesturing with a nod of his head, he leads you over to the pit, pointing to the freshly-upturned soil around the eastern edge. |
| Galloway: | "Here are the tread tracks from Fuller's dozer right before he went in." |
| Boudreaux: | I will try to determine what happened by using my keen powers of observation. |
| Keeper: | Following Marlon's gloved finger, you observe a pair of symmetrical tread tracks in the sandy soil running parallel about eight feet off the edge of the tank, which is clearly marked with wooden stakes and pink surveyor's tape. |
| Boudreaux: | "Strange. Maybe the wind blew something in his face?" |
| Galloway: | "He's doing pretty good here, keeping his distance from the lip of the hole. But here. . . " |
| Boudreaux: | "Yeah?" |
| Keeper: | He briskly walks to a point ten feet further along the edge of the pit and points again to the ground immediately adjacent to the hind quarters of the sunken dozer. |
| Galloway: | ". . . he makes a sharp right turn and drives straight over the tank." |
| Boudreaux: | "That's strange. Why would he do that? Do you think something got in his way?" |
| Keeper: | Inspecting the area of Galloway's analysis, you see Fuller's dozer tracks indeed make a hard right-hand turn toward the unstable spoils pile along the eastern portion of the tank excavation. Marlon stands upright and peers around in bewilderment. |
| Boudreaux: | "What do you think?" |
| Galloway: | "He didn't just stop paying attention to his ground guide, Chance. He had to have purposefully altered his course. (panning a finger along the path of the tracks) I've even got Pavliska's boot prints all along his path, so John was doing his job." |
| Boudreaux: | "That's what's bothering me. . . I don't think he did it intentionally, but how else could he have done it?" |
| Keeper: | Galloway puts his hands to his hips and shakes his head, looking over the pit. |
| Galloway: | "Goddam. We are so fucking lucky we started venting this bitch when we got the west side exposed yesterday. . ." |
| Keeper: | Marlon removes his sunglasses and approaches you, lowering his voice. He looks imploringly to you through wind-burnt eyes. |
| Boudreaux: | "What is it, Marlon?" |
| Galloway: | "Jeez, Chance. I don't know how to fuckin' write this up. You think maybe he really did have enough? Decided to punch his own ticket? |
| Keeper: | Galloway looks back one more time at the remains of the bulldozer peeping out of the collapsed soil as if to suddenly find some obvious, yet overlooked, clue as to what occurred here earlier this morning. |
| Boudreaux: | "I don't think so. Pavliska said he started waving his hands and shouting. . . something bothered him or scared him, and he lost control. That's my guess. But 'what' is the question." |
| Galloway: | "Shit. He was pretty ate up over his ex, though. But fuck. . ." |
| Boudreaux: | "Marlon, have you noticed anything strange or unusual around here today? Other than this, I mean. Anything that made you double-take?" |
| Galloway: | (shaking his head) "No, not really. . . but I feel like I'd forget my ass if it weren't attached to me today." |
| Keeper: | Over Marlon's shoulder, you see Pavliska dismount the cage atop his dozer and approach. As he does, he waves and hollers for the other men to follow him. |
| Boudreaux: | (lowering his voice) "Something just doesn't feel right today. Call it intuition. It's that fucking van, I know it. I just can't say why." |
| Galloway: | (whispering and peering around conspiratorially) "Really?" |
| Boudreaux: | (whispering) "That's what my gut tells me, but I can't prove anything. Don't say anything to anyone, though." |
| Keeper: | Pavliska saunters up, giving you a brief nod before addressing Galloway. |
| Pavliska: | "Doc." |
| Pavliska: | "We're all set, boss. I can't vouch for how well this'll work, but it's the best way I can see with what we've got. I seen some guys on Mindoro do this with an AAV that stalled in the tide and got buried in the sand." |
| Boudreaux: | "You need any help, Marlon?" |
| Keeper: | Galloway nods to Pavliska, obviously out of his element. |
| Galloway: | "John's running the show here. This is his baby." |
| Keeper: | Gathering around, all huddling to keep warm, are Sparks, Doty, Gonzales, McDermott, and Degrassi. Together, they create a haze of expired air. |
| Boudreaux: | "You guys doing alright?" |
| Keeper: | A collection of muted "yeahs" and "uh-huhs" grunted through scarves and tightly-fastened hoods is their only reply. Pavliska, rubbing his gloved hands together and bobbing up and down to ward off the chill, scans the men assembled around you. |
| Boudreaux: | "Alright. Well, I'm going to go check in with the Captain. Good luck. You guys be careful and I'll see you tonight." I head toward the CO's office. |
| Keeper: | There is another ensemble of grumbled affirmatives, but the men are obviously in no mood to converse. Rather, they appear anxious to get the job over with and get out of the cold. As you walk away, you hear Pavliska begin his briefing. |
| Pavliska: | "Here's the deal: we're gonna use the good dozer to do all of the hauling and the tow cables from the deuces to stabilize and belay the load in case we need to re-situate. I'll run the dozer, Sparks and Gonzo'll handle the deuces. . ." |
| Boudreaux: | I pick up the pace to the CQ, trying to get in out of the wind and cold ASAP. |
| Keeper: | Jogging east back down Valley, you pass the MTF and arc left onto Comstock Avenue. The van and its two sentinels are just where you expected to find them across the street from the CQ and the Exchange. |
| Boudreaux: | (muttering under his breath) "May you freeze your asses off!" |
| Keeper: | (whispered) How close do you get to the van and its personnel as you pass? |
| Boudreaux: | (whispered) I walk within fifteen feet. Close by. |
| Keeper: | As you close the distance between yourself and the parked vehicle and slow to a walk, the guard closest to you raises his weapon, leveling the sight on you. He barks in a masculine voice. |
| Guard: | "Halt! You are approaching a classified area of operation. Leave the area immediately!" |
| Boudreaux: | I stop and move farther over away from the vehicle to see if this appeases him. |
| Keeper: | The guard remains stoicly still, eye to the sight of his rifle, trigger finger moving ever-so-subtly along the side of the weapon. Exhaled breath streams from the mouth opening of his balaclava. Once you have retreated about five steps back from your initial position, he lower the weapon and resumes his former stance. |
| Boudreaux: | I pointedly ignore him and move on, muttering "Asshole" as I walk away. |
| Boudreaux: | (whispered) I guess that's not really ignoring him, but. . . |
| Keeper: | (whispered) No, but I see your intended point. |
| Boudreaux: | I'll check on the CO first. |
| Keeper: | The Station flag whips and cracks above you and the clasps of the halyard ping against the pole as you climb the low wooden steps to the CQ. Opening the door, you are greeted by the warmth inside. |
| Boudreaux: | I want to find Tauch to check on him to make sure he's okay and see if he needs anything. |
| Keeper: | The front door opens into a small reception area with the secretary's desk belonging to McDermott centered between two closed doors on the far wall. The door to the right has a plaque reading "CPT Andrew D. Tauch, USN" set prominently at eye level while the door to the left is a reinforced steel structure behind which lies the Arms Room. The front is decorated with comfortable (by military standard) couches and arm chairs and numerous photographs of Naval aircraft and members of the chain of command. A water cooler sits beside the lavatory to the right and a small hallway leads back to the CO's private quarters. |
| Boudreaux: | I move to the CO's door and knock. |
| Keeper: | From behind the door, you hear a weak reply. |
| Tauch: | "Enter." |
| Boudreaux: | I walk in. |
| Keeper: | Pivoting in his chair, the CO looks up at you from the paperwork on his desk and salutes. |
| Tauch: | "Stand at ease, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?" |
| Boudreaux: | "Just wanted to see how you were doing, sir. See if you needed anything." |
| Keeper: | Scanning the CO's office, you find it modestly decorated with a desk and chair, several additional chairs for visitors, and a collection of filing cabinets against the far wall. The wall immediately to your right is covered with plaques and certificates attesting to Tauch's twenty-some-odd years of service. The room is blanketed in a haze of cigarette smoke and the ashtray on the desk is overflowing with spent cigarette butts. A hand grenade with a numbered ticket fastened to the pin rests on a small wooden base near the corner of the desk and reads "Complaint Department: Please take a number". |
| Tauch: | "No. I think I have everything pretty-well covered. Have you been to the accident site since lunch?" |
| Boudreaux: | "I was just there, sir. They're about to extract the dozer as we speak." |
| Tauch: | (sighing) "More paperwork. . . I hope we can get through this little maneuver without a major catastrophe occuring." |
| Boudreaux: | "I hope so, sir. It's a mess." |
| Tauch: | "Is there something on your mind, Lieutenant? Something you feel you need to address?" |
| Boudreaux: | "Not really, sir. I just finished my paperwork on Fuller. He's doing fine. I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure you weren't too inundated with work to get some food." |
| Tauch: | (snickering) "Don't need you worrying 'bout me, Lieutenant. I'll be fine. Christ, sometimes I think you should've been a goddam psychiatrist as much as you worry about how everyone else around here's feeling." |
| Boudreaux: | "Heh. Well, it's not too late to switch fields. Hell, the only time I get to perform medically around here is when somebody gets a splinter, with the exception of today. I don't know, I figure it's my responsibility to keep an eye on morale around here. . . make sure everone's happy and sane." |
| Keeper: | The CO puts his pen down and leans back in his chair, looking at you curiously. |
| Tauch: | "Well you sure as hell landed yourself in a helluva laboratory to conduct your moonlighting experiments. I gotta tell you, Lieutenant, you're the first SEAL I've ever met that's even remotely concerned about the emotional welfare of his fellow man. You must be one of the new breed. The 'kinder, gentler' SEALs." |
| Boudreaux: | "I've been trained to kill and rescue, sir, but also to heal. I'm just working on the 'healing' aspect." |
| Tauch: | "So what's next, Lieutenant? You gonna put on a clown suit and make balloon animals for everyone?" |
| Boudreaux: | "Is that an order, sir?" |
| Tauch: | (smiling) "Heh. Listen, unless you have something you need from me, I've got things to do and can't spend the rest of the afternoon BSing or being analyzed. I'm sure your situation's the same." |
| Boudreaux: | "Yes, sir. Do you need anything before I go? Or need me to do anything for you? I'm headed back out to Lt. Galloway." |
| Keeper: | The Captain makes a few shooing motions with his hand before redonning his spectacles and returning to his work. |
| Tauch: | "No. I'm fine here. Carry on. Carry on." |
| Boudreaux: | "Yes, sir." |
| Keeper: | He salutes you without looking up as you exit and reclose the door. |
| Boudreaux: | I'm going to head over to the Exchange. |
| Keeper: | Leaving the CQ, you move over to the Exchange next door. Down the road, the unmanned North Gate stands with its two red and white traffic arms down blocking the lanes in and out. |
| Keeper: | (whispered) The gates are only manned between the hours of 1900 and 0700 hours. |
| Boudreaux: | Is there any traffic trying to get in? |
| Keeper: | No. No traffic. But that doesn't surprise you. It's rare to even see one or two vehicles a month outside the gates, and they're usually just local ranchers chasing loose livestock. |
| Boudreaux: | Ah. An exciting mecca. Well, I'm not going anywhere. Where will the plane set down tomorrow? |
| Keeper: | The supply transports and any other aircraft that have infrequently visited Liberty in the months since your arrival have always used one of the two existing airstrips. Pleasant has some training and serves as the nominal ATC on those occasions. |
| Boudreaux: | Okay. Just checking. I go into the Exchange. |
| Keeper: | Entering the Exchange, you again find it empty save for yourself. The jukebox, finally convinced it will attract no business any time soon, is silent. |
| Boudreaux: | I'll get a cup of coffee. |
| Keeper: | Moving across the room past booths, tables, and the two pool tables, you approach the serving line. Forgetting which urn had the freshest coffee earlier, you try all three and find them each equally acidic. |
| Boudreaux: | "Ah, wonderful." I move to a window to observe the van again. Does it look like the same two guards have been outside the van since it arrived, or have they switched?" |
| Keeper: | They appear to be the same initial pair, based on general body size, but it is difficult to be certain given the manner in which their facial features are masked. |
| Boudreaux: | There is no exposed skin, is there? |
| Keeper: | Outside of the immediate areas about their eyes and mouths which are exposed through the contour-cut holes in their black balaclavas, you can see no other visible skin. |
| Boudreaux: | The material of their helmets: is its standard Kevlar or something more? |
| Keeper: | The material is slightly reflective, almost like unpolished steel and definately serves no camouflaging function. |
| Boudreaux: | (whispered) I have a hunch here, but I'll need to see what happens. |
| Boudreaux: | I look around for something to eat. |
| Keeper: | Scavenging the walk-in refrigerators behind the kitchen area, you grab scraps of food that appeal to you. |
| Boudreaux: | Is there any way to take a weapon to the range here? Or are we on ammo restriction? I know. . . I have responsibilities, but I'm curious. |
| Keeper: | Ammo restriction and weapons control are part and parcel of assignment at Liberty. Only those personnel assigned to guard duty are issued weapons by McDermott, who uses a key kept in Tauch's possession to retreive them from the Arms Room. Even then, the magazines issued to the guards, while each containing fifteen rounds of live ammo, are hundred-mile-an-hour taped shut to avoid "accidental" discharges. |
| Boudreaux: | (whispered) What does that mean, exactly? |
| Keeper: | (whispered) Hundred-mile-an-hour tape is military slang term for the green duct tape. |
| Boudreaux: | (whispered) Can it be undone by someone knowledgable about it? |
| Keeper: | (whispered) Yes, the magazine (clip) is wrapped in the tape so that some effort and forethought is required before it is inserted into the receiver of the weapon and used. |
| Boudreaux: | (whispered) Gotta love it. Hmm. So you have to be on guard duty to be issued a weapon. What a great military this is. . . idiots. |
| Keeper: | (whispered) Remember, those service personnel assigned to Liberty are the next best thing to convicts. |
| Boudreaux: | I finish my coffee and snack and get ready to head back to Galloway's area for a brief check. |
| Keeper: | Checking the seal of the zipper on your parka and redonning your hood and gloves, you leave the Exchange and proceed down Comstock past the van and guards. |
| Boudreaux: | Do they have sidearms, or just rifles? |
| Keeper: | They both appear to have shoulder-holstered pistols, by the type is indeterminate. |
| Keeper: | (whispered) You may make another Military Science roll on the helmets again, BTW. It has been well over four hours since you last attempt. |
| Boudreaux: | Military Science roll: (1d100) = 35 [failure] |
| Keeper: | Once again, the helmets look vaguely familiar, but you can't place when or where you might have seen them before. |
| Boudreaux: | One well placed shot. . . Do we have grenades anywhere on the Station? And what is the likelihood that a personal firearm would be owned by the Station Medical Officer and that he would have it at his current assignment? |
| Keeper: | The answers to your questions, in order are: No, maybe, and none at NAAS Liberty. |
| Boudreaux: | Okay, well, I head back to the accident site. |
| Keeper: | Returning south on Comstock, you round the corner at Valley and see. . . no one. The dirt-encrusted and dented bulldozer is out of the excavation and all of the vehicles are present but. . . no personnel. |
| Boudreaux: | "What the. . ." I run over to see what's going on. |
| Keeper: | Closing on the site, you realize that Galloway's Cut-V is missing. No, wait. Glancing back over your shoulder as you see it parked beside the infirmary. Your heart jumps in your chest. |
| Boudreaux: | I pick up the pace and run faster. |
| Keeper: | Clearing the good dozer, you see the front hood of the deuce-and-a-half to the right is buckled in; shiny silver slivers of metal glittering through the scraped and marred camouflage paint job. The windshield is shattered and a portion of the cab's roof is indented. |
| Boudreaux: | "What the hell?" Is there any blood visible? |
| Keeper: | There is no blood visible to you at this distance. |
| Boudreaux: | I move closer. |
| Keeper: | As you approach the truck, the driver's door creaks back and forth in the wind. |
| Boudreaux: | "HELLO. . .?" |
| Boudreaux: | I carefully climb up to take a brief look inside. |
| Keeper: | Grasping a handhold alongside the cab, you scale the steps above the saddle tank. Glass crunches beneath your boot and, leaning into the cab, you see square pieces of it littering the seat and floorboard. The roof appears to be dented inward about four inches in a line across the passenger side of the cab. There is some blood on the seat and floor and among the broken glass particles. |
| Boudreaux: | Is the blood fresh? Is it still damp? |
| Keeper: | Reaching a gloved hand out, you gently run your index finger through a blood spot on the seat before you. Examing the finger, you note that with the exception of the extreme perimeter of the spot, most of the blood has tranferred to your glove. . . it is fresh. |
| Boudreaux: | Can I tell what happened based on the way the vehicles are situated? While I consider this, I begin to climb down from the truck and move toward the infirmary. |
| Keeper: | (whispered) How are you investigating that? |
| Boudreaux: | (whispered) Just an initial glance. . . I don't see anything that might explain the dents? However, I am more concerned about my people, so I want to get to the infirmary. |
| Keeper: | As you prepare to descend from the truck, you glance out through the shattered windshield. There, originating from the front of the truck, lies the tow cable. It is neither attached nor lying anywhere near the crippled dozer but instead runs way off to your right, culminating in a frayed mass of wires. |
| Boudreaux: | "Holy shit. . ." Do I see anything that might explain the exposed slashes of silver in the hood? |
| Keeper: | (whispered) Make an Idea roll. Idea roll for |
| Boudreaux: | (1d100) = 40 [success] |
| Keeper: | The slashes appear to be deep scratches in the paint, from metal against metal. It appears that the tow cable failed and lashed back on the truck. The two cable is of a very heavy gauge. Very heavy. |
| Boudreaux: | (whispered) Sorry, I'm having a blonde moment. Could the force of the cable cause the huge dent? |
| Keeper: | (whispered) With a load like a bulldozer on the other end? Yes, definately. |
| Boudreaux: | But the dozer is out? |
| Keeper: | Yes, Fuller's dozer is out. Looking between it and the other dozer, you see another broken cable draping off the end of the damaged dozer. |
| Boudreaux: | Damn. . . so the dozer is out, but both cables snapped anyway. . . after the vehicle was withdrawn? |
| Keeper: | There is no evidence to indicate when the cables failed, only that they did in fact separate. There are two intact cables remaining: one running to between the two bulldozers and another to the winch on the bumper of the undamaged deuce-and-a-half. |
| Boudreaux: | Time to run to the infirmary. . . fast. |