Direct Action

9

Murdock and MacKenzie ended up at McP’s, which was located on Orange Avenue just down from the Coronado Main gate. It was a popular SEAL watering hole, owned by a man who had been a corpsman in the teams during Vietnam. On the back of the bar menu was printed, “If you don’t like crowds, don’t come on Thursday night.” Translated, that was when the place was packed with SEALS, and if you had a problem watching someone toss down a flaming drink without putting it out first, or eating glassware in front of you to win a bar bet, then maybe you ought to stay home.

Murdock and MacKenzie had no such qualms, having seen far, far worse while on liberty with the troops. And, of course, it was only a Tuesday.

The first beer went down fast. “Talked to Inge on the phone last night,” said Murdock.

“Oh?” MacKenzie said warily.

Inge Schmidt was a special agent with the BKA, Germany’s FBI. They’d met during an op in Europe, had nearly gotten killed together, and of course romance had flourished.

“We used to have phone sex once a week,” said Murdock. “Now we talk once a month, if I’m not someplace like Sudan.” He paused. “What the hell, I can’t put my name in to be an exchange officer with the Kampfschwimmers until after this tour. I can’t get out and move to Germany, and she can’t quit her job and move here. So what the hell can we do?”

“As Razor Roselli would say, whenever you get some leave catch a MAC flight to Germany and screw each other’s brains out.”

Murdock clinked his mug against MacKenzie’s. “Words to live by. Of course, I think Razor has more ex-wives than I have cousins.”

“And you have a lot of cousins.”

Murdock swung the subject around to something else. “You did a pump in Lebanon, didn’t you?”

“Beirut, when I was a Second Class with Team Four. But that was before the truck bombing.” He took a sip of his beer. “What a fucking zoo that was. And now we’re back to Syrians, Iranians, and Hezbollah, the exact same bunch who did the truck bombing.”

Even while he’d been talking, Murdock had seemed to be somewhere else. Now his focus was almost frightening. “Wait a minute, Mac, what was that?”

“Man, was I wrong when I thought people would listen to me after I made master chief.”

“No,” Murdock said urgently, as if he was about to climb across the table. Truck bombs, Mac. You were talking about the truck bombs!”

“So you were listening after all.”

Murdock sprang up and threw money onto the table. “Waitress, get this American hero another beer. I’d kiss you, Mac, but your wife thinks we spend too much time together as it is.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” MacKenzie demanded. “And where the hell are you going? I’ll come with you.”

“Nope, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Murdock walked off, and the waitress put another beer down in front of a very confused George MacKenzie. “What happened to your cute friend?”

MacKenzie looked up at her. “Somebody told him you were married. He was so disappointed he up and left.”

She popped her gum. “Well, what mouthy son of a bitch went and told him that?”