I stopped at the edge of the parking lot, the dust and debris from the departing CH-53 helicopter downdraft settling around me. Marcinko stood in front of me, looking like some kind of imitation Marlin Brando kind of Harley guy, his hair in a bun at the back of his...
I felt the slightest of tugs against my back, as if little nudges to let me know that more pulling was to come, which I knew to be true, although the oxygenation of the liquid I was breathing wasn’t completely compatible with clear thinking. Mentally, I asked myself...
The call to my control officer wasn’t a pleasant one, as Herbert didn’t want to discuss my using the CIA-backed American Express card for the purchase of school texts. Almost seven hundred dollars for three books, written in South Africa and printed in Italy, were...
“The men are armed,” I said, wasting no time on niceties or re-introductions. “No live rounds issued,” Marcinko laughed, looking back at the men with grave expressions, as if such demonstrations made any difference should armed conflict unfold. “We’re in training, as...
With both Marcinko and I riding inside the Rover and the radio off, there was a silence punctuated only by the sound of passing air as we traveled, the whine of the V8 well insulated under the hood and the hiss of radial tires passing over hot asphalt. Marcinko had...