Ovid 18: The SEALs free porn video

Ovid 18 - The SEALs It's been a long time since I've posted a story. I like to post one every three or four months, but this time it was six months. The reasons are numerous. Most of them revolve more around events in my personal and professional life which, of course, take precedence. Over the past few months, my travels have taken me to several countries on three different continents as well as travel in every section of the United States except the Northwest (how I missed the Northwest, I'm not sure). Both my personal and professional lives have been very rewarding this year, so I have no real complaints, but I would like to have more time to write TG stories, since they are a relaxing outlet for me. In that vein, I have been writing off and on an extremely long story (read book- length) which, if I ever finish it, will be released in small chunks as a serial to make it more accessible to those readers who hate longer stories. Don't look for it any time soon, though. I like to finish stories before I post them. As for Ovid, it's been nearly a year since I've posted a story in my favorite Oklahoma town. The more I delve into Ovid, the happier I am that I made in a closed universe. Keeping track of details in Ovid becomes more troublesome with each new story, so Ovid stories seem to take longer to write. A writer who wasn't as familiar with the town as I am would become hopelessly bogged down in trying to keep the details straight. As some readers have correctly surmised, the Ovid Cycle is drawing to a close. While Ovid 18 is not the last story in the series, it does set up the end game. As for how many Ovid stories remain, I'm not sure. Certainly there will be at least one more, but I would be surprised if there are more than three stories remaining. I hope you enjoy this one. It's the longest of the Ovid series, and one of the most complex. It answers a few questions but poses a few more. Let me know what you think of it. Best Wishes for a Merry Christmas (or whatever You celebrate at this time of year) and a Happy New Year - The Professor Ovid 18 - The SEALs By The Professor Maybe if I had been alert, I would have noticed something was amiss when I pulled into my parking space at City Hall. Maybe. But the sad truth was I was exhausted. Jerry and I had just gotten back from a few days in New Orleans where he had attended a grocer's convention. It was just me, Jerry, and little Ashley. The twins were starting school, so I had let them stay with friends while we were out of town. Even with a baby in tow, New Orleans was an exciting town, with plenty of entertainment and some of the best restaurants I had ever seen. The waistband of my skirt felt slightly tight as I had driven into work, and I knew I'd have to spend endless hours on the treadmill unless I wanted to be referred to as the fat lady. How did the old saying go? A moment on the lips and a lifetime on the hips. Ah, the joys of being a girl. Maybe I could talk The Judge into zapping off a few pounds, I mused after I had dropped the twins off at school and Ashley at her baby sitter's. After all, he was the reason I was a girl to begin with. And to make matters worse, as I have already said, I was tired. We had gotten home after dark the night before. By the time we had picked up the twins and gotten settled in, it was late and Jerry and I were too tired to even think straight. We dropped off to sleep right behind the kids, too exhausted to even think about fooling around. Besides, we had done plenty of that in New Orleans. Even though sleep came at once, I hadn't slept well. Something seemed to be keeping me on edge through the night. I counted the days as I lay there half awake and half asleep, wondering if it was time for my period, but no, that wouldn't come for another week. Again, the joys of being a girl. Every little sound outside seemed to bring me out of my sleep - a passing car, a plane droning overhead, even a gust of wind. One time I woke up convinced that I had seen a bright flash. Probably a little thunderstorm, I told myself, drifting back into my restless sleep. The first indicator I had that something might be up was Susan's little Toyota parked a few spaces down from mine. Unless there was an early morning trial, she seldom had business with the courts so early, And like me, she had a baby to drop off at the sitter's, so being this early was out of character. As I grabbed my purse and smoothed my skirt, I tried to remember if I had checked my messages. Usually The Judge would always leave word for me over the weekend if I needed to be in court early on Monday. No, there had only been a message from my mother and a few hang-ups. Susan was in The Judge's office already. Standing next to her was a striking blonde with Nordic features, including expensively-styled hair and piercing ice-blue eyes. Susan smiled nervously as I entered, but the blonde merely looked me over as if she was looking at something distasteful. "Cindy, this is -" The Judge cut her off. "There will be time for introductions later," he snapped, coming around from behind his desk. "We have to move quickly. While you were gone, Cindy, we had several cases come before us that had to be handled at once. Now we need to examine one of our new citizen's memories carefully before we make our next move." "But if I wasn't here, how can I help?" I asked. I had not known The Judge to perform a transformation without my presence since I had come to work for him. When it came time to relate the experiences of someone The Judge had transformed, I had always been in the courtroom as they were changed. I would feel a tenuous but definite connection with the defendants which could be used to establish a virtual experience with them when called up by one of the gods. The Judge understood my dilemma and nodded. "I, too, hold the connection," he admitted. "And I can pass it on to you. And yes, I could relate the story, but it would be missing something. However, when related through another human, the story takes on nuances I am unable to provide." That made me feel rather special. It seemed as if I had a talent even the ruler of the gods lacked. It was both satisfying and humbling at the same time. "I asked Susan to join us," The Judge went on. "Officer Mercer will be here, too. I want them to see if anything has been missed." Again, he failed to introduce the attractive blonde. I nodded, wishing I had at least downed a cup of coffee before jumping back into my work. I was more than a little uncomfortable relating a story in this fashion. Besides, The Judge seldom asked to view a story with me, and even when he had, I had been comforted by Diana's friendly presence. Now I'd have only Susan to relate to, since The Judge and Officer Mercer were gods, and Brunhilde there might well have been a god as well. The Judge raised his hand in front of my face, and I felt the presence of someone else's thoughts invading my mind. I hadn't expected to be starting my trance without Officer Mercer in the room, but one of my last conscious impressions was that he had entered the room too quickly for his entrance to be seen. With that, I dropped off into a deep trance... *** The Marine sentry sized me up as I approached the entrance of the NSA facility at Fort Meade. What he saw was a Navy officer carrying a briefcase, looking very spiffy in his tropical whites. His eyes had focused on my shoulder boards - black with two gold stripes and a star on each, denoting a line lieutenant. He wasn't impressed, and his salute showed it. After all, in a facility where O-6's weren't much more than clerks, an O-3 was about the equivalent of a shoeshine boy. "Good afternoon, sir," he said perfunctorily. "May I see your identification?" Silently I pulled my ID from my breast pocket. His eyes followed my hand, and the expression on his face changed when he saw the triple row of ribbons above the pocket, topped off with the gold badge of an eagle with its wings spread standing behind an anchor while it clutched a trident. Few men were privileged to wear the badge - the mark of a Navy SEAL officer. "Come ahead, sir!" he requested, the salute this time crisper and his expression more respectful. "Thank you, Corporal," I replied graciously as I put my briefcase on the conveyor for inspection and stepped through the metal detector. Once through, I asked, "Can you tell me where Conference Room C is?" "Henshaw!" he barked to a private in the Security Office. "Please escort this officer to Conference Room C." I smiled to myself as the young private led the way. On the whole, Marines thought Naval junior officers were soft and gave them only the respect they were required to give. However, it was different with a SEAL officer. Marines knew the physical training we had to endure to wear the badge of a SEAL made standard Marine training look like a day at a boys' summer camp. And unlike some military training where the enlisted regimen is far more physically demanding than the officer requirements, a SEAL officer went through everything his men went through. Period. Conference Room C was accessed only by punching in code numbers or by requesting entry from within. The young Marine sentry had to resort to the latter, telling me that whatever mission had been important enough to bring me back from Afghanistan was a high priority and highly classified. I admit I was intrigued. The door opened and a serious civilian wearing a dark suit and nondescript tie looked first at me and then at a document in his hand. I could see the document included my official BUPERS photograph, dressed in the same uniform I was now wearing. The civilian nodded, motioning me to a chair as he murmured a few words into a small mouthpiece. The chair was situated at an oval table lighted only by overhead lights recessed in a dark ceiling. Soft blue lighting reflecting from the walls left the faces of the others at the table obscured until I was seated. Once I was in my chair, I realized I knew everyone else sitting around me - at least on sight. We were all SEALs. While none of the men seated with me had been on my team, I still knew who they were. All had been in Afghanistan just like me. Yes, I know there's no ocean in Afghanistan, but that doesn't mean there aren't SEALs there. America's enemies don't all stay near the sea. To my immediate right was a second class petty officer with short blond hair almost as pale as his white jumper - his name was "Doc" McGuire. A medic, he had patched me up when I took a little shrapnel in the arm a year ago. He grinned at me, obviously recognizing me as well. "Lieutenant," he greeted me quietly. To his right was Ray Hernandez. Ray was also a second class petty officer, too, but there any similarity to Doc ended. While Doc was tall and lanky, Ray was fairly short and built like a fireplug with his broad chest and beefy face. I didn't know Ray well, but I had watched him best guys half again his size in hand-to-hand combat practice back in Afghanistan. He didn't bother to acknowledge me as he dozed in the comfortable chair. Across the table were three other SEALs - two I barely knew and one I knew all too well. Rufus McCormick was a big black man who looked vaguely like the guy in The Green Mile. Unlike the guy in that great movie though, Rufus had a reputation of being one mean mother. Although he took no obvious pleasure in hurting people, it didn't seem to bother him much - and he was very, very good at hurting people. Every SEAL hated drawing him as a sparring partner since he regularly if unintentionally sent them to the hospital. Next to him was Petty Officer Third Class Chick Steele, one of the best young explosives men in the business. He looked a little like Doc, only a little darker in complexion and hair. Frankly, he looked too fragile to be a SEAL, but beneath his lean exterior was the heart of a true warrior. His exploits were legendary. Word was that he would be offered a commission before his current hitch was up. It was the last of the men on that side of the table I was sorry to see, for Michael Kast was a third class petty officer, just like McCormick and Steele, but unlike them, he was barely competent. He had been in training for the SEAL program at the same time I was, and there he developed a nickname which stuck with him until that day - Tail-end Charlie. Kast was always last in everything - not because he lacked the ability, but because he lacked the drive. Word was that he was the son of a well-decorated SEAL who had gotten out of the Navy in order to make millions in the civilian world. All of that would someday be Michael's - but there was a catch. In order to inherit his father's wealth, he would have to be a SEAL. His father had some big contracts and important contacts with the Defense Department, so he managed enough influence to shoehorn his son into our ranks. It was obvious though, that he didn't want to be a SEAL and no SEAL wanted him on his team. Yet there he was. Special Forces programs have less nepotism than most other military jobs, but they aren't entirely immune. The sad thing was that Kast actually had the ability. He was a natural athlete who could have probably played at the professional level in at least two sports. But what he lacked was the drive and ambition to succeed. In professional sports, that might have meant he sat on the bench a lot. In the SEALs, it meant he could cost someone his life. And finally, there was me - Douglas Harmon, Lieutenant, United States Navy. Unlike many of my Academy classmates who were spending their Naval careers sleeping between clean sheets, sipping hot coffee and eating well-prepared food in the wardrooms of our nation's warships, I had already seen action in countries most Americans had never heard of, let alone finding them on the map. I had requested SEAL training right out of Annapolis. I had seen the SEALs at work during one of my summer cruises as a Midshipman. As a starting running back on the Academy football team, I knew being a SEAL was a challenge worthy of my physical and mental abilities. It was a job for a man's man. Once I reported for training at Coronado, I never looked back. None of us had an opportunity to speak to each other, for the door opened again, and this time it wasn't for another SEAL. Three individuals in civilian clothes entered the room. Two were men as nondescript as the guard at the door. It was the third civilian who drew all the notice - first because she was a beautiful female and second because everyone in the room recognized her. Freda Jorgenson was one of the most powerful women in Washington. A confidant of two presidents, she was considered the white answer to Condoleza Rice. Her pale blond hair and skin nearly more white than pink coupled with her demeanor had given her the obvious nickname of "The Ice Queen." While many women had been called that, it took me only a moment gazing into her icy blue eyes to convince me that the name was particularly fitting in her case. "Gentlemen," she began without a preamble, "you are here today because you have been chosen for a special mission..." All of us at the table looked silently at each other. "Special" in our line of work usually meant a mission we would not be expected to survive. "While none of you have worked together before, you have been identified as having skills which should increase the chances of success in this mission." She nodded at one of the other civilians who nodded at his nondescript twin. Then the two of them began a Power Point presentation as the Ice Queen stood back, arms folded over her substantial breasts to observe our reactions. The first man didn't bother to introduce himself. It was no problem. Being a spook, I knew he'd probably just give us a false name were we to ask. So Spook #1 began, "We have come into possession of a document which has given us reason to believe that the United States has been infiltrated by a large number of agents of an unfriendly power..." For the next hour, Spook #1 unfolded an incredible story while Spook #2 passed out corroborating bound documents to each of us. We each set them aside to be studied later, for the presentation contained material so disturbing and unreal that we could scarcely absorb it. According to the briefing, a hostile force had created a base of operations in Oklahoma - right under our noses! From there, this force had been conducting clandestine activities throughout the country for a number of years. We listened carefully for the nature of this operation, but Spook #1 seemed in no hurry to elaborate. Instead, he would only say that our mission would be to infiltrate this operation and shut it down by providing additional intelligence on the operation. When he had completed the sketchy overview, Hernandez was the first to raise his hand. "Sir, this is an operation on US soil." Spook #1 looked blandly at him. "Yes, it is." "It's my understanding that Special Forces are not to be used on US soil." "Who cares?" McCormick muttered across the table. "Our mission is to take out the bad guys. If they're in this country, we take them out." Spook #1 smiled. "That is a very good point, Mr. McCormick. As for the answer to your question, Mr. Hernandez, you are prohibited from operations against US citizens on US soil. That is not the case here." "You mean a group of foreign nationals has an operative base on US soil?" I asked, sounding more derisive than I had intended. "Sorry," I managed to add, "but the idea seems a little outlandish." Spook #1 nodded. "It did to us as well at first. But let me show you something." He brought up an image on screen which was obviously taken from a spy satellite. The resolution was incredible. I looked carefully at the projected image. It just looked like farmland interrupted by a ridge of low hills. Then I noticed something odd... "What's that line paralleling those hills?" I asked. Spook #2 took that question with a knowing smile. "Very good eye, Lieutenant. That is a seam - at least that's what we've been calling it. The objective is inside that seam." "What kind of a seam?" I asked uneasily, unable to understand what the spook was driving at. The Ice Queen replied, "An inter-dimensional seam." We all stared at her blankly. "The enemy base is wrapped inside a dimensional pocket," she explained. "Like a bubble in the space-time continuum," Doc suggested, surprising us all. He just shrugged and said, "Hey, I read a lot of science fiction." "You are correct," she acknowledged with begrudging respect. "According to the data we have in our possession, there is a bubble under that seam which stretches several miles in every direction. Contained inside the bubble is an entire town..." And that was how we first learned the details about Ovid, Oklahoma. I think I can speak for the entire team when I say that at first we were attentive and curious, but as the Ice Queen continued to tell us about Ovid, our expressions turned first to confusion and finally to disbelief. Such a town simply couldn't exist - not in Oklahoma or anywhere else for that matter. What was that about people being changed into other people and not allowed to leave Ovid? And what about the shades - nearly transparent people who walked and talked as if nothing was amiss? And then there were the masters of Ovid... It was Kast who asked the question all of us had been wanting to ask. "Excuse me, ma'am, but just who are this judge and all his cronies?" There was a hint of a smile from the Ice Queen. "They claim to be gods." "Gods?" I repeated. She nodded. "Yes - that's right. The judge is supposedly Jupiter - king of the Roman gods, and the traffic cop is Mercury." "The messenger of the gods," Doc mumbled. I looked at him curiously as he shrugged. "I read a lot of mythology as a kid, sir." "You don't expect any of us to believe this bunch are Roman gods, do you?" Kast asked derisively. "Of course not," Freda Jorgenson replied, her voice so condescending even Kast had the good sense to shut up. "So who are they?" I asked at last. "Mad scientists? Terrorists? North Koreans?" "Most likely aliens," she replied blandly, surprising me with her matter-of-fact reply. She looked around and saw the same looks of incredulity around the table. Then she admitted, "We don't really know, but given the powers they seem to have, we can't rule out aliens." Something told me - probably all of us - that the NSA really did have proof of alien activity on Earth. Maybe all the loony shows on TV were right after all. But I knew I wouldn't get a straight answer from her if I asked, so I waited for her to continue. "Whatever their origin, they do present a clear and present danger. If our source is correct, they've been abducting Americans for years and holding them captive in this high-tech prison they call Ovid. It is our job to find a way into this base of theirs and shut them down." "When do we go in?" McCormick wanted to know. Leave it to him to be itching for action, I thought. "Tomorrow night," she replied. "Standard gear?" Hernandez asked. She gave him an icy stare. "If you mean weapons, no. Firearms set off alarms when they're brought into Ovid. We'll be going in wearing civilian clothes and no firearms. And yes, you can take knives, but nothing else. Anything else you need will be provided to you by the Agency. "Now until mission time, you'll be restricted to this complex. Use the time to get some sleep and study the materials you have been given. Pay special attention to the map of Ovid our contact provided and memorize all key locations." "Just how are we going to get into Ovid?" Kast wanted to know. "We're going in by parachute - right through that seam," was the reply. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Ma'am, we're all experienced jumpers, but that would be a tough jump even in daylight. We just can't be sure of hitting the seam straight on." Her smile was smug. "Don't worry about that, Lieutenant. We have equipment which will make your insertion easier than you could ever imagine. We'll cover all of that in tomorrow's briefing here at 1400. We'll leave for Ovid immediately after the briefing. Any other questions?" Since it was obvious we'd have to wait for the next day's briefing to find out anything of consequence, we all remained silent - even Kast. "Dismissed!" Our team spent the evening together, studying the material in the ready room of our barracks. To minimize any outside contact, our meals were brought in to us, so we had maximum use of our time. As Team Leader, it was up to me to set the schedule. I ordered everyone to read the material in detail and I would quiz them on it during the evening and just before tomorrow's briefing. I'll say this for all of them; they took the mission seriously, in spite of the outlandish idea that we were up against aliens or gods. At least each of us had laid our lives on the line enough times to know it was what you didn't know or dismissed as impossible that was most likely to kill you. As the evening went on, I queried each of them, trying to get an assessment of their mental abilities. Steele and Hernandez seemed to be pretty sharp when it came to choosing potentially important sites mentioned in the briefing material. McCormick surprised me with a pretty good understanding of electronics and communications. Doc had the greatest grasp of the material, astounding me with his detailed knowledge of how to get around the town. He had memorized all the key locations as well as the map included in the material so thoroughly I almost felt as if he was describing his home town. But once again, it was Kast who posed some of the most intriguing questions, thus becoming the biggest surprise of all. "Lieutenant, do you see something wrong with this mission?" "What do you mean?" "Hey, we all just came from the Middle East, right?" I nodded. "When we want information, we send in drones. When we want to kick ass, we get sent in. Since when do SEALs do this kind of grunt work?" "SEALs have been used extensively to gather information lots of times," I argued. "Yeah, but this is the twenty-first century. The intelligence we collect is the stuff you can't get by drone - interviews with friendlies in the area - that sort of stuff. Hell, we could even task a satellite with resolution good enough to tell what color eyes this judge has. We know squat. You notice we haven't been given the name of this contact who compiled this report." "Need to know," I insisted a little uncomfortably. "God damn it, Lieutenant, I need to know. Don't you?" "Okay," I sighed. "If the Ice... if Ms. Jorgenson doesn't bring it up tomorrow, I will." That seemed to satisfy him for the moment, but I made a mental note to be sure I asked the question. I was more than a little curious myself. In spite of the company line I had given Kast, I, too, had some misgivings about the mission. It didn't seem like something a SEAL Team would be best at. Kast was right. Our job was to kick ass. Going in without weapons meant we were no more likely to be effective than any novice FBI agent. We took a break after a couple of hours. McCormick used the time to get in a little calisthenics. No wonder he looked so powerful. Every chance he got, he was doing something to build up his already-impressive body. Hernandez produced a deck of cards and started playing low-stakes gin with Steele while Doc looked on. Kast just read the material, as if there wasn't a break. "Remember," I told everyone before we settled back in to finish reading our briefing materials, "our mission is strictly recon. If we do our job right, we'll find out everything we need to know and get out before they know we've been there." "Sir," Kast called out, somehow making the "Sir" sound like an insult. "What is it, Kast?" "I've already read this stuff twice. I think you should know that getting out of Ovid may not be that easy." "Why not?" He leaned back, looking at the thick binder in his lap. "According to this, if you try to leave Ovid, you just end up right back in town. Say you go over a hill on the west, you'll find yourself looking down on the town from the east." "Sort of a Moebus strip," Doc commented. When he saw several blank stares, he tore a strip of paper from his notepad and twisted it together into a loop just like I remembered a science teacher of mine doing back in Ohio during high school. "This loop is really one- dimensional," he explained, tracing the paper with a pen. You see, it looks as if you're traveling in three dimensions, but in fact, there's only one - the surface of the paper. And eventually, you'll end up right back where you started." "Except this Ovid isn't a strip of paper," Steele pointed out. "It's a real three-dimensional place." "Is it?" Doc smiled. "Maybe this town really is run by gods - and maybe dimensional physics don't apply to them the way they apply to us." "Bullshit!" Hernandez snorted. "Do you believe in God?" Doc asked unperturbed. "Of course I do!" Hernandez returned, slightly puzzled at the question. "I'm a good Catholic. But what does that have to do with this... this mobile strip?" "Moebus," Doc corrected. "Look, if you believe in God, you probably believe in Heaven, but where is it?" "Someplace up there," Hernandez replied uncomfortably, pointing up. "What?" Doc pressed. "Somewhere out in space?" "What the fuck does it matter?" McCormick boomed, clearly bored. "It matters a lot," Doc insisted. "What if Heaven is right here - all around us - but we can't see it because it's phased into another dimension? Maybe Ovid is like that - phased in another dimension." "Fucking Trekie," McCormick muttered. "Doc, you're full of it," Kast taunted. "Who gives a shit where Heaven is? It's Ovid we've got to be concerned with." "So stop worrying about where this Ovid is and keep reading," I ordered. "By the time of our briefing tomorrow, I want you guys to have this binder memorized. You got that?" Everyone barked, "Yes, sir!" and settled into reading at the tables where the remains of evening chow had already been cleared away. "Doc, come with me for a minute," I said, indicating the small office/sleeping quarters that had been reserved for me at the front of the barracks. When we were alone, I motioned for him to sit in the one flimsy guest chair while I parked myself on the gray government-issue desk. "Doc," I began, "I don't want to bog this mission down with long explanations. McCormick just wants to break heads, Hernandez just wants someone to tell him what to do, Steele just wants to blow things up, and Kast... well I don't know about Kast - maybe he just wants to play with himself." "Sir," Doc began, "they need to know what they may be up against." "I'm not telling you to keep your mouth shut," I clarified. "I'm just telling you that most of this is pretty far over their heads. If you want to keep the team informed, just tell me what you think is going on. Then I'll decide if I want McCormick to kill it or Steele to blow it up or Kast to play with it. You got that?" "Yes, sir." He didn't argue about it. Doc was a good SEAL, I realized. "Now we've never worked together as a team, so I really need you to give me everything you've got. You've already read most of the material, haven't you?" He gave me a surprised look. "Yes, sir. I'm a speed reader with a photographic memory. But how did you know?" I knew because I had similar qualifications, but I didn't tell him that. "Just tell me what you think about this Ovid." He shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I don't know what to think. Ms. Jorgenson seems pretty sure it's aliens running the town, but..." "Go on." He shook his head. "I know this whole thing about Roman gods is about as far out as you can get, but whoever gave them all of the data presents a pretty good case for that." "How so?" "Well, look at how they operate. If they were aliens, wouldn't they have all kinds of technological gadgets? These 'gods' seem to operate without them. Sure, I suppose they could be higher in development than humans, with all sorts of powers that just look like magic, but it almost sounds as if they're downright technophobic." "I don't know," I argued. "That shield of theirs - what did you call it? Oh yeah, a bubble in the space-time continuum. Anyhow, that sounds pretty high tech." "True," he admitted, "but maybe they generate that with their minds the same way they change people." I ran my fingers through my short hair and sighed. "I don't think our Ms. Jorgenson is telling us everything she knows." Doc just shrugged. "When do the people who send us out ever tell us everything?" he asked. "Like why did they bother to slap a bunch of strangers together instead of working with an existing SEAL Team? That doesn't sound very efficient to me." "I have to agree," I said, adding, "I was wondering the very same thing. For that matter, why use a SEAL Team at all? With no weapons, we're no more effective than a team of FBI agents or undercover cops. Something tells me we need to watch our backs on this mission." "Don't we always, sir?" I nodded, thinking to myself that I'd really like to take the geniuses who though up this mission and drop them into Ovid instead of my team. We ran five miles before breakfast the next morning. Hernandez and Doc kept up with me, with McCormick and Steele not far behind. Kast, of course, brought up the rear, but even he turned in a decent time. That didn't stop me. Breakfast was waiting for us when we got back. We nodded in satisfaction as we dug in, not at all mindful of having too many carbs. Unlike the pussies out in the civilian world, we'd get rid of the carbs the way nature intended - running and exercise. We spent an hour after breakfast reviewing the mission while our food settled. I barked off questions and got sharp answers from most of the team. Kast, of course, wasn't quite up to snuff, but even he would be able to find his way around Ovid without too much trouble. And even though he wasn't as sharp on the facts, any question involving critical thinking seemed right up his alley. As I expected, Doc had the sharpest eye for detail. In Ovid, we'd break into two groups. I'd lead one and Doc would take the other. He'd get Hernandez and Steele while I took McCormick and Kast. I wanted McCormick where I could watch him. I was pretty sure he'd try to get out of any scrape with an unacceptable body count. As for Kast - well, I just wanted to make sure he didn't screw anything up. We spent another hour in calisthenics. Then we took a rest period until it was time for our 1400 briefing. "Split up?" I practically yelled. I had planned on two teams, but she was demanding we work as individuals. The rest of the team seated at the briefing table seemed as upset about that as I was. The Ice Queen nodded. "That's right. Six individuals can cover the town faster than one group. Besides, wouldn't it look a little odd for six men to be walking around town as a group?" She was right about that, at least. "Yes ma'am, but two groups can work more effectively than six individuals. Without anyone to cover our backs, whoever is running Ovid could just pick us off one by one. We stand a much higher chance of survival if we stick to small teams." She was silent for a moment, lost in thought. At last, she nodded. "All right, Lieutenant. Perhaps you're right. Two teams would have a better chance of getting in and out of Ovid than six men working alone. Do it your way." "Yes, Ma'am!" "But remember, the purpose of this insertion is to verify the information on our informant's disk. This is not a reconnaissance in force. You get in and you get back out as quickly as possible." "Then why use SEALs?" Kast wanted to know. It was a good question. He continued, "SEALs kick ass and take names. Your lap dogs here..." pointing at Spooks #2 and #3, "could take pictures and draw maps as good as we can. Are you expecting some trouble you're not telling us about?" I figure Jorgenson's blood pressure must have shot up about thirty points from the flushed expression on her face. Her stare was so vicious Kast had to look down. I think in that moment we all thought she was going to jump over the briefing table and tear Kast's head off. The way her body tensed, I thought maybe she could have done it. At last she willed a calm expression back on her face. "You would not have been my first choice," she admitted, "but we're stuck with each other." "Then who the hell did choose us?" McCormick wanted to know. "That's classified," she replied as blankly as she could. "Now can we get back to the briefing?" She spent the next four hours making sure we knew every detail that had been on the disk - or at least those they had transcribed for us. It made me glad I had taken the time to drill the team, but it also made me curious. We had only her word that we had been supplied with all the information on Ovid. There were items in the materials which didn't seem to make much sense. For instance, the material indicated that unwary travelers were shanghaied into becoming citizens of Ovid. But what would make them do so? It wasn't enough that there was some sort of invisible barrier around the town. Surely someone would have figured out a way to get out. Granted, they didn't have the high-tech tools we were going to be using, but there must have been a way out. And for that matter, why hadn't the authorities figured out people were disappearing? The legends of the Bermuda Triangle involved only a handful of people, and yet practically everyone in the civilized world knew what it was at least by name. Why hadn't cable TV deluged us with phony documentaries about the Ovid Rectangle, or something like that? As for the crap about aliens or gods or whatever they were, who really gave a rat's ass if they had built a little enclave in Oklahoma, because odds were that they weren't from any other world -either physical or supernatural. It was just too bizarre to imagine why they would want to set up a small town in the middle of the Bible Belt. As far as I was concerned, they were probably something like the Waco wackos - a group of iconoclasts who chose to build a small settlement away from prying eyes. Now somebody in their little cult had become disillusioned - or maybe just delusional - and decided to get the government interested by claiming the leaders of Ovid were deities or something. So why were we being used? The answer was really pretty simple to me, although I didn't want to bring it up to the team. We were being used because we could perform the mission and get the hell out of the way easier than out civilian counterparts. Twenty-four hours after the mission, we could be back in Kabul, and if there were any questions to be asked, there would be no one from the mission remaining to ask them of. Even if the media caught wind of our little expedition, we wouldn't be around to question. The government didn't want another Waco on its hands - not during an election year anyhow. I gave Jorgenson every opportunity to mention a contact with her source in Ovid. That, at least, would have given some justification to using SEALs. No mention was made, so when it looked like the briefing was about to finish up, I asked the question I had promised Kast I would pose. "Wouldn't it make sense for us to contact your source and clarify some of this data?" I asked innocently. Her features clouded over, and I knew from her expression that there would be no contact with the mysterious source. "Our source," she began slowly, "has probably been compromised by now." "Compromised?" I repeated. I wasn't going to let her off the hook easily. "We suspect he has been discovered and possibly turned." There was a collective groan around the table. I summed it up in words. "So odds are good they know we're coming." "They probably know someone is coming," she amended. "That's why we're using you. It's possible you may have to fight your way out of Ovid." "Without weapons?" Kast pointed out. She scowled at him. "I thought SEALs were trained to live off the land - to procure weapons from the enemy if necessary." She was right about that. Even Kast remained quiet for once. "Our flight leaves within the hour," she informed us. "Now let's get your gear issued and get this show on the road." "What do you think, sir?" Doc asked as we were assembling our gear in preparation for the long flight to Oklahoma. "I'm not paid to think," I grunted noncommittally. "Neither am I," Doc agreed quietly, "but I watched you in there. You didn't ask any questions to speak of, except the one about the contact, but you looked like you were chewing something over. You don't think this mission is what she says it is, do you?" I know in a lot of military units, Doc's remarks would have been a little out of line, but we were SEALs, and that meant every member of the team was entitled to an opinion. The lowest rated man on the team might well bring up an overlooked fact that would save the entire teams' lives. "You think she's lying to us?" I asked Doc in a low tone. He shrugged. "Maybe. I can see some rationale for using a SEAL Team. What bothers me is why us - I mean why specifically us? We've never worked together. Steele is an explosives expert on a recon mission. McCormick stands out like a sore thumb and is only good when it comes to lots of violence. Kast... well, Kast is about as dependable as an ice cube on a summer sidewalk." "I hear Hernandez is a good man," I pointed out. "And you, too from what I hear." Doc nodded at the compliment. "I've heard good things about you, too, sir." "Look, here's what I want to do," I told him quietly. "I suppose Jorgenson is right about one thing - six men milling around together would look a little suspicious. We'll break into two teams as I planned. You take Steele and Hernandez. Try to learn as much as you can, focusing on communications and logistics. I'll take McCormick and Kast. We'll verify key locations and try to find the best way out of Ovid." "If the briefings are right, that might not be too easy without a fight." "That's why I'm taking McCormick with me," I explained. "Without weapons, I may need somebody big enough to crack a few heads." I didn't bother to tell him that I also wanted to be sure he didn't crack any heads without my say-so. "Makes sense," Doc allowed. "But what about Kast? You don't want to be saddled with him, do you?" "No, but neither do you. Kast may be an eight ball, but he actually managed to ask a couple of good questions during the briefing. If it's as tough to get out of Ovid as the intel indicates, he may be insightful enough to figure out an exit." Doc looked at me as if he didn't really believe I had any faith at all in Kast. Well, he was right - to a point. Kast could be insightful when he wanted to be. The problem was that he didn't always want to be. I wanted to be there to personally kick him in the ass if he started fucking up. The flight to Oklahoma in a C-130 was long and noisy. All we could do after orders were issued and equipment checked was to sit back in the windowless cargo bay and close out eyes to shut out the red illumination overhead. Even though we'd have night-vision goggles for the jump, we'd have to be prepared to see as well as possible in the dark. The red light would help since it didn't impair night vision. The problem was it could also give me a splitting headache, so I kept my eyes closed, feigning sleep. Unfortunately, there was no easy way to shut out the drone of the plane's T56-A-T5 turboprops. At least there was plenty of room to stretch out on the deck. The C-130 was built to hold about sixty-five paratroopers, so our small team, plus a jumpmaster and the Ice Queen with her two pet spooks made for plenty of personal space. Jorgenson pulled each of aside, talking low to us in private. Apparently she didn't completely trust my skills in organizing the team. At least she seemed satisfied, and after an unusually long session with Steele, it was finally my turn. "You've organized your men well, Lieutenant," she admitted begrudgingly. "Thank you, Ma'am." "Just remember - no rough stuff. Get in, get your information, and get out." "What happens once we're out?" I asked. She shrugged, drawing attention to her beautiful body. Even dressed as we were in a nondescript jump suit it was easy to see that she was undeniably stunning. "After debrief, that will be none of your concern, Lieutenant," spoiling the image of feminine perfection with her icy tone. I returned the shrug. There was no use in discussing the subject further. "Saddle up, men," the jumpmaster called out. "You jump in fifteen minutes." We hooked up in a line, each man checking the man in front of him to make sure everything was in order. Jorgenson herself checked me over since I was last in line. The way she tested the straps made me realize she knew what she was doing. My limited esteem for her went up just a fraction of an inch. Checking our chutes was of paramount importance - not just for our safety, but because of the nature of the parachute itself. GPS locators on our left wrists would pinpoint our precise location, making sure we could actually glide into the small fault in the bubble surrounding Ovid. Without any visual reference points and dropping at night, we would have no chance of reaching our target. The chutes themselves were of a highly-classified variety, connected to the GPS locator and designed to make midcourse corrections in our descent, adjusting our course far more accurately and quickly than even our expert manual adjustments. The nature of the equipment for the drop meant we all knew Steele had a serious problem when he swore, "Fuck! My GPS is down." Since the GPS was attached to the chute, everything would have to be replaced. Jorgenson didn't miss a beat. "Unhook," she ordered. "Drop to the back of the line and I'll have your spare chute ready." Steele moved quickly. We were seconds away from the drop. I looked around to make sure Jorgenson had him set up right. I had just turned back, satisfied, when the jumpmaster gave us the green light. So I was now fifth in line. I watched with pride as each of my men dropped perfectly into the inky sky. Then it was my turn. I felt the rush of air, cool even in the late summer at this altitude over the warm, humid ground below. Night drops can be scary at fist, but I had made dozens of them and found them exhilarating. I heard the tone and felt my chute slipping out of its case, stopping my free fall with an authoritative tug. Looking below, I thought I could see at least one chute. Above, there was no sign of Steele but I wasn't worried. The chutes would take us to preprogrammed landing spots about twenty yards apart. After a gentle float down into the moonless sky, our feet would touch ground in what the narrow rift in the satellite photos appeared to lead to a farm field. I only hoped the field would be something like wheat, gentle and forgiving instead of spiky corn stalks. Well, whatever lay below wouldn't be enough to hurt us through the jump suits. Besides, once we were through the rift, the locator would surrender minor control to us so we could avoid any unknown obstacles. Passing through the rift was anticlimactic. If it hadn't been for the altimeter in the locator, we would never have known we had passed through it. Or at least we wouldn't have known until we looked down. Off in the distance, just beyond our drop zone, lay the lights of a town. It didn't look like a big place, but I knew it hadn't been there moments ago. I think until that very moment, I had wondered if we weren't on some sort of a government sponsored snipe hunt. It was still hard to believe that a town could be so completely hidden from view. The technology behind such a trick had me wondering if maybe Jorgenson wasn't right about this being the work of aliens. Not for the first time since we had been ordered to this mission, I wished that we had come armed with more than a few paltry knives. Whoever - or whatever -could do this wasn't going to be afraid of the most fearsome knife. They might not even be afraid of anything in our standard arsenal. There was no time to dwell upon that now. As I switched on my night- vision goggles, I could see the ground was rushing up more quickly now, and the field that was to be our landing zone was surrounded by some rather large trees. Deftly I pulled to the right just enough to avoid all of them and proudly saw that I was heading straight for the center of the field. I stayed on my feet, running until I could pull enough of the chute down to stop myself. We had lucked out. The field we had landed in appeared to be beans of some sort - probably soy beans I realized. Other than a little incidental damage to a few of the plants, no one would even know we had been there. I could see two other figures, their bright silhouettes in stark contrast to the darkness behind them as they gathered up their chutes for burial. As I began to do the same to my own chute, I could see two more approaching. One was so large he could only be McCormick. "We've got everybody now except Steele," Doc reported to my right. "He should have been right behind me," I returned. "Maybe he missed the drop zone," Doc suggested. It was a distinct possibility, especially if Jorgenson didn't get his chute on in time. "What was he carrying ?" I asked. Doc shrugged. "Everything he had is redundant. He had a video camera and some listening devices. He also had an uplink, but we've got two others." That was one good thing about not having to carry weapons on this mission. We each carried enough electronic gear to open a Radio Shack. What we were missing was another pair of eyes. I thought about giving Kast or McCormick to Doc, but I finally decided that Doc and Hernandez would make an effective team. "We're about two clicks out of Ovid," Hernandez announced. "It'll be light in a couple of hours." "Then let's get moving," I ordered. "Get these chutes and jumpsuits in the ground. Save the goggles, though. They might come in handy." Shortly each of us had buried our gear and completed our disguises. The equipment we had been issued was a compact as technology would allow, but it still took up space. Kast and Hernandez had been issued tool bags so they looked as if they were blue collar workers. Doc and I had briefcases which were light but designed to carry a lot of gear. We were the white collar workers. McCormick carried his gear in a gym bag, looking as if he were on his way to work out. There was still no sign of Steele, but I decided we couldn't wait any longer to move out. Doc and Hernandez started out first. We gave them about twenty minutes - enough time to get to the edge of town. Then we took off in a slightly different direction - one that would bring us out very close to City Hall. The sun was just coming up as we reached the first houses in the town proper. What I saw reminded me of my home town back in Ohio. Ovid was a farming community, judging from a sign advertising a feed and grain store and an official sign reading 'Future Farmers of America welcomes you to Ovid'. I had always thought of Oklahoma as dry and arid, but the tree-lined streets and lush green lawns were reminiscent of my home state. The only noticeable difference was that Ovid looked maybe just a little bit... cleaner than my hometown - and a little more prosperous. I knew from the briefing material that Ovid boasted some industry -most notably Vulman Industries. That must have made the NSA cringe. Vulman held a lot of top secret government contracts. What if the company was really controlled by enemies of the United States? "So far, so good," McCormick muttered. "Yeah. It reminds me of home," I commented. The big black man shook his head. "Not me. I grew up in Chicago - South Side." "Chicago?" Kast said. "So did I." "North Shore, right?" McCormick growled. Reluctantly, Kast nodded. "It figures," McCormick snorted. "You guys can discuss Chicago later," I told them. Right now, let's discuss Ovid." "What's to discuss?" McCormick wanted to know. "We're almost to Main Street and all I've seen are houses out of Smallville." "You were expecting maybe Roman temples?' Kast chuckled. Then the chuckling stopped. Since it was so early in the morning, we had seen very few people out walking around. But as the sun rose and the residents of Ovid began stirring, we noticed an occasional morning runner or a homeowner in his bathrobe out to retrieve the morning paper. But it was a man in jeans and a denim shirt - probably a construction worker from the tool belt he wore - walking to his truck who made us realize suddenly that there was something very strange going on in Ovid. The man smiled and waved at us. Dumfounded, we managed to return the greeting as he stepped into his truck and started it up. "You could see right through him," McCormick muttered. That wasn't exactly true. It wasn't as if he was actually transparent. Rather, it was as if we could "sense" what was being blocked by his body, as if we were seeing two images at once somehow double-exposed. "A shade," Kast commented, his eyes glued on the strange manifestation. "They're real." And if the shades were real, that meant... McCormick stated it for all of us. "Then maybe there really are gods." Raised a casual Lutheran in a small Ohio town, the thought that the Roman gods might be real was a blow to everything I had been taught to believe. McCormick and Kast appeared equally disturbed. No wonder our superiors wanted to believe aliens controlled Ovid. It was far more palatable than the alternative. "Come on," I finally managed. "We've got work to do." We had studied the material on Ovid for so long that Main Street felt like home to us. We could have probably named more stores and who ran them than many of Ovid's residents. And unlike most of the residents, we had a pretty good idea who really ran some of those stores. "The street is pretty wide," McCormick remarked. "It would be hard to defend." My SEAL mind tried to picture barricades made up of wrecked cars and shop fixtures behind which the gods tried to hold off advancing platoons of Marines. "You're right," I acknowledged. "Everything is too open." And too... right, I realized. Ovid looked like what America was supposed to be all about - small towns filled with friendly, prosperous people. After what all of us had seen around the world, Ovid looked like the last place any red-blooded American Marine would want to damage. "The material said City Hall is where this judge and his people can be found," Kast offered. "Maybe it's the only defensible point in town." It sounded like a good guess. "Okay," I agreed. "We'll go there next." We were fish out of water, and we were just really beginning to realize it. While we had protested that we weren't the right people for the job, deep down, every SEAL thinks he can do anything and everything if he has to. There was never any question in our minds that we could quickly penetrate the town, assess any threats, and make our way out without casualties. But what we had found was a town as American as any town we had ever seen. Flags flew, birds sang, and people looked prosperous and happy, unlike the disintegrating pestholes that were usually assigned to. There were no sullen men ready to ambush us from narrow streets and alleys. There were no burned out and bombed out husks of buildings, booby trapped and waiting for an unwary enemy. There were no command posts, fortified areas, or communications arrays which needed to be discovered and neutralized. "There's City Hall," Kast nodded. Again, there was nothing particularly ominous about the place. Stately columns and a gray marble fa?ade were set off by a grassy lawn painstakingly manicured and accented with flowers of every imaginable variety. "I wish my hometown looked this good," I muttered. "Look!" McCormick said suddenly. We were still half a block from the entrance to City Hall, but we were close enough to see something disturbing. Two men were just getting out of a police car. The police officer, a tall, serious-looking individual wearing mirrored sunglasses, was ushering the two men up the front stairs. "It's Doc and Hernandez!" Kast gasped. Strangely no weapon was trained on them - yet they offered absolutely no resistance. Either Doc or Hernandez should have been more than a match for any policeman, except... "Wasn't there something in the briefing about a cop being one of the gods?" I asked. "Yeah," Kast replied. "Mercury is supposed to be a cop here - an Officer Mercer." "Well, it didn't take him long to find our guys," McCormick commented. "Shall we get them loose?" "Those aren't our orders," I reminded him. "If we identify ourselves, out usefulness will be compromised." "If they talk, it will be compromised anyway," Kast pointed out. McCormick and I just stared at him. The thought of any SEAL ratting out another member of the team was unacceptable. It concerned me, though. If that was the way Kast thought, then maybe he might sell us out if he had the chance. So we waited impatiently outside City Hall, taking turns walking around so long as at least one of us had an eye on the City Hall door. While we saw several people coming and going, there was no sign of the police officer or either of our comrades. Of course, I realized, if this judge really was a god - or alien - who had the power to transform humans, we might not recognize our team members anyhow. But even after seeing the semi-transparent shade, I found it hard to believe that a person could be transformed - magically or otherwise - into an entirely different person. However, my skepticism was soon to be challenged. I was the closest man to the entrance when I saw Officer Mercer leaving the building, escorting two young girls who looked between twelve and fourteen. Both were slim and attractive with light brown hair hanging loosely about their shoulders. Both were wearing the tight-fitting jeans and tank tops favored by young girls everywhere. The only difference in their clothing was that one wore a white tank top and the other a blue one. If Officer Mercer hadn't been with them, I probably would not have given them a second look. Attractive as they were, they were obviously jail bait, and besides, I had a job to do, looking for my comrades. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck rose up. What if this judge really did have the power to transform them? How would I know it was them? I was soon to find out. One of the girls - the one with the white top - seemed relaxed and natural, laughing and squeezing her friend's arm as girls often do. The other one though, was ignoring her, looking around as if searching for something - or someone. Her eyes lit on me and stayed there. She gave a sudden, subtle hand motion which would be missed by anyone who was not in the military. She was telling me she had been hit. At first, I refused to believe what my eyes were telling me. Were the two girls really Doc and Hernandez? If so, one had apparently been mind- wiped. The girl in the white top showed no distress or interest in anything which would not be noticed by a young teen girl. The other one, though, had apparently retained her mind and was trying to signal me. Carefully, I acknowledged her signal with my own hand, and she nodded with satisfaction as she climbed into Officer Mercer's patrol car. But which one had survived? I felt that whichever one no longer remembered who she had been constituted a fatality. According to our informant, a majority of Ovid's real residents fell into that category. Perhaps their souls - if you believed in that sort of thing - retained a modicum of the original identity, but the victim would live out the rest of his or her life with no recollection of any previous existence. I shuddered at the thought. "What's going on?" McCormick had circled back around to my position. Rather than answer, I started walking in the direction I had seen Kast last. He was only a hundred yards or so away. When we were all together, I told them what I had seen. "Then it's real," Kast murmured. "It's real all right," I agreed. "We've got to get them," McCormick urged. "They're still members of the team." I shook my head. "No, they're not. First of all, one of them wouldn't think she was being rescued. She'd probably think we were kidnappers. And as for the other one...well, I have no idea where Officer Mercer took her. She's probably on her way 'home' right now to meet her new parents - not that they'll realize they're meeting her. If we try to take her, assuming we could even find her, her parents will have the authorities on us." "So it's one captured and one dead," Kast summed up. I nodded. "Remember, men, we have a mission to accomplish. It's the same as Afghanistan; the mission comes first." I looked in their eyes to make sure they were on board with that thought. Kast nodded at once, although there was an odd look on his face, as if he was thinking about something besides the mission or our casualties. McCormick nodded reluctantly, but he was a good SEAL; he knew how to take orders. "All right," I sighed. "Now whatever is going on around here seems to center on City Hall. I think we should all take a look around." "What if we're spotted?" McCormick asked. "Tell them you're looking for the head - only remember to call it 'the men's room.' Then stay in the head a few minutes and start searching again. Look for anything that looks like a nerve center - communications, defenses, and so on. We'll meet back right here in one hour. Got it?" "Yes, sir!" they said in unison. I smiled as they walked away. In spite of my misgivings, both McCormick and Kast were turning out to be pretty good men. Our search proved easier than I would have thought. There seemed to be little security in the building. Instead it looked like the typical small town city hall on a warm, late summer afternoon. That isn't to say doors weren't locked - some were, but they appeared to be storage areas or utility closets. There was nothing which might be thought of as a command center or defensive stronghold. As I made my way through the building, I noticed a large number of the shades. As nearly as I could tell, everyone who was real just treated them as if they were normal people. All were uniformly well dressed, looking far more prosperous than I would have imagined them to be. Back where I grew up in Ohio, there were such people, of course, but not as many. According to the briefings, Ovid was an agricultural community with a small but growing manufacturing segment. Could it be that Vulman Industries was doing so well that the entire town was prospering? The only evidence I saw of any official security was the presence of the local police department, but even there, it seemed as if things were laid back. The only officer on duty was a very, very attractive black woman. Behind the glass at the information window, I could see her concentrating on some paperwork. She didn't notice me, so I was pretty sure she wasn't on guard duty. If she were, she was doing a damn poor job of it. We met back on the street as scheduled and compared stories. Both McCormick and Kast reported the same things I had seen - average Americans going about their daily business. No one had seen anything suspicious or threatening. "I think it's some sort of bullshit," McCormick growled. "Don't forget the shades," Kast cautioned. "They certainly aren't bullshit. And neither is what happened to Doc and Hernandez." "It's possible that City Hall is just a front," I theorized. "Maybe the real shots are called from someplace like Vulman Industries." McCormick shook his head. "Maybe you're right, but there's no way we'll get in there. A defense plant like that has to be pretty secure." "What do they make?" Kast asked casually. "Auto parts for Fords, mostly," McCormick told him. "But they also have a military division that makes fuel pumps for aircraft that extends their range." I looked at McCormick curiously, surprised that he knew so much about Vulman Industries. That hadn't been in the briefings. He shrugged and explained, "I'm a stockholder." "Wait a minute," Kast said. "You mean you knew about Ovid before we got here?" McCormick shook his head. "Nope. According to the annual report, the company is headquartered someplace else - Oklahoma City, I think. I don't remember any mention of Ovid." "Well, no matter what's at that plant, I doubt if we'd have any chance of getting in," I decided. "I don't think we're going to be able to accomplish anything on our own without weapons." I silently curse Jorgenson and her civilian staff who had sent us in with no means to defend ourselves. "If we report back, we may be able to persuade our people to send in an armed force and extract our... men. Let's go ahead and see if we can get out of this town and report in. Figuring out an exit is the last part of our assignment." I got no argument from either of the men. They were as ready as I was to get out of Ovid before something happened to us like what had happened to Doc and Hernandez. As SEALs, we faced death throughout our careers without flinching, but the thought of being changed into teenage girls as Doc and Hernandez had been was enough to make any SEAL cut and run. After all, as girls, we could never be SEALs. The sun was setting as we reached the outskirts of town. We had stopped off at a convenience store and bought sandwiches and drinks since it had been a long time since our last meal. We made short work of them in a pleasant park called Sooner Park, sitting under a large oak tree that seemed to sigh