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08:15 Monday, 13 May 1991
Building 102, Fort Huachuca, AZ

While Sandy returned the truck to the Motor Pool, she made appointments for licensing them in consecutive half-hours the next morning at 08:00. That completed, she hiked the mile or so back to Company, the morning heat already in the 90's. She carried the light satchel containing the pistol in her left hand, ready to salute with her right, if called upon.

She met Ben at the CQ's desk. They walked to MSgt Brown's small desk in a room shared with other senior enlisted. Since he wasn't there, they waited.

Ben became engaged with the general conversation of the room when the Platoon Sergeant for the First platoon offered him coffee. "It's only Government coffee, but it's free."

To Sandy's quiet approval, Ben chatted amiably, beginning with the constantly sunny weather, and how they seldom had to venture out in the heat being Nighthawks. This garnered near universal agreement that Nighthawk (overnight) shift was a desirable duty.

Sandy sat up when Ben asked casually, "Hey, we had a special detail last weekend. If there were some unusual radio traffic around here, where'd I go to find out where it went?"

The SFC who'd offered coffee spoke up. "Depends. If it were classified, it'd be Need to Know. If your detail sent gibberish or transmissions in the clear, it'll be in the daily log and report from Battalion."

Ben blushed a little, but followed up. "Yeah, I think we had some mistuned radios. It seemed like we were transmitting only, but never got any sign of acknowledgement. It'd be good to know where we were, I might be able to tell the liaison what happened." Ben finally got a decent look at the sergeant's nametag: Florea.

"If you can describe your signal, that'd help. I'll call over to Battalion."

Ben got as far as "BPSK, ninety-six hundred baud," when he was interrupted.

"Write it down," SFC Florea held up a hand to forestall him. Ben shot a glance at Sandy, who nodded and gave a tiny smile of encouragement, knowing he read the manual she gave him Sunday. "Come on back this afternoon, we'll see what we can find."

MSgt Brown entered the room, whistling. He strolled over to his desk, dropped his hat and keys, walked over to the coffee station, and made a cup for himself, whistling the while. He sat down in his chair, looked at his IN box, and asked the room at large, "Any traffic?"

A chorus of "No's" came in response. He sipped his coffee, made sounds of appreciation, then stood up, picked up the keys, and made a crooked finger gesture at Sandy and Ben. They looked at each other, shrugged, and followed him out of the office, Sandy with the satchel in her hand.

Downstairs in the Armory, MSgt Brown led them into the secure room, though the Dutch door and steel window curtain were both locked. Ben and Sandy followed in.

MSgt Brown pointed at a skinny Corporal. "Williams, get the fuck out of here. Your sorry ass wasn't here Saturday, I heard. I heard Top is pissed about it."

The corporal suddenly looked green, gathered his BDU blouse and cover, and made a hasty exit. He shot a glare of pure venom at Sandy as he passed, having put a female voice on the phone last weekend together with her presence now.

Brown muttered after he'd left, "Dumbass. Top didn't hear about it from me, but he," he jerked a thumb at the door, "don't need to know that. Lessee what you got."

Sandy opened the satchel and returned the pistol. She and Ben cleaned it again the night before, working a few hours on it.

Brown took it and the two clips he'd given her from her hand. He ran his fingers over the top of the clip, looking for powder traces, and found none. He worked the slide, and looked in the chamber. Brown field stripped it quickly. He gave a grunt, grudging satisfaction. After reassembling the pistol, he sniffed ostentatiously, giving recognition to the Hoppes #9 they'd used to clean it. "You fired it."

Ben nodded. Sandy shrugged.

"How'd it shoot?"

Ben laughed, he and Sandy had anticipated this. "It hits low and about an inch right at fifty yards, the rear sight could be driven a little to the left."

Brown gave him a hard stare. "Fifty yards. Sure." He shrugged, and crossed to the phone at the desk in the center of the room. He found the number he wanted in a small book next to the phone, and spoke. "Yo, it's Sergeant Brown. Yes, Sergeant, I know it's been a while. Listen, my First wants to run two kids on a special detail through the sidearm cert. You got time today?"

Brown listened for a moment, then frowned. "Tomorrow afternoon? Shit, I gotta rearrange their work schedule ... yeah, that'll work. 1300, range 'B'. Hotter 'n hell, bring water, check." He broke the connection, and turned to the two soldiers. "You heard? Good. Anything more for me?"

Ben looked at Sandy. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod, and he turned back to MSgt Brown. "Sergeant, the Border Patrol wants us back Wednesday. I think they want us every day until we get a line of sensors deployed."

Brown rolled his eyes heavenward. "People," he started in a tone of infinite weariness, "I have a duty station to run. I don't have infinite staff."

Ben looked uncomfortably at Sandy. She shrugged back at him, agreeing with a shared glance they'd rather work with the Border Patrol than sit in a comm shack waiting for DSCS[1] traffic to come up on their switch.

The MSgt picked up the phone again. "Sergeant, it's Brown. Would you ask Top if he has some time for me today?" He turned to look at Sandy and Ben again. "Ok, you two. Get scarce until formation."

Sandy and Ben passed the intervening hours before formation in the time-honored tradition of soldiers everywhere: they slept. They met again at the gazebo in the courtyard shortly before formation.

Sandy gave some thought to what the likely outcome of their detail with the Border Patrol was going to be. She didn't know who in the Border Patrol was interacting with the Army to get this project underway. She wasn't sure why it was so ... she settled on "haphazard" for a descriptive term.

"Ben, there has to have been some inter-service request. But what I don't get is how or where. I dunno much about how government agencies request help from each other. It's frustrating ... if I knew more, I could tell what to do." She sensed he was unsettled, too. "That was good thinking, though, to ask First Platoon's sergeant for help. What time are you going up to talk to him?"

"Whenever the First Sergeant is done with us and Sergeant Brown, I guess."

Three minutes later, they fell into formation. Only five minutes later, they earned the disfavor of four of their platoon mates, as Brown announced the pair were off the watch rotation indefinitely. Five minutes after that, the formation was dismissed. Sandy and Ben watched Brown hurry into the building without looking at them.

"Should we follow him?" Ben wondered.

"I think he doesn't want to talk to us, is what it seemed like?" Sandy wondered. "You know? I think he had another phone call after the one we were there for."

"You two." Sandy gave a small shriek, and Ben jumped. They'd both been watching the door Brown disappeared into intently when the First Sergeant stepped up quietly behind them.

"Whoa, shit!" Ben gasped, and then recognition dawned. Both Ben and Sandy immediately stood at Parade Rest.

"At Ease." Ben moved imperceptibly, and Sandy not at all. "I mean it. I'm not here to scare the children." The First Sergeant turned for the gazebo. "Get out of the sun."

Sandy shared a look with Ben. This time, talking to the First Sergeant had her heart hammering in her chest. The sudden shock dumped adrenaline into her system, and she could see the flush on Ben's face and neck.

When they'd found the relative shade of the gazebo, the older man began. "You two are off the Nighthawk platoon. You're temporarily assigned to Second platoon, but that's, as they say, temporary. You will stand formation tomorrow with them, and receive new orders." He gave them a thin smile. "The Border Patrol man, Munoz, seems to like you. The Company Commander got a call from him asking you two to stay assigned to this until it's over. Now, no one seems to know when it will be over. Brown needed replacements, so you're off his platoon. You'll continue with your qualification with small arms, you'll continue to get vehicle licenses. Any questions so far?"

Sandy asked, "How does the Border Patrol request DoD assistance?"

Now it was the First Sergeant's turn to express surprise. "Soldier, I don't know. The order came down from Battalion. Why ask that particular question?"

Sandy was mulling over her response, when Ben spoke it for her, getting to the heart of the matter. "First Sergeant, this doesn't seem professionally thought out and executed."

The First Sergeant raised an eyebrow. "The request was for a pair of E-sixes." E6 is Staff Sergeant. "Presumably, before you were assigned, the E-sixes would have Figured It Out."

Sandy winced visibly at the capitals she heard in that statement.

"Munoz knew that. He told the Captain that he wanted you two to stay. He says you're both quick on your feet. Collins, he says you suck with the pistol. I will have someone arrange to put you both on TDY[2] attached to Headquarters Company of the Battalion. You will stand no formations after tomorrow while you are on TDY. You do not need to report to anyone except me until you get orders. You will be given written orders to allow you to move freely to and from installation to installation and obtain whatever assistance may be rendered. You may be spending significant time off-post, so you'll be on Per Diem. HQ's clerk will expect weekly accounting unless you're in the field that week. Collins, you will spend an hour a day at the range. Tell the range sergeant that you will burn an entire case of 9mm each and every week you fire at all. Not having to inventory partial cases should make him love your presence more. Munoz says you can be exposed to illegals, so you will always go armed when you are off this installation. My advice is to carry your own weapon, and failing that, carry your own ammunition."

Ben gathered himself together. "First Sergeant, I've asked for some help finding out where the radio telemetry goes. Can someone in Battalion help us figure out how to alert the Border Patrol when the sensors go off?"

"Look up SSgt Brooks, he's with the S3's staff." The S3 is the Battalion staff member responsible for operations, plans, and training. "He can help you set that up."

"First Sergeant, how long is the TDY for?" Sandy asked.

"Open-ended. But I don't think the Army or Battalion will let it go more than a month before asking for a change in the mission status." He waited a moment, expectantly. No more questions were forthcoming. "Listen up good, children. You two have caught attention. You're doing good. Keep it up. Ask for help when you need it. Ask me, before you ask an officer, if you can't get help from Battalion. You're going to be operating more-or-less on your own, with Munoz and anyone else he works with. I will come with you on one field trip this week, and another next month. If you continue to do well here it can help take you places." With that, the man stood up and walked out of the gazebo.

"Ben, what just happened?"

"Sandy, I just don't know. But I think we need to do a good job for Rey Munoz."

13:40 Monday, 13 May 1991
Burger King, Fort Huachuca, AZ

Sandy and Ben walked all the way down Hatfield Road to the Burger King in the heat of the day in BDUs, having nothing else to do and not wanting to stay in the Company area where Sergeant Brown could see them.

"Sandy, I'll have to go back at 1500 or so and talk to SFC Florea."

Sandy nodded. "Yeah, Brown ought not to be there, I hope. Ben ... we need to do some planning. If I understood this right, we get a per-diem. This means meals and lodging are on the Government, and we have to track expenses."

Ben nodded. "I think that's right."

"Ben, that's wonderful. When we're out with Munoz, we can share a room. No one will care about it."

Ben's eyes widened. "That's right, isn't it? Sandy, this is awesome!"

Sandy smiled across the table at him. "I think we should go halfsies on a used car."

Ben paused. She watched him wrestle with something for a moment, and then he smiled. "Hon. I have a pretty good pickup back in Texas. And I think we can go get it."

Sandy thought about that for a second, recognizing why Ben had paused. "Ben! That's a great idea! And ... we can spend the night at your folks?" She felt more than a little apprehensive. What did he just think about? Does he want to bring me home?

"Of course, Sandy. I need to show you off. No one is going to believe that shy, scrawny loser-Ben joined the Army and found a girl unless he comes back with her..."

Sandy wanted to sing! She settled for coming around the table for a kiss.

Minutes later, she told him, "I'd better get on the other side of the table, or we'll never finish talking." Reluctantly, he let her go, and just as reluctantly, she moved around the table.

15:05 Monday, 13 May 1991
Bldg 102
Fort Huachuca, AZ

Ben left Sandy at the entrance to the Company HQ. He trotted up the short flight of steps, and past the CQ, to the company offices. He stuck his head in the door where Sandy and he'd waited for MSgt Brown that morning. To his relief, Brown was absent. Unfortunately, Ben didn't see SFC Florea, either.

Ben turned, about to leave, when one of the other NCOs in the room called to him. "Hey, Private! Sergeant Florea left a message for you. You're to call SSgt Brooks over at JITC tomorrow at 11:30 hours. They've found your missing telemetry, I guess."

06:50 Tuesday, May 14th, 1991
Building 102
Ft Huachuca, AZ

Sandy and Ben agreed the previous night to not be seen hanging out together, as they were uncertain what fraternization or the appearance thereof might mean for their TDY. Accordingly, Sandy loitered near the steps to Building 102, while Ben waited for the formation by the gazebo. At the call of "Fall In!" each trotted over to the rear of 2nd platoon and took up position next to the very surprised sole occupant of the last row.

The XO addressed the company, the First Sergeant presented a few moments' worth of business, then he dismissed the company. The 2nd platoon sergeant approached and introduced himself. "Hey, hello you two, my name's Sergeant Hauptmann. Come on up into the company area, I need to type your orders on letterhead." The typewriter was still heavily in use, as clerical staff met quirky forms on PCs and line printers with distrust.

They followed the affable SFC up the stairs into the NCOs area in the headquarters, the room they'd waited for MSgt Brown in the day before. Hauptmann kept a running commentary up about filling out forms for reimbursement and per diem while he quickly and efficiently transcribed a set of handwritten notes onto company letterhead. He asked them to wait a moment while he had them signed. When he returned, he handed them each a copy in a manila envelope, and filed a set.

Sandy watched the clock, realizing they were cutting it close to their motorpool licensing appointment. This wasn't lost on Ben. He waited until Hauptmann drew in a breath and smoothly interjected, "Sergeant, we have an appointment over at the motor pool in fifteen minutes. Can we come back later and finish whatever's left here?"

Hauptmann nodded and smiled. "No problem, we're about done here. If you have questions on how to fill things out or need help, I'll be available. When your TDY is over, you'll be in my platoon, so don't be a stranger."

Sandy led the way out the building. Once outside, she stopped Ben with a touch on his shoulder. "Ben? The boy I met last week wouldn't have interrupted a sergeant." She laughed at the look of consternation on his face. "It's a compliment, Ben." She turned and led the way with a small smile on her face.

08:20 Tuesday, May 14th, 1991
5 Sgl Bn Motor Pool
Ft Huachuca, AZ

Ben drove the big Deuce-and-a-half off across the parking lot, backing it and turning tight-radius corners. Sandy finished her turn in the truck a few minutes earlier. On the far side of the huge parking lot, Ben finished demonstrating his ability to put the truck through its paces.

Ten minutes later, newly typed and laminated licenses in their hands, Ben drew a pickup truck under their new orders.

14:10 Tuesday, May 14th, 1991
Small Arms Range B
Ft Huachuca, AZ

Sandy fired the big Smith & Wesson .357 revolver. Wrapped in her glassy calm, she placed 36 of 36 rounds on the black of a target at 25 feet with the M9 earlier, but was having a little more trouble with the revolver than with the pistol. The revolver had less of a nose-heavy feeling, thus was more susceptible to the trigger pull. This was especially so in double-action, where the trigger cocked the hammer, necessary for rapid one-handed firing. Sandy was getting the hang of it, though, compensate that much for the double-action pull, and only this much for the single-action (hammer cocked-already) pull. She found the recoil from the magnum to be bothersome, too. She could handle a box of fifty, but the abuse of her wrist was starting to tell.

She laid the empty revolver on the bench and moved to observe Ben. He'd been coached through flinching and blinking when he pulled the trigger, and now worked on using larger muscle movements to train the weapon while aiming. She knew he'd qualify today, but it would take several hundred shots for him to nail the timing down. When the clip stayed back on his M9, the range sergeant who'd been coaching Ben took the opportunity to talk to Sandy.

"Specialist, how's the revolver going?"

"Sergeant, does handling the recoil get easier with practice?" Sandy didn't want to sound like she was whining.

The man grinned at her. "Nope, or at least, not without a lot of practice, five thousand rounds a month, say. But, I have an alternative. You're firing one-fifty-eight grain three-fifty-seven magnum loads right now. You could practice with thirty-eight special wadcutter loads, the recoil would be substantially less. The problem with that is, they're my reloads, not US issue."

Sandy gave him a blank look. He laughed and said, "Alright, the first fifty is on me. If you like these, we'll work out something."

Sandy was still confused, but understood this was a personal offer of some value from the range sergeant.

"Thanks," she said, "I'd like that. My name's Sandy."

Ben overheard this through his earmuff silencers, and pulled them off. He gave the sergeant a smile, and introduced himself also. "Hi, I'm Ben."

"I'm Dave, but when we're in public, it's Sergeant Bush. Sandy, you probably have enough natural talent to be on a competitive shooting team if you wanted. Ever thought about competing?"

Sandy laughed at the absurdity. "No. I don't think I'm that good, but I'm flattered you think I could be. I mean, I'd never shot a pistol before last week!"

Sergeant Bush nodded. "Give it a few months' practice, and we'll see if you want to try competition." He turned to Ben, and began to explain the mechanics of the revolver to Ben.

One hour later, Bush invited Ben and Sandy back any day they weren't otherwise working, and made sure they had his desk phone number. "I'm there anytime I'm at work and not on the range. This post is really quiet, hardly any shooting here. I'd love the company and the excuse to shoot."

15:20 Tuesday, May 14th, 1991
JITC
Ft Huachuca, AZ

SSgt Brooks came down and signed them into JITC. On the way back into the building, he began quizzing them about details of their mission, nodding when they confirmed enough to verify the signals as theirs.

"So, your telemetry is coming from about sixty-eight miles away. Under normal circumstances, your radio horizon is about fifty-two miles max at your frequency and antenna height and gain, which means your signal will be subject to fade. The hill you're on slopes down several thousand feet, and our receiver is on a hill, which means you're on a clear Line-of-Sight with a few of your radios. There's essentially a really big valley between us avoiding all kinds of ground effects. That ridge you mentioned, Sandy, isn't between your radio and our antenna, but it could have been. The question I'm asking is, are all your radios going to be on big hills with only valleys between them and us?"

Sandy saw Ben shrug. "Sergeant, we're pretty new, and I think we fell into a rookie mistake," Sandy offered.

"In this case, you'll need to figure out if there's line-of-sight if you're going to deploy more radios, or if you'll need a repeater someplace."

Sandy considered, "I think where we are now is more of a trial location. Since the Border Patrol is running the show, I guess we didn't try the radios out here on post. I think we'll be moving our sensors closer ... but I think we should plan on having some sort of mobile receiving station in the works."

Brooks smiled at her, and nodded, obviously pleased she'd worked the problem to the solution he'd expected.

"Sergeant, when our telemetry changes, how do we notify the Border Patrol? Our sensors will indicate a source of human-body-temperature heat crossing two telemetry pickets twenty meters apart. We need to tell the Border Patrol which thousand-meter section was tripped."

Sergeant Brooks didn't hesitate. "Easiest is a phone number to a dispatcher of theirs. Some well-known protocol, a phrase the dispatcher recognizes, and a standard set of orders on the receipt of the phone call. If you give me a guaranteed phone number and a secondary, plus a protocol or operational plan keyword, and what information from the telemetry you want sent, we can get this underway."

They reached SSgt Brooks' duty desk. He gave them seats, and offered coffee, which both declined as it was late afternoon. "I need my beauty sleep," Ben demurred.

"Yeah, I forgot. The NCO grapevine's abuzz about you two getting off Nighthawk duty. Your First Sergeant must love you to pull strings the way he did."

Sandy and Ben looked at each other incredulously. "Uh, I don't know if he loves us so much..." began Ben.

SSgt Brooks snorted. "Of course he does. Just don't step on your dicks, the lady will know what I mean. You two are going someplace. Everyone associated with this wants to help. Both of you are way junior to pull this off, but you've been doing well, real well, so far, proving your concept and getting stations on the air. We'll help with the details."

Sandy was confused. Was every NCO on post talking about Ben and Sandy? Why would anyone help her? Was it really Ben they wanted to help? No one had ever offered her help, before Ben, anyway. It came to her that she was on the edge of working up a deep case of blue funk. Best to be certain, girl, she reasoned.

"Sergeant, why us? Why does everyone want to help us out?"

SSgt Brooks gave Sandy a level look. "Because you two are mission-oriented and don't just quit."

Sandy didn't know what to say. This was an affirmation she hadn't expected at all. Ben looked embarrassed.

Changing the subject, Brooks continued, "I'll figure out what kind of mobile receiving station we can set up for your radios when your mission goes live. It'll need to be near landline telephones."

Scrambling for balance, Sandy recovered with, "Sergeant, do you have a line on a small, portable two-way system we could use? We're going to be extending our picket line several stations since you've found our telemetry, and it'd be really nice to know where we all are out there."

SSgt Brooks suggested a two-way digital walkie-talkie system that had about a six kilometer range in open terrain. Sandy wrote down his guess where they might find some to requisition. He suggested faxing their orders to the depot to short-circuit the request for authorization that would follow. The company commander had signed off on their orders, and would be financially responsible for the transshipment and depreciation on the radios for the duration of the time Sandy and Ben needed them. The amount of responsibility she held in the CO's name impressed Sandy.

"Sergeant, we anchored one end of the line to a USGS benchmark," Ben shifted topics. "But we don't have precise locations for the rest of the sensors. We're only five stations along the line now, but all the errors will start to add up. We've hidden the sensors and radios in clumps of yucca, which are irregularly spaced." Sandy could've kissed Ben for his timing in bringing it up.

"How were you planning on locating your sensors?"

"Loran and/or VOR and triangulation." Loran was a navigational aid to merchant vessels, but the long-wave radio transmissions were useable a thousand miles from the shore. VOR – Very-high-frequency Omni-directional Radar – stations were scattered in dense numbers throughout the country for aircraft navigation. "But there's probably a better way, and frankly, I don't want to triangulate on hundreds of sensors."

Brooks laughed. "I don't blame you. I'd get a bunch of privates to do it for me if I had to, but the trouble is in believing what they report." PFC Collins ignored the slight insult to privates everywhere, smiling instead.

Sandy had read Army Times for several weeks' duty in the com shack waiting for DSCS traffic. "Sergeant, I read about some satellite-positioning stuff going on helicopters, used by Cobra and Apache weapons systems. The articles mentioned that it would be useful for infantry soldiers also, for artillery spotting and the like. Anything there that could help us?"

SSgt Brooks gave her a long appraisal. "Sparks, we do have some stuff. There's a training exercise next month where we're supposed to use the new GPS gear. How about I send a few folks who've been reading up on the equipment out with you? They'll keep and operate the equipment, and mark your positions for you. I can't let you have the gear or the techs longer-term, but for a few days after you have your stuff set up, sure. For them it'll be a tune-up in field conditions. Sound like a plan? It should keep you from getting slowed down while you set your picket."

Sandy thought about it for maybe a half-second. "Sure. The old way can work if the satellite stuff doesn't cut it for some reason. We'd love your help, thanks!"

17:25 Tuesday, May 14th, 1991
Post Exchange (Sub shop)
Ft Huachuca, AZ

Sandy let Ben drive the two of them to the PX for supper, as a treat for a really productive day. Her mind whirled with the events and discoveries of the day, and she wanted someplace for the two of them to talk things over. There were really no private places they could go without looking suspicious. Neither wanted to drive the pickup truck they'd gotten from the motor pool off-post for supper, having become conscious of not appearing as a couple in non-work-related situations.

"You know, I need to learn to trust people more when they're offering help. Take Sergeant Brooks today ... I was suspicious of why he wanted to help us, why everyone seems to be nice to us. Why can't I trust people more?"

Ben laughed hollowly. "Sandy, I can't seem to trust myself enough. Today, yesterday, I was scared I was putting my foot into it, any number of times. I think that's why it took me a while to learn to shoot well. I just knew I'd screw up, so I did. Same thing with me talking."

He looked introspective for a moment. "We make a great team, don't we? You afraid of relying on anyone but yourself, and me afraid to do anything someone doesn't already have under control." He shook his head ruefully.
Sandy sighed and nodded. "Hey, we're both in need, just in different ways. I need you to fill a huge insecurity hole I've got." Ben shook his head in vehement denial, but Sandy continued anyway. "I'm learning I need you in another way, too. I wanted to spend some quality time with my boyfriend in the worst way the last few days. I never knew I could miss something like that. It's like my body's been rewired a bit since, well, you know. I kind of crave being near you, even if we don't touch. It's physical ... and it's also not. It's just really strange to me."

Ben looked at her with some surprise. "Yeah, it's been like that for me too. My roommate hears me tossing and turning in bed, and he has a couple of crude suggestions." Ben blushed.

Sandy's eyebrows rose. "Oh. Oh! Well, I've thought about that, too, but I really have no experience. I mean, I guess I know what I'm shooting for, now, thanks to you, and I guess you'd know what you were shooting for, too!"

Ben groaned at the double entendre.

Switching subjects, Sandy asked, "Civvies for this weekend? It'll be nice for the first time in a while. We're going to get your pickup? How far a drive is that?"

Ben looked troubled. "It's about a day's drive. We can do it in a day, spend a night, leave early and drive back, but ... how do we get there? I don't think we should take an Army vehicle ... this is hardly work related, is it? A bus is about out of the question, we'd take forever getting there. We'd have to go to Phoenix first probably. We can't afford to fly at all. I don't want to take a chance on Battle-B's car making it there and back. I'm about out of ideas."