The late fall Southern California air smelled of diesel fuel. It was a common scent at any naval port. Seven and Al stood on the bow of the USS Boxer, looking over the cargo that had been loaded into the belly of Big Bev. The Boxer would be Seven and Al’s ride to their first adventure. She was filled with a light vehicle and boxes marked as live explosives. It quickly became apparent to Seven that the quick “drop-off and pick-up” detailed by Harris would be a much more difficult and detailed task. Seven and Al were looking over the inventory when the man approached from the back of the helicopter. He wasn’t a military man for sure. His long shaggy beard was well beyond the acceptable standards of any branch of the service. His thick, black hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail, which also would have violated all military grooming standards. With the exception of the unregulated hair on the man’s face and head, he could have easily passed for a special ops member. He stretched at least six feet in height with a muscular frame concealed beneath the plain olive drab fatigues that covered him. There was no insignia or markings on his clothing, nothing that could possibly link him to any governmental unit or agency. This man appeared to be the figure of a spy that Seven and Al had looked to interact with since the mission was presented to them.
“Davis,” the man said as he extended his hand in greeting.
“I’m Cap and this is Al,” Seven returned.
“I assume that you guys are the pilots.”
“We are.”
The three men took a seat on one of the crates marked as “explosives” and the briefing began. Davis removed a file of paperwork from under his shirt and spread it out on the box before him.