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commanded.
    Ellsworth and Sterling marched into the office and centered themselves in front of Murdock’s desk, remaining at attention.
    “They’ve both been informed of their rights under Article 32,” said the Razor.
    “That right?” Murdock asked them.
    “Yes, sir,” they both said.
    Roselli began. “Sir, these … these two little diddy-boppers got in the firewater last night and danced their way into a real hairball.”
    Murdock got a real kick out of his chief’s tone of righteous outrage. In his years with the teams Razor Roselli had destroyed more bars, worldwide, than insurance arson. But that was how SEAL chief petty officers were made. When Razor was a troop and fucked up, the platoon chief had hammered him. Now that he was a platoon chief, it was his turn to be Dad. On another level, though, it made Murdock uneasy. If the Razor was going to make the two of them stand at attention while he told the tale, it had to be a real beaut.
    The Razor continued. “You’re aware of the carnival that’s been on base the past week, sir?”
    It wasn’t fitting together, but Murdock had hopes. “The one for the kids, right? Rides and games and all that?” What did they do, he wondered, fuck someone’s daughter on top of the Ferris wheel?
    “Yes, sir,” Razor said crisply. “They also had some animals. It seems that a camel went missing last night.”
    “A camel?” Murdock asked in disbelief, shooting up straight in his chair and staring at Doc and Jaybird. They were giving him the innocent puppy-dog look. “You mean a full-size, Mark-1 camel? Hump and all?”
    “That’s right, sir,” the Razor went on, straight-faced. “This camel disappeared from the carnival, and then turned up again in the process of being inserted into the garage of the Special Warfare Group commanding officer.”
    “Not Commodore Harkins,” Murdock pleaded with Doc and Jaybird. “Not his fucking personal quarters.”
    “Oh, yes, sir,” the Razor assured him, while beads of sweat began to break out on Jaybird and Doc’s upper lips. “These two were interrupted in the act by Chief Master at Arms Marlowe, who was on patrol at the time.”
    “You got caught?” Murdock bellowed. Doing the crime was one thing, but a SEAL getting caught in the act was unforgivable.
    “We thought about killing him,” Jaybird blurted out. “But we figured you’d be even more pissed.” He caught the chief’s fiery look, and added, way too late, “Sir.”
    “Chief Marlowe is an old buddy of mine, sir,” said the Razor. “He brought the incident to my attention, and we handled it chief-to-chief.”
    Murdock had to strain to keep from letting out an audible groan of relief. Chief-to-chief was the only thing that kept the Navy running, not to mention officers like himself out of courts-martial. “Is the camel okay?”
    “Operational, sir, and returned to its rightful owners.”
    “They don’t want to press charges?”
    “No, sir. They were a little steamed about what was on the camel, but I managed to smooth things over.”
    Murdock knew he was going to be sorry, but he had to know. “Okay, what was on the camel?”
    “The number seven, sir.”
    “A seven?” Murdock flashed a massively pissed-off look at his two miscreants; they both wilted. “Oh, that’s good. That’s very fucking good. You two should instruct operational security. And of course while the commodore was standing in a pile of camel shit in his garage this morning, he’d never look at thatnumber and make any connection with Team Seven. No, noooo, not ever. Brilliant, just fucking brilliant.”
    The two looked like they were trying to dissolve into the deck.
    “Was it painted on?” Murdock asked no one in particular.
    “What’s that, sir?” asked the Razor.
    “The number, was it painted on?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Well?” Murdock demanded.
    “It was shaved on,” the chief said finally.
    “
Shaved
on? Where?”
    “On its ass, sir.”
    Doc and Jaybird