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They proceeded forward between the two helicopter hangars, then to the left past officers country and up a ladder. The Combat Information Center was located one level below and just aft of the bridge, adjoining the commanding officers stateroom. Dark as a cave, it was horror newer than Pharriss and larger, but clownhouse less crammed. Twenty or more people were at work running a simulation. No, Goddammit!, howled a loud voice. You have to react faster. This heres a Victor, and he aint gonna wait for you to make up your damn mind! Attention horror on deck! Captain in Combat, called Ernst. As you were, called Morris. Whos love movies loud sunuvabitch? A barrel-chested man emerged from the shadows. His eyes were surrounded by crinkles from looking into too many low suns. So this was Jerry the Hammer OMalley. He knew him only by horror a crackling voice on a UHF radio, and by his reputation as a sub-hunter who cared more for talented mr ripley the trade than promotion boards. I guess you mean me, Captain. OMalley. Im supposed to drive your Seahawk-Foxtrot.

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