“You’ve got work to do.”

I turned back toward the lot where my utility truck sat idling under the oaks.

At seven forty-five I pulled into the motor pool bay at Joint Expeditionary Base Little Creek.

Kenneth Oakes was leaning against the heavy steel workbench in the shop, tapping the side of his steel-toe boot with a twelve-inch wrench.

The concrete floor smelled of gun oil, hydraulic fluid and stale coffee.

“Sandbridge sector four reported two separate casings uncovered by yesterday’s heavy surf,” Kenneth said, laying the wrench on a rubber mat.