Sly still wasn’t used to eating in the Officer’s Mess. When they’d off-loaded the Marines and on-boarded SOAR and the Rangers, they’d shifted around to consolidate the dining. Chief and above, SOAR’s flight crews, and the top Rangers all ate in the Officer’s Mess. Second class petty officers and down, SOAR line crews, and Ranger grunts shared the Crew’s Mess on the deck directly below.
Delta Force, the four of them, also ate in the Officer’s Mess and had staked out the two tables in the back corner, facing the entryway. Only a couple of the SOAR women comfortably crossed that invisible line from time to time. No one else.
Sly certainly didn’t.
What the hell do you say to a D-boy? They couldn’t talk about missions. “So, what did you guys take out of the American embassy in those packs?”
