Hans looked like shit. Waking up early was not his thing and we had gotten up really early. Plus the humvee we were riding in didn’t have seats, so each bump and rut in the rugged dirt road tossed him side to side or bounced him off the bed of the truck. I thought the driver was doing pretty good considering he was wearing night vision goggles and driving down a tree lined road on a moonless night. Hans also wasn’t used to wearing body armor and a helmet. The bullet proof vest kept riding up making him look like a turtle retracting its head into a shell. I adjusted his helmet to fit him once, then he messed with the adjustment straps and now it rolled around on his head like a salad bowl. The Kurgan squated at the tailgate, holding himself upright with a rifle and peering into the darkness like a gargoyle. Inside the humvee was loud, but I was sitting close enough to the passenger to hear him key the radio. Whiskey Two Four we are approaching Tango Tango Seven, do you still have a...