The fighter repeated the 9-line perfectly as the F-16s maneuvered into position overhead. By using the standard 9-Line format, Carpenter had given the fighters all the information they needed to take out the target, including elevation, coordinates formatted in Military Grid Reference System, distance from friendly positions and restrictions on attack direction.

“It’s Magic,” Spectre muttered.

Carpenter turned and gave Spectre a puzzled look.

“Magic? No man, it’s science. We give them the coordinates of the bad guys with this fancy laptop, they plug it into their system, and the bad guys go boom.”

“No shit smartass, I mean the guy flying. It’s Magic Manny,” Spectre fired back. Lt Col Steve “Magic” Manny was the Director of Operations for the Gators.

Carpenter picked up his binoculars with one hand and the handset of his radio in the other as he watched the F-16 roll in on its target.

“Thunder 11, in heading 275,” announced the tinny voice of Magic over the PRC-117.

“You’re cleared hot,” Carpenter replied, clearing the pilot to employ ordnance while ensuring that the fighter’s nose was pointing at the right target.

Spectre watched as the F-16 rolled in and hurled itself toward the ground. Seconds later, two objects fell as the jet turned back skyward. He winced in anticipation of the impact only to be greeted by two barely audible thuds.

“Good hits! Good bombs!” Carpenter exclaimed on the radio.

“Inerts are so anticlimactic,” Spectre sighed.

“What do you expect? They drop two five hundred pound pieces of concrete that are shaped to look like real bombs. It’s way better than when they roll in and just ‘simulate’ without anything coming off the jet. Now that is boring.” Carpenter always had a way of putting a positive spin on things.

Just as Spectre was about to explain the merits of training without any ordnance on the aircraft, his cell phone rang. It was his boss.

“I have to go Joe, thanks for letting me spot for you,” he said as he hung up the phone.

Carpenter gave him a nod and turned back to the target. He had invited Spectre to make the drive from Homestead to Avon Park to catch up and observe the Forward Air Controller side of Close Air Support. They had been friends since college, but aside from an e-mail or phone call here and there, they rarely got to see each other nearly ten years later.

Spectre picked up his backpack and climbed down the connex container to begin the mile hike back to his truck. His boss had been brief but the sense of urgency was apparent in his voice. It was time to quit playing and get back to the office - something new had come up.

With the boss as vague as he was, Spectre was forced to wonder what could be going on until completing the three-hour drive back to Homestead to find out. Was the store finally going to be bought out by a bigger chain? Did some new, rare find show up that needed an immediate appraisal? These were the new questions that weighed heavily on his mind since his transition to civilian life.