She gave CPO Toohey a small gray plastic rectangle. He waved it under a computing machine Black didn’t recognize. It must have read the information on the stick somehow, because the screen lit up.

“Whoa! We got us a celebrity!” The chief grinned. He was a tattooed old sea dog who would have fit right in on the Enterprise. “This is a premium piece of tail you got yourself, buddy. Authorized for deployment with main force infantry units. Rated to cover close-quarter combat. And cleared for tactical briefings up to and including the Classified Level Oh Three.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Duffy cooed, smiling broadly. “Your check’s in the mail.”

That just irritated Black all the more. Julia had been on his back about the way he spoke to the women in the Multinational Force, even though he was a goddamn paragon compared with most of the other guys. And here was this lughead talking about her like she was some kind of bar girl, right in front of her, and she fucking joked right back at him!

But he kept his mouth shut, because he didn’t trust his boiling temper.

The armory was a hive of activity. He had no idea what units most of the men and women who were checking out weapons and armor belonged to. Why they even had an armory like this on a carrier was a mystery to him. But even if they had a legitimate reason to tool up, he didn’t see that a lady reporter had any call to be down here. No matter how tough she liked to think she was.

As Black fumed, the long lines of troopers moved through. An amazing array of guns and equipment came over the counter. The chief ran his eyes down the text on the screen, nodding and grunting as if he’d found a great buy on a used car.

“Hey, you embedded with the Hundred and First for South Yemen,” he said to Julia, during a brief lull. “My brother was in that. Jeez, what a fucking circus that was.”

“Got shot in the ass by one of the clowns,” said Duffy.

She was doing this on purpose now. Black was certain. And Chief Toohey seemed to be playing along.

“Okay, Ms. Duffy. You taking body armor?”

She nodded. “Brought my own on board, back in Darwin. You should have it in there somewhere. Serial number’s on the data stick. It’s a Brooks Brothers, T-nine carbon-titanium weave, size ten.”

“I woulda said size eight.”

“You’re too kind, Chief.”

Dan rolled his eyes.

He noticed that one of Julia’s fellow reporters had fronted the counter a few spots down. He seemed to want nothing more than a flak jacket and helmet.

“You gonna take a personal weapon, Ms. Duffy?”

“Do bears shit in the woods?”

“I’ve heard rumors to that effect. Okay, I can let you have a cut-down AR-15, but not the grenade launcher.”