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something.  I said, "You mean, go over and stalk them in their native habitat, sir?"

    Chapter 6
     
    My second trip to the ranch was more relaxed.  Good old Frank was waiting at the airport to pick us up - I'd acquired a companion on the trip down from Washington, a guy called Daryl.  That was his code name, as mine was Eric.  After I'd failed to walk out in horror following my first meeting with Mac, I'd been assigned the name and instructed to use it exclusively on official business, including training.  It wasn't really so much a cloak and dagger tactic as it was a means of giving each of us something to call the other without giving away unnecessary information such as our real names and ranks.
     
    Daryl was older, in his late twenties, and, unlike me, had already had some combat experience before being recruited by Mac and was just a little smug about it - an attitude I was looking forward to erasing with a demonstration of my superior skills.  I guess I qualified as being a little big-headed back then, too.  Of course, both of us would have it knocked out of us very shortly.  Daryl was my opposite in looks: just under five foot ten and stocky where I was tall and thin.  He had short, dark-brown hair and brown eyes and the general look we usually defined as black Irish, although he had no trace of an Irish accent.
     
    I disliked him on sight, probably because I've always had an instinctive distrust of brown eyes, a prejudice which I'll cheerfully admit is perfectly ridiculous.  Daryl, on the other hand, seemed to take a liking to me in a condescending manner, and as training progressed, he kind of adopted me as his younger brother, more than once pulling someone off me when tempers flared.  I gradually warmed up to him and, a few months later, felt ashamed of my initial feelings when he took a bullet pushing me out of the line of fire on our first mission.  He came through it all right, but I felt like a heel.
     
    Frank had greeted us like old comrades, surprising the hell out of me.  It seemed I was past the probation period and was now part of the group, officially acknowledged and accepted rather than being treated like some intruder.  It turned out that Frank was our surveillance and interrogation instructor and had come to us from Army Intelligence.  He was friendly and talkative during our drive out to the Ranch, but I noticed he was careful not to give us any hint as to his personal life or background other than the reference to his former unit.
     
    We went through the same routine as on my first visit, but this time people looked at us and actually waved as we drove up.  Frank explained that the Ranch had been reserved for new recruits only the first time - Daryl had been there too, even though I'd never seen him.  This time only the survivors were present for final training and security had been relaxed accordingly.
     
    Frank let us off at a different bungalow this time and told us we were bunkmates.  "You two are the last to arrive," he said.  "Initial briefing is at twenty hundred in the opposite end of the canteen building.  You've got about an hour to settle in and get a bite to eat.  Don't be late."
     
    I never did find out how many of us started the first phase of training, but only nine of us survived it - at least in this group.  I found out later that we were the second such group.  How the initial instructors were selected and trained I don't know and was afraid to ask.  When Daryl and I walked into the canteen, everyone was there, including one woman, much to the surprise of both of us.  Somehow I'd gotten the impression that this was a men-only club, which just goes to show you how wrong my first impressions often were.
     
    I caught a glimpse of someone in an apron heading through the door behind the counter - our shy cook, I guessed - but otherwise it was laid out the same, even to the watery mashed potatoes and synthetic beef.  I was mildly surprised to find the