>"Here sign here." said the man without a care who the man in front of him
>was. Then he started dumping gear on the counter.
David signed as requested.
>"Here are field uniforms for you and your... boys. Flack vests, type II
>phasers, extra power cell, transponder units, boots, heavy socks,... and on
>down a list of items. You will have to have this on *and* be squared away
>before you even think about boarding the transport. You screw it up, and
>they will dump your saggy butts mid-flight. Hint to you fleet weenies. Put
>the socks on before the boots, and the transponder unit goes on your upper
>arm. We use the transponder in case all hell breaks loose, and your butts
>have to be transported out. We want to get our people not the bad guys.
>Any questions?" the Master Sargent finally stopped giving them grief.
David looked it over as he read down the list-even if he wasn't familiar with certain devices, his security personnel would be familiar, "Thank you Master Sargent." As he looked at the list he glanced at the Master Sargent and noticed something-he repressed the smile as they went over each item and when they were done, "Oh, Master Sargent-my socks are fine but your fly is wide open." With that they walked out-equipment in hands-and returned to his quarters.
