the training grounds by none other than Captain Jim Land. Captain Land was running a drill on hill 55 where the men would crawl through the grass slowly towards him, if spotted they were eliminated. From an elevated position with binoculars in hand, Captain Land would call the men out by name when he spotted them. Most of the men didn’t last more than twenty minutes. An hour and fifty minutes into the exercise, Glen McMullen was the last man on the training field and eventually had to stand up to be spotted. Afterward, Captain Land said, “He was like a stone out there,” and the name stuck. Stone was a gentleman in every sense of the word. A political science graduate from Georgetown University, Stone was something of a contradiction when compared to the rest of the Devil Dogs in his unit. He was a democrat that enlisted in the Marine Corps by his own free will. James felt the upmost admiration for Lieutenant Stone and their partnership was not only pleasant, it flourished. As both men were from Irish ancestry they were nicknamed the “Mc’s.” Although derogatory, the name didn’t bother the two men and in a short time grew into a glorified term. Their impeccable record in the field made the two somewhat of celebrities in the service. When a commanding Officer said, “We’re bringing in the Mc’s for this one,” morale throughout the ranks instantly increased. Their popularity also increased with the Vietcong. For their entire second tour, both men had large bounties on their heads. Spending endless hours together, James saw Stone more as a brother than a friend. It was a Friday, the last day of a five day work week for James, more significantly, the last normal eight hour shift he would put in for the rest of his life. James was a veteran employee for Dunbar Security Services. For the last eleven years he collected a steady pay check twice a month and was one of the companies most trusted and valued employees. James spent his shift driving the streets of San Francisco as an in-transit armored truck driver. Fourteen stops collecting the goods of fourteen different banks and his shift was complete. However, today was going to be different. James needed a practice run to make sure every facet of his plan was covered, he couldn’t afford any slip-ups. As usual, James was the first one in the truck that morning. He slowly sipped his coffee while letting the truck warm up, a ritual he did everyday waiting for the other two guards to accompany him. The passenger door opened, and there stood Thomas Rooney. A tall and slender man at the ripe old age of fifty-three years, Thomas was a retired cop who became bored with his life away from work. Thomas smiled as he said, “You got the goods?” James slid a small plastic container across the seat of the truck towards Thomas. “Nice,” Thomas exclaimed as he grabbed the metal handle attached to the door frame and pulled himself up into the truck. “Where’s Grey?” James said. “Haven’t seen him.” Thomas opened the container of handmade flies in excitement. “Hey are these the ones you were telling me about?” 62 theMeadow
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