The colonel peered down at the specialist for a moment. The specialist looked back up with a matching scowl, the bit of dip bulging his lower lip. The colonel’s scowl deepened for a moment, a sure sign of amusement. He carefully did not ask why the sergeant major was sliding the log under the jeep instead of the driver. Apparently O’Neal had the same opinion of Reynolds that he and the sergeant major did.

“You have a first name, O’Neal?” asked the colonel.

“Michael, sir,” stated the specialist. He moved the dip to the other side. Other than that his expression of terminal annoyance did not flicker.

“Michael or Mike?” asked the colonel with a deepening scowl.

“Mike, sir.”

“Nickname?”

Reluctantly, “Mighty Mite.”

As the sergeant major chuckled the colonel scowled fiercely, “Well, Specialist O’Neal, I reluctantly approve this procedure.”

“How’re we gonna break the bolts?” asked the sergeant major. That had been wearing on his mind more than lifting the jeep. There were plenty of things to use for levers if necessary but not a lug wrench to be seen.

Specialist O’Neal reached into his cargo pocket and with a flourish withdrew a crescent wrench all of eight inches long.

“Good luck,” snorted Reynolds, “they got put on at Brigade with an impact wrench.”

A smile violated the frown on O’Neal’s face for a moment. He knelt in the mud, cold water seeping into the fabric of his BDUs, adjusted the wrench and applied it to the nut. He drew a deep breath and let it out with a “Saaa!” His arm drove forward like a mechanical press and, with a shriek of stressed steel, the nut loosened.