0700. I reached the muster point on the Camp Cypress perimeter road where Alpha and Bravo companies were on high alert. They’d heard the explosion and seen the column of black smoke rising above the trees to their east. I pulled up behind Mobile Command 1 and was hit with a dozen questions before I could climb out of the driver’s seat. We’d been fired upon. Units to the south were still exchanging fire with an unseen enemy. My squad leaders had gotten anxious in my absence. That was just fine with me. Anxious meant ready to move. They didn’t know about the fuel depot and didn’t need to. They just asked about the Plonks, the dreaded Plonks, and what in the name of God those crazy rednecks had that could make that big of an explosion, and why in the name of God were they suddenly attacking us along the treeline. They didn’t ask about Slater, Koch, Ramirez and Haines. By the time their absence was noticed, there would be too much happening to care. At 0730, I entered MobComm1 and issued the order. The retaking of Camp Cypress was underway.