<div align="center">(http://i44.tinypic.com/juwjh2.jpg)<br/><strong>In the Stacks of Shipping containers<br/>Lee and Choi (And Johnson and Clark, potentially)</strong></div><br/>The shipping containers lay stacked three and four high around Lee and Choi as they moved towards the sound in the stacks.  It was impossible, under the circumstances, to see what color the containers were- everything looked flat and various shades of green in their night vision's gaze.  The stacks seemed to run for a long way down- certainly without the assistance of image intensifiers, there would be no way to see the end, and even with them, they seemed to stretch off to a hazy distance.  Every few containers, whoever had stacked them, back when people had the ability to move these things, had left enough of a gap to walk between the tall stacks that formed the long, straight<del>shooting galleries</del>alleyways between long rows and tall stacks of steel containers.<br/><br/>Despite their best efforts, it was impossible to keep totally silent.  Ammo rattled in belts and cans, boots dragged across the concrete and asphalt that covered the ground under them.  The whole thing was amplified by the cavern they moved through, corrugated steel bouncing and arching soundwaves up and down the way, and the fact that it was a still night- little wind, cool air, little humidity.  Of course, the person- it was clearly one person, it seemed- didn't cover his tracks well, running and stopping quickly, as if ducking between the gaps, or stopping randomly to look around.  The sound seemed to come from several directions, echoing around- though, Choi seemed to have a good handle on where it came from.  Tracking the sound across the rows proved a little time consuming for those involved, given the caution with which they worked.<br/><br/>As they moved around a corner between two clusters of stacks, they walked right around into something rather unexpected.  The door on the shipping container had come off at some point, and turned it into a large, perfectly formed, rectangular cave.  The stench inside was impressive- rotting food and meat, an overflowing toilet and flop sweat washed right out of it.  But, that quickly proved an afterthought.<br/><br/>There was a woman in the doorway.<br/><br/>She has a revolver in one hand, clutching something tightly to her body with another.  She turned into a duelist's pose, pistol in the hand facing the pair, the bundle in her other hand away from them, shrouded in darkness.  The gun wasn't up.  Yet.<br/><br/>"<em>You can't have my baby!</em>" she shrieked.<br/><br/>********************************************************************************<br/><br/><div align="center">(http://i39.tinypic.com/o8cgax.jpg)<br/>Back at the dock<br/>Everyone Not in the Stacks<br/></div><br/>Out on the docks, things were.. evolving.<br/><br/>"Dammit!  Get that rope around the barrel and the action, so we can get it up here!"  Sergeant Hart wasn't yelling- that wouldn't be too stealthy.  But, his voice was still forceful as he directed the crew down in the boat, and it carried a bit down the waterfront.  Luckily, there didn't seem to be anyone else out there to really give up the game to.  The guys in the boat seemed to get the job done, and Hart, Huerta and Commenia, along with one of the Navy guys, started to heave on the line, with Hart directing when to heave to pull the big .50 cal out of the boat and the tall dock.  "Keep it coming!" He urged.<br/><br/>Perhaps a hundred yards off the water sat a long, low building.  It was hard to make out too much detail, other than no one had opened fire on them from it.  Hart had sent Stover and Piper forward to provide security for the team as they worked to get supplies out of the boat, watching the building, in case someone inside was really patient, or if someone came down the road between it and the dock.  The two seemed to be assembling some sort of hasty position out of debris nearby.<br/><br/>"Alright, Lieutenant- we've got the boat's radio tied into the troop net, and it'll repeat back to your platoon's tactical net.  Everyone should be able to listen in to the Troop now, but if you want us to switch frequencies to Squadron or something else, you'll have to give us a call.  We'll monitor 1460, if you want us to dial another frequency into the repeater.  When do you want to start to offload, Ma'am, or do you want us to keep your stuff in the boat for now?"<br/><br/>That's when the shriek from the stacks cut through the night at the docks, mostly a unintelligible mess between the stacks and distance.