Reynolds without his acquiescence; to do otherwise would trigger a loud and public dressing down featuring the worst in English profanity. Ritter said as he wrote the grid on a yellow sticky note. He left his seat “Something’s up,” and made his way to the next lower aisle. The intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) section managed the brigade’s handful of unmanned drones. The video footage from the drones was streamed to the bank of plasma TVs across from the section, providing the operations center a real-time view of the battlefield. The officer in charge of the ISR night shift, First Lieutenant Cindy Davis, smiled as Ritter approached. Ritter smiled back, doing his best to keep up the appearance of a friendly conversation. He kept the sticky pad cupped in his hand as he squeezed behind Davis. He knelt next to her, taking cover from Reynolds’s view. Ritter slipped the sticky note onto the desk next to he Davis’s mouse pad. “Act casual,” said. this situation is totally Davis said. “Sure, casual,” that lieutenant screws up the courage to speak with for “Once Reynolds, he’ll ask permission for one of your drones to check out that Ritter said. we can get a drone grid,” “Think over there now and save some time?” Davis took the sticky note and tapped the grid into a chat box on her laptop along with some quick instructions to the distant drone pilots. A few seconds later, the footage on one of the plasma screens broke off from a leisurely scan of a highway and cut across the countryside. is a she said. She cocked her head to the side, the “No problem. Tonight’s show rerun,” dark-red bob of her hair shifting to reveal a decidedly nonregulation flower-shaped earring. sit in the conveniently empty chair next to me? Reynolds is talking to the “Why don’t you lieutenant now.” Ritter scooted into the seat. are hard to “Sorry, old, paranoid habits break.” will think flirting, not reallocating brigade assets without “Now everyone we’re She gave him a wink. The drone footage passed over a white truck Reynolds’ permission.” speeding along a dirt road. like we found a curfew she said. to “Looks violator,” “Want follow it?” out the grid “Let’s scope first.”
Reynolds without his acquiescence; to do otherwise would trigger a loud and public dressing down featuring the worst in English profanity. “Something’s up,” Ritter said as he wrote the grid on a yellow sticky note. He left his seat and made his way to the next lower aisle. The intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) section managed the brigade’s handful of unmanned drones. The video footage from the drones was streamed to the bank of plasma TVs across from the section, providing the operations center a real-time view of the battlefield. The officer in charge of the ISR night shift, First Lieutenant Cindy Davis, smiled as Ritter approached. Ritter smiled back, doing his best to keep up the appearance of a friendly conversation. He kept the sticky pad cupped in his hand as he squeezed behind Davis. He knelt next to her, taking cover from Reynolds’s view. Ritter slipped the sticky note onto the desk next to Davis’s mouse pad. “Act casual,” he said. “Sure, this situation is totally casual,” Davis said. “Once that lieutenant screws up the courage to speak with Reynolds, he’ll ask for permission for one of your drones to check out that grid,” Ritter said. “Think we can get a drone over there now and save some time?” Davis took the sticky note and tapped the grid into a chat box on her laptop along with some quick instructions to the distant drone pilots. A few seconds later, the footage on one of the plasma screens broke off from a leisurely scan of a highway and cut across the countryside. “No problem. Tonight’s show is a rerun,” she said. She cocked her head to the side, the dark-red bob of her hair shifting to reveal a decidedly nonregulation flower-shaped earring. “Why don’t you sit in the conveniently empty chair next to me? Reynolds is talking to the lieutenant now.” Ritter scooted into the seat. “Sorry, old, paranoid habits are hard to break.” “Now everyone will think we’re flirting, not reallocating brigade assets without Reynolds’ permission.” She gave him a wink. The drone footage passed over a white truck speeding along a dirt road. “Looks like we found a curfew violator,” she said. “Want to follow it?” “Let’s scope out the grid first.”
ID-Sample.docx