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Back at my camp, I prepared for tomorrow's action and went to sleep. I intended to wake up at dawn, and I was confident that my battle habits from my years as a SEAL on active duty were still with me. I figured that the enemy camp would wake up about that time and be like a nest of disturbed ants when they saw so many dead men who had been murdered in their sleep.Well, I was correct on all counts. I woke up just as dawn began to break. I grabbed a quick meal of pemmican and water and pissed to relieve my bladder. Pemmican does not leave much waste, so I did not need to take the time to shit this morning. I had been counting on that.This time, I approached the enemy camp carrying both my Henry and my Sharps. I was not sure that I would need the Henry, today, but it would be foolish to leave it behind on pure speculation. I was in a good shooting position by the time the men began to form up on what had to be the "parade ground."It was my intention to shoot as many of the men as I could. He found a section of the beach that was relatively empty (meaning that the nearest group of people were only twenty feet away) and parked himself in a lounge chair. He put up a beach umbrella to guard himself from the worst of the sun's glare and then found a Fijian waiter who was willing to keep his rum and coke glass full at all times. He sat there, staring out at the water some of the time and staring at bikini-clad women most of the time. He smoked his cigarettes and sipped his drinks and before an hour had gone by he was pleasantly buzzed, working his way toward full-blown drunkenness.Of course his presence on the beach did not go unnoticed for long. Soon, the tourists began to drift over to him, mostly women between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five, most Australian or New Zealanders. He chatted with them amicably, signed autographs for them, and even signed a breast or two. He was offered sex no less than ten times — sometimes with innuendo, sometimes explicitly — and though.
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