Turn 7 - Alea Jacta Est

Time ticked away slowly as Cpt. Ramsey, Lt. Courtney, SFC McIntyre, and SPC's Hughes and Risov, all sat in the darkened cell. It was poorly lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, and smelled of mold and stale urine. It could have been from the Inquisition, the look of a dungeon hasn't changed much in the last 1000 years or so. SFC McIntyre looked around, and said, "Well, it could be worse."

Risov countered with his fatalistic view of their immediate future. "I'm willing to bet a bullet in the brain would be an easy choice over what they have in store for us -- could be torture, a work camp, or worse. I'll tell you this, though. If they wanted us dead, we'd already be climbing the Stairway to Heaven..."

Their conversation was cut short, as the sound of keys rattling in the lock could be heard. The head NCO, backed up by two more guards, opened the door and stepped in, his nose wrinkling at the smell. He looked at the various faces in the room, and then raised his hand and pointed at Carter. "You, Hughes. Follow me, and don't give me any grief." The door slammed behind him, as the left the room.

Carter was marched down the hall, and let in another room, just a short distance away from the cell. It might as well have been a mile away, though. The walls looked like they could take a direct hit from a 155mm. His guards had followed him in, and sat him down in a simple metal folding chair, facing a simple wooden table.

Carter sat down and looked around the room, happy to see no rusting dentist's tools on the table. He figured he was asked in first by the LT because they considered him to be the weakest link. Well, Carter wasn't worried by that, let them think what they wanted. He glanced around at the men behind him, hoping that he wouldn't get hit from behind. Carter didn't fancy getting beaten up. He would tell the LT what ever he wanted to know about the assassination, after all, he had nothing to hide. And if he could avoid being hurt, that would be a bonus. Carter could imagine the Captain in here, no doubt being defiant and all 'airborne ranger like', refusing to answer any questions, or Risov, who would probably enjoy being beaten

Sitting on the edge of the table was Lt. Smith. He looked at Carter, then pulled his sidearm from it's holster. He checked it's load, and then laid it down on the table he was sitting on. At least he didn't look angry, he looked pretty calm and matter of factly. Carter hoped the pistol on the table was a charade. They weren't really going to shoot him, were they?

Lieutenant Smith stood up, and walked over to stand directly facing Carter. "I'm not going to sit around and play games with you, Hughes. So you will answer one question. If you answer it to my satisfaction, you will be allowed to leave. The question is this, how much have you told your buddy Risov about the operation at Umatilla?"

Umatilla!?! Carter was thrown by Smith's question. He had fully expected to be asked about the assassination attempt on General Bradley. "Umatilla?" Carter replied. "Is this something to do with my volunteering for the operation up near Pendleton?" He quickly added, "My orders were to never talk about what I saw or did, Sir!" he said, adding the last part with emphasis. He hoped playing the good little soldier, and telling the officer exactly what he wanted to hear, would get him out of this mess.

Smith looked a little irritated. "I know what your orders were, I helped draft them. What I am looking for is some sort of assurance from you that you have not divulged any information about what you saw there." He squatted down on his heels, so that he could look directly into Carter's face. His eyes were devoid of pity, and he spoke in tones filled with menace. "Now, Specialist Hughes. Convince me."

Carter turned to Smiths face, looking into the man's eyes. He thought maybe they might just shoot him. "Nothing to tell, sir. I had no idea what was going on. I volunteered to do something different after a year of garrison at Camp Clark. The only difference in Pendleton was I was facing goddam Nazi's from Idaho instead of Russians." He could still remember finding the missing patrol the Nazi's had strung up on telephone poles, they'd even cut swastika's onto the bodies. Nazi bastards. Carter shook his head and looked straight ahead. "The only thing I've told Risov, or anyone else, is to never volunteer for anything." he said.

Smith looked intently in Carter's eyes for several seconds, and then stood up, chuckling. "Never volunteer. The soldier's watchword. All right Hughes, I believe you. You're free to go." The LT walked back to the table, and reholstered his weapon. He reached into a box on the table, and pulled out Carter's 9mm Luger. "I believe this is yours, Specialist," he said as he handed it butt first to Hughes. He spoke to the guards, "Please escort Specialist Hughes back to the compound." The guards snapped to, both replying "Yes, Sir!" They opened the door, motioning to Carter. As they headed for the exit, Smith spoke up again, "Oh, and Specialist, don't forget, those orders still stand. I'm sure that you are aware of the penalty of disobeying those orders. I'll be watching."

Carter turned to Smith, "I bet you will, sir," he replied. As he was escorted out into the corridor, a big grin crept onto his face, unseen by the guards behind him. Well, you got through that, Carter my boy.... he thought to himself. But now I don't have a clue what the hell is going on. Smith wasn't interested in the General at all, but whatever is going on at Umatilla is damn sure important. Carter smiled to himself again, not only had he survived, but Smith had even told him some important information. Maybe these MI boys weren't as clever as they thought.

The guards escorted him up the stairs and outside the bunker. Carter looked at them in disbelief as they turned to go back down. "What, I'm free... I can just go?." he asked with uncertainty. One of the MI men nodded and grunted a yes. "Cool," said Carter. He slowly walked away from the bunker, wondering if it was some kind of trick. He tried to remain calm but his heart rate increased and he felt butterflies in his stomach. The minute Carter approached the nearest building in the Brigade area he turned around the corner and ran like hell. He wondered if he should have waited around to see if the others would be released but decided against it. Just in case Smith saw him and changed his mind. He could catch up with Risov later, maybe.

Carter slowed down the sense of excitement and exhilaration beginning to fade. He thought about what had happened in the last few hours. Not often you stop a General being assassinated. Carter lit up a cigarette as he made his way through Camp Clark. He decided to head back to his dugout get some sleep and see if everything would return to normal tomorrow. No doubt someone in HQ would figure out what was going on and fix it up.

Ramsey motioned to the people with him. Pointing to his ear, then eye, after which he made a circle with his hand over his head. He pointed to LT Courtney, and then the door. He stood, and began checking everything in the room; tables, chairs, light bulb, bedding. "OK, does anyone not think that the 201st is up to something? Is there a reason that the Commanding officer has not been brought into this? Or more importantly, the Brigade's Intelligence officer?" Ramsey let the information sink in.

SFC McIntyre spoke up first, "Well Cap'n, bein' in this here cell don't exactly put them Intel type's in a good light, if you know what I mean. They're dirty as hell, and I don't have any doubt that they tried to kill the General. I just can't figure how they thought they could get away with it. General Bradley's the closest thing we've got to a celebrity, the people love him. They all know how good they got it here, compared to those poor folks in Washington, or in Idaho. This whole 'questioning' thing, I just can't figure it." He shook his head in frustration.

Ramsey replied, "Well Top, the questioning is to see just how much we do know, what we have put together, and what we are just guessing at. When they are satisfied, they will shoot us and use our bodies as the scapegoat for the whole stinking mess. Any guess how many are out there? Did you see what we need to cut through to get out of here? Let's prepare for leaving when they come back with Carter. We can have a surprise for them," Ramsey said, smiling with a smile of knowing.

Lt. Courtney's head snapped up at Ramsey's words. "Do you have a plan in mind? Whatever it is, count me in. Anything is better than sitting here, waiting for a bullet from the executioner."

Ramsey's smile was predatory in nature, as he looked the men over. He waved all the troopers in close, "We wait for them to bring back Carter. Then we get all the guards inside the room. I will tap two of them, and you get that stinking creature of a Top Gestapo, Mac! Lieutenant, Risov, you get the weapons from the two guards that get dropped. Then we cut out from this place, giving everything a good dose of lead poisoning. We head for the hospital to keep it under guard. Hopefully, Sergeant Johnson has got everyone gathered and heading to the General. Questions?" Ramsey spoke so softly, it forced the men to move in closer.

As he spoke, the sound of footsteps could be heard coming down the hall to the cell, and then keys could be heard in the lock. The door was flung open, and the guards appeared once more. They stood in the doorway, not entering the cell, and Carter was nowhere to be seen. The head guard spoke up, "Captain Ramsey, it's your turn. Follow me."

Ramsey stood slowly, facing the door, allowing the others to move away. The look on his face was one of utter contempt and fury. "Where's Specialist Carter? What happened to him? This farce has gone far enough! I want the commander here now. Or none of us are going anywhere!"

The guard replied, "Specialist Carter has been released, as if that were any of your concern. As for the commander, that's who I'm taking you to. Now, are you going to cooperate? Or are we going to have to do this the hard way?" He pulled the billy-club from his belt, tapping the business end against his other hand. The grin on his face told them which choice he hoped Ramsey would make.

Ramsey slowly leaned back against the wall. No one could really tell that he wasn't actually leaning, the wall was right against his back, and he was able to stand on his heal and ball of each foot. His hands slowly slipped into his jacket pockets. "Are you really going to try and beat an officer of the United States Army?", he asked with mock shock and indignation. Ramsey waited for the top soldier to come in, waiting for the others to join him as well. He knew the Top wouldn't come in without the goon's. He knew the room was hostile. And with Ramsey completely across the room, it was a long walk for someone without any balls. The smile that came to his face showed that. Mocking this martinet of a top soldier, he said, "Well, Sergeant?" Ramsey dragged out the word so that it seemed vile.

The guard shook his head, "You just don't get it, do you? As long as you're here, you aren't a Captain, you're a prisoner. Prisoner's don't have any rights, and they don't ask questions, they answer them. And yes, if I have to, I will beat you so badly your own mother wouldn't recognize you. My orders state that you have to be able to answer questions. They don't care about much else." He entered the cell and approached Captain Ramsey, flanked on either side by 2 other guards who also were carrying billy-clubs. "For example, if I shatter your kneecap, you'll still be able to talk, but you'll be on crutches for the rest of your life. Do you have any idea what the life expectancy of a cripple is these days?"

With a growl that sounded more animal than human, SFC McIntyre launched himself at one of the guards, tackling him by surprise. They fell to the ground in a heap, trading blows as they rolled around the floor. Lt Courtney grabbed the other guard slamming him against the wall. The commander reacted quickly, raising his club in the air, aiming for Ramsey's skull.

Risov, crouched at the floor, saw his opportunity, and sprung at the man who was aiming for Ramsey's skull. He wanted to take advantage of the commander being focused on Ramsey, and the angle of their positions. Risov's move was a forearm strike, and it's target was the man's throat. He put all of his strength into the blow, hoping not only to incapacitate the man, but also to do it without letting the man raise a shout in alarm.

Risov was fast, but the guard was faster. The billy club swung down in a fierce arc, connecting with Ramsey's skull with a sickening thud. Ramsey's eyes showed white as his knees buckled. He toppled over face first onto the concrete floor.

A split second after Ramsey was struck, Risov slammed into the guard. His forearm glanced off of the guards chin, knocking him off balance. The guard tried to swing around to deal with this new threat, as they both fell to the ground a mere moment behind Ramsey.

Angelica sat holding her arm, lost in prayer, as she awaited her fate. A few moments later, two soldiers ran up to her position, their weapons held out at the ready. One of the troops said to the other, "Hey, it's a Medic." The other replied, "Yeah, a chick Medic." He looked down at Angelica and chuckled, "What's that saying, physician heal thyself? It doesn't look like you're hurt too bad." He reached down and grabbed Angelica's sidearm from it's holster, shoving it inside his belt. He looked back over at his partner, "Well, let's take her back into town, and hand her over to the Sergeant."

The other soldier looked Angelica up and down, with a gleam in his eye. "Naw, I got me a better idea. Hold my weapon." He passed his weapon over to his partner, and glanced back at Angelica. "Now, you just be a good girl, and do what you're told, and maybe you'll make out OK." He reached out and pulled her helmet off, tossing it aside absently. He stroked her hair in a way that might have been considered almost gentle in any other setting. "Oh yeah," he said, "I'm going to like this."

His partner looked around nervously. "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this," he said. "Shut up," was the reply, "Besides, who the hell is going to stop us? The law? We ARE the law! Now that the old man is out of the picture, nothing can stop us! We're kings, so start living like one!", the trooper shouted in triumph. He looked back at Angelica, "And I'm going to start right now. Come here baby, give your king some sugar." He licked his lips in eager anticipation.

Angelica recoiled from the caress like it was a snake's flickering tongue. "I'm...I'm hurt," she said, desperately trying to believe that what the man's eyes, words, and gestures said were not what she saw. Eyes gone wide and frightened as a doe's, she looked past him to the other soldier, the nervous one. "Please," she all but whispered.

Angelica tried to wriggle backwards away from the crowing soldier, right arm crossed tightly over her chest protectively. Her fingers still held pressure on her wound and she could sticky, clotting blood forming on them. "I'm bleeding. Please help me dress the wound." She began to edge around the bole of the tree, scrabbling awkwardly with her butt and legs; anything to put distance between herself and the man with lust in his eyes.

The trooper laughed, "Now, where do you think you're going?" He caught up to her easily, grasping her by the blouse of her BDU's. He pulled suddenly, popping the buttons off of her shirt. The gleam in his eyes grew even stronger, "Oh yes, oh yes indeed." He pulled Angelica to him by her blouse, forcing her to kiss him. He let go of her momentarily, looking down on her and smiling. "This is going to be even better than I thought," he said. He started unbuttoning his own blouse, grinning lasciviously.

The man's mouth was horrible upon hers. Angelica's lips were crushed back against her lips, and she felt the blood begin to weep from them. Desperately, she tried to keep her lips closed, but the trooper's hand caught her chin and his fingers pressed into the corners of her jaw, forcing them open. She squirmed against him, but with one arm wounded and against a man she had little hope of breaking away.

Finally, the terrible kiss was over. Angel looked up at him, lips already swelling, and tried to drag her torn BDU blouse closed over her t-shirt. Her eyes darted to the other man, then back to the one in front of her. She could believe it was happening, but was damned if she'd go down without hurting him. Waiting until his hands were busy, she suddenly struck. Putting the entire force of her body behind the blow with her off hand, she drove a fist towards his testicles. Arm, shoulder, back, even the long muscles of her hips all came into play as she put all her fear and anger into the attempt. "Pendejo!"

The soldier fell to the ground like a balloon that had been popped. He groaned in agony, while his eyes filled with anger. "You bitch," he snarled, "you'll pay for that." He slowly pulled himself to his knees, while at the same time removing a Gerber knife that was sheathed on his chest. He struggled to regain his breath, as he waved the knife in front of Angelica's face. "I was going to let you live," he said between gasps, "but now....before I'm done, you'll beg for me to kill you."

Without warning, a shot rang out. Blood exploded from the attacker's head, spraying both Angelica and the dirt around her. The look on his face as he toppled to the ground was one of confusion, as if his last conscious thought was to wonder what the hell had just happened. The dead soldiers partner stood behind the body, smoke rising from the barrel of his rifle. "I...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean...I didn't want this. It was wrong, what he did, what he tried....."

He stumbled backwards, bumping into a tree. Slowly, he slid down it's trunk, until he was squatting on the ground. He seemed close to tears as he rambled on, almost talking to himself, "I just wanted to do my part, I just wanted to fight. They told me it was important work, looking for spies and terrorists. They said that it was part of the job, that sometimes a few had to suffer, so that the rest could live. How was I supposed to know?" He looked over at Angelica, as a tear rolled down his face, "How was I supposed to know it would end up like this?"

A deep shudder coursed through her body. Angelica knew now what real fear was, and what it was like to feel utterly helpless. Aware that Death's stalking horse still rode close to her, she moved slowly. Blood from the would be rapists body dried cold and sticky on her face. "It's not your fault," she said softly. What she wanted to do was run screaming into the woods, but she couldn't. If her wound didn't kill her, then this soldier, so close to the razored edge dividing sanity and insanity, very well would. "You helped me. Anyone will see that. You're a good man." Slowly she stood up and stepped over the corpse. Angelica repeated her words, "You're a good man. You saved me. Now I need you to help me some more. I'm hurt, and I'm going to bleed out." She kept her eyes on his, trying to draw him in with her gaze and her softly spoken words. It was crucial he think of her as a friendly and someone he could help and protect.

He looked dully at the medical bag, and then up at Angelica. It took him several seconds to focus, it was as if he couldn't comprehend what she was saying. Slowly, he shook his head, "I can't help you. I can't help anybody anymore." He glanced over his shoulder, "There's a Jeep over there, a hundred meters or so, on a trail. Take it and go. Get away from here, it's not safe anymore." He started to laugh, a sad, ironic laugh. "No place is safe anymore." He pulled Angelica's Beretta from his waistband, and looked back at her, "You know, you're pretty."

"NO!" she yelled, as he brought the pistol up. It was too late, and Angelica could only begin to reach for the weapon when the muffled report sounded. Gas and powder and the bullet blew up into his cranium, expanding it obscenely before popping it like an overripe cantaloupe. Stupidly she knelt by his side and tried to scoop pieces of his head back into the gaping hole. Her breath came in harsh sobbing jerks as she worked mindlessly.

Finally she stopped and slumped back. How long she sat there Angel couldn't say. "Thirsty. I'm so thirsty," she murmured in a daze. Angelica's hands plucked ineffectively at her canteen, the left one not cooperating due to the wound in her arm. Once she got it out it was all she could do to raise it to her mouth and drink heavily, water spilling down her chin and onto her t-shirt. I'm shocky she realized. Excessive thirst, loss of focus, rapid, shallow breathing; all of these were signs her body was going to shut down and soon. If she didn't do something she'd likely join the two corpses on the forest floor.

"Move, trooper. Pressure dressing. Fluids. Not too many fluids because you'll vomit." Shaky fingers unwrapped a field dressing from her kit and she put it in place over the wound. Getting it tied in place took a little creativity but her teeth were able to hold one end of the strapping while she tightened it with her hand. Blood soaked into the pad, turning it dark, but at least she wasn't just bleeding freely anymore. From her doctor's medkit she took and swallowed a couple of aspirin and some broad-spectrum antibiotics. Neither one would probably do a lot, but she couldn't risk taking a sedative.

Loathe to touch the dead man's hand for some reason, Angelica used a stick to push her Beretta free of his cold grip. The hammer fell forward as she slipped the safety on before holstering it. Leaving him, she went to the dead rapist and stared down at his body. He can't hurt you. Get his rifle and ammunition, Angelica. It took several repetitions of the reassurance to convince herself, then she stripped his weapon and magazines from the body and went over it for anything else of use.

When she was done, Angelica stood up, good hand holding the rifle where the barrel was shrouded by the handguards. Anger built up in her and spilled out. Savagely she slammed the butt of the M-16 down on his face, hearing and feeling the bones of the cheek shatter. Again and again the rifle rose and fell as she vented her fear and fury on her attacker. Almost mindless now she resorted to kicking him when her arm was too tired to raise the now heavy rifle anymore. Sobs escaped her, alternating with growls and obscenities until, finally, she was done. The man's face had disappeared, ground away by her attack, head deformed by the blows. Angelica stumbled off through the woods, heading vaguely towards where the good soldier had said the jeep was parked. What am I going to do?

Angelica staggered off through the woods, lugging the equipment she had pulled off the dead soldier from the 201st MI. Her close brush with death, the pain of her throbbing arm, and the dark of night, all served to disorient her as she tried to make her way to the vehicle the young man had mentioned, just before blowing off the top of his head.

Finally, after several tense minutes, she stumbled out of the woods, and onto what looked like an old logging trail. About 30 meters up the trail, she spotted the vehicle, a Korean War-vintage Willys Jeep, painted OD green. A radio had been crudely mounted on the passenger side, and Angelica could hear voices coming from it as she approached; "Unit 17, what's your status, Over. Damn it Winters, I know you can hear me, answer the goddamn radio! I've got the LT breathing down my neck for a report."

As if it was a serpent that could sink its fangs into her, Angelica reached over to the radio's controls. She swore at the pain, and then reached over with her undamaged arm to turn down the radio, reducing the demanding voice to a barely audible murmur. Gear clanked as she tossed it into the back of the jeep. Avoiding looking at the gory butt of the M-16, she pushed it aside and cradled the MP-5 to her chest with her bad arm.

The envelope with the word "Orders" on it beckoned her like a moth to the flame. After fumbling in the dark for a minute, she finally found the switch that controlled the jeep's headlights. Pulling it out halfway, the marker lights came on. Using their dim light, which still seemed bright to her dark-adjusted eyes, she began to painfully read the orders. Never very good at reading, Angelica's lips moved as she read, and from time to time she had to start over, trying to make sense of the words.

1. All personnel involved with Phase 1, code named "Lightning", are hereby ordered to be in place NLT 17APR2010 at 1000Hrs. Once the main objective is achieved and official notification has reached the local commander, they are hereby authorized to proceed to Phase 2.

2. Phase 2, code named "Thunder", will commence when both A: All subordinate units have replied that they are in full compliance of all objectives of Phase 1, as laid out in previous communications, and B: Official notification from subordinate units directly involved in Phase 2 has been received and verified.

Angelica finally reached the end of the brief orders. She had no more clue than when she started what they meant, but she'd read them. For her, that was an accomplishment to be proud of. The paper crinkled as she folded it carefully back up and placed it inside the envelope. Angelica debated what to do with the set of orders. Someone, someone with more rank and skill with reading would want to see them. She was just buggered if she knew who that would be.

Eventually she folded the envelope around the curve of her right hip, sandwiched between her panties and skin. Even if someone frisked her they'd likely miss the envelope and Angelica knew it was important she not lose it. From the radio a dim light showed. Angelica turned it off completely. Someone could trace her by it, she thought, ignorant of the fact that triangulation only worked when you were transmitting.

The MI boys would come looking for their missing men. They might be on their way even now. Angelica needed the mobility of the jeep to escape their net, but at the same time the jeep made her very conspicuous. It was hard to shift and keep the wheel straight, she found, since her left arm hurt so, but Angelica pressed her lips together tightly and did it. White light shone to the rear of the jeep as the transmission switched into reverse.

Making a three-point turn that ended up being five, Angelica turned the jeep around and drove it back down the trail towards where it had come from. Anyone looking for the jeep would assume that the person in it had headed away from the last known position. They'd never think to look for it behind where it was supposed to be.

She hoped so anyway. Angelica drove as far as she dared, then picked a likely place to pull the jeep off the road to hide it. Once she got it far enough away she'd have to go back and see about covering the wheel marks where she turned off the trail.

Angelica got the jeep started up on the third try and put it into gear, following the tracks back the way they came. She followed the old rutted logging trail as it wound it's way through the forest. She bounced in her seat as she passed over an old bridge. A battered sign, with it's paint peeling, identified the name of the stream she was crossing as Whiskey Creek. Slowly, she made her way closer to the Camp. It was taking a lot longer than it would have on the main road, the trail had not been maintained in years, and it meandered all over the map like a snake on Quaaludes.

Finally, she could just make out light coming from Camp Clark through the trees. It looked like it was about half a mile away. As she looked around her, she could see a spot off to her left where the trees thinned out a little. It looked like a good spot to stash the jeep.

She looked behind her as she pulled the jeep between two fir trees. The tracks from the jeep were visible on the muddy trail, although they were mixed in with older tracks as well. She thought briefly about trying to cover them up, but a sudden feeling of dizziness, as well as the pain in her arm, told her that wasn't going to happen. She got out of the jeep, and started to make her way to Camp.

Angelica left all of the scavenged, looted really, equipment behind in the jeep. It would be a bad thing to be caught with it plus it was just too heavy for her, in her weakened state, to lug about. Merely putting one mud-encrusted boot in front of the other was a Herculean labor that took most of her energy. The rest was absorbed with not screaming out every time she stumbled and jarred her wounded arm.

She made no attempt at stealth while approaching the camp. Angelica had had quite enough at being shot at this evening, and didn't want the sentries to think she was sneaking up on them. Plus, how would you sneak into a heavily defended camp? Getting out had been easy - it was presumed people leaving belonged inside in the first place.

It wasn't as if she had much choice anyway. Back in town the MI boys were rounding up civilians for Dios alone knew what purpose. Back here, back among the drab camouflage uniforms and ordered chaos of a military unit, she knew there was some measure of security.

Bill returned to the company CP after his meeting with the Colonel. The 10 or so men that he had left with SGT Mazurowski had now swollen to several dozen, with more arriving by the minute. They came by one's and two's, and by squad's, but still they came. And they were loaded for bear. There were machine gunner's, with belts of ammo criss-crossed on their chest, grenadier's lugging cases of HE, and riflemen with spare bandolier's of 5.56. Snipers pulled on Ghillie suits and checked their optics, while a mortar team passed out extra rounds to the rapidly growing crowd. There was even what appeared to be one of the cooks, still wearing his apron, and armed with nothing more than a butcher knife and a meat cleaver. Ski was in the middle of the group, when he looked up and spotted Bill's return, and ran up to him.

"Do you see?" , he asked as he swept his arm across the scene. "It's like something out of the Bible. I sent all the men to find anybody they could get their hands on, and tell them what had happened to the General. 10 minutes later the first ones started to arrive. It's....it's a miracle, a holy miracle." They both looked up as a full platoon arrived on the scene. "They're still coming. The word is spreading like wildfire." He looked over at Bill, "What did the Colonel say? What are our orders?"

A hush came over the crowd, as they craned their necks in, huddling around Bill and Ski, straining to hear every word. The silence was deafening, it was as if at that very moment, the whole world was hanging on every word Bill was about to say.

"Ski, get these men properly armed," he said, nodding towards the cook. "We march out of here in less than five.. there's a Uzi on my bunk in the head shed there.. give it to Cookie, and a quick course if he's not familiar. And I want the NCOs front and center now." Bill rubbed the back of his weary neck.

As the NCOs arrived and assembled, Bill spoke up. "OK gentlemen, I'll make this fast...Regiment's orders.. secure the General and make sure nothing further happens to him. The Colonel is under 'protective custody', so I want to make sure nothing happens to him either."

"Form into squads and platoons by company, we're an organization, not a mob.. we move out in five, staggered column of twos... Ski, get some scouts out now.. and we don't take crap from the Gestapo, but we'll try to avoid trouble. Colonel's orders... in case Ivan gets wind and tries to take advantage of the situation. I also want six good men to keep an eye on the activities around the HQ. Keep a very low profile.. invisible even."

A short SSG stepped up. "Let me take care of that job." He looked around to the other NCO's, "SSG Cho, Sniper Detachment," he said, by way of introduction. "Me and my shooters can have that place covered six ways to Sunday, and they'll have no idea that we're there. We'll make sure nothing happens to the Colonel. My call sign is Dragon Five, and I'll make sure to keep you all updated on what's going on." He looked back at the men in Ghillie suits, "All right boys, follow me. It's Wabbit season."

As Carter approached the dugout he called home, he stopped in amazement. There was a huge mass of soldiers surrounding the 1/5 area, and they looked like they were armed to the teeth. More men arrived every minute, their numbers were past 100 now, and growing rapidly. Something was definitely up.

He spotted some familiar faces, among them his company's Weapons Platoon leader, SGT Jim "Ski" Mazurowski, and SSG Johnson, in the middle of the throng. Apparently, he had managed to elude the 201st's clutches, and it looked like he was getting together one hell of a posse.

Soldiers were everywhere, all heavily festooned with weapons. Carter wandered up to the ever growing crowd. And stood next to a cook who was still wearing an apron and had a goddam meat cleaver in his hand. Carter felt naked only carrying the Luger in his belt. He stopped and listened to what Sergeant Johnson had to say.

The orders were brief and to the point. They had to make sure nothing else happened to the General and the Colonel as well. Carter wasn't sure how they could avoid trouble with the 201st though. That depended on what orders Lieutenant Smith had been given.

As the men were ready to move out Carter nervously raised his arm from the crowd so that Sergeant Johnson could see him. "Err... Sarge. Thought you should know that military intel officer Smith has LT Courtney, Captain Ramsey and Risov locked in a bunker over in the Brigade HQ area. He's going to interrogate them."

Bill pulled up short. Motioning Hughes forward with a stern look in his eye.. "That son of a.... What do you mean they're locked in a bunker? Do you know where this bunker is? How long have they been held?"

Carter approached Sergeant Johnson. "Military Intelligence took us in for questioning. They locked us in a bunker in the Brigade HQ area. I suppose they've been there maybe 45 minutes or so. I can show were it is." he said willingly.

As the group was finally assembled, and scouts were dispatched to the bunker, Bill grabbed Ski...."Ski take half of these platoons and get to the hospital. Secure the General and make sure nobody harms him. Don't let the douche oh worst get in your way either. Those sons a bitches have gone too far already.. get on it now.. we'll link with you when we get Ramsey's group out of the bunker."

Without waiting for a reply, Carter turned around and ran as fast as he could back to his dugout. It was dark inside, but he knew instinctively where his weapons and combat gear were. He reached just above his bunk, grabbing his M14. His helmet, flak jacket and webbing were also hooked up on the wall beside his sleeping cot. Carter checked his spare mags and grenades and then headed out. He stopped momentarily, as if forgetting something. Then dashed back to his bed and pulled out a groundsheet from under it. Wrapped inside was an M72 light anti-tank weapon, which he had 'acquired' from some guys in the 168th Engineers, though stealing would have been a more appropriate term. He looked at the small tube and nodded. He might need it to blow open the bunker doors. Now ready, Carter headed back to the assembly area.

His helmet at an angle, flak jacket open and webbing not yet on Carter ran towards the waiting men. He waved his arm, "I'm back!" he shouted excitedly. "Follow me, this way." He motioned towards the direction of Brigade HQ, and kept running.

Bill nodded towards Hughes..."Let's go.. Column of two's staggered.. keep your distance, and keep your eyes open." Bill took a position next to Hughes as they headed for the bunker area. "What the hell does this Smith think he's doing? Internal security my ass....."

Ski nodded, "Roger that, Top. Don't you worry about a thing, we'll take care of the General. Just get the LT and the others out of that hell-hole. If they'd try to kill the General, nobody is safe." He turned back to the troops, "All right, lock and load!" The sound of dozens of bolts slapping forward made an eerie, metallic sound. The sound of imminent death.

"HOOOAH!" , the soldiers roared back. Their shouts echoed in the night. "All right then, move out!" The group surged forward, like a guard dog straining at the leash, and headed en masse towards the Hospital.