Rating: NC17

Spoilers: None

Author: Vasalysa, with many undying thanks to Geek.

E-mail: cmbower@ennorath.net Comments are always welcome

McQueen stretched out in his chair, relaxing with the commodore as he did after the training sessions. Ross sat playing the blues on his guitar while McQueen listened, enjoying the sound.

A faint beeping sound impinged on McQueen's hearing. "Glen, do you have an alarm set?"

"No. Why?" Concentrating on his playing, Ross heard nothing.

"Because I hear something beeping."

"Go ahead and find it." Ross continued concentrating on his playing.

McQueen obeyed. After several minutes of intent listening, he tracked it down. A optical disc in hand, he glanced up at Ross. "Glen, I've never seen a security disc with a built-in beeper."

Ross froze, hand poised over the strings. The A minor chord died out as he looked up. He saw the disc in McQueen's hand and the blood drained from his features.

"Glen? What is it? What is this disc?" McQueen frowned, worried by his friend's reaction.

"It's time for extraction. She said the disc would not decode until the three months were up." With a sigh, Ross stood up. His hand trembled as he reached out to take the disc. "Let's see where she is."

Ross pushed his chair away from his desk several minutes later, aghast.

Behind him, McQueen sank down into a chair, ashen faced. "My God! It really was a suicide mission."

"I promised her I would send an extraction team."

"I'll go. Alone if I have to. I'll make it a volunteer only mission." McQueen dropped his head into his hands. "Two worm holes and an additional fifty hours behind the current front line. Three months ago, it was seventy two hours."

"No wonder she called it crossing the River Styx." Ross shook his head.

"How long do I have to finalize the mission?" McQueen forced himself to sit up right, back straight.

"To make the target date, thirty six hours." Ross removed the disc. "Here. Plan the operation. When you've figured it out, fill me in."

Taking the disc, McQueen headed for the door with a heavy heart. "I'll see you in the morning."

Ross merely nodded.

Despite the lateness of the hour, McQueen went to the briefing room he usually used for the 58th squadron. He started working on the plan.

The 58th filed into the briefing room at 0800 for the mission briefing that McQueen had informed them of the previous afternoon. To their surprise, they found McQueen slumped over the desk, asleep.

Gently, Hawkes shook McQueen's shoulder, ready to jump back.

McQueen woke instantly. He blinked briefly, taking in the people before him. "0800 already? Last I knew it was 0600. Guess two hours of sleep will have to do. Sit down. Give me a moment." McQueen rose and went to the head. There he splashed water on his face and raked his wet fingers through his hair. Gazing at his reflection, he winced at the bloodshot eyes staring back at him.

"You look like Hell, McQueen. And you have to go in and tell those kids about a suicide mission you've already volunteered for. Good luck."

The 58th stood up as McQueen entered, looking slightly more presentable and definitely awake. Instead of activating the holo-vid to begin their briefing, he perched on the desk.

"Sit down. All right, listen up. The yesterday's mission has been assigned to another squadron. Our new mission is Operation Mithril and involves the extraction of Lt. Col. Silver."

"Then it's time, sir?" asked Russell.

"Yes. The disc decoded last night."

"How long do we have to prepare?"

"Twenty-seven hours, Finch. I'm only taking volunteers for this mission."

Finch, Russell, and St. John immediately rose. "We volunteer, sir."

"You haven't heard the details."

"Don't need to. We can guess from previous ops we've done. Deep in enemy territory, no back up, tight dead line. That sum it up, sir?"

"How many extractions like this have you done, St. John?"

"Twelve."

"All right. I would appreciate any input you have."

"We will tell you everything we can, sir. We want to bring her home." Finch looked McQueen square in the face. "You figure out how to get us there and back, and we'll tell you what to expect on the ground."

"Fair enough." McQueen studied the rest of the squadron. "I'm not expecting you to volunteer without knowing the score. When I'm done, then I'll give you some time to think it over."

"Sir," Hawkes stood up. "I'm volunteering."

Slowly, West rose. "And me, sir."

Damphousse sighed as she joined them. "Count me in, sir."

They all paused, but Vansen made no effort to rise.

"Very well." McQueen nodded, understanding that Vansen still had to decide. "Sit down. I'll accept, on the condition that you have twelve hours to change your mind. After that, you are committed to the mission. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Straightening, McQueen walked to the door and locked it, not seeing Russell touch something in his breast pocket. "This information is compartmentalized. The only other person who will know any details is the commodore." He strode up to the holo-vid and activated it, missing the sight of Russell, Finch and St. John touching their right temples.

A star chart of the region appeared. McQueen used the holograph control wand and tapped a tiny dot, expanding it into a star system with seven planets. "West, Hawkes, Vansen, you'll be flying Hammerheads. The rest of us will be in an ISSAPC. This is our goal. The system has been designated Loki. After two wormhole transitions we will arrive in the nearest star system. We will then fly the rest of the way. Transitioning directly into the Loki system would most likely put us right in the middle of Chig forces."

"Sir," 'Phousse sat up straight, calculating distances in her head. "That's over two days travel, sir!"

"Fifty two hours to be exact."

"Oh, great. Fifty hours in a Hammerhead pit," groused Hawkes.

"You don't have to go, Lieutenant." Ice formed on the words.

"I'm going, sir."

McQueen nodded once. "Our target world is number four, Baldur. A nitrogen oxygen atmosphere. Heavy in inert gases."

"Sir?" West raised his hand. "Any idea why this system is so interesting?"

"Nothing that I've been able to dig up. The third and fifth planets have Chig atmospheres. And the spooks speculate there may be at least four bases in the system. That's part of the reason Silver is there. To solidify the spooks' theories." Four small dots blinked red on the image, one over the third, fifth and sixth planets and one in the asteroid belt.

"So we need to avoid the Chig patrols if we're to get to Baldur." McQueen tapped the image of Baldur and it grew in size until they could make out features on the planet. "The spooks can only tell us that there are three main continents, two moons smaller than Luna, and that the dominant cover is forest. Finding a place to land will be a problem."

McQueen turned his back on the display. "I want full combat gear, packs and weapons. Our departure time is 1045 hours tomorrow morning. We do not know if there is a Chig base on Baldur, but I would prefer to be prepared. Once we are in flight, we will be in complete radio silence with the rest of the fleet. The Hammerheads and the transport will have a special point-to-point radio system installed. It does not extend beyond visual range. So don't wander off, pilots."

McQueen waited until he saw all three Hammerhead pilots nod. "Once we have Col. Silver and her data recorder, we will still need to evade patrols to get out of the system. When we reach this position," he tapped on the edge of the system they were currently in, "we will download information from a buoy left by the Saratoga informing us of rendezvous coordinates."

Moving around to the front of the desk, McQueen leaned against it, setting the pointer down. "That's the plan, 5-8." He looked at Russell. "Your turn."

As Russell rose, McQueen took a seat with the rest of the squadron. Russell gave McQueen a look of surprise, and then collected himself. "Captain Vansen, I need to know if you are going on this extraction. If you are opting out, please leave."

Vansen hesitated. "I am with you."

"I'm afraid, sir, I must terminate your twelve hour window."

"Why?"

"It's either that or hold this briefing in twelve hours. Only those people who are committed to the mission may receive the highly compartmentalized information. We received permission, shortly after Silver left, to inform the members of the 58th who are going on the extraction. This information is so ultra secret you don't talk about it, you don't write it down, you don't think about it, you don't dream about it. If they suspect you of disclosing it unauthorized, they will kill you."

Russell saw Hawkes smirking. "I am completely serious, Hawkes. We had a Lieutenant Hawthorne in the 1-10 who actually wrote down some of the information so he could review it. He was discovered in his bunk, throat cut. The higher powers control this information."

"I am going," stated McQueen quietly. "We can postpone your portion of the briefing."

"Sir, I'm in. Nothing they can say will change my mind," Hawkes said. "I intend to bring back a member of this squad."

McQueen rose and glanced at the rest of the squadron. "I will leave the decision up to you. Do you need to think about the situation or are you ready for the briefing now?"

"Count me in, sir," West stated.

"And me, sir," 'Phousse nodded.

With a sigh, Vansen said, "Let's get it over with, sir."

"Very good, 5-8." McQueen resumed his seat. "Continue, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir. All right. In addition to the point to point transmitters, there is one other modification that we," Russell gestured at Finch and St. John, "will be making to our ships."

"What kind?" asked West.

"We will need to find a passive beacon. This means that WE have to broadcast a certain signal and pray that the beacon responds. But the passive beacon only scans an area of roughly three hundred miles. Once we get an acknowledgment from the beacon, we then have to get it to beep us twice more so that we can triangulate on it. We can narrow our search to the higher elevations since the beacon needs some height. That still leaves a lot of territory to cover. Once we find a place to land, assuming we aren't shot out of the sky," Russell grinned at Finch, "which is a real bitch when you don't have any back up, then we still have to slog our way to the beacon. Then we have to find out where Silver is, assuming that she doesn't find us first."

"How was Col. Silver supposed to collect her data?" asked Phousse.

"The moons. She will stay on a moon for an extended period, recording all transmissions, movements, and activity in the system. Her Hammerhead is a special design. If badly damaged, the data recorder and Silver will be jettisoned, hopefully in an atmosphere. If that occurs, there's no telling where she is."

"So what makes this all so hush hush?" asked West.

"One, the fact that they actually send people this far into enemy territory. It's something the brass really does not want to get out. Two, the actual method of the information gathering. And third, well, I'll tell you that one once we're actually on our way. It'll be safer that way."

"Doesn't seem it needs to be all that secretive." West frowned.

Russell shrugged. "That's the way the Powers That Be want it. I'm not going to argue, especially since they're willing to kill to keep it that way. I like living, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Reason enough?"

"Yes."

Russell grinned briefly before sobering. "Now, Colonel, you need to arrange for the Hammerheads and the ISSAPC to be completely isolated, preferably in an ISSAPC bay. The three who are flying the Hammerheads will have to land them on the landing pad with the transport. At least two members of the squad are to remain with our ships at all times until we leave the Saratoga."

"You think someone might sabotage the mission?" McQueen's gaze narrowed.

"It is quite possible, sir. Or they might plant transmitters or other little surprises. I've already lived through an ambush someone so thoughtfully arranged by securing a transmitter to our transport. I don't intend to go through that hell again. It was sheer luck that we survived. I won't count on that kind of luck again."

"I'll arrange it."

"Once we've swept the ships and made sure that there are no little surprises waiting for us, up to and including a new download of the computer's programming, everyone will stow their gear on board the transport."

McQueen nodded.

"Then the last thing is that everyone report to our ships by no later than 0900 hours." Russell forestalled the protests. "The alternative is that we go into complete isolation from this moment on. The early time is so that we can insure our safety as a group by scanning, and making sure no surprises have been planted on us or in us. Anything that is found will be neutralized. That's it for now, sir."

Rising, McQueen looked each member of the squad in the eyes. "I personally would prefer to spend my last night before this mission in my bed. Anyone want to spend it in the transport?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Vansen, make up a schedule for guarding our ships. I want it on my desk in one hour."

"Yes, sir."

"All right. Dismissed."

McQueen watched the squadron filter out. He sat down and gathered together all the information he had collected. With a sigh, he rose to talk to Ross. He wished Silver were around to banish the nagging headache that had started during his part of the briefing.

By that night, McQueen had a full-blown headache that would not let him even contemplated relaxing. So he went to check on the 58th. Quietly entering their barracks, he was puzzled to find the bunks of Hawkes, Finch, St. John, and Russell empty. Phousse and West were on guard duty. He slipped inside the shower room, thinking that at least one of them was in there.

They were all there and the sight that greeted McQueen brought him to a standstill. Hawkes stood, still wet from a shower, water droplets on his sculpted fine body reflecting in the light. St. John kissed Hawkes, turning his head to the side and caressing the smooth skin. Kneeling before Hawkes, Finch deep throated him, her hands kneading and caressing. Moving smoothly in and out of Hawkes was Russell.

Hawkes opened his eyes and saw McQueen. With a welcoming smile, he reached out to the colonel.

Shaking his head slightly, McQueen turned on his heel and fled the scene with as much dignity as he could manage.

"There's a man who seriously needs to get laid," McQueen heard Russell remark before the shower room door closed.

In his quarters, McQueen sat on his bed, head in his hands, rubbing futilely at his temples. The fact that Hawkes trusted the three enough for them to all have their way with him, in an odd way, pleased him. He knew Hawkes did not just give his body away. On the streets of Philadelphia, Hawkes had been subjected to gang rapes and worse even as he, himself, had extremely bad memories about similar situations from the mines.

He had fled the sex filled scene because of his own reaction to it. Six months ago, Silver had given him a brief sexual relief and it had been six months before that for the last time. But his sense of discipline demanded that he not seek self-administered relief.

With a groan, McQueen went to his desk, intent on burying the sexual demon with work. He unlaced his boots and kicked them to the side.

After fifteen minutes, he was forced to admit defeat and thought that running or exercising himself into exhaustion just might do the trick.

Someone knocked on his hatch. "Who's at my hatch?"

"Lt. Hawkes, sir," came the low answer.

McQueen did not want to deal with the lieutenant now. "Go to bed, Hawkes."

"Let me in, sir. Or I will start raising my voice."

With a sigh, McQueen rose and undogged the hatch. "Come in."

Hawkes entered and locked the hatch behind him. He met the colonel's narrowed gaze with a guileless smile. "Sir, I've come to give you something."

"And what might that be, lieutenant?"

Hawkes pushed the slightly smaller man back against the wall, tilted McQueen's head up and kissed him thoroughly. McQueen froze for precious seconds, shocked, and Hawkes took advantage. He unzipped McQueen's flight suit to the waist and peeled it back over the older man's shoulders to below the elbow, effectively preventing McQueen from fighting him. With his legs, Hawkes spread McQueen's just enough to keep him from a shot to the groin.

"You taste so damn good, sir," Hawkes muttered as he started nibbling down McQueen's throat.

"No!" McQueen managed hoarsely.

Ignoring the command, Hawkes picked McQueen up and carried him over to the bed, settling him down on his back. Hawkes stood between McQueen's legs and leaned over his superior officer, kissing him again.

Struggling, McQueen managed to turn away from the kiss. "No! Don't do this!"

"Sh, sir." Hawkes placed a hand on McQueen's groin and grinned at the evidence that McQueen would want what he had to offer. "Sh. Relax. I'm just here to give you a good fucking."

The images that phrasing produced rolled through McQueen's mind, and he could feel himself panicking. "No! Not that!" He thrashed violently on the bed, trying desperately to get away.

Taken aback by McQueen's reaction, Hawkes reviewed his statement. Realizing that McQueen thought that he, Hawkes, was going to give it, Hawkes swore. He grabbed McQueen's head with both hands, forcing McQueen to look at him, his forearms pinning the older Invitro to the bed. "Dammit, sir, that's not what I meant. I would never hurt you, sir. I said it badly. I'm sorry, sir." When McQueen still struggled, Hawkes kissed McQueen, gently, trying to show he meant it.

McQueen slowly stilled, breathing hard when Hawkes finally stopped the kiss.

"What I meant, sir, was that I want you to fuck me." Hawkes slid his hands onto the bed beside McQueen's head, looked down into the other's face and he saw the fading panic. Softly he said, "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to scare you. I want to give you pleasure for an hour, to let you get some release." More forcefully he added, "And I'm not going to take no for an answer. I'm doing it, even if I have to get you started myself. Trust me, I won't hurt you."

Hawkes slid a hand up under the white turtleneck shirt and started toying with one of McQueen's nipples. McQueen's gasp pleased him.

"Now, move your hands under your ass and leave them there. Stop fighting me, sir. I intend to make you feel very good. I've been learning from Russell and them for the last month."

Both hands under the turtleneck, Hawkes saw his order had not been followed. "Do what I say, sir, or I'll pull the shirt up over your face and leave it there."

Not wanting to lose his sight or, oddly enough, the ability to be kissed, McQueen slid his hands into the required position.

As a reward, Hawkes pushed the turtleneck up the scarred chest and started sucking on a nipple while playing with the other. McQueen moaned.

"Very good, sir. Doesn't that feel good?" Hawkes blew gently across the wet nipple

Bucking, McQueen moaned again.

"I want a verbal answer, sir."

"Yes!"

Hawkes kissed McQueen again, deeply, tasting with his tongue all the hidden places. He smiled, satisfied, when he saw how passion darkened McQueen's eyes had become. "Here's the rules, sir. I'm going to pleasure you and you are going to obey my orders until I give myself to you. I trust you not to hurt me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," whispered McQueen, touched by the last statement.

"Do you agree to this?"

Wanting to be touched, wanting to touch, desperate for some sexual release, McQueen answered breathlessly, "Yes."

"Good. And you will return control back to me after you come."

"Yes."

Smiling, Hawkes rolled to the side slightly, just enough to be able to unzip his own flight suit to the waist. He shrugged out of it, letting it fall to his waist, then kicked off his boots, which had only been barely laced. "I didn't want to have to waste time unlacing them. I want to feel your skin against mine, sir," he explained, pushing his tank top up.

As Hawkes rubbed chest to chest, McQueen could feel himself harden further. It was all he could manage to say; "I think if we're going to do this, you better call me something besides sir for the next hour."

"What shall I call you?" Hawkes laved McQueen's throat with long leisurely licks.

Breath hitching in his throat, McQueen said, "TC will do."

"All right, TC. Then I'm Coop. Now, I'm going to release your hands from the sleeves. Put them back where they are now."

"Yes, Coop." McQueen forced himself to make the mental adjustment to having Hawkes order him. Until Hawkes said differently, McQueen was the subordinate. He knew he could trust Hawkes to not hurt him.

Both flight suits went to the floor, leaving McQueen clad only in a white turtleneck and khaki shorts and Hawkes in khaki shorts and tank top. After driving McQueen mad with licks, nibbles, kisses and nipple sucking, Hawkes rose onto his knees. "Let's get rid of the shirt, TC."

Obediently, McQueen pulled the turtleneck over his head and tossed it to the floor. Instead of returning his hands to beneath him, McQueen ran them up under Hawkes' tank top, reveling in the smooth muscles. He pinched one of Hawkes' nipples and smiled at the groan.

"Oh, yeah, that feels good." Hawkes allowed McQueen to play with him for several minutes. "Now, roll over." He tugged McQueen's shorts down and off and then his own.

McQueen tried not to stiffen when Hawkes settled down on his back for a moment. He could feel Hawkes' erection resting between his buttocks. He knew if Hawkes decided to, it would be easy for the younger man to penetrate him.

"Relax. I'm not going to do anything, TC. Once you relax, I will continue." Hawkes slid a hand under McQueen's chest and toyed with a nipple.

Slowly, McQueen relaxed, giving Hawkes full control again.

Still playing with McQueen's nipple, Hawkes slid his body off McQueen and lowered his mouth to the raised neck navel. Running his tongue lightly across it caused McQueen to gasp and shudder. Hawkes sucked hard.

McQueen felt liquid fire burn through his body as he bucked under Hawkes' expert sucking and tonguing. He was helpless to control any part of his body or mind as his body ignited. Hands clenching the bed, McQueen could only ride the fabulous sensations. When Hawkes eased up and stopped, McQueen lay still, breathing hard, wondering if he had actually screamed.

"I think I'll take that as a good thing," Hawkes murmured in his ear. "Have you had a good time so far, TC?"

"Yes, Coop."

"Good. I wanted you to. Roll over." Hawkes kissed McQueen hard, hands cupping the firm hard buttocks beneath him. "Now, how do you want me?"

It took McQueen several seconds to make the transition to being the one in charge. "On the bed, hands and knees."

Hawkes grinned and let McQueen up. "There's lube in my flight suit. Lower right pocket."

McQueen found it and used it. He caressed the young hard ass before him before slowly entering. At first, he tried to go slow, but Hawkes was having none of it. Hawkes thrust back onto him in a faster rhythm and soon McQueen found himself going hard and fast. He pulled Hawkes up and sucked on his navel, still driving home hard. The young body in his arms writhed, gasping for breath.

But it had been too long and McQueen came with a strangled shout. He released Hawkes and fell forward onto the young Invitro who let him stay there for a moment. Eyes closed, McQueen felt himself being rolled onto his back, still hard.

Hawkes went to the bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth and a bottle that he set on the floor. He cleaned McQueen, and then smiled down at the older Invitro. "We're not done yet, TC."

McQueen learned that what Hawkes had done to him earlier only allowed him to spiral higher with pleasure. Engineered for endurance and high sexual abilities, Invitro males could manage four or five orgasms in a row. It had been years since McQueen had even tried for two.

"Hands behind your head. Keep them there." Hawkes leaned over and retrieved the bottle and opened it.

The sandalwood scent reached McQueen's nose and he knew Hawkes had found his massage oil. Hand warmed oil caressed his skin as Hawkes worked it in, touch lightening sometimes to caresses, enough to keep McQueen hard. The oil went all the way to his toes.

Hawkes sat back between McQueen's parted thighs and surveyed his efforts with a grin. Eyes closed, McQueen lay quietly under him, passive, waiting for the next move. He started running his fingers lightly over the pale skin, quickly finding the right pressure so that his touch did not tickle. Soon McQueen started to twist and pant, struggling to remain passive, to not seize control. And Hawkes hadn't gone below the hips yet.

"Do I need to restrain you?"

The soft question stilled McQueen effectively. "No."

"Good. I don't want to. I want to see you dance under my fingers."

Skin quivered and rippled as Hawkes caressed the hollows of the narrow hips. He ran his fingers down each leg, touching, caressing, and striving to make McQueen loose control. Bringing his hands back up, Hawkes brushed ever so lightly across the tight sacs.

McQueen arched, an incoherent moan escaping.

With a smile, Hawkes dipped a finger in the pre-cum dripping from McQueen's hard cock. He sucked his finger, making sure McQueen saw him, and smiled as McQueen moaned. More pre-cum on his finger, Hawkes leaned up and held his finger above McQueen's lips.

"Do it, TC."

McQueen lifted his head and sucked Hawkes' finger into his mouth, sucking it as if it were a cock, tongue swirling around it.

"Good, TC. Do not come, TC." Hawkes removed his finger.

His forearms holding McQueen's hips down against the bed, Hawkes lowered his head and sucked McQueen's cock head into his mouth. McQueen bucked madly as Hawkes suckled on him, like a baby at its mother's breast. Then Hawkes used his tongue on the slit, in and out, in and out, fucking it like McQueen would be doing to him soon. It took all of his strength and leverage to keep McQueen on the bed while he plied McQueen with exquisite torture. McQueen tasted delicious to him and Hawkes took the next step. He deep throated McQueen in one swift move and felt the convulsive thrust his own weight thwarted. McQueen's pleadings, unfinished, were music to Hawkes' ears and he repeatedly deep throated McQueen.

Only when Hawkes knew McQueen could not control the mindless attempts his body made to fuck the mouth torturing him did Hawkes stop. With a strangled sob of frustration, McQueen thrashed on the bed under Hawkes.

Grinning with delight at McQueen's response, Hawkes asked, "Where do you want me, TC?"

It took McQueen a moment to respond. He rolled off the bed and stood up shakily. "Against the wall," McQueen growled. He intended to show Hawkes not to underestimate him. With the younger Invitro flat against the wall facing it, McQueen positioned himself and thrust in.

Hawkes groaned and arched his back into McQueen.

"Legs behind mine," ordered McQueen. He held Hawkes' hips and pushed him up the wall slightly until he was satisfied with the depth of his thrusts. Then he started a slow rhythm, gradually increasing speed. Meanwhile, he sucked lightly on Hawkes' neck navel.

Thrashing wildly, Hawkes shoved his forearm into his mouth to stifle his pleasure-induced screams. The friction of rubbing against the wall and the fast movement across his prostate in addition to the sucking on his navel eventually brought Hawkes over.

Hawkes' climax tightened his buttock muscles and it was too much for McQueen to resist. Mouth over Hawkes' navel, McQueen screamed as his orgasm rocketed through him. Sheer willpower alone gave McQueen the strength to walk over to the bed and drop Hawkes on it before he collapsed beside the young man. Both breathed hard.

"Man, that was good," grinned Hawkes, tired.

"I agree."

"Do you feel better now?" Hawkes gathered his strength and the washcloth and staggered into the bathroom.

McQueen realized he did. "Yes."

"I'm afraid the hour is up." Hawkes returned and cleaned up McQueen with firm, sure strokes. After cleaning the mess he had made on the wall, he dressed McQueen in the shorts and glanced around, looking for a tank top or something besides the white turtleneck.

"Foot locker. Left side." McQueen sat up slowly. "With luck, I'll actually get some sleep." He took the tank top Hawkes handed him and slipped it on.

"Be a good idea. An ISSAPC's bunks are not the most comfortable things to sleep in."

"Neither is a Hammerhead pit. Are you going to bed?"

"Not exactly, sir. I think we're going to ambush Shane when her nightmares wake her. She needs a good lay like you did."

"Don't force her, Hawkes."

"We won't. And maybe she'll stop being such a pain in the ass." Hawkes grinned.

As Hawkes started for the door, McQueen said, "Hawkes... Coop."

"Yes?" Hawkes faced him.

"Thank you. I appreciate the gift. I know what it meant."

A million watt smile lit Hawkes' face and he stepped back over to McQueen. "One last kiss?"

Knowing that they had already broken half a dozen rules about sexual conduct within the ranks, and couldn't allow themselves to do it again, McQueen allowed himself the pleasure of kissing Hawkes one last time. A deep satisfying kiss that McQueen finished.

"You know, it's a good thing Col. Silver and I sound-proofed your quarters while you were gone."

"What?" McQueen stared at Hawkes, surprised.

"Yeah. She found some stuff to do it with and we did it between missions. We didn't look in anything. She made sure we put everything back the way it was. We knew you would never do it yourself, so we did it for you. She said you were still having nightmares about the AIs. We tested the job by my screaming in here while she stood next door. She said she could just barely hear me."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"I never really thought about it until now."

Shaking his head, McQueen said, "Hawkes, sometimes you amaze me."

"Sir?"

"Nothing. Good night, Hawkes."

"Good night, sir. Get some sleep."

"I think I will."

At 0830, after a good night's sleep, McQueen entered the landing bay that Ross had allowed him to commandeer for the mission's ships. He found most of the squad already there. The only one missing was West.

A few minutes later, West trotted in. He grinned and said, "I had to finish a letter to Kylen. A just in case type."

"Let's get scanned, people." McQueen watched as Russell approached, a small unit in his hand.

One by one, Russell ran the scanner over every member of the squadron. At least one or two devices were found per person, including Russell. Once satisfied with the destruction of any spying devices, Russell tossed the scanner to Finch who stowed it in her gear. "We've already gone over the gear. Now, for your information, Colonel, that headache you probably were suffering from yesterday, sorry, it was my fault. I activated a Soul's Eye disabler in the briefing room once you told us what the mission was. It works for eighteen hours. Didn't want anyone able to download any of the information."

"What about on the mission?" McQueen did not relish the idea of the mission being downloaded from his mind by some thrill-seeking bureaucrat. Implanted shortly after birth, the Soul's Eye recorded everything that was seen by the Invitro.

Finch tossed a pair of small chips in her hand. "These babies will do the job. They're special bio-chips. Place them over your right temple and they'll embed themselves leaving no marks. They're currently set to disable the Soul's Eye." She tossed one to Hawkes and McQueen. "Painless and no headache, guaranteed."

"And if at some point we decide to reactivate it?" asked McQueen, placing the chip to his temple. "It can be useful from time to time."

"Yeah, I know. Press it three times for three seconds, a second between each time. Eleven seconds and it is reactivated."

Hawkes set the chip in place. "Where did you get these?"

"You don't want to know, Hawkes. I'd have to kill you."

The mock seriousness in St. Johns voice did not hide the deadly light in the young Invitro's eyes. McQueen knew that the statement was truth. "We don't need to know."

"Colonel, there's one more thing we need to tell you before we head out." Finch shivered. "We're glad you're coming with us. Otherwise, there would be no point to the extraction. It would just be a recovery of the data recorder."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, on deep missions like this one, each agent picks one person to fixate on as their release from the mission. Until they actually see that person, they will continue the mission."

"Are you saying Silver picked me?"

"Silver always left a token to indicate whom she had selected. Usually it was one of the three of us. But this time..." Finch reached into a pocket on her flight suit and pulled out a dark flat object.

McQueen caught it as she tossed it to him. Just by feel, he knew it was a patch and the rectangular shape warned him. Even so, turning it over and seeing the gold outstretched wings around a white halo with a red lightening bolt through it made his throat constrict. The Angry Angels. The 127th. His former unit. All dead, except for him, forever disbanded. He could tell the patch had never been on a uniform, but someone had frequently rubbed it between fingers, until the threads were worn.

"There's only one Angry Angel left alive."

He nodded at Russell's statement. Wishing to get the patch out of sight, McQueen slid it into a pocket.

"West, Hawkes, Vansen, your gear is just inside the transport's door. Take whatever you want in your ships. We'll stow the rest." Finch stretched.

With a nod, West retrieved his equipment, sorted through it and headed for his Hammerhead.

Hawkes followed Vansen in. Finch watched Vansen with a satisfied look.

Softly, McQueen asked, "Hawkes mentioned you were planning on ambushing Shane."

"We did."

"She looks more relaxed."

"We would like to do the same for 'Phousse."

"What about West?"

"There's always the trip back."

"I'll be piloting first."

Finch grinned.

By 1045, the 58th were ready to fly.

"Queen 6, this is 'Toga Control. You are cleared for launch."

"Roger, 'Toga Control."

"Good luck, Queen 6."

"Acknowledged, Boss Ross."

McQueen eased the transport off the landing bay deck and moved it toward the opening bay doors. Following on his heels were the three Hammerheads.

Once out into space, McQueen set the course and activated the point-to-point radio. "All right, Jack, King and Queen, let's move out."

Ten minutes into the flight, McQueen heard Phousse gasp out, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Making you feel good," answered Finch.

"But the colonel-"

"Is flying this bird." McQueen could hear Russell's grin.

"But we're on a mission!"

"It'll be a long fifty hours," drawled Finch.

"But- oh, that feels good."

"Shall we continue?" asked St. John.

"Yes."

McQueen shut the cockpit hatch quietly.

Four hours and two worm holes later, having turned the flying over to Phousse, McQueen asked Finch, "Why me?"

"Best to ask the whole question, sir. Why did she go on a virtual suicide mission and choose you as her fixture?"

"I don't get to her, she dies, right?"

"Yes."

"So it's a test. A deadly one. Do I care enough to come and get her or do I leave her to die?"

"Sir, I think you need to be aware of a few other facts. We don't want the entire squad to know this information. Especially Vansen. Most folks have a hard time with what we have to tell you. The real problem is going to be finding her and dealing with her. Her Hammerhead did not carry three months worth of food. So, she's been hunting and by now, she's been ranging far and wide to find enough food. And when we finally find her, she's going to be one pissed off colonel. Especially toward you, sir."

"She might hand you your head, sir," stated St. John. "Which one is the question."

"Or she could break every bone in your body, throw you out and tell you to go to Hell." Finch frowned slightly. "She's been known to do that."

"Or she just might kill you outright." St. John shrugged. "Have to say it, sir. You better be prepared for just such a reaction."

McQueen nodded. They were serious, not kidding. "Why?'

"Because of what she is, colonel. She's not exactly human and she most definitely isn't one of us. Nor is she a tank brat." Finch met McQueen's curious gaze. "To all appearances, Silver is human. She was born thirty-five years ago to her parents. But, then they aren't quite human either. You met her father and one of her brothers. What struck you about them, colonel?"

He frowned, thinking. "Predators. I've never met doctors like them before."

"And Silver?"

"Even more so. A predator trying not to scare away the prey. Leashed violence." McQueen pinned Russell with a hard look. "What is she?'

"In a word?" Russell grinned. "Vampire."

"But she's a living, breathing person."

"I'm amazed that you know the legend. You're full of surprises, colonel. Yes, she's flesh and blood, a living, breathing entity. Not something undead. And horny as hell."

McQueen gave Russell a 'do-tell' look.

"Vampires are creatures of sex and blood. They drink blood, the life source, and they crave sex. Imagine if you will, colonel, if when you were born, every time you had water, you had sex, never one without the other. What would happen?"

"You become incapable of having one without the other. You have to have them together."

"Which can you painfully learn to live without?"

"The sex, but the craving will never go away."

"For Silver, instead of water, it is blood, or rather life force, that she can't live without. But she prefers to have sex with it."

The long hours that the three were missing from their barracks at night made sense. "You were her source aboard the Toga."

"Yes. It was a lot easier in the 112th. There were fifteen of us to bear the burden of keeping her at full strength and we were never drained very far. It's been a lot harder with the 58th. She'd been on half rations for the entire time on the Toga and then took off to a place where what she needs to survive is, at best, scarce. See if she has to, Silver can feed off animals for the blood, but it is not as nourishing or as fulfilling or as satisfying. So, she's going to be one pissed off-"

"Hungry predator on the lookout for me in particular. Do you seriously think she'll attack me?" McQueen forced himself to look at the three.

"No doubt about it. Just hope she hasn't been badly injured. The worse the injuries, the closer to the edge she'll be. It once took me three weeks to recover," admitted Russell.

"So if I come for her, she'll hurt me or possibly kill me. If I don't come for her, she dies."

"Or you come for her, she damn near kills you and she still dies." St. John leaned against the wall.

"Brutal choices." McQueen shook his head. "How do I get the option to save her and the rest of us?"

"A very brutal choice, sir. You don't fight her, especially if she's injured. Allow her to vent her rage at you, break a few bones, and then, well, let's say, we'll give you some privacy." Finch waved her hand in the air suggestively.

"She'll take me in any case, correct?"

"Sir, she won't be in control. The hunger will. The worse her injuries, the longer it will take her to regain control. If you're lucky, she'll avoid drinking you dry." When McQueen stared at her, Finch said, "It's a possibility. She's come close, too close a couple of times."

McQueen could see a rabid Silver taking him apart before using him as a drinking fountain and a handy sex tool. Somehow, this didn't strike him as how Silver had wanted to get him into her bed. "I take it that she had hoped to seduce me before something like this came up."

"Most definitely. But Danson threw a monkey wrench into her plans." Finch sighed. "She's been mooning over you at least since you joined the Angry Angels. I know she followed everything about you since then."

"That long?" McQueen fingered the pocket he had slipped the patch into. "All right, the worst the injuries, the harder she's going to come after me."

Russell nodded.

"So after she's fed some, what next?"

"We hopefully find out where the data recorder is. We collect the recorder and get the hell out of there."

"I need to think."

"Yes, sir."

McQueen stood and started to go to the cockpit. He realized that Damphousse had probably heard the entire conversation through the open hatch. With a sigh, he slipped into the co-pilot seat, staring out at the stars.

"Ask," he said several silent minutes later.

"Do you believe them?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to do what they suggest?"

"Yes."

"Are you... afraid?"

"Yes."

"Which scenario do you think is most likely?"

"With our luck, the worst case. Do the others know?"

"Ah, yes. I was talking to them when I heard you asking Finch why you."

"Thanks for the honesty. I don't want to talk about it right now. I need to think, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you."

McQueen turned his gaze out the window and fixed his eyes on a single star. As he ran through all the information that the three had given him, McQueen heard 'Phousse quietly talking, telling the Hammerhead pilots not to bother him right now. He knew he should talk to them, but he had to deal with it first.

Half an hour later, McQueen took the co-pilot's headset and opened the channel to the Hammerheads. "One at a time, please."

"I think I'm missing something here, sir," declared Hawkes, cutting off Vansen. "Silver's going to beat you up, severely hurt you and then what? Have sex with you? And then expect you to rescue her?"

"That's a fair summary."

"What ever for? I mean, even I know you don't beat some one up and then expect them to be nice to you."

"It's all right, Hawkes. It's enough that I understand the reasoning. Don't worry. I don't intend to let her kill me."

"This is all in bad taste, sir. I think they're having you on." Vansen's voice was cold.

"Captain, I don't think so." McQueen wished he could put his feet up.

"It's all a bunch of nonsense."

"Invitroes were a bunch of nonsense only fifty years ago. Who's to say that vampires don't exist? There's a lot of folk lore that have some sort of vampire in them."

Vansen's voice held a lot of hostility. "I think it's a trick. They're a bunch of tricksters."

"Didn't like the one they played on you this morning?" he snapped back.

Vansen inhaled sharply.

"Look, captain, I need you on this mission. I'm going and it's my life that is truly at stake once we find her. Let's find out if they are telling the truth before you start calling names."

When Vansen didn't respond, McQueen sighed. "West. What do you have to say?"

"Are you sure about this, sir?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm with you. I think she'll be good for you. She knows how to keep you in line."

McQueen chuckled softly. "Yes."

"I'm switching to autopilot and going to try to take a nap. Talk to you later."

"Hawkes."

"I'm with you, colonel."

"Thanks. Vansen?"

Nothing.

'Phousse shut down the radio. "Let me talk to her, sir. What trick did they play on her?"

Standing up, McQueen said, quietly, "A similar one to the one they played on you a while ago."

"Oh, I bet that pissed her off. But she definitely needed to get laid."

"That was their opinion as well."

"And yourself, sir?"

"I'm fine. And as long as it doesn't get out of hand, I don't mind what goes on."

'Phousse grinned. "Good. They're damned good."

"Get Hawkes in on it and you'll really be having a good time."

"Sir?" She gave him an intrigued look.

He didn't say another word, just retired to his bunk.

McQueen didn't try to talk to Vansen until his next shift as pilot twenty hours into the flight. But the fact she was still with them reassured him somewhat.

"Report."

"West, here. All fine here. Just getting a bit cramped."

"You'll have plenty of opportunity to stretch once we're planet side."

"Hawkes, here. Fine. Same thing."

"Vansen?"

"Fine, sir." Her voice was cool.

"You'll have to deal with it, captain. One way or the other."

"That's your opinion, sir."

"Vansen... Shane, who are you madder at? Them or me?" He swung the chair around to the side, placing his feet up on the co-pilot's seat.

After a long pause, Vansen admitted, "You."

"Why?"

"Because you're accepting what they say at face value. There are no such things as vampires."

"One person's magic is another person's technology. I never considered you a closed mind."

"I am not closed minded."

"You did finally, grudgingly, accept Adam, I understand. So..."

"I am not closed minded."

"You seem intent on proving you are."

"It flies in the face of everything I've ever been taught."

"Even the Catholic church has rituals for disposing of the undead."

"Then they're a bunch of fools."

"Every legend or myth has a basis in fact. Sometimes a very small kernel of fact, but there is a fact or truth there somewhere."

"It's not logical."

"Logic doesn't explain everything, Shane. Some things have to be taken on faith. One such thing for me is the argument of the soul. Religious fanatics on Earth claim that Invitroes have no souls, having never been conceived of a woman. I think I have a soul. Who do I believe? My instinct or those men and women who have allowed their hatred to blind them to the fact that I am a man?"

"Excuse me, sir," interrupted West. "But sir, everyone of us has seen men with no souls. And you and Hawkes definitely have souls, better souls than most people. Better even than my parents."

"Nathan..." McQueen did not have anything he could say to ease the sorrow in the young man's voice.

"It's all right, sir. I still love them, but they have chained their souls by not recognizing the truth surrounding them. The same with the religious types. See, my parents were all for Invitro rights, so long as it didn't inconvenience them. And as long as I didn't have to associate with Invitroes. Since my brother Neil's death, they've blamed Invitroes even though it has nothing to do with how Neil died. But they have seen that I care for two men who are better than most and it scares them."

"Nathan..."

"I've learned to live with the disappointment, sir. And I'll never let someone down that I care for, whether they are natural born, Invitro, or vampire."

McQueen bowed his head. "What did I do to deserve you?" He felt a tear on his cheek.

"You kicked our butts and cared, sir." Nathan's voice turned harsh. "Shane, if you can't handle it, go back. If you're not with us one hundred percent, get the hell out. You're a danger to the mission."

"I'll do my job."

"That's not good enough. Doing one's job doesn't even cut it as the bare minimum for this one. If the colonel is willing to go through with this, then it is our responsibility to support him."

"Vampires are evil."

"So are a lot of humans and Invitroes. And AIs. I don't see you refusing to believe in them."

"Dammit! They're real! I've seen them, touched them."

"And we have three Marines who insist that vampires are real. I'm inclined to believe them. And I don't believe that Silver is evil. An evil person would never have gone through the hell she did with us to get McQueen back to full active duty. An evil person would have arranged for him to die or be crippled or shunted off to some backwater, hole-in-the-wall spot on Earth, far away from where he could actually do some good. So, Shane, you start thinking this stuff over. I know what living because 'faith is all I've got' is like. To lose your faith now in Silver and McQueen, that's wrong." Nathan took a deep breath and calmed down. "All right, I've probably said more than enough. I'm eating a ration bar and taking a nap. Talk to you later."

"I'm eating and sleeping." Vansen shut down her link.

McQueen sighed.

"She'll come around, sir." 'Phousse stood in the hatch. "She's just being stubborn."

"Before or after we reach Baldur will be the question."

"Just give her some time, sir."

McQueen nodded. "At least she hasn't turned around to go back."

"She wouldn't, sir."

"I know that. Her sense of duty is strong and she agreed to the mission."

"Yes."

"Don't you have some tricksters to get back to?"

'Phousse smiled. "You really don't mind?"

"No, but you know West will be here for the trip back?"

"Yes, so I might as well enjoy myself now."

"Go on, Vanessa. Don't worry about me."

Hesitating for a second, 'Phousse leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. "We really do care about you, colonel."

Briefly McQueen touched her cheek. "I know. Go on. Have your fun. Shut the hatch."

Alone with his thoughts, McQueen settled back for the rest of his four hour shift. He knew the three had been waiting for him to take his shift before starting anything. Their consideration touched him.

At the forty-hour mark, McQueen again checked in with the pilots. He knew West and Hawkes had been asking questions of the three during their shifts since they had left the cockpit hatch open so he could hear. Vansen on the other hand had remained quiet, only reporting her status. The only one she apparently talked to was 'Phousse.

"Status, pilots."

"Doing fine, colonel," answered West. "Only ten hours to go. Thank God."

"Can't we get there sooner, colonel?" complained Hawkes.

"Sounds like everything's fine with you, Hawkes."

"Yeah. All right if I play some music?"

"Go ahead. Vansen?"

"I'm fine."

"Listen up, folks. When we reach Baldur, we'll start flying a long V formation. Hawkes, you'll have the point. Vansen, you'll be to his right, West his left. We'll fly to West's left. We'll start with the most promising mountain range, fly north to south. Then proceed to the next one. Once we pick up a signal from the beacon, we'll fly a delta pattern around the area until we find a second signal. Same for the third time."

"Sounds good, colonel."

"West, you'll have the task of finding a landing zone sufficient for all four vehicles."

"Yes, sir."

"Vansen, you and Hawkes will remain in the air until after the ISSAPC has landed. You'll be our air cover."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Get some rest, people. Once we're down, I suspect that there will be little time to relax." McQueen shrugged his shoulders, feeling a muscle knot in the left one. He frowned, trying to ease it out.

"Roger that. Hawkes, you want to nap or stare at the stars some more?" asked West.

"Grab a nap, West. I'll wake you in a few hours."

"Ok."

Shutting down the transmitter, McQueen jumped when a hand started to work his shoulder. He glanced up and found Russell, intently massaging the tight muscles.

"Relax, sir."

"Aren't you busy right now?"

"I saw the stiffness when you got up. Thought I would help a bit."

"Thanks." McQueen hissed as fingers dug into an especially tight knot.

"Stop worrying. Vansen is a tough fighter who has had some realities suddenly challenged. If she had really wanted out, she would have left long before this. Some people really fight mental changes."

"She needs to concentrate on the mission." McQueen allowed his chin to drop to his chest.

"She will, once we enter the system, you'll see. She'll become all Marine, concentrating on the problem of survival. It'll be once we have found wherever Silver's been hiding that any hesitation will occur."

"That could get a bit too interesting."

"Yeah. Better?" Russell released McQueen's shoulder.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Nothing to it, colonel. All you have to do is ask."

McQueen understood the full meaning. "I can't always do so."

"I know. Just remember, we won't judge you." Russell shut the hatch behind him.

As they entered the star system, McQueen forced himself to sit still in the co-pilot's seat. Finch, having just awakened from a nap, occupied the pilot's seat and she was coolly checking all the transport's systems. Russell, Phousse and St. John manned the transport's gun ports.

"Now, the fun begins," Finch murmured.

"Yes." McQueen activated the transmitter. "Remember, we want to slip in undetected. We'll fight if we have to, but I would prefer not to."

"Roger, Queen 6." West sounded alert. "Only two hours to go till planet orbit."

"Can we set down at some point just to stretch our legs?" asked Hawkes.

"If we get there without any attention, I just might allow that."

"Hell, they'll never know we were in the neighborhood."

McQueen smiled at the urgency in Hawkes' voice.

Luck appeared to be with them on the inward trip. No patrols detected them as they ducked behind every planetary body possible.

The four ships hung in the shadow of a moon while the planet rotated below them two hours later. One of the larger continents showed three likely mountain ranges.

"Sir, I'd suggest starting on that huge range down the middle of the land mass," came Hawkes' voice.

"No."

"Why not, lieutenant?" asked McQueen of St. John.

"It is the obvious one. More times than not, she usually takes a slightly less obvious one. To the west, the range that branches off the main one. It has some nice high peaks and it would be easier to get to hunting ranges."

"So be it. Let's go. Hug the large range until the west one branches."

The first signal came twenty minutes later. McQueen sent West and Vansen to the north of the range and Hawkes accompanied the ISSAPC to the south. An hour later, they knew the rough location of the beacon.

West found a landing place twenty miles from the small peak.

Once the ships were down and camouflaged, McQueen reminded the Hammerhead pilots to empty and bury the waste from the ships. Then he allowed them fifteen mikes to stretch and get the kinks out before issuing gear and starting the march. Everyone packed extra rifle clips in their pockets. He assigned Russell and Hawkes to point; Finch and St. John to tail end Charlie. A glance at the gray sky and McQueen grimaced at the thought of rain.

Thirty minutes of hiking through the undergrowth, ranging from non-existent to moderate and Hawkes signaled a halt.

"Chig armor," Hawkes said, senses alert.

Russell broke a long branch off a nearby tree and started turning over pieces of armor. The green sponge-like substance that the Chigs dissolved into on death coated the interior of the armor and the ground.

McQueen crouched down, several feet away from Russell. "What are you looking for?"

"Trying to see what killed them. Ah, here we go." Flipping a piece over revealed five long slashes down the helmet onto the shoulder through the position of the air hose. Russell checked the other helmet. Same thing. "Silver's work."

"How?" asked Hawkes.

"Primal form. Vampires have their human form and one other. About the size of a panther. Best way for her to hunt." Russell stood up. "These have been dead for at least three days."

"So there will be more patrols." McQueen stood up. "All right. Let's get a move on. Stay alert."

Nearly to the seven-mile mark after crossing two rivers, the ground started to rise and the forest thinned. More open areas and small lakes appeared. The local wildlife appeared to ignore them and McQueen wondered how long their luck would hold.

As they approached yet another small lake, their luck ran out. Out of the water only thirty feet ahead of them rose something resembling a mad cross between a moose and a rhinoceros. Thick, long legs ending with sharp hooves, a short, powerful body, a heavy head with small eyes, large ears and a large nose, short powerful neck and a rack of thick antlers that ran up from the nose to the top of the heavy head made up the tan colored creature. Ten feet across, the antlers bore sharp needle like prongs.

The rhino-moose snorted and stomped out onto the shore.

McQueen motioned for the squad to slowly back away, praying that the breeze would continue blowing from the lake.

The breeze died even as 'Phousse stepped into a depression. She stumbled and the beast's head swung around, attracted by the sudden motion, ears flicking rapidly.

McQueen froze, hoping the others would do the same. He watched as 'Phousse tried to right herself, grimacing with pain.

The rhino-moose's nose opened and closed, seeking a scent. The capricious breeze resumed, blowing from the Marines to the beast.

A surprisingly high-pitched scream and the beast lowered its head to charge.

"Scatter!" McQueen reached over and grabbed 'Phousse's arm, dragging her to the side with him.

With a swiftness McQueen did not expected, the beast reached 'Phousse's previous position. It pounded the ground and whirled about, the antlers just missing McQueen's back. The rhino-moose shifted its position slightly.

McQueen thrust 'Phousse behind a tree. A grunt was forced out of him as what felt like a massive sledgehammer made contact with his left side, back and pack. The blow lifted McQueen off his feet and flung him into another tree twenty feet away, spinning in the air so he hit back first. Stunned, McQueen struggled to breathe and to move as the massive beast charged.

He could see the spurts of blood and muscle ripples as bullets impacted, but he knew it was too late. Even if they killed it, the momentum would plow the massive body directly into him.

A black shape dropped from a tree onto the beast's shoulders and neck. With a bellow, the rhino-beast whirled and bucked less then five feet from where McQueen lay.

Reprieved, McQueen clawed his way to the side of the tree, still waiting for the chance to breathe. The first gasp of air brought agony spearing through his body as broken ribs shifted.

Hands reached down and lifted McQueen up, dragging him to safety behind the tree he had hit. Finch slid his M-590 off his shoulder and started to undo his pack.

"'Phousse?" wheezed McQueen, eyes closing against the pain.

"Hawkes got to her."

McQueen nodded, then hissed as Finch shifted his body the wrong way.

"Can you sit up for a moment, sir?"

With her help, McQueen sat up, clenching his jaw to fight the pain. The pack removed, he wanted only to sink down onto the ground, but had to endure the lowering of the flight suit to his waist. Finch started binding his ribs and McQueen tried to find something to focus on. He saw Russell and St. John crouched nearby, watching the battle.

"Ah, there, she's got its nose. It's a goner now." Russell shook his head. "It just doesn't know it yet."

"What-" McQueen gasped as the pain spiked.

"She's reached forward and grabbed it by the nose, sir. She's pulling its head around to the side. Either its neck will break or it will go to its knees and then to its side. Either way, it's dead."

"Silver?"

"Yes. She found us." The ground shook slightly. Russell grinned. "It's down. She's drinking from it now. I'm going to circle around and try to get an idea of the shape she's in."

The rest of the squad gathered. 'Phousse touched McQueen lightly on the arm. "Sir?"

"Just ribs."

"That thing moved so damn fast. Thanks for pulling me out of the way."

McQueen nodded, concentrating on getting back into his flight suit. The pain was manageable.

"Shit!" Russell crouched by McQueen. "This is really bad. She's been in this form I'd say at least three days, more likely four or more. And she's hurt, really hurt. She let me close enough to touch, nothing but skin and bones. That's the first meal she's had in days. I felt broken ribs and she can't put weight on her right arm, looks like it's dislocated or broken."

"Not her usual pristine shape." McQueen accepted Finch's hand and lurched to his feet with a hiss. "Let's see her." He started to reach for his pack, but Finch stopped him.

"You're going to need your strength, sir. And I suspect some mobility. We'll shift it around between us."

McQueen realized she was correct. He nodded once, grabbed his M-590 from where it had been leaned against the tree and used a hand on the tree as he took the three steps to be able to see the downed rhino-moose.

Crouched over the thick neck was another creature McQueen would not have expected. It was vaguely felinoid, with a short muzzle and large ears, and a nearly non-existent tail. The claws that tipped the blunt, short fingers on her paws were retractable he could see as she flexed the right ones into the still face of the rhino-moose. Black fur, matted with blood, covered the five-foot long body. With broken grace, Silver stood on three feet and hobbled over to the main body of the beast, her mouth open as she panted with the exertion. A chill ran down his spine as he saw the six-inch long fangs reminiscent of the extinct saber toothed cats. Only these were more like knife blades, thinner, narrower, curved inward, designed for slashing open flesh.

Russell stepped up to the body of the rhino-moose, K-bar in hand. He slashed open the belly as St. John joined him. Together the two men broke open the chest of the beast.

"What are they doing?"

"Making it easier for her to get to the good stuff inside, Hawkes." Finch gave McQueen a quick look. "She'll eat whatever passes for a heart, liver, spleen in that thing. Rich in protein and necessary for her to do any healing. Hey, Russell, you have a couple of plastic bags?"

"Of course. I brought a thirty gallon one, too."

"Carve us a haunch."

"You cooking?"

"Yeah, I'll cook it, if you find some stuff to go with it."

"Right on."

"You're going to eat that thing?"

McQueen almost laughed at the look on Hawkes' face. "Hawkes, man has been eating meat for thousands of years."

"But that's an animal!"

"Where did you think meat came from?"

"The store."

McQueen chuckled. "What did you eat on your survival course?"

"I didn't. Just drank water."

"I can see we need to expand your knowledge." McQueen turned to Finch. "There's some herbs in my pack. Feel free to use them." When she raised an eyebrow, he said, "One should always be prepared for any eventuality. Fresh meat sounds good. And will do us some good."

Russell had placed the meat he had carved from the rear haunch of the rhino-moose into several large plastic bags and sealed them when West yelled, "Chig patrol! Cover!"

Everyone hit the dirt, grabbing their weapons, as plasma bolts hit the ground and the trees.

A deep-throated coughing roar deafened the defenders. The plasma bolts suddenly stopped.

McQueen raised his head and saw Silver's four-footed form dropping down from standing on the body. She staggered and nearly collapsed. That alone told McQueen how badly injured she was. Blood coated her body from nose to well past her shoulders as she burrowed back into the body cavity.

"The damn Chigs are terrified of her in this form!" St. John slowly rose. "They're gone for now."

"We need to get to shelter soon." With a grunt, McQueen forced himself up onto his feet.

"Sir, we'll have to wait for her."

"I know, Finch. I just wish she could eat faster."

"The more she eats now, the less she'll need later."

"I'm aware of that, believe me. But the Chigs will be back, in numbers. They obviously know better than to attack her in small groups. We can't take on large numbers of them."

"Russell, how much meat you got there?"

"Enough for us to eat a decent meal and jerk some, plus maybe a meal for her. St. John, take another of the smaller bags and cut some real hefty chunks."

Silver emerged, jaws chomping on a bloody piece of organ and she started laboriously limping toward the lake.

For a moment, McQueen just watched her, seeing how difficult it was for her to even walk. There was damage to her right leg as well, so it appeared she had a serious list to the right. He started to follow her.

"Sir, where are you going?" demanded Vansen.

"She needs help." He did not pause.

"You'll be a target, sir."

"So keep them away from me." McQueen felt a presence at his side and glanced up to see Hawkes, scanning the area.

At the lakeside, Silver stopped and drank for several minutes.

She didn't move as McQueen reached her side and slowly began to run his hand up from her plasma burned flank to her head, ignoring the blood soaking her fur. "I'm here, Silver. I'm here to take you home," he said quietly.

With a lurch, Silver plunged into the lake, head going under the water. McQueen's first reaction was to haul her out, but then he realized she needed to wash the blood off. Blocking the pain from his rib cage, he tossed his rifle to Hawkes, waded in to his knees and started running his hands through her short fur, feeling it become silky as the sticky blood washed out. She rose to her feet and he headed for the shore.

"Back off, Hawkes, unless you want a shower."

Hawkes rapidly backpedaled.

Silver stopped at the edge of the water and shook her body, sending water flying in all directions. Then she started moving faster than McQueen thought possible with her injuries.

"Hawkes, my rifle." McQueen caught it in the air. "All right, people. We're on the move." Slipping the shoulder strap over his head sent fire through his chest, nearly making him stumble. A hand supported him. "Thanks," he said to Hawkes.

"Let me take point."

McQueen nodded. He concentrated on following Hawkes through the trees. A glance back showed him the rest of the squad was trailing them.

Every breath burned, every step sent fire through his body, but McQueen forced it down. He had a mission to complete.

Hawkes stopped and crouched by a tree, his rifle ready to snap into action. Breathing shallowly, McQueen leaned against the tree and looked out to see the bottom of a two hundred foot cliff nearly a quarter mile away. One part of the cliff had collapsed creating a steep rocky slope, dotted with huge boulders. He saw Silver nearing the base of the slope. Above, the sky darkened and he knew rain was not far away.

"We have to cross that?"

"I think so."

"Shit. We'll be sitting ducks. There's no cover until we reach the slope."

With a wry grin, McQueen said, "Now, now. There's a few rocks out there taller than three inches."

Hawkes chortled, then sobered. "Seriously, sir, we're just going to have to run across."

"I know. Might as well do it as a group."

"Sure, sir?"

"Might as well have someone to grab you in case they're out there." The rest of the squad had gathered around. "Hawkes, you and Russell, resume point. Everyone else, just get across." McQueen felt an arm wrap around his waist. He found West standing beside him.

"You need some support, sir."

With a nod, McQueen acknowledged West's assessment. "Let's go." He put his arm around West in return.

They were half way across when the roar Silver had used earlier reached their ears. "They're back!" yelled St. John, firing to their rear.

Plasma bolts started raining down around them.

"Keep going!" bellowed McQueen, fighting to ignore the pain it caused. "St. John, cover fire! Hawkes, Russell, find cover! Give support fire!"

A plasma bolt shattered a rock near West, peppering them both with rock shards. McQueen tightened his hold on the young man when West nearly fell, feeling his ribs protest.

Then he and West lunged behind a boulder, breathing hard. They sank down to the ground.

"Shit! I cut myself." West raised his arm, showing the three-inch bleeding gash in his forearm. "What did that?" He looked down at the ground and picked up a pieced of sheet metal. "Sir."

McQueen took one look and knew what it was immediately. A piece of a Hammerhead, from the color of the metal and the smeared numbers. "She lost her Hammerhead. Damn."

"No wonder she's in such bad shape."

"Wrap that arm, West. We're protected for the moment."

"Yes, sir."

"Silver, no!" St. John staggered behind the boulder. "She's headed back for the Chigs. I think she's gone into protective mode."

"What does that mean?" asked West, trying to wrap his forearm.

McQueen took the bandage and did the wrapping.

"She's ignoring her injuries to protect us. A killing rampage that won't stop until we're safe. We have to get out of here. She had been headed up the slope."

"At least there's more cover up there."

"Let's hope the Chigs don't have a mortar with them." McQueen didn't relish the idea of the slope coming down on top of them. He tucked the end of the bandage under and, after a focusing breath, got his feet under him.

"They'd have used it by now."

West shifted himself into a crouch.

"Go. I've got you covered." St. John stepped out and started firing in short bursts.

At a run, West and McQueen zigzagged across to the next bit of cover, dodging the bolts of the enemy. McQueen spared a look over his shoulder and wished he hadn't. What looked like a hundred Chigs were advancing out of the trees. His people were taking them out, but the Chigs were moving quickly. Then a second line appeared behind the first.

"We're really in it now, sir."

"Yes."

"Some air cover would be nice about now."

"Right. As I recall the briefing, there was this little note saying something about no back up."

West managed a grin as he maneuvered the two of them behind the next boulder. They found Hawkes coolly shooting.

"Nice of you to show up. Don't you know it's bad manners to be late for the party."

"Traffic was a bit heavier than expected." McQueen leaned against the rock, fighting back the pain.

"Sir?" The large Marine didn't even look at his superior.

"I'll make it, Hawkes."

Hawkes nodded once and stepped out firing a short burst before ducking back. "There's a lot more of them than us."

"Yes. It looks like they're really determined to take us out."

Again, Hawkes stepped out, shooting. Back behind the boulder, he said, "She's out there. I saw her take down two Chigs."

"They're going to kill her."

McQueen shook his head. "I don't think so. If we can hold out for a time, I think their fear of her will force them to stop."

"Better get going, sir. The uninvited guests are nearly here."

"Once St. John is here."

On cue, St. John rolled behind the boulder. "Someone call room service?"

"We'll cover you, sir."

Together, West and McQueen started the next leg of their run to the base of the slope. Just short of the large boulder they were headed for, the ground exploded behind them. Rock shrapnel sliced through their uniforms and the concussion threw them both into the air. The force of his landing sent a wave of agony through McQueen and he lost his hold on consciousness briefly.

Struggling back to consciousness, McQueen felt the first raindrops hit his upturned face and then the shattering pain that encompassed his entire chest. Then he heard the unmistakable chittering sound that heralded the approach of Chigs. Willing his head to turn, McQueen slowly rolled his head to where the sound came from. Twenty Chigs were only thirty feet away.

"OOH-RAAH!" Russell rolled into McQueen's sight, rifle in hand, firing non-stop.

"OOH-RAAH!" came the roar of Hawkes as he stepped out from the last boulder, St. John at his side. "OOH-RAAH!"

More war cries came from the slope.

The Chigs went down, firing sporadically at the Marines.

From the sky came a drizzle, just enough to wet the ground.

McQueen closed his eyes, struggling to fight the pain, forcing himself to roll onto his side toward West. Opening his eyes, he saw West also fighting to move, clawing his body forward.

Finch appeared, sliding her hands under West's armpits and dragged him to cover. Then she was back to do the same for McQueen. The pain spike sent McQueen spiraling down again into darkness.

"-get West up the hill. Russell and I will stay here and keep them off the colonel," McQueen heard as he regained consciousness. Hawkes was crouched over him, looking at Finch and St. John. "Move it."

Finch slung an unconscious West over her shoulder in a fireman's carry and started running. St. John ran behind her, turning every so often to shoot.

"How... many left?" McQueen asked, fighting the pain.

"Fortyish."

"Not bad. Out of two hundred. Silver?"

"Still out there somewhere. She pops up, kills one or two, and then disappears."

"Damn, she's good," Hawkes grinned.

"Almost out of bullets, here," stated Russell.

"Take my rifle and my clips." McQueen was not in any shape to use it. He forced his hand to his right hip where his pistol was holstered.

Russell slipped the rifle off McQueen and handed it to Hawkes, then patted McQueen's pockets until he found the clips. "You're the sharpshooter. I've a back up set of weapons." He reached down and removed the pistol for McQueen, pressing it into the colonel's hand.

"Here they come."

The chittering of Chigs reached McQueen's ears again. He saw both Hawkes and Russell step out to shoot. When Russell's weapon ran out of bullets, he tossed it to the ground and snapped his wrist down. A slim dagger appeared in his hand and he sent it flying with another snap. Both hands were busy throwing daggers.

High-pitched screams rose from the Chigs.

"Way to go, Silver." Hawkes grinned, still firing.

Russell pulled his K-bar and stepped up to battle a Chig in hand to hand. Hawkes did the same. Waiting for a clear shot, McQueen held the pistol in both hands. Two more Chigs came around the boulder. He fired on the first one and swore as his shot missed because of the shaking in his arms. He fired again, hitting his target, but the second Chig was nearly on top of him and the two Marines were busy in their own battles.

Then chocolate fur swept the Chig aside, ripping its armor to shreds. The Chig collapsed, oozing green spooge. Silver reached out and tripped the Chig Hawkes was battling before biting the leg of the one on Russell. The Chigs down, Silver resumed her uphill trek, leaving the Marines to finish the kills.

Wiping his K-Bar on the ground, Hawkes said, "Damn, that was close. I hope you can walk, sir, cause I don't know if we can carry you up that slope."

"Give me a hand up and we'll find out."

Hawkes placed his hands under McQueen's arms and lifted him bodily from the ground. Pain slammed through McQueen and the pistol fell from his nerveless fingers. He slumped against Hawkes, struggling to breathe.

"Shit, your back looks like hamburger. Sir."

Russell shrugged out of his pack and rummaged through it. "Hold him for a moment, Hawkes. I've got something that might help, for a time. It isn't addictive, but it'll only take the edge off the pain." He pulled a small plastic bottle out and his canteen. "Silver's family came up with a mild pain killer for us. Lasts about four hours."

"Yeah, I know," McQueen managed.

"Suppose you do. Did you have any problems with it?"

"Just violently ill the first time. Was ok after that."

"That's the way it is for us. Do you want it?"

"Yes."

Russell shook out two pills, and after a look at McQueen, said, "Open up." He tossed the pills into McQueen's mouth and then placed the canteen to McQueen's lips.

McQueen took three deep swallows before reaching up with a shaking hand to push the canteen away. "It takes about five mikes on me."

"Works faster on you than me." Russell was putting the bottle and canteen away. As he started pulling extra clips for his M-590 out, he added, "Takes about ten mikes for me and St. John and twelve for Finch."

"Can you dig a few of my clips out?" asked Hawkes.

"No sweat."

McQueen pulled away from Hawkes several minutes later, wanting to see if he could stand on his own. He swayed, but stayed upright. When Hawkes started to offer his rifle back, McQueen shook his head and nearly fell. He leaned against the boulder. "Keep it. I'm in no shape to use it."

Picking up the pistol, Russell secured it back in McQueen's holster. "Just hang in there, sir."

"Hey, West's up and moving."

"Good. Time for us to do the same." McQueen clenched his jaw against the pain and pushed away from the solid support of the boulder. Forcing the pain down, McQueen concentrated on making the foot of the slope and then the hard climb ahead.

With a cold rush of wind, the hard rain pounded down upon their bodies. In addition, the temperature started steadily dropping.

By the time McQueen reached the top of the slope, his hands and knees were bloody from scrabbling to find some purchase on the rocks. Mud caked the front of his flight suit from numerous falls he had long since lost count of, and he could feel blood mixing with the water running down his back. He narrowed his focus to just keep moving. Some time later when two arms wrapped around his waist, McQueen did not even acknowledge them, too focused on keeping his feet moving.

An eternity later, McQueen tried to step but the arms wouldn't let him. He became aware of the fact he was standing chest deep in cold running water.

"Hold your breath, sir, as deep as you can. We have to go under water." 'Phousse was to his right. Vansen to his left.

Sucking air deep into his lungs started him coughing.

"Easy, sir." Once he stood, shaking, 'Phousse said, "Try again."

McQueen obeyed and locked down on the coughs. A hand clasped itself over his nose and mouth as he was dragged under the water. His body rebelled and a cough escaped. Viciously, the hand clamped his mouth shut hard. He allowed his body to go limp and closed his eyes. Then the coughs started again, racking his body, sending waves of pain shooting through him. Water forced its way into his lungs as his head snapped free of the hand.

Then he was being pulled from the water. Vaguely he heard 'Phousse say, "We're ok, sir. We're safe now."

A nod and he collapsed in their arms, letting darkness roll over him.

Damp, chill air clung to his naked body and hard rock lay beneath a blanket under him, McQueen realized as he painfully became aware of his surroundings. He did not bother opening his eyes, as he lay on his stomach, feeling hands working to remove rock splinters from his back.

"How the hell did he keep going? Russell, he's going to need another painkiller. Where the hell did Silver go?" Finch sounded worried.

"She ducked out as soon as you got him out of the water," answered Russell. "Here."

"Come on, sir. Open up." Finch lifted McQueen's head slightly.

McQueen allowed his mouth to open. Pills landed on his tongue and he felt a canteen at his lips. He swallowed almost convulsively. She laid his head back down and he turned it away from the others.

"At least the Chigs won't be following us through the downpour." West sounded exhausted to McQueen.

"We need a fire," Vansen ordered.

Hawkes' voice echoed. "Hey, look here. Wood, lots of it and tinder. And there's a small hole in the ceiling here. Not more than a couple of inches, but it'll let the smoke out. And the cave goes further back."

"Get a fire going, Hawkes. The colonel and West need warmth now. So do we all." Vansen's voice reflected her weariness.

"Someone should stand guard in case."

"Are you volunteering to swim back out there, Hawkes?"

"No."

"I think we'll have to trust that Col. Silver found us a secure place. Russell, where's that meat you've been lugging around?"

"I'll have it ready to go by the time the fire's ready, Captain."

Finch spoke quietly. "Colonel, you're in pretty bad shape. I think we got all the water out of your lungs. I've counted six broken ribs and three cracked ones. There's some sort of internal damage, possibly some bleeding. You're suffering from blood loss, shock and hypothermia. As soon as I've gotten these damned rock shards out of your back, arms and legs, we'll wrap you in some blankets next to the fire. Damn, you've got some in your neck and scalp, too. I need you to stay conscious for a while, all right?"

"Yes," McQueen whispered.

"Can you keep your eyes open, sir?"

It took a supreme effort, but McQueen did so.

"Good, sir."

The sound of wood being consumed by fire reached McQueen and a sense of inner warmth flooded through him. Even the coughs that suddenly racked him did not banish the warm feeling. All he wanted to do was go back to the quiet darkness, but he had promised to stay awake.

Despite Finch's attempts to be gentle, McQueen flinched from time to time as she dug into his flesh to remove the rock slivers.

"How's West doing there, 'Phousse?"

"The pack took the brunt of the shards, Finch, but his arms and legs are cut to ribbons."

"Do your best."

"We're going to need more bandages."

"Russell, do you have a fuser?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't have a lot of charges. Not enough to do either of them any real good."

"Use it on the worst of West's cuts, then bring it to me. Both St. John and I lost ours last time. I never got around to asking for another one and St. John never ordered his either."

"Because I knew I would never get one. I never get what I ask for. My luck they would send me another horseshoe."

"At least that would give us some luck. Unless of course you've been putting it upside down again." Shaking her head, Finch sighed. "Sir, this set of three will hurt. They've gone deep."

"Do it."

His cut and lacerated hands clenched as she probed the three holes in his back.

"Damn, these almost had your liver written on them. Russell, are you done over there?"

"Coming, coming. Here, Finch. Damn, he's a mess."

"Go on, finish getting the meat ready."

"Hey, you said you were going to cook."

"Which would you rather do, his back or the meat?"

"If you want something palatable, his back."

Finch sighed. "You really need to practice cooking. But since I want to eat something that is not burnt to a crisp, I'll leave the rest to you. Be careful. He needs to stay conscious for a while."

"Hey, I'm Mr. Soft Touch."

"Yeah, right."

"What's left to remove?"

Finch's finger gently ran over the areas she described. "Here between his shoulder blades, the neck and scalp, and the left arm."

"All right. Go on. I'll take care of him."

McQueen felt Finch's presence leave him and Russell brushed against his legs as he crouched down. The fingers that touched his back were feather soft.

"Where'd you leave his pack, Russell?"

"Next to mine."

"Thanks."

Russell gently pinched together the worst of the gashes. "I'm going to fuse a few of these really bad ones, colonel, before I finish removing the rest of the rock pieces. Ok?"

"Fuse?"

"Another little gadget that Silver's family has been letting us field test. It'll bond, or fuse, the muscles and skin together, letting it heal faster and it helps to stop the bleeding. Minimizes scarring too."

"Go ahead."

"It'll sting a little."

McQueen lost track of time as Russell used the fuser on seven of the worst holes in his skin and then started removing the rest of the rock from his body. He felt detached, removed from what was happening, and knew he was slipping into shock.

"Hey, a little help here."

"Let me help." 'Phousse crouched down beside McQueen, her hand gently probing his bloody scalp. "How do you feel, sir?"

"Like I'm not here."

"Are you cold?"

"Warm."

'Phousse and Russell exchanged glances over the shivering body.

"Forget the rest of them. We need to get him warm now." Russell scooped McQueen up in his arms and with a grunt rose to his feet. "Get the blankets."

McQueen lay passively in Russell's arms, not even alarmed at the way the squad hurriedly made a bed for him, using most of the blankets. Russell settled him down on his right side, the one with no broken ribs. Keeping his eyes open became more difficult as the blankets created a warm cocoon around him.

"Sir, you promised to stay awake."

McQueen forced his eyes open and saw Vansen crouched before him. "Tired."

"You have to stay awake. Please, sir. We can't finish the mission without you."

"She doesn't matter to you." It exhausted him to speak.

"She matters to you, sir. So... she matters to me." Vansen's eyes shone with unshed tears.

A sigh escaped McQueen. "Lie down."

Vansen realized he wanted her to lie down behind him and hold him to provide warmth. "Yes, sir." She stretched out behind him; glad she had changed into a dry flight suit. Her arm under his head, Vansen could feel his labored breathing against her chest. Hesitantly, she settled her other arm over his hip.

"Talk."

"What about?"

He sighed.

"You just want me to talk to you. All right."

McQueen did not even pay attention to what she said, just used her voice as an anchor to keep him awake. When Phousse came over and started going through his scalp to remove more chips, he bent his head forward, still concentrating on Vansen's voice. He felt Phousse move down to his neck and her fingers felt warm against his bare skin.

'Phousse was surprised when McQueen reached up with his left hand and captured her hand although he could barely close his fingers around it. He drew her hand down to his mouth where he kissed her palm softly, seductively. Then he released her.

The two women looked at one another, silent.

"Don't stop," he croaked.

"Do you need some water?" asked Phousse.

"Yes."

Phousse gave both McQueen and Vansen some water. "There's just the area between your shoulder blades and your left arm to do now, sir."

McQueen made no comment, only rolled slightly forward away from Vansen with his upper body. When Vansen started to remove her arm from his hip, he grabbed it weakly. "No."

"I think he needs the contact. He's running a fever. And they said Invitroes couldn't get infections. Obviously he's forgotten to read his own manual."

A chuckle escaped McQueen at Phousse's words. Coughs followed on its heels, spiking him with the pain. He groaned.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you laugh."

"Alive."

"Hm. As long as you can laugh, you're alive?"

"Yes."

"Good to know in case you stop laughing on us. Not that you actually laugh around us very often."

"Sorry."

Phousse could hear the regret in his voice. "It's all right, sir. We do understand. Now, let me finish pulling out that damn rock you insisted on bringing with you."

As Phousse resumed probing his body, McQueen heard Vansen continue talking. Again, he focused on her voice.

"All right. Dinnertime. St. John, help West sit up." Finch pulled several slabs of meat from sticks perched over the fire. "Hawkes, dice some of this one for the colonel."

"No." McQueen could sense the shock his word had caused.

"Aren't you hungry?" Phousse touched his cheek gently.

" No."

"You need to eat, sir." She was not going to be denied.

"Eat." It was a voice McQueen had not heard for over three months. The softest of whispers as if in his ear. He jerked partially up onto his elbow, but he did not see her anywhere.

"Eat." Insistent, not to be denied.

"All right." McQueen slumped back down, exhausted. His eyes closed.

"Sir?" 'Phousse glanced around quickly, wondering what had attracted his attention.

"Ok."

When Hawkes brought the meat over, the young Marine slowly and patiently fed his superior while eagerly eating his own portion.

Vansen left her position behind McQueen in order to eat.

The rest of the squad devoured the meat and they settled down to relax.

"Shouldn't one of us stay awake?" asked West.

"Safe," came the whisper.

"No. Secure." He could feel their wonder at his sureness. "Silver."

Russell nodded. "She's out there still. We're safe enough for now. And we all need some serious shut-eye."

One by one, the squad fell asleep. Last was McQueen, wondering how he could hear Silver.

Next : Chapter Seven
Previous : Chapter Five
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