"Desert Camp"
Utah Desert Camp 1700 hours, 28th of March 2008, day 6 of testing Kihn awoke at the usual time, and lay, eyes shut, breathing easy, but mind active andsenses questing. Something was not right. It was time for them to awake and proceed to calisthenics in the large structure, but no wake up call came. The officers had given upon the use of munitions to wake Eric's team after their second attempt failed, but theywould still wake them rudely with horns, shouts, and much pomp & circumstance of the boot camp variety. None of that came now, not even the usual stir from the neighboring structures that preceded it, as the officers prepared. Instead, all was quiet, and Eric soon felt the urge to either go back to sleep, or get up & do something. He chose the latter. One stealthy loop around the bunkhouse, and he was convinced something was up. Having little idea what, however, he proceeded according to plan. Sticking to the plan was usually the best idea, after all. The others were awake, as usual, by the time he re-entered the bunkhouse, watching for an intrusion, ready to act as needed, or as Ericordered. "They are working something against us, but we operate according to plan. Five minutes to prep for afternoon calisthenics" Nods and grunts of acknowledgment were the only replies, as the other three rolled from their bunks and practically into their workout clothes. They were all ready after four & a half minutes, giving them 30 seconds to make the large structure, the furnace as they now called it. They would be there, still, a couple of minutes before the time the officers had required them to arrive, in the past, and still no movement was detected as they filed at a jog through the 90-degree plus heat. No one occupied the furnace, and with only one snide remark about people knowing what was good for them from Timothy, and a grunt of agreement from Dennis, they all dove into the sequence of exercises that had become routine. As difficult as they were, sore muscles and sweat streaming off of them, the candidates were surprised an hour later when an officer marched in, observed them for a moment while being ignored, and then blew his whistle loudly. The reaction was immediate, the sound as of a pallet landing on the floor, as four bodies simultaneously flattened out facing the sound. The harsh tone and high volume of his words did not hide his approval from them. They had awakened and taken the initiative to complete tasks assigned to them, and to do them well, without having to be told. They would be rewarded, if they would follow him at double time to the mess hall. Compliance to the unusual order was, if possible, as quick as it had been to the whistle blow, as the four of them marched on the officer's heels from the furnace. The intent was clear as the officer, keeping up the tempo of their steps, slowed down to give them plenty of time to pass the other group, standing rigidly and uncomfortably under the hot sun and the hotter abuse of another officer in the central courtyard, simply called the square. It seemed they had failed to roll out from their bunks on time without being told, and would now pay the penalty, under the noses of Eric's group. At the same time, the unbearably attractive scent of hot sandwiches and cold drinks wafted to them from the mess hall, and Eric found the psalm he'd heard in boot camp popping unbidden into his head, "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." His immediate response was to shove the thought from his mind, associated, as it was, with those he'd long since come to assume as his enemies, but it lingered a moment, and he stopped, mentally, to consider it. Nothing seemed so wrong with the statement itself, and certainly seemed to apply at the moment. His former enemies in body, the U.S. Army or derivatives of it, were preparing a table before him in the presence of his current enemies. Was there a point to it? Was his former enemy in the way of ideals to become his ally, his former allies having failed him? Now that was too much. He could already feel the hunger pangs, and focused on the scents reaching his nostrils. Eric's team made a point of resisting the urge to smile and snicker at their "enemies," the losers who had finked out and slept in. There was no need to press their luck. They would simply enjoy what they could get, and go on through the rest. There was little question, any more, of their success. It was only a matter of holding on till the end, of making their character and capability official. The meal seemed a feast after the food they'd been served to date at the desert camp, hurried though it was. Usually the meal would be followed by weapons training/testing, making sure they weren't getting sloppy with the routine, but it seemed the time had come for more changes. This time they were led into the classroom, where they were presented with several tests of computer systems, hardware, and software. They moved on into communications applications, demonstrating their experience and ability to adapt to the newest technological and stylistic innovations the SIA Taskforce had made available to them. An hour of individual and group work on the communications system they would probably use if they were accepted into the SIA Taskforce, and they were joined by the other group, quite fatigued, hot, and sweaty. Both groups were immediately set to work on tactical applications of the skills utilized in the communications software, pulling in, examining, analysis, and making use of various media, communications, and satellite and aircraft imagery, all under various degrees of security. The other group was at a distinct disadvantage, having missed the hour to get used to the systems, and were hard pressed to finish the assigned tasks on time. Kihn's group, on the other hand, worked well together, each contributing their unique and invaluable skills to the tasks. As expected, Timothy was the whiz at many of these tests including the cryptography, and the others did their best to follow his lead. Eric possessed a decent training in the areas at hand from Section 1, and his general familiarity with the systems used for such applications was of great assistance to them. Dennis was no slouch, and Cindy was accomplished on the civilian systems to which she'd been given access, but those skills did not extend into the higher security or cryptography with which they were now faced. She and Dennis, in their turn, found themselves leaning on the others even as the others had earlier leaned on them. Had they any face to lose with their team, however, they gained some of it back as the team received aerial and satellite photos to examine, interpret, and use. Cindy's experience with terrain, reading it from all angles and using various maps in navigating it proved essential, and Dennis' knowledge of structures, how they appeared in surveillance photographs, and what they might mean for potential missions was likewise helpful. As a team they succeeded where even Eric, alone, might have failed, and again they impressed those administering the tests, loath though they would be to admit it at this juncture. Having completed ahead of time the essential test of their ability to interpret several surveillance images of a guerrilla style camp, from several sources, Eric led his team in applications of their determinations, plotting several mission scenarios and contingency plans, should they be assigned to survail, strike, or otherwise deal with the camp in question. The other team had barely completed the required work when they were all called to a halt and assigned another task. Each team was to compose a message to the other team, secure and encrypt it, and send it to the other team, which would then de-crypt it and send their understanding of it to the officers' terminal. There was little question that Timothy, the resident techno-geek, would ace the encryption/decryption side of things. Some question remained of what might be said in the message, but Cindy toyed with an idea, and they flew with it. The message would seem benign enough, using cryptic language to express Eric's team's "encouragement" of the other team to get on the ball. The message, difficult as it was to interpret had it been sent as it was, was furthermore systematically scrambled by Timothy according to some crazy algorithm only he could understand without a great deal of effort. Both teams managed, Eric's marveling at the speed and ease with which Timothy worked the message, succeeding in decrypting the message on his fourth try. It was an ordinary message of greeting, making reference to the weather, and the other team's thoughts of the training, subdued though the expression was. The other team had their own techno-geek, but it seemed he was not of the caliber that Timothy was when it came to cryptography. They worked for another 45 minutes on Timothy's encryption, while Eric's team used the secure instant messaging software they'd been instructed to familiarize themselves with in idle and relaxed chatting with each other. Finally having solved the riddle of the message, they gave furtive and puzzled glances to Eric's team, wondering what the references to Aunt Hilda's baking and how they might have the chance to sample her goods next Thursday if the cart road and horse worked out well, had to do with anything. Eric's team just smiled back and nodded, and moved on to the next activities of the day having enjoyed the rare hours of relative physical ease, and 45 minutes of mental relaxation. 1700 hours, 29th of March, 2008, Day 7 Phase II testing Again Eric's team awoke without prompting, and again they proceeded to their mid-afternoon calisthenics without prompting, but were joined by the other team this time. Something was different though, the air seemingly newly charged with tension, setting the team's collective hair & nerve on end. Something was changing, something different was going to happen. Eric was as certain of the change to come as he was of the soreness in his muscle and the chafing of the sand in his BDUs. It wouldn't be a surprise, after all, as they'd spent the last three days doing little but rehashing the same lessons and tasks at which they'd become proficient in the earlier part of the week. One task remained, without which no training/testing would be complete. They had yet to role play a real world mission scenario. Eric had gone through a number of these simulated missions or War-games, as they were a more or less regular part of his constant training. The games organized by groups or for groups outside the military were usually comprised of several elements, amounting to a glorified, armed, capture the flag. There would usually be one or more objectives for which multiple teams competed, either against each other or against the organizers and their team. Essentially, you had to get to the target sooner without dying, and then you would win. Sure enough, immediately following the warm dinner the teams were separated and taken into briefing rooms which would become their isolation rooms between the briefing and their departure on the mission. The briefing was in the usual military fashion, brusque and to the point, but thorough and informative. No good commander wanted to send his men into the unknown unprepared, so they were given good maps and airborne surveillance photos of the theatre. Mission: Retrieve a certain weapon of mass destruction technology believed to have been stolen and currently under further development by a guerrilla/terrorist group in a hidden camp. Objective: The camp, consisting of one fortified subterranean bunker toward the head of a narrow canyon about twenty miles from desert camp, and several personnel tents in an outward and down-valley facing arc before the entrance to the bunker. Assets: A choice from three primary weapons, 1 per/person, either an M4A1 Carbine, M25 Sniper Rifle, or an Bennelli 12 gauge shotgun. The intelligence provided in the meeting. The fact that their activities would be clandestine to the greatest extent possible, and that they would move and attack at night and with the benefit of night vision equipment. Liabilities: The hostile guerilla forces guarding the weapon and/or technology, armed with light squad automatic weapons and larger machine guns, Shoulder mounted RPGs, entrenched, and made mobile in a number of jeeps and trucks. Another force was expected to make a move for the weapon as well, quite possibly at the same time, as the intelligence concerning the identity and location of the terrorists had only just been made available both to Eric's side, and to the side from which it had been stolen. The two would be competing for an objective that was in their mutual best interests to secure from the terrorists, but, of course, neither team would take to kindly to the other having possession of the technology, however briefly. They had a total of 72 hours from the completion of the briefing to the deadline by which they must report a successful mission or be recalled, at which time fighter/bombers would probably be deployed to destroy the target and any technology or intelligence that might be gained therein. The team absorbed the briefing in an attentive silence, falling into mission mode, or putting on their game faces as Cindy referred to it. This would be the final test, all prior tests having been foisted on them to determine whether they were ready for this one, and to wear them down. It would not be enough to see that they could successfully infiltrate an enemy camp. Their superiors had to know that they could do it under pressure and having been worn out prior to mission start. Dennis alone asked for the details of the Rules of Engagement, and was tartly informed that, as long as they accomplished the mission without creating an international incident, his superiors would not be sticklers about his methods. If he did create an incident, of course, he would be promptly disowned. Or was it disavowed? Perhaps cancelled was the reality, Eric thought. At any rate, it would be proven that he'd acted alone, under his own volition, and using private funds. Collateral damages to any other teams going for the technology would be irrelevant, as those other teams had no more right to be there than did Eric's unit. No one would miss the terrorists but other terrorists, and their pleas for "justice" would be ignored by the international Powers That Be. The team was satisfied, and bent to the task of planning the attack. 1900 hours, 29th of March, 2008, Day 7 Phase II testing Two hours and twenty or so hair brained schemes later, Eric reminded them of one of the first ten maxims of Spec. War, Keep It Simple Stupid. Little doubt remained in the mind of the others that his was the greatest tactical skill, and he would probably lead them in the execution of the mission. He was feeling tired, however, a bit under the weather this afternoon, and he did his best to listen while taking it easy and letting the others, qualified as they were, figure it out. His reminder understood, Cindy ran with it, perhaps taking inspiration from Eric's behavior earlier. They would, quite simply, let the other team do the work and then take the spoils. It was cheating, but as they'd all learned, you never fight fair when life, limb, and livelihood are on the line. It was possible that the instructors would observe them and penalize them for it, but no rules had been explicitly stated concerning how a team could win. Furthermore, even if they had to penalize Eric's team formally, they would understand the need for their tactics, and would appreciate the courage and professionalism required for their execution. A long ridge lay between them and the target, and the two teams were required to begin, in their own timing, on opposite sides of the ridge. Eric's team, according to plan, hoofed it directly from the checkpoint toward the target by the quickest, if not the easiest or most stealthy rout. They would rely, at least for the present, on their speed and coordination to gain ground on the other team, to get into position at the other end first. Hand signals from Eric were all that were required, at this point, to send the team into a loose diamond formation, trails being somewhat nebulous in the relatively barren desert. They jogged straight on under their relatively lightweight packs, their weapons relaxed but ready. An attack was not expected, but if one came they maximized the chances that at least some of them would survive an initial onslaught to defend themselves. They reached the ridge top as it began to descend into a bit of a valley with a tributary canyon leading into it on the far side. No sign yet of the other team, but they didn't bother to spend much time looking behind them. The objective lay in the far end of that canyon. The team had failed to find a second exit from the target area, in their examination of the maps, so it seemed the guerrillas hoped to rely on their defensibility, hiddenness, and the small airstrip, should they be attacked. Not the smartest move, and Eric was suspicious of some hidden reason for their choice of camp location. Alas, there were always the unknowns, and one simply had to do one's best. He was tired, worn out, but had to remain focused to catch any traps soon enough, and he would do so. The area ahead was even more barren than that through which they'd just passed, and the ridge no longer lay between them and where they expected the other team to be traveling. They stopped for a brief rest in a hollow, Dennis taking the watch. They needed to be in top form for the crossing of the valley ahead and the entrance to the canyon. The locals, they were sure, would be even less happy to see them than would the other team. Twenty minutes during which Eric and Cindy power napped, Timothy being a little too excited and not tired enough, and Dennis slithered down to them signaling the time to continue. He paused for a moment, giving a slightly worried glance at Eric, who only glared back with a slight shake of the head. The message was received, Dennis was to keep his knowledge of Eric's condition to himself, at least for now. Little did either of them know, Cindy had observed the furtive exchange, and not knowing what to make of it, had to suppress her natural tendency to surmise concerning the cause. She held her peace for the moment, concentrating on shouldering her pack and drinking a last gulp of water as quietly as possible. The team moved more carefully than would normally have been required, and reached the wall from which the canyon exited without incident or contact with the other team. There they rested again for a moment, leaning against the rocks but standing even so. In their current position they were relatively safe from the guerillas, and their lack of motion would be more effective in concealing them from the other team than would any cover they might try to hide behind. Soon they were ready, reviewed the plan with hand signals, and crept around the corner into the hot zone. Target Canyon, Utah Desert 2130 hours, 29th of March, 2008 day 7 of testing. Eric was the master of stealthy movement, and having left all but his weapons, ammunition, and survival gear concealed under a large rock, all that remained with him tied securely to his body so as to make minimal noise, he led them wearing the soft soled camp shoes they'd been supplied from the beginning. The guard on the left side of the canyon at the first barrier hadn't a chance. Something moved, fell to be more precise, in the sand behind him. He turned automatically to look, and in that moment Eric padded up behind him along the fence line, clocked him on the side of the head with the but of his Ka-bar knife, and stepped to catch him as he fell. Cindy was almost on his heals, and he passed the unconscious guard to her, moving on into the area surrounding the camp. Midway up the opposite canyon wall a sage brush thicket perched precariously on a two foot wide ledge, a branch extending out of the thicket and downward toward the camp. No one bothered to look up, and as Timothy, on the canyon floor, stepped up toward the guard on the far side of the canyon from Eric, a bright red ball sped silently down upon him, blossoming across his forehead as it snapped backward, appeared to hang suspended for a moment in space, before the man's body collapsed backward and downward into a cloud of sand. Timothy watched the two-second occurrence for several seconds afterward, stunned, having to think twice about the reality of this situation, or the lack thereof. On the right side of the canyon Cindy lost no time, whatever might have occupied her mind, in stripping the outer garments, weapons, load bearing gear and other equipment from the guard under her care. She then duct taped him securely, ten wraps around wrists and ankles behind his back, another ten around his elbows and knees, and a strip across his mouth holding the handkerchief in place. It was soaked with water, and the mission would be over before the man, whoever he was, would suffer any lasting illness. She donned his uniform and assumed his position. Dennis, unseen but very much present, was in position and would inform her via the LASH radio when it was time to turn in to avoid the other team, or hide to avoid the guerillas. Timothy gulped, took a deep breath, and stepped forward to the stricken guard. He forced himself to reach down and touch the thick red liquid, verifying that it was, after all, only one of the paintballs with which they'd been provided for the test. With that he breathed more easily, and, as if to make up for his initial hesitation, leapt into the stripping and taping of his guard.Two minutes from the initial approach, of the first guard, and both Timothy and Cindy were in position to move wherever they were needed and directed in the camp, and Eric was well inside, making his way silently from shadow to shadow. The fatigue, soreness, and slight fever that had bothered him earlier were long forgotten in the danger and heat of the moment, as he plotted each step so as to avoid being noticed too soon. He worried a little about the others, but it was to no avail. He'd done all he could for them, and they knew the plan, the tactics now almost as well as he. The difference was experience, and there was no predicting, apart from it, which would fold under the more real pressure of the simulated mission. It was dark and they wore the uniforms, or the lack thereof, of the guerrillas. He'd taught them a few essential words of Arabic, and they'd practiced the attitudes and positions to assume should they be addressed by a real guerilla. All they had to do was remain silent and out of the way until the other team secured the target, and then move in to take them out. Dennis' initial task completed, he remained alert, his eyes roving while the rest of him remained almost completely still in his guilly suit, keeping track of all 180 degrees of visible terrain below him. There were several portions to his job, quite probably the most difficult of those being carried out by the team, but also the most boring. He was the command and control element, the surveillance, and the sniper, and he had no backup or spotter. But then, all of them were lacking the needed partners, including their opponents.Eric lay in the plush bed of the camp commander, in the last structure before the cave that was the objective. Here he was well covered, did not need to change uniforms, though several were available to him. He could rest, to some degree, and the chances of his being disturbed were minimal. A gruff word to anyone approaching, other than the camp commander himself, would ensure his privacy. Said commander had made things all the more easy on Eric by placing the lights in such a way that anyone approaching would be easily seen and targeted, while the occupant of the inner chamber could remain practically invisible. Thirty more minutes for the darkness to deepen, the soldiers to slow down in the cold, and Eric would move out to set things up for the other team. Said team would, most likely, wait an additional two hours beyond that to move in, attacking during the darkest time of the night, and when the guerillas would be most deeply asleep. Dennis would give plenty of warning in any case. 0-dark hundred hours, 30th of March, 2008, Day 8 of testing "Jell-O" It was Dennis' deep voice rousing Eric from his light sleep. He smiled a little, and remained where he was, already prepared for the next phase of the mission. The other team was about to hit the camp, right on schedule. He would sit back and watch the fireworks on the security video screens he'd gained access to after taking out only two guards in the structure on the other side of the door to the cave. Being closer in where an accidental noise, a small warning could be far more dangerous than on the outskirts of the camp, Eric had taken the easy rout, liberating two of his thirty paint balls for the decoration of the frustrated guards' face masks. The other team put on quite the show, not doing badly for themselves by any means. Of course, the security on the camp was amateurish in Eric's estimation, and had already been weakened significantly by Eric's Team's earlier incursion, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. They rushed up the canyon and into the camp, one behind the other, using speed rather than stealth as they overran the surprised guerillas, throwing flash bangs and firing into the various structures as they passed. If thy were in a group of twenty or fifty, and the job was to take out the terrorists without ceremony, Eric reflected, they'd have been doing a good job. As it was, there were too few of them to go around in the fashion they attempted, and a few strategic shots from an unknown source were necessary at one point to allow them to continue. After all, it wouldn't do for the help to fail before they secured the objective for the soon to be victors. Nor would the source of the shots be noticed in the heat of battle, as each of the attackers would believe they had shot those that fell before them, and simply be glad of the loss of opponents. Cindy, Timothy, and Eric, meanwhile, simply lay low and waited for their turn. 11 paint balls, of the 120 provided Eric's team, had been fired by the time the other team reached the door to the caves, most of them fired by Dennis. Another fifteen paint balls were mounted strategically on small explosive devices around the camp. The other team, in their turn, placed their charges, devices in appearance and use much as the remote C4 detonators that would be used by the SIA Taskforce were. In fact, they were actually radio control devices that, when "detonated," would signal smoke and light grenades previously planted on the doors to explode, and the doors to open. Appearances aside, very little damage would actually be done to personnel and equipment during this test. The other team, as they entered the cave, had used more than half of their paint balls. If Eric was right, they would be nearly empty, at best, by the time they got out. 0-dark hundred 10 hours, 30th of March, 2008, 8th day of testing Eric glanced at his watch. Allow the other team two minutes to find and secure the weapons plans and/or technology, an additional thirty seconds for being slow, and another two minutes before they would grow impatient and nervous and give up on gathering vital intelligence.Eric finished chewing on the leaf he hoped would assuage his headache, spat out the remains, and spoke softly into the device at his throat."Pudding"At times such as this testing, little occurred to the candidates when their minds were left free to imagine, but food. Thus the call signs and code words. Timothy and Cindy rose simultaneously from their respective sides of the camp and began to creep inward. Dennis left his place on the cliff, lowering himself carefully down. Their movement was more for forms sake than need to be cautious, as all of the opposition had been neutralized or contained. Arriving at their marks fifteen seconds before the other team was expected to exit the cave, they crouched just inside the entrances to a couple of the tents. Eric held his position in the command center, joined now by the "dead" guards, interestedly watching the screens for what would occur next. They would have laughed at the thought of it, but a glare from Eric reminded them of the sting of the paint balls, masks and all, and they held their peace. There was movement in the cave, even small voices, foolish as it might seem. The other team was on its way out, this time a full forty-five seconds behind schedule. Perhaps they'd been more patient in their search than Eric had expected? He brought to the front of his mind the code words for abort mission, and for the secondary contingency they'd drawn up for another potential situation they might face at this junction. In a way he almost hoped he'd have to use it. "Brussels Sprouts" for abort quietly, and "Tofu" for a spectacular use up your ammo and scare everyone in the neighborhood exit. Things had gone too smoothly so far, too much according to plan. Where, Eric had to wonder, was Murphy? Maybe the headache was clouding his thinking, and he was missing something. But then, that was why all he had to do was infiltrate the camp, place the corral charges, and give the words. He mentally thanked Cindy for coming up with the plan, and Dennis for being an effective sniper earlier, and resolved to reward them somehow later. The other team came into full view, walking relaxed, weapons down and looking more to each other than to the camp. Their satisfaction was evident, though they tried to look professional even then, and one of them remained sternly alert up front. They had the plans for which they'd come, and perhaps other materials as well, and had sustained no losses. They were happy with themselves, overconfident, and made another mistake, this one decisive. The paintball exploding to their left and slightly behind them, as far as it was from doing any "damage" to them, sent them diving and scrambling. Two more determined their direction of retreat, and the attempts at regrouping, organizing a tactical movement made by their leader were rendered useless by the fourth explosion. The candidates were petrified, deaf to the shouted commands of their leader, running where instinct directed them to run. Firing the last of their ammo wildly they rushed in one tight group to the only cover that did not appear blocked by explosions, an open tent. Had he insisted on his way Eric would have ended it then, simply ordering the other team's surrender. Given their state and lack of ammunition, resistance was highly unlikely and would almost certainly have been futile. All that remained, then, would be to take the technology and other intelligence, asking nicely, and take the other team back as prisoners. Timothy had insisted, however, that playing at war games as they were, they all really MUST be allowed to fire at least one paint ball. They had earned their fun, Eric decided. "Pie"Eric arose, nodded to the two "dead" guerillas, and headed for the "trap tent" Dennis, now standing just to the side of the entrance to the trap tent, pressed his right ear to his shoulder, counted down with the fingers of his left hand, pressed it against his left ear, and tossed the flashbang in the door.Cindy, mimicking his position with her sub-machine gun in her right hand, cut across the doorway to the other side, entering the tent at an angle and moving on to the right of the door, firing three quick shots into the center of mass of the rightmost opponent. Dennis lunged to a kneeling position to the left of the door, putting two shots to the center of mass and one to the head of his target, the man farthest to the left, and moving his aim slightly to the right to cover the others, should the need arise, while scooting along the tent's front wall to clear the doorway for Timothy. Timothy in his turn, charged straight in as per the plan, and a little calmer, for once, than Cindy, but not quite as practiced a shot as Dennis, fired three shots up the body of his chosen target, the one slightly to the right of the door. Cindy waited for him to kneel, and lowered her weapon to center the remaining man her sights. Both she and Dennis now covered him, as Eric walked into the tent.The other team was shocked beyond recognition of what was happening to them, much less any reaction to it. Had the speed and surprise of the attack not been enough to rattle them, the flashbangs physiological effect was to temporarily disable their nervous systems, effectively paralyzing them long enough to be shot. They had not even been allowed time to disperse to defensive positions once they'd retreated to the tent. As Eric walked in, the leader turned, trying to regain his senses, rouching, looking for a target. He first saw the barrel of Eric's gun in his face, and quickly dropped his gun, throwing his hands into the air. Smart choice. Your men are dead, I believe you are very low on ammunition, and you are covered, now by the four of us, all with plenty of ammunition to spare. Give me the goods." He extended his left hand, and after a brief and very upset glare from the leader, and a muttered protest by another, quickly silenced by a small movement of Dennis' weapon in his direction, the papers were all handed over, and the four of the other team tied loosely to each other by chord. The paint marked them clearly as the losers, but it would add to the effect and the completeness of the mission for them to be led back into Desert Camp late that night, and no one on Eric's team wanted them to try anything funny, dead though they were supposed to be. The mission accomplished, all that remained was to eat the cake. Such was the final code word to signal leave to exfiltrate. He ought to say t, Eric thought. The others were waiting on him. "Eat the cake," a simple phrase, all they needed to hear, and they would move out to claim their victory. But something was wrong, he didn't know what. It was like he knew something would fall in on them, that they were caught in their own trap. He was sure it was a Section 1 test from which there was no escape unless he were to make one. The man in front of him was Operations, and there was Owen to his left, glaring at him, weapon held ready, ready to cancel him. Cancel him. Would it finally happen, to die this way, at the hands of his fellow defenders of truth, Justus, and the Western way? It shouldn't. No, Section was done and gone. Operations was dead. This was the SIA Taskforce for which he was testing, and they didn't fancy themselves gods to choose who should live and who should die among their own ranks. He blinked away some of the pressure in his head, grit his teeth, and spoke. "Eat . . ." but what if he was missing something? Had the other team really cleared the camp sufficiently? Things were closing in again, a rush of images, and he flailed about to protect himself, to find something solid and real. He stumbled, mumbled something, stopped, and sunk toward the floor. Dennis was there almost instantly, droppng his rifle to hang in its sling as he caught his captain and lowered him to rest against his upraised knee. Captain? Snowy Owl? It's Menace. What do you need sir? Cindy stepped forward toward the others even as Eric fell, her weapon raised menacingly, jaw clenched tight."What did you do to him?! You **** stupid amateur bastards! You'll pay at my hand if we don't all get back right." The others, bewildered, tried to look as small and inconspicuous as they could in the hopes that the storm would blow over before they themselves were tossed overboard. The domination of Eric's team, even without action or orders from their leader, was unquestioned. Timothy moved to Cindy's side, touching her hand holding the barrel of her weapon and nudging it gently downward. He was about to speak, but tensions were already high, and a wrong word could blow things apart. Dennis shook his head, and Timothy backed away, allowing Cindy to calm down and breath on her own. If the other team did anything stupid in the volatile situation they would earn whatever punishment she chose to dole out on them. Dennis looked back to Eric, drawing his attention with his eyes and a light touch on his forehead by the larger man's bare palm."So tired." Eric finally mumbled in explanation."Done this so many times, got nothing to prove. . ."Further words, perhaps condemning the whole procedure, or asking for the why's of it might have followed, but instead he just sighed and leaned his forehead on his palm, waving his hand deferentially to Dennis. The message and situation understood, Dennis finished the code words."Eat the cake" Cindy remained for a moment, left hand clenching and unclenching on the barrel of her weapon, jaw working. Something was wrong with her captain, and someone needed to pay."And do it quickly you numbskulls! He's probably dehydrated, needs a water IV stat. We have to get out of here now." With a growl she dropped her weapon to its sling, stepped forward to the other team, and began taping their hands in front of them, one to another, in preparation for the hike back to Desert Camp. Timothy covered them the while, and Dennis tended to Eric.One of the members of the other team came up with a couple of poles that Eric could lean on as he walked, and when he was ready, they all moved out. Eric would carry minimum gear, at least until they neared Desert Camp, his things being distributed among the others. Extra shirts were found in a tent, and rigged into a turban and robe that would decrease moisture loss and shield him more effectively from the sun's heat, or the night's cold than his BDUs. The journey back to Desert camp was silent and doleful. As sure as they were that they'd accomplished the mission, pulled it off with flying colors, in fact, one of their own was under the weather. They all felt it now, and worry crept unbidden upon their consciousness concerning the probability of their success with a sick teammate. As was most often the case, however, there was nothing for it but to do their best and wait for the fallout. Thus it was a determinedly proud and silent procession that marched back into Desert Camp 14 hours later. Return