Disclaimer: I own none of the Doctor Who Characters!

A/N: So this is the first story I have written in a long while, at least Fanfiction wise. I hope you guys like it! I can't promise constant, quick updates because of school and work, but I will definitely try to find the time to continue this.

Reviews are appreciated!

It was a warm day. Sun was out, clouds were nowhere in sight. The perfect day for an attack. The soldiers were lined in place and ready to march into the huts of the savage tribes that inhabited the Amazon Rainforest. General John Smith was finally getting the opportunity to lead his army into their first raid and he felt a mixture of excitement and anxiety. He's heard of officers who made their careers after leading their first raid, but he's also heard of officers who've killed their careers after a failed raid. He was hoping for neither.

General John Smith was the son of a simple surgeon and because of his background and knowledge of the human body, he was often referred to as the Doctor. He had joined the English militia in hopes of travelling the world and serving his great country. He hoped that joining the South American division would keep him away from the killings and murders he abhorred, but after several raids and bloody tribe battles, his heart was calloused and it all became protocol.

And all he wanted was to go through his first raid successfully and to keep his rank and positions. The last thing he wanted was a dead military career, because that usually meant some office position back at headquarters. No action, no view and no travelling.

Now, today's raid was nothing but routine.

The day was bright with a slight breeze to cool off the sun's warming effects. This was just the sort of day that the Chochino tribe was waiting for so that they could go out and hunt and gather food. Their reserves of berries and various other fruits were starting to run low due to the days of rain that they were forced to wait out and it did not help that they were also serving as hosts to several English Archaeologist, whom they saved from being mauled and eaten by a family of Jaguars.

Gracious to their hosts, the archaeologist asked to join them in hopes of replenishing their food reserve and showing their gratitude. Always willing to accept any help they may find and happy to have made friends with these outsiders, the tribe members all agreed and the two of the five people archeology team set out with the hunters and gatherers in search of food. The other three members of the team stayed behind to help with chores and routines around tribe grounds.

Doctor River Song, usually loving a good adventure through the Amazon Forest, was fascinated by the yet to be discovered tribe and opted to stay behind with two of her other colleagues. She was able to become fast friends with one of the tribe mothers and was enthralled with the stories that the mother was able to convey to her. In turn, River would share anecdotes from her own life and the two would laugh together.

Doctor River Song grew up in a small English town as Melody Pond. She was the daughter of Dr. Rory Williams and Amelia Pond. As a child, she was abducted and was held for ransom by a criminal organization known as The Silence. She was held captive for several months before the police were finally able to track her down and bring her home safely to her parents.

She was content with her life until several years later, her husband died of mysterious circumstances and she was prime suspect in his trial. All the evidence was later thrown out for being tampered with and she was ruled innocent. However, after getting denied several positions and jobs in association with the big trial, she changed her name to River Song. She was soon able to find the team she works with now and they've been inseparable since.

Now, River hopes to put her past completely behind her and make a new name for herself in archeology. She still stays in close contact with her parents, but other than them, she's completely cut herself off from her past.

"River!" called out her Anita, her colleague. "Stop sitting around and help us weave these baskets. If we make enough, we might be able to fill them with fruits and take them with us when we leave."

"Oh, must we leave?" River asked with a pout, "I say we hide here permanently and go down in the history books as 'Missing'. It's far more interesting than coming back with nothing."

"But look what we've found," Dave, their driver, responded. "We won't go back with nothing. We can tell them about this great indigenous people we've found. Introduce them to the world and be famed as their founders."

River rolled her eyes at him, not the least bit surprised with his self serving response. "Oh yes, bring them to the forefront of the world. Oh! And while we're, we should also contact the other tribe leaders and lead them to this hidden location because starting a tribe war would be far more humane than exposing them to the imperialistic ways of the modern world."

Dave sighed and continued basket weaving quietly, knowing very well how his colleague felt about exposing native people. She knew humanity's inherent desire of conquering and "fixing" other cultures and was opposed to it in every sense of the word. She believed that cultures such as these should be preserved, not just in textbooks, but in nature and life. It was why she became an archaeologist. To find and restore lost cultures that may never exist again. And often times, she refused to publish her findings, especially of native tribes, in fear of perpetuating the cruel behavior of the world.

By midday, River and Anita had successfully weaved two baskets and Dave was able to frighten himself with his own shadow. They were beginning their third basket, when a sudden screech from the forest startled them into alertness.

They saw a few of the tribes people, that went in search of food, running frantically and frightenedly back to the settlement. River recognized the sounds of gunshots and, apparently, it was not a new sound to the Chochino tribe either. Families quickly began to scatter around, like ants disrupted from their line, as they tried to escape.

River stopped one of the young men she recognized as part of the search group. "Where are the other Englishmen? The other Dave and Miss Evangelista?" she asked concernedly.

"They gone," the boy, no older than 19, responded with wild, terrified eyes. "Man with guns. Pop pop. Friends try and talk, but pop pop. Too late."

River was stunned by this news and stared at the boy in disbelief. Did this boy even understand the question? Perhaps he misunderstood. A few words in between that were not communicated.

Oh, but River saw the pity and fear in the boys eyes and knew what he saw was what he told her. Her friends were dead, without even a moment's notice.

Before she could say much else to the boy, the sound of gunshots resonated closer, and the boy took no more chances and ran as fast as he could to safety. Many of the tribesmen tried to grab precious belongings and push their family out, but the troops only got closer and closer, their time dwindling slowly.

River had stayed frozen in her spot, processing what the boy had told her in such small, simple language. Her friends were killed, by troops, trying to save and talk sense into the army.

Anita and Dave tried to move their friend, pull her and she moved slowly and in a dreamlike state. By the time they were able to get back to their belongings, the soldiers had infiltrated the site and were proceeding with their mission.

No. Everything was going all wrong. This was not how the mission was planned and it was not how John wanted the mission to turn out. The tribe they were invading, one which didn't know of, were running around frantically and trying to escape. His soldiers, many knowing the routine of a raid, began killing and destroying the camp site.

This was the wrong tribe. John knew it was, but he was the only one. Half way through their launch, something in him snapped. He couldn't do it, not that day. It would have been easy, a complete surprise. But much like every other time he's attempted to bring his troops into a raid, something deep in his consciousness whispered for him stop. He knew what he was doing was wrong and he could not go through with it.

They were supposed to mistakenly taken too many turns, much like he's done in the past. Lead them off the correct trail and get them lost in the forest. Not too lost that they can't find their way back, but lost enough that they would search too long and have to wait another day. Perhaps the tribe moved, many of them were nomadic. Or perhaps they simply couldn't find it. All plausible reasons, up until a certain point.

But no, this time his detour didn't work out as planned. While wandering, his troops heard a snap of a twig. John had told his men to ignore it, could have been a little animal. But then another troop heard another snap. They were hungry for a fight, the taste of blood on their minds and as soon as one tribesman was found, John had no control over his army.

The troops found one and missed a shot to scare him and lead them to the rest of the group. The plan succeeded and they found the tribes people searching for food. John hoped that his troops would be merciful, follow the procedure for a peaceful raid. But instead, they were excited, riled up and ready to kill; and kill they did.

Two unsuspecting tribes members, dressed much differently from the rest of the group, came and attempted to communicate with his troops. It was in vain and the two were shot dead in no time. After their deaths, the rest of the group got the message and lead his men right to their home. All hell broke loose.

John watched helplessly as he watched his men kill and pillage, like the barbarians they had been trained to be. They killed fathers, raped mothers, and imprisoned poor innocent children. This was the sight that killed him, that numbed him.

Raid after raid, death after death, rape after rape. John had seen so many in his life that he no longer felt remorse. In these situations, he did not attack. He stood his group and shot in defense, perhaps aiding his fellow military brethren by shooting an attacking native. But he never raped, he never pillaged, and he never imprisoned on his own.

He had pillaged and imprisoned before, under orders of his commanding officer. He called John a coward, a pussy-foot and said that if he didn't contribute to the raid that he would be sent home for insubordination and dishonorably discharged. And so, he did what any good soldier did: he followed orders. He pillaged and took prisoners, but he refused to rape and no one asked him too, luckily.

Now, as the general of this army, he simply stood back and witnessed the atrocity of his troops. He had hoped that some may have had the same conscience as he did and not participate in the brutal attack, but sadly, the brainwashed men had gone too many days without bloodshed and were hungry to kill.

He was powerless.

"General! We found the chief and his family, what should we do with him?"

"Proceed with the mission."

River heard was still half dazed when she heard the voice of a young englishman yelling to his commander. When the words and language registered in her head, something snapped in her and her shock and sadness quickly turned into anger and fury. Her head snapped back and instead of hurriedly packing, she began her angry trek to the soldiers. She pulled her gun from her leg holster and fired a warning shot between the soldiers and the chief's family. That caught their attention.

"You leave them alone." she demanded angrily.

The soldiers' eyes turned to her and River recognized a look she's seen many times over the years. Lust. Power-hungry lust. She's seen it at night as she passed pubs on her way home and even in the daylight when applying for a job with evident hierarchy. Had that look been new to her, River might have been frightened, but her angry was too strong and all concern was left to the wind. She knew when to fight and when to run, and now is when she knew to fight.

Then, everything was a blur. A shot fired here and there. She knew she had to have gotten at least six of them - she was a very good shot - before they finally overpowered her and had her pinned to the ground.

Anita and Dave quickly came to their friend's aid, but were quickly restrained and taken down. Their, now, three-man team much too small and weak compared to the army of 20 - now 14 after River's sharp shots. River knew the trouble she had gotten them in and she was well prepared for the consequences, before she heard a voice boom above the rest.

Everything had happened much too fast for John to react. First he's giving his men the order to simply follow procedure, not having the heart to command the chief's death, then there's a woman (who speaks and sounds english!) shooting his men and commanding them to back down.

Then the woman, and two of her apparent friends, are taken down and John is suddenly snapped out of his stupor from another unexpected variable and realized what his men were about to do.

"Men!" his voice suddenly roared and sounded like nothing he recognized. "Back down! The mission has been compromised. The chief and his family have escaped and you are attacking three English Citizens." John looked down and saw a small smile of success of the curly haired woman that started all this. "Return to formation and prepare to depart back to the camp."

"General Smith!" one of his colonels, Colonel Manton, called to him. "What about these," he sneered at the three civilians, "traitors."

Manton was, by far, one of the harshest and cruelest of his colonels and if he had a chance, he'd trade Manton off to any other general. Being in the middle of the Amazon rainforest made that task a bit of a challenge, however.

Smith walked over to the three civilians and inspected them. One was a chubby gentleman, probably in the 30s or 40s, black hair, and of average height. He looked like the scholarly type. The other was a black woman with curly short hair, also of average height and most likely the colleague of the man.

Then, his attention turned to the third member of their party, the one who had been shooting at his men. She was a bit taller than the two others, had a mane of curly blonde hair and was quite beautiful. There was a fire in her green-blue eyes that was absent in those of her cohorts and an air of confidence and defiance that John found rather attractive, not that he would ever confess it.

Any other, rational general would execute these three to death. They interfered with military ordnance and prevented the death of the tribe leader and his family, albeit it was wrong tribe they attacked. However, John couldn't find it in himself to make this order. He wasn't sure if it was some trance this devilish woman has put him under, or if it was simply the guilt of knowing they had attacked the wrong tribe and didn't stop it. Either way, he could not order their deaths.

"General Smith!" Manton called, pulling John out from his thoughts.

"Chain them up and return them to the camp," he ordered firmly. Then, before Manton could issue a complaint, he added, "we are going to contact the Prime Minister and send these Englishmen back. They are english citizens and do not have any business here."

"We're archeologist!" the male called out. Oh no, he hated archeologist.

"All the better, we'll send you back home and into the libraries where you belong." Smith spat back. "Men, get these three back to the camp. Now!"

The trio was quickly detained and marched back with the rest of the troops. Smith marched behind his troops, it allowed him to watch over them easily, but his eyes kept falling upon the unnamed blonde who attacked them. Who was she? How was she so brave? And why was he so unusually attracted to her?