CHAPTER TWO

If there was one thing that he took back with him when he left the military bases, other then memories and knowledge, it was this. He dug through the many boxes in the garage, pushing aside piles after piles until he found the one. Opening the flaps, the box was filled with academia journals, rough and published papers, loose sheets of calculations, everything typical of his storage. Until he took out the top few layers and then in the midst of the papers were other, smaller boxes. Pulling out one in particular, knowing the other ones would simply be full of more papers, he opened the smaller box. Again, there were academia journals but underneath them he pulled out a black metal box with a combination lock. Carefully aligning the digits he unlatched the top, to reveal a small handgun and cartilages.

I got this just for you baby boy.

I don't want it Kyrthan.

Keep it. You're trained to fire this now.

You said it was a technicality, that it was just for passing the test to-

Stay on the team. I know. And it's true. As long as the team is around, you won't ever have to have this on you. And you won't need one when you go back to the city, but keep it. Just in case. Just a memento. You don't ever have to shoot it.

"Just in case." Charlie whispered to himself, repeating old words, loading a cartilage and heard it click in. "When the team is not around, and you need it."

He made sure the safety was on; he really didn't want to fire it. Pulling his pants up he tucked the small gun into his boots, industrial heavy duty boots he hadn't worn in just as long as he had held the gun, and placed the spare cartilages in his other boot. Making sure the pant hems were back in place he locked the metal case and put everything back again.

The ring slid out and hung from his neck as he leaned forward putting the last box back. A hand curled around the cold metal, an action he hoped that wouldn't have time to become a habit. There were a lot of things that message could have meant, he just hoped it wasn't the worst.

The doorbell rang. Charlie jolted and quickly tucked the ring back inside his shirt and walked out of the garage through the connecting door into the house. He took a breath to calm himself down and opened the door.

Standing at a 6'2" on his doorstep with a face so familiar, brown eyes sparkling down at him, large luggage bag on his shoulder, was the means to his answer. "Greg." Charlie breathed.

"Hello Little Professor." Lieutenant Gregory Williamson of the U.S. Army smiled.

. : - : .

"Krythan! Krythan!" Charlie shouted, catching up with her in the hall. "Vahn." Charlie gasped, chest heaving from the sprint, "Vahn is alive."

Her jaw was made of granite. "Of course Vahn is alive. A mission of this caliber is hardly an obstacle for him. Ignore what the bigwigs say, when his dispatch comes, they'll be eating their words."

"No," Charlie said, grasping her arm. "Vahn is alive. I know where they are."

Krythan was still, completely motionless. "Charlie, do you know what you're saying?"

"I, I ran some calculations." Charlie stumbled over his words, trying to get them all out while he still had her attention. "From all the data of the unknown bombings of the enemy sites, in the last few days? No group came up to claim them, right?"

Krythan nodded slowly.

"It's Vahn. And the others." Charlie told her, "I ran a regression analysis on purpose of target, level of impact, and,"

"Charlie, skip the math." She told him.

"James has demolition experience, five years ago his old team ran scenarios using the same level of damage impact bomb. They're most probably choosing the targets according to Greg's navigation system that he took with him, it had old data on enemy encampments. And they're slipping in and slipping out quickly, probably Vahn has been infiltrating each base ahead of them, to get to the next site."

"Charlie, the company lost contact halfway through the desert, and the encampments attacked are moving further away from us."

"I know, I know. That's just it. We've been assuming they're going to try to get back, but if we change the motive…there's not enough gas and supplies left for them to make the trip back, and their radio communication is shot. They can't make it back on their own but they do have explosives…"

"And they can take as many of the bastards out with them as they go down. The god damn stubborn son of a bitches!"Krythan seethed, "I told them no heroics! I don't need fucking martyrs on my team, I need them to come back alive! "

"Based on my calculations of their paths and triangulating it with available water resources and best optimal travel routes to stay under detection and adding in the time intervals they could move in the dark…"

Krythan gripped his shoulders hard. "Charlie."

He looked into her eyes, they were depending on him. His friend's lives depended on him having gotten his calculations right. "They should have enough supplies for another two days, if they stretched it correctly. I narrowed the area down to where they could be within a 3 km square unit. If you can mobilize people…"

"Send out the choppers, fly over the area, have the ground troops scout for signs…"

"We should reach the target area within approximately 15 hrs."

"Which gives us half a day to find them. Charlie, thank you!" Krythan pulled him into a crushing hug. "I'll bring our boys back, you'll see! Meet me at the northern doors with your maps in 30 minutes! I'll gather the troops!"

. : - : .

"Hey Don." Alan greeted his son from the couch as he walked in late that night.

"Hey Dad." Don slid off his jacket and put it on a hanger by the door. "What's for dinner tonight?"

"You'll have to ask your brother." Alan answered lowering his paper, "Charlie's cooking."

"Yeah?" Don said cautiously, unbuttoning his cuffs.

"Yeah, he's making it now, with one of his friends in the kitchen. Apparently they're on vacation and came to visit." Alan told him.

"A friend?" Don repeated, turning towards the kitchen where he could see movement. "Do we know who?"

"No one I've met before but they seem to get along, and Charlie said they hadn't seen each for years." Alan told him.

"Years, okay." Don nodded as he walked away. As he drew closer he could see the figure of someone who wasn't his brother leaning on the counter, and their voices. As consistent with what his dad said, the two voices sounded happy, amused.

"And here, I'll finish that." His younger brother said, taking something away from the other person.

"I can help with something you know. I've done kitchen duty." The other man defended.

"Yeah, didn't James used to tell me he'd begged to take those duties from you, just so he could be assured that the food was edible?"

"Oh he did not." The friend protested, and then paused, "only sometimes."

Charlie laughed. "That doesn't inspire confidence, and it proves my point."

Don smiled, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen unnoticed; watching his brother chop the last of the vegetables as the man beside him remained quiet, sulking probably. From here he could see the back of the visitor, short brown hair and broad shoulders like Colby's, posture suggesting he had his arms crossed in front of him. Charlie though, Don could see his face at an angle and his lips were pulled back into a smile, his face bright, eyes shining. His whole body was in the present, filled with contentment.

He waited until Charlie put the knife down. "Hey, I'm home."

"Don!" Charlie said, turning towards him. "Hey, you're home, this, this is my friend, Greg."

The smile left his face as the friend turned around and he recognized; brown hair, brown eyes, same strong jaw. "Lieutenant Gregory Williamson."

"Yes." Charlie said, smile lessening as he grew confused. "How did you know that?"

"We met, earlier in the day." Williamson replied, face neutral, all traces of previous mirth gone. "I thought you might have been related, but I wasn't sure."

Williamson had recognized Don's last name. "Well."

Charlie looked between the two men. "You guys met, earlier today?"

"Yup," Don said, staring into Williamson's eyes. "Greg here was brought in after he was shot at."

"You were shot?" Charlie repeated.

Williamson gave him a dark look before turning to counsel Don's brother. "Shot at, I didn't actually get shot. They mistook me for someone else or they didn't like the way I dressed. Apparently there are some places you're supposed to avoid in the city, but I didn't know." He shrugged and gave Charlie a lopsided smile.

Don didn't buy it and from the incredulous stare that Charlie gave the man, he probably didn't either.

Charlie opened and closed his mouth several times. "You have to be careful about the gangs here. They don't like it if they think you're invading their territory."

Or maybe he did. Don tried not to turn his own incredulous stare at Charlie. Some times, his younger brother's genius did not align with common sense.

"I'll keep that in mind," Williamson placated his brother. "How about we take the food out now?"

"Oh, right." Charlie turned to plates around him, "Don, take the salad will you?"

Though out the dinner they made small talk, there was an initial rough patch when they told Alan how Don and Williamson knew each other, but Charlie fumbled over it with, "Greg got caught in the middle of city gang territory," and it was not mentioned again.

But it was curious, and Don was curious, "How do you two know each other?" There was just no logical reason for Charlie, math geek, to have met an army soldier years ago.

"Yeah," Alan supported, "How did you two meet?"

"We met in training." Williamson said, taking a bit of the salad.

"Well," Charlie jumped in quickly, "Greg was training. I was giving a presentation at a conference. For, for a project. Near his training base. And we met, on a lunch break. We eh…"

"Ran into each other, literally? Does he still do that," Williamson gestured to the other Eppes members, "that thing where he starts writing math on a binder, folder, or whatever and forget to watch where he's going? I'm not the only one who gets his coffee dumped all over me when I walk away from the counter?"

Alan snorted. "Oh yeah, I don't think he'll ever stop."

"Charlie gets lost in his math, all the time." Don said, watching his brother splutter.

"I do watch where I'm going!" Charlie told them but nobody believed him.

. : - : .

A knock on his door distract Charlie from the papers of equations spread out in front of him. Gregory Williamson stood at the entrance, back straight and shoulders tense. "Mind if I come in Professor?"

Charlie wasn't a Professor yet, he was still in the process of finishing his doctorate. But members of the Frynd-Sign company had been calling him that for at least a year now, when ever he showed up to his yearly visits to the training base and the short intervals he was there for consulting. The older members stayed a respectable, polite distance from him, but the newer members always confused about why they had a mathematical geek in their unit, sneered. Gregory Williamson, career military and inherited from his family, had been hostile, looking down on the civilian consultants. Charlie had made a bad impression when they first met, running into the man in line at the cafeteria, making the soldier burn himself with steaming hot coffee.

"Come in," Charlie said, moving several stacks of folders.

"Don't clean up on my account. This will only be a moment." The soldier stood in front of Charlie's desk, arms locked behind his back, standing at attention. "I just wanted to say thank you. Captain Sign told us that you were the one who found us, out there in the desert, when we were labeled MIA and everyone had stopped looking."

"I, I didn't really do anything." Charlie stuttered, "I just, I ran some calculations. And, anything else anyone who could have, would have done."

Williamson stared at him, a curious light in his eyes. "Possibly, but thank you, all the same. You saved us."

Charlie shifted uncomfortably. "You don't have to thank me. I'm also a member of Frynd-Sign, Specialist Williamson."

"Yes, you are." Williamson said softly. "Please, call me Greg."

He smiled. "Charlie."