Warren and Henderson followed Andrews as he led them through the rain on a half-broken trail. The gunny had been like a bloodhound, hunched over, eyes on the ground, leading the way through the never-ending forest. He claimed that the trail was hot, that they were close, that they were catching up with their quarry.

They left the path and stopped partway to cache their rucksacks, keeping only their extra ammo, weapons, tactical gear, water, some survival supplies, and their GDOs stashed on their belts and in a multitude of pockets. The last thing they needed in a fight was to be weighed down with eighty pounds or more of supplies and equipment. None of them believed they'd get Makepeace back without a fight.

Now unencumbered by excess weight, Andrews moved with quick, silent steps, focused on the signs in the dirt and on the plants. Suddenly, he stopped. "We need to be careful," he murmured, almost too quietly to hear over the dripping water, rustling leaves, and unearthly insect and animal noises. "We're almost on top of them, and I think they're hiding like before, out there." He made a small gesture at the not-so-innocent looking woodlands. "They can't fool us this time, though. I've got their number."

Warren nodded, and water cascaded off his hood. They'd all been keeping their weapons ready to fire, but the warning was apt. He remembered the way they had been ambushed, how they'd never even had a hint that something might be lurking in the strange, overwhelming trees, waiting for them. How they'd never even seen their enemy.

They traveled further, edging forward with excruciating care, staying low in the underbrush to avoid detection. A surprise downpour hammered at them painfully for a few minutes before it slowed to a gentler rainfall. Andrews stopped again, cautiously peered through some ugly bushes with spiny white berries. "What the hell—" He sounded outraged.

Stepping softly, Warren moved to the front to take a look. The forest eased into the weedy shoreline of an enormous lake. Then he saw what had the gunnery sergeant so pissed off.

His back to the woods, Colonel Makepeace stood in the lake, in waist-deep water. Warren could see only his bare torso, but he knew Makepeace was naked. His clothes were in Henderson's rucksack.

The colonel's hands were tied behind his back. A rope tied around his neck tethered him to an overhanging tree branch. His attention was fixed out on the water—or on something in the water. He stiffened, took a step back, then another, and then he lost his footing and lurched to one side. The rope pulled tight against his neck; he flailed helplessly against it. Warren could hear him choking.

Someone growled. Henderson said, "Cover me," and darted out toward the water.

Swearing, Warren crashed after him.