New Mexico, New Year's Day, 1865

New Year's Eve had passed without much acknowledgement or any celebration in the prison camp, nor was there a holiday the next morning. There was the collecting of the dead, the assembly for work assignment, and the chilly desert day moved ahead. The men who had drawn assignment to the most demanding construction detail lined up to receive some extra food rations. This usually consisted of a piece of cheese or a scoop of beans. Protein was in precious short supply.

Heath was glad when they handed out cheese. It was an easy food to smuggle down to Hadassah and the children. Easy was important, because the prisoners assigned to the water project construction were kept under a high level of surveillance and security. They were the healthiest and strongest of the inmates, and their assignment generally took them outside the walls to work on the system of aqueducts and cisterns that was taking shape.

Once they had received their ration of food and water, the men were shackled together in a line, and marched out to the day's work zone. Armed guards walked alongside, one every 10 to 15 yards. Today the halted near a partially excavated cistern. Bentell planned to excavate to the rock layer so it would be ready to hold runoff water when the rains started. The area was prone to flash flooding in the arroyos, usually in mid-winter and during the late summer monsoon season. He planned to create fortified aqueducts that would channel flood water from the arroyo into the waiting cisterns so it could be stored and used - or sold.

Bentell scanned the lineup of inmates as they waited for instructions. He would sometimes seek volunteers for the cistern and well digging work, but he would often make the assignment himself, punitively. Most of the men disliked the task. This young blonde one, though - his demeanor indicated something more than dislike. He seemed physically uncomfortable standing within sight of the black shaft into the ground. Moreover, Bentell had been keeping his eye on this soldier in particular. He had recently learned that this boy was the inmate his predecessor had been interrogating for some time just prior to his murder. He was, therefore, a person of interest. Bentell intended to investigate this soldier, and sending him down into the well seemed like an excellent way for them to start their relationship.

Heath kept his eyes on the ground as Bentell paced the lineup and paused in front of him. He had been trying his best to remain unnoticed by the new commander, trying to blend in and appear compliant. He was a good worker when he had work to put his hand to. But Heath was honest enough with himself to know that when he didn't like something - a person, or a situation - he didn't hide it well, and more often than not he got himself in the line of fire. He'd been labeled insolent, stubborn, uppity, and disrespectful for most of his life. But now he just wanted to stay out of sight. He just wanted to survive. He definitely didn't want to draw his captor's attention, and he didn't want to put Hadassah and her children at risk.

"Name," Bentell barked.

"Heath Thomson, 5th US Infantry."

"Not exactly, from what I've learned."

"Sir?"

"You were attached to the 5th, yes, but you are part of an insurgent sniper and reconnaissance unit that had been conducting terrorist operations out of Fort Craig until you were captured."

Heath was confused. Terrorist? He wasn't entirely sure what the commander meant by that, but he was sure he didn't like the way the conversation was going.

"There's some tight spaces down in this well that need to get cleared out today. Thomson, get roped up and get down there."

Bentell was gratified by the response this order produced, subdued as it was. After all, this youngster was a seasoned soldier. He wasn't expecting tears and wailing. But Bentell was a man who liked details, and he took note of the intake of breath, the slight tremor in the hands, the dilated pupils, the attempt to swallow in a bone dry throat.

His scrutiny was interrupted, surprisingly, by another inmate. "Commander, could I request that detail today?" This from a fair skinned, husky red-haired young man. "I'm a good digger, and I think you know I'd love to have a chance to be out of the sun for a bit."

"Name."

"Corporal Michael Peterson, sir, 5th US Infantry."

"Perhaps next time, Peterson. Thomson - "

Bentell was interrupted again, by a soldier galloping up with a written message. As Bentell stepped aside to confer with his officers, Heath turned to the redhead. "What are you doing, Mikey?"

"Don't want you going down there, that's all. Climbing down there don't bother me none, but I know a little what you're going through. Not as bad, but after a bad stretch of fighting for a while I'd get attacks like that every time I was in a crowd. Most horrible feeling ever, if you ask me. Wouldn't wish it on anyone. Besides, maybe I'll find some nice rocks down there for your little art project." He laughed and ruffled Heath's hair like he was a child, knowing it would annoy him.

Heath shook him off with a grin, but it vanished quickly as he looked at the well shaft. He took a shaky breath. He knew Bentell was going to make him go down there, and he thought he knew why. Bentell wanted to make sure Heath knew who was boss. In Heath's experience, when a man went out of his way to teach him who was boss, he was usually laying the groundwork for something more unpleasant to follow. Heath sighed. "I appreciate the thought, Mikey. I'll be alright. Don't you go getting yourself in trouble, you hear?"

Bentell returned to the lineup. He looked hard at Heath. "It appears you've gotten a reprieve for today, Thomson. Scouts report rain coming above us, which means flash flooding. We will need to work in the arroyo to shore up and fortify the entrance to the waterway, otherwise the flood will wash away what has already been excavated. The cistern will have to be completed tomorrow."

Heath felt almost light in his step as they marched away from the well shaft. He felt uneasy, though, acutely aware that Bentell seemed constantly to be watching him. He was uneasy, too, about the prospect of working down at the base of an arroyo with the possibility of a flash flood that could barrel in at any minute. Still, it was a fine clear day in their part of the desert, and Heath was happy to be above ground.

Bentell had been keeping the pressure on the work crews since the water project commenced. There was a ferocious urgency to his focus on the completion of the project, the reasons for which he did not share. He was never happy with the progress made, invariably critical and sarcastic with his staff, merciless with the inmates.

Heath had known a few slave owners and brutal bosses in his day, had seen them in words and deed, but he had never seen anyone like Bentell for treating people like they were bits of machinery. He seemed to have no human feeling at all, except for himself, his work, and possibly his wife. Staff and inmates alike he would examine for their use, bang them into shape if necessary, and put them to work with a good amount of abuse as the lubricant. If the part didn't perform as he wanted, or was too problematic to repair, it was discarded. Heath could feel Bentell was measuring him, rolling him around in his palm like some rusty bolts, readying his tools to put Heath to use. But to what purpose? What did Bentell suspect, or want? Heath reckoned whatever it was, pretty soon going down into that well was going to be the least of his worries.