- MILES -

Miles realized with disgust that they led him to the cell they'd kept Charlie in, unless they had all their prisoners bleed out in this shithole.

The Captain must have sensed him tense up because he replied. "Sorry, General. Housekeeping's got a day off. But we'll have them come turn down the bed tomorrow."

They threw him in and slammed the door shut behind him.

He slowly walked over to the bars and stretched his long arms out. His gaze assessing Bass and whether he'd be fit to fight.

"Didn't peg them as the funny guys."

Bass of course didn't respond. He hadn't moved from his spot against the wall. He barely spared him a glance as he was marched in.

"Bass…" Miles began, uncertain how to continue. He was often treading on shaky ground with Bass, but this was the stuff of nightmares. He opted for simple. It was his brand of choice after all.

"How you holdin' up?"

Bass only moved his eyes, breaking his gaze from a spot on the cracked ceiling to glare at Miles with a look that practically ordered him to shut up.

Taking the message, Miles decided on a change of subject. "What happened back in the woods?"

"I don't know, Miles. Take a wild guess."

There it was, the cracks starting to show, if he could get him to take his anger out on him, at least he wouldn't be hurting himself any more than he already probably has.

The fact that everyone's attention was on them made Miles, whose MO was always fly-on-the-wall, more than a little uneasy. Now that he had Bass' attention he tried to switch to their non-verbal communication, their language of looks that they'd established in middle school and refined down to a damn right art form by Basic Training.

Cocking a brow, Miles asked if Bass had a plan. He rolled his eyes in response, which meant that there wasn't a plan to be had and also that he wanted to be left the fuck alone.

"Then why'd you have me brought here, Bass?" Miles asked much to the confusion of the curious bystanders.

"That's right. I should have kept Charlie here to keep me company, maybe give these fuckers an encore performance of our festivities in the woods. Instead now I'm stuck here with your moppy ass." While the words were 100% like Bass, what confused Miles was the fact that he was practically screaming. When Bass was angry he got quiet. So what was this? Bass was rarely a shouter. And then a light finally blinked in Miles' head, boy he was actually getting rusty.

So, Bass was going with Akron…? He bit his tongue fighting the urge to tell him he was a moron, he could have played it any number of ways. Granted, Fallujah could have been too risky and Baghdad was outright suicide, but fucking Lansing could have worked. That's why he was the General, but this was Bass' play and for the sake of his sanity he needed to have the upper hand.

So he dug deep, and played along.

"No yeah, I should have thanked you for having the decency to save my kid after you dragged her down with you. You're a sinking boat, Bass."

That got him off his feet. He slammed the bars hard. If he could get to him he'd probably split his head open.

"I should have finished you off all the times I got the chance. Rachel was right about that one." Miles continued. He hated dragging her name into this, but he knew it would do the trick and send him over the edge.

"You've been putting that woman before our friendship ever since she set foot in Philly, Miles. Her goddamn honeytrap better be worth it 'cause it cost us the Republic."

Bass' signature brand of vitriol seemed to provide ample entertainment for the gathering officers, but the Captain clearly had decided he'd had enough because he ordered two of the cadets to go break it off.

Seizing the opportunity, Miles and Bass reached out in a perfectly coordinated attack and grabbed the unlucky fellas by the necks jamming them against the bars, using their bodies for cover. They instantly had about a dozen weapons trained on them, but they finally also had weapons of their own from the unlucky guards.

The stand-off was starting to drag and while they could break out of their cells, it was hard to do without letting go of the officers they were using as shields. Realizing that very fact, some of the Patriots started to approach them, trying to get a clean shot no doubt. The layout of the detention area in the sheriff station luckily made it difficult but without Charlie opening another assault from the front they'd be screwed. And they were essentially relying on a girl who'd been through one of the most traumatic experiences she could possibly endure to read the minds of two trained soldiers with about ten times her experience. As he was about to count how slim the chances were, he heard shots down the hall.

- CHARLIE -

Charlie reached the house that Miles earlier descended from like a dark angel of doom and stood dazed in front of its derelict porch. She'd been warned not to touch his weapons and two soldiers followed her to gather them as he was being led inside.

She still half-expected them to take her back in too, or somewhere else entirely. A re-education camp or a different prison. But they left her alone. If she had to guess, she thought they'd failed to see her as a threat. Well, it was their funeral. She sat on the steps and pretended to cry, counting them as they retreated inside, surely not wanting to miss the Bass & Miles show. She just hoped that those two had a plan because she sure as hell had her own. The watch around the building was light, two posted on the front door and two doing the rounds.

She waited a little longer until she finally stood up and walked the few steps to the front door with the smashed screened windows.

As soon as she pushed it open, Rachel practically flung herself at her and she felt her wet cheeks press against hers, or maybe it was her own tears, she realized.

"Charlie, sweetheart. Oh God…"

She held her at arm's length, examining her and Charlie brushed her off.

"Mom, we got more important things to do. We need to go break them out."

Rachel shook her head. "Let's at least wait until nightfall."

"We may not have that long, mom. You know what they're gonna do to them? Ship them off to Washington, try them like war criminals and put them in front of a firing squad."

Rachel face went white as a sheet.

"Exactly. We don't have time and we don't have a choice."

"In that case we're gonna need guns." Rachel said in her usual soft, matter-of-fact tone.

"We don't have guns, mom. They took all of Miles' weapons."

"Whatever he showed them."

Charlie's mouth dropped open when her mother walked her over to a neat little armory Miles left behind for them. Charlie's eyes scanned over the weapons. Her crossbow would be ideal to take down the perimeter guard; it was quiet too, compared to a sniper rifle. Then there was also a couple of smaller handguns, a Beretta and a Colt, and Bass' sword which she quickly clipped around her waist even though the belt was a little loose. It was the most efficient way to carry it inside, if she got that far.