Sorry this chapter took so long! My monitor blew out totally and I couldn't get on the computer for like a week. Luckily, it was only the monitor, and I didn't lose any of my stories. Whew.

Thanks to all who've reviewed, especially Erin aka BrokenLizard. Thanks a bunch! And also to Betsy, who pointed out to me the Serbs speak Serbian. I looked it up on the internet and you are right, Betsy, my mistake, and from here on in, I'll say they are speaking Serbian.

A/N: I've just finished reading "Basher Five-Two" by Air Force Captain Scott O'Grady. He is really a pilot who was shot down in Bosnia in 1995. I've learned a lot of facts from that book and that I have made a lot of stupid mistakes. I'll correct them, but mainly what I learned deals with the peace treaty.

The peace treaty was to keep Serbians, Muslims, and Croatians from killing each other in Bosnia. NATO was assisting with the peace process and flying over a designated "no-fly zone" that was supposed to be free of any attacks. It was supposed to be a safe haven, sort of, and NATO named that mission Operation Deny Flight. It's not a treaty to withdraw NATO forces peacefully (well, it included that, but wasn't only that), like I said in previous chapters.

Hate long author's notes! I'm sorry, but you should know what a stupid mistake I made.

Chapter Four

Deathtrap

Admiral Leslie Reigart watched out the window towards the sea that was calmly and powerfully rushing by. He knew for a fact that below the ship, Captain Rodway was assembling a team of trained Marines to rescue Lt. Burnett. O'Malley was somewhere, probably still trying to reach Piquet and Donnelly. He needed their permission first, but he was certain they would give it. No man could be left to defend himself against the forces of heaven and hell, and Reigart had no doubt that those were the conditions that faced Burnett.

The door knocked and he said quietly, "Come." It opened. Reigart angled his head backward, then gaped as Admiral Juan-Miguel Piquet closed the door behind him firmly.

Admiral Piquet was the Commander of NATO Sea forces. It was he who had concocted the delicate peace treaty and he who knew everything and anything in the Navy.

"Sir," Reigart started.

"Who ordered the mission?" Piquet interrupted crudely. He stepped forward. Reigart cocked his head, taken aback.

"I did, sir. Who else would?"

"I'm in the mood for speculating, Admiral. Call it off."

"What?"

"Call it off, Leslie. Stand down."

"What are you talking about? We have a man down."

"I know the facts, Admiral. Stand down." Piquet's voice was laced with nothing less than expectance of total obedience.

"Admiral Piquet, I don't know what you're talking about, but we have an F-18 down in Bosnia and two pilots, one of them probably already dead. The navigator is on the run." He couldn't see Piquet's thread of logic. He had to be joking. The Navy did not leave men stranded in hostile territory, they did not.

"I'm not joking, Admiral." Now Piquet growled, his voice demanding. "Call it off. Your men were off mission, weren't they?"

Reigart swallowed, then said hesitantly, "Yes, but-"

"The Serbs say it was renegade forces," Piquet stated, staring at his junior.

"Of course they're going to say that," spat Reigart. How could this man be telling him this? Piquet had always been an asshole, but usually he was reasonable.

"And can your man, Burnett, I believe, tell the difference between the uniforms of Croats, Serbs, and Muslims? Because I certainly can't, Reigart, and I've been here for five years." Piquet started to walk in a slow circle now, around Reigart. "Stand down, Admiral, or I will do it for you. This will violate the treaty I have worked so hard for. Everything is in jeopardy as it is already. You tell your man to get out of there and get to the safe zone. He got himself into this, and he can get himself out."

Reigart stepped forward, furious. "Admiral, you have to understand-"

"No, Leslie, you have to understand," Piquet snarled. "One man is not going to disrupt this treaty or this peace process. Under your training, he is supposed to be capable. I don't know what the hell he was doing off mission, but he is not, I repeat, he is not going to injure the situation any more by having our forces go into Bosnia and rescue him."

Riegart didn't speak. How could Piquet do this?

"And, Admiral," said Piquet as he started out the door, his eyes burning fire. "Master Chief O'Malley has something for you that I was hoping to present personally, but given the gravity of the situation, I think he'll do it for me. Just don't use it to a negative extent, Admiral. Have a nice day."

He closed the door behind him.

Reigart stared down at the deck of the ship. Burnett was already headed toward the rally point. Rodway was below, recruiting a team of Marines. And here Piquet had come, ordering the mission off and everything scrubbed. Damn Piquet, damn the world, damn Burnett.

Reigart grabbed his cover and went out his door, prepared to command Rodway to stop his mission, and prepared to contact Burnett.

When I reached the bottom of the cliff, I realized how stupid it had been to climb up it. I had been wide in the open and painfully vulnerable to any Serbian sniper who would be happy to slam a bullet into my American body. What had they taught me in survival training? Was I really getting that terrible?

I tucked myself into a thick cover of brush and made sure I was completely covered. I took the survival pack clipped to my hips and started to sort through what I had. I had about eight flexipacks of water. I consulted the tiny canvasses. I had maybe a quart in the tiny packs. It wouldn't last me long. I went through the rest: compass, map, cards, some rope, the basic pack. I reached the bottom and realized how ill equipped I was.

The grind of the normal ship life had taken its toll. I was supposed to be prepared for anything in this wilderness, prepared to be shot down, prepared to be taken prisoner. I was supposed to have all my equipment ready and eager, everything in order and myself in a calm state of mind. I had none of those things. Damn myself and damn the whole world!

I took deep, calming breaths. I had to think. I had to get to the RP by 3:00 this afternoon. I checked the digital watch clamped to my wrist. I had two hours to reach the RP. It wasn't much time. Why couldn't Reigart suspend the time? He knew it was dangerous to travel in daylight. Anything could happen during the day, one stray bullet could find its way towards me so easily . . .

No.

I threw my gear back into the kit and clipped it back to my hips. I had five miles to travel and I needed to be slow and precise in my movements. The Serbs were still looking for me, they had to be. They wouldn't give me up so easily. But why would they even want to kill me?

Surely not for just violating the no-flight zone. They could get into more trouble than good if they did that. Surely they wouldn't kill Stackhouse just for that, either . . .

I crept carefully out of my hole-up and rose cautiously through the thick thistle and leaves. It was quiet here. No noise came to my ears. There was no sound of gunfire, no sound of footsteps, no sound of tanks. I went forward to stand naked in the forest. Uneasily, I ran behind a tree, hugging next to it for all I was worth.

I was so vulnerable and exposed here. The trees were sparse and thin, struck to death by the cold hand of winter. My survival training had taught me to stay always undercover, always in places where I could be easily concealed. Oh, so now my training was coming in? Where had it been when Stackhouse had been shot, when I had ejected from the plane? Where had it been when I had climbed the rock face up to communicate with my ship? Where-

Enough questions!

Oh, God, I was already driving myself crazy. I needed out of here, I needed out of here now.

I took deep, calming breaths again. Still hugging the tree, I glanced around and listened. My gaze wandered up the gentle slope and then back down. The whole slope was covered in the sparse trees. The slope wasn't steep, but I couldn't peek over the top of it, which meant I couldn't see what was on the other side.

Nervously, I considered running up to look down at the other side. But no, that would do me more harm than good. What if the whole Serbian army was posted on the other side of that slope and decided at that exact second to take a look up the hill and spotted me?

No time.

I sucked in my breath and raced away from my naked, thin tree and to another one.

And then to another.

And then to another.

And then to another.

My head was throbbing as fiercely, the beginnings of a subtle migraine. The breath inside of my throat was caught and icy, but I continued on, my boots making small crashes on the dead leaves underneath me. I didn't care. The RP was miles away and I needed to cover them. I needed to cover them as quickly as I could.

Suddenly the trees in front of me thickened into fleshy green bundles. I paused, panting. It was as if the great damn gods in heaven had decided to stick a wall in front of bricks so that they could differentiate between the two. I cautiously crept forward.

Foxman, foxman, I heard a voice singing inside my head, creeping across all the land.

My sister used to sing that song when I wandered through the plains of Arkansas in our childhood. I wondered what she was doing right now, and if she knew that I downed in a country full of frogs and spiders. My sister hated bugs. She hated them so much she wouldn't let me mention their very name in her presence. She loved foxes, though, anything cuddly, red, and with long, fluffy tails. Foxman was her pet name for me. I wondered if she thought of me, if she though of me still as Foxman. I wondered if right now she was staring at fox and thinking of me, her kid brother.

Stop it. Just stop it.

I snapped back. God, had I spaced again? I couldn't afford this, goddamn it, I couldn't afford any of it! I needed to think! No more questions!

I skulked forward through the wall of trees and peered out. I gaped at what I saw.

A dam, high and wide, straddled a valley, cutting it into two. A great lake rested on one side, sparkling in the pale sunlight. On the other side of the dam was a wide, gushing river. The landscape around it was mountainous and rocky, trees and cliffs jutting out at almost every angle. I looked around myself. The trees had grown in clumps on this slope. Most of the slope ended in a precipice that ended in a straight drop into the water below. I look down below me.

The dam started at one edge of the valley and extended towards the other, connecting at both. Below me, it started and extended. The top of the dam allowed a narrow, flat space that acted like a walkway from one side to the other. On either side of the walkway was an angled wall that led into the waters of the river and lake.

This wasn't such a good idea. If I ran across, I'd be right in the open. I'd have no cover, easy prey for any watching hawk. Or sniper. The land on either side of me led into the water and I could see no end to the seemingly endless land.

I took the map out of my pocket. This whole trek had been for nothing. I couldn't get across and the only way to go was back. I couldn't risk exposing myself any more. Was I going the right way? Maybe I wasn't. Maybe the RP was back over that hill.

No. Indeed, I had to cross this cave of a valley to reach it. I looked in disbelief. I had to cross this? I was open on all sides. I couldn't do it! I'd be picked off in a second! They'd kill me with their first shot!

I took out my radio and tried to find the Carl Vinson. No. I had gotten too low to do any good. Damn it, I needed to cross this valley. I stared across the 300-foot distance. I could run and make it. But I'd still be terribly exposed for long enough. I scanned the hills. I could see no sniper, but that didn't mean they weren't there.

Do or die.

I tried my radio a last time. All I heard was the terrible, ominous crackle of static.

I looked again across the wide gap. I sucked in my breath, said a wordless prayer, and started to run.

I could see the other side, clear as day, glinting in the sunlight like something beautiful. Almost there . . . almost there . . . just a few more yards . . .

A bullet whistled past my ear, grinding into the stone behind me.

"Aaah!" I fell forward, the adrenaline that had been fueling me rushing to my head. I began a wild roll down the side of the dam. The world rushed by me in blur, colorful and painful. My head banged into the hard concrete, and bullets rained down from the heaven, sending me streaming into hell.

FLIP!

I tucked my head underneath my legs and flipped over onto my back, a painful journey. The lake was now rushing up at me, a sparkling blue death trap. A bullet grazed through my hair, missing me by an inch, and still, the lake continued to come closer, sparkling and shimmering like death.

Ground! Ground!

I changed my roll into a leap for the mushy ground that anchored the dam into the lake. It was seated at the bottom of the dam, the bank of the lake. If I could catch it in time, only part of me would be submerged into the water.

A bullet sank into my pack and went through, splitting one of my bags in half, and my rope and compass splashed into the lake below. Desperately I lunged turned my roll again into a spring and went forward.

REACH!

The ground caught my fingers and I gripped it, hanging on for life as the bullets continued to slam around me. My legs were submerged in water. Iciness poked at me painfully as I dragged myself up the bank and down on the ground.

My legs shaking, the cold traveling from there up to my arms and in a matter of seconds, my whole body started to shake in cold convulsions that I feared.

A bullet spat into the tree ahead of me.

GET UP! RUN! RUN!

I dragged myself up and started dashing away. The bullets no longer rushed around me, or in back of me. They no longer came at all.

But I wasn't safe! RUN!

I didn't care where I was running. As long as I was running away, away from the sniper, away the icy deathtrap that the lake was, away the chills that were snaking up my spine.

I just ran, just ran, ran, and ran. Get away, get safe!

Finally, when the shakes had taken hold of my entire being, I collapsed, exhausted, in a hole-up that was made of branches and thistles.

I started to cry. The tears I couldn't keep in any longer, tears that shook me so that my body was swaying. Why did this have to happen to me? Why were they chasing me? What had I done to them, what had made them hate me and despise me like I was some animal? What was I? Nothing? Worth nothing, was nothing?

The tears didn't stop until I made them. It seemed that I could cry forever, that I would never be all cried out, as people always said in books that they were. I had an endless quantity of tears that was drilled deep in me by the drill of the Bosnian animals that had shot my plane down.

God, why did they do this? Was my life now just an endless amount of questions?

It didn't matter. What did it matter? Nothing mattered. They had reduced me, reduced everything.

Good-bye, world, have fun without me.

How could they make me feel this weak?

A boom suddenly echoed throughout this hell of a forest and I flinched in its mightiness.

There was no more thread of logical reasoning. My tears weren't done, but I made myself stop anyway.


Damn everything. Damn this world. Damn these damn revelations that I shouldn't be having and these damn questions.

Damn Reigart, damn Stackhouse, damn O'Malley, damn Rodway, damn everything is this entire world that had an answer to anything.

I wrestled my way through the thistles and the branches.

Damn everything, damn nothing but myself.

Here I come, bullets, come and eat me alive!

I started to race forward, toward the rally point. Maybe when I was running I'd be lucky enough to be hit.

It was worth a shot.

"Piquet said you had something for me," Reigart told O'Malley as they walked hurriedly below deck.

"I do," O'Malley replied. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small, business card. "Some card for some media. He said that he wants to the reporter to come on board. He seemed very mad about something, sir. I don't think it was about this news, but something else. I don't think he wanted to talk to you."

"I wonder why," Reigart muttered, taking the card and reading it. Media people were scumbags. He didn't need the likes of them aboard his ship.

"Sir, if I may ask, what are we doing about Burnett?" O'Malley asked. "We are attempting a rescue, correct?"

"You know, Tom, you should be a psychic," Reigart said sarcastically. "Because, as of now, we are not!"

"What?"

"Piquet forbids it," Reigart said, his tone quietly furious. "It'll disrupt the peace process."

"But he's down and being pursued," O'Malley protested. "It's against everything if we do not attempt a rescue mission. He can die! He's in harms way!"

"Do you think I don't know that, O'Malley?" Reigart snapped, loudly and impatiently. "Do you think I didn't argue with him? Do you think I did not beg with him? He will not allow it, Tom. Just lay it down. We have to contact Burnett."

"We have to tell Rodway," O'Malley said, stubbornly subdued.

"Where do you think we're going?"

They continued their walk in silence.

Stackhouse was falling, falling in a dizzy pattern that I couldn't even pick out.

"Chris," he said, his voice mangled.

"Stack," I said back.

He still went in that dizzying pattern, falling faster and faster. I stayed in my elevated position, watching his fall like he was a person I didn't know, didn't care about.

Why was this happening to me? What had I done to deserve this?

"Chris," he said again.

I didn't answer this time. This time, I started to fall after him, in the same spirals, tracing his pattern.

"Chris."

I started screaming as the ground rushed up to me.

What was happening? The wind was screaming around me. What had happened?

There was a crash, a thud, a shot, a boom, then everything for me went dark.