Sliding on the wet pebbles he followed the river, rounding a bend seconds into the trip. He refused to give in to the urge of turning for a final glimpse of his family, aware it would weaken his resolve. Chewing his lip he hastened onwards, focusing on the treacherous path. He misjudged the slipperiness of various rocks, landing on hands and knees twice before he reached the higher path that left the water. Thank God. Move Almeida, or it'll be too late.

The path was mercifully free of the lightest dusting of snow, enabling him to progress rapidly. Mind blank, he moved onwards, determined to reach a point where the path diverged before Hassan and his men came into sight. Lives depended on him yet again and he refused to give in to his exhaustion or pain.

Tony reached the fork in the path before Hassan and allowed himself a two minute break aware nothing else would stop the world spinning before him. Eyes closed, he moved the moment he heard voices approaching him. Easy, Almeida, the trick's in the timing. They gotta see you. They're not real smart – your diversion should fool them! He remained where he was, his heart numb till they rounded a rise and saw him. Yelling in triumph they rushed after him, Hassan in the center of the heavily armed group.

Tony pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to the fork, taking the opposite path to the passengers. It twisted as it rose and fell climbing the cliff. Their voices sounded ever closer as he pushed his weary body onwards. It's working, Almeida. They took the bait. Now all you gotta do is keep moving and make a little noise and they'll follow you all the way up the mountain. Realistically, he needed to buy the group twenty minutes. He would succeed as the consequences to his health no longer mattered. You're doing great, Almeida. Every minute they follow you is one further minute for the passengers to cross that river, and don't forget these guys also got to return to the path. All you gotta do is keep moving.

The path turned downwards steeply too late for him to notice. He gave a cry of surprise as he tumbled along it, scraping the skin off his knees and the bandages off his fingers. A moment passed while he collected his shaky breath and rose to his feet, breathing through the pain in his hands. Ignore that. Right now, it's irrelevant.

Hassan's bullet hit him fifteen minutes later on a relatively exposed stretch. Tony stumbled, crawling forward another couple of feet as he forced his body to roll off the path. The valley he found himself in was deserted of any sign of human presence. Snow lay in patches on the ground, knee high grass waved in the breeze between them and a few birds flew from him.

'Stop moving, Almeida, it's over,' Hassan yelled, raising his rifle.

For an instant their eyes met, Tony reading the blood lust plainly. Defeated, he held out his hands before he lay on the ground resting on his stomach. Dear God give me strength. Don't let them notice how scared I am. And please protect Michelle. Find her another husband, a better one.

'Turn round, dog,' Hassan ordered as his men entered the valley. 'Where are the rest of the passengers?'

Tony sat up slowly, unable to obey the order to lie on his back. Once again their eyes met, neither side yielding.

'I asked you something,' Hassan hissed, moving to kick him in the ribs. 'Answer me, dog. Where are the passengers?'

'It's your country, Hassan. You go find 'em,' Tony muttered, shaking with the pain of the loose pebbles rubbing his raw back.

Hassan moved towards him, pulling an arm out. 'I ask you one last time, dog. Where are the others?'

Tony turned away, unable to watch the boot descending on his broken hand, crushing the fingers into the frozen soil. His shriek echoed round the peaks startling a pair of goats on a higher slope. Returning the contents of the ration packs he lay shaking, pain slicing through his hand while the blood poured from the burning hole in his thigh.

'I don't think they're here,' Hassan guessed, kneeling beside his captive. 'I think they're miles away by now and they sacrificed you to divert us. Logical choice too. You're half dead already while they believe they got a small chance.'

Tony remained silent, shadowed by the men pressed around him.

'I don't take being turned into a fool lightly, dog,' Hassan continued. 'Your sacrifice is pointless; I got two other groups across the river waiting to intercept your friends should they get that far. Nobody is leaving here alive. I wanted you to know that. Think about it as you die, dog.'

Mom and Papa, I love you. I'm real sorry for being such a pain so many times when I was a kid. Michelle, sweetheart…

Hassan snapped an order and the circle of men took a few steps backwards. Raising his rifle the terrorist met his eyes, firing a shot below his knee. 'Thought I was going to kill you, didn't you dog?' He croaked with laughter while Tony blinked a handful of tears away. Once again the rifle was aimed, the bullet lodging into his opposite thigh. 'Not this time, either. I got plenty of bullets left, dog. It's gonna be fun, guessing which one will blow your brains out.'

Please… help… me…

'And I'm out,' Hassan said four shots later, shaking his head in disappointment. 'Looks like you got lucky, dog. I'm going to leave you out here to die of exposure. Shouldn't take more than a couple of hours, the amount of blood you're losing.' He rose, leaving Tony staring at him in horrified disbelief. 'You understand now, dog. You got a few hours to make peace with your God and think about me catching up to your wife. They're gonna leave her for me.' He kicked a handful of dirt into Tony's face as he left, his men following him across the valley.

Tony gasped for breath, his body twitching. Blood trickled from the three bullets in his legs, one in his left arm, one in his shoulder and two that especially terrified him as they had been fired inside his body. Too spent to attempt to consider what organs they could have destroyed he turned his head, forcing himself to examine his external wounds. Blood gushed from his right leg soaking the ground underneath it.

So much blood. Too much. Gotta stop that, Almeida, or you'll die. The irony escaped him as he used hands and teeth to rip his t-shirt apart and apply a rough bandage over his thigh. He left you alive, Almeida. He's after Michelle. You might have bought her enough time, or you might not. Go find out. He attempted to sit up, a bullet scraping his ribs. Eyes pressed shut; he sank back into the gathering pool of blood.

Jack turned anxiously, his eyes scouring the area for the second time. The last passenger waited to cross, leaving nothing in sight beyond his backpack and unrolled sleeping bag. The sight of the abandoned sleeping bag filled him with dread as he moved towards it. 'Tony, where are you?' he called, aware his friend was not resting.

The gathering wind was his only answer. Uncertain whether to be annoyed or alarmed he retracted his steps and peered round the bend, his eyes following a choppy river. 'Tony, we gotta go now,' he yelled, hearing his words echoed back. 'Dammit, don't do this.'

The remaining passenger shook his head at his questioning. 'No, I haven't seen Tony. He probably died somewhere! Tell me you're not going to delay us all by looking for him.'

Jack glared at him in hatred. 'Yes I'm going to look for him. Wait up.' He grabbed his sat. phone and called Gael, concerned the terrorists were closing on them.

Gael stared at the phone in the greatest surprise. 'What do you mean where are they, Jack? They were right behind you. I told Tony to get you moving over half an hour ago.'

Jack's eyes narrowed as he searched the empty terrain. 'When exactly did you speak to him?' he demanded.

'46 minutes ago,' Gael said, his fingers tightening round the phone. 'Didn't he tell you?'

'I haven't seen him for an hour,' Jack admitted unhappily. 'I just now got the last of the passengers across the river and he's gone.'

'Dammit, Jack, he's gone back…' Gael cried, guessing their colleague's actions at the split second he reached an identical conclusion. 'That's why they haven't surrounded you yet. Hang a sec; I'll check where they are now.'

Jack paced restlessly, his eye on the opposite bank. Come on Gael, make it fast. If Tony's gone back to divert that crowd they'll have caught him by now. Time never passed as slowly as that minute before Gael answered him, passing the coordinates of the next valley.

Dammit, Tony, your family's on the other side of that river. They're already eyeing me strangely. You think I came all this way to help some hijacked strangers! Shaking his head in fury he moved to the river, scrambling across the rope. Just as he expected, Marco met him.

'Where's Tony?'

Jack looked him in the eye resolved to be honest. 'We had a problem. The group following us moved too close.'

Marco watched him in silence, his eyes hard.

'Tony went back to act as a decoy. He bought us a little time and we're gonna use it. Keep moving due north, there are a coupla choppers waiting to take you to safety.'

A grip of iron seized his arm. 'Mr. Bauer, you take these people to the choppers. I am going back for my son.'

Jack shook his head, noting Michelle and Rita had joined them, hanging on their every word. 'I'm going back for him – alone. You gotta keep moving.'

'I'm not leaving Tony,' Michelle began, her eyes filled with dismay.

'He already left you,' Jack snapped. 'Go now, Michelle. Hassan won't be far behind, you can be sure of that. If he's alive, I'll find him.'

'Querida, keep moving with Michelle,' Marco ordered, pulling his wife to him for a second. 'I'm going back to get Tony. I'll get him back, Michelle,' he promised, turning away. 'You gonna shoot me?' he questioned, seeing Jack's face. 'Decide now, Mr. Bauer, because we're wasting time.'

'Sir, you were never a soldier,' Jack protested as Marco followed him back across the river. 'You're starved, your feet are raw with blisters and you're untrained to handle this terrain.'

'I'm a father,' Marco snapped, ignoring the agony each step produced. 'That qualifies me. I was there when he was born; I'm not abandoning him, now or ever! And I completed my national service! Be sure I'll keep up with you!'

Jack nodded, swayed by his argument. 'We gotta hurry.'

Gunfire erupted around them as Michelle dived into a clump of grass pulling Rita behind her. 'Stay down,' she yelled, her eyes searching the thickets on either side of the trail. Around them disorganized passengers fell to the ground shrieking, one man unwisely opting to run. 'Get down,' Michelle yelled, her words making no impact. He was mowed down before them seconds later.

Rita's stomach heaved as she watched the body jerk before them. Forcing her eyes away she glanced at her daughter-in-law who appeared oblivious to the fallen man, her eyes searching the distance.

'There are at least five guys ahead of us,' she began, turning to Rita. 'I'm going to take out the two on this side of the track. I need you to count how many are gonna fire from the other side.'

Faced with little other choice, Rita nodded, her heart hammering as Michelle rose and fired several rounds into a bush. 'How many?' she yelled.

'Six,' Rita replied, praying she was right. 'You won't be able to get them from here.'

'That's why I'm going behind that rock,' Michelle explained, nodding her head at a large boulder along the path.

Rita shook her head. 'Honey, you'd be exposed…'

'So cover me. Just fire in that direction,' Michelle ordered, passing her a rifle from a comatose passenger. 'I'll be okay!'

Mind blank, she crawled across the path to the boulder, Rita's gunfire ringing in her ears. To her relief she reached the boulder safely and took a moment to regain her breath. On the count of three, one two three fire. Michelle rose and emptied her rifle into the opposite bush, the stick falling from under her elbow. She slipped, landing on the broken leg, reopening the fracture. Her shriek was drowned in the gunfight; nobody missing her till the remaining terrorists lay dead. It was Rita who reached her, Rita who attached her walking stick to her leg binding it together with torn strips of clothing and Rita who let two men know that if they failed to carry her she would blow their brains away. Somewhere during that final stretch Michelle lost her battle with the relentless pain.

The sun dipped behind the westernmost peak plunging the valley into deep shadow. His failing eyes struggled to make out the pale outline of the moon, an early star beside it. "Not a star, m'ijo. It's a planet, our closest neighbor. See, it doesn't twinkle." You'll be dead before the sunrise, Almeida, most likely long before. He struggled to raise his head to catch a last glimpse of some rays of sunlight. It took his final hopes of seeing his parents and Michelle with it as it retreated.

"There is a time for everything m'ijo, and it's no use fighting it," his gentle grandfather had explained. Aware what he meant he rested his head against his shoulder, prepared to argue till dawn if necessary.

"That time's not yet, Abuelo! This is your house, you live HERE."

The old man squeezed his shoulders. "Don't fight it, Tony. I'm old now; I'll go rest quite soon. I'll join Abuela and my parents and even your uncle."

Tony stirred, his heart burning. "NO. Why do you sound as though you wanna leave, Abuelo? There's nothing wrong with you, you're not sick." Silence stretched between them broken by thousands of crickets as he stirred on the sofa swing where he had fallen asleep so often on holidays as a child snuggled into the old man's arms. "Don't you want me to come visit anymore?" He had brushed the childishness of his protest aside, glaring at his grandfather.

"You, Antonio, are the main reason I am still here this summer," the old man admitted, slipping a thin arm around him. "I've been waiting for you."

"And I'm here," Tony said, returning the hug. "Look, I'll send you more money; you can hire more guys to do all the work. I'll get someone to clean out and cook and do everything, you just gotta relax and smoke your pipe."

The old man laughed heartily, an old sparkle returning to his eyes. "Have I taught you so little, muchacho? Now that would kill me sooner than anything! Me sitting here while strangers work my land! Hah!" He swatted Tony lightly on the shoulder, shaking his head.

Tony shrugged. "It was just a thought." He buried his head deeper into his grandfather's shoulder racking his brains to delay the inevitable. "I got a better idea. I'll resign and move out here with you! We'll work together and I'll cook and clean out and we'll eat dinner out here every night."

"Now that would kill YOU, muchacho," the old man protested. "You're your father's son. He always had an urge to see the way the world worked, and you got it worse than him. Your place is out there, in the excitement." He waved a hand in a northerly direction. "Accepting who you are is the first step in life. Accepting when to go will come in time. You'll know, when it's happening. Look at me, muchacho. Don't be in a hurry to get there, but live your life so that when the time comes, and you're sure it's there, you'll leave with no regrets. I'll see you on the other side."

Night insects chirped around him, a few ants drawn to the scent of fresh blood. Without the strength to draw his legs to his stomach he was unable to brush them off, forcing his brain to ignore them. Abuelo, I'm coming to join you. Where are you? You promised to be there. Silence met him as his hearing faded. Gimme your hand. Focus, Almeida, think of him. Picture his face. Tony squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to formulate a picture of his grandfather holding out a hand on a trip to collect firewood from the Sierra Madres. "Give me your hand, Antonio, I'll pull you up." Wait for me, I'm coming. A deep peace filled him as his breathing slowed and the pain departed.

Voices intruded the peace he had created, horrified cries that required his entire concentration to ignore. Hands felt his body probing the wounds and the pain returned with a vengeance. Fire throbbed though him as he struggled to focus on his grandfather. Dammit, it's hurting again. The face faded before him as the voices called his name, urging him to open his eyes.

Don't go, Abuelo. Don't leave me, I don't know the way! Concentration broken by the relentless pain, he was unable to picture his grandfather any longer. Darkness loomed before him and he struggled to breathe alone. 'Abuelo', he groaned through parched lips.

'Tony, listen to me. I need you to open your eyes. Do it for me, m'ijo.' Marco's voice shook slightly as he raised Tony's head. 'Por favor.'

Tony's eyes opened to the sight of a valley bathed in moonlight, the blurry outline of his father and Jack hovering over him.

'Give him something,' Marco begged.

Jack took his pulse and shook his head. 'He'd die if I gave him a shot. Trust me, I've seen it before. Only the pain is keeping him here. Tony, I'll get a chopper. Stay with your father.'

Tony's eyes shut involuntarily as he felt his father pull him into his arms. 'Tony, I need you to hang on for a few more minutes. Can you do that? Abuelo's not here, I am. You're NOT going to die.'

A minute passed while he lay in Marco's arms, Jack's voice fading in and out as he yelled at someone about sending a chopper. 'I'll answer for it, dammit. Well fly low and radar won't pick you up. Yes, dammit, I'm aware it's dark. Lemme give you the coordinates.'

The pain faded again and his head settled more comfortably against his father's stomach.

Marco stirred, sensing something. 'Tony! Tony.' He moved rapidly, laying his son on the ground. 'Jack, come here. He's stopped breathing.'

'That chopper better be here within ten minutes,' Jack snapped into the phone, rushing over to him. He settled beside Tony, relieved he remembered his medical training. Placing his mouth over Tony's he began CPR, counting to himself silently. 'Torch,' he muttered, glancing at the terrified Marco who moved, rummaging through the backpack to find it, his ears strained for the sounds of a chopper.

Please God let it come soon. Don't let Tony die, he's too young. I'll go instead.

His sharp ears picked up a stifled sneeze. Glancing round uneasily he was unable to make anything out in the gloom, but his instincts assured him they were no longer alone. 'Jack,' he whispered, nodding his head in the direction of the path. 'I might be paranoid, but I'm certain we got company.'

'Take over,' Jack hissed, shoving him towards Tony. 'Keep going, whatever happens. I'll look around.'

Marco nodded, more terrified than ever before in his life as he took over from Jack. Don't die on me, m'ijo! A minute later the silence of the night was broken by a shot fired dangerously close to his position. The unexpectedness caused him to jump and it took all his self-control to remain crouched over Tony.

The night erupted into gunfire. Marco kept his eyes fixed on Tony, praying Jack would succeed in eliminating their enemies before the chopper arrived. A second bullet whizzed past and he shifted position, blocking anything further from approaching his son. An eternity later the valley was reclaimed by silence. Come on Jack, get back here. Please don't be hurt. I can't leave Tony.

He was ready to weep by the time footsteps crunched behind him. 'I'll take over.'

He slid aside in relief, glancing at Jack to make certain he was uninjured. 'Those men…'

'They're dead,' Jack muttered, waving a hand at the torch. Marco fell silent, checking Jack over for any sign of injury. 'I need you to go to those bushes and identify some bodies. It's important you do so.'

Marco hesitated a second longer. I don't care who they are, or were! Nothing's more important than me staying with Tony. Jack's irritated wave got him moving. He hastened over the uneven surface, climbing a few feet above the path. Ten corpses on top of each other caught his eyes. Chewing his lip he pulled them apart, focusing on Hassan. So you're dead, you bastard! Looks like you met your match! He stared at the other men, recognizing a few of them and committing the rest to memory before a throbbing sound reached his ears. He hastened back to Jack, an eye on the growing light approaching their position. Without needing to be asked he took the torch, swinging it in the air.

Dust and snow whipped around them as the chopper landed, the pilot cursing them. Jack ignored him as they dragged Tony inside, ordering the pilot to move the moment they were in. Laying him on the seat he continued breathing for him, taking over pumping his heart as it gave up. Marco crouched beside him stroking Tony's arm and urging him to hang on.

The journey ended at the small U.S. base in Afghanistan, a stretcher waiting on the pad. Tony was bundled into it and raced into the surgery, Marco and Jack following at a run. A middle aged doctor with glasses awaited his arrival in surgical gown with three nurses, one of whom attached an oxygen mask to his face. A tense moment passed before the doctor rose and shook his head.

'This man's dying. There's nothing more I can do. We're not equipped to deal with this kind of trauma. I'm sorry,' he said, freezing in horror as Marco pulled a rifle on him.

'Look here. You're the only doctor in the area. That's my son there, he's hurt, he needs you. You'd better make certain you treat him, because he won't be the first to go.' His finger whitened on the trigger.

'That man's crazy,' the doctor snapped, outraged. 'Get him outa here.'

'Doctor Jones, treat the patient,' a new arrival ordered. 'He's gonna make it. Sir, if you'd give me that rifle.' Marco noticed a middle aged man had entered the room. 'Juan Ramirez,' he said, holding out a hand to take the rifle. 'I had the pleasure of serving with Lieutenant Almeida in Iraq. We're gonna do everything we can for him, trust me.'

They stared at him in silence, Marco unable to believe the situation was out of his hands. He sank onto the nearest chair, eyes pressed to the window of the theatre.

'Sir, we got another doctor and some equipment on its way from our base in Uzbekistan,' the Colonel said, sitting beside Marco. 'They should arrive in an hour or so. Why don't you come with me, I'll get a medic to check you out…'

'No,' he snapped, eyes blazing. 'I'm staying with my son.'

The Colonel nodded, moving across the room to speak to Jack while Marco rubbed his face, praying as he watched the activity round Tony. A bullet was removed from his stomach, Marco ready to vomit at the sight of fresh blood spilling from his son.

'Marco,' a familiar voice cried and he rose, drawing Rita into his arms.

'I should've gotten there sooner,' he muttered, chastising himself. 'He's not doing well, querida.'

Rita stared into the operating theatre in silence, the movements of its occupants familiar to her. 'They're working real hard to stabilize him,' she observed, blinking away her tears. 'Sweetheart, I'm going in to him. Go get changed and come back. It's okay, I won't leave him.'

He nodded reluctantly and headed for door, the Colonel grabbing him. 'Sir, I got a medic to check you out. It won't take more than a coupla minutes,' he insisted, throwing Jack a pleading look. 'You too, Mr. Bauer.'

'Sir, I haven't had a shower in weeks, or changed my clothes. They're torn and dirty, I'm in no condition to see anyone,' Marco protested, alarmed at the sight of an emerging medic.

'Relax sir, I'm trained to deal with returning soldiers,' he assured him, nodding his head at an examination room. 'This won't take long. I need to treat all injuries, check for parasites…'

Marco turned crimson, resisting the urge to scratch his head. 'Ah…'

'Everyone so far has been treated for lice,' the medic continued, pointing to a table. 'Let me see your feet.' For the first time since their escape Marco examined his raw feet noting broken blisters on top of each other. A particularly painful one oozed liquid when the medic pressed it, causing him to wince.

In the end an hour passed before his feet were treated and he was washed and deloused, dressed in an ill fitting uniform and permitted to return to the surgery. The waiting room was deserted. Rita was inside beside the operating table pressing something that resembled a bandage against Tony's thigh, to all intents and purposes unfazed by the surgery. Marco sank onto a chair and buried his head in his hands wishing for the first time that he had chosen to study medicine instead of architecture.

'He's stabilized,' Rita said, leaving the theatre a moment as their eyes met. 'They put him on life support; it got here a few minutes ago. He's gonna make it.'

Tears of relief filled his eyes. 'It looks bad from out here,' he muttered.

'He's got another two bullets inside that need to come out,' she explained. 'I gotta go, sweetheart. Tell Michelle he'll be okay.'

Marco nodded and settled back in the chair, beyond caring who saw his tears. What's your problem, Almeida? She just said he's got a chance! He's gonna be okay and you're sitting here weeping!

A hand touched his shoulder and he rubbed his face, glancing at a cleaned up version of Michelle in a dressing gown, a plaster cast on her leg. 'How is he?'

'He's gonna be fine,' Marco choked, squeezing her hand.

She pressed her eyes shut, taking in shaky breaths. 'Thank God. I came as soon as I could. They fixed my leg,' she said and he noted the wheelchair she had arrived in for the first time. 'They put me under the moment we arrived.'

'How do you feel?' he questioned gently.

Michelle shrugged. 'Right now, I'm trying not to fall out of this chair,' she admitted, rubbing her eyes. 'That stuff's pretty strong and they pumped me so full of painkillers I barely remember who I am.'

Marco's lips parted in a faint grin. 'They gave me a few shots too when they fixed a coupla blisters. Michelle, I owe you a huge thank-you for saving Rita. That would have been my job and I failed her.'

'You were getting Tony,' she protested. 'Even you can't be in two places at once.'

'I always managed that till now,' he muttered, his head spinning. 'Just look what I achieved. I abandoned my wife and allowed my son to get shot. Fine father, right?'

Michelle took his hand. 'Don't be so hard on yourself. You know, that's one thing I'll always envy Tony. I would've loved to have parents like you and Rita.'

Marco snorted, shaking his head. 'We done our best, sweetie, the same as every other parent.' He fell silent, alarmed by the sudden jet of blood from Tony's stomach as a second bullet was removed. Too tense to speak they watched the two doctors fighting to staunch further blood loss. 'That's gonna hurt when he wakes up,' Marco muttered, blinking fresh tears away. Michelle rubbed her own face in silence till he squeezed her hand. How much longer can this take! Why can't they finish it?

'I wish,' he began, falling silent. Michelle raised questioning eyes and he sighed, forced to finish his sentence. 'If I'd known what lay in store for him I would never have smacked him for not paying attention during my geography lessons. I mean, who in the world knows the location of Palau, anyway?'

'You can't think that way,' she protested. 'Everyone's got their own set of rules; you just made sure your children kept to them. They all turned out great. Tony's the nicest person I ever met.'

Marco nodded. 'Yeah.' He chewed his lip in despair, an eye on the operation.

'You know, I dragged him out shopping a while ago and he found this lost kid, and we fell to talking about how we'll have our own family one day. I said it's real hard to know how to be a good parent but he just smiled and said he's not worried; he'll do exactly as you did. He said no matter what mess he got into he always knew one thing; you'd get him out of it if he needed help.'

Marco rubbed his hand across his face in a hurry, smudging fresh tears. 'He said that?'

Michelle nodded. 'He did.'

They sat together for the remaining hour, ignoring the medics' suggestions they lie down and get some sleep. Fighting the effects of painkillers and exhaustion they kept each other awake as the doctors removed the final bullet from Tony and closed him up, wheeling him out on a stretcher. Marco helped Michelle into the wheelchair and they followed, assigned a large room with four beds.