Day 4

The flight to Seattle was okay. Picking up Buck was a trip, he is always a little 'out-of-it' after traveling in the cargo-hold. But he calmed down once I treated him to three Cheeseburgers and extra large Fries, and the wait at the arrival-hall was great.

Cut, being a six-foot-four 'Okie', stands out in most any crowd. Being two-hundred- thirty pounds of muscle, hard-headedness and stubborn, makes him his own crowd. But if you were cold in a blizzard he would give you the shirt off his back. Some kind of a guy! I met him ten years ago while in a bar-fight in Columbus, Georgia. He had been playing bouncer in the joint, and had thrown out a couple of jerks for being drunk and obnoxious. No problem, except those two had returned an hour later and brought a few of their 'just-as-bad' friends back with them. Now, two- or three-to-one I could have watched, but six-to-one just wasn't fair. So after evening the odds a little, we had cleared the bar and stayed drunk for two days. Been best friends ever since.

He walked up, half smiling, seeing Buck first. That's the smile. Those two are two of a kind. Both would save a baby from a burning building, but rip out a man's throat if he pushed too hard. You gotta love 'em. Scary and hairy. This trip is already too long!

Transportation to Fort Lewis had been pre-arranged and the drive was enjoyable, even though it rained—as usual. After getting the hassle of the check-in at 7th Infantry Division CQ over with we were on our way. Switching off after the first hour of driving, Cut settled comfortably into the passenger-seat of the Dodge pick-up we had been supplied with. So far our conversation had merely revolved around small-talk and reminiscing about the 'good ol' times'.

I knew Cut would come out with the question sooner or later. Still, it lasted until we reached our drop-off point, where we had to abandon the truck and set out on the one-hour hike to our final destination, before he couldn't stand it anymore.

"You never did tell me yet where we actually goin', Chase. You know, when you called I wasn't real ready."

"We're supposed to find out what happened to a dozen of city-boy pussies who got lost," I informed him, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

"Where?"

"Up there!" I rolled my eyes toward the narrow path, leading uphill.

"Oh!" He squinted into the dense mist, wafting among the trees. "Think the cabin's still standin'?"

"We'll see. The target area is only three miles from it."

He flashed me a delighted grin. "Did you leave them five cases of Bud up there?"

"Of course!"

"Well, hell," Cut's grin widened, "this ain't gonna be so bad. C'me on, Buck!"

"Some kinda trip this could turn out to be. I'n see it now," I mused, reaching for my gear. "Cut, you might need this." I tossed him the Bullpup.

"You don't forget much, do you?"

"Nope! Can't afford to."

#####

The cabin still stood, sturdy, unharmed by time and elements, and apparently unused since our last visit. Cut made it his first priority to check on the beer supply, while Buck didn't hesitate to get comfortable on his favorite bunk, heedless of the fact that he was soaking wet. I quietly shook my head, bit back a snide remark, and took to the task of getting a fire started.

"Alright," Cut popped the tab on a can of warm Bud Light, "I'm ready to go to work."

"Get that manila envelope out of my ruck, " I said, fanning the damp kindling in the fireplace. "You'n look through that stuff till I get this shit going here."

"Is that all you got?" he queried when he pulled out the papers and spread them across the small camp table.

"Yup! And as far as that report goes...by the infrared scope's gauges we're talking about a guy, seven-foot-six, eight-hundred pounds, and runs about thirty-five miles an hour for three miles."

Cut cast me a quizzical sideways glance. "You don't think it's that Sergeant Major we had for Battalion in Germany, do ya?"

"I sure hope not," I laughed. "But I ain't real concerned about a bug-eyed radar operator's imagination either. I'm more concerned about where twelve bodies are, or if any of 'em are still alive. Best thing we can do is start at the grid and work out. Buck knows what he's here for. He'll find 'em...dead or alive."

Cut's solemn expression is always scary, especially when he is quiet. "What do you think, Chase?"

"I don't, man, it hurts my head. Besides, we'll know more in the morning. We just ain't got enough to go on right now. The only contact with the second team was just regular check-ins. There is something I don't get though..."

Cut's eyebrow went up. "What's that?"

"Well, if the second team was CIA or FBI, wouldn't they be carrying pilot locators on at least a couple of them?"

"Yeah!" He gave me another one of those looks. "I's just thinkin' the same thing. And there's somethin' that caught my ass, too. All those agents, luggin' a load of heavy firepower…even their carry weapons are straight outa hell. You'd think at least one of 'em could make it here. They had to see that cabin on their way in."

"This whole thing bugs me," I mused, loading another hunk of oak on the fire. "By the way, how's that big-game guide-service in Montana doing?"

"Ain't worth a shit, Chase. Damn bleedin' heart animal-rights people, don't understand a man's need to get back to his roots. They keep fuckin' up my clients' hunts. Come close to whoppin' a couple of 'em last year, but the Governor wouldn't let me."

"Too bad! Well, the fifty grand you're getting for this trip oughta help," I smiled.

Cut returned the smile. "You didn't have to do that."

"Hell, it ain't my money. Now get some sleep."