The Tracy Family and Thunderbirds are the creation of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson

Rozzy07: Glad you enjoyed seeing the well-trained cogs of Scott's mind in operation. I must admit, Scott may get a hell of a buzz outta flying but I sure got a hell of a buzz outta setting those well trained cogs in motion and giving that fast-talkin, quick-thinkin personality of his a good mental work-out. You had to kinda feel sorry for those guys, maybe they should think of another line of work! Wonder what it was that Doctor Travis really wanted to do! And if you fancy a good mental work-out, the clue is there! Enjoy your re-read.

Fenestrae: Hope your head's better and you didn't get too dizzy listening to Scott running rings round his doctors! Me! I don't play poker either so don't worry, I'm not going to get all technical since maths was never my best subject and I thought 7 card stud was 7 hunky studs all sittin round a table playin poker! What a great mental image though, especially if 5 of them happened to be Tracy's. You can nominate the other 2! Thank goodness for research.

Anakin's Girl 4eva: Glad to welcome you on board. Sounds like you had one marathon reading session and I'm glad you're enjoying the emotional rollercoaster ride of Scott Tracy's recovery and this extra little journey into his past. Now, while I can well appreciate that the exploits of Scott Tracy are infinitely more interesting than schoolwork, please, oh please don't be getting too distracted; he wouldn't want you to get into trouble on his account so you won't forget to read your school books too, will you!

Author's Note: Please note, this is a BIG disclaimer. I am not to be held responsible, in any way, shape or form, for getting any of you guys interested in the game of poker because of what you have read here. My advice! Best leave it to the experts such as Scott Tracy, who can well afford to lose his shirt!

Warning: Descriptions of graphic violence are given at the end of this chapter. Decapitation is mentioned and given the events of last year I am aware of the sensitivity of this subject so apologies to my friends Stateside and in Britain and hope no offence is taken. It was never my intention to offend but it is an integral part of the story from Scott's point of view since it is about a young man coming to terms with horrific things he has seen and trying to deal with.

Chapter 86

Scott was dubious and eyed his opponent with suspicion.

"Well, of course, if the stakes are too rich for your white man's blood, Chey'nah!" Cass interjected in wide-eyed innocence, hoping the young man would take it as a personal challenge.

"I didn't say that," Scott replied, pulling a heavy frown. Never let it be said that Scott Tracy ever backed down from a game of poker because he was afraid. "Just run that by me again. What kinda information are we talkin about here!" he added, his suspicions already having been aroused.

A slow smile spread across Cass's face. At least his young patient wasn't totally against the idea but just to enforce his case and ensure Scott felt he couldn't back down he expounded on the thrill of the game. "You would have to agree, Chey'nah….that a game just isn't a game unless we play for something worthwhile….and…since I'm not allowed to fleece you of your money…..!" he went on, with an innocent shrug of his shoulders to which Scott shot him a look of, 'Yeah, like in your dreams', making Cass laugh.

"Ok…Ok. I get the picture. Just what kind of information are we playing for?" Scott asked, still heavy with suspicion.

"Very simple, Chey'nah. You win…..I have to tell you something personal about me…..whatever you want to know. I win….!" Cass explained, leaving his sentence unfinished, knowing his smart young patient could work it out for himself.

"Oh yeah. I get the picture," Scott responded, nodding slowly as the ramifications sank in should he lose.

"But…like I said….if the stakes are too high….!" Cass continued in innocent response as he observed the young man.

"Hell….you are one sly dog…..you know that," Scott retorted, shaking his head with an admirable laugh at the man's cunning.

Cass grinned broadly. "Hey…I can't help it. I guess it's the wolf in me!" he protested good-naturedly. "You oughtta know that, Chey'nah."

"Yeah…like right. Why didn't I see that comin!" Scott responded with equally good-natured sarcasm.

"So, have we got a game, Chey'nah!" Cass asked with wide-eyed expectation.

The pause lingered as Scott narrowed his eyes with cool consideration but eventually the thrill of the game got the better of him. "Yeah….let's play."

Cass nodded with what Scott thought almost seemed suspiciously like smug satisfaction. "Ok…..you get to choose the game, Chey'nah. What will it be…..Texas Hold 'Em….Deuces Wild!"

A slow smile spread across Scott's face. How about his favourite game! "How about a little 7 Card Stud!" Scott suggested, with the easy smile of someone who knows his game well and appreciates the challenge of it.

Poker; the age-old game of strategy, intrigue and skill, calling for cool cunning, the art of bluff and concentration on the part of the player. It had been around for a long time, played in the saloons and around camp fires in the days of the old wild west and would be around for some time to come, for as long as man continued to get a thrill from the mental challenges it provided. As it's name suggests the player would eventually hold seven cards, though the winning hand of poker only took into account five of those; the most famous and well known of all poker hands and the hardest to gain being the Royal Flush, which consists of the Ace, King, Queen, Jack and 10, all of which must be the same suit.

The player started off with having the first two cards dealt face down, making it impossible for the other players to know what he had and, therefore adding to the intrigue of the game. The third card was dealt face up and then the betting rounds would begin, the betting round being referred to as a 'street' and each player allowed one bet and up to three raises on that bet in each round or 'street'. An agreed amount of money was placed in the middle of the table first of all at the beginning of a game by all the players and was referred to as the pot, thereafter when the betting rounds began, after the third card was dealt, known as 'third street' each player had to match the bet or they could raise the stakes if they felt confident of winning. Of course, matching the bet didn't apply if they were playing a no-limit game since there were no limits on how much one could bet. Action then had to be taken, stay in the game or give up. The fourth, fifth and sixth 'street' cards were also dealt face up and once the betting began the art of bluff was brought into play, since the other players could see and know some of your cards but not the hidden ones, which could be the vital ones to make a winning hand and, that of course, was the skill of the game. The player had to constantly ask themselves after every round, 'Does my opponent have enough to make a winning hand better than mine….should I carry on or should I fold', that is, give up and drop out of the game. The player also had to have a good memory, memorising the cards he had seen the other players being dealt, as he tried to gauge whether it was worth his while continuing. The seventh card, known as 'the River Card', was also, intriguingly dealt face down, in the final round, just to make it that more interesting. If there was a card you really didn't like you could take the risk and replace it with a community card but that was a risk, for the card that you replaced could turn out to be worse for your hand, though that's what the game was all about, risk taking and what guys like Scott and Cass found exciting and stimulating. Once all the cards were dealt no more bets could be taken and the Showdown took place, all the players who were left in the game having to then reveal their hand, the winning hand taking what had been put into the pot.

It was a game Lieutenant Scott Tracy knew well and so, apparently, did Cass, so it looked like they were in for a very interesting time, although the rules of these games were slightly different, in that they weren't playing for money.

Cass matched his easy smile. "A good choice, Chey'nah," he responded, looking forward to the challenge. Since he had already started to automatically deal Cass gathered the cards up again and shuffled them in preparation for the game he now knew they were playing. Like a professional card sharp he flicked the two smaller piles of cards, splicing them together into one, while all the time keeping a cool eye on his young opponent who returned his steady gaze, in the hope of psyching each other out.

It had been agreed between the two men that when it was time to bet, instead of a bet after the card was dealt, they could decide whether to risk calling the game if they felt they had a winning hand or carry on into the next round or until all seven cards had been acquired, when they would have to reveal all but then, that was the skill of the game and show just how much nerve each player had. It had been decided, too, for the first couple of games that they start off revealing things that happened them when they were kids, just as an icebreaker, then gradually get into more personal stuff.

"Let's play then," Scott announced, continuing to eye his opponent with cool regard.

And so began one of the more unusual games of poker that Scott had played and probably one of the most important, since money he could well afford and meant little to him but personal information about himself he prized much more highly. Cass then dealt out the first two cards alternately, face down on the patient's over-the-bed table, allowing Scott to rest on his bed while they played. Scott stretched out his long legs on the bed before drawing one knee up as he lazily lifted his hidden cards from the table to study them, the epitome of ultra cool and someone who is relaxed and confident in his own ability.

The cards were dealt, heads nodded they would carry on, neither man giving way or giving anything away by his facial expression, both staring each other out like two gunslingers, waiting to see who would draw first. At last the 'river card' was reached, all seven cards dealt and it was time for the 'Showdown', to reveal their hand.

Cass couldn't resist a twinkle in his eye as he laid out his hand of cards, spreading them out in an arc. His young patient nodded, suitably impressed. "I believe that's a Full House, Chey'nah," Cass remarked, believing he was in a strong position to win, his Full House consisting of three Kings and two fours, the four of Spades and four of Clubs.

A Full House consisted of three cards of the same kind or rank, all different suits, of course, a suit being Hearts, Diamonds, Spades and Clubs plus a pair of cards of the same value. If the two players both had a Full House then the highest ranking cards would win, for example, three Kings would beat three Queens or three Jacks since the highest rank was the King and nothing could beat that, which was probably why Cass felt he was in a good position. He watched with anticipation as Scott prepared to lay down his cards.

A small tug of a smile played on Scott's mouth as he spread his cards out. "Gee…that's too bad, Cass. I believe Four of a Kind beats Full House….sorry!" Scott responded in mocking apology with a nonchalant shrug of his left shoulder; his Four of a Kind consisting of four Jacks, of the four different suits plus a ten of Clubs since four of a kind would obviously beat three of a kind. Again, if both had held a Four of a Kind it would be the highest rank wins.

Cass took his defeat well, smiling with the shake of his head and resigned to the fact he would be the first to have to confess to a childhood misdemeanour. Scott folded his arms, sat back and waited.

"This oughtta be good," Scott responded, trying hard not to smile too much.

With wincing embarrassment, as the memories came once more clearly to mind, Cass began his sorry tale. They were ten years old when he and his best friend, Billy White Horse, sneaked into the side room of the Community Hall on the Reservation where the tribal Elders held their meetings to have an experimental smoke, as young boys are want to do. But this wasn't just for an ordinary smoke on an ordinary cigarette. Oh no, this was to have a smoke on the sacred Peace Pipe; the sacred Pipe of Peace that was only brought out for special occasions and smoked in the Sweat Lodge when a Vision Quest was being sought.

Scott couldn't contain his grin and mockingly tutted like a disapproving parent. "You guys smoked the sacred Peace Pipe! So what happened? Did you get caught…..and was it good!" he asked with inquisitive laughter.

Cass winced again as he remembered. "Actually….it was foul," he confessed at the memory of two rather sickly, green-faced boys coughing and choking after that first draw. Scott beamed a wide grin. "And no…we didn't get caught…..but that's not all," he added with a painful grimace, remembering as clearly as though it were yesterday.

Scott could hardly wait for what came next. "Come on….spill. How bad could it be!" he encouraged with obvious delight.

"Well…it…eh…got kinda….broken!" Cass sheepishly confessed, explaining in their haste to replace it in the cabinet they took it from that, somehow, it sort of got dropped, breaking the shaft of the pipe from the bowl.

"Opps…..and that's bad, is it!" Scott asked in wide-eyed innocence. "I mean….you just get another one….right!"

Cass almost had a heart attack there and then. "Get another one! Man…..you do not understand. Like this thing has been in the tribe….forever. Could you replace the original document of the Constitution! It…it's like taking….one of 'Babe' Ruth's baseball bats out of its case just to have a swing with it and….breaking it. Like….like ripping a hole in the Mona Lisa…….like…breaking a jewel off the English Crown Jewels! There is only one sacred Peace Pipe for the tribe," he flustered and blurted his way through an explanation, using everything he could think of as he tried to convey the seriousness of the situation.

And just who was 'Babe' Ruth? Why, arguably, the greatest baseball player ever. Born George Herman 'Babe' Ruth, the most celebrated athlete of his time, played for the New York Yankees in the 1920's, leading them to seven American League pennants and four World Series titles. His nickname came about during the Spring training of 1914 when teammates on the minor league Baltimore Orioles began referring to him as owner Jack Dunn's new 'babe'. He had the honor of being elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame by Baseball Writers in 1936, his plaque reading: 'Greatest drawing card in the history of baseball. Holder of many home run and other batting records. Gathered 714 home runs in addition to 15 in World Series'. To all those who love baseball he was a legend and sadly passed away in 1948 due to cancer at the age of 53.

Scott sucked in a breath and let out a low whistle. "Hell….that is bad. So what did you guys do? Own up! Stick it together with gum!" he added, trying for all he was worth to show serious concern but having to cover his mouth as he tried his hardest not to laugh at the mental image of two panic stricken, green-faced boys.

Cass shot him a look before continuing with his sorry tale. "No…and no. We…eh….sort of….replaced it!" he grimaced a confession.

By now Scott was totally engrossed, seeing Cass in an altogether different light. He raised his brows in questioning bemusement and Cass went on to tell him that they sort of replaced it with a replica bought some time previously at the local toy store. Most Sioux boys had a replica Peace Pipe that they played with when they were pretending to be the Elders at special ceremonials; in much the same way as white boys having pretend phasers when they were playing at 'good' guys versus the 'bad' guys.

"……and it looked pretty real……once we painted it up…..and put the feathers on! We put it back in the cabinet and beat a hasty retreat," Cass continued his confession, sounding almost as convinced as he had done when the deed was carried out.

Scott almost choked. "You…you guys….replaced the sacred Peace Pipe…..with a…toy one!"

Cass nodded and Scott tutted once more. "And no-one found out!" Scott asked, hardly able to believe they had got away with it."

"Well….not until a few days later. There was a Tribal Council…….," Cass started to tell his eager young listener, explaining that the Pipe is always smoked beforehand. The two boys had rushed to the Community Hall where they found themselves a vantage point, peering in through one of the windows to see what was about to happen and gauge just when would be the best time to skip the Reservation and head for the hills.

Scott's eyes twinkled with amusement as he waited with bated breath to hear the outcome. He wasn't disappointed. Cass went on to inform him that the Pipe was duly removed from the cabinet, handed to the Shaman, the elderly Holy Man of the tribe; it was duly lit and it duly…..melted.

"Melted!" Scott repeated, barely able to contain himself.

Cass winced at the memory as though it were yesterday. "Well…it was only a high resolution plasique. It might have had the weight and feel of the real thing but….I mean….it was never actually meant to be lit up and smoked!"

For a moment there was silence but, unable to hold it in any longer, both men burst into simultaneous laughter as the mental image took hold, with Scott clutching at his side and having to beg Cass not to make him laugh any more.

"You….you should have seen the old man's face," Cass added through tears of laughter. "He…he thought the Pipe….was cursed."

When they had managed to quell their laughter Scott asked if they had ever been found out to which Cass told him they had owned up and handed over the broken pieces of the sacred pipe, which thankfully had been able to be restored by a skilled craftsman.

"And your father! What did he say?" Scott asked with genuine interest, knowing how his father would have reacted.

"You mean when he had finished threatening to stake us out over a nest of Fire Ants…..hang us up-side down over an open fire….and subject us to 'death by a hundred arrows'!" Cass responded with a wincing grimace.

"Ouch. Guess he was kinda mad then, huh," Scott sympathised. Yep, that sure sounded vaguely familiar, something that Jefferson Grant Tracy would say on a good day and he wasn't even Oglala Sioux, Scott thought to himself. Guess fathers are the same all over.

Cass finished his tale by telling Scott that they practically became slaves to the old Shaman for, like, the next year in order to atone for their misdemeanour.

"That sure was a doozy. Got anymore like that!" Scott smiled with self-assured confidence, inferring of course that Cass was going to need to bring more stories to mind since he was going to keep on winning. This time it was Scott's turn to deal and like a consummate professional he expertly shuffled and flicked the deck of cards without even looking at them as he spoke.

Cass let out a laugh at his young patient's confident remark. "We shall see, Chey'nah….we shall see," he returned in good-natured banter.

Once more they embarked on another game and, as before, neither man gave anything away, either in facial expression or in body language, each game played being played with the same equally serious intent. This time Scott decided to call it on sixth street, feeling he had the winning hand with a Flush of Diamonds after being dealt the sixth card and not wanting to risk going to the last card for he felt Cass also had a good hand. A Flush being where all five cards are of the same suit, though not necessarily in numerical order.

Scott shook his head with an admirable smile, admitting defeat, as Cass laid down his cards. But then that is the risk one takes, in the intriguing game of 7 Card Stud Poker.

"Sorry Chey'nah…..but Straight Flush wins," Cass apologised, though not very convincingly, his winning hand consisting of the 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9 of Spades. So, what's the difference between a Flush and a Straight you may ask? It is that the Straight Flush has five cards in numerical order and all are of the same suit as opposed to an ordinary Flush not having consecutive numbers. "Your turn I believe, Chey'nah," he couldn't resist saying.

"Well…I guess it has to be the one where Dad took us five boys to an important meeting……..," Scott began, going on to relate the tale of five boys in the Pentagon, a doctored pot of coffee and frequent visits to the john by the most powerful men in the United States military, the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Cass's eyes just got wider and he let out a low whistle of admiration. "Geez…..you guys really know how to play big time, huh."

"And you know the hardest thing?" Scott remarked in deadly earnest, though not really asking a question but to which Cass found himself shaking his head anyway. "It was tryin to keep a straight face at so many important men fidget and cross their legs and not being able to get outta that room quick enough," he replied in answer. There was a brief pause as the mental image sunk in, followed once more by a slow spreading grin, leading to laughter.

"And your father!" it was Cass's turn to ask. "He drank the coffee too!"

"Oh yeah," Scott replied, wincing as he remembered.

"Did he ever find out, Chey'nah?" Cass asked with almost unbearable curiosity.

Scott drew in a breath and let out it out slowly, as he collected his faraway thoughts. "Nothin he could prove…..but he knew," he replied, the light-heartedness and smile having faded somewhat.

Cass sensed this prank, which his younger brothers had perpetrated, did not end well for Scott. From his young patient's choice of words he guessed that Scott had been unwilling to give his younger brothers away and so had borne the heat, a situation he had been familiar with on occasion. "So….what did your father say?" Cass asked tentatively.

"You mean as well as threatening to stake me over a Fire Ants nest and hang me upside down over an open fire!" Scott smiled weakly but Cass could see the reflected pain in his eyes.

It also hadn't escaped Cass's notice that Scott used the personal term of 'me' rather than 'us', confirming his guess, that Scott had borne his father's wrath alone to protect his brothers.

"When he got done with the roasting I was on the worst chores for what seemed like forever…..though my brothers did lend a hand. Guess they must have felt kinda guilty," Scott replied with a smile of what he hoped was a measure of bravado. "Oh….and that he was grossly disappointed in me. I was the oldest and should've known better," he added with what was almost an afterthought but Cass could hear the pain still evident in his voice.

Cass nodded with sympathetic understanding. And his plan seemed to be working, if only he could get his young patient to open up about what happened 'out there'. "Our fathers expect a lot of us, have high expectations, because we are the oldest, Chey'nah. Perhaps it is because they hoped we would not make the mistakes they once did…..that we would be better," he reflected with his simple wisdom.

Scott listened and thought about it. "Yeah, maybe," he responded half-heartedly. He winced a pained smile. "That we would be better!" he repeated with almost bitter irony, the words having a hollow, empty sound and thinking his father was in for an even bigger disappointment if he knew what his eldest son was truly capable of, for this, after all, went way beyond boyhood misdemeanours. "That's nothing compared to now," he contemplated out loud without thinking.

Cass had not failed to see the slim opportunity and carefully steered the conversation. "And why should your father be disappointed in you now, Chey'nah?" he asked with sensitivity, as he studied the young man.

But Scott was smarter than that. There was a brief pause. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, bringing himself back from that faraway place. Closing and opening his eyes with slow deliberation he turned to look at Cass. "Ah, ah……you'll have to do better than that. For that you need to win another game!" he added with a cool smile.

There was no fooling the young man, leaving Cass to offer him an acknowledging nod and a smile. The next few games swung in Scott's favor, making Cass wonder if this was such a good idea after all but all he needed was one game; one game to get his young patient to begin to open up, for knowing Scott to be a totally honorable young man and duty-bound, Cass knew he would not go back on his word.

That game started well for Cass, with his two face down cards being the King and Jack of Spades and the '4th street' face-up card being the 10 of Spades. He felt he was well on the way to achieving a Royal Flush but, as always, he gave nothing away. Scott though, who was so attune to the game, sensed this was the turning game for him. Even though he had started off well with his first two cards, thinking he was on his way to a Royal Flush, the next two cards had proved fruitless, causing him to feel the intense excitement that this game was creating; the danger of losing but, as always, he remained cool under pressure.

The '5th street' round proved fruitless for Cass but on '6th street' he was rewarded with the Queen of Spades; now all he needed was the Ace and he would have achieved his goal. The intensity rose to almost unbearable levels as the two men studied each other, since Scott had lost his chance at a Royal on '6th street', having needed the next two cards to go in his favor and neither man knowing what the other's hidden cards were.

But they never got to know the outcome of that game, much to Cass's deep frustration since all he needed was one more card, for in the next instance the cards were snatched from their hands.

"And what have we here, gentlemen! Poker! I hope you're not playing for money," the unexpected voice of Captain Sarah Conley rudely interrupted their train of thought. So engrossed had they been in the ultimate battle they hadn't heard her come in. "I'll see you in my office, Cass," she added with professional coolness, gathering up the cards and turning to leave.

For a brief moment the two men just looked at each other in wide-eyed astonishment at the sudden ending of their game before Scott tutted in mock sympathy. "Gee…that's too bad, Cass. Guess we'll never know who would've won now….will we!" Though Scott, if truth be told, wasn't all that disappointed, knowing for him it had been a well-timed rescue.

Cass narrowed his eyes at his young opponent. "I almost had a Royal Flush…..I had you this time, Chey'nah," he protested confidently.

"A Royal, huh! But you didn't have the last card….did you?" Scott conjectured with a grin, knowing that if Cass had had the five cards he needed before the final round he would have called it already, since nothing can beat a Royal Flush, leaving him to suppose Cass needed that last card.

Sarah Conley tried not to smile and shook her head at the two of them sounding like squabbling boys. "Cass!……my office," she repeated in a tone that said, 'We need to talk'.

Both men winced, like two naughty school kids caught trying a crafty swig of alcohol in some hidden corner.

"Eh…Captain Conley. It was my idea. I asked Cass to give me a game or two," Scott stated, not wanting Cass to be in any trouble over him to which Cass gave him a grateful nod.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Tracy…..I'll bear that in mind," Sarah Conley responded with calm authority and unable to help the smile at knowing the young Lieutenant had really warmed to Cass, so much so that he didn't want him to be in trouble.

"Don't worry, Cass. If you get sent down…..I'll come and see you. At least we'll be able to play poker in Leavenworth," Scott quipped, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"You're all heart, Chey'nah," Cass replied, letting out a laugh at the good-natured banter. "You have no idea how much I'll look forward to that……and I did have that winning hand…..we both know that, right! Guess you're not going to tell me what you had, huh?" he called back, as he followed Captain Conley out of the door.

Scott just gave him a cool smile. "Like I said…..guess we'll never know how the game would have ended."

As soon as the door to her office closed behind them. "Cass…..look, we both know Lt Tracy comes from a wealthy family and can probably well afford to play poker……he can well afford to lose at poker but you can't take advantage of a helpless patient like that……..," Sarah Conley began, feeling it her duty to point out a few things and even though she was very fond of him she was still in charge.

With a laughable shake of his head at her opening comments Cass let her rant on for a while. "Do anything you can to help him, Cass. Spend as much time with him as possible, Cass. See if you can get him to open up, Cass. Were those not your very words, Ma'am?" Cass reminded her.

"Yes…..but I didn't mean you to get locked down in a heavy game of poker with him and take his money," she added, assuming that was the case, knowing that Cass was something of an expert at the game.

Cass was beginning to feel just a little irritated at her hasty assumptions, which wasn't at all like him; perhaps it was the fact he knew he had been so close to drawing the young man out after all these weeks of cultivating a very hard fought for friendship. "And what makes you think it was I who was taking advantage! Let me tell you, Ma'am….he is damn good at the game…..the best I've ever seen or played; in fact….he was doing most of the winning. And yes….I know he comes from a wealthy family….and can afford to play high stakes poker….and can afford to lose big time without it costing him a second thought….but that's not why we were playing….and he wasn't losing," he began his defence and knowing her well enough to be able to talk to her like this. Cass sighed heavily. "He wanted to play for relaxation….and besides…..we weren't playing for money," he continued, knowing she didn't understand. "We were playing for information."

"Information!" she queried weakly, getting a horrible feeling she had got it all wrong.

"Yes, Ma'am….information…….," Cass responded, going on to explain the rules of their game. "…..and I was just about to win that one….I know I was….I was this close to getting him to talk. Just one more card!" he added with confident conviction.

"And I stepped in and ruined it all. Oh Cass….I'm so sorry. I should have realised….and trusted you more," Sarah quickly apologised. "What did you have by the way?" she asked, wondering if she dared and he told her just one away from a Royal Flush. "That was good….wasn't it!" she asked hesitantly, having heard of a Royal Flush though having to admit that her knowledge of the game was rather limited.

Cass nodded with a heavy sigh, explaining it couldn't be beaten, unless, of course, the other player had a Royal of a different suit in which case it would be a draw and a sudden death turn of the card would have to take place, highest card wins but the chances of that happening, two Royal Flushes in one game between just two players, was extremely unlikely.

"Couldn't...couldn't you just say you had most of the cards! I'm sure he would trust you to tell the truth," Sarah suggested with a weakly wince, trying her best to make amends.

Cass couldn't help but smile at her naivety. "It doesn't work like that, Ma'am and it is not a matter of trust. I did not have the full hand and we both needed to know what that last card would have been. He knows I almost had a Royal Flush….but almost is not good enough in a game of poker. As well as that the game had not been called….so all the cards had to be revealed on the table if it goes to the 'Showdown'. They are the rules of the game….they cannot be changed," he explained as simply as he could.

Again she could only apologise. "Maybe he'll play you again, Cass" Sarah expressed hopefully, seeing it as rather a novel, if not unorthodox, way of getting the young man to open up.

Cass smiled with quiet thoughtfulness. "Chey'nah! I do not think so, Ma'am….not now. He is much too wary…..not unless I…get him drunk first," he voiced audibly with apparent seriousness. Captain Conley's eyes widened in horror. "It is a joke, Ma'am," Cass assured her, a broad beam of a smile lighting up his face, to which she let out a relieved sigh. "Still…..I wonder how many cold beers it would take!" he playfully mused.

"Cass!" Sarah Conley playfully rebuked him.

The psychotherapy sessions continued with Scott remaining as cool and resolute as ever and wondering when they were ever going to think enough was enough. It seemed to him that the more his body healed the more determined they were to open up his emotional wounds with their probing, relentless questioning. In one of the last sessions they had finally got around to asking about what he knew they would; he had braced himself for this but still, it didn't come easy.

"So, Scott…..tell us about the village……what did you see?" Doctor Travis asked with a condescending smile, as though asking him about nothing more innocuous than what he had been doing on his day off.

What did you see? He had tried not to think about what he had seen; tried to shut his mind to it, the deadly swish of the sword falling, the screaming of women and children, the sobbing that followed in the eerie silence as he slipped away.

"I approached the village to ascertain if 'Charlie' was present. When I established that he was….I recorded that fact and his strength on my NVS from my hidden position…..and then I left…..Sir," Scott stated with all the sharp, crisp precision of a debriefing report while keeping an absolutely unflinching gaze with his doctor.

Doctor Travis winced a smile, a smile that said, 'That's not quite what we want, Scott' and a he coughed a, 'I see I'm going to have to make myself clearer' kind of cough. "Ahmm…yes….well…..that's all very… eh…well presented…from a military point of view, Scott…..but all a bit….vague…don't you think? Not really what we're after. We're more interested in what you saw happen…..after you established 'Charlie' was there."

He knew that's what they wanted; he just wasn't going to make it easy for them. "You've been made aware that atrocities were carried out there, I'm sure….or you wouldn't be asking. Maybe you've even seen the recording. Isn't that enough for you to know? Isn't that enough for anyone to know?" Scott retorted, almost snapping with irritation.

Doctor's Travis and Kelly shot each other a glance, his reaction not having gone unnoticed. "No….we haven't seen the recording….but yes, of course, we are aware of some of the facts….though not in any detail. What we'd really like is to hear it in your own words, Scott," Doctor Kelly replied, continuing to push for information.

In his own words! Scott considered the two men thoughtfully. All right, since they were so damn persistent and intent on knowing. They wanted detail. He would give them detail; every ugly, sickening detail but he had to do it the way he had done his killing, mind-numbingly cold and emotionless. It was the only way he could bring himself to talk about it and after that, he would bury it forever. Well, that was the intention.

Who knows what mental adjustments he made in his mind in those few moments his eyes were closed but after taking a slow and deliberate breath there was a chilling cold deadness in the eyes that opened and fixed themselves on the two doctors. Scott eased himself back in the comfortable chair, casually stretching his long legs out in front of him, his left elbow resting on the arm of the chair while his forefinger idly stroked that distinctive hollow of his cheek in contemplation.

"Ever see a man's head removed from his body?" Scott asked, as though it were a topic of anatomical fascination, to which the two men briefly glanced at each other before shaking their heads.

All they had known was the brief information that the elderly man was decapitated but they had the uncomfortable feeling they were about to get a rather graphic and vivid description of the event.

"Quickest and cleanest damn thing I ever saw," Scott remarked, totally devoid of any emotion. "When that sword fell….it just went through his neck like a hot knife through butter….and do you know the surprising thing! There was hardly any blood…..well…not at first. Do you know there's a deathly, surreal silence, too…just before that blade falls…..then the swish as it cuts through the air….you can hear it….it carries in the air," he continued with his graphic rhetoric, causing the two men to swallow and automatically finger their necks in reassurance. "Did you know, too….the body goes on moving after the head is removed! That old man twitched and jerked. It's to do with the suddenness of the head being removed from the body…the body just doesn't realise it doesn't have a head. Darnest thing you ever saw," he carried on with his graphic post-mortem detail.

The two doctors winced and took a deep breath in order to quell their gagging reflex. "We did hear that happens, Scott,"

Scott continued to study them with ice-cold composure. "You've heard that phrase, 'Running round like a headless chicken'!" he asked inquisitively, to which they nodded somewhat dubiously. "Well…it's the same principle. They do that…you know…chickens. We were brought up on a farm in Kansas so I've seen them……run around for ages before they keel over…..they just don't realise they're dead already," he continued impassively.

"That must have been a pretty horrific thing for you to have to watch, Scott," Doctor Travis conjectured, recognising his clinical detachment.

He knew what they were waiting for, waiting for him to break down, to go to pieces. Well, they would have a long wait and besides, he hadn't finished yet. They wanted detail; they had to get the whole package, after all he didn't want to be 'vague', now did he, he thought with heavy sarcasm. "It wasn't pretty, no. But that wasn't all….they weren't content with just the old man. They raped the women…right out there in the open….in front of their husbands and kids…..they raped the young girls too….they even raped the old women…heck…they just about raped everybody…..," Scott continued on, painting a very graphic picture of wanton blood-lust. "Ever see a woman getting raped, Doc!"

The two men visibly winced and shifted uncomfortably. "Yes…..well…..ahmm…..I think you've told us enough of what we need to hear, Scott. You've given us a very vivid picture," Doctor Kelly interrupted but it seemed now they had got him talking they couldn't get him to shut up.

Well, they did ask, didn't they!

"Enough! But Doc…you need…to hear everything. I'm just getting to the 'good' part," Scott insisted, fixing the two men with a steady, cold glare. "Did you ever see babies and infants used for bayonet practice! One soldier throws them up and another one catches them on the bayonet….then they toss them from bayonet to bayonet. They kicked them around like soccer balls, too….while they were still alive...even when they were dead. The screams and cries are not something you're ever likely to forget…..the wailing of the mothers…cradling their dead, bloody children…….," he reflected with such a faraway look in his stone-cold face, haunted by the terrible images he had been forced to recall before he had felt ready.

Doctors Travis and Kelly found themselves automatically putting their hands to their mouths and, once more, taking a deep breath in order to quell the gagging and heaving of their stomachs. For a while silence reigned, as though in marked respect, each man becoming lost in his own thoughts, for what is there to say in the face of such heart-rending loss and gruesome horror.

It was Doctor Travis who spoke first, looking to his colleague and then their young patient who was now absently staring out the window. It had started to rain since they had been talking; hard, driving rain that pelted against the window, taking him back in his mind to that steamy and humid, rain-soaked jungle. "Scott! Scott!" the doctor called gently and with genuine concern, pulling him back to the present.

With a deep sigh and feeling somewhat weary Scott returned to the matter in hand; to get this session over with. "Yeah…I know….Sir. You'll be wanting to know how I feel about all that," he surmised before they got a chance to ask. "I felt like any normal person would. I felt sick to my stomach….Sir. In fact…I actually threw up…..is that normal enough for you…..Sir? That is what you guys want to know….isn't it? That I could feel normal emotion!"

The doctor nodded with a resigned smile, hardly surprised any longer that the young man was way ahead of them again. "Yes, Scott….I guess that is what we want to know….and yes…that's completely normal…but you know it's nothing to be ashamed of…..not with the kind of things you have seen," Doctor Travis reassured him with what almost sounded like the first notes of genuine compassion but Scott was in no mood for platitudes.

"I didn't say I felt ashamed….Sir," Scott was quick to point out as he regarded the two doctors. "You know you ought to be careful….that could all be kinda confusing for your patients, Doctor Travis….tie them up in all sorts of psychological knots!" he added with cryptic intrigue, causing the two men to frown with questioning bewilderment. "I mean…here you are….spending all this time encouraging me to express normal emotions…..and when I do….you infer I should be ashamed of it! You assume I would be ashamed of throwing up….so because I'm not ashamed…does that mean I'm not normal….again! See what I mean? Confusing," he explained with a beautifully simplistic logic. He was definitely back in superb psychoanalytical form.

By now the two men's heads were spinning as they tried to undo the psychological knots he had just tied them up in. Doctor Travis nodded with appreciation at the very skilful analysis. "Yes, Scott….you know you're absolutely right. My apologies….I had no right to assume you would be ashamed….or to infer you should. But you're not confused….are you, Scott?" the doctor added, regarding his young patient with cool admiration.

A slow smile coupled with a slow closing and opening of those intense cobalt blue eyes met the doctor's studying gaze. "No, Sir….I am not," Scott answered with a slow and deliberate clarity.

"It must have been hard, though…..feeling so helpless…..not being able to help those people!" Doctor Kelly surmised, both men watching for the reaction their comment would bring and, for once, his body language let him down.

The blue eyes flashed dangerously and the muscles of the hollow of his cheeks flinched involuntarily, giving rise to the great strain he was under, as he fought hard to keep under control. They had hit a raw nerve and Scott was acutely aware he was being observed. Gawd, he hated being studied like some laboratory experiment. It was a rhetorical question, designed to provoke a reaction and it didn't take a genius or a degree to figure out that what they really wanted to know was how he felt about being helpless and how he felt towards his enemy.

"Yeah….of course I did," was his short, abrupt answer, being a damn silly and obvious thing to say in his opinion. "I don't need to be reminded there was nothing I could do."

"We understand how hard this must be for you, Scott…..you've seen some pretty terrible things and….naturally you're angry….angry at feeling so helpless….angry at not being able to help those people….angry at those who carried out these atrocities. We just want to help you come to terms with all of that, Scott….to talk it through….help you…direct your anger….make it…more productive," Doctor Kelly continued, searching for all the right words and phrases.

Geez, where do these guys get off….trying to pretend like they know what it was like to be there…..trying to tell him they knew exactly what he was feeling and why and sounding like it had just come straight out of a text book with all their pat phrases and psychoanalytical rhetoric, he thought with cold cynicism.

"Direct my anger! Make it more…productive! You mean like…'wanting to rip their gawd damn hearts out with my bare hands' kind of productive!" Scott queried in a mockingly innocent tone.

The two doctors nodded slowly in a, 'I wouldn't have put it just quite like that' kind of way but believing it was something he was probably well capable of actually doing. "If that's what helps to make you feel better then…yes…that's a good place to start, Scott," Doctor Travis mused as he thought it over.

"To help me come to terms with it all, you mean?" Scott re-iterated, letting them know he knew all the text book analysis and how it was supposed to work. "Well, I've been there…done that already….and no….it didn't make me feel better," he added, letting them also know he was way ahead of the game. "And just what is it I'm supposed to feel better about! Feel better about hearing that old man begging for his life when he knew nothing, watching while his head fell from his body…feel better about hearing the women and children scream….watching while……," Scott continued but he couldn't bring himself to mention it again.

"This is why we feel it would be beneficial for you to…..," Doctor Kelly began but Scott knew what they were about to say.

"Talk it through! Why! What good will talking do? Will it change what happened? Will it make it all go away?" Scott asked in rhetorical fashion, beginning now to sound weary and tiring of the verbal parry.

"Well no, of course not, Scott. It's just some people find it helpful to talk….helps them work through their feelings…to help them cope, I suppose…help them to try and make sense of what has happened to them….so they can move on with their lives," Doctor Kelly explained, hoping their young patient found that helpful.

"I know what happened to me…to us. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time…..and innocent people died and suffered because of it. What is there left to talk about? All the talking in the world isn't gonna change that….so save it for those guys who need to talk, Doc. And if I do need to talk…..then I know where you are…right!" Scott replied with cold, hard logic.

The two doctors nodded, knowing they weren't going to get anywhere more with him for he had made it plain he didn't feel the need. "Yes, of course, Scott. You can come and talk to us any time before you leave," they encouraged him, though something told them they would not see any more of the brave young Lieutenant, at least not on a voluntary basis. He was free to leave and the relief on his face was evident. One final brief session was scheduled where they would declare Lieutenant Scott Tracy psychologically and mentally fit to return to active duty once his physical wounds were healed, no further psychiatric treatment needed or recommended. It was a huge relief to Scott who could get on dealing with things in his own way and in his own time.

It hadn't escaped Cass's notice how quiet and withdrawn his young patient was after coming back from that previous session. Instead of crashing out on the bed this time, though, Scott crossed to the window, leant against the pane and just stared aimlessly out at the still driving rain, his thoughts obviously miles away. Cass called his name a few times but it wasn't until Cass put his hand on Scott's left shoulder that he knew Cass was there at all, startled at the sudden human touch.

"This was a bad session, Chey'nah!" Cass gently surmised, to which Scott only nodded, his eyes filled with anguished pain. "Would you like another game of poker….to help you relax, Chey'nah?" he asked, wanting to distract the young man from obviously bad memories. "I promise…no information this time. This time we could play for beads," he suggested, with a slight smile and raise of his brows.

At any other time Scott would have found that amusing. He shook his head. "No…no poker, Cass. Not today. Just…just leave me alone for bit…will ya," he begged, turning back to the window to gaze at nothing.

Cass was reluctant to leave him like this. "Chey'nah……!"

"Just go," Scott snapped impatiently without really meaning to. "Please."

Cass nodded but before he left. "It is all right, Chey'nah…..," he began, feeling there was something his young patient needed to know.

Scott frowned, cocking a listening ear without fully turning round.

"…..to grieve for those you have not known…to shed a tear. It is all right," Cass offered sympathetically, almost as if he knew the turmoil of the young man's soul. He stopped and turned in the doorway to see the young man raise a hand to his face and appear to brush something away.

A tear rolled down the face of Lieutenant Scott Tracy as he stared at the still heavy rain, echoing the heaviness of his heart.

Author's Note: To refresh your memory of the tale of 5 boys, the Joint Chiefs of Staff and a doctored pot of coffee please refer to Chapter 20. Scott's harrowing description of what happened to the babies and infants is not something made up to shock but is based on real fact and true stories of what has emerged from labour camps in North Korea.