"Huh-hh," Michael sighed heavily, raking an agitated hand through his dark, blonde hair as he leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes and willing his heartbeat back to normal. "Not too bad for an out of practice helicopter pilot, huh?" he asked cockily.

No answer.

"Alex?" he called, snapping alert. "Alex??" Turning, he glanced around for her worriedly.

Pale and wan, she grinned at him, trying to ignore the lump on her forehead that still had her seeing stars. "What's wrong, Michael? Think you'd lost me?" she taunted.

"Not funny!" he snapped, giving a sigh of relief.

"Oh, that depends," she replied mockingly. "You should've seen the look on your face."

Furious, he just scowled at her, before slamming out of the helicopter, savagely cursing women in general and Alex in particular.

Under the shadowy cover of night, they crept in, stomachs to the ground. Every noise seeming loud as an explosion to Alex's ears as they crept closer and closer to the guerilla camp. Each knowing if they were caught, death would be the easy way out.

Nearby, a boot scuffed against rock and panic-stricken she froze, facing Michael with terrified eyes. Poised, he lay only feet away, gun drawn as they both held their breaths. Had they been detected already?

The guard passed on, shuffling in the hot, humid heat of the African night. A slow trickle of sweat ran down Alex's neck and between her breasts as she drew a shaky breath in relief.

Motioning abruptly with his hand, Michael signaled her to wait as he crept closer for a better look. Seething rebelliously, she waited, as he drew closer and closer until finally he disappeared, leaving her alone to wait.

Counting off the minutes, she waited what seemed like an eternity. Watch patrols passed and still he didn't return. Nervously, she slid her knife into her hand and gripped it with fingers trembling in anticipation.

At last, she could bear it no longer and she began the stealthy crawl toward the camp, the same way Michael had gone. A twig cracked beneath her knee, and she froze, instantly sure she'd been found. For a moment she waited, breath rasping in and out of her lungs in fear, but no rifle prodded her to rise. Thankfully, she inched forward, only to have the short, snout of a nickel-plated gun shoved in her face.

Instantly, she slashed out with the knife, knowing there'd be no second chances for her here. The sharp, silvery blade sliced down, lashing across a man's khaki sleeve, laying it open and gashing deep. Blood stained it crimson.

Voice guttural and angry, her attacker fired. Desperately, she rolled, scrambling to get out of the way. Even as she did though, the agonizing pain that ripped through her shoulder told her, she'd been too slow. She fought the pain that clawed at her, shoving to her feet.

Unthinkingly, she lunged for her attacker, even as he caught her wrist and wrenched the knife from her grasp. Sobbing, she raised a knee and slammed it into his stomach.

He groaned and fell, and she wrenched free, diving into the nearby bushes. Frantically, her fingers sought for the gun he'd dropped or her own knife, anything, so long as it was a weapon. Scrabbling in the dirt, her grasp closed around the hilt of the knife.

Panting, she fought the waves of pain and nausea from the gunshot wound even as the crackle of twigs alerted her someone else was there. Breathing hard, she waited, heart pounding.

"Alex!" a harsh whisper called. "Alex, where are you?"

Gasping, she tried to call a warning to Michael, but the words refused to come.

Outside the bushes continued to rustle with some new presence. Shrinking back, she waited, hearing the click of a clip being slammed into a handgun. Blood rushing in her ears, she raised her knife as the sounds came closer.

Seconds later, the leaves parted in front of her, as she fingered the blade. Startled, light blue eyes gazed into her pain-flecked green ones.

"Well, I wondered where you'd gotten to," remarked Michael, his mouth quirking sardonically as he eyed her. "You realize of course, things like this wouldn't happen if you'd just listen to me." He frowned, catching sight of the blood on her shoulder.

"Shut up," she whispered, weak with relief as recognition hit. "You'd hate for me to have to slit your throat, wouldn't you?" she retorted, even as the knife she held slid from nerveless fingers and she pitched forward into his arms unconscious.

"Ooh-hh," moaned Alex achingly regaining consciousness. Struggling to sit up, she put out an unsteady hand to right her spinning world. Hastily, she snatched it back as the dull ache in her shoulder exploded into searing agony. Her stomach clenched and she fought the retching sensation of dry heaves from the nausea.

"Glad to see you decided to rejoin the world of the living," Michael intoned dryly, not bothering to look up from the gun he was cleaning.

Alex's eyes narrowed angrily as she swallowed hard, clamping her wounded arm to her stomach and rolling to her knees. "Gee, thanks for your concern," she bit out sarcastically. "You know you really shouldn't worry about me so." With shaking hands, she snatched the canteen from the rock beside her and gulped down a few lukewarm mouthfuls.

Willing himself to hold his temper in check, Michael carefully set down the gun he'd been working on before answering. "You know of course, this wouldn't have happened if you'd waited where I told you to."

"Sorry, Michael," she said saccharine sweet. "I just had this overwhelming urge to get shot."

"Alex…" he began warningly.

"Look, Michael," she blazed, green eyes narrowing at him. "You took too long and I was worried. What do you want me to say? Trembling fingers raked flaming red hair out of her face. "I'm sorry for messing up your precious plan! There, are you happy? I've said it!"

Forbiddingly silent, he picked up the gun and slammed a new clip into it, turning away from her and shoving it into his waistband. "I found the camp," he stated flatly. "There's a heavy perimeter guard, but I think we can get in. There are only two possible buildings they could keep our agents in - if they're still alive."

"The problem is," he continued, "we can't know that for sure without going in. Probably tonight is the night, a load of ammunitions is coming in. That'll at lease split the camp in half for us."

Pacing, he flopped down on the log beside her, absently rubbing his aching leg. Hauling her through the brush earlier, he'd paid a price as well, whether he liked to admit it or not.

For a moment, he paused. "The question is, can you make it after this afternoon's fiasco?"

Raising her chin defiantly, she met him glare for glare. "I'll make it. I have to. Perhaps the question you should be asking is, will you?" Raising an eyebrow, she glanced pointedly at his bum leg.

Catching her glance, he ground out, "I'll manage," before angrily shoving himself to his feet and limping away to the other side of the camp in silence.