Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm borrowing her characters, dressing them up in MARPAT, and giving them some guns. BilliCullen and Scooterstale are making sure they're ready for inspection.

June 13
Undisclosed Location
Somewhere in the Middle East

Five minutes was both nothing and forever.

Knees locked, frozen in the very center of the room, and surrounded by debris and the stench of death, Bella stared at the solid, straight line of the captain's shoulders as he issued another round of too-fast-to-follow silent commands to the sergeants, each stationed by a window, while continuing to communicate through the headset with his helo pilot. In matching clipped tones and using shortened phrases that formed their own kind of language, the two went back and forth, ending when Alice rattled off a set of coordinates that made those straight shoulders flex and bunch.

"Damn it. Go ahead and take it out."

"Working on it, sir," the lieutenant answered back before killing the transmission.

With an audible snap of his teeth and another low, muttered curse, Edward spun back around, wearing a severe, cut-from-granite expression that had no exact name. Grim, determined, angry… it all fit, but the sharp glint that appeared in his eyes when his forefinger depressed the magazine release on his carbine, initiating a swap so fast that Bella would have missed it had she blinked, said that there was more to it than that. It took her a second to recognize what she saw, but as he shoved a new magazine into place with a loud, metallic clack that made her flinch, it hit her.

A kind of eagerness lurked in those dark forest depths. But it wasn't bloodlust or an anticipation for violence. No, she realized, it was that of a highly trained professional who was in his element – a predator stretching his muscles in preparation for the hunt. It told her that the captain had a very good idea as to what was coming at them, that he had experienced the same too many times to count, and more so, that those militants, regardless of their numbers, were going to lose.

And that bit of understanding was what finally unlocked her knees and made the next breath come a little easier. Just enough reassurance to restore function.

Responding to one of those rapid non-verbal commands, with two quick zing!s, Emmett and Rosalie jerked the tattered remains of the window coverings across their rods, taking with them most of what little light they had. "Here," Emmett called across the room, tossing Rosalie the M4 he'd carried in.

"Doctor," Edward said, flicking on the same dim flashlight Bella had just returned to illuminate the floor. When her head turned, he swung the beam in a sweeping arc toward the rear of the room, past the temporary darkroom she and Jasper had constructed, to a low triangular cubbyhole formed by the underside of the steps to the second floor. Surrounded on three sides by gray-brown concrete walls and stairs, the small space was still open to the room, but there was a large support column in front that made the hole almost invisible in the darkness. She'd missed that when they'd come in, but of course, the captain hadn't. "I want you in there."

Before Bella could open her mouth, in question or in protest, Edward's hand sliced the air. "Don't bother. It's dark, we're going to be moving fast, and there's likely going to be a firefight. I don't want to have to worry about any strays finding their way to you when those fuckers try to breach the building. Which they will try to do, and it's not that much of stretch to think one or two might make it through the door."

She jumped when Edward reached across to pluck her sidearm from her holster, his sight seemingly unaffected by the low light. "You're good, but… take this." He snapped a slim black cylinder-looking device she hadn't seen before to the notched rail on the bottom of the barrel, and then in a lightning-fast move, he flipped the sidearm around, placed it directly in her hand, and curled her fingers around the grip, giving her fist a light squeeze before letting go.

Glowing bright red, a slim laser line stretched from her barrel to the dead center of Edward's chest. "Exactly…" Thumbing toward the cubby, he swung the flashlight to light the path again. "So, you. Under there. Now."

"What–"

"And safety off, Dr. Swan."

Her brows shot up.

"You should not need it," he went on, ignoring whatever he saw in her reaction. "But if something unexpected happens and one of them somehow makes it past us, shoot him before he gets anywhere close. Don't sit there and rationalize or think that he won't find you. Take him out. Clear?"

"Yeah, got it… take him out," Bella muttered under her breath, nodding more out of compliance than real comprehension. Her throat bobbed as she stared down at the sand-colored weapon in her hand and then again when she glanced over to Emmett, who now wore a startlingly similar expression to his commander's. "You do what he says, Doc," the big man said as he slid on a pair of slick-looking wraparound lenses. He flashed her a quick, toothy grin, but even in the shadows, Bella could see that it lacked any of his usual humor. "These are the bad guys. You see anything that looks even remotely like a face, you nail that SOB."

From the other side of the room, there was the telltale latch of a chambered around and Rosalie growled, "And don't stop til he hits the floor and quits breathing."

A tinny voice came through the headset, "Captain? I can see 'em in my scope."

Not taking his eyes off the woman in front of him, Edward thumbed toward the cubby again. This time when she nodded, there was a little more fortitude in the movement, and her narrow shoulders squared before she turned. As she followed the path he lit through the maze of trash, Edward asked the corporal, "How far?"

"Tink was right, they are moving. Around 1800 yards out, but it's tough to say for sure for all the dust and shit they're raising. Not exactly the stealthiest folks I've seen."

A few miles off in the distance, there was a sudden wall-shaking boom as another one of Alice's hellfire air-to-ground missiles hit its target. "As always, Jazz – the King of Understatement," she cut in with a tinkling laugh, her transmission carrying with it a loud peppering of heavy round machine gun fire from her chin-mounted M2.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Fairy-girl."

Edward peeked around a window covering and tracked the small cloud of dust moving across the horizon. "They know we're here and they know we know they're coming," he said. "No need to hide… Just keep on 'em and let me know when they spread out. I want to know exactly where that warlord, or whatever the fuck he is, goes."

"Yes, sir."

By the time Bella slipped behind the support column and into the small, triangular space, the room had gone deathly silent. Heart already pounding a jagged rhythm that her lungs had no hope of keeping up with, she didn't trust her legs to stay upright if the captain's predictions were right, so she slumped against the wall and slid down into a low crouch. From her position, she had a direct line of sight to the dark-on-darker outlines of the captain and Emmett standing by the east-facing window. Following his orders, with a shaking finger, she clicked off the safety, aimed the weapon at the floor, and squeezed its grip until her knuckles were white and scraping against the suede lining of her gloves.

"They're slowing down and splitting," she heard Jasper whisper in her headset. "1000 yards. Blondie, you ought to be able to see the first one in a couple of seconds."

"Already got 'em," she answered back.

"You got a 360?" Edward asked.

"Yes, sir," Jasper said. "Roof's all clear."

"Good. Can you get a visual inside the vehicles? What are we lookin' at?"

There was a moment of tense silence before Jasper replied. "Three vehicles, two are old M998s that look like they've been up-armored with some kind of shit scrap. That scorpion one is brand spanking new, though. There's some good toys on it, too."

"Numbers?"

"Tink was close – two in the first, three in the second. Locals, I'm guessing, but the way some of 'em are holding their rifles tells me they know how to dance. Former Revolutionary Guards, or Basij maybe."

The corporal paused for another second. "That scorpion fucker is trailing. Main dude's ridin' shotgun and yakking on a cell phone. Got some ugly ass jungle fatigues on, and one of his eyes is all fucked up. From the looks of him, I'm thinking… central Africa somewhere. Maybe Congolese or Rwandan or from some other garden spot like that."

Edward glanced over to Rosalie, pulled his balaclava up, and nodded. "How many with him?"

"700 yards… There's a driver and a gunner in a pretty badass turret rocking a shitty old MG3. I can take him out easy if you want."

"Wait," Edward answered as he moved toward the door, stopping just shy and plastering his back to the wall. "If he pulls out a grenade launcher or some shit like that, take him down quick. Do not hit Mr. Congo. I'd like to have a word with him."

"You got it."

"Blondie, Bear-man, wait for the signal. As soon as they start crawling out of their vehicles and approaching, open fire on anything that moves. I don't want them getting inside this room. And I don't want any surprises when we go to get out of here. Clear?"

The two sergeants responded in quick, practiced unison. "Yes, sir."

"Jazz," Edward said into his mic. "When that scorpion fucker stops, wait for them to exit. He may have his driver stop short and hang back so the locals can do all the dirty work. If he starts peeling back, make it so he can't." Glancing around the room, he eyed the two main windows. "We've only got a couple of windows and the door, so the front corners are blind. I'll need you to keep on directing traffic."

"Will do, Captain."

"But Corporal," Edward continued as he raised his rifle, tucking it neat against his shoulder, and adjusted the illuminator on the rail with a couple of efficient twists. Just in case, he thought, as a bright green laser line cut through the dark. "It will piss me off immensely if you don't stay low."

"Got it, sir… 400 yards. Bear-man, that second vehicle is coming your direction. Blondie, straight at you."

"Yep, I see 'em." The big man nosed his M240 to the right to track the approaching vehicle. "Man, that is some shit armor," he added, staring through his scope before addressing their commander. "I don't get it, Captain. This is like some rag-tag afterthought. Like a clean up crew that they weren't expecting to have to use."

Cinching her chinstrap, Rosalie barked out a laugh. "Or one they didn't give a fuck about getting picked off."

Jasper's quiet whisper came through the headset again. "150 yards and they're slowing to a stop. Main dude is issuing some orders into a brick of a radio."

Emmett aimed his weapon through the windshield of the stopping Humvee, targeting the steel-faced driver. The man's face was drenched with sweat. "Maybe," he grumbled at Rosalie. "I'm guessing the assholes we're really after are long gone, out of country somewhere. Doesn't explain Mr. Congo, though."

Low and unruffled, a tone the other Marines in the room recognized immediately, Edward broke in, "Doesn't matter. We'll find out soon enough." Kicking the heavy wooden door ajar, introducing a thin diagonal swath of light that lit a white stripe across the floor, the captain glanced back to the rear of the room where he could just make out the shadowed edge of the cubbyhole beneath the stairs. "You good, Dr. Swan?" he asked.

Surprised at the address, Bella's head popped up, her helmet smacking the wall behind her. She fumbled a shaky response and involuntarily gripped her pistol tighter. When she looked down between her knees, a faint ring of red glowed where the end of her barrel met the concrete. Giving herself a hard shake, a little clearer, she repeated, "Don't worry about me. I'm okay."

Peering around the doorframe, Edward scowled at the vehicle in the middle of the settling dust cloud before he said, "You'll be fine. Once it starts, this'll go down quick. Stay under there til we tell you to come out."

"I got two exiting," Rosalie called out as she watched two men begin to climb out of their vehicle. "They're not stupid. Using the doors and dropping low."

"Same on this side." Emmett's finger curled around the trigger as he watched three soldiers in frayed desert camo slink out of the old M998 and drop low to the ground, rifles up and ready. They weren't pros, but they knew how to move.

"Fire at–"

Before Edward even got the command out, there was the ear-splitting rat-tat-tat answer of Emmett's M240. Hot brass tinkled against the floor like rain, and outside, they could hear their attackers' angry yelling.

Jasper snorted. "Don't like to wait, do ya, Staff Sergeant?"

"Thank you, but fuck, no, I don't," the big man snapped as he fired at the ducking men again – a steady, rhythmic, sweeping barrage that blasted into the crumbling concrete walls and scattered the dirt at their feet as they ran. Two made it to the remnants of a limestone pillar, one diving headfirst, but the third was too slow. Emmett's shot ripped through his shoulder with a bloody spray, knocking him backward and sending his AK half a dozen yards away. A second shot hot on its heels and direct through the heart sent him to the ground in an unmoving heap.

As if a light switch had been thrown, gunfire suddenly erupted from all sides. From Emmett's non-stop, sweeping rounds, to Rosalie's and Edward's repeating volleys, to the sharp, individual crack!s from high above on the rooftop, the noise reverberating inside Bella's small cubbyhole was deafening. Seconds seemed like hours as the responding, incoming bullets bit into the concrete walls and windowsills, sending exploding showers of pebbles and debris.

"Blondie, you see that bastard creeping around that column? At your two," Jasper yelled as he simultaneously took aim at the dark-haired gunner in the third Humvee turret directly in front of the building. The man moved just in time, and the Marine's bullet pinged off the slanted shield. In reply, the gunner sent a relentless spray of heavier rounds toward the roof, knocking chunks out of the short cement perimeter wall. "You asshole," the corporal muttered. Keeping low and on his stomach, he rolled across the flat, sun-baked roof tiles to the opposite corner. In less than a blink of an eye, he darted up, found his target, and took the second shot, not even pausing when he saw the gunner lurch backward and fall out of the turret.

"I got him," the gunny yelled back to Jasper as she spun to the side of her window, just missing an incoming round. When she shifted to fire from behind the wall, her left shoulder wrenched with a hot bloom of pain. "Goddamnit!" Rosalie spat, glaring down at a slash of bright, wet red across her bicep.

"You alright?" Edward called over as he snapped in a second magazine. Moving to the other side of the door to assist if needed, he dropped to a knee mid-step and peppered an approaching attacker in brown-beige camouflage. Shots from the militant's rifle split the wooden door above Edward's head, but the man was down before he could re-load, three shots straight to the chest.

"Fine," Rosalie yelled as she swapped to the Benelli by her side. Pissed off more than anything, she shouldered the weapon, ignoring the stinging wound, and watched the half-wall in front of her window, patiently waiting for the movement she knew would come. The split second the thick, dirt-colored torso popped up, there was thundering boom from her shotgun, trailed by a choked scream from the man now bleeding out on the ground. With a weak, shaky arm, he lifted an old .45, popping off a wild scatter of bullets that blasted the outside wall. Unfazed, Rosalie fired again. The sidearm flew through the air, skittering across the dirt, and his screams abruptly ceased. Reloading, she said to the captain… and to the sergeant, "Em's gonna have to stitch me, though."

"I'll stitch you any day, Dollface," Emmett threw over his shoulder as he yanked out another long brass-filled belt and fed it into his rifle. When he opened fire again, he took down another militant creeping along one of the walls and hit the right thigh of the third one. The wounded man howled out a curse and then blindly pulled out a grenade from his vest. A single ringing shot from the corporal on the roof stopped him before he even touched the pull ring.

"That's six…" Edward shouted, wiping a line of heavy sweat from his forehead. "Bear-man, you and I'll slip out from the sides and sneak over toward Mr. Congo. Jazz, you and Blondie cover us and make sure he doesn't run. Take out that fuckin' driver."

Underneath the stairs, Bella sucked in a lungful of air, ignoring the heavy stench of death and hot gunpowder that pasted itself to her tongue as she heard what sounded like the end to the melee in Edward's orders. Her white-knuckled grip on her sidearm automatically loosened, and then even more when the loud, singular crack of Jasper's sniper rifle echoed off the rooftop.

There was muted, "You're clear," in her headset, followed by the rubbery scuff of Rosalie's boots as she exited the building. Absolute silence descended upon the room, the only sound being the whining rush of blood in Bella's ears. That eerie quiet could have lasted seconds or minutes, but eventually, from somewhere outside, came the garbled sounds of two men yelling – Emmett and the captain – and an equally garbled response in a language she couldn't name.

But it was over.

Muscles stiff and sore from being locked so tightly, Bella slowly stood, struggling against the weight of her armor. When she finally made it upright, her head swam and she blinked numbly against the light now pouring in through the open door and windows. Sucking in another breath, she swallowed against the rising bitter-tasting bile in her esophagus and emerged from behind the concrete column.

Right into the waiting barrel of an AK-47.

Dumbly, as if in slow motion, Bella followed the line of black metal, up a dirtied camouflage chest, to a pair of pitch black eyes set deeply into a tanned face pitted with scars and mottled by burn marks.

"Stupid Americans," the man growled in a thick, rolling accent. He stepped forward, shoving his rifle in her face, forcing her to scramble backward. Menace and violence oozed from his very pores, and there were a hundred nightmares in his eyes. As she stared into the blackness of the hollow cylindrical barrel, at that very moment, Bella's stomach dropped, and she understood – beyond all doubt – that she was going to die, never mind that this guy's comrades were all dead and that once his weapon went off, his chances of making it past the captain were nil.

As if in answer, Edward's words rumbled through Bella's skull and, stupid or not, they jerked her hand up until the red beam of her laser sight danced across the man's scarred forehead. Instead of firing, a dark, terrifying kind of amusement skittered across the man's angry features, and he chuckled. "You think you can pull that trigger, little girl?"

Hand shaking and heart pounding, Bella whispered, her voice shaky and hoarse, "Before I die, I'll find a way to shoot you first."

He grinned a wicked, yellow-toothed grin as her finger tightened on the trigger. "I don't think so. Maybe I'll just take you with me. He's looking for a new scientist since our last one was taken…"

Bella's teeth chattered before clamping down on her tongue, flooding her mouth with a rush of copper. "I swear, I will…"

Three deafening booms suddenly rocked the room, and hot, viscous wet sprayed her face.

Startled, Bella's weapon went off as she stumbled backward a split second later, slamming into the concrete column behind her. The impact knocked the breath from her chest, snapping her neck forward. When she opened her eyes, all she could see was the black, unblinking eyes of the man who'd just said he was going to kill her. Shadows played across his open mouth like some kind of horror show, and in his chest were three neat and oozing red holes.

Edward slung his rifle around and crossed the room in a handful of lightning-fast strides. Ignoring the dead man on the floor – a militant that they'd somehow not accounted for – he crouched down in front of their wide-eyed, shaking scientist. Her breath came out in sharp, shallow pants, and her fingers trembled as she moved to touch the blood splatter that covered her cheeks.

Without thinking, Edward gently grabbed her wrists, wrested her sidearm away, and tucked it into the empty holster on his thigh. Reaching up, he took her face between his palms, and his thumbs automatically began wiping away the wetness – a mixture of blood, sweat, and the tears that had started to seep down her cheeks.

"Doctor?"

She didn't answer. Instead, as if dazed, she twisted her neck around to mutely stare at the bright red stains on his thumbs.

"Doc?" he said, softer, continuing to wipe away the bloody evidence.

When she still didn't answer, he tilted her face until her eyes slowly dragged up to meet his. "Bella."

At that, she flinched. A long moment passed, as if the woman were physically trying to pull herself out of the mire. It was tempting to shake her himself because time was a luxury they didn't have, but Edward waited, knowing that coherence would eventually come. She wasn't supposed to see this, not this close.

Stunned and mouth agape, Bella glanced up to find a sea of emerald green, eaten with undisguised worry. "Wha–"

"You're okay," Edward said, his voice still soft as spun silk, his warm hands still framing her face and cleaning away the blood. He gave her a faint, lopsided smile.

She swallowed, tasting salt. "I kill–

Edward shook his head. "You didn't shoot him, I did. You're fine." As if he'd just now realized what he'd been doing, his hands dropped away, and firmer when he spoke again, he told her, "I need you to stay with me for a little longer, okay? I need you to stay calm and walk outside with me."

Eyes still a little wild, Bella nodded, relieved to have a purpose and direction, and then she swiped the remaining wetness off her face with her sleeve. Before she could look down again, Edward's left hand closed around hers, and shifting to her other side – positioning himself between her and the dead man on the floor – he pulled her forward toward the door. As they made their way into the hot setting sun and across the open yard to one of the crumbling walls, without conscious direction, his other palm found the small of her back.

"She okay?" Bella heard from somewhere behind them as Edward eased her down onto the wall.

"Yeah," he said over her head. "She'll be fine."

"I'm okay," she mumbled, shaking her head to clear away the gory images that now spun a circle through her mind. "Really… it's..."

The familiar sound of plastic cracking came from beside her, and in her periphery, a bottle of water abruptly appeared and found its way inside her fist. "Drink."

Obeying, she twisted the lid the rest of the way, absently tucking it away inside her front pocket. "I just…" she started, and then stopped to take a long gulp. The water was warm, but it didn't matter because her throat was as dry as the desert around them. Bella downed another long pull, sucking down half the bottle, before closing her eyes. "Yeah, okay. Better."

Over her head, Jasper cocked a brow at the captain.

Edward's fist balled and his eyes narrowed into angry slits, but his voice stayed steady, carefully quiet. "One we didn't anticipate slipped through the back. Got close to her."

Jasper winced but then blinked against the sun as he put two and two together. His features screwed up, and with a wordless growl, he threw his gloves at the wall. "Fuck! What if there had been more... I was so busy with the three out front…what if… Goddamnit!"

Cutting the corporal off with a single glance, never mind he wanted to throw a few things, too, Edward squatted down in front of Bella. "Stay with Jasper, okay?" he said. "He's going to stick with you til we get back to the Humvees." When she nodded – slowly, but at least she was all there – he stood up, gave the younger man another pointed look, and mouthed a silent, "Watch her."

"I will, sir."

As Edward strode away toward the two sergeants and the captive now on his knees and hunched over between them, there was purpose and, more so, a simmering anger in his every step. At their captive, at the unit, at himself, or all of the above, Jasper couldn't say.

Jerking off his helmet and letting it drop to the ground, Jasper plopped down beside their scientist and forced an easy-going smile. After a second of silence, when her expression didn't change, he bumped her shoulder. "Hey, you did good, Doc."

Surprised, both by the words and the too-light tone, a choked laugh tumbled out before she could stop it. "I didn't shoot him like you guys told me to… I freaked out. Completely," Bella mumbled after a moment, dropping her head. "He was already down when I pulled the…" She looked down at her hands, locked tight around the crinkling plastic water bottle… and still trembling. "Shit, I'm still freaking out. I just… I'm sorry."

Jasper's put-on smile turned grim. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out what looked like a slim protein bar. Tearing the corner of the nondescript beige wrapper, he handed it over. "Here, you need to eat this."

Not exactly understanding, but too tired to disagree, Bella took the offered bar, peeled back the rest of the wrapper, and started to apologize again.

"Don't apologize," he said softly. The corporal bumped her shoulder again, but this time didn't pull away, letting her lean into him if she wanted. "It's normal to freak out." Staring out across the open desert, now lit in shades of orange and pink from the sun sinking below the horizon, Jasper went on, "I threw my guts up the first time I saw someone like that."

It wasn't lost on Bella that Jasper didn't specify if by like that, he meant that he'd seen a man dead or if he'd been the one who'd killed him. Considering the M110 with its wrapped barrel and well-worn stock that currently sat propped against the wall beside him – always at an arm's reach – she didn't have to ask.

"Yeah?" she asked as she took a bite of what tasted like cardboard.

"Definitely… And no one gave me any hell about it either, 'cause that's some rough shit even if you're trained for it." He paused. "There's nothing at all for you to be ashamed of, Doc." Shaking his head as he reached down to pick up the gloves he'd thrown, Jasper frowned. "We're the ones who screwed up, not you."

June 14
Back at the Humvees
Somewhere in the Middle East

"Name."

The man kneeling on the ground didn't respond.

Then again, as soon as Edward had taken in the milky white glass sphere that sat where his left eyeball should have been and the deep, jagged scars etched into his now-bound wrists and ringing his throat – no doubt from a long-ago tangle with a garrote – he hadn't expected any easy answers. No, this one just stared straight ahead into the cool desert night, wearing an arrogant, sneering expression few caught in Edward's crosshairs would dare.

"Name," Edward repeated, low and even, as he began to slowly circle their prisoner. Like the others they'd taken down, the fatigues worn by this one – the warlord in the scorpion-marked Humvee – were old and faded. But unlike his desert hires', his were the dark dappled greens and browns of jungle warfare, and on his left shoulder sat the torn remnant of what was once a bright blue rectangular patch. The column of yellow stars on the left-hand side still lingered.

The captain kicked the heel of the man's black combat boot, throwing him off balance when he couldn't steady himself with his hands. "Comment t'appelles-tu?"

The man's single functioning and jaundiced eye followed Edward as he came around. Lip curling back over dark, stained teeth, the sneer grew more pronounced. It disappeared, however, the second Edward's pistol cracked across the prisoner's pepper-colored skull. He hit the dirt with a harsh grunt, and when he glared up from his side, a thin rivulet of scarlet rolled down his temple.

Glancing to the left where Emmett stood guard, barrel aimed down at the struggling terrorist, Edward spat, "Get his ass up." Without a word, the staff sergeant grabbed the man by the armpits, hauled him to his knees, and shoved him back in front of the Humvee's headlights.

"Let's try this again, shall we? Parles-tu anglais?"

"Yes, I speak anglais," the man finally said, his accent heavy, long on the vowels, and imbued with an open hatred. "I am Laurent."

"First name or last?"

The sneer returned, his glass eye reflecting bright, eerie white in the unforgiving glare off the headlights. "Colonel Jean-Marcel Laurent."

"Interesting," Edward mused, tapping his chin, betraying no hint of emotion or that he recognized the name. The captain did – immediately – just as he recalled the horrific atrocities that had been visited upon the central African populace under this man's watch. And that barely touched the damage he'd wrought while on the payroll of various terrorist cells, running from the Sudan all the way to Indonesia, since he'd retired.

That the former Congolese commander had tied himself to this particular cell said something serious all right. That he'd been left behind as a mere clean-up man said something far, far worse.

"You and I…" Edward said, allowing his gaze to slide to the pale woman slowly moving out from behind the second Humvee and toward them. When her head shot up as if she'd detected the scrutiny, he turned back to the colonel, hands on his hips. "I think we're going have a lot to talk about."

Laurent laughed – the loud, full-body shaking kind, laced with the colors of mania. "You think you scare me, little Marine-boy?" he said, arrogant in spite of the hard plastic binding his wrists and the black barrel pointed at his head. "I've killed hundreds… thousands… of little boys just like you. You think you can force my tongue?"

Bella's eyes moved from the spitting, borderline lunatic on the ground to Edward. On the surface, the Marine was a man untouched, an almost-statue seemingly unaffected by the creature of violence in front of him. A minute passed, maybe more, but then that same eager glint appeared in the captain's near-black gaze, and she swore that his lips turned up slightly at the corners. When he spoke again, his voice was as cool and serene as a high mountain lake, and all he said was a simple, "We'll see."

Nothing overt, yet had she been the man on the ground, she'd have already been screaming.

As though bored, Edward checked his watch. When he looked up, he nodded once to Emmett and Rosalie before walking out of the glow of the headlights toward the back of the Humvee where Jasper had the satellite link to El'azar set up and ready. The Israeli came on the com a second later, his accent and laugh instantly recognizable now that Bella had met him. Edward said something that made El'azar's laughter cease, however, and then the two men began a rapid-fire exchange in Hebrew, too fast and too far away for her to translate. All she caught were snippets, a word here and there, something about a location a few hours to the east.

Abandoning the two to their conversation, arms crossed tight over her chest, Bella walked across the beams of light to stand next to Rosalie, whose upper arm now sported a neatly dressed, skin-colored bandage, complete with an entirely uncharacteristic smilie face drawn in the very center that made Bella's lips twitch.

"Aren't you a pretty little morsel," the colonel purred as his single eye roamed the two women to his left. Twisting at the waist, he ogled them dead on and ran his tongue over his lips in open suggestion.

Swallowing, Bella looked away, but her feet remained planted, forcing her to stand her ground when all she really wanted to do was run.

Rosalie just rolled her bright blue eyes in irritation, as if she'd seen it all and then some. She rolled them again, this time with a derisive snort, when the man grunted and jutted his hips forward in a vulgar move that needed no explanation whatsoever.

"Look at me, whore!" he snarled. His working eye bulged and a thick vein popped out across his forehead. "In my country, women know their place. You know where this is?"

"Shut. Up. Fucker," Emmett thundered, ramming the butt of his rifle into the colonel's ribs.

"Five bucks on what's coming next," the gunny sighed to Bella, shifting her shotgun from one arm to the other, as if she were sorely tempted to beat the man with it.

"On their knees, sucking my bite," Laurent went on, ignoring the jab in his ribs. When the only response Rosalie gave was another irritated sigh, he licked his chapped lips and sniffed the air. "Je peux sentir ta sale chatte américaine."

While she didn't speak French, Bella caught at least part of that. Her eyes widened and she glanced over at the taller woman beside her, fully expecting something. She didn't disappoint either.

Wearing an expression that screamed the old phrase if looks could kill, Rosalie smiled a chilling smile and flatly addressed the man in front of them. "Va te faire encul–"

Before she even finished, however, the colonel flew through the air, landing flat on his back. Blood poured out of his nose and from a wide split in his upper lip. Without even a hint of remorse, Emmett's big boot rammed into the man's side, flipping him half way over with a muffled groan. "What part of shut the fuck up did you not understand, you piece of shit?"

When he stepped away, Rosalie gazed across the lit space, one perfect brow arched high. "Thanks, babe, but I didn't really need the help."

"I know," the staff sergeant answered, wiping his knuckles on his pants. He winked and shot the blonde the fakest sheepish grin Bella had ever seen. "I just wanted to hit him."

"Em, load up," the captain ordered from behind the vehicle. "We need to move."

"Yes, sir." Wasting no time, Emmett yanked Laurent to his feet, roughly pushing him forward to the nearest vehicle. With another almost-playful wink at the two women, his expression abruptly hardened. The effect was startling, like two completely different men flipping back and forth in between heartbeats. When the colonel didn't move fast enough, the staff sergeant grabbed him by the back of his shirt, lifting him bodily, shoved him into the back of the Humvee, and yelled, "And if you open your goat-fucking mouth one more goddamned time, I will beat the shit out of you, you got that? And you don't fucking look at them again."

Recoiling, Bella turned away to stare at the endless dark beyond the Humvees. A hard, fleshy thwack! made her eyes squeeze shut. When they opened again, a long, lean shadow stood beside hers. "Do I want to know?" Edward asked Rosalie.

Climbing into the driver's seat, the gunnery sergeant just shrugged. "Already taken care of."

The heavy door clicked shut, but with the windows cracked open, Bella could still make out what was going on inside the cabin. Through the glass, Emmett pointed at them, and pitched low with a kind of calculated menace that had her hair standing on end, Bella heard the staff sergeant say, "Do you see that Marine standing there?"

Without permission, Bella's eyes flitted to her left, to the frighteningly cold, distant man in MARPAT.

"Do you know who he is?" the big man went on, pushing the colonel, eating into his mental space just like the captain had commanded.

There was a long pause. So soft that Bella almost missed it, Emmett finally said, "They call him the Ghost… I bet you've heard that name before, haven't you?"

Another weighted second of silence followed, and then, "Yeah, I thought so…

"So you can guess who we are." Almost on cue, the Humvee's big block engine rumbled to life. "We're your worst fucking nightmare, Colonel Jean-Marcel Laurent, Butcher of Kivu." Bella's spine went ramrod straight.

"That man standing out there?" Emmett pointed at Edward again. "He's going to break you. You know that, right? He's going to rip you apart until there's nothing left and you're fuckin' begging for a bullet. And then you're going to tell us everything we want to know."

.

.

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Notes:

French:

Comment t'appelles-tu – what's your name?

Parles-tu anglais – do you speak English?

Bite – cock

Je peux sentir ta sale chatte américaine – I can smell your filthy, American cunt.

Va te faire enculer – approximately, go fuck yourself.

Glossary:

Democratic Republic of the Congo – previously Zaire, is a country located in central Africa, bordering the Central African Republic, South Sudan, Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda, Angola, Zambia, and the Republic of the Congo. Due to its chaotic politics, corruption, and its near constant state of warfare over the last couple of decades, both civil and with its neighbors, it's recognized as being one of the (if not the) most violent places in the world, especially in the eastern Kivu region near Rwanda. There, cannibalism has been seen as late as 2003, and rape and sodomy are considered to be a weapons of war used by its military, used extensively against women and men. French is the official language.

Laser sight – nifty little devices that one can attach to all varieties of weaponry using bottom or top-mounted rails. Coming mostly in red, but occasionally in the green wavelength band, they act as visible aiming guides for the shooter, enabling higher accuracy. Note: they aren't much use in high light conditions, however.

M998 – one of the versions of HMMWVs, which lacks a lot of the armor you find on newer versions/armor kits.

MG3 – is a general purpose belt-fed machine gun originally manufactured by Rheinmetall, now licensed to various manufacturers. It fires a 7.62x51 mm NATO round.

Revolutionary Guard – or Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution, or the IRGC, is the military branch of Iran charged with protecting the country's Islamic system, including the prevention of military uprisings and internal dissent. It controls the Basij, which is a very large paramilitary volunteer force. The IRGC holds a great deal of power in Iran, and in recent years, it has been accused of various controversial activities by outside parties, including election rigging, as well as training Hamas and Hezbollah fighters.

RPG – or Rocket Propelled Grenade, is an anti-vehicle rocket/warhead combination that is usually fired from a shoulder-fired launcher. Warheads come in several varieties, including high explosive (HE), anti-tank (HEAT), thermobaric, etc.