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 15
Abandoned Military Outpost
Somewhere Deep in the Northern Zagros Mountains Along the Border Between Iran and Iraq

"Hey Doc! Breakfast or dinner?"

Startled, Bella's eyes shot up from the short stack of crinkled papers on her lap and flew across the small encampment to the man standing by the open door of the closest Humvee.

Against the sepia-tinted backdrop of the high, arid mountains all around them, the staff sergeant cut an imposing figure, even in an old olive drab tee a size too small and without the armor. He was a tank of a man, a wall of hard muscle with not a hint of fat. No longer hidden beneath the uniform blouse, he sported a pair of tree trunk sized biceps, too, decorated by twin, curling lines of jet-black ink, and there was no doubt whatsoever that they'd pack a wallop. Recalling the scene from late last night, it was a wonder that the colonel had even been able to walk to the Humvee when they'd loaded up.

Then again, Bella thought, the colonel hadn't walked out of the vehicle once they'd finally stopped here. No, he'd been dragged by his collar, cursing, spitting, and bleeding, and then he and the captain had disappeared into the small, concrete munitions bunker buried in the side of the mountain behind them. It was a moment that Bella's mind had replayed over and over in a constant, nonstop loop over the last eight hours, no matter how much she tried to concentrate on Riley's papers.

"Don't open this door," the captain said to the sergeants as he handed his rifle to Rosalie.

The gunny frowned, but didn't argue as she took his weapon.

With quick, focused movements that betrayed no sign of nerves, Edward shucked his vest and helmet before stripping down to a worn, plain beige tee. He kept only one of the sand-colored .45s strapped to his thighs. That, and a matte black, razor-sharp ka-bar that he tucked into his belt.

When Edward's eyes, dark, distant, and as cold as ice, landed on Bella, his fist tightened around the iron doorknob. He glanced over his shoulder into the dimly lit bunker before returning his gaze to Bella, and then he addressed his sergeants one last time. "And don't you dare let her anywhere near here. That's an order."

Despite the oven-like heat from the midday sun, Bella shivered. She knew well enough what was going on behind that heavy door, just as she understood the urgency and necessity of it. The only surprise was just how quiet they'd been, and that was its own chilling kind of testament to the captain's skill.

"Doc?" Emmett asked again, peering over a pair of mirrored Oakleys. He waved his hands, both of which held identical light brown pouches with darker lettering repeating across the front.

"What?" About the time Bella looked back to the staff sergeant, she swore she heard a muffled thump, followed by a low, pained noise that set her teeth on edge. Her spine snapped straight, and she froze for a split second, stock-still, battling the urge to spin toward the same bunker she'd been trying so hard to push out of her mind. Giving herself another hard shake, Bella cleared her throat to buy some time before quietly speaking. "I'm sorry. What was that?"

Emmett shot her a grin and barked a laugh, but Bella wasn't fooled. He'd heard it, too, and there was no hiding the ripple of tension across those bunched-up shoulders, nor the way his eyes automatically lifted to scan the canyon walls. "Whatcha want?" he said after a moment, flipping one of the bags in the air. "Muffin and sausage or beef roast?"

Bella blinked. "Um, I'm not re–"

"She wants the roast."

Without warning, in a blur of tan and black, Alice vaulted over the thick concrete block – a two-foot high, crumbling remnant of an old foundation – at Bella's back. With surprising grace, she twirled around, dropped down to the ground, crossing her legs like a kid, and leaned in. "Trust me," she whispered to Bella behind her palm. "It comes with cookies and cobbler. It's absolutely impossible to fuck up cobbler. Sausage, on the other hand…" The lieutenant's face screwed up and she gave an involuntary shudder. She called over to Emmett. "Beef. B definitely wants the beef."

"Fine," he grumbled back before turning to dig through a cardboard box on the Humvee's floorboard. "More sausage for me!"

Bella's brows knitted together. "I'm really not hungry." Nauseated, maybe. Exhausted, definitely.

"Yes, you are," Jasper cut in as he swung his boots over another bench-sized hunk of concrete across from them. Like the other Marines, the corporal was armorless, supposedly at ease. The desert-colored M110 still hanging in its sling across his chest, ready at a moment's notice, however, said that at ease was a relative term, at least out here. "Your system's shot right now from lack of sleep and shock. Your brain hasn't had a chance to catch up yet."

"I don't kno–"

"Eat. At least try. Captain'll be pissed if you pass out." As he tore into his own MRE, Jasper flashed her a quick smile – one that widened when he took in the helo pilot beside her as she attempted to pin back her helmet-mangled hair with some kind of dark barrette. "Plus, if you don't finish it, I'm sure Tink will take the cookies…" That smile turned into a mischievous smirk. "And the cobbler."

"Hey!"

Slate eyes twinkling, Jasper snorted. "It's true, and you know it. For being as little as you are, you eat like a damned horse."

"Whatever." Alice rolled her eyes with an exaggerated huff and then yelled over to Emmett, "Do we have any chicken left?"

The staff sergeant's reply was unintelligible – something about picky eaters and not getting paid enough – but no more than a second later, another brown pouch sailed over Jasper's head and landed in her lap.

"Fuck," Alice muttered under her breath, grimacing when she picked the pouch up and read the label. Her nose scrunched up. "I didn't mean this chicken." She held the thing up as if Bella actually knew what she meant. "I mean, who the hell wants dried fruit for dessert? Fruit. Freakin' fruit!"

"Here." Half-laughing and half-sighing, Jasper shook his head, grabbed one of the small tan packets he'd set out beside him, and tossed it over. "Better now?"

As soon as she flipped the packet over and saw its contents, Alice's eyes widened and she pumped a triumphant fist, displaying a level of energy that no one had any business having after thirty-six hours with no sleep. "Yes! You're the best, Jazzy…" Chucking the dreaded dried fruit across the way in exchange, she blew Jasper a loud, squawky kiss, and then threw a narrow-eyed glare at the staff sergeant. "Unlike some other people I know. Ahem."

Chuckling, the big man flipped her off as he climbed over Jasper's makeshift bench – dinners in hand – and settled down beside him. When Bella peeked over to the corporal, now suspiciously engrossed in the open ration on his lap, a faint dusting of pink climbed his neck and cheeks.

Emmett motioned to Bella. "These'll be ready in ten minutes or so."

"Thanks… I think." Bella nodded, watching the younger man fiddle with some kind of pale green foldout pack before placing it back in the pouch. He tilted the entire thing, propping it against a rock, and poured in water from his canteen. A minute or two later, he dropped in the entrée.

"They're better than you're thinking," Alice said as she began copying the corporal's procedure. "Seriously. It's not that bad. Kind of like…" Pausing, she tapped her bottom lip. "Think frozen dinner, or Chef Boy-ar-dee."

Jasper's head popped up. "Oh, fuck that. They're exactly as bad as she thinks they are." When Emmett opened his mouth to argue, Jasper elbowed the bigger man in the ribs, earning him a hard shove in retaliation. "And God almighty, don't ever let this guy," Jasper added, snickering as he dodged a second shove – this one aimed to take him off the bench, "talk you into the chili macaroni. That shit'll go down like a bri–"

Before the corporal could finish his thought, another muted thud came from behind them, this time louder. Then came another. And another, each one punctuated by a low, keening wail that made Bella's hair stand on end. Unable to stop herself, heart slamming against her sternum, Bella spun around, shot to her knees, and stared over the pitted concrete at the heavy, unmoving door that led inside the mountain. Half-covered by reedy, desert grasses and gray-green shrubs and painted to match the dirt-colored boulders that framed it, the bunker was an easy thing to miss. But now, it was all she could see.

"Doc?" Jasper said softly.

"How… how much longer?" she whispered, no longer capable of playing their well-meant charades.

From her left, gravel crunched under a boot. "As long as it takes." Rosalie's voice was hard and pitiless, cut from the same granite as the captain, but when Bella's gaze slowly slid up to meet hers, there was undisguised worry – and something else that she didn't recognize – lurking in the stiff brace of the gunny's jaw. "And when it's done," Rosalie went on with an angry growl, shifting her rifle. "You will not give him any shit about it. You got that?"

"What?" Bella's lips mashed together and her forehead creased. Out of habit, her thumbnail flew to her mouth. "No… Of course not." She flinched, and the nail tore down to the quick. Muttering a low curse, Bella thrust her balled up, stinging fist into her pocket, and then she asked, musing more to herself than anyone, "How could I?"

In a handful of quick, clipped strides, Rosalie moved to a wide, blackened stump that sat between the crumbled foundation and the mountain. Her gear hit the ground with a quiet thunk, and she sat without looking, her ice-blue eyes boring into Bella instead. After a second, one sculpted brow cocked high. "I don't know, Doctor. You tell me."

Unsure where to look – at the door, at the gunnery sergeant, or at the ground – Bella's frown deepened. "I mean," she started, and then stopped, waving a hand as though the answer were perfectly obvious. "Look at what I do. What I've created. You think I have any room to talk?" Louder, firmer, and now borderline pissed off, Bella said, "These… people… these goddamned terrorists, who kidnapped my best friend, who fucking tortured him to death to make him give them a weapon that could kill millions… We have to stop them. There is no alternative, and nothing else matters right now. How could you even think I'd…"

The gunny's other brow shot to her hairline, and for few tense seconds, both women were absolutely silent. When Rosalie finally broke the standoff, studying their scientist like some kind of rare zoo creature, the hardness in her voice vanished. In its place was a distant, hollow kind of quality that made Bella's stomach twist into a tight knot. "Good." Behind that single word was another statement – an unspoken handshake. "Edward doesn't need that bullshit." Rosalie slowly shook her head. "It's hard enough on him, as is."

For a long, quiet moment, no one else spoke, as if there were nothing more to say. Wordlessly, Emmett passed across what was supposed to be some kind of beef roast, steaming and complete with vegetables and bread, and then there was only the rattling of paper and spoons. Nowhere close to hungry, Bella picked at her food and stared at the craggy, snow-capped mountains to the north.

Less than half an hour later, those sounds started up again – the same blend of eerily quiet thumps and human misery. But this time, she didn't turn. Instead, Bella gritted her teeth and fought the involuntary tremor. Sucking in a slow, deep breath, she surveyed the captain's team before offering a nervous smile. "How long have you guys been together?"

Spoon halting, Emmett glanced up at the pale, dark-haired woman who still had no business being here, but who had unknowingly earned the respect and approval of one of the harshest critics he knew, not to mention the rest of them. No one – no one – caught Rosalie Hale off guard. Yet this woman had managed it. And now there was no denying that the doctor had some iron in her veins after all. He figured that she deserved a few answers. "'Cept Jazz, of course… since '07."

Six years, Bella counted. "That's a long time, isn't it?" Her head tilted. "How does that work? Were you assigned?"

Alice piped in before he could speak, but like the staff sergeant's, her normally cheerful tone was strangely subdued. Distant, maybe, almost… careful. "No, we requested it. We asked to be placed under the Captain's command."

"Why?"

Suddenly intent, Jasper leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "The Captain… he's… kind of a big deal in the Corps." Alice gave a quiet snort. "What? It's the damned truth, and you know it," he argued, ignoring her when she sighed. "See, when I was in Scout Sniper Basic, he was like the standard." Jasper's gray eyes flitted to the long rifle propped up beside him. "No one could do what he did. No one could come close to his scores, on range or in fieldcraft."

Bella's vision swam with the image of those three, perfectly grouped holes, placed dead center in her assailant's chest. "So he was a sniper then?"

Rosalie shook her head. "Not in the typical sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Back then, the Captain was leading a different Recon unit, kind of like this one, but mostly Green Ops." When Bella started to ask, Rosalie explained, "Deep surveillance, and in his case, real deep. Out for months at a time and in some of the scariest motherfuckin' places you've ever seen. Considering it was 2007, you can guess who he was looking for." She spat and flicked her empty MRE packet on top of the small pile that they'd started in the center. "Most snipers aren't officers, but he chose to take the course because he was smart. And he was still the best."

Another beat of silence passed before Emmett asked, "You know what our motto is?"

"Um, I think everyone does. Semper Fidelis." Always faithful. And judging from the Marines Bella knew, it was more than a just a phrase. It ran bone deep.

One corner of his mouth curved up. "That's right, but I mean ours specifically. Force Recon's." When Bella replied that she didn't, the big man yanked up his left sleeve, popping a few threads as it stretched.

Positioned above the ink she'd glimpsed before, the tattoo was as big around as both of Emmett's fists, a wicked-looking skull with blacked out sockets and a mouth covered by some kind of gas or air mask. A pair of angel wings, detailed down to each single feather, spread out behind it, and in a carefully scripted semi-circular arc below, read a single phrase, "Celer, Silens, Mortalis."

"My Latin's crap." Bella studied the lines, turning them over in her head like they were any other puzzle meant to be solved. Latin was Riley's thing, she remembered. "Quick… No, wait, it's swift… Swift, Silent, and… Deadly?"

"That's why they call him The Ghost, you know. Because he's exactly that – fast, silent, and absolutely lethal," Rosalie said, watching the scientist's eyes widen in understanding. "You're dead before you even know he's there." Leaning forward on her knees, mimicking Jasper's tired pose, she scrubbed the grit off her face. "And there's no telling how many lives he's saved because of it. He's everything a Marine should be. That's why we requested this team."

"So–"

"It was a special operation conducted in '07," Alice answered before Bella could ask. "A joint forces kind of thing... It involved Edward, specifically. Blondie's and Emmett's units were involved. And I got called in from Bagram to provide air support. Back then, I was flying F-16s with the 455th." The lieutenant picked through the leftover chunks of chicken in her pouch, took a reluctant bite, and forced a smile. "Afterward… when it was all finally over, well, we kind of stuck together."

The gunnery sergeant's comments finally clicked. "He saved you. I understand."

Alice froze mid-bite. Because even now when she closed her eyes at night, she still heard the panicked male scream come through her headset, still heard Emmett's responding words, soft and surprisingly gentle, and she definitely still saw the blazing hot, smoking inferno left behind after she'd emptied her entire payload and razed that godforsaken cave deep in the middle of the White Mountains in retribution for what those people had done.

"Not exactly." Although he'd saved all their asses plenty of times since then. '07 was something else altogether, so Alice just shrugged. "But, yeah, it was something like that."

With an exaggerated cough, Emmett popped up and motioned for Bella to hand over her barely touched ration. When she obeyed, he scowled at the weight of it and muttered, "Not acceptable, Doc." Reaching into his pocket, he produced a slim, coffee-colored bar just like the one Jasper had her eat last night, and tossed it. "Humor me." As he stepped around the bench, he pushed his shades to the top of his head and pointed at Rosalie. "And you, get your ass over here. Lemme look at that arm."

Rosalie balked and threw a wadded-up piece of cardboard, hitting him square in the chest. "I don't think so, Staff Sergeant."

But the big man wasn't having any of it and threw it right back. "I'm the fucking medic here. What I say goes. And I don't care if you bat your pretty blue eyes or kick me in the balls, I'm checking your goddamned arm." He thumbed toward the Humvee. "Now get over there." He winked. "Ma'am."

"I'll show you kick," Rosalie grumbled. Nonetheless, she complied and followed him over to the vehicle, and then Bella stared in rapt fascination as the two sergeants argued back and forth, nonstop, while Emmett carefully – and gently – re-dressed Rosalie's wound. Once he was done, signing his work with another smilie, Emmett yanked on her ponytail, laughing when Rosalie punched him in the gut hard enough that most other men would have hit the ground.

Bella leaned over to Alice. "They're sleeping together, aren't they?"

The lieutenant's eyes boggled and then she threw her head back, bursting into a fit of girlish giggles.

Bella bit back a laugh. "I take that as a yes."

Wiping her cheeks, Alice scooted over until they were shoulder to shoulder and whispered back, "Just don't tell Edward, okay?"

"That's not allowed?"

Alice's gaze darted away for a split second. "Ehhh… it's allowed because they're close enough in rank, but even then, it's not really encouraged. We'll put it like that."

Fingering the edge of the energy bar she had no desire to eat, Bella hesitated just long enough for her lips to kick up at the corners. "So, then I take it he doesn't know about you and…" Her eyes cut over to the corporal, who now sat sideways on the bench, using it as a table as he broke down and checked his rifle. "That guy."

This time, instead of laughing, Alice choked, wide-eyed and sputtering. "No!" she hissed through clenched teeth, grabbing Bella by the collar to draw her closer. "We're not even… together-together. We just… went out that one time." When Bella rolled her eyes, Alice winced and smacked her lips. "Okay, twice."

Satisfied, Bella leaned back against the concrete and smiled up at the bright blue sky, almost forgetting where they were and why.

"Swear."

Bella looked to her right. "Swear what?"

A sharp jab in her shoulder answered. "Don't be dense. I get enough of that from these assholes."

"Fine. I swear," Bella sighed as she closed her eyes for the first time since they'd left Israel. The daytime sun was blazing hot as it seeped through her clothes and skin, but here in the mountains, so high up in elevation, there was a light, constant breeze coming from the north that carried with it the scent of sweet almonds and figs as well as a hint of cooler air. The combined effect was as good as any tranquilizer, and it only took a handful of deeper breaths to lull her to sleep.

But all that was gone with the loud, sudden crack! of a .45.

With a wheezy scream, Bella jolted upright, banging her skull against the concrete. Blood as cold as ice, she scrambled to her feet a split-second later, grabbing for the pistol on her thigh that was no longer there. But there were four others already up and facing the bunker, weapons at the ready.

Stalking quietly to the left, Jasper chambered a round. "Gunny?"

Rosalie's palm shot up, and then she motioned Emmett to take position opposite Jasper. Rifle tucked tight against her shoulder, knees bent and low, she edged toward the door leading into the mountain. "Captain?" she called.

No one responded for a too-long, hair-raising moment.

"Captain?" she called again, louder.

Muffled by the thick walls and heavy door, Edward finally answered. "Stand down, Gunny. It's fine." And then, as if in slow motion, there was the metallic click of the lock, and the door to the bunker slowly swung wide, its rusty hinges squealing with every inch.

Framed by darkness, the captain looked as though he'd been to hell and back. The beige shirt he wore inside was now plastered to his skin, wet from sweat, not to mention from multiple sprays of something darker. The same crimson-brown shade stained his pants, too, in a foot-long, thick to light stripe. It took Bella only a second to grasp from where it'd come. Edward turned to say something to Rosalie, and the black handle of his ka-bar was all the reminder she needed. When he wiped his face, his knuckles were split, bruised, and bleeding.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

The normal, straight line of the captain's shoulders slumped as though he were the one who'd been beaten. His features were slack, devoid of any emotion, and those glittering, gem-colored irises of his were as black as night and flat, with dark, plum-gray bruises in their hollows.

"Rose," Edward said. He rammed his fingers through sweat-wet hair to push it off his forehead, and Bella realized that there was blood on his face, too. Like his expression, his tone was flat and lifeless, speaking of untold horror. "I need you to call El'azar. Tell him we're on our way."

"Yes, sir."

"And then call Quantico. We're going to need a pick up. And find out if we've got any carriers near the Red Sea."

Rosalie gave him a quick, clipped nod, and started off toward the vehicles.

"Where we heading, sir?" Jasper asked.

Sluggish, Edward's head swung around. When his eyes landed on Bella, he grimaced and quickly looked away. "Em's favorite," he finally said.

"Son of a bitch," the staff sergeant muttered, crossing his arms over his massive chest. The muscles in his forearms rolled and flexed like steel cables. "Where specifically?"

"Few hundred klicks north of Mogadishu." Edward scratched his chin, seeing the wide, flat, barren plateaus they'd raced across only last year. "They've got a pretty decent camp set up in a dried-out watercourse between a couple of the higher plateaus."

"That it?"

"No, it's heavily fortified, and there are some sophisticated buildings in the center, mostly running off of industrial generators. I'm assuming that's mostly for the labs and for building the weapons." Edward's jaw ticked. "With all the political chaos going on, you know as well as I do that it's the perfect spot to hide. And God knows, there's no shortage of hired guns. They've supposedly amassed at least a few hundred, maybe more."

Emmett made an angry, frustrated sound and spat. "Which makes it a fucking nightmare for us."

"Pretty much." Edward looked back to the corporal. "I'll give you what details I have. Call those CIA agents and have 'em swing the satellites around. We're going nowhere until I see exactly what and who we're looking at."

"You got it." The corporal hesitated, taking in his commander from head to toe, before quietly asking, "Did the colonel tell you anything else?"

Edward didn't reply at first, and instead, pushed his hand through his hair again. His fist balled, stretching the lacerations across his knuckles until they burned like fire. "They're from out of Europe somewhere. Laurent never met the guy funding it all, but the ones he worked through all spoke English. Said the accents were from all over – Eastern Europe somewhere, British, German – but they were all distinctly European."

Bella stepped forward. "Did he know who kidnapped Riley?"

"No." He shook his head. "But he did confirm what we suspected… they're not looking to sell your weapon, Dr. Swan."

Her heart stopped. "They're going to use it."

"Yeah, looks that way. Potential targets are all U.S. cities with more than a million people. " Edward took a slow deep breath. When he breathed out, his shoulders sagged and he scrubbed his face, pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes until they ached and red and green spots floated in the blackness. Abruptly, he dropped his hands to his hips, looked to the right where a narrow, washed-out dirt road curved around a sheer rock wall in the distance, and said to his team, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Get everything ready."

"Edward?"

"It's fine, Al," he said, waving Alice off when she moved toward him. Without waiting for her response, the captain rocked forward and started walking. Twenty yards away, he stopped mid-stride, straightened, spun toward the bunker, and looked to the staff sergeant. "And douse that shit, will ya? Burn it all."

As soon as Edward turned, the other Marines immediately began to move, grabbing and packing their gear with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Too stunned to do anything, Bella just stood there, lips parted and heart fully in her throat, staring at the way the captain's head dropped and the way his fists slowly flexed by his sides as he slowly made his way around the corner. His boots crunched quietly over the pebbles and rocks, his steps dragging, lacking his usual purpose.

The second he disappeared, Bella's spine straightened and words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Jasper, do you have a shirt?"

The corporal peeked out from the back of the Humvee. "Huh? Why?"

"Give it to me."

Emmett placed a gentle hand on Bella's shoulder. "Leave him alone, Doc."

Bella glared at the bigger man, and when he didn't budge, instead curling his fingers tighter, she lost it and yelled, "I didn't ask for your permission!" Twisting away, Bella scooped up a bottle of water she hadn't touched and squatted to go through her gear, digging deep through the largest pouch until her fingers found the small green kit. When she stood, shoving it into the big cargo pocket at her knee, Jasper pitched her a rolled-up olive drab t-shirt.

"Thanks," she muttered and then turned, ignoring Emmett's wide-eyed protests. From behind them, Alice snapped at the staff sergeant. He growled something back, but once the lieutenant spoke again, his arguing ceased with a curt, "Yes, ma'am."

Arms full, Bella jogged the fifty yards to where the road cut around the rock, jumping across the deep tracks washed out by the rare heavy rains, trying to catch up. As soon as she turned the corner, however, her lips fell open as she skidded to a halt and froze.

And then she silently waited, stricken by what she saw.

Bent in half at the waist, one hand on his knee, the other splayed against a granite boulder for support, Edward spat the last of whatever was left in his stomach. Once finished, sore and exhausted – physically, but more so mentally – he stayed like that, letting the boulder bear most of his weight. The colonel's terrifying words spun inside his head, however, so he only allowed himself the luxury a handful of seconds before straightening.

Back still facing her – unknowingly displaying every single line of every muscle as they bunched and stretched beneath his wet shirt – the captain quickly wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and exhaled a tired sigh. "What do you need, Doctor?"

Bella didn't answer, forcing Edward to turn around. But when he did, she still didn't speak. Her slender throat bobbed as she scanned the entire length of him, wearing an expression he couldn't decipher. Finding what in his, he didn't know, she held out an unopened bottle of water and a t-shirt.

Unprepared for both her appearance and her offering, Edward's lips turned down, but he took the shirt with a weary nod, setting it down on the boulder beside him. Grabbing the hem of the one he wore, he hesitated as he debated whether or not to turn his back, but then, cursing himself for even deliberating, Edward yanked the filthy fabric over his head, letting it drop into wet pile on the ground.

Like Emmett, Edward sported the intricately inked stamp of his battalion on his shoulder, and there was another equally well-crafted design covering the right side of his chest – this one the more common Eagle, Globe, and Anchor – but Bella couldn't see any of that.

A long, jagged scar ran the diagonal length of the captain's torso, all the way from the top of his left shoulder to his right side where it trailed along the seam of a lean, cut abdominal muscle until it slipped behind the low waistband of his pants. It was old and pale against the warm tan of the rest of his skin, but from the width of it and the way the rough line had healed, indenting slightly below the surface, Bella knew the wound had been a deep one, severe enough that it would have killed a lesser man. Other, smaller scars – irregular, dime to quarter-sized holes from shrapnel and God only knew what else – littered his left side. And that was only the ones that she could see.

She blinked when Edward suddenly reached between them to take the water, unscrewing the cap only to dump half its contents over his head. As he mopped his face and neck, washing away the grit and grime, Bella eased back against one of the waist-high rocks that lined the road, arms wrapped tightly around her, and alternated between staring down at the ground and out across the wide, open canyon in front of them. Out here in the middle of nowhere, tucked inside the rocky mountains, there wasn't even a hint of human habitation. The view, which spanned miles on end in every direction, was something out of a dream, arid, wild, and a hundred shades of brown, yet still somehow beautiful in its harshness.

Pulling on the fresh shirt – Jasper's, obviously – Edward approached the scientist and followed her lead, leaning against the rock beside her. White as a sheet, eyes wide and unnecessarily wet, but with a stubborn brace of her jaw that defied definition, she was something else – something foreign – and at the moment, not at all unwelcome. Fact of the matter was, that she'd come after him, whatever her reasons were for doing it, made something tick inside his chest. And when the woman whipped an energy bar out of her pocket, shoved it into his hand, and told him to, "Eat," in a tone of voice that belonged more to Rosalie than to a soft civilian, Edward's lips twitched.

"Thanks," he said, quiet enough that she almost missed it, and started to peel back the wrapper. When Bella's face pinched for no particular reason, Edward angled himself toward her without thinking, took a bite, and simultaneously raised a questioning brow. "What?"

She chewed the inside of her cheek. "Let me see your hand."

An unexpected laugh made it off his tongue before he realized that she was serious. But when she cut him an irritated glare, he didn't argue. He switched the energy bar over to his left and placed his right banged-up, calloused hand in her smooth, soft one to humor her. Turning his hand over, Bella inspected the splits and bruises, making a tsking noise when the skin stretched and started to bleed again.

"It's fine."

She didn't respond, other than to reach down to her knee to retrieve her IFAK. As she pulled out the iodine and antibiotic, however, Edward tugged on his hand, which netted him nothing except another annoyed scowl and a huff. "Will you stop?" she muttered. "Don't be stupid."

"It's nothing, Doc," he told her as she began carefully dabbing the rust-colored liquid across his cuts. "Seriously. I've had a lot worse than a few bruised knuckles."

Staring down at his hand rather than up at him, Bella's glare disappeared, softening her too-pretty, too-fine face. "I know you have," was all she said, at least until she'd finished her work. She was quick about it, too, and almost as neat as Emmett as she ended with the antibiotic, which made Edward wonder just how she'd come about her knowledge. Setting the kit on the other side of the rock, Bella dropped her eyes to their feet before offering a hushed, "I'm really sorry."

Edward stiffened.

"That you had to do that, I mean."

Sucking in a ragged breath, Edward shifted more of his weight against the rock, pocketed the other half of the bar, and palmed the back of his neck. He waited for a moment, torn between arguing and ignoring her comment, finally settling on a quiet, tired, "Yeah, me too."

Bella's face turned up and she looked him in the eye. "Do you think he was lying?"

Edward's skin pulled tight across his cheekbones. "No." He shook his head, and then again more firmly. "He wasn't lying."

"How can you know?"

"Trust me, I know."

There was something almost sad in the way the captain said the words, conveying a pained conviction and surety that made Bella's heart sink in realization when she pieced them together with the evidence carved into his skin.

"Someone did that to you." It was a statement, not a question.

Slowly, not looking away, Edward nodded, which had the effect of an ice-cold bucket of water over the head. "You could say that I have a unique perspective, a kind of knowledge that most interrogators don't," he explained after a moment. His Adam's apple dipped. "I know what works and what doesn't." Bella didn't speak, but instead squeezed the hand Edward had almost forgotten that she still held.

"Some people…" he went on, not pulling away. "They're not afraid of dying. Or prison. Or whatever. You can't reason with them and you can't threaten them with that shit. I know, I've seen it. I've lived it." His thumb stroked the back of her hand. "But there is one thing that everyone's afraid of…" The hand that wasn't in hers stole to his side, tracing the phantom ache along his scar. "Pain. It's just a question of how much they can tolerate before breaking."

Bella's stomach flipped and her mouth went dry. "I hate that you had to… do what you did," she said after a second, cringing at her own words. "But I'm relieved that we have a lead… that we know where to go."

The image of Laurent suddenly came unbidden, on his knees in front of the Humvee's headlights, spitting, leering, and mocking them with his vile, sick words. The Butcher of Kivu, Emmett had called him. A terrorist, a rapist, a murderer of thousands of innocents by his own admission. "And I'm glad he's dead… that you killed him," Bella whispered. "Maybe I shouldn't be, maybe it's wrong to think that way, but I am."

Edward shrugged. "It is what it is."

"Will you tell me about what happened to you?"

"Yeah." His fingers tightened around hers. "One day, I will."

.

.

.

Notes:

Glossary:

455th– or the 455th Expeditionary Wing, or 455th AEW, is one of the U. S. Air Force AEWs assigned to Afghanistan, specifically Bagram Airfield. Their job has been mainly to provide air support to troops on the ground.

Artesh – or the Islamic Republic of Iran Army.

When you hear the term "Republican Guards" in reference to the Middle East, generally it means the Republican Guard of Iraq. If it's in reference to Iran, it's likely either someone misnaming the Revolutionary Guards or, perhaps, that person means the Artesh.

There are three main military "branches" or divisions in Iran: 1) the Islamic Republic of Iran armed forces, which includes the Army (Artesh), Navy, Air Force, and Air Defense Force, 2) the Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution (Revolutionary Guards), and 3) the volunteer force, the Basij.

The regular Iranian armed forces are like any other country's military and they protect Iran's political borders. The Revolutionary Guards, however, are charged with protecting Iran's Islamic system. It includes the Quds Force, which is a special forces unit that operates outside of Iran. Some consider the Quds Force to be a terrorist organization. The third division, the Basij, is a large paramilitary volunteer force, which is loosely organized under local clerics and ultimately takes its orders from the Revolutionary Guards. It essentially acts as a kind of moral police.

Bagram – refers to Bagram Airfield in the Parwan Province of Afghanistan, which is one of the largest U.S. military bases in the country.

Eagle, Globe, and Anchor – refers to the official USMC logo, which depicts a globe with a diagonally oriented anchor behind it. An eagle sits on top, wings spread and holding a streaming ribbon in its beak. The ribbon reads, "Semper Fidelis". Note: the other tattoo that Emmett and Edward both sport isn't an "official" logo of any active battalion, but it is one that some Force Recon Marines have. I borrowed it for my fictional battalion.

Fieldcraft – is a military term referring to the skill of moving and operating in stealth, including knowledge and expertise in the various methods to do so (e.g., countersurveillance, camouflage, tracking, outdoor survival skills, etc.)

ka-bar – refers to the standard issue Marine combat knife, named for its original manufacturer, KA-BAR Cutlery Co. They have a Bowie blade, are typically 7 in., have a leather pommel, and are often painted matte black.

MRE – or Meal, Ready-to-Eat, is a standard field ration in the U.S. military. Coming in a variety of menu options, they typically contain an entrée, a side, a bread or starch, dessert(s), a beverage, and accessories, averaging around 1300 calories per meal. A flameless heater is also included in each pouch. They have a shelf life of at least 3 years. [note from Scooterstale: mmm…sounds delicious]

Payload – for fighter jets, refers the weight of the weapons and fuel cargo. Above, Alice is referring to the bombs she dropped. F-16s usually carry two 2000 lb bombs, two AIM-9, and two AIM-120 missiles. F-16s are also often equipped with up to sixteen additional missiles, which are distributed across the wings, and a heavy round machine gun in front.

Rank – in the Marines, rank structure is divided into three categories: 1) Commissioned Officers, 2) Warrant Officers, and 3) Enlisted. This story doesn't really include any Warrant Officers, so I'll just break down Commissioned Officers and Enlisted.

Commissioned Officers (lowest to highest): Second Lieutenant, First Lieutenant (Alice), Captain (Edward), Major, Lt. Colonel, Colonel, and then four levels of General (Carlisle is a Lieutenant General, which makes him second from the very top). The President formally commissions these officers, and they almost always come out of 4-yr. military academies or ROTC programs. They're typically placed in formal leadership positions over groups of Enlisted.

Note on Alice: sometimes when an officer changes branches, the normal rank progression can be delayed due to additional training needs. Hence she's still a First Lieutenant instead of a Captain. You can assume that while Alice is a little younger than Edward (he's around 33, btw), they're fairly close in age.

Enlisted: Private, Private First Class, Lance Corporal, Corporal (Jasper), Sergeant, Staff Sergeant (Emmett), Gunnery Sergeant (Rosalie), and then five other higher Sergeant ranks. Enlisted make up the majority of the Marine Corps. They usually enlist out of high school or even after college (like in Jasper's case). While they may not be in formal positions of leadership, it's not uncommon at all for higher ranked enlisted Marines to lead other enlisted.

As far as who outranks whom, commissioned officers outrank enlisted. Technically, a second lieutenant, fresh out of the Academy, outranks a veteran gunnery sergeant… although he/she would be stupid to not respect the experience and expertise of the gunny.

So if you're curious about these characters specifically, rank order would go: Carlisle (obviously), then Edward, then Alice, then Rosalie, then Emmett, and then Jasper.

Scout Sniper Basic Course – is a school in the Marine Corps. It qualifies and trains individuals to be scout snipers. Scout snipers are precision, long-range marksmen who also specialize in reconnaissance.

White Mountains – in this story, refers to the White Mountain Range, or Safēd Kōh, which is located in eastern Afghanistan and stretches into Pakistan. You might recall the phrase, Tora Bora, as in the Battle of Tora Bora in late 2001. That's the name of a cave complex located in the White Mountains region where Taliban and al-Qaeda fighters hid. It was notoriously difficult to penetrate because of the terrain.