The infirmary was not pleasant. Charlie was dumped onto a hard table, face down, and without any ceremony gassed into oblivion. When she woke up, hours later, she wore only a large hospital gown that remained open in the back.
The back. Her back. It was on fire! Charlie tried to bolt upright but the searing pain across her back made her stop almost as soon as she tried. Damn. How was she going to be of any use now?
Gritting her teeth, she went at it slowly, rolling to the side first and pushing up with one hand until she was sitting upright on the table.
"Don't even think about standing up before I give you an exam."
Charlie eyed the direction the chipper voice came from with disdain. Remember, you're a regular girl. Remind your face. She schooled a demure smile when the nurse came around to stand in front of her.
The woman was in her fifties with short curly hair and a pudgy build. Her smile was fake and her eyes were cold. "Hold out your arm."
Charlie obeyed, holding out her left arm and watching the nurse put a blood pressure sleeve around her bicep.
A minute went by.
"Blood pressure's a bit high. You're bedrest until the end of day. Go to the barracks and drink plenty of water. I'll send a note with you. Take these." She stretched out her arm and and dumped some pills in Charlie's hand. "For pain."
Charlie took them immediately, knowing whatever they were, they'd only take the edge off.
"Now I suggest if you want to survive here, you quit being a hero and let others take their own punishments, Cadet. Captain Archer is not a man to be trifled with."
Charlie bit back a sharp retort and nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I guess I wasn't thinking."
"And, uh, about this." She picked up Charlie's right arm and twisted hard. Charlie tried to jerk her arm away, but it was no use. The Militia brand stood out like an sore thumb. "You better start coming up with a good story. The Captain is going to question you about it."
"How did he find out?"
The nurse frowned at her. "I told him as soon as I saw it, of course. You think I'm going to put my livelihood on the line for some would-be mole?"
"I'm not a mole, I swear," Charlie protested. "It wasn't exactly like I had much of a choice to come here. I didn't say anything because I thought maybe the Patriots would give me some sort of purpose. I miss that." She allowed her face to fall. Her voice went small.
It worked.
"Hon, if that's true, just tell the Captain what you just told me and I'm sure we can find a place for you here. That is if you stay out of trouble," she scolded, letting her arm go and bringing her fresh underwear along with her uniform. "Come back for more pain meds in a few hours."
Charlie nodded and waited until she was alone to get dressed. It was brutal. Lesson learned. She couldn't afford to do something like this again. How would she fight her way out in five days?
Unfortunately, she was pretty sure that if she had to do it over again she'd make the same decision.
XXXXX
It was nightfall by the time Bass and Miles made it back to Gene's. The candles still burned and Bass was pretty sure Rachel was waiting up to rip them a new one.
He was right.
She came quickly out of the house, door slamming. "Where's Charlie?"
Miles sucked in a breath and began to make up some bullshit story.
Crack!
Rachel slapped him hard across the face. Bass could tell it hurt, too, by the way Miles moved his jaw around. "How could you?"
"Dammit, Rachel, if you'd let me explain before slapping the crap outta me… We didn't have a choice."
Rachel looked between Miles and Bass, eyes narrowing on the latter.
Bass slid around his friend. "I'll see what Gene's up to." Gene hated him but it was better than whatever this was going to be. Probably an I-Hate-Sebastian-Monroe fest. He walked quickly up the patio stairs and into the house. Gene sat at the kitchen table, giving him a great glare upon entry. Yep. Still hated him.
Connor was the only one who was happy to see him and that was only because he was pissed off and bored. He found his son in the back room tossing a knife in the air and trying to catch it by the hilt. "I can't believe you left me here with that old man and that bitch. I'm seriously about ready to smother them both in their sleep."
Bass found he didn't care about that as much as Connor probably thought he would. "We need them right now." He sat down across from him and unearthed a bottle of moonshine. He took a swig and then passed it to Connor. "Drink this and chill out."
Connor looked at him, unamused, but then took the bottle. "God, this place sucks so bad. In Mexico, they actually know how to have some fun. After a raid, we'd come back to a feast. Dancing girls, tequila, sex 'til the sun came up…"
Bass raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to hurry up and pass the bottle back. He swiped it and took another swig. "All in good time, kid. All in good time. Keep focused on what we're doing and you'll have all of that and more."
Connor looked nonplussed and just shook his head.
"Don't drink too much. We need your help to raid that Patriot camp and get Charlie. She's already taken a beating." His blood boiled just thinking about what that bastard had done to her. He clenched a fist and took another swallow from the bottle.
"When do we go?" There was a note of interest in Connor's voice, and Bass wondered if his son was in a hurry to see Charlie again or if he was just plain bored. Bass guessed the latter, pleased that Connor didn't seem to hold any lasting feelings for the girl.
"Well, as soon as Miles is done kissing Rachel's ass we're going to make a plan."
"Hey, dick."
Bass and Connor turned to see a scowling Miles in the doorway.
"Sorry I took so long kissing Rachel's ass, as you put it. You wanna get in here so we can go get my niece?"
Bass barely smothered a smile and Connor wasn't able to even attempt to hide his laughter. They both hauled themselves to their feet and made their way to the kitchen table. Rachel sat there eyes red-rimmed from crying.
Miles must've told her what happened to Charlie, Bass guessed, taking a position across the room against a counter. I know how you feel, Rachel.
"Alright, so tell us where this camp is," Gene began, looking up at Miles. "How far away?"
"On a train? Not far. By foot? Hours. We need horses or a wagon or something. Preferably both."
Gene nodded. "The Patriots have horses. We can't steal more than two without alerting suspicion though."
"We need the train," Rachel said in a quiet voice. "If we're going to get all those kids out. Otherwise, Charlie went in there for nothing."
Bass looked at her and gave the barest of long-suffering looks toward the ceiling. How could Miles put up with her? Ugh.
"What? You got something to say?" Miles snapped, glaring at him.
Apparently, Bass' frustrated expression had not gone unnoticed by the others. "Me?"
Miles gestured impatiently. "Yes, you, Bass. With the look and the sighs, you're practically dancing over there. You're obviously bursting at the seams to tell us how stupid we are and how you have a plan that's so much better. So, what is it?"
He didn't really have a plan and he'd been unaware that his frustration was so easily read. Without thinking things over too much, he started spouting off instructions. "First thing we do is you go talk to your guy in Willoughby. We need more information before we even think about taking the train to that processing camp. Rachel, you go to town and scout out horses. Connor, you hit up the bar and keep your ears open for any information about the Patriots and movements-plans for the future, etc. Gene, you stock up on drugs, especially sedatives."
Everyone stared at him.
"You always did think on your feet," Miles muttered. "What's the drugs for?"
Bass shrugged and pushed off the counter, crossing his arms and moving closer to the group. "Could come in handy." He didn't want to tell Miles what he was thinking until they were alone and had more information.
Miles stared at him for a moment, but let it go. "We all okay with that?" Everyone nodded slowly. Rachel shrugged. "And what are you going to do?" he asked, turning to Bass with a suspicion.
Bass smiled. "I'm going incognito." To spy on the Patriots, specifically Truman, the Director of the Patriots. "Can't really be seen around town, can I? A dead man?"
Miles nodded and turned back to the group. "So, get some sleep and tomorrow we hit up the town? We'll meet up back here after dark." Everyone nodded and slowly dispersed leaving Bass and Miles in the kitchen. "Now, what are you really up to?"
Bass looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"
Miles rolled his eyes. "Come on, Bass, it's me. I've known you my whole life. You're up to something."
Yeah, you've known me my whole life, Bass thought bitterly. Didn't stop you from trying to kill me. He composed his face when he looked up at his friend. "I'm gonna check out Truman. I've got something in my head that might work. Just gotta see about some things first."
Miles moved closer, nodding his head. "Yeah, I got that. I want to know what those things are first before I let you go traipsing around town blowing holes in our plans."
Bass narrowed his eyes. "First of all, I don't traipse. Second of all, you don't let me do anything. Third of all, it's none of your damn business what I do. Fourth of all, plans? What plans? The only one I see coming up with anything resembling a plan is me."
"Bass-"
"Goddammit, Miles, it's me!" Bass furiously hissed. "Stop treating me like I'm a stupid kid and remember everything we did together for the last sixteen years. You really think any of those pissant so-called Patriots are going to catch me doing anything I don't want them to?" He scoffed and looked at Miles with scorn. "Get your head out of your ass."
Miles stepped closer with an air of danger but Bass didn't back down. He welcomed it. Miles needed to be reminded of who he really was.
"You were there, same as me. You saw how many guys they have there. You really think the four of us are gonna be able to just roll up like the friggin' cavalry and take 'em all out? There was a platoon's worth at least. Maybe even a company altogether on the inside."
"So what's your point?" Miles snapped.
"My point is-if you weren't so worried about Rachel and her feelings you'd know this-we'll eventually need to sneak in somehow. Stealth. Or drugs or gas or something. We ain't going in guns blazing, not this time, not with our numbers."
"Maybe the train-"
"Yeah, for sure we try for the train," Bass interrupted, "but we show up with a train and four guys, what then? I've got something I'm thinking of and I need until tomorrow night to figure it out. I'll tell you then. Now do you mind?"
Miles stared at him for a long moment and then stepped aside to let him go. Bass walked out of the kitchen and expelled a breath. What an arrogant asshole. He was General Monroe of the Monroe Republic, for crying out loud. He'd led thousands of troops to victory, infiltrated dozens of enemy camps, issued thousands of orders for over ten years that led to successful missions and the expansion of territory.
Sure, toward the end he'd lost his shit a little. He was man enough to admit that, but most of the blame had to go to Miles. Before the Republic, but after the lights went out, Bass had still been a normal guy. He'd had morals and values and feelings. There'd been a dark streak inside him, sure. Who wouldn't have one after all the shit he'd been through? Losing his entire family, then his wife and baby… No! Not going there.
The point is, Miles was the one who'd pushed for the battles and the soldiers and the blood and guts and death it took to form the Republic. Hell, the only reason it was even called the Monroe Republic instead of the Matheson Republic was because Miles didn't like the limelight and Bass definitely had no problem with it.
Turns out, after pushing and pushing to do more, aim higher, kill without remorse, Miles had a change of heart and screw anyone who didn't do an immediate about face alongside him. And then he'd just shot him. No talking first. No trying to pull him back into the light. Just bam! And then he was done. And now he hated him.
What in the actual fuck?
Bass clenched his jaw and realized he needed a drink. He walked to the back room and picked the bottle of moonshine back up, uncorking it and drinking deeply. Damn, that was good.
Well, it wasn't good, per se, but it did the job nicely. Tension drained away from his shoulders and arms and he sat down into a chair. He closed his eyes and remembered what had happened earlier that day.
Charlie. Her screams.
He had to make sure she was okay.
It was completely stupid, on par with how Miles acted ever since rediscovering Rachel's vagina. Logic dictated he wait out the week, as they had discussed with Charlie before she'd went in undercover. It was smart and gave them more time to formulate a plan.
But every fiber of his being itched to get to her and kill every last one of those bastards for hurting her. It was doable. If he could get ahold of a uniform… forge some official documents… some scissors to give himself a trim… a horse…
To anyone else it would be too much on short notice. Bass smiled into the darkness and took another big gulp of the clear, burning alcohol.
It wasn't anyone else, though. It was him. He corked the bottle back up. It'd be a piece of cake.