The major paced back and forth in his tent, chewing on the stub of a long dead cigar. His eyes raked the back of the radio operator who was sweating as he twiddled the dials trying to raise the scouting party, his muttering laced with graphic profanities.

"Dammit, Carter, get me something!"

"I can get you the top forty bloody tunes from the mainland if you want." The sarcasm was out before the mind engaged, and the major leaned down with his mouth right against the operator's ear.

"Take a break son; we'll try again later." The operator pulled off his headset, stood and jammed on his helmet, saluted and left.

"They're toast, Major." The soldier sitting on the camp stool broke a twig he had been fiddling with in half and flipped the pieces away.

"Five men? All experienced! How? We haven't seen a sign of the gooks for days."

"That's their skill. They don't need to engage in a firefight. They know we can't just sit here forever, so they wait and pick us off at their leisure."

"I'm getting a shit storm of abuse from upstairs about this mission; something has to give and it ain't going to be me." The major hurled the soaked butt out of the tent and raked his thinning hair with his fingers. "I want you to find out what happened."

"The shit storm gets passed on, eh?"

"Don't you start, Basker. Just find out what happened and fast."

                                                               ><><><><

Chad clutched his pack tightly as he kept watch at the opening he had fallen through. Night had arrived and he could glimpse one or two stars through the branches of the trees. Every two minutes he gave a two-whistle signal, praying somebody from his base was looking for them or another member of the team was still alive. It seemed like hours that he stood staring up, and his neck was beginning to get a painful crick. Frustrated, he lowered his head and kneaded his muscles with grubby fingers. When the signal was returned, Chad was startled and he almost missed it. He grabbed his sidearm and slipped the safety off, moving away from below the opening, aiming up into the night sky.

The whistle sounded again followed by his sergeant's name. Chad stayed silent, afraid of a trap. The voice called the name again in a stage whisper, and at the same time the light coming in the opening fell dark as a silhouette of a man's head appeared over the edge.

He recognized the voice. Chad inched forward, flicking his flashlight on and off quickly. "Basker?"

"Yeah, who's that?"

"Kent. I'm stuck down here. Have you got something to pull me up with?"

"Hang tight, Kent, I'll be right back."

A few minutes later a vine dropped down the hole and Chad grabbed at it eagerly, securing it around his waist and hauling himself upward with Ned's help.

"Thanks man. God, I thought I was finished." He looked around. "You alone?"

"Yeah. Where are the others?" Basker was watching the jungle intently.

"Dead, I think. At least White and Palliser are." He told Basker what had happened and was about to mention what he'd found in the tunnel when Basker's hand clamped over his mouth and he was shoved down to the ground.

The snapping of twigs close by told them they were not alone, and then the familiar gabble of the enemy chattering stopped and the night became terrifyingly silent. Basker removed his hand and drew his rifle up to firing position, his eyes probing the shadows in the bushes. A flare suddenly burst high and to their right leaving them brightly lit—easy targets. Basker let off a burst of fire and rolled away, screaming at Chad to move.

They stood and ran in a zigzag crouch away from the light and yelling voices, drawing a rain of fire that shredded the foliage all about them, any concern over possible booby traps forgotten in the rush to escape. Chad ran blindly into a low branch and crashed down into the dirt, his back burning from what he knew were bullet wounds. He struggled to his feet and began running again, his head swimming and his vision blurred. He was alone—Basker was gone.

                                                               ><><><><

The Major debriefed Chad after his release from the base hospital, signed his transfer papers to the mainland, and from there back home. The medics had warned him that they couldn't get all the bits and pieces out of his wounds and they might pose serious problems later on. Heading home, he shoved those concerns to the back of his mind and thanked them for what they did do. There had been no word of Basker, but scattered reports came in regarding a prisoner being held in a mountain camp to the west. Chad couldn't believe that it might be Basker, they had only been yards apart when he fell. Surely they both would have been captured if that were the case. He believed it had to be one of the scouting party—maybe his Sergeant. Maybe Basker was dead.

When he was awaiting his ride to the mainland, word came in that the other bodies had been recovered during a concentrated raid and that Basker was not among them. Chad felt sick. If he hadn't need rescuing Basker would be sitting in camp right now, safe and sound. He thought of what it might be like as a prisoner of the men they were fighting and his stomach clenched; he'd seen others freed from that living hell, the dead, empty eyes as they were processed and shipped out. No emotion, no concern or recognition for anything around them; he said a silent prayer for Basker. The helicopter spun slowly out of the sky, shooting up clouds of dust, and Chad followed the pilot's wave to hurry on board. Fifteen minutes later he saw the coastline of the mainland and another ten minutes saw him on the ground, being led to the base commander's office for final clearance for his flight home.

Gripping his pack tightly, boarded the cargo plane and joined several other men, from different groups, for the long flight home. He was through with the fighting.

                                                                  ><><><><

Two years ago, up to present day

Walter Gervais sat by his nephew's bed and blew out a long breath. The story, astonishing as it was, required a finish and Chad had implored his uncle to see to that end. Facing the young man being robbed of his life by some rogue bits of metal that poisoned his system and was quickly sapping his life away, didn't leave Walter any room for refusal. When Chad closed his eyes for the last time, Walter took the letter and embarked upon his search for Ned Basker... or his family.

Months of false trails and dead ends proved discouraging for Walter, and now he was labouring under difficulties of his own—the insidious cancer that was raging through his insides. When he finally found Marion Basker, he gave a silent prayer to Chad and told him that he could do no more. It would be up to someone else from here on.

                                                                ><><><><

Present Day

Marion let the letter slip from her fingers and she stared open-mouthed out her front room window. She didn't know how much time had passed but her untouched coffee was stone cold and the sun had moved well behind the house, leaving her view out the window a patchwork of shadows. She looked down and picked up the letter, scanning the words once again with the same reaction, thinking of Ned and the short time he'd spent at home after returning from his war. How his whole personality had changed, and the quick grin and teasing manner that she had waved goodbye to when he first left, was completely gone, replaced with a sour, almost hateful demeanour, fuelled by constant drinking.

When she had braced him about how things had to change, he agreed without argument and left—not the solution she'd intended—and had never returned. If only this letter had arrived sooner. She stared at it and wondered what on earth she could begin doing about it. She had no one to turn to, no one to help... except... maybe...