Rating: Hard R for language, violence
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, hell, the plotline and most of the dialogue isn't even mine.
Notes: Thank you and huge big hugs to both Phyllis and Karen. They both held my hand and got me through this monstrous story. Thank you to Adrianna, my bestest friend, who checked the military aspect of the story as best she could while helping the victims of Hurricane Katrina with the rest of her unit. I'd also like to thank the B team and the wip-it-good challenge. Without them, this story would have never been finished because it took the threat of public humiliation for me to write this story. The challenge made me finish the story, but Phyllis, Karen, and my teammates were the reason I remained semi-sane. Thank you to all of you.
Chris blinked as light flooded in from the slit they used to pass his meals to him. Blinking and adjusting his eyes, he finally saw the fresh face of what had to be a private.
"The Commandant would like to see you," he was informed in a soft, but grave voice.
He rolled his eyes. As if he had a choice in the matter. Stifling his groan, he moved his aching body to the edge of the bunk so the Commandant could see him.
Heavy footsteps announced Winter's arrival. Seconds later the man's rather large visage blocked the light and filled the meal slot. "Prisoner Larabee, did they clean you up all right?"
"Yes."
"And the cut above your eye? Not too serious, I hope?"
Chris shook his head, mentally sneering at the conciliatory tone of the man. He found himself mentally sneering a lot when in Winter's presence. "No, not too serious."
"Good. Good."
Chris waited the other man out. He, personally, had nothing to say to the pompous ass.
"I am sorry about this. It's a standard cooling off period after a punishment detail."
Again, he waited and watched as Winter inhaled deeply.
"I hope you understand why I did this." Winter stared into the cell.
Chris thought the shorter man was trying to stare into his eyes. He mentally snorted, he was doing that a lot as well. It was so damn dark that he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face, let alone meet someone else's eyes.
"I did this for the men."
"The men?" Chris remembered Tanner and Jackson's words the other day. He seriously doubted it was for the men.
"Yes, to show them." Winter stopped again.
Rolling his eyes, he knew this game, and so he gamely played along. Of course, he was also curious about the motives of such a self-deluded tyrant. "To show them what, sir?"
"To show them that you are no different than they are."
Oh, now that was a news bulletin if he'd ever heard one.
"Your friend, Mr. Dunne. He took a clawed hammer to his platoon sergeant. He maimed the man in, what others called, a fit of rage. Whenever I am filled with doubt," Winter paused, searching for the words from what had to be a memorized speech, "when sentiment creeps in, all I have to do is pull one of their files and I can see what he's done to be in this place. I can see what he's capable of. I can see the worst he's capable of and it makes my job easier." Winter looked up again, but was staring off instead of at Larabee's relative location. "It crystallizes my mission."
Larabee found himself nodding, understanding setting in. The colonel never got his chance on the battlefield. The Yard was his battlefield. The inmates were his enemy, not his responsibility to watch over, but to defeat.
Winter straightened, his footsteps echoing through the corridor of solitary confinement. "Take him back to the tiers."
"Yes, sir."
Inside the dark cell, Chris sighed.
Chris sighed and flinched all at once. The cool morning air was a welcomed relief against the musty cell, but the sun was bright as hell after the darkness of the solitary brig. He raised his handcuffed hands to shade his eyes, barely hearing or needing the private's order to stop. He couldn't move if he couldn't see where he was going, now could he?
Stretching his neck muscles, he waited patiently as the private unlocked the handcuffs before following the young man across the empty yard. It was too early for the prisoners to be out here and they wouldn't be at work for another hour yet.
"Returning Gen-Prisoner Larabee to his cell, sir."
McClaren nodded to Niebolt. "Carry on, Private."
"Yes, sir, Sergeant."
Chris rolled his eyes but returned the small smile McClaren flashed his way before following the private. He could feel the eyes that followed his every movement the second he stepped into the Tiers. He purposefully kept his eyes forward. But that didn't stop him from hearing the tinny clank, clank, clank.
It was Dunne, in a cell to his right. The young man was leaning against the bars, one hand clenched tightly around a steel bar. The other knocked his dog tag against the steel bar; the rubber surrounding the metal tag had been peeled back and hung off the chain. His eyes stared wide and worshipfully at the general.
Chris offered him a tired smile, but it grew as Dunne's face lit up. The smile he'd been offered by the young man was nothing but huge. His smile slipped as the clank of one set of dog tags grew into hundreds. He saw the surprise and delight as Dunne realized he had started something and the other inmates, for once, were following his lead.
Private Niebolt froze in his tracks, obviously not sure what to make of the inmates' way of showing respect to the once general. The other guards straightened and moved out of the inmates' reach. Their eyes were continuously scanning to make sure none of them tried anything.
Chris turned slowly, taking in all the inmates, meeting several of their eyes. Tanner, Jackson, and Sanchez were all there, shamelessly banging their tags against the bars. He let his eyes meet each one of theirs. They grinned at him; he nodded with a slight smile. He swallowed his mirth as he saw Wilmington, also knocking his tags against his bars, but was leaning oh-so-nonchalantly against the wall. As if he decided to join in on the only entertainment available for the day.
How long it went on, Chris lost track as he turned and turned, meeting eyes and acknowledging men he'd never even noticed before. How much longer it would have gone on, he didn't know either because McClaren was suddenly next to him.
"All right, that's enough! Cease and desist immediately!"
With his eyes on the mirror, it was easy to see Standish striding into his cell. Chris didn't turn; he kept shaving. "What's that?"
"This?" Standish held up his burlap sack. "These are your winnings."
"My what?" That made him turn around.
"Your winnings. Dunne placed a bet for you. Four cartons at seven to two, two at eleven to one. That makes thirty six cartons of cigarettes, general."
Chris stared bemused at the boxes and bundles of cigarettes now littering his bed.
"You know, sir, betting on yourself could get you banned from the Hall of Fame."
That surprised a bark of laughter out of Chris. Still smiling, he turned, knowing somehow that Dunne was near his door. "Mr. Dunne!"
"Yes, s-sir?" Dunne nearly jumped into cell in his eagerness.
Gathering the winnings in a towel, he slipped the whole mess into Dunne's awaiting arms. "Distribute these to the other men." When JD blinked incredulously, Chris smirked. "I don't smoke."
Dunne chuckled. "Yes, s-sir."
Chris watched him leave before turning to his other visitor. "So you're the gambler."
"I'm not a gambler, sir." Standish drawled. "I am merely a bookkeeper."
"Well, is it true there's a suicide bet going on me?"
Standish warily eyed him. "Yes, there is."
"Are there any squares left?"
"Yes, just the one. Nine weeks."
"How much to enter?" He chuckled low in his throat at Standish's blinking owl routine. He'd never seen the man lose his poker face before.
"No ... sorry, sir." Standish recovered quickly, leaning against the stationary part of the bars. "Knowing you, you'd kill yourself just to win a box of smokes."
Chris tilted his head, studying the other man before smirking. "No, Standish, I'd bet on myself to win." He let his eyes wander around the twelve by twelve cell of brick and steel. "I'd bet on getting out alive."
"Well, one doesn't always win one's bets."
He chuckled as Standish pointedly looked around the cell. "No, no you don't."
Standish didn't seem to have anything to say to that, nodding silently instead.
Chris turned away, finishing his grooming. He thought Standish would just leave, but instead the man hesitated, half in the cell, half out. "Standish?"
"I met you once." Standish seemed as surprised as Larabee was that he'd said anything.
"You did?" He turned fully to face the other man.
"The belated 'Welcome Home' ceremony at the White House. I was there." Standish had this faraway look in his eyes. "My father was one of your men. In Iraq."
Chris frowned, searching his memory. "I don't remember any Standish in my unit."
"My mother's name," the southerner answered. "She never married my father. His name was Richard Andrews."
"Ah, Andrews. He was a good man."
Standish snorted, an inelegant sound from the most dapper of the inmates. "No, he was not."
Larabee bent his most baleful glare at the younger man. "After six years of hell, everyone's a good man. It's a law."
That surprised a twitch of lips from Standish, but he sobered again. "He said you kept him alive. That you kept all of your men alive."
Chris had to laugh at the absurdity of that statement. He could feel Standish's confused emerald eyes on him. "When you're tortured, the first thing they do is break your sense of self. And I broke in that Iraqi hellhole." He gripped his towel tighter, memories washing over him. "The last thing on my mind for weeks was self-preservation. I wanted to die."
He stared at the younger man, trying to impart what, he didn't know. "Every night, after hours of beatings, I prayed for death. The only thing that kept me going were the voices of my men in the other rooms. I didn't keep them alive, Standish. They kept me alive."
Wilmington watched as Larabee took his time strolling about the yard. He snorted to himself, taking a drag from the cigarette, not like they didn't have nothing but time in this shithole. He waited until Larabee wandered near enough to the pile of rocks he and some of the other inmates were lounging on. "Hey, sir."
Larabee turned, wariness in his eyes. "Yes?"
"You cost me a whole stack of smokes."
"Sorry."
Wilmington snorted, "Yeah, well, you win some, lose some."
That got a smirk from Larabee.
"So, what d'ya mean 'our wall'?" That certainly got people's attention but he ignored them as he stepped down from the pile. He carefully avoided Dunne, who was sitting on the smallest pile of rocks, to stand in front of the former general. "What d'ya mean?" he asked again. "It ain't our wall, it's Winter's Wall."
"Yeah," the men turned at Tanner's soft twang to see him, Jackson, and Sanchez, "he makes us work it, but it's his wall."
Larabee's lips twitched upwards, holding a hint of mystery and amusement. "Here, let me show you." Easing through the small crowd of men, he tilted his head this way and that. "There." He pulled a stone from the pile, handing it to Jackson.
"Private Eugene McAllister, US Army, 1912," Jackson read.
Wilmington scratched his head, staring over Larabee's shoulder. "Why the hell would someone carve their name on a prison wall?"
Larabee shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't a prison to him."
"If not a prison, then what?" Sanchez asked as he stepped forward, hand tracing over the letters and then the curve of the stone.
"A place to hide," Tanner answered quietly, eyes carefully scanning the way the wall blocked them from the guards that could come streaming out of the Tier doors. "To keep others away."
Larabee nodded, smile showing just a little. "He was probably building his own castle."
"Castle?" Josiah laughed. "And he was his own king."
That got laughter from the other men, but they were listening.
"It don't look much like a castle," Wilmington grumbled.
"It could be," Larabee pointed out. "If someone built it just right."
"And how are we suppose to do that," Jackson asked, following the general as he surveyed the mess of stones and loose mortar.
"I wouldn't know that, Doctor." He stopped, smiling as he pointed behind them all. "You might want to ask the mason's son."
They all turned, staring at the young man, still sitting on the ground.
Dunne stared back at them, startled, and with a little unease in his eyes.
Perez ran to the window, eyes wide as the inmates shouted to one another. A good percentage of the inmates were gathered at the wall. His radio crackled.
"Sir!"
"McClaren, what's going on down there?"
"I don't know, sir. It's like they're revving themselves up for something."
"Have everyone on alert, but keep away. If they don't make any aggressive moves, then leave them."
"Yes, sir."
Perez lowered his hand, but kept the radio in reach, just in case. He surveyed the crowd, not surprised to see Tanner, Jackson, and Sanchez right in the middle of everything. What he was surprised to see were Wilmington and Dunne side by side against the wall. The bigger man seemed to be listening to what the smaller man was saying. Perez couldn't remember a time when Wilmington ever had even associated with the kid.
He watched as Sanchez got everyone's attention. He could hear the deep, booming voice from his office, even if he couldn't hear the words themselves. At Sanchez's words the inmates turned, pressing their hands against the wall. Minutes later, the wall fell. Cheers and screams erupted. But never once was an aggressive move made against the guards or each other.
Perez shook his head, knowing that the blonde man who stood away from the others was the ringleader in all of this.
Chris watched, laughing silently as the men pushed the wall over. His smile grew as Dunne danced about the other men, laughing and smiling. His smile dimmed as Dunne's eyes met his own. He just knew what the kid was about to do. "Damnit, kid, no."
Dunne straightened his body, arm upraised, hand nearly to his temple.
"Damnit." His eyes darted towards Winter's window. He shook his head, trying to get Dunne to stop the salute, but the kid did it anyway. "Damnit, kid."
But Dunne had his own ideas. The salute was held for the barest second before he ran his fingers through his hair, laughing as he did so.
Chris shook his head again, but smiled ruefully at the young man who was still on his little high.
Winter stared in disbelief at the wall that was once up to his waist and now lay scattered about. A movement drew his eye. "Niebolt!"
The private ran towards him, freezing a few feet away to snap off a salute. "Yes, sir!"
"What happened here?" He gestured with his coffee cup.
"The inmates, sir. They did it."
Winter shook his head, as if trying to understand. "Why?"
"Larabee, sir. He, uh, told them too."
That caused Winter to pause and stare at the once again crumbling pile of rocks. "I see."
Buck pulled the cigarette out of his mouth with one hand while the other hand absently churned the mortar mixture the kid had come up with. Blowing the smoke out, he slapped the mortar on the next layer of the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dunne flitting about the other inmates working on the wall. Many of them nodded at what he had to say. Shrugging, sure that sooner or later the kid would be down his way, he grabbed the closest rock at hand and dumped it on the newly mortared area.
"Wilmington, that's the wrong rock."
Buck stopped at that, eyebrow raised up high. His eyes darted towards Tanner when he heard the soft snickers. "Wrong rock? Kid, how can that be the wrong rock?"
"'Cause the rock you've got on there's all jagged. Jagged rocks go in the m-middle." Dunne scooted towards him, clearly still unsure of his reception. Not that Buck could blame him. Unlike the other inmates, even the most hardened ones, who tended to look out for the kid, Buck had completely ignored him. Or when he'd gotten too close, a few choice words were all that was needed to send the kid running.
Buck stepped out of the way, letting Dunne get to his section of the wall.
"W-what you need is a rock with a smooth edge."
"Smooth edge?" Buck leaned back, taking another pull on his smoke.
"Yeah, so the mortar can glue the sides together. Uhm," Dunne searched the rock pile, finally grabbing a rock. "yeah, here."
Buck eyed the rock, then the kid. Dunne shifted nervously. "Hey, Tanner."
"Yeah?"
"What d'ya think?"
"I think the kid knows what he's talkin' about."
Buck couldn't see Tanner, but he saw how Dunne just lit up at those words. He shook his head, but smiled ruefully. So damn young. "Yeah, I reckon you're right."
Buck ignored the cheering spectators, concentrating on his opponent. The little fucker was fast on his feet and had already gotten past him twice.
"Pass it, Wilmington!" "Move your ass, Wilmington!"
He glanced up at JD for one split second but that was all that Tanner needed. He groaned as he felt the ball grabbed out of his hands by the younger man and nearly smacked JD as the kid laughingly ran after his teammate. "You're supposed to guard that sonabitch, Larabee!"
"How was I supposed to know you were frozen behind me!" Larabee yelled right back, shaking his head at the antics of the other team as they whooped and hollered for scoring the winning goal.
"It's okay, guys," JD piped up from behind them. "It was a good game."
Buck smiled as the kid tried out his peacekeeping skills. "Yeah, kid, you're right."
Tanner nodded, blue eyes mischievously twinkling. "Yeah, JD, it was a good game. Not too bad for a couple of dinosaurs."
"Dinosaurs?" Larabee echoed.
"Yeah, cowboy, you know, dinosaurs. Extinct. Really, really old?"
Buck snickered and JD clamped his hand over his own mouth at Chris' expression.
"Cowboy?" The general echoed Vin's words again, this time slowly stalking towards the younger man.
Vin had the audacity to murmur 'yeehaw' just loud enough for the general to hear before smartening up and running for it.
"Mmmmm, Cheetos."
Chris laughed as Nathan leaned over and shut Vin's mouth for him. He didn't need to look at the television to know that another commercial for some other junk food had just come on because Tanner would inevitably inform them of what it was.
Sure enough, seconds later, Vin murmured, "Mmmmm, hamburgers."
"Damnit, Junior! Stop that!" Buck punched Tanner in the leg none too gently.
"Hey!" Vin punched him right back. "Stop what?"
"That! That 'mmmm insert food here.' You're makin' me nuts."
"Too late for that, Buck."
The others laughed as Buck smacked Vin again, only to have the younger man hit him back before scooting closer to Chris and out of range.
Chris shook his head as Buck scowled at Vin, who was sticking his tongue out at the other man. "Children, behave."
"Yes, daddy," they chorused, sending JD into fits of giggles where he sat on the floor.
Chris exchanged long-suffering glances at Josiah and Nathan. But both of the other men hid their laughter behind their hands.
"I can't help it," Vin declared. "The food in here is shit."
Everyone nodded.
"I miss my mom's cooking," JD said quietly from the floor.
"Amen to that." Buck nodded, arms crossed defiantly across his chest, daring anyone else to make fun of his agreement. No one did. Instead, many of the other inmates in the recreational room nodded their heads too.
Dellwo, a member of the brotherhood at the Castle, mournfully sighed. "My mama made the best gumbo. Rice, and shrimp, and onions, and—"
"Stop it, Cueball," Vin moaned. "You're makin' me hungry."
"Payback's a bitch, ain't it, Junior?" Buck laughed as Vin glared.
"Chicken and dumplings," Chris suddenly said. "I miss chicken and dumplings on Sunday night."
Vin groaned again, hands cupping his stomach.
"Shepherd's pie," JD threw out. "My mom made this great shepherd's pie."
Josiah laughed. "My mama never made it, but I miss real Irish whiskey."
Many men cheered at that because honestly, Josiah's homemade pruno alcohol sucked.
"A perfectly seasoned, medium well steak and potatoes."
More than one person was surprised at Standish's words, but many nodded just the same.
Vin groaned. Again. "When I get out of here, I'm blowin' all of my money on food."
"Big surprise there," Nathan laughed.
"You can keep the food, Junior, I'm spendin' mine on the ladies." Hoots and hollers met Buck's words and many of the inmates punched knuckles with the man.
Chris laughed, relaxing back into his chair as the other inmates all piped up with what they wanted to do the second they were released.
"Morning, Chief."
"Good morning, Chief."
Chris smiled or nodded at each of the men he walked by, acknowledging the salutes. More and more of the men worked on the wall every day. Blacks, whites, Latinos ... they all worked it and, more importantly, got along while doing it. They also worked on it in all weather – rain or shine – the men were out there, working on their wall.
He smiled as JD literally bounced towards him. The work on the wall had transformed the kid. He still had a little trouble with his stutter, but for the most part it was gone. He was out of his shell, bad jokes and all. "Morning, JD."
"Morning, Chief!" He turned to stare at the mostly finished wall with pride. "She's a beauty, ain't she, sir?"
"She definitely is."
"Hey, JD!"
"Yeah, Buck?"
"Come take a look at this."
JD grinned widely, heading towards the bigger man but stopped when Chris grabbed his arm.
"JD, remember to leave a space for a porthole, okay? Every castle needs one."
JD grinned, snapping off a salute. "Yes, sir!" He ran off to join Buck, who was waiting patiently in the middle of the wall.
"Hey, hold up, guys!" Wilmington bellowed. "Hold up the work!" His cry was echoed up and down the line of workers. He glanced around, satisfied that all work had stopped and that no one other than the inmates were looking his way, before propping his left foot up on a wheelbarrow. Tugging up his pant's leg, the big man pulled a shiv from inside his sock. Flipping it in his hand, Buck held the handle out to JD, smiling at the kid's wide eyes. "Okay, kid, you're the first up."
JD took it, following Buck up to the wall.
Chris smiled as Buck patted one particularly big, flat-sided rock.
"Right here, kid. Go ahead. Put your name on it."
With a beaming smile, JD did just that.
Winter stared down at the inmates working on the wall.
"The hand through the hair is their form of salute. Dunne started it."
Winter nodded at Morrow's report, mostly listening but eyes carefully studying the way each and every one of the inmates working the wall stopped whatever they were doing to greet the former general as he walked by.
"They address Larabee as 'Chief' instead of general. They also have substitutes for the other ranks as well. Anyone who was a captain is 'boss.' Sergeants are 'sports.' They're playing soldier, sir."
"Thank you, Morrow." He stared at the men working on the wall. "Hearts and minds."
"Sir?" Morrow leaned forward to hear over the laughing chatter of the inmates.
"He's building a structure of loyalty. He's offering them self-respect in exchange for their obedience. The general is building himself an army, gentlemen."
Morrow snorted. "He can have their hearts and minds, Colonel, as long as we've got them by the balls."
Winter chuckled. "Well said, Corporal. Well said." He watched out of the corner of his eye as Perez went through the formal motions of giving back Morrow his post. His movements were sharp and defined just as the academy had taught him.
"Perez."
"Yes, sir."
"Take down their names."
"Yes, sir."
"And, Perez?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Bring him to me."
"Who, sir?"
Winter threw an exasperated glare over his shoulder. "The Prince of Spain. Who do you think?"
"You mean General Larabee?"
"Prisoner Larabee."
Winter didn't look up when Perez announced the arrival of his guest. He didn't look up for quite some time, but not once did he get the impression that Larabee was fidgeting. He hated how much control the man had over himself. Finally putting the paperwork that he hadn't been working on away with a flourish, he smiled tightly at his visitor. "Mr. Larabee, when I first met you in this office, I asked you a question: what do you want from your time here at the castle. Has your answer changed?"
"No."
"So you say, and yet everything you've done here contradicts that." Winter stood, the chair scraping violently against the wood floor. "In case you've forgotten, those men down there are not here for unpaid parking tickets and library fines."
"I have no illusions about what these men have done," Larabee said quietly. "I just think they could occasionally be reminded of the best thing they did instead of only the worst."
Winter snorted with disgust. "That's the line my predecessor used. In his last two years here, there were seven escape attempts and twelve injury assaults on officers, including one death. In the ten years since I assumed command, there have been zero escape attempts, zero injury assaults, and zero officer fatalities. I don't have to justify my methods to you, do I, Mr. Larabee?"
Larabee stared at him. "I don't know. Do you?"
Winter hauled in a deep breath, letting the barb pass because he knew in a few moments, he'd win this little skirmish. "Well, this wall, that's been the source of so much turmoil and tension. In about two minutes, it will be no more."
Chris couldn't believe his ears. 'Turmoil and tension?' What turmoil? What tension? There had been absolutely no turmoil or tension in the yard these past months. Everyone who worked on the wall worked together and those who didn't left the others alone. Understanding suddenly slammed into him.
The warden couldn't stand the fact that the men were getting along. Winter couldn't stand the fact that he was no longer in control of the Castle inmates. That for once, they were doing something that they wanted to do instead of being forced to do.
Chris shook his head, eyes still staring at the epitome of bureaucratic tyranny. He knew that the other man was waiting for his outburst. Waiting to see him beg. Instead, he stared at the wall, knowing that Winter's actions were so utterly useless because they could rebuild the wall again and again.
Ezra smiled as his fellow inmates handed over his winnings. The smile faded as a loud rumbling filled the air. Turning this way and that, he saw that the other inmates had no idea what was going on either. Hell, even the guards looked confused. It wasn't until the huge doors of the Castle opened to reveal a bulldozer did things begin to make sense.
"Prisoners, step away from the wall."
Ezra cursed underneath his breath as the disembodied voice delivered its orders. He could hear the rumblings of discontent from the other inmates when they finally understood what was happening. Those sitting or working on the wall jumped down, hastily moving away. He turned slightly, carefully watching to see what Tanner, Wilmington, and the others would do. Jackson and Sanchez shook their heads and seemed resigned. Even from this distance he could see Wilmington was tense with anger. Tanner, as far as he could see, simply leaned against the wall. His long hair made it difficult to see his expression.
But it was Dunne who captured and held his attention. The damn fool kid was shaking his head, agitated and disbelieving. Ezra moved, knowing the kid was going to do something foolish. But it was too late.
JD ran, as fast as anyone had ever seen him move, towards the bulldozer that was nearly to the wall. He jerked to a stop between the wall and the gigantic machine. Legs firmly planted shoulder width apart, hands clenched at the small of his back, Dunne stared defiantly, not at the bulldozer, but at Winter's window.
"JD, get away from there," Ezra muttered under his breath, slowly moving towards him. He could see others, hear the others' urgings as well, inching their way towards JD just like him. Out and out defiance like that ... Winter wouldn't stand for it.
The horn sounded, everyone instinctively dropped. Everyone, that is, except JD.
"JD! Get down!" "Kid, get your ass on the ground now!"
He could the fear emanating from the men around him. He could hear them all yelling at JD to get down. But it all seemed so far away. As if they under water. The only thing that was real was the sound of the bullets thumping into JD's vulnerable flesh.
"Oh, fuck," Guard Niebolt croaked from somewhere left of him.
"Sir, permission to examine the prisoner, sir!"
"Jackson, go!"
"Oh, Jesus."
Ezra let his head drop to the ground, eyes and fists clenched tight.
He stared at his cell's ceiling, counting the cracks and dots, letting the anger, hatred, and guilt batter themselves around his soul. He released the anger and hatred, breath by breath. They were useless against an enemy so unscrupulous and zealous. But the guilt would remain because one such as Winter would not understand it.
No, what happened to Dunne today was his fault, but he would do right by the young man.
Vin stood, like the other prisoners, staring at what was once their wall. It lay in shambles now, much like when it was Winter's wall. And for once, the Yard was silent. No one worked on the wall, no one played hoops, no one moved or talked. Inmate deaths had become commonplace since Winter arrived, but with Dunne, the circumstances had been different. Because of the young man, and the general, the inmates had worked together, had come together with a common goal. It was almost as if Dunne had become their spirit.
Shuffling noises broke the silence and caught Vin's attention. He turned to watch the general making his way through the crowd before the pile of stones that use to be a castle. Their castle. He stared at the back of the man in whom they had placed their hopes.
"Mr. Sanchez?"
"Yes, sir." Josiah, who stood mere feet away from both of them with the rest of the crowd, stepped forward. His body assumed the full attention stance out of habit.
"You're a sergeant major, right?"
"I was."
Vin exchanged bewildered glances with Buck and Nathan.
Josiah nodded as Chris gave him his orders. He was ... pleasantly surprised. He climbed the piles of rock and found a steady perch. Remembering his training, which he hadn't used in nearly a decade, he followed his orders.
"Prisoners! Fall in!"
He could see the startled glances thrown his way.
"I said, fall in!"
More startled glances, but some of the men started moving. It was obvious many were trying to remember what the hell "fall in" entailed.
"Come on, ladies, hustle, hustle! Get your asses in line!"
He bit back the smile as more and more of the prisoners did exactly as they were told. Damnit, he still had it.
McClaren stared at the prisoners, stared at how readily they fell into formation at Sanchez's words. He forgot sometimes, that they used to be fellow soldiers, trained just as he had been. But as they raised their arms to distance themselves properly from each other and stood at attention, he could see the soldiers they used to be. Even Tanner, whose long hair and slouch, had marked him as anything but military for the longest time.
"Well, hell," Morrow muttered, "the scumbags are running the asylum now."
McClaren let his shoulders raise and drop in a shrug. "Maybe," he said, before moving away from another of Winter's sharpshooters.
Chris waited until all but one man stood in formation before nodding at Nathan. He barely glanced at Standish, but knew he would hear everything from his usual post by the metal staircase. He nodded his thanks as Nathan dropped JD's dog tags into his hand. He clenched his fist, the rubber dampened the bite of the metal, but he could still feel the solidity of the tags. He climbed up the rubble, nodding at Josiah as the older man moved over for him.
He breathed deeply, once again letting the anger and hatred leave his body, breath by breath. "Some might think to be remembered in this way would be a disgrace to a soldier, but there is no disgrace in this. The greatest monuments to fallen men are not made of marble. They're deep in the sea, deep in jungles, or on foreign battlefields – a rifle driven into the ground, a helmet perched on top, and some tags."
He gripped the tags one more, before letting them dangle from the chain. "And this is the kind of tribute this man has earned. Gentlemen, Private First Class John Dunne, United States Marine Corps."
He knelt, letting the tags hang for a second longer, before dropping them into the wall. He froze in surprise, before standing again, as several of the men began to quietly sing the Marines' hymn. He didn't sing along, instead, he stared directly into Winter's window, knowing in his heart, this was the turning point.
Winter glared directly at the once general before sweeping angry eyes over the three hundred prisoners all lined up before Larabee and his wall. "A martyr. He's made the stuttering monkey into a damn martyr."
Beside him, Perez didn't say a word, but he could see that his second in command did not hold the same contempt that he did. Perhaps it was time to promote Morrow. "Sound the dinner horn."
Perez reluctantly tore his eyes from the Yard, glancing at his watch. "But, sir, it's not for another ten—"
"Sound the damn horn!"
"Yes, sir."
He didn't bother glaring at Perez; instead, he stared down into the Yard with satisfaction as the horn cut through the prisoner's singing. His smugness slipped as Sanchez calmly stood straight once more, calling out, "Present arms!"
He could feel the growl from his own chest as three hundred prisoners ran their fingers through their hair, saluting Dunne as the monkey had for Larabee.
Chris watched Vin stare at the chessboard, a hint of a smile crossing his lips as the younger man tried to figure out how to apply the rules of chess to his pieces. Finally Vin sighed. "You sure you don't want to play checkers?"
Chris chuckled, letting the laughter flow through him, replacing the negative emotions. It was a sign of resilience on his part. And, as Josiah said, a coping mechanism. "You're doing fine."
"And why aren't you playin' with Josiah, again?"
Chris let his shoulders rise and fall. "I wanted to play with you." He smothered a smile as Vin froze.
Just as quickly, the younger man lazed back into a familiar sprawl, asking, "So why me?"
He shrugged again. "I've played with Josiah enough to know all of his moves. It gets boring." Chris walked a knight to a new position. "You're a new player and you look at things differently." He let the smile loose. "Instinctively."
"You mean I don't play by the rules," Vin laughed.
"No, you just interpret them differently."
Vin nodded, smiling. "Yeah, I get that."
They both turned as several heavy footsteps sounded in the sudden silence of the Tiers. Winter cautiously entered the cell, smiling that fake benign smile of his. "If you'll excuse us, Mister—"
"Tanner," Perez supplied.
"Mr. Tanner," Winter parroted.
Chris bit back the smile as Vin turned his back to the colonel, rolling his eyes as he stood.
"Chief?"
He bobbed his head at the unspoken, but loudly heard, request for dismissal by the other man. Vin straightened into the traditional saluting stance, but ran his fingers through his long hair, before disappearing into the Tiers.
Chris sensed more than saw Winter's glare because he was scanning the colonel's entourage. Perez, McClaren, and a few others, but no Morrow.
"These salutes ... I've given them some thought. If the inmates could confine themselves to a simple hand motion through the hair, I don't see any problem." Winter looked uncomfortable. Chris thought he rather looked like a bloated blowfish, but maybe that was his imagination. "It's not technically a salute, and as long as no one on the US Disciplinary Board knows about it, we can live with it, right?"
Larabee let his eyes wander over the multitude of soldiers outside his cell. What? Did Winter think he was going to attack him? Or did he always travel with more bodyguards than a rock star? Chris let the silence lengthen, letting his thoughts wander where they willed as Winter squirmed once more.
"Well, okay then."
"No."
"What?"
"Not okay." He pushed himself up, but only into a fully seated position. No use in riling up the bodyguards. "It's too late, Colonel."
"For what?" Winter really didn't understand.
Chris shook his head, mentally rolling his eyes. "For your offer. They don't want better food. They don't want more TV time. They don't even want out of here. All the men want is your resignation." He delivered the last blow with no expression on his face, save for the icy glint in his eyes. "They want you gone."
"My resignation," Winter parroted, eyes looking towards his men as if asking for confirmation.
General Larabee dropped the icy mask, letting all of his hatred, anger, and disgust infuse his eyes. "You're a disgrace to the uniform. You abuse it."
"Then I better go pack." Winter chuckled with the words.
Chris leaned back, hands folded neatly on top of his stomach. "I think you should." He watched as Winter's hands clenched and unclenched. As his eyes darted to and fro, seeking a comeback. He reminded Chris of bullies who finally got put in their place.
"What's to stop me from putting you in the hole, for say, six months."
He nearly laughed. "Nothing. If that's how you want to win."
He was still wondering who the hell would be here to see him. After all, he had told everyone, everyone, under no condition were they to come see him. He didn't want his family to see him here. Like this. And since his father was healthy as a horse, it couldn't be bad news on that front. He stared at the dark haired man standing near the windows. "Lieutenant Chanu?"
"General!" The brilliant young Navajo Indian who had tried to get him to plead innocent smiled with welcome, coming forward with his hand outstretched. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine." Chris shook his hand, but stared at the other man. "Why exactly are you here?"
It was Chanu's turn to look confused. "They didn't tell you, sir?"
"Tell me what?" Chris bit out the words, knowing what was coming next was Winter's first move.
"General Larabee, you're getting released."
It was a hell of a first move.
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