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.
"It's called 'compassionate release,'" Nathan explained, hunching over his food, pushing it around really. "They're saying he has health problems—"
Buck snorted. "That's bullshit."
"I'm just saying what they're saying." He rolled his eyes at Buck's snort, but sobered. "He gets out tomorrow."
"Kill the head and the body shall die." Heads turned at Josiah's deep voice.
"What?"
"It's an old line, Buck. It means—"
"I know what it means, Preacher, but it's bullshit. They remove this head and this body is just gonna get stronger. We're gonna go apeshit on this place." People jumped when his fist slammed into the table.
"No, we're not," Vin disagreed quietly.
"Like fuck we're not."
"Who's gonna lead us, huh?" The normally quiet man leaned into Wilmington's space. "Who else are the others," he swept his arm out, encompassing the other inmates, "gonna listen to except Chris?"
"I don't know ... me."
Three sets of eyebrows went up at that.
Buck huffed. "Hell, I don't care. Tanner, you do it."
"Not me." Vin's hair flew about his head as he nearly panicked at the thought.
"Face it," Nathan sighed. "It's over."
"Ah, General, it seems I haven't given you enough credit."
He didn't bother to lift his head. Only one man in the Castle had an accent that made even the worst insult sound like poetry.
"Less than nine months served and you're being released." Standish leaned fully onto the bars, hands wrapped around the steel. "Tell me, sir, did you plan this? I bet you did. From the moment you met Winter, you knew what kind of man he was. That he wouldn't tolerate the inmates respecting one of their own instead of him. And you just kept at him. First with Dunne and his salutes, then the other men and the wall. But it was asking for his resignation that really broke his back. Brilliant, sir, absolutely brilliant."
"Standish! Back to your cell!"
He knew Standish was ignoring McClaren because he could still feel his eyes boring into him through the darkness.
"Goddamnit it, Standish, don't make me come down there."
"I am moving, Sergeant, one foot in front of the other," he yelled back. "Absolutely brilliant, General, but who will the men turn to now?"
His departure from the castle was the antithesis of his arrival. Lieutenant Chanu was beaming from ear to ear. The man had argued long and hard, trying to get him to change his plea from guilty to innocent. The news vans were lined up end to end after being conspicuously absent when he had arrived here. And Winter himself was at the inner fence, once again smiling that fake smile of his. With a touch of smugness thrown in. His fingers itched.
"Mr. Larabee, I'm going to say to you what I say to everyone who leaves this facility ... "
Chris tuned out the pompous idiot and turned, seeing Perez, McClaren, and Niebolt, but only long enough to register their presence. What caught his attention were the library windows. Bodies were pressed against the floor to ceiling windows, but he could make out Tanner, Sanchez, Wilmington, Jackson, and Standish. Tanner and the others were saluting. All except for Standish.
They suddenly dropped the salutes. Chris turned to see Winter also staring at the windows. He sighed, turning back to Winter and the rest of his long winded discourse.
" ... and I hope that you can live in such a way that you never have to see the inside of a place like this again." At last coming to an end, Winter stuck his hand out.
Chris eyed it, but didn't take it. "Colonel, I have a question."
"Of course." Winter dropped his hand, but not his smug little smile.
"Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?" His roundhouse punch dropped Winter like a sack of potatoes. He had one satisfying look at Winter's shocked and bloody face before he dropped under the weight of the soldiers' batons.
Even the media outside had to have heard the inmate's roar of approval as Winter went down with one smooth arc of General Larabee's arm. In the library, the cries had been deafening.
"Fuckin' hell!" Vin hissed, staring down as the soldiers carried Larabee back into the Castle.
"I can't fuckin' believe he did that!" Buck whooped, slapping Josiah on the back hard enough to make the big man stumble.
"He's gonna be in pain after that beating," Nathan mused, barely audible amongst the cheering of the other inmates.
Josiah grinned. "Not to worry, Nate, I've got meal duty. I'll make sure to add a little something for the general."
Nathan winced, but nodded his approval.
"Meal!"
He didn't really want to move. Really, he didn't. The aches and pain of this beating took a harder toll than the rock and roll detail and the preceding put down by the guards combined. He wondered if it was because he punched a colonel or because he punched the Colonel. If he'd been a betting man, Chris would have chosen the second one.
"Meal!"
He grunted, smothering the much louder, and more heartfelt groan, as he shifted up and forward enough to grab the tray being slid into his solitary cell.
"You have three minutes to eat your meal."
He rolled at Josiah's booming voice as he called out the time. Three minutes to eat his meal. Maybe this was Winter's next move? Death by choking? Settling the tray on the bed allowed the light and shadows to illuminate a suspicious lump under the napkin. Gingerly pulling it up, Chris saw a Ziploc baggy filled with a murky liquid. "Josiah?"
"Oh good, you found it."
He had to lean forward to hear Josiah's whispered words. He picked up the bag, tilting it into the light. It was ... orange ... and simply nasty looking. Opening it up, Chris didn't even need to get close to smell the fumes. They made his eyes water. "What in God's name is it?"
"Pruno. Original recipe. I thought you might be in some pain. It'll take the edge right off. Just don't get any on your skin."
"Wait a minute. You want me to drink something that I shouldn't let touch my skin?"
Josiah's cough covered up his unexpected laughter. "Two minutes and thirty seconds," he called out loudly. Much more softly, he answered, "Just drink it. Nate approved it."
Shrugging his shoulder, Chris put it to the side. If Nathan said it was okay ... "What are you doing here?"
"Funny you should ask that, sir. A few of us were wondering what in the hell you're doing back here."
He felt cynical laughter well up inside. "Hell if I know, Josiah. Hell if I know."
"JD?"
Chris shrugged again, not really caring that the other man couldn't see it. "I feel guilty."
"For what? There's only one man responsible for that and it's not you." Chris was surprised at the vehemence in Josiah's voice. "You are, however, responsible for making him feel like a solider again." He sighed. "As it happens, I know several hundred other men who would like nothing more than to feel like soldiers again themselves."
"To what end?"
"Two minutes!" Josiah yelled, then hissed, "You know what end! Unless you don't think it's possible."
He slumped back, the wall was cold and soothing to the bruises there. "It's possible."
"The men are waiting, General. Just give the word."
His head dropped, eyes staring at his clenched hands. Sucking in a deep breath, Chris slowly let it out. "Has General Travis paid a visit yet?"
"No. One minute!"
"He will. Probably tomorrow. Which means you'll have to move quickly."
He heard the grin in Josiah's "Yes, sir."
"It was on all the news shows, Ed!" Travis stood with his back to the colonel, but words seemed to bounce off the window and went straight for their target. "The photos were hazy, but it's pretty damn clear that Christopher Larabee decked you!"
"It was really more of a slap, sir—"
Travis guffawed. "That was a helluva slap! You landed on your ass, Colonel." The older, but shorter man finally turned. "Now, what in God's name is going on here?"
"I don't know, sir." Winter stepped back as Travis circled the room, stopping here and there to look at his collection. "I'm not a doctor. Two weeks ago, I observed him marching a man back and forth in the Yard. A minor eccentricity. That was fine. But since then, it's as if he's been recruiting a following. It's almost as if in some way, he believes he's still in the field, commanding a division, sir."
"Are you saying he's delusional?" Travis shook his head, disbelief clearly written over his entire demeanor.
"I'm just telling you what I've seen. I'll be honest, General, when I requested compassionate release on medical grounds, this was my true concern. His mental state. I don't know that this is the right place for him." He held himself as still as possible as Travis stopped again in front of the window and stood stock-still. The silence dragged on during the very loud ticks of the wall clock.
"I had better talk to him. Alone. And not through any plexiglass wall either."
"Of course, sir."
It could have been out of habit that he stood at attention when General Travis walked in, but it was out of respect that he did. After all, Travis was the one who pinned the star on his shoulders and had mentored him throughout his military career. "Sir."
"Chris, it's—" Travis turned a raised eyebrow when Niebolt cleared his throat. "Yes, Private?"
"I need to go over the rules of your visit, sir."
Travis rolled his eyes but motioned for the young man to start.
"Uh, yes, General Travis, this is a contact visit. You are limited to one embrace at the beginning and one at the end. Hands must be visible at all times."
"Well, hell, I guess that rules out the handjob I was going to ask for."
Travis ruthlessly fought the snicker that threatened to escape at Chris' droll words. McClaren had to clear his throat several times. Niebolt blinked. A lot.
Clearing his throat, Travis waved the two guards away. "I think I can take it from here, gentlemen." He turned to fully face his fellow general, motioning to one of the tables. He seated himself; old, experienced, but still eagle eyed, he studied his friend. "You look well."
Chris snorted. "You were never a good liar to your friends, sir."
Travis grinned, but sobered. "I apologize for not calling you during the trial."
Chris shrugged it off, not wanting to think about it, but a smile was surprised out of him when the older man said, "Hell, I just didn't want anyone to know I knew you." He laughed, remembering why the gruff old man had always been his favorite commander.
"You did the right thing, Chris, going back for your men."
"Begging your pardon, sir, but you're not here to talk about that."
Travis sighed. "You're right. I'm here to see if you've lost your mind."
Sylvia Newman, secretary for Colonel Winters since before he received this post, sighed as she went through the mail for the day. There were several letters for the guards, of course, as well as the usual junk mail. But one letter caught her attention. It was addressed to Colonel Winters, but what stopped her was the line "Personal and Confidential, Must be Read by Twelve o'clock Noon."
She glanced at the clock; it was nearly eleven fifty-five.
"You want to know if I've lost my mind?" Chris snorted. "I punched a commandant of the USDB ten feet from freedom, what do you think?"
Travis shook his head, but the grin was still there. "I think Colonel Edwin Winter is a royal pain in the ass and you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who's ever worked with him who doesn't want to shake your hand right now."
Winter glanced at the clock. Eleven fifty-eight. Shrugging, he slit the envelope opened, pulling out the sheet of paper within.
WE ARE IN POSITION TO TAKE TRAVIS. IF YOU DO NOT GO TO THE VISITOR'S CENTER AND RESIGN TO HIM BY 12:10 PM, HE WILL BECOME OUR PRISONER.
"Perez!"
"He's more than just a pain in the ass, Orrin."
"Chris, I don't like him, you don't like him, and no one back in D.C. likes him. But he's getting the job done. As far as the Pentagon is concerned, he's untouchable."
"A murderer is untouchable?"
"They're saying that it was some mix up in the handling of the ammunition."
Chris scoffed. "Four times in two years? Hell of a mix up."
Travis sighed. "It's suspicious, I know, but unless there's proof, there's nothing I can do, Chris. Do you have anything?"
He shook his head, sighing as well. "No, I don't. But you could investigate more fully."
"Chris," Travis grabbed the younger man's arm, shaking it just a bit, "I could, but I'm not going to because frankly, I don't care. What I care about is you. I want you out of here. Away from these convicted killers and drug dealers."
"I belong here, Orrin."
"Bullshit!" The older man slashed a hand through the air as if pushing aside said bullshit. "You were a goddamn scapegoat. If we could have hushed up the whole thing, you would have never been sent here. You're a good soldier, a good man. You don't belong here."
Winter stood at the window, binoculars sweeping over the Yard, at the inmates who didn't act out of the ordinary at all.
"All teams, this is a full alert and confidence is high."
Twenty soldiers positioned themselves outside the gate, gas masks, batons, and shields at the ready.
"White Team set," their leader responded.
Another twenty soldiers squatted out of sight by the doors of the Yard, also ready with full riot gear.
"Blue Team Set."
The Red Team silently crouched-walked their way to positions outside the doors to the Visitor's center. Using a tiny periscope, the team leader watched as Travis and Larabee stood, shaking hands, noting the positions of the men in the room.
"Red set," he whispered.
"Sir, I don't see any indication of a situation."
"Of course not, Perez." Winter continued to scan the men. "He'll keep it hidden until the last possible second. This is how it begins, Lieutenant. In all the books, about all the battles, this is how it always begins. In silence."
Perez nodded, keeping his doubts to himself. He flinched as Winter grabbed his arm.
"There! There it is! Send the teams in!"
He didn't see anything, but he followed his orders. "Red go!"
"—all I'm saying is keep your head down and you'll be out of here by next Christmas. Take up a hobby or—"
"DOWN! DOWN! ON THE FLOOR! NOW!"
"What the hell!" Travis yelled as the soldiers pulled him down to the ground. The room was swarming with them, all yelling and pointing their weapons at a hapless Chris Larabee. He watched stunned, as Chris dropped to the floor, hands behind his neck. "What the hell are you doing? Let me go!" He fought the hands that dragged him from the room.
Ezra immediately dropped as the alarm sounded. Watched as most of the others did the same. The Tier doors burst opened releasing a flood of soldiers that surrounded the men, pushing and shoving those still standing into the middle of the Yard. Herding them like cattle.
He watched with stunned eyes as the metal gates creaked opened. The goliath mass shadowed in the doorway made him curse and inch his way closer to the wall. The tank rolled into the Yard, surrounded by soldiers armed with batons and shields. Gas grenades were going off in every direction. Men were yelling, running. But they were lifted off their feet and flung for meters by the high-pressure water cannon. The soldiers surrounding the tank wailed upon the prisoners too close for the water cannon to take out.
Over the yells and screams and water, Ezra turned, instinctively latching onto a very familiar sound. The Apache helicopter whirled above their heads; a sniper was strapped in its open bay, firing on any of the inmates foolish enough to run for cover.
"You thought he was going to try to take me hostage? Are you serious?"
Winter winced as Travis yelled right into his face. The older man was positively livid. "We had a note to that effect, sir. Apparently, it was just a hoax."
"And you didn't consider that before you had your men drag me out of there? I almost had a fucking heart attack!"
It was almost unheard of for the three-star general to curse. It was just a barometer of how seriously Winter had humiliated him. And it was all Larabee's fault. "It was an overreaction on my part, sir."
"Overreaction? I'm starting to think that maybe you're the one who's delusional, Colonel."
He gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir," he forced out, "I can see how you might think that."
Travis glared, stepping even closer into his personal space. "If I hear of one more incident," he hissed, "of a man dying here, you're through. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"As for Christopher Larabee, it is my judgment that he is as sane as you or I. I wish he wasn't, but he is. He hit you because he thinks you're an ass, not because he's losing his mind." Travis straightened his cuffs, brushing off imaginary lint. "Frankly, I'd like nothing better than to have an excuse to get him out of here. But the only way that's going to happen now is if you request it. You tell me you can't handle him, and he's gone."
Winter gritted his teeth once more, he could feel the pain radiating from his jaw to the back of his head. "No, sir. Upon further reflection, this is ... exactly where he should be."
Travis grunted, but looked far from convinced. "Then you watch yourself, Colonel. I will be watching."
"Yes, sir."
Winter watched as the general slid into his waiting car, the general's attachˇ smartly shutting the door before sliding into the passenger seat in front. "Perez!"
"Yes, sir."
"Get me that list."
"Yes, sir."
The colonel raked his eyes over the inmates, making sure that the doors to the cells were firmly closed. He glanced at the file again, but had already memorized what he wanted to say to the prisoners.
"Lieutenant General Christopher Larabee disregarding direct orders from his commander-in-chief — that's the President for you men who don't know — took a platoon of men into Burundi to extract hostages which reliable intel reported as dead. Eight men from the platoon were captured and executed by the warlord, Jackson Neuwee, who controlled the area." He paused, catching his breath and letting the men mull over what he had read from the official report.
"Eight men died because of his decision. A decision he made disregarding direct orders and reliable intelligence. What I want you men to understand is what the consequences can be when you choose to follow a man who is motivated solely by his pride. A man who will do anything to have one more victory. One more notch on his belt, no matter the cost, before he fades away." Winter handed the file to Perez, nodding at his second in command.
"Start the extractions," Perez ordered into his radio.
Inmates all pulled away from their cell doors as soldiers streamed into the Tiers. Many were yelling for the inmates to step away from the doors, others were ordering their men into position. Wide eyes watched as several distinct groups made their way to different parts of the Tiers. To very specific destinations.
"Get the fuck off me!" Vin growled, struggling against the hands that manhandled him. The raised baton forced him to stop as they dragged him from his cell. He winced as they none too gently clapped steel cuffs on his wrists.
"C'mon, Doc."
Nathan sighed resignedly, but gamely stood up. He jerked away from the guard's hand, only to be pushed into two more waiting guards. "Stop manhandling me. I'm going, I'm going!"
"Let's go, Duffy!"
"I ain't done nothing!" He yelled, scrambling away from the soldiers and up onto his bed.
"Let's go! Get down here you, inbred redneck!"
"Fuck you!" He lashed out, grinning savagely as his foot connected with the bastard's head. Launching himself at the other guards, he bellowed in rage. He soon regretted his actions as batons, fists, and booted feet fell on him from all directions. "Surrender! I surrender! Stop, please!"
"Time to go, Preacher."
Josiah nearly laughed as the guards eyed him warily. It seems they really did think he was the Castle's own Hannibal Lector. Let one little comment about eating brains drop and a man was labeled for life. He gamely rose to his feet, following the guards out of his block and down the stairs. He winced as he saw guards yanking Thumper so hard from his cell that the big black man slammed into the railing. From his suddenly ashen face, Thumper's solar plexus had landed against it, knocking the wind from the man.
Buck grinned ferally at the guards standing outside his cell. Of the others, only his escort wore body armor and protective facemasks.
"Command, open Cell 184."
"That's right, open up. Let me out of here," he said calmly, smile widening at the fear he could smell coming from them. They clutched their batons even tighter; probably wishing they had something with a little more kick to it. The alarm sounded and the door slid open. He stepped through, throwing the towel he'd been using on his still partially wet chest, down on his bunk. "Relax, ladies."
His words made them step back and clutch their batons again. He laughed, shaking his head. "Damn you're pitiful."
Ezra couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that the idiots were still fighting Winter's guards as they were pulled from their cells. It was obvious who Winter was extracting from the Tiers and why. It was Larabee's core support. Tanner, Wilmington, Sanchez, Jackson were the main lieutenants for the general, but Thumper and Duffy were pulled from their cells, too. He winced as he watched Wilmington landed a particularly spectacular punch to a guard that had pushed him before five others jumped on him.
He sought out the ringleader, and consequently the only person not being dragged from his cell. He was gratified to see the horror and anger on Larabee's face. But there was something there. Something more that made him shiver. Winter may have the advantage, but he really was underestimating Larabee.
Chris could feel eyes follow his every move. The scrutiny came from all directions. Not only the soldiers who were under orders to watch him, but from the prisoners as well. They all watched him for the same reason: to see what he'd do now that his support had been torn from him. But only one set of eyes held any interest for the general.
Standish sat at the next table, facing him. The gambler made absolutely no pretense of not watching him. The green eyes were unreadable from this distance, but Chris already knew what he'd see there: scorn.
But it was what lurked behind those eyes that gave him hope. Because whether or not Standish knew it, he radiated anticipation with every movement, every word. It was as if he expected Larabee and the others to fail, but hoped that they wouldn't.
He threw the fork down in disgust as those Winter extracted weeks before slowly sank down to eat lunch with the man who had gotten them into trouble in the first place. Ezra didn't understand them and didn't want to.
Chris smiled at each of the other men, silently asking how they were. Most of them nodded, Duffy more stiffly than the others. He knew that in the next few hours, pain medication would mysteriously show up in their cells.
Buck grinned at him. "What now?"
He grinned back.
Eyes were on him again, only this time it was only one pair. Chris gently placed the weights he was working with on the ground before lifting his head. Standish stood mere feet away.
"So you really did bluff Winter. The only problem was that his flush beat your straight."
"I don't play poker, Mr. Standish," Chris answered with a smile. "I play chess. And in chess," smiled in welcome as his friends joined them, "when you play with someone long enough you come to realize their first three moves are always the same. Right, Josiah?"
"Yes, they are."
Ezra turned towards Josiah, consequently giving himself space to escape the men surrounding him. "Chess, you say? And pray tell, what was his first move?"
Chris watched the other man move away, but didn't call him on it. Instead he turned to Vin. "His first move?"
"Three teams," the Texan answered. "Twenty apiece. His inside teams only have batons."
Chris nodded. "His second move?"
"Water cannon," Buck announced.
"Third?"
"Chopper," Nathan answered. "It came in from the east."
"What kind of chopper?"
"Sir?"
Chris turned to Thumper, brow furrowing in question.
"Sir, should we be talkin' about this with him here?" The big man jerked his thumb at Standish.
"Yeah, you know he can't be trusted, right, sir?" Buck added, now glaring at someone he obviously didn't think belonged there.
Chris shrugged. "No, I don't know that."
The shrug must have set him off, because Standish's poker face slipped. "Is that how you use the burden of command? You turn men into chess pieces?"
"Yes."
"Hey, Standish, why don't you do yourself a favor and run along," Buck warned with a none-too-gentle nudge.
Standish sneered, pointing at them. "Pawns."
"That prisoner," Winter asked, eyes barely leaving the figure in question, "the one walking away. Who is that?"
Perez glanced to where his commander was pointing. "Uh, oh. That's Standish. He was an Apache pilot but now he's a lowlife. A hustler. He takes bets."
"On what?"
"Anything," Perez sneered, rolling his eyes. "Fights, the weather. He even took bets on whether or not Larabee was going to kill himself."
"I see."
Ezra held himself as still as possible after placing his bag on the floor. He knew this game that Winter always unwittingly played with his visitors. Especially if they were prisoners. The man would sit there and ignore them, taking his dear sweet time doing whatever it was that he was doing, before acknowledging their presence. The man liked nothing better than to watch others squirm. That's why Ezra was doing his impersonation of a statue. He was not going to give the jackass that hurt JD the satisfaction.
Winter finally dusted the crumbs of his sandwich off his hands and read from the files before him. "'This highly intelligent officer seems to have no moral grounding whatsoever.' Is that so?"
"It seems to be what better men than I seem to think."
He must have surprised Winter with his manner of speech. Obviously the man expected him to some kind of uneducated cretin. He smiled inwardly.
"Why are you here, Standish? I want your version."
His version? Mentally rolling his eyes, Ezra answered with what was in his file. "I was involved with several of my subordinates in a smuggling operation from Juarez to El Paso."
"It says here you wore a wire on your own men. Is that correct?"
"When I found out what they were smuggling, yes."
He gritted his teeth as Winter waved his protest aside as if it was nothing. "So you found out they were smuggling in drugs instead of Cuban cigars? How highly moral of you."
Only his habitual poker face saved him from revealing too much. He ignored the pompous ass, but could quite shake the faces of the women and children he had found huddled in the back of that U-Haul truck so long ago.
"How many years did they take off your sentence for that?"
Ezra blinked the faces away. "Four years."
"And now you're the prison bookie. Tell me, Standish, how does a man like you get into West Point?"
He mentally rolled his eyes again. Winter really didn't know anything about the prisoners he was supposed to be watching over, did he? "My father was the winner of the Congressional Medal of Honor, and my stepfather was on the board of regents for West Point."
"Oh, right." Winter seemed stunned by it. "Well, sometimes the apple does fall far, far, far from the tree."
Perez laughed, not seeing the glare Ezra sent his way. 'Not always,' Ezra thought, memories of his father rolling through his mind's eye.
"You're father was a POW with Mr. Larabee was he not? Yet you don't seem to have join his little—"
"Crusade, sir?" Ezra oh-so-helpfully supplied.
Winter nodded. "Yes, his little crusade. Why is that?"
Ezra let his shoulders rise and fall. "It is not my fight."
Winter nodded again as he perused his file again. "It says here that you have three years left with us. Is that true?"
"Indubitably."
"How does three months sound?"
It was Ezra's turn to stare in silence. A part of him knew this was coming, knew that Winter would single him out as a snitch in exchange for something but wasn't expecting early release.
"I need to resolve this situation quickly before someone else gets hurt ... or even killed. Do you agree?"
"Of course," Ezra choked out.
Winter smiled in satisfaction, because obviously, Ezra agreed with him. "And the best way for me to do that is with information. You might want to rethink joining Mr. Larabee's crusade."
"Just to be clear, sir. Are you asking me to be a turncoat, sir?" He injected as much disbelief into his voice as he was able.
Winter smirked. "Isn't it a little late in the game to be self-righteous?"
Buck sighed. Meatloaf. Again. At least he wouldn't really have to eat it. Of course, if Duffy didn't stop his whining, he wouldn't be pulling any punches tonight.
"Dude, why do I have to get my ass kicked?" The larger man shuffled forward, grabbing some lime green jello from the inmate behind the lunch counter.
"Duffy, shut up," he hissed. "How many times are you gonna ask that? Stop your sniveling. I'm only gonna hit you once."
"Well, when?"
Buck rolled his eyes. "Now." His fist made the most satisfying crack against the bigger man's jaw. It, of course, didn't do much damage, but it surprised Duffy enough for Buck to push him into the inmates behind them.
"Hey! Stop!"
"Yeah! Fight! Fight!"
"Rogers, grab Wilmington!"
"Not by myself!"
"Go Duffy!"
Chris shook his head at the cocky grin Buck sent him over the shoulder of the guards pulling both him and Duffy out of the lunchroom. Just as they planned, having two such huge men fighting took all of the guards out of the room. He returned the nod Nathan gave him from his post by the doors. "Josiah."
The big man slipped his thumb and middle fingers into his mouth. The resulting whistle pierced through the jabbering and cheering of the prisoners. "All right, ladies, sit your asses down! C'mon, sit down! The general has something to say!"
He waited until all of the inmates were seated and silent. Josiah nodded at him and stepped back, giving him the floor.
He remained standing, knowing that Josiah and Vin had taken flanking positions on either side, and took a deep breath. "We can no longer wear the uniform of a soldier, we forfeited that right and that includes me." He stared at them, eyes straightforward and honest. "I disobeyed an executive order, I violated my duties as a commanding officer and eight men died. It's not an easy mistake to live with. So here I am, just like you, a convicted criminal." The ends of his lips kicked up in a self-mocking smile. "Only difference between you and me is that I know I'm guilty."
The men laughed at that, many clapping and cheering.
"So we're packed away here as prisoners and one thing is certain: our captors have the power. They can try to humiliate us, they can beat us, they can lock us away in a dark hole for days on end." He nodded as many of the men murmured their dissent with Winter's treatment of them. "But there's one thing they cannot do: they cannot take from us who we are. And we are soldiers."
"Yeah."
"That's right."
"And that is the one thing — the one thing — that gives us a chance in here. " Chris smiled as the inmates responded well to his speech. It seemed like it hadn't been until landing in prison that he ever gave a speech. Slipping his hand into his shirt pocket he drew out the research Josiah had done for him. "The United States Uniform Code of Military Justice states that there are seven grounds for the removal of a stockade or disciplinary barracks commandant."
That definitely got the men's attention. They all shifted forward, eager to hear them.
"Item one: Dereliction of duty. Item two: Criminal malfeasance. Item three: Noncompliance with procedural rules. Item four: making false official statements." As expected, none of these four got any kind of reaction because, truthfully, Winter didn't do anything of these things. "Item five: Conduct unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman." That got a reaction as men who had been officers all nodded and murmured to each other. "Item six: Cruelty or maltreatment of persons under his command." The men roared at that one causing Chris to hold up his hand. Silence descended once more. "Item seven: Command failure resulting in lose of control of a facility."
He watched as understanding dawned in the men's eyes.
"Gentlemen, I think we should seize control of this facility."
"Take a look at a castle, any castle, then break down the key elements that make it a castle," Chris said, eyes touching each one of the men packed into his cell. They were his lieutenants, his core support. They would also be the ones in charge of the specialized platoons. The only one who even remotely looked like they knew what he was talking about was Josiah. "One: location. A site on high ground that commands the territory for as far as the eye can see. Two: protection. Big walls, walls strong enough to withstand a full frontal attack. Three: a garrison. Men who are trained and willing to kill. And four: a flag."
They were all nodding now, understanding coming with the help of visual aids ... his chess pieces. He used them as a mock up of the yard, the admin building, the towers that surrounded the yard, and the flagpole. "The only difference between other castles and this one, is that they were built to keep people out, this one was built to keep people in."
The men laughed, nodding.
"But it's still a castle and any castle can be taken whether in the fourteenth century or the twentieth."
"With a nuclear arsenal?" Vin hazarded a guess, chuckling as he dodged Buck and Josiah's hands.
Chris rolled his eyes, ignoring their antics. "To succeed in a castle war, you have to overcome the garrison, take the high ground, and ultimately capture the flag." He studied the crude layout. "We're going to need a command post."
Vin plucked up a king, placing it to the side of the Yard. "The wall."
"It's fitting," Nathan agreed with a sad smile.
Everyone nodded.
"All right, phase one: neutralize Winter's guards." Chris pointed to the row of knights sitting in front of the admin building. Everyone nodded knowing that would fall under the foot soldiers' sphere. "Phase two: the towers."
"We control the towers, we control the Yard," Josiah added.
"That's right." Chris picked up one of the rooks he was using as, strangely enough, a tower. "Tower four ... Morrow."
"He's the dangerous one," Vin murmured, eyes narrowing as Chris placed the rook back down on the table.
"That's why I'm leaving him up to you and Thumper." He chuckled low as the two men grinned ferally at each other, punching knuckles. "Phase three: the water cannon. Four, the helicopter." He let his eyes cut over to Standish, making sure the bookie knew this was where he came in. Standish was definitely listening. "The chopper is the high ground. Taking it is going to be a bitch." He paused, eyes going over his men again. "But it's doable."
The men all nodded, eyes glued to the chess pieces. The eyes followed his hand as he picked up the queen. "Finally, the flag. We capture the flag and fly it upside down."
"Distress," Josiah murmured, smile mischievous and admiring all at once. "Brilliant."
"Thanks," Chris laughed.
"Uh, upside down?" Buck asked, eyes darting from Chris to Josiah.
"It means send help. The fort has fallen," Josiah explained.
"Ah." Buck's smile was a little scary.
"Bucklin," Vin drawled, "I'm startin' to think you don't care if we get rid of Winter or not. You're just itchin' to fight."
"Well, as I see it, gettin' rid of Winter is just icin' on the cake." Buck leaned back against the wall, grinning. It wasn't a nice grin.
"You can have the cake, Buck, we'll take the icing," Chris snarked, making the others laugh. "We keep the flag that way until Travis comes and sees it."
"And then we've won, right, General?" Nathan's smile was huge, to say the least.
Chris nodded, but everyone turned as Standish scoffed rather loudly.
"Standish, shut the fuck up," Buck growled, stepping forward and grabbing the smaller man. "Sir, see what I mean about him?"
"Hey, Ezra, what are you doin' here anyway?" Vin stood, tapping on the grip Buck had on the other man. "Buck, let him go."
Wilmington growled, but complied. "Well? Answer the man."
"I would not know," Ezra replied, but didn't look up as he straightened his clothing. "Ask the general. He is the one who invited me."
"Sir, I know his father served with you in Iraq," Nathan asked, his voice was quiet, but it still carried throughout the cell, "but do we really need him?"
Chris leaned back, letting his eyes meet defiant ones before smiling. "Yes, we do." He nearly smirked at the surprise that lit up Ezra's eyes but turned away instead. "Duffy, you're in maintenance, right?"
The big man looked around uncertainly but answered, "Yes, sir."
"Standish, you got a minute?"
Ezra stared longingly at the stairwell where all of his transactions took place, and where he could be alone unless someone had business with him. But he forced a smile onto his lips and turned to the general. "For you, General Larabee, of course."
Nodding towards the lesser used area of the Yard, Larabee started ambling. "How am I doing?"
He didn't even pretend to not know what the general was asking. "Five to two, in the colonel's favor."
"You don't think we'll win?" Larabee sent him a deprecating smile that made him shake his head.
"He knows too much. He's prepared. He's ready." Ezra didn't know why, but he wanted to impart upon the general the futility of all of this.
"He may be prepared, but he's not ready."
Sometimes, talking to men like Larabee made him want to bang his head against a brick wall. That, at least, would make some kind of impression. "If you say so, sir."
Larabee laughed. "You know, we could use you."
Ezra shook his head. "I just want to survive this and go home."
"Did he make you a deal?"
"What?" That made him stop dead in his tracks. Made him stare at the other man. "Excuse me?"
Larabee just smiled. Of course, it was a smile full of knowledge and mischief and even a hint of smugness. "That's what I would do if I was him. I would go to you and offer a trade. He knows what you're capable of."
He could feel his mouth moving in a most ungainly fashion, but couldn't quite stop. "General Larabee—"
"But so do I." Now that really stopped him cold. "Winter came to you because he sees the worst in you and he's going to play to it. I want to see the best. These men need you. I need you." Larabee's eyes were magnetic; Ezra was completely incapable of pulling away from them. And he understood why an entire platoon of men would disobey direct orders from the President himself to follow this man. "It's your choice, Ezra. And don't tell me you're surviving here, you're hiding."
He stared as the general walked away feeling, gut punched and having no idea what to do about it.
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