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Any day one buried the best friend one ever had was a bad day, but this was an absolutely miserable damned day for a funeral. Like so many early spring days in this part of the country, the weather bordered on being unbearable at Arlington National Cemetery. A cold, fog-like mist filled the air. As the seven master sergeants walked slowly from the all too familiar rectangle cut through the nearly frozen soil, the dark sky seemed to brood over the loss of their friend. The chilly vapor clung to everything and penetrated the dress uniforms they seldom wore. Theirs was a combat role - not a parade.

Mitch had driven to the burial, but he asked Ski to drive when they left. He somehow had to close his eyes and push all this from his mind. He was tired. None of the seven had slept more than two hours a day since arriving back in The States a week earlier. Mitch had slept the least. Eddie died in his arms, and he had seen Eddie's coffin lowered into the ground, yet it still seemed impossible that he could be gone. They'd been closer than friends for so many years. Now, all he had left of Colonel Eddie McCain was the neatly folded flag and a million memories.

Ten minutes up the freeway, Mitch was lost in those memories, when a delivery van approached rapidly from the rear. "Jesus Christ, Mitch, look at that crazy bastard. He's going to kill someone."

Mitch wasn't sure if it was all the years of sneaking around in the jungles, or just plain some sixth sense, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood out, and he got that gut feeling that had saved his life any number of times. He turned in the seat to look at the van and yelled, "Something's not right, Ski!"

As Mitch spoke, the van sped by, moved over in front of them and slowed. If it hadn't been for Mitch's suspicious nature and Ski's quick reactions, they'd have been in big trouble. As Ski whipped the wheel to move to the left lane, the doors on the back of the van flew open, and two men with automatic weapons opened fire.

Everyone ducked down, as the bullets passed through the windshield and out the back. Ski bottomed the accelerator, then stood on the brake, locking all four wheels. The squall of tires on concrete was deafening, as he burned half the rubber off and made a sliding U-turn across the median. The grass was still wet with dew, and even as the car headed the other direction, it slid backwards on their original course. Then it slowed and started forward once more, the tires throwing mud and grass twenty feet behind them. Ski tried to push the accelerator through the floorboard, as he whipped onto the pavement.

They bounded nearly out of control to the other side of the freeway, slipping and sliding onto the grass, then back onto the roadway. Barreling along at close to a hundred miles per hour, Ski yelled, "Who the fuck is that?"

"I don't know, but they're following." Mitch reached for the semi-automatic he normally carried, but it wasn't there. It just wouldn't fit under the snug fitting class A uniform they'd all worn to Eddie's funeral. "Sonofabitch! We don't have a goddamned weapon among us! We'll have to outrun 'em."

Ski yelled, "HANG ON," and again stood on the brake. They were still doing seventy when they hit the grass incline at the side of the parkway. The sedan again slid dangerously on the wet grass. The damaged tires were coming apart, and gravel, grass, mud and bits of rubber filled the air, as they went airborne at the top of the slope. The car completely cleared the two-lane frontage road and slammed down hard on the shoulder. Ski stood on the brake pedal, as they slid into the parking lot of a convenience store.

Jack Samms screamed from the back seat, "Jesus Christ! You're gonna kill us!"

Three wheel covers bounced wildly across the parking lot and hit several parked cars. Black streaks from the tires marked their progress toward the gas pumps, and they came to a stop barely inches from what probably would have been one hell of an explosion. The engine had stalled and, as Ski twisted the key he begged, "C'mon, start, baby."

When the engine caught, he jerked the gearshift into reverse and backed from the lot onto the frontage road, as a half dozen people ran outside to see what the commotion was. With his foot again jammed against the accelerator, the car shook violently, as they traveled the wrong way along the frontage road for a quarter mile to the first crossroad. A half dozen oncoming cars ran off the road, their drivers swearing and shaking fists at them and giving them the finger. Mitch sat turned in the seat, staring out the now non-existent rear window, watching for the van. He saw nothing of it.

Ski turned left at the intersection, traveled north to the first crossroad and turned right. The road went into an industrial area, and he skidded to a stop at the end of a long row of one-story buildings. Everyone bailed out and scattered to various hiding places.

Mitch couldn't believe that after twenty-two years of carrying a weapon, he was caught with no means to fight back if the people doing the shooting had somehow managed to follow them.

Fifteen minutes passed, and no one showed. When Mitch and Ski arrived back at the car at the same time, Ski asked, "What the fuck do you suppose that was about, Mitch?"

"I don't know, but you can damned sure bet I'll never get caught without a weapon again. Why the hell would anyone be shooting at us?"

The other men gathered around, as Ski started the engine. Bobby Proctor shook his head and laughed nervously. "Man, I'll tell you one thing, Ski, you sure as hell know how to wear a car out quick. You think this sonofabitch'll make it back to the base?"

Before Ski could answer, Mitch hopefully asked, "Anyone bring any kind of weapon at all?" When everyone answered in the negative he said, "Let's get to hell out of here. Stick to the back roads, Ski. That was some good driving, buddy."

Ski smiled, as the engine banged loudly. It seemed to be on its last leg. Evidently, they had smashed the bottom of the oil pan upward against some moving part and, though the engine ran, the pounding noise would alert other drivers within a ten-block radius. A small streak of oil on the pavement followed them all the way to the base. Every time Ski reached forty miles an hour, the flat spots where the rubber had been ripped from the tires made the car bounce so badly, it was dangerous. He laughed at what the NCO in charge of the motor pool would say when he saw the one-year-old car all beat to hell, with thirty or so bullet holes in it.

When they arrived at the base, Mitch grabbed the pay phone in the day room of the barracks and called their long-time boss at the Pentagon. "General Waveland, Sir, this is Sergeant Davis. We were on our way back from the funeral about an hour ago and someone tried to take us out. Yes, Sir. A van pulled around us and opened up with automatic weapons. No, Sir. Everyone's okay. We destroyed the hell out of a government vehicle, but the guys are all right. Sir, do you have any idea why the hell anyone would be after us? Okay. We'll sit tight. Should I report it to the local police? Yes, Sir. We will, General."

He hung the phone up and told the others, "He has no idea what it could have been. Said we shouldn't contact the locals, just stay out of sight, while he puts some people on it. Let's get over to the motor pool and the armory. We need to put some heavy duty weapons between us and the next time."

Ski had been right about the motor pool sergeant being flabbergasted at the sight of the nearly new sedan. He was a bit reluctant to give Mitch the new suburban, but had little choice. After signing a report on the wrecked car and a receipt for the suburban, he drove to the base arsenal, where they checked out AR15s all around and four cases of ammo. As Ski drove back toward the barracks, Mitch sat quietly looking out the side window, deep in thought.

Bobby Proctor asked, "What is it, Mitch?"

"Aw, man, I really screwed up. I just can't believe I forgot all about it. Damned! Eddie has a sister somewhere. With all the shit going on, I didn't get in touch with her to let her know about Eddie." He was thoughtful for a moment before saying, "General Waveland would know about her. I'll have to call him back." Mitch knew regular army records wouldn't show anything about Eddie having a sister. The secrecy surrounding their team disallowed information about any of them in the army's regular files.

They parked the suburban just outside the barracks and set up a schedule to take turns keeping an eye on it. There was too much firepower in the vehicle to leave it unattended. Mitch again stood at the pay phone in the barracks and dialed General Waveland. He sure as hell hated to do it. Man, it had been a hell of a day. They'd buried their commanding officer - the damned weather was lousy - then some sonofabitch tries to kill them. Now, he had to admit to General Waveland he'd forgotten all about the sister Eddie told him about so many times.

Once he talked his way through the general's secretary again he said, "Sir, Colonel McCain had a sister somewhere. I think in Illinois. I was so upset with Eddie and the others buying it, I didn't think to contact her about Eddie's funeral. I'd like to talk to her, but don't know how to get in touch."

"Hold on a minute." A moment later, "I have a phone number and address. Got a pencil?"

"Yes, Sir."

After the general repeated the name, address and phone number, he said, "I should have contacted her myself. Maybe you should go see her."

"I was going to ask if it would be okay to take time off to do just that. I really feel bad about not letting her know, General."

"I understand. Take all the time you need, Sarge. No problem. You be sure to keep an eye over your shoulder. Can't imagine who the hell would have attacked you. I can't believe I didn't get in touch with McCain's sister, myself." He was silent for a moment, then said in a soft, sad tone, "I'm sure you know what losing Eddie's been like for me, Mitch. Truth is, Eddie was like a son. Toughest little bastard I've ever known. I'm really sorry I bugged out on his funeral. I just couldn't fathom the idea of his being gone after all he's been through. You know I ... " He stopped in mid-sentence, unable to continue.

"I will, General. I'll be back in touch after I talk to her."

Mitch checked another car out of the motor pool and packed a suitcase with civilian clothes. He set the AR15 in the floorboard within easy reach and laid the 17 shot 9mm semi-auto pistol on the seat under a jacket. When the other guys offered to go along, he declined. Driving to Southern Illinois by himself would be a lonely trip, but he needed the time to grieve in private. Losing Eddie was much more than losing a comrade in arms... a fellow soldier. Eddie's death was the loss of a brother.

Worrying about how to tell her made the trip even longer, but he finally arrived in the small town of Hillsboro, Illinois at mid-morning on the third day and asked directions to her address at the first gas station he spotted. Hillsboro wasn't all that big, and he quickly found the neat white house on the edge of town.

Mitch sat in the car for several minutes, staring at the white picket fence, huge yellow roses covering it from one end to the other. It would be hard to ring the bell and face her. But finally, he got out of the car, opened the gate and started up the walk.

A lady in her mid-forties opened the door and met him at the edge of the wooden porch. He was taken aback when she said quietly, "Hello Mitch. Bad news?"

"Uh, how did you know who I was?"

"Eddie sent me a lot of pictures over the years. What happened to Eddie?" She extended her hand to him as she spoke.

"He ..." Mitch held tight to her hand with both of his. How the hell could he say it? How could he tell her Eddie was dead and already buried? "You knew what we were doing, right?"

Barbara got tears in her eyes and wrung her hands together. "Did you bring him home?"

"Yes." Mitch hung his head down in shame, unable to look her in the eyes and his voice choked. "Barbara, I'm so sorry. We buried Eddie at Arlington three days ago. I should have ..."

As he fumbled for the right words Barbara said, "Come inside, Mitch. Have you had breakfast?"

"Uh, no. I was going to eat when I got up this morning, but I was anxious to get here."

"I was about to fix breakfast. It's as easy to fix for two. You can tell me what happened while I cook." She lifted the bottom of the flowered cotton apron to her eyes and wiped away tears, as they walked through the house to the kitchen at the rear.

It was an older house that had been updated. The neatly painted exterior was still the original clapboard siding, but inside, the only remnants of the old interior were the oak floors, covered here and there with throw rugs. For some reason, Mitch felt completely at home, as he sat down at the round kitchen table.

Barbara went about getting bacon and eggs out of the refrigerator, stopping several times to wipe the tears away. She was trying so hard not to lose it entirely and break into weeping openly. "How many of your team are left now?"

Mitch lowered his eyes to the tabletop and spoke quietly, "Seven." He looked out the window at the back yard and slowly moved his head from side to side as he spoke. "You know, we went back all those trips and didn't lose anyone. This time, we lost eight... over half our team." Mitch was lost for a moment in his own thoughts. "But, I think we're done. I don't think General Waveland would let us go back again."

She turned to him with the slightest of smiles on her lips and said wistfully, "You know, Mitch, it's almost as if Eddie foresaw that he wouldn't make it, but you would." Barbara got a catch in her voice and turned to stare out the window over the sink. She spoke barely above a whisper. "Eddie was a really special person, wasn't he, Mitch?" Before he could answer she continued. "I guess he told you how we grew up?" She chuckled softly and said, "I could spend days telling you about some of the dumb things Eddie and I did as kids." When she turned back to face him it was with a smile. "We were so happy back then. Dirt poor, but happy."

The smile suddenly disappeared, she hung her head and looked at her hands clasped in front of her. "I always thought that some day, Eddie would get out of the army, come home and things would be like they were when we were kids. Somehow ..." Her voice choked and she once more lifted the apron to her eyes. "Somehow, I didn't believe anything would ever happen to Eddie. He was too good a person." She could hold the pain in no longer and sobbed uncontrollably.

Mitch quickly came out of the chair and wrapped his arms around her. They stood for a long while, her sobbing softly and his tears rolling slowly down his face to fall on her shoulder. He'd wanted to cry over his friend's death ever since Eddie drew his last breath in Laos. Mitch felt not only his own grief, but hers, as well. As he held her tightly, he berated himself again for not contacting her sooner.

She finally turned from him, wiped her eyes again and continued to prepare breakfast. As she walked to the end of the cabinets, she spoke softly, "Like I said, Mitch, Eddie must have known you'd be coming to see me."

"What do you mean?"

She sniffed and wiped her nose on a tissue, as she opened a cabinet drawer and removed a large manila envelope. "Eddie left this for you. He sent it to me with a letter just before you left for Laos this last time. He told me if anything happened to him, you'd come see me. I think it must be pretty important. Eddie said if neither he nor you came for it, I should send it to a post office box in Indianapolis."

Mitch stared at the envelope a full minute before releasing the little metal clasp and opening it. When he pulled the half dozen pages out, he found a letter in Eddie's handwriting atop the stack. He stared at the letter without reading for several seconds, his hands shaking noticeably. Eddie had expected him to visit Barbara. He leaned back in the chair and took a swallow of coffee, unsure that he could read a letter from his dead friend without making a fool of himself in front of her. He was a Ranger... been through a lot of hell in his career. How could he break down in front of a woman?

"Barbara, would you mind if I went outside to read this?"

Barbara had read the expression on his face and understood. "Not at all." She deliberately turned to the sink and began filling it with water, trying to pretend she was unaware of his embarrassment at being near tears again.

He sat down in the lawn chair on the rear porch and laid the papers in his lap. With shaking hands, he read:

Dear Mitch,

Hope you made it back okay, buddy. I knew you'd come visit Barbara if I didn't make it. Barbara's a really great gal. Best sister anyone could ever have. I'm sorry I couldn't see her again.

Mitch, there's some pretty important information in this package. It's a list of several CIA agents, senators and others dealing with the bastards that have been holding our guys. They're into drugs, white slavery, and just about everything else imaginable. And there's more going on than I have figured out. I haven't been real sure what to do with all this. Hard to know who to trust. Somehow, these people need to be nailed.

I recently met a senator from Indiana that seems to be on the up and up. He's on the CIA Oversight Committee. Maybe turning the stuff over to him would be best. Then again, if he turns it over to Justice it might fall into the wrong hands, and the bastards will go right on with their illicit activities. Don't worry about how I put all this information together. It's a long story. The guy who ratted on all his friends will never tell anyone. Somebody figured out he had talked to someone and already got to him.

Senator Parrish has an office in Indianapolis. When you leave Barbara's, it's sort of on your way back east, if you'll stop and talk to him. Don't give him any of this information until you're damned sure he's on our side. In talking to him face to face for a short time, I'd guess he's okay, but you never know. Don't just turn the list over. Give him a copy. You keep the original safe somewhere. Hope you and the guys can do something with it.

Mitch, I'd like for you to do something else for me. Look in on Barbara and call her once in a while. Barbara's a hell of a nice person - really special. She lost her husband a while back. Tell her and all the guys so long for me.

Mitch had to stop and wipe his eyes once more. He stood up, laid all but the letter on the chair and walked out into the yard. Sitting on the ground, he leaned against a large oak tree and continued to read:

You guys are the best bunch of soldiers a man could hope to have worked with. Tell the general he was right - our luck was running out. I trust General Waveland implicitly, but I don't think you should give him this information. He might think he was doing the right thing and put it in the wrong hands. It could get you all killed.

I can't tell you how good it's been to have a friend like you all these years, pal. You've been more than a brother to me. Don't fret over me. Hell, we all knew the risk, and we knew our luck couldn't last forever. You and I both know we are expendable to get the job done. I guess that's just part of being a ranger. I've been proud to be what I've been, coming from where I did.

You take care, Mitch. And, think about getting out of the army. There comes that time for everyone. Besides, with the right help, you can operate more freely as a civilian to track these bastards down. But you and the guys might be targets if they figure out you have this information. You watch your backside, buddy. All the luck in the world, Mitch. And, Mitch, be damned sure about Senator Parrish before you give him the info.

I couldn't tell you while I was alive, something to do with being macho I guess, but you have been a true brother to me, and I truly love you, brother.

Your buddy, Eddie

Barbara had watched him from the doorway and could see the tears slowly tumble down his cheeks onto the paper. When he finally walked back in, she handed him a tissue and turned back to the stove, where the eggs were ready to come out of the skillet. She put two plates on the table and poured more coffee. When she sat down across from him, she said, "Eddie was a good soldier, wasn't he, Mitch?"

Mitch started to answer, but couldn't. He sipped the coffee and put four times as much pepper on his eggs as he normally would. When he looked down at them he couldn't help but laugh and say, "Oh, crap."

While Barbara took his plate and scraped the pepper off, Mitch said, "Yeah, Eddie was the best soldier the army ever had." He stared at his coffee cup and continued softly, "I'm sure going to miss him. All the guys are. We tried so hard to get him to medical attention in time. We were just too damned far into the countryside."

Barbara set the eggs and bacon back in front of him, and they ate in silence. When they'd finished and were sitting on the back porch with a second cup of coffee, she said, "Tell me what happened, Mitch."

He looked at her with a funny expression. "Uh... you sure you want to know?"

"Yes. Eddie told me about all your missions for years. The heck of it was, he always thought of you men as heroes, but never thought of himself that way. When I told him he was a hero after you brought those eleven prisoners, the Vietnamese priest and nine children out of the North, he laughed and said he was just earning his keep. Said it was nothing special."

"Yeah, that's the way Eddie is."

Barbara smiled because Mitch had said "is", instead of was. Eddie had told her a number of times how close he and Mitch were. She watched him sip the coffee for a few minutes and waited patiently for him to tell her how her brother died.

Finally, without looking at her, but staring at the porch floor, he said, "We went all the way up close to the twentieth parallel in Laos, just across the border from North Viet Nam. Intelligence reported a small group of Americans had been spotted at a mountain camp there."

Mitch suddenly got a strange look on his face, sat the coffee down, got up and paced back and forth. He slammed his fist into his palm and said, "Dammit! We were set up. It was a damned trap! Why in the hell didn't I realize it sooner!"

When he continued to pace without explaining, Barbara asked, "What do you mean?"

"Do you know what's in that envelope Eddie left for me?"

"Yes. He told me to go ahead and look at it."

He sat down, pulled his chair around to face her and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "You see, Barbara, we got this report on the Americans. Only a few people knew we were going. After Eddie was hit, he tried to tell me something, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. Now that I think back on it, I think he was trying to say trap, or traitor. Dammit, we were set up. Someone listed in that information Eddie left with you knew Eddie was on to him. Somehow, he fixed it so we'd walk into a trap."

Mitch again got out of the chair and seemed to be staring at the morning glories covering the back fence. Then, without turning around, he spoke softly. "Now that I look back on what happened, they had to know we were coming." He moved his head slowly back and forth and said quietly, "We walked into a hell of a situation. Worse than anything we'd ever encountered. We saw a small column of smoke high up on the mountainside. It seemed to be right where the Americans were supposedly held. We approached from two sides of the camp at dawn. All at once, we were completely surrounded and had to shoot a hole through their line. That's why Eddie didn't make it. There were just too damned many of them."

Mitch hesitated for a moment and shook his head. "Then, when we radioed for an emergency pickup, it never came. All along, I've thought our radio wasn't working." He said quietly, as if to himself, "The hell it wasn't. Dammit!"

He returned to pacing the length of the porch. "We had to make it to a predetermined pickup point three days distance from the camp. Three damned days away." Mitch stood with his arms folded across his chest, staring at the neatly tended vegetable garden. "After Eddie's funeral, we were driving away from the cemetery and someone tried to kill us. Someone still wants us dead. Has to be someone on that list. I gotta figure out who in the hell it is." He added softly, "When I do, they'll pay."

Mitch heads to Indianapolis to get answers from Sen. Parrish. After convincing Mitch he's on his side, he sends an officer back with Mitch to his hotel to pick up Eddie's incriminating letter ...

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When Mitch and the officer pulled into a parking spot across the drive from his room, the officer started to shut the engine off. Mitch hastily said, "Wait a minute. Something's not right. The drapes are closed. I distinctly remembered leaving them open. It's too early for the maid."

"You sure you left them open?"

"Damned sure. Pull around the corner and park."

The officer put the car in reverse and said, "Maid probably closed them." He smiled at Mitch's suspicious nature.

"Humor me. I'm used to being cautious. After all the shit that's happened in the last couple of weeks I'm even more cautious."

The officer continued to smile and drove around the building. They got out of the car and walked slowly along the sidewalk toward the room. When they were a few paces away, Mitch pulled out the 9mm automatic.

The officer removed his .357 magnum from its holster and said quietly, "You're serious."

Mitch peeked in at the edge of the drape where it didn't quite meet the edge of the window. A small beam of light moved around inside. He signaled the officer with a hand gesture.

As the trooper stood alongside the door and slowly turned the handle, the light whirled around, and a loud explosion inside the room shook the quiet morning. The officer went down on one knee, dropping his weapon and grabbing at his chest.

Mitch jumped to his side, grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the door, as a man burst through the opening and ran toward the other side of the parking lot. A car roared down the drive and slid to a stop opposite. Mitch took careful aim and pulled the trigger. The running man fell, sprawling flat on the ground, face down. Mitch had aimed for the heart.

The driver of the car jumped out and dropped to the side of his companion. He came up with the revolver and fired wildly in their direction. Mitch dove in front of the wounded officer and again took careful aim. He dropped the man with a shot to the head.

With his weapon trained on the two men, he ran over to kick the weapon away and found there was no need. They were both quite seriously dead.

He shoved the automatic into his waistband and ran the few paces back to the state trooper. ...still alive. Mitch dashed to the patrol car, grabbed the mike, as he read the number on the side of the car, and pressed the mike button. "This is unit 214. I have an officer shot and down at the Holiday Inn Airport. We need medical help immediately. You copy?"

"We copy. Officer down, Holiday Inn Airport. Help's on the way. Who's making the call?"

"Just tell them to hurry. Your officer's hit bad. Chest wound."

"They're on the way. Stay with him. Do you know first aid?"

Mitch had already dropped the mike in the seat and ran back to the wounded policeman. He ripped the officer's shirt down the front, tearing the buttons from the fabric. It was a bad wound, bleeding profusely externally, and Mitch was sure, internally. There was little he could do but put the heel of his hand on the wound and apply pressure. He took the officer's wrist in his other hand and felt the pulse. It was strong enough, so maybe he wasn't bleeding too badly inside.

A large group of people gathered to stare in shocked silence at the bodies of the two dead men and the wounded trooper. It seemed much longer than the four minutes it actually was before five police cars screeched into the parking lot, sirens blaring. They were followed two minutes later by an ambulance. Mitch was covered with blood and wondered what the hell to tell the local police.

The state trooper had regained a semblance of consciousness, and pulled his ear down to his mouth. Though gasping for breath, he managed to whisper, "Don't get involved. Tell them I shot the men so you don't get tied up. I'm with the company, Sarge, ...on your side." Then he dropped his head and was un-conscious for sure.

As the police questioned bystanders as to what happened, Mitch thought they must think he was just another bystander who went to the aid of the wounded man. Okay, so he'd been riding with a CIA man masquerading as an Indiana State Trooper. What the hell was the Senator up to? Why hadn't he confided in him that the trooper was CIA? He wasn't going to give him a damn thing until he got a satisfactory explanation ...

Mitch and his fellow army rangers get caught up in the biggest cat-and-mouse game of their life. Who wants them dead and why?

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