Max: Oh, don't worry; you'll have to try a lot harder than that to discourage me XD Let me try and clear the points up (Everyone else, feel free to skip down; this was an anonymous review so I have to answer it here, but it's long ;))

1. Why are there buildings?

Because there would have been buildings in the POW camps, or at least in some of them. Without shelter, none of the POWs would have survived longer than a few weeks. Maybe longer if they had unlimited access to fresh, clean water, but that seems far more unlikely to me than having a few rather shabby huts. (Granted losing POWs might not have worried the Viet Cong, but there are plenty of Vietnam vets still around who spent time in a POW camp, some of them months or even years). Hannibal mentions that the camp commander 'liked to starve the men' and later accuses Angel of eating smoked almonds while the rest of the men were living on 'grass and cockroaches'. It would take a long time to get to that stage, and even longer to starve to death, so they were in the camp for quite a while, which would only have been possible with shelter.

Speaking even more canonically, in the episode A Recipe for Heavy Bread when the guys are talking about Lt. Angel in the POW camp, Murdock refers to him as "That slime from C-Barracks?" It's implied throughout the episode that the guys only really encountered Angel in the POW camp, so 'C-Barracks' likely refers to a building (you wouldn't call a corner of a bare patch of land a 'barracks' XD)

2. BA wouldn't have been wearing his gold during the war. If he had, I doubt the Viet Cong would have left him with it!

Who said they did? Bear in mind he hasn't shown up yet and Hannibal hasn't seen him; the only mention of it is when the colonel describes BA as 'having two tons of gold hanging off him'. Hannibal didn't know where he was when he woke up, so he didn't see BA before they were brought there. Granted he'd probably have figured out about the gold, but again, he'd just woken up in a strange place with a thumping headache and was pretty groggy ;)

All that aside, these (and a couple other points, including the chicken) have already been thought of and addressed in this and future chapters, so please bear with me and be a little patient :)

MG: There's nothing I can really answer except to read on and keep reading. Like I said, I have already considered your points; I just can't answer everything in the first chapter ;)

louise: You wanted it, you got it XD

Was I insane?

Yeah, probably – Sanders looked like the kind of guy who bore a grudge, and I didn't want to be Charlie's next victim – but that had never stopped me before. Besides, I couldn't let him harangue a sick man just to prove to me that he was the big fish in this pond.

So. Step one, get rid of Sanders. And Davis. I wasn't sure how loyal the major was to Sanders and I was taking no chances.

Luckily that would be easier than I thought; either Sanders had a glass jaw or I'd hit him harder than I'd meant to. Either way, he was out for the count with a mouth full of blood and broken teeth, all of which suited me fine just then.

"Major!"

Davis jumped and glanced up at me with a guilty expression, although I didn't find out why until much later.

"Sir?"

I nudged the unconscious colonel with my toe. "Take Sanders back to the officers' billet and stay with him. I'll talk to you both later."

The major shifted his weight. "Uh..."

"Did I stutter, major?" I put a touch – just a touch – of sharpness into my voice and he cringed as though I'd pointed a gun at him.

"Uh...no sir."

"Then get to it." Glancing at his crushed fingers, I looked up at the other men and added, "One of you can give him a hand."

Young stepped forward and I pushed him back again. "Not you, kid. I want him out of here in one piece." I glanced around the assembled men and picked the healthiest looking. "Tennon, you help him."

Tennon didn't look too thrilled at the prospect but he obeyed, looping one of Sanders' arms around his shoulders and helping Davis carry the unconscious colonel outside, leaving me alone with the men. There was still an atmosphere, but it had changed a little. I could be like Sanders – I could even be worse than Sanders, although I wasn't sure how – but after I'd just punched him in the face, they were now open to the possibility that I might not be.

Well, that was fine. I hadn't expected them to immediately take to me, not when they didn't have a clue who I was or what I was likely to do, and not with a jerk like Sanders running the place for...for...actually, that was a good point.

"How long has Sanders been in charge?"

For some reason, all eyes turned to Corporal Alvarez.

"Two months. I was with him when he arrived, sir."

"Hannibal. Two months, huh?" It was no wonder that morale – never particularly high in these places – was at rock bottom. People like Sanders could do a hell of a lot of damage in two days, let alone two months. It also made my job much harder.

"Until now, I guess." Young took half a step forward, staring at me. "You taking command...Hannibal?"

I didn't answer, just stared at him until he dropped his eyes and then said, "Looks that way," and turned back to Private Haines, who was still sweating and feverish. "Someone tell me about this guy. How long's he been like this?"

"About a week."

I stared at him. "How long?"

"We've been doing all we can but we don't have any supplies, and with Bateman gone..."

"Bateman was the medic?"

"Yeah."

"So...there was only one medic here, and Sanders got him killed for refusing to lick his boots." It was just as well the colonel was no longer in the room, otherwise I might have knocked out the rest of his teeth. Me, I could take out a bullet and dress a wound, but that was about my limit. I wasn't a medic and I had no idea how to bring down a fever like this one besides water.

"He's dying, isn't he?" Young said bluntly.

That had to be the question I hated the most. The instinct was always to reassure, to say that no, the person was going to be just fine.

Unfortunately, I'd been in the Army long enough to learn that in this kind of situation, that was very rarely true. I'd also learned that if I tried the comforting, reassuring approach and the guy died anyway, it was somehow always my fault.

"Colonel?" Young pressed.

I glanced over my shoulder and said very quietly, "Yeah." Straightening up, I looked down at Haines. "There's nothing I can do. He needs medicine."

"Or fresh water, si—Hannibal." That was Gabney, who had a rather hangdog look about him. "If he had enough fresh water, he might be able to ride it out."

I shot him a look. "Right, well, as long as we're all making wishes, I'd like a steak dinner and a chopper out of here, but we happen to be stuck in this tiny little place called Reality."

Yeah, alright, I know it was a little harsh, but I couldn't think what else to say. There's nothing worse than being forced to sit back and watch someone die a long, slow death.

"So you can't do anything?" Young again. The kid seemed determined to challenge me. I didn't think he was anti-officer though; I just thought he'd been soured by Sanders, and maybe a couple other bad ones before he wound up here.

"I never said I could." My voice was very quiet, a sure sign that I'm not happy.

He met my gaze without flinching. "So are you going to tell us what Sanders said? That we should just drag Haines outside and leave him to die? Free up his bed for an officer, 'sir'?"

"Now what gave you that idea?" I could feel anger flickering inside me, not at Young but at Sanders. While it's true that officers have more privileges, I'd never heard of one taking away from his own men before. I was also a little pissed that Young seemed to be talking about me when he mentioned freeing up Haines' bed.

"Rule of the camp. Sanders says the officers get beds, since they're in charge and they need to stay as healthy as possible in order to maintain command."

Something about that sounded vaguely familiar. I wondered if Sanders had ever read Animal Farm.

"Yeah, well, as far as I'm concerned, it's a rule you can break right here and now, and if anyone here has a problem with that – including Sanders – tell him to come see me."

I returned my attention to Haines, even though there was nothing I could do for him (except stop him being turfed out of his own cot).

Behind me, I heard Barrett mutter, "Can't wait to see what Murdock thinks of this new guy."

This was the second time I'd heard that name, but so far I had no face to put with it and no information other than Sanders didn't seem to like him.

"Who's Murdock?"

There was a short pause, then Ferguson said, "Murdock's...Murdock."

The way he said it told me that this should explain everything. It didn't.

"A little more detail than that, soldier."

"Uh...well, he's a pilot, but Sanders hates him, so he spends most of his time with Charlie."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? What's Sanders got against him?"

The men exchanged looks, then Young said, "Probably the fact that Murdock said Sanders was a sniveling little grub and that he'd picked things out of his teeth with more guts and moral fibre."

"No kidding." I grinned. That was a good one; I'd have to remember it. "Well, griping about superior officers is all part of being in the army."

Next to him, Gabney looked, if it was possible, even more awkward. "Well, yeah, but...not many people do it to their face, and not at the top of their lungs, and, uh, not just after they've thrown a cup of water in the superior officer's face."

"When was that?"

Something must have convinced them that I wasn't about to get angry; the atmosphere loosened very slightly and Alvarez said, "Last month."

"And three weeks ago—"

"—and two weeks—"

"—and, uh, most of last week—"

"And yesterday."

"Does he hate officers?" That was all I needed; another BA. I could just about control one, but two?

Another wary look – since I was an officer, and a pretty high-ranked one at that, this was getting into dangerous territory – then Gabney said, "I don't think so. I mean, he's Captain Murdock. He just doesn't get along with the colonel. I think he respects us more than he does Sanders."

That wasn't hard. I mean, I respected them more than I did Sanders, and I'd only just met them.

"Where is this Murdock?" I asked.

"Since he upset Sanders, probably with Charlie."

I nodded and straightened up. "Alright. I'm going to take a walk, check out the rest of the camp. If Murdock's up to it when he comes out, tell him I want to talk to him. Only if he's up to it; I don't want to try and hold a conversation with a guy who's half unconscious."

Turning, I made my way outside. The camp hadn't changed much since I last saw it about twenty minutes ago. Still the same old buildings – dilapidated looking huts for us, a nice place for the camp commander.

Well, at least we had shelter in this camp.

There was still no sign of BA, and I was now starting to worry. Not too much though, since a) there was nothing I could do and b) I was a little too busy trying to figure out how to manage this place. Captain Murdock – whoever he was – might be able to help out some, but I wasn't holding out a lot of hope. At best, he'd be just another typical officer; at worst, he'd be a weak little coward like Sanders...although the men's description of him did make me wonder.

Whichever it was, he seemed popular with the men and so I wanted him on my side as quickly as possible before Sanders did something stupid like trying to retaliate. I didn't know how many allies he had, and I didn't want to find out the hard way either. From what I could make out, there was a definite divide in this camp; Sanders and Davis vs. Murdock. The only question was, would this Murdock guy and I be on the same side, or would it become Sanders and Davis vs. Murdock vs. me? I hoped it was the former; I didn't think this camp could survive a three-way schism.

I could feel eyes on me as I wandered around. The whole attitude of the camp towards me seemed to be, 'oh great, another officer, that's all we need'. That was hardly surprising, although word was already starting to spread about the little chat Sanders and I had had. I guess a major and a private dragging an unconscious colonel through the camp does attract attention.

"SMITH!"

Of course, that wasn't the only thing, I admitted to myself as I turned to see a newly recovered and furious looking Sanders. There was something else in his eyes though; a little glimmer of fear. I was a serious threat now, I'd humiliated and defied him once already and so naturally he had to make an example of me ASAP before anyone else got the same idea.

Well, there was no escaping it and so I wandered vaguely in his direction, taking care not to hurry. On the plus side, Sanders' bellow was loud enough that everyone in the camp now knew my name, which saved me having to wander around and introduce myself.

"SMITH!"

Why he was calling me again when he could already see I was on my way toward him, I had no idea...unless he wanted an audience when he chewed me out.

Wonderful. I'd been wondering how Sanders was going to react, and it turned out he was going to react by taking his head out the sand and sticking it up his butt.

"There is absolutely no excuse for assault on a superior officer!"

"Oh, that wasn't assault," I told him, taking my cigar out my mouth and examining it.

"Wasn't it?"

"Of course not." I smiled at him. "You had a mosquito on your lip. I was just swatting it for you."

Sanders took a deep breath. Really deep. I figure that guy must've been inhaling for at least five seconds before he finally spoke.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Smith—"

"Oh, that's alright, Sanders." I sucked in a good lungful of smoke and expelled the whole lot in his face. "No need to thank me. It was my pleasure. After all, you were the superior officer." I put a careful emphasis on 'were', much the same as Sanders kept doing on the 'Lieutenant' part of my rank. Decker does exactly the same thing, only it's more of a joke between us. At least, I think it's a joke. I doubt Decker would understand the concept of humor if you explained to him with sock puppets.

This little jibe on my part did not go unnoticed.

"As the highest ranking officer—"

"—you can court-martial me when we get outta here, sure," I interrupted him. "And if you need anyone to speak against me, just look up Decker. He's a full Colonel just like you, so the two of you should get on like a house on fire." With plenty of heat, flying debris, poisonous smoke and the odd scream of pain and/or terror from those unlucky enough to get caught in the middle of it, I thought to myself, grinning. I couldn't help hoping Sanders would be stupid enough to take me up on it once we were out. Decker's opinion of traitors and cowards was even lower than mine.

Sanders' eyes narrowed in such a Deckerish way I wondered if he'd ever met the guy.

"You are clearly not thinking straight, Lieutenant-Colonel Smith. Understandable, given the circumstances, but you should make some effort to set an example to the men. It's good for morale."

It's not often that I'm speechless. In this case it was a good thing I was; if I'd been able to say even half of what I thought at that moment, not only would Sanders have dragged me off to Charlie that very second but he'd probably have raised my voice a few octaves into the bargain.

Fortunately he seemed to take my strangled silence as consent; he smiled and said, "Good," then strolled away.

I could feel the atmosphere charge up again. This time it was directed at me and best described as, 'I knew he was too chicken to see it through'.

Well, that was easy enough to fix. I raised my voice.

"Sir!" I hated turning that word on Sanders, but I suspected it was the fastest way of getting his attention. I was right too; he turned smartly and with a military precision that even Decker couldn't have faulted.

"Smith?"

I didn't smile. Smiling would have turned it into bravado; instead I just spoke to him calmly and in a voice designed to carry through the entire camp.

"I'm not the one screwing morale up here. You're a coward and a traitor, and one hell of a lousy officer."

Okay, so maybe that last one was a little pompous, but I'd met his type before. You know the kind: the one who spends all day fantasising about stepping in and saving the day when everyone else has given up, taking out scores of enemies single-handedly. The kind of man who could describe war as 'glorious' and mean it. Officers like that could wipe out their entire unit much faster than any enemy troops.

The point I'm making, though, is that calling someone like that a lousy officer is the worst possible insult you can give them.

I have to say, though, I was impressed by Sanders' reaction. Seriously; I had no idea the human face could turn red so quickly.

"I'd be careful, Smith. You're beginning to try my patience."

Alright, I take back what I said earlier. There was no way I could be called pompous, not all the time there were guys like this hanging around.

"Sounds like a threat." I drew in a lungful of smoke and blew it out into Sanders' face, watching with some interest as he went green, then white with fury. The guy was like a walking traffic light.

He reached out for my cigar, but I was a little quicker; I dodged away, grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind his back. It was purely reflexive – I hadn't actually intended to hurt him – but it worked; he let out a grunt and suddenly seemed to lose interest in helping me quit smoking.

"Rule one, Sanders." I raised my voice so the rest of the men who were pretending not to listen in could hear. "You do not touch my cigars. Ever!"

I released him and backed off a little. However useless he was, he was still a soldier and (presumably) trained in hand-to-hand combat. He could be dangerous.

"This camp—"

"—has a No-Smoking policy, I know." I'd never heard of such a crazy thing in my life. If Sanders hadn't confirmed it himself, I would have thought Allen was pulling my leg. I had a couple rules about smoking myself (don't do it on parade or other formal occasions, and any cigar or cigarette butts I find on the floor of your billet will be stuffed up your nose with extreme prejudice) but I'd never been stupid enough to try and stamp it out entirely. I didn't know what was worse; the fact that Sanders had brought this into effect or the fact that he was stupid enough to think he could enforce it.

I blew a little more smoke in Sanders' face to see if I could get it to turn blue this time. Nope. No such luck.

"Sorry, Sanders. Guess you're just gonna have to get used to the sweet smell of cigar smoke, at least until I run out."

"The rest of the men seem to have accepted it, Smith. I've never caught any of them smoking."

There was no way I could have stopped the broad grin that spread across my face at that moment, even if I'd wanted to.

"I'm quite sure you haven't, Sanders," I told him with more sincerity than he'd have believed.

That said, cigarettes would be hard to come by. The VC rarely bothered to confiscate them (or at least, didn't bother searching too hard for them) but still...with Sanders on the alert...

Great. Not only was morale at rock bottom and the men wary of anyone above the rank of sergeant, but a chunk of them were savage with nicotine withdrawal. Short of a miracle, I had a nasty feeling I'd be joining them before too long. No matter how strictly I rationed myself, chances were I'd run out of cigars long before we were rescued or managed to get out of here.

Sanders, the idiot, seemed to take this as admiration of his skills as an officer and favoured me with a smile that almost got him another punch.

"Hand it over."

I smiled. "Sorry. No can do." I puffed another cloud at him. "You want 'em, you're gonna have to come and get 'em."

Like most of my moves, it was bold, it was daring, and it was crazy as hell. Any one of the men standing around watching could have tackled me then to get brownie points from Sanders and avoid being the next one sent down to Charlie. Out the corner of my eye, I saw one take half a step forward.

"Stand down, soldier." I didn't look around as I said it; taking my eyes off Sanders would probably result in a broken nose.

He hesitated, then fell back a pace, glancing at his buddies, none of whom seemed inclined to take his place.

Sanders' eyes hardened as he stared at me. I think he was trying to make me submit by sheer force of will.

"Alright. You're stressed, it's an automatic reaction. I'll allow you to finish this one, Smith, but after that you'll fall in line with the rest of the men."

I think he expected that to win me over. Instead it just shot down any little respect or sympathy I still had for him; if I told a subordinate to hand over something, then he'd hand it over immediately or I'd know the reason why. Sanders thought of himself as magnanimous, the wise and sympathetic officer who was willing to make allowances for the bewildered, shell-shocked subordinate he seemed to believe me to be.

"...What?" I said. Not the most original or inspiring of military quotes, I admit, but it is pretty widely-used.

"You heard. Now let's go; we're behind schedule. There are other people you need to meet."

Was he serious? I stared at him, not believing what I was hearing. Just as before, he seemed to take my stunned silence for acquiescence; he turned and strolled off.

I continued staring at his retreating back, then turned and walked back to the building where I'd first woken up. It looked even worse from the outside, and inside it was stifling, but I needed a place to think things through, plan my next move. I didn't think he'd come back for me; having to haul my ass over himself would be just too humiliating for him.

I sat down on the cot and slammed a clenched fist into it once or twice. I was just as frustrated as Sanders was, in my own way. I'm not squeamish, but I couldn't bring myself to assert my authority over Sanders by beating him to a pulp either and since he technically had a higher rank, I didn't see how I could take command without help. Another officer would have been ideal, but so far I'd only met Davis, and he was firmly wedged in Sanders' butt crack. I wasn't sure how much of that was loyalty and how much was an attempt to stop himself being Charlie's next victim, but it came to the same thing as far as I was concerned: no help from that section.

At the minute, I didn't know enough about the camp, its commander or its inmates to take it away from Sanders. The men I'd met so far might back me, but only if I could guarantee Sanders wouldn't throw them straight to Charlie for the privilege. BA would certainly support me; the hard part was going to be convincing him that he wasn't an army in his own right and stopping him from taking action accordingly.

Sending Sanders to Charlie...no. No, because even if I could bring myself to sell someone out, if I did that to him, it would be too easy to do it to someone else. I wasn't going down that route, no matter how odious the man was.

The worst part was that I still didn't want to take command of this place. I'd do it, of course, because the men here needed a good officer (or at the very least, one who wouldn't send them along to the very people he was supposed to be protecting them from) but I was a little younger than I am now, and I still thought that maybe I could talk some sense into Sanders.

A shadow fell across me, and I glanced up, coming face to face with the same guy I'd noticed earlier, the one with the baseball cap.

"Yes?"

"Captain Murdock. You sent for me, colonel."

It wasn't a question, and the unspoken 'why' hung in the air between us. I have to say, I was surprised; not only was Murdock younger than I'd expected (I pegged him in his mid-twenties) but he didn't seem to fit the normal officer stereotype.

"Yeah, I did. C'mon in, take a seat."

He obeyed, perching on the edge of the spare cot and studying me curiously. He neither respected nor disrespected me at that moment, because he didn't know me. I was just a faceless officer.

And I liked that. I liked that he wasn't going to agree blindly with everything I said and/or thought, just because I outranked him. He reminded me of myself at that age...and at this age, come to think of it.

The other thing I got instantly was his intelligence. That was harder to pin down...just something in the eyes, something in his face told anyone looking at him that this kid was smart. Certainly far smarter than Sanders. Maybe even smarter than me.

He was also nursing a nasty looking cut on one cheekbone. Blood had seeped out of it, turning his entire cheek red, and I could see a burn across his forehead.

"Are you okay? I mean are you up to talking?"

Murdock shrugged. "I'd only talk to the other guys if I wasn't here. Since you summoned me, I figured I may as well talk to you."

"I'm flattered, captain. Alright then, let's talk. Tell me about Sanders."

I could see him weighing that one up, weighing me up, trying to decide whose side I was on. I didn't say anything, just let him make his mind up. Eventually he decided to opt for neutrality.

"Full colonel, belongs to the—"

I held up a hand, cutting him off. "I don't want his military record, captain. I just want to know if it's true he's been using Charlie to settle his own personal vendettas."

There was no hesitation as he answered, "A lot of people in this camp seem to think so, sir."

The political answer made me smile. "You don't trust me, do you, Murdock?"

He looked me straight in the eyes and said without a trace of embarrassment, "Not really, sir, no. I mean, I only just met you."

My smile became a grin. I was liking this guy more and more. I'm one of those rare people who prefers brutal honesty to tact and evasion.

"Good answer," I told him. "Now let's see if you can give me another one: does Sanders turn Charlie on people who upset him? Because I knocked out two of his teeth earlier, then I insulted him and put him in an armlock, and I'd really like to know if I'm gonna be next on his hit list."

Murdock sat up a little straighter, looking at me with new interest, and I could tell I'd just gone up in his estimation from Faceless Colonel to Potential CO.

"What, you punched Sanders in the face?"

"Yeah. That was after he told me it was a good idea to sic Charlie on anyone who was too busy trying to survive this place to salute me every time I blinked. So I'll ask you again for the last time, captain—" I put just a hint of military authority into my voice— "is it true that he uses Charlie to settle personal vendettas?"

Murdock relaxed a little. "Kinda hard to say, colonel. I mean, he don't haul us there kickin' an' screamin', but..."

"But?" I prompted.

"It just...it happens too often for it to be a coincidence. Especially to me." There was no resentment in his voice; he was stating a fact. "Maybe to you too, if you punched him."

"You didn't?" I found that hard to believe; while Murdock didn't seem as violent as BA, he didn't strike me as the squeamish type either.

"Nah. Davis stopped me. He said he'd been ordered to stop me whalin' on Sanders, and I felt kinda sorry for him. If I hadn't let him stop me, he'da been sent to Charlie with me. He ain't much good at his job an' he can't think much beyond what his superiors tell him to think, but I don't got a problem with him."

So even being loyal to Sanders wasn't enough to keep you safe, I thought grimly. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have just locked his arm; I'd have broken it.

"Is Sanders a traitor?"

Murdock shook his head. "Nah. That's the one thing he ain't, whatever his other faults."

I frowned as I considered this. "So why should Charlie listen to him? He might be a colonel, but he's still just a POW."

He shrugged. "Charlie likes to torture POWs. He picks 'em at random, but if a high-rankin' officer starts tellin' him which might be the best guy to talk to, well, might as well torture him as well. An' nobody's ever seen Sanders talkin' to Charlie, but like I said, people who upset him always get picked before the day's out."

"So he is a traitor, then."

Murdock grinned, although there was no humor in it. "He's a guy havin' a nervous breakdown is what he is, colonel. He can't cope with the pressure of runnin' this camp, he can't cope with Charlie breathin' down his neck, he can't cope with not bein' able to cope..." He shrugged. "Somethin' was bound to give sooner or later. Just a shame it was his mind."

I didn't say anything. Despite Murdock's words, a soldier who sold out their own men for any reason was a traitor as far as I was concerned.

"How many officers are there?"

"Five, including you and me."

I ran through the list of officers I'd already met and frowned when it stopped at four.

"Who's the fifth?"

"Lieutenant Angel. Navy. An' if you thought Sanders was scum, colonel, you jus' wait until you meet that guy. Sanders sends people to Charlie 'cause he got no idea how else he's supposed to keep discipline. Angel sells 'em out in exchange for a hot meal."

The mention of food made my stomach growl. "Yeah, what happens with food around here?"

Murdock's lips quirked in a grim smile. "We get it. Sometimes. When they can be bothered to remember, an' if we're real lucky, they might forget to spit on it first. No plates though; you eat out your hands or off the ground."

I couldn't tell if he was kidding or being serious. Neither would have surprised me.

"Sanders said BA threw a piece of chicken at him." I'd wondered about that ever since I heard it; chicken may not sound like much, but it was pretty luxurious fare for a POW camp.

Murdock grinned. "Yeah, he got that from Angel. Charlie gives him food for names an' information, like I said. Sometimes he eats in the camp commander's HQ, an' sometimes he likes to eat out here. Chicken, almonds, rice, vegetables...guy's got a real mean streak."

"Why'd he throw chicken at him?" Knowing BA as I did, I'd expected him to throw a punch.

Murdock shrugged. "Well, there wasn't any meat left on it, jus' the bone. He got a little mad 'cause Angel was makin' such a fuss 'bout eatin' it in fronta everyone an' Sanders wasn't doin' anything."

My stomach gurgled again and Murdock's grin broadened.

"Oh yeah. You wait 'til you've been here a few weeks, colonel. You're sittin' or lyin' around and you smell that hot, savoury food, with juices, spices—"

"Captain, if you don't stop talking about food I'm gonna tell Sanders you're planning to put a snake in his bed."

"Ah, shoot, colonel. Who told you?"

I grinned. "You know, I think I like you, Murdock."

He raised his eyebrows. "Only think? Aw, that's too bad. Well, lemme know when you're sure, colonel."

I laughed. "Yeah, I'll do that. Speaking of beds, where does Sanders rest that weary little head of his at nights?"

"B Barracks, an' Davis is in D. Sanders wants at least one officer sleepin' in each billet. Says it's important in this situation to break down the barriers between officers and their men, be one of 'em, show they can trust him." Murdock didn't bother keeping the contempt out of his voice as he said these last words.

Ah. That explained Davis' confusion when I'd told him to dump Sanders in the officers' billet. It also meant I'd have to do something about the sleeping arrangements ASAP. The NCOs could bunk with them, that would just about be okay, but there's something about putting an officer in the same billet that makes men nervous. Even I couldn't change that, so I might as well accept it and work with it.

Unfortunately that only left me one option and I looked at Murdock.

"What about you? Where do you sleep?"

"Technically, A Barracks."

I was far too an experienced a soldier to fall for that and I stared hard at him. "What about non-technically?"

He shrugged. "Assumin' we don't have any new arrivals, here. The men don't want an officer sharin' their billet. They gotta have somewhere to gripe an' blame us for everythin' that goes wrong."

I glanced around the small room. It would be a tight squeeze, but I figured it was just about enough.

"Anyone using this room besides you?"

Murdock shook his head. "Nah. They used to lock people up here, 'til one guy busted his way out. They beat nine kindsa hell outta him, but never bothered to fix the door. It sorta closes, but don't expect to lock it."

"Right." I got to my feet and paced around the walls, examining the room more closely. It wasn't the Ritz, but it'd do for what I needed. "I got some bad news for you, Murdock."

"Yeah?" He didn't look too concerned. I guess he thought whatever I was about to say couldn't make the situation any worse than it was already. "What's that?"

"You just got yourself some roomies. I'm moving all the officers in here. You, me, Davis, Sanders and this Angel guy, wherever he is."

"Me an' Sanders?" Murdock shot to his feet. From his expression, you'd think I wanted him to jerk me off. "I ain't sharin' with that scum!"

I rose to mine, staring him down. "You'll share with whoever I tell you to share with, captain. If it's any consolation, I'm not exactly happy about bunking down with him either."

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but after a few seconds he seemed to decide it wasn't worth arguing with me and looked away.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay, colonel. I understand. But I wouldn't bring Angel in here. It's bad enough you're bringin' one collaborator into this billet, but two? An' that's another thing; Sanders hates you an' technically he outranks you. If he don't wanna come in here, what're you gonna do? Punch him again an' drag him inside by his ankles?"

The idea did hold a certain appeal, I had to admit. Maybe BA could...no. No, better resist temptation, at least for the minute.

"Alright. But I can get Davis in here."

"Uh huh." Murdock still looked skeptical. "You order him in here, an' Sanders orders him to stay where he is. Who d'you think he's gonna obey? You, or the higher ranking officer who don't have a problem sendin' him along to Charlie if he don't toe the line?"

I sat down again, deep in thought. Sanders was clearly the biggest problem, bigger even than the VC. If I couldn't find a way of dealing with him, things would just keep going from bad to worse here.

I glanced up at Murdock. "When you were with Charlie, did you see another guy in there? Big, black, mohawk?"

Murdock raised his eyebrows, then took a deep breath.

"You dead, sucker! I see you again, I'm gonna kill you!"

It was such a good imitation of BA's voice that I had to smile. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Well, I didn't see him, colonel, but I sure heard him. Ain't nothin' wrong with his lungs, whatever else Charlie's been doin' to him. He don't strike me as the kinda guy who breaks easy."

That was certainly true. The entire US Army hadn't been able to break BA, so I doubted a couple of Viet Cong would manage it.

The problem was that I didn't have time for them to try. Things were quiet at the minute, but I didn't think Sanders was going to just roll over and give in, not after I'd humiliated him so publicly...twice. I still didn't know whether I could count on Murdock, which only left me BA.

I glanced through the open door at the camp commander's HQ and felt my hand curl slowly into a fist.

The hell with Charlie and Sanders; if BA wasn't out by tomorrow, I'd go in there and get him myself.

Okay, that's it for now :) Hope you liked it and if you read, please review!

AN: On the subject of reviews, I can see half a dozen people leaping down my throat saying, "Hey, Murdock's not like that, he's supposed to be nuts!" Well, yeah, I know, but this is before he loses it, when he's still sane XD