Mitchell blinked the rain from his eyes and wondered if Fang would drop the sword.

Fang was no doubt wondering why Mitchell hadn't already fired. He'd find out in a second.

Slowly, Mitchell got to his feet, as Fang held his ground, his chest rising and falling, his mouth twisting as he flinched from his chest wound.

Holding his rifle in one hand, Mitchell ripped off his balaclava, shoved it into his pocket, and stepped toward Fang, whose eyes widened in shock.

"You . . . you are Mitchell. Master Sergeant Mitchell," Fang said in English. He was unaware of Mitchell's promotions since then, unaware of so much.

"That's right," Mitchell answered. "Let's talk before I put a bullet in your head."

"You will never have that pleasure."

In a blur of movement, Fang adjusted his grip on the sword and turned the tip on himself, ready to plunge the sword into his chest.

Mitchell fired a single round into Fang's abdomen, blood spraying as Fang twisted and fell onto his back, the sword tumbling from his grip.

As Fang turned onto his side to retrieve the sword, Mitchell splashed past him and kicked the blade out of the man's reach.

Then he set down his rifle and seized Fang by the collar, hauled him back into a sitting position.

Fang's head lolled back as he threatened to lose consciousness.

"Fang, look at me!" cried Mitchell. "Look at me."

Fang felt the blood seeping into his chest and lungs. It would not be long now. He'd wanted to deny Mitchell the satisfaction of killing him, but that wouldn't happen.

As he gazed up, past the man's shoulder, he saw eleven sweaty soldiers carrying M4A1 rifles, the rain dripping from their boonie hats.

Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Had he already died?

Fang remembered some of their names and their call signs all starting with the letter R. Rutang, Ricochet, and Rockstar stood there among the others. And there was Fang's American counterpart, Captain Victor Foyte, shaking his head and glowering at Fang.

Mitchell rose, picked up Fang's sword, and faced Fang as the other men formed a semicircle behind him. "Only Billy, Rutang, and I made it. Everyone else is dead. Did you know that? Do you care? You should have been a politician--because you're not a soldier. We're all brothers in arms no matter where we come from. But you don't get that."

The other eleven men pushed past Mitchell and came toward Fang. The rain began washing the skin from their faces, leaving grinning skulls and bulging eyes. They opened their mouths and shrieked, the noise sending shock waves through Fang's body. He closed his eyes and screamed against them. No! I didn't mean for it to come to this! We would not be pawns. We were soldiers! I am a soldier!