The blow sent Mitchell's head jerking to one side, and he literally saw stars for a moment before he sat up, blinking hard, checking his head for blood. He should've been cut badly but wasn't.

Meanwhile, Fang turned back toward his man, raising the sword over his head.

Yano raced in to try to block Fang, but the rest of the Taiwanese team rushed to intercept, seizing him and beginning to drag him away.

That's when an all-out brawl erupted, guys shouting, fists coming down while above the choppers swooped in, pivoted, and made their final descents.

Mitchell rose, started toward Fang, screaming his name.

Fang spun back, lowering the sword to make his thrust toward Mitchell's chest.

Still dizzy from the blow to his head, Mitchell tried to grab the sword before it dug into his abdomen, but the metal slid through his sweaty fingers, and the sharpened tips penetrated his flesh. He gasped and groaned as Fang was ripped away by Yano, who had freed himself and now drove the man to the ground, straddling Fang.

Mitchell stood there, blood dripping from his chest, the wound resembling an odd pattern of lines. "Captain Fang," he shouted. "You're a coward!"

The chopper crews rushed forward, weapons drawn, just as a third chopper landed.

Between the roar of engines and the hollering men, Mitchell couldn't hear anything, save for a single voice in his head repeating three simple words: Oh my God.

One of the Filipino medics came over to Mitchell, lifted his voice above the din. "Let me see that wound, Sergeant."

"What?"

"Your wound."

"Oh, it doesn't feel that deep."

"Deep enough for a good scar, though."

Mitchell shrugged and pushed past the medic, watching as the COs from all three teams began shouting and breaking up the riot. It was a scene unlike anything Mitchell had ever witnessed in his military career. But then again, none of them had ever hiked through this little corner of hell.

Fang's CO, a stout, hard-faced major named Liang, began reprimanding him, then raised his voice even more and slapped Fang in the face--in front of all the men. Liang then seized Fang by the back of the neck and escorted him toward the chopper.

Fang's gaze met Mitchell's for just a second, and all Mitchell could do was shake his head in disgust.

After being flown back to the outskirts of Isabella City, where Camp Iron Horse was located, Mitchell, Rutang, and Billy were transferred to the field hospital, and by morning, all three were lying in beds, patched up and drugged up, scheduled to be shipped back to the States within forty-eight hours.

"I just don't believe what that guy did," said Rutang.

Mitchell sighed and rubbed his still-swollen head. "You've said that three times. Said it three different ways."

"You're not surprised?"

"There's more to it than we know."