Rick took their stares in stride. His firefight with the Chukuwereije rebels had brought the warlord’s men to the village, placing these women and their families in danger. These women probably didn’t consider his team different from the butchers, murderers, and slavers who had terrorized this land for hundreds of years. But they didn’t realize they would face far more prevalent danger without the presence of his men.

For weeks they had pushed the notorious warlord back, away from the remote jungle villages, back toward the industrial areas near the river. They had successfully interdicted and suppressed his intended inhumane activities, including and especially the harvesting of young boys from the villages. This particular village would have held great interest to the warlord because of the obstetrics clinic. Some women traveled for days to see Doctor Cynthia Myers, bringing their other children along with them. Young children filled the huts of expectant mothers. Many of the men in this village fished, which gave the villagers good nutrition, resulting in stronger boys—exactly what Chukuwereije looked for in his conscripted private army.

Silently, Rick and Fisher reached the center of the village. Dark windows in the hut where the doctor had worked on Sanders and Ozzy greeted them. Even so, he checked inside. Someone had spotlessly cleaned every corner and reorganized every shelf. Next door, in a long rectangular wooden building, Rick could see light. They crept over and peered through the window, inspecting the three rows of beds. Four had patients. Sanders’s black hair stood out against the white sheets. As he opened the door, Doctor Myers stepped into his path.

“Captain. Glad to see you made it back,” she said, handing a clipboard to a female nurse. “But if you wish to come inside and visit your friends, you’re going to have to leave your weapons outside.”

A dozen retorts froze on his tongue. She had already made her feelings about firearms clear. He didn’t think his responsibilities included schooling her in the realities of life, which often trumped high-minded philosophies when it came to matters of survival.

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed smoothly. “I can do that.”

He caught Fisher’s eye before he unclipped his carbine and propped it up against the outside wall. “But Doc, I don’t want you to imagine for even one second that you have the authority to keep me from seeing to my men. You don’t. Not in any country on this earth.” He slid his pistol from the holster at his chest and handed it over grip first to Fisher, who secured it in the load-bearing belt at his waist. “I’ll play nice, but it’s just playing. I hope we understand each other. I’ll just leave Fisher out here to guard our weapons against any idle curiosity.”

“This is a peaceful village. I doubt your weapons would hold any interest for long.”