[b]Mbandaka, Congo[/b]

A cloud of dust kicked up by the rubber of the jeep shot up into the high afternoon air as a drab, olive-green jeep jostled and bounced along down the long dirt road. On either side, fresh plowed and furrowed fields stretched over the hills. Young shoots of still green wheat grew in the rich dark African soil. Thick borders of ancient jungle trees and bushes built an edge between each field, separating the acres of fields like ancient palisades.

“Can you believe we could not find any ice-cream?” shouted a young exasperated woman over the sound of the turning engine and the rush of the hot afternoon air as they cut down the path. Her dark, oily black hair hung behind her neck in a tight bun. “It is all I wanted today, but no one has a ice cream parlor! It's silly, this whole place is silly. How do they expect to do anything down here without ice cream?”

“It's not our world to get upset about, bird.” Shining said smugly, his hands on the steering wheel as he navigated the jeep around pot-holes dug deep in the dirt road. Farmers with their mule-pulled carts pulled aside as the military vehicle cut passed, giving them as much room as possible without cratering the vehicle; which was not nearly enough to many.

“Well they should.” the girl snickered, puckering her caramel lips sourly, “Every one likes ice cream.”

“All th' same Lyra, hon,” replied another woman leaning back into the stiff seat of the jeep's back seat. The rest of the squad that could not get space up front lounged in the back with the mis-matched assortment of standard gear that came with borrowing the jeep, “Maybe it jus' hadn't crossed their minds.” she finished, smiling warmly up at Lyra as she stood leaning up against a top rail of the jeep.

“Oh, and haven't you ever had ice cream?” Lyra said, locking her cyprus-green eyes with her seated companion's royal blue, “It just doesn't feel right to be somewhere so hot and sticky without something cool, Applejack.”

Applejack laughed, shaking her head. Lyra's insistence and bitterness for not finding anywhere to get ice cream was obvious on her face. From her puckered frowning lips to her furrowed pencil-thin eye-brows. She was a picture in that regard, and her thin rounded chin stuck out when she was made. It was almost childish, and probably rightfully so. Of the group she was the youngest, just before their newest: Caramel or whatever Flash had named him. And probably just like him she was just about at odds with the post-war world as they could be.

But, she was also dangerous. To herself probably. Her long, thin, curved middle-eastern body would be a siren's call for most men. It wasn't made much better by her liberal dress on some casual days with the casual, low-cut tank top that fearlessly showed of her bust, or the low-cut jean pants. Between Applejack, Redheart, and Fleetfoot it was a sworn mission to keep her safe. They were all family, and she was their sister, their daughter.

“I know how hot that want can be, sugah', but it's no reason to get mad. There's other ways to cool off.” Applejack smiled, “Back in Mississippi we just closed up for the day when it got like this and took a nap with the air on.”

Lyra snorted hotly, turning away from her to look back down the road. She was mad, but she'd get over it soon enough. Applejack rolled her blue eyes before returning to what she had left sitting on her lap. The dim screen of a tablet on her lap lay on her legs with a half-written message for home. In the sun much of the screen's light lost vibrancy in competing with the reflections that instead shone in the plastic. AJ's face looked down at her faded letter. Her dirty, golden hair. White sun-kissed face and fading chocolate freckles. Bright red lips. She wondered why she had the nickname she did, then again she wondered why any of them had these names. She was hardly familiar with the source, and the progenitors of them were tight-lipped enough to keep it from being known. Maybe it was their joke, their squad's joke. Something to do to deal with the world post-war, however it dealt with it.

As the jeep took a gentle sweeping turn passed a field of fledgling corn a bank of towering trees came to the fore-front view. Green moss and a thick crown of leaves branched and fanned out into the sky as thick vines wrapped up the trunks to fall in drapes from the branches. Beyond the net of vegetation the sparkling of the shine of the Tshuapa river shone in the afternoon sun. Slivers of silver on rusted and muddy brown water, flowing gently down and around the bend as it sought its convergence with the mighty Congo.

The jeep rolled to a gentle stop as they made the sandy, dusted bank before the trees. The rocks popping softly under the tires as it gently softened. The grass brushed along the frame as it drew to a stop at the edge of the road. The engine idling in pause before cutting out abruptly.

From the back, boots buffeted on the bed of the utility vehicle as the rest of the crew jumped to their feet and hit the ground. “So you ready, banana bender?” Shining Armor smiled as he pulled himself from the driver's seat, squinting against the sun, even though a pair of soft blue sunglasses.

“'ey'v been shootin' wild dogs in t'e outback for sixteen years, mate.” Soarin jeered as he jumped from the bed, the two cases Shining had brought slung under his arm, “Longe' than you've been shootin' skeets, mate. Y'know what I'm sayin' y'e co'nish pooftah.”

“And you're not on recon.” Shining argued back with a smarmy grin, “Mac, you got the bloody discs.”

“Damn straight.” Mac grunted, hoisting a large box over his shoulder, “Let's get started, before someone gets upset. Someone may have left a stove on too.” he added with a sarcastic smile.

“Bloody brilliant, you're going to try and be funny?” Shining said, annoyed, “Let's just get this down in the river and burn time.”

“And before we fucking melt.” Redheart protested loudly as she stretched on the rear bed. Once bound hair hung in short strands of dulled red-orange. Chance had given her time to change, and under a fatigue vest the straps of a dull silver-blue bathing suit ran up her shoulders. She hadn't given up the sunglasses. “Also can you boys shoot down river, last thing I want to find is one of Armor's cigarettes or a dead bird Soarin picks to shoot.”

“Though you would like those, love.” Shining teased as he took one of the long black rifle cases from Soarin. The Australian kept his mouth shut, laughing as he shook his head instead. Readjusting his battered bush hat he headed off through the trees.

Caramel stood back and watched distantly as the squad got their things together. Half-hearted teases were thrown between each other, more loudly between Soarin and Shining as they blazed the trail through the thick tropical undergrowth to the river. Flash Sentry followed alongside Big Mac with his box of clay pigeons.

There was a brotherliness, something that had brought him in when he found nothing like it back home in Honduras. When he returned lost and beaten.

“[i]Monsieur Latino[/i].” spoke up a voice, bringing Caramel to jump. His heart skipped a beat violently in his chest as he spun on his boots. His hand twitched to a gun that wasn't there. “Are you going to join them?” said the man as he turned to face the voice.

“I-” Caramel started, finding himself staring up at a tall, slender built man before him. The imposing figure had to be at least almost a head and a half taller, and he looked down at Caramel with a distant, expressionless stare. Dancing between his fingers bright flashes of silver glinted as he danced a thin metal-cassed cellphone between his long boney fingers.

“I, was going to...” started Caramel nervously, lowering his hand. He still shook as his heart still beat. The man before him continued to regard him with that same distant, passive stare. Sharp brown eyes scanned him from head to feet. His long mouth frowned in distaste for the young soldier.

He himself didn't look like one either. Though he had seen him around the base, and he had come in with Lyra and Braeburn from town. He wore a soft, off-purple vest over top a white dress shirt, the sleeves had been rolled up passed his elbows. In his long dress pants and short-cut, combed back hair he didn't come off as a man who had lived an entire life on the battlefield.

“...You're Elusive, right?” Caramel asked.

“Oui.” Elusive responded, scratching his squared off chin. “And you are Caramel. We going to the river?”

“Yea, yea...” Caramel started nervously, turning away and heading for the river. Sticks and dried leaves cracked under his foot as he moved along. Elusive close behind.

“So where are you from, ami?” Elusive said, starting casual conversation as they bowed under a low branch. On the river front Shining and Soarin were setting up. The gun cases had been cast aside and each held in their hands long sleek black rifles. They checked over the actions and the bolts, looking down the sights and checking the range.

“Honduras...” Caramel replied uneasily at the conversation striking up.

“I read that when you came into the group.” Elusive groaned. His French accent was thick, and it only grew with the annoyance, “Where from Honduras?”

“Why do you want to know?” Caramel asked defensively, turning on the towering French man. Mid way under a crooked twisted branch.

He glared at him disapprovingly, a deepening frown defining his expression. “Because I'm trying to be friendly.” he said coarsely, “And if anything happens I can write family.”

“I don't have any family anymore.” Caramel choked, “There's no one to write, no one to send me back to if anything happens.”

“Fair enough.” the Frenchman grumbled as they continued on, stepping out onto the hard-packed clay shore of the river. The loud crack of rifle fire heralded that Soarin and Shining's shooting had begun. The cracking, thundering shot made Caramel fidget as he turned to them.

“Ri'ought, let's start!” he heard Shining cheer.

“You're tense.” Elusive observed with a still voice.

“No, no I'm not.” Caramel started defensively. Elusive saw differently as he looked on the young man. His foot was kept planted in the clay, and the way he carried his weight suggested he was about to drop for cover. He could even hear his breath, stressed and cautious over the splashing of the water as the girls took to the water.

“When was the last time you visited le médecin?” asked Elusive.

“The what?” the boy replied aggressively.

Elusive nodded slowly, holding out a hand he took him by the shoulders and gently turned him from Shining and the rest. The Latino took it roughly, with a violent throw of the arm he threw off his comrade's hand. “What!?” he shouted.

“Let's sit down.” Elusive invited, “Watch the girls.” he added, walking to a crumbling log high on the river bank.

“Why?” spat Caramel. He felt hot inside. Mad almost. Why he was being prodded by a member of the squad that had not taken to introduce himself now was beyond his imagination.

“Because we have some matters to discuss.” Elusive said with a cracking voice, walking over to the log. “And you don't like the [i]figure les femme[/i]?”

“I'm sorry I don't speak French...” Caramel said nervously.

“[i]Las mujeres.[/i]” Elusive corrected, in a form of Spanish that was heavy in French style. Sitting down on the log he drummed the metal case of the cellphone against his knee, watching him and waiting.

Caramel's repulsion for the Frenchman was enough for him to hesitate, but looking between the separated groups he suddenly felt he had no where else to be. On one side of the river, the loud reports of rifle fire echoed over the river as pigeons were thrown and exploded in a flower of shrapnel as the Australian and Englishman traded shoot on air born targets. On the other, a group what was best to not get into as advice went.

Feeling lost got the better of him, and he stiffly walked over to the log and sat himself down the edge.

“Tell you a dirty little secret about myself,” Elusive grinned as he rummaged through the front pocket of his vest. He looked off to the girls swimming in the river only a few yards off. Operatives Applejack and Fleetfoot had taken to the refreshing water like young girls, having already started an energetically war with splashing each other. Applejack had hardly changed into a formal swimsuit outside of the appropriate bottom half, and had kept the uniform jacket on; of which was already clearly soaked from a distance. Fleetfoot on the other hand wore some single-color, blue one piece that hugged against her small features. Redheart had already swam off mid-way into the river, where she kept herself floating against the current, and Lyra sat perched on the trunk of a tree that had half fallen over the river, merely kicking at the surface of the water below her.

“What is it then?” asked Caramel.

Elusive grinned down at him as he pulled an unlit cigarette from his pocket. Biting down onto it he smiled as she stared off into the river, not lighting his smoke. “First thing first, tell me when you last saw the psychiatrist, ami.”

“Why would that matter?” Caramel spat defensively, “Why does the shrink matter at all!?”

“It does, do you want to hear it?”

Caramel bit his lip, drumming his fingers against his knee. A heavy sigh passed through his nostrils as he shook his head. “Alright, alright.” he said, defeated, “A few months ago, when I wan my exams.”

“They probably didn't tell you your profile then.” Elusive nodded as he rose his cellphone.

“No, they didn't.” Caramel nodded, looking out at the girls in the river. He felt too annoyed to feel anything in it, but they were there. And they looked better than Elusive.

“Right.” the Frenchman nodded, “Well, I used to live outside of Nice.” he started, “Before I moved to Toulouse.

“Anyways, when I was [i]le enfant[/i] I would visit my grandparents in this small city named Menton, you heard of it?” he asked.

“No, I haven't.” Caramel said flatly, watching Lyra kick her feet over the water, smiling and laughing as AJ and Fleetfoot splashed up river water into each other's face.

“They called in [i]la perle de la France[/i].” Elusive continued, “But my grandparents had a small farmhouse on the east side of city, just outside. Close to the border with Italy. We would go there every weekend and visit them.”

“Where's this leading to?” asked Caramel.

“I'm getting there.” Elusive laughed, “On this visits I would sneak out every Sunday while my parents and grandparents went to church. I was never a very religious kid, and Catholic mass was too long. But long enough for other things.

“When they went, I would steal out towards the Italian border, with my grandfather's binoculars under my arm.

“This was before the Union went to Hell, and the border was as open as the air we breath. No one cared.

“But as it was, there was a nude beach not too far, and I would go there and be back watching les femmes bathe in the sun. And my elders were never the wiser!” he laughed.

Caramel lowered his head, laughing softly. “So how is that relevant.”

“How is it not.” Elusive remarked coyly, raising his hand – and cellphone – to the girls in the river.

Caramel looked out at them confused. They were girls, and they were young. And they were presumably watching them. But none were topless, to Caramel's subconscious distress. He was about to ask Elusive why this was relevant, until he noticed the light in the cellphone's screen, and the faint message in it.

“What'd you do?” he asked, looking into the glow of the cellphone.

“As the communication's officer and long standing request of le capitain, I am here to keep us running smoothly.” Elusive said, dryly, professionally, “My friend, I got you the first of hopefully many regular psychiatric appointments for tomorrow afternoon.”

Standing up he looked down into Caramel's beat red, confused and angry face, “Le Armie takes our psychological health strongly,” he added, “You will be there, or le docteur Lieughen will find you. And he finds everyone.

“Have a good day.” he said, bowing out as he walked to the shooting match, brushing debris and rotting wood chips from the back of his pants.