Forced marches were never fun, but Cindy thought it necessary. It was unfortunate to think that the small fishing boat had been seen, but it was more than likely it had, for this base was definitely in active duty, and would be sweeping the area for any intruders if they did catch sight of their entrance. She was thinking back to briefing prior to the Burma placement, to try and recall any key mention of extremists operating in the area. This war had certainly broken many a people, and made them take up ideologies that could justify their need to lash out against, something, anything that scared them more than they already were. Cindy herself had given up hope of seeing her home again any time soon, and thought she would snap at some point. But for now, that wasn't an option. Not when you could be captured at any moment.

It was then that a pierce bang reverberated through the jungle, and made her duck reflexively. More likely a car engine giving out, it lacked the distinctive crack of a firearm. No doubt more nazis, Cindy thought wildly. To keep from blowing her cover, she slapped mud on her fatigues, and pulled leaves off a nearby buysh to add to the camo effect. After five minutes, she started to head to a clearing, towards the noise, dropping to the ground and crawling on her stomach. Stealthily, she took up a spot, and observed some men busy at work fixing their truck. Almost unreasonably, she half-expected them to be wearing the familiar, grey fatigues and falcon badges of soldiers from WW2, but wasn't surprised when they resembled a more ragtag, hastily formed militia. Most likely a splinter faction than a fully fledged military power. She observed a little longer, and then made her way back into the bushes, and made a wide circle around them. No point starting a fight you can't win.

CRACK! Without warning, Cindy felt the familiar pain of a forceful blow to the back of her head, like the one she received during a nasty bar fight in some Burmese piss hole. That was the last thing she remembered of the rifle butt to the back of her skull, before coming to tied up by her wrists, on the ground, and surrounded by the truck soldiers from before. Damn. Head wracked with pain like the morning after a heavy night out, she let out a small laugh. "That's no way to treat a lady, you know?"

"Shut up, slut," was the response from the nearest soldier, who accompanied the response with a sharp kick to the stomach, which made her grunt. "Don't say shit, or I'll blow your fucking brains out!"

"Ooh, tough guy, eh?" She was dragged to her knees, and swung a hay maker into her jaw, causing her head to snap to the side. She spit out an ever-so-slight stream of blood from her mouth, smiling with scarlet stained teeth. "Nice punch. Let me outta these ropes, and I'll show you how you really punch a girl..." She joked, winking. He lined up another punch, when his commanding officer grabbed his wrist. "She wants you to kill her, you idiot. That means she knows something. Take her weapons, and check for identification. Maybe she knows something about our little thief friend..."

He drew his pistol, and inspected her closely, lifting up her head with the barrel. "Excuse my men, they are... Unaccustomed, to seeing a woman out here such as yourself. Normally, I'd throw you to the dogs, and let them have their way with you. It's good for morale, you see?" He waved his hand to them, and a couple of the nearby ones laughed and grimaced. "But we have had some strange occurrences, lately. And your appearance seems to be too large of a coincidence. So, would you know anything about a man with a suitcase? Or who sent you? Now, choose your words wisely: I don't want you to regret any 'poor decisions' you make..." He waved the gun, and waited for her response.