BA stared after Hannibal as the darkness swallowed him up. He wanted to go after him, but knew that would be futile. Instead he stumbled around the suddenly depleted campsite and dropped to sit by the fire.

Oh god, this was real. The team was finished. His fault. He'd lost control and used his fists on a friend. Of course Hannibal wouldn't stay after that. What else could be believe but that their friendship was dead.

He dropped his head into his hands. Now what did he do? Follow one of them? Stay here? Maybe Face was sulking. So maybe he would come back here. And if he came back and they were both gone? No, BA couldn't do that to him. So he would stay. For a few days at least and pray that they both came back and worked this out.

If they didn't come back, then he was on his own. On his own out here in the wilderness, in the dark with the coyotes and the mountain lions and the bears. And not that he was scared of that or anything, but right now he would really like to see his mother.

A sound at his side made him look up. Billy trotted over, carrying something in his mouth. He sat down and dropped the dog tags BA had thrown away. BA wanted to laugh at that, because Billy had such a pleased air about him. But he just reached out and scratched the dog behind the ear.

"Guess I ain't totally alone, little fella. You'll keep them bears from eatin' me, huh?"

He let Billy lie down with his head on BA's knee and BA sat, stroking the dog and staring into the slowly dying fire.

He didn't pick up the dog tags.

~o~

I'm better off without them, Hannibal thought, as he poked the fire he'd built. He'd walked for a couple of hours, then the tiredness surfaced as the adrenaline and anger faded.

He felt guilty at once for his thought, but couldn't take it back. Face and BA, they were... a burden. No sense in denying it. They both attracted trouble wherever they went. They attracted it just by showing up; Face with his smile and BA with his scowl. Hannibal cared for them, as friends, as brothers-in-arms, but this was the best way. Each man should make his own way. His own luck.

He'd done his best for them. After their arrest he'd insisted the pair of them had acted under his orders in the bank robbery, but the Army hadn't listened. He protected them by deciding to escape from Fort Bragg. Not just from the obvious dangers, but because Hannibal felt sure they were all targets in there. That prisoners and guards alike would try to destroy the team's bond. Under orders? To get one of them to turn on the others? Maybe.

So he brought them out here, where he believed he could keep them safe. He knew how to live out here - live, not just survive - and he thought he could teach them. He thought it would give him the breathing space and a clear head to make his plans.

But he let himself become too comfortable, because he liked it out here. Face and BA felt differently and he hadn't seen that. He hadn't realised how much the isolation was getting to them. Perhaps if he'd spotted their unhappiness sooner he could have done something about it. But it was too late now.

And their minds had been working too. While Hannibal had been planning their next move, they had something far more immediate on their minds.

We're not in the Army any more.

To Hannibal, that was bull. Of course they were in the Army. They had no discharge papers. Fugitives they might be, but still Army, subject to that discipline. And Hannibal had just gone on enforcing that discipline in the same way. It never occurred to him to do anything different. Thought all he had to do was give an order and expect them to jump.

But they finally realised that if they didn't jump, Hannibal couldn't do anything about it. No eagles on his collar to give him the authority to command men. If he wanted to command them, then he had to give them a good reason to obey. BA said Hannibal had made choices without asking them, and he was right. He wasn't used to having to ask his subordinates their opinions. At the same time he'd finally been free of the interference of his superiors. He thought that left him free to make the choices he wanted.

Wrong.

Now it was too late. Each man walked alone, more isolated than ever.

He poked his fire again. They'd both be fine. They'd probably get out of Nevada as soon as possible, head back to civilisation, where they felt more comfortable.

And almost certainly be tracked down and caught by the Army.

He winced at the thought. And what about him? He couldn't stay out here forever. Did he really think when he went back to civilisation he'd be able to evade capture too? Was that easier or harder when you were on your own? On your own you only had yourself to think of. But on the downside, you didn't have anyone to watch your back.

He shook his head. He couldn't reason this out now, he was too tired. At another time he'd have sat up all night, mind filled with all of this, trying to process it. But not now, not here. Not feeling up to erecting his tent, he just banked the fire, unrolled his sleeping bag and lay looking up at the stars.

He was still certain that he'd done the right thing coming out here.

~o~

Face walked for almost two hours, high on his own rage, feet barely making contact with the ground.

Then he fell over.

He foot landed in a rabbit hole and he crashed face first to the ground. He must not have secured the top flap of his pack properly - it burst open, sending the contents cascading over Face's shoulders and head.

Face lay for a while, spitting out every swear word he knew. After he ran out of those, he pushed himself up to his knees and took the pack off. When he set it on the ground it toppled over backwards, dumping more of his things out.

After some searching, Face managed to find his flashlight and started to gather his gear. He felt sure he could hear sniggering coming from the rabbit hole he'd fallen into. A bit of natural justice for all the rabbits Face had killed since they came out here.

Best to stop now, he decided as he collected everything up and his rage started to cool. Despite the moon and his flashlight, he could still break his neck or at least an ankle out here. He thought back to their ghost town and its old mineshafts. Too easy to wander into an area riddled with barely concealed holes.

So rest now, continue on in the light. And rest. Sleep. Not reflection. Not wondering if he'd made the wrong choice. Just rest, so that tomorrow he could go on, not back.

He was not going back.

End Part 6