heart flutters as she realizes she is not cut on her hand. Dawson did not notice any blood on the unconscious man, so it has to be from the cut on her back. While moving around, blood from the wound must have dripped somewhere and then she unwittingly placed her hand in it.

       Shit, did I leave a trail of it from the compartment door?

      Then, without having time to worry about the possible repercussions, an overhead light is switched on in the row.

      “Are we awake yet, Sergeant Kaley?” the man asks eagerly.

      The prisoner, Kaley, mutters something indiscernible.

      The man looming over Kaley leans down and places his hands on his knees. “I’m having trouble understanding you, Sergeant, what did you say?” he asks, clearly enjoying the unfavorable position Sergeant Kaley finds himself in.

      There is a pause that seems to last forever as Dawson continues to hold her breath. Suddenly, she hears a dull thud, and the man hovering over Kaley is rocked backward into the row of seats in front of them, the man’s feet nearly coming out from under him.

      Dawson sees several drops of blood fall to the ground and she briefly thinks how perfectly serendipitous this is for her situation. If she has to guess, she thinks the man’s face met Sergeant Kaley’s head fairly flush.

      “I said ‘I’m awake,’ Ruethorn,” Kaley grumbles.

      With a roar, Ruethorn launches himself at Kaley. An instant later, Dawson hears what appears to be the sound of Kaley on the receiving end of several sharp blows, one roundhouse after another, as the seat above her wobbles back and forth like a heavy bag. She grimaces as she hears the helpless grunting of Kaley after each punch.

      How brave this Ruethorn must be to conduct target practice on a man who cannot fight back, she sarcastically thinks. Well, at least not with his arms.

      Dawson’s first instinct is to help the defenseless Kaley and before her mind can rationalize the dire consequences for both of them if she is captured too, she reaches out with her knife towards Ruethorn. Ironically, it is Colonel Fizer who stops her from committing a grave mistake.

      “Sergeant Ruethorn!” Fizer shouts, causing Dawson to suddenly jerk the knife back.

      Fizer charges down the aisle towards them, but not before Ruethorn lands one more punch.

      “That’s enough, Sergeant,” Fizer chides, although he sounds almost amused, like a parent gently disapproving of their child grabbing one last cookie from the jar.

      Ruethorn straightens up and smoothes out his uniform, breathing heavily from his retaliatory outburst at the prisoner.

      “Good to see you’re awake, Sergeant Kaley,” Fizer says somberly. “You could become a very valuable bargaining chip in case your professor friend tries to be a hero. Otherwise, I would have put a bullet in your head and you’d be getting packaged at the fertilizer factory. But for now, we’re going to at least need you to be . . . alive.”

      Fizer and Ruethorn both smirk at the comment. “You obviously remember Sergeant Major Ruethorn,” Fizer adds.

      There is silence, and then Dawson hears Kaley mumble, as if he has marbles in his mouth, “Not fondly.”

      A moment later, Kaley spits a mouthful of blood at their feet.

      “No, I wouldn’t expect so,” Fizer concurs.

      “I’m really sorry about your uncle, Kaley,” Ruethorn says, dripping in fake sincerity, “but you have to admit, he did go out like a pussy.”

      There are a few moments of silence before Kaley finally responds, “At least he sent your whole squad to hell, Sergeant, and . .”

      Kaley chuckles “. . it looks like that is going to leave a nasty scar.”

      Dawson cannot see what Kaley is referring to, but a moment later the seat jolts backward, causing her to nearly cry out. The seat rocks back and forth several times, with Kaley once again on the receiving end of another blow.

      Dawson grits her teeth, this time not in pain but in anger, wanting to leap out and at least attempt to make it a fair fight. But whatever element of surprise she may have on her side, her position is precarious at best. With Fizer and Ruethorn owning the higher ground, the odds are firmly stacked against her. She does not like it, but she remains in place for the time being.

      Fizer appears to lean down, similar to the dangerous position Ruethorn placed himself in moments earlier. She wonders if Kaley will have the same response.

      “If you would have followed orders, Sergeant Kaley,” Fizer says coldly, “your uncle would still be alive, and you . .”

      Fizer trails off, pauses, and then continues, his tone one of disappointment, “You’d be back at Evans rehabilitating your . . reputation, becoming a good soldier again.”

      Fizer shakes his head in exasperation and orders Ruethorn, “Cuff him to the armrest, I don’t want him roaming around in flight.”

      Ruethorn bends down and unlocks one of Kaley’s handcuffs and attaches it to the armrest. While doing this, he whispers matter-of-factly to Kaley, “I just want you to know it’s going to be me who does it. You might see it coming, you might not, but I’m punching your ticket, do you understand?”

      Dawson does not hear Kaley respond. Ruethorn shuts off the overhead light while Fizer tosses a handkerchief to Kaley and tells him to clean up. Fizer and Ruethorn walk back towards the front of the plane. Ruethorn snidely remarks over his shoulder, “Stay sharp, Sergeant.”

      Dawson hears a muffled conversation at the front of the plane, followed by several minutes of silence. After waiting a couple more minutes to pass, Dawson taps on one of Kaley’s feet, trying not to startle him. A moment later, Kaley leans down in his seat and looks upside down at her, his face a bloody mess from Ruethorn’s beating.

      “I didn’t think I imagined you,” he whispers, a slight smile crossing his face. “When’s the drink cart coming around?”

      Despite the situation, Dawson allows herself to return the smile, but only briefly. She pulls herself out from under the seat and leans in close to whisper.

      “Are you okay?” she asks, concerned. “You look like . .”

      “A pile of horseshit?” he offers.

      “Not the exact words I’d use, but close,” she replies. “I’m Second Lieutenant Julianna Dawson,” she adds.

      “Well, hello Second Lieutenant Julianna Dawson, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Sergeant-”

      “Kaley,” she finishes. “Yeah, I know, I got that.”

      “Good. Now you want to tell me why the hell you’re on this plane?” he asks, gently dabbing the handkerchief on his nose and mouth, which look like they have recently been placed in a meat grinder.

      “It’s a long story,” she explains. “I was assigned by General Theodore Parker to be a liaison between him and Colonel Fizer at Evans. Well, Fizer decided to skip town and I caught the redeye with him,” she says, motioning around. “You?”

      “It’s an even longer story,” Kaley responds, wincing at a particularly tender spot on his face. “I was on duty at Evans last night and-”