Dorjan awoke early the next morning disoriented and confused by his surroundings. Instinctively his right hand closed around the rubberised grips of the SOCOM semi-automatic pistol still holstered on his right thigh. The last thing he remembered was listening to the sounds of hundreds of insects. Now the insect noise was gone, as were the stars. The high window, which ran along the far wall, now showed the scattered luminous streaks of dawn in their place. Maybe six in the morning he thought, and already it was hot. He lifted his arm up and glanced at his watch. Ten past six, Sunday morning. This early in the morning he was sure most people would either still be asleep after a heavy night, or awake getting ready to go to early morning mass, before the heat of the day made travelling a chore.

Finally remembering where he was he threw back the crumpled sheet and sat up to inspect his surroundings. Scattered throughout the room were sixteen double bunk beds, facing each other across a narrow corridor, with simple iron frames, thin striped mattresses and old Army footlockers. There was a closed off area at the far end of the room, which he guessed was the bathroom and showers. Apart from that the whole floor was just one big open space.

Removing his web belt and holster, he laid them atop the thin mattress next to his watch. Then, with the SOCOM now slipped under the waistband of his fatigue pants at the small of his back, and with his shirt balled up in his fist, Dorjan made his way toward the bathroom. Rennick and Stoner, who were in the bunks closest to the one he had used, were still in a deep sleep. They had both remained fully clothed, Stoner still with his boots on. Both were sprawled out and inert, snoring half-heartedly.

He quickly stripped off his fatigues, placing them on a small purpose built bench, with the pistol resting on top of them and turned on the water. He set the shower going warm until he had soaped off all the sweat and dirt from his body, before flicking it to cold to wake himself up. The cold water was nearly as warm as the hot water had been. As he showered he could imagine the water pumping up from the sun-baked earth, picking up heat as it went. Stepping out of the shower he filled a nearby sink with water and soaked his clothes. It was an old trick that he had learnt in the jungles of South America from sentries on the midday watch. If you dress in wet or damp clothes, you've got your own personal and portable air conditioner that would keep you cool until the clothes dried out. He dressed in the clammy clothes, with the cotton snagging against his skin, and headed out to his bunk. After cinching the web belt around his waist, and re-holstering his weapon, Dorjan made his way down the stairs and outside into the already stifling dawn heat. Overhead the sky was arching purple as the sun slowly rose over the horizon ahead of him. There was no trace of clouds in the sky but something in the air gave him the impression that a storm was approaching. The dust under his feet was still hot from the previous day, and rose in tiny clouds with each step.

By the time he had reached the far corner of the bunkhouse Dorjan's face was slick with perspiration. Even though it was only six-thirty A.M. He estimated that the temperature had already risen to be in the low to mid eighties. He could hear no sound at all. It was as if the early morning heat had stunned the place. He was suddenly curious about the horses he had heard prior to going to sleep. Curious as to whether they stood up or lay down to sleep. Ducking his head, he stepped in through the big double doors of the stable and found his answer straight away. They were sleeping standing up, heads bowed and knees locked against their weight. A grey mare in the stall closest to the barn entrance must have smelt his approach and opened an eye, looked at him blankly before moving her right foot listlessly and closing her eye again.

Being careful not to get to close to the rear legs of the horses, Dorjan gave the barn a cursory inspection before stepping back into the blazing heat and making his way along a well-worn path towards the back of the homestead. The house itself appeared to be the main residence in a compound that consisted of four impressive buildings. There was no activity to be seen when he peered into the house through what turned out to be the kitchen window. With his hand resting on the pistol grip of the SOCOM he walked on toward the gravel road that led to the front of the house.

As he started along the gravel roadway he heard the front door of the homestead opening behind him and, with the pistol in his right hand, he turned to see a young woman stepping out onto the porch. Standing at about five foot four in height she was wearing a thin white t-shirt that did little to hide her ample cleavage, tight blue jeans seemed to accentuate the curves of her legs and a blue baseball cap that she had turned backwards so the peak was protecting her neck. She was carrying a rifle slung over her left shoulder, whilst her right closed the holster flap over the pistol that rode on her right hip.

With the door now closed, she turned on her heels and started toward the porch steps. When she saw Dorjan standing there, the big forty-five calibre semi-automatic pointed unwaveringly in her direction, she stopped, unslung the rifle, lowered it and leant it against the porch railing. This done she took a casual step backwards, being careful to keep her hands well clear of the holstered pistol. Dorjan watched from the base of the stairs, his eyes flicking between the numerous lower floor windows, until she had lowered the rifle before steeping onto the porch. With his own pistol now holstered, he picked up the rifle and, after a quick glance, slung it over his shoulder. The rifle was a customised Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic with a solid wooden stock, scope rings, and a detachable twenty round magazine.

Introduced onto the market in the early seventies, the Mini-14 was intended for military and police sales, and was a much simpler, scaled down version of the 30 calibre M-1 Garand. However, chambered for the 5.56 x 45mm round, the expected military sales never appeared. Despite all this, the Mini-14 soon become popular among ranchers because of its wide availability in a number of different variations including stainless steel and blued steel finishes, a wide selection of sights and scopes, as well as a folding metal stock. The version the woman was carrying had a blued steel finish, which wore the scratches of regular usage, and a customised walnut stock with a rubberised butt pad.

'May I?' she asked, holding out her right hand. The rising sun glinted in her eyes accentuating their deep blue colour. A ponytail of strawberry blond hair hung casually below the reversed peak of her baseball cap. Standing, now less than two feet away from her, Dorjan could not help but be hypnotised by her eyes. 'I wasn't expecting anyone else to be awake this early.'

Accepting the rifle, the woman slung it back over her right shoulder and finished securing the holster flap she had been working on when she had emerged onto the porch. It was obvious from the way she handled the rifle that she had either been raised around guns or had had years of training in there use.

'Name's Sandra,' she said extending her right hand. 'Sandra Reilly. You must be Captain Dorjan.'

Dorjan accepted the offered hand and found her grip to be strong and confident. 'Pleasure to meet you, Miss Reilly.' he said. 'And sorry about all that.'

Sandra shook her head, her ponytail swinging across her back in a sweeping motion. 'No problem,' she said. 'I was just going on an early morning ride.' Dorjan averted his eyes as she made her way down the porch stairs. Her jeans were so tight fitting that they looked like they could have been painted on. 'Care to join me?' she added, flicking a few strands of hair off of her face.

Dorjan paused and thought about the offer for several moments. The last time he had ridden a horse was as a teenager on his uncle's farm outside Delphos Ohio, and even then he had fallen off several times. But one look at Sandra Ahern's body and his mind was made up. 'Sure,' he said. 'Why not.' The ride would also give him the opportunity to get a good ground level look at the property.

Together they walked down to the barn, where Sandra hung her rifle from a strategically placed nail while she readied the horses. Quickly and efficiently she did all of the saddling work herself. The slim muscles in her arms bunched and relaxed as she lifted the heavy leather saddles into place. On several occasions Dorjan offered to assist, but each time Sarah refused. She was lithe and deft. Her fingers acted with precision movements as she made final adjustment to the straps and buckles. She had the two horses readied in a bout a quarter of the time it had taken Dorjan to do one horse all those years ago.

'You're pretty good at this.' He commented as buckled the final strap into place.

A sly smile slowly crept across her lips, and her cheeks reddened slightly. 'I was born and raised on a horse ranch,' she said. 'So I have had a lot of practice.'

Made sense, Dorjan thought as he watched her lead both horses out of their stalls. His horse was one of the geldings he had noticed during his previous inspection of the barn. Standing beside it she looked even tinier than her demure stature. Looking at her standing there in her jeans he could imagine spanning her waist with his hands.

'Shouldn't we be wearing leather pants?' he said taking the reins from Sandra. The horse huffed through its nose, its nostrils flaring slightly as it shifted its feet slightly. 'And riding gloves?'

'Are you kidding?' Sandra laughed. 'We never wear that kind of stuff. Its way too hot don't you think?'

He waited for her to retrieve her rifle. Her horse was the smaller mare that had been alerted by his presence earlier. Its big brown eyes now surveyed him in an almost lazy glance of recognition. Wedging her baseball cap down further on her head she slid the rifle into a specially crafted carry case attached to the side of the saddle. Satisfied they slowly led the horses into the heat and sun of the yard. He waited until she had mounted her horse before putting his left foot into the stirrup. Grasping the saddle horn, he put all his weight onto the stirrup foot straightening his leg and pulling with his hand. Leaning his weight forward and slightly to the right he swung his other leg over the geldings rump and suddenly he was up there in the saddle. The horse felt very wide, and he seemed to be a long way off the ground. Jamming his right foot into the stirrup he squirmed around is the saddle until he was as comfortable as he was going to get. Underneath him the horse waited patiently.

'Good,' Sandra said once he was in the saddle, a flash of a smile crossing her face. 'Now, I'll take the lead and he'll follow along behind. I was not sure of your experience with horses so I got you one of the more docile ones.'

Dorjan laughed aloud. Was it that obvious he thought?

To his left Sandra kicked her heels into the horse's flanks and clicked her tongue. Seconds later the gelding moved forward and led the way through the yard and past another of the compounds outbuildings. He watched as she swayed easily in the saddle, the muscles of her thighs and buttocks bunching and flexing in perfect rhythm with the horses movement as she kept her balance. Her left hand holding the reins as her right hung loosely by her side.

Without looking or stopping she led them out the main gate and straight across the road. Out of habit, having spent most of his life living in a big city, Dorjan paused momentarily to glance left and right. Seeing nothing at all except the distant silver mirages and heat shimmers he once again eased his mount forward. On the other side of the road was a drop of about a foot onto a sandstone ledge. He let the gelding climb it, shifting his own weight backwards to compensate. Then the rock began to rise gently into the middle distance, reaching, in his estimation, maybe fifty feet in elevation in the best part of half a mile.

Located atop the rise was a sandbagged machinegun post, the barrel of a .50 calibre Browning M2 heavy barrel machine gun tracking them as they approached? As they got closer to the emplacement the personnel manning it began waving toward Sandra. Bringing her horse to a halt Sandra returned their waves, and exchanged a few words with a few of the men before moving onward once again.

All around them scrubby looking plants had taken root in the cracks of rocks. Deep fissures running from east to west, and washed out holes the size of small crater dotted the landscape. There were other holes measuring about two or three feet across, some of them with undercut sides. Just right for a snake, he thought watching them carefully. After several minutes he gave up, the shadows were too deep for him to see anything.

'How far we going?' he finally yelled after about a half hour of riding. Already the saddle was beginning to wear on him.

'Just over the next rise,' she said, turning in her saddle, like she had been waiting for him to say something. 'Getting a little saddle sore are you?'

As they reached the top of the rise she pulled back lightly on the reins, and made a small clicking noise with her tongue. Immediately her horse came to a stop. Seconds later Dorian's own horse came to a halt, right at her shoulder.

'Take care,' she said. 'Keep balanced.'

They were about fifty feet above the open plain. Behind them the main hours and the other outbuildings of the compound were spread out on the baked flat ground like a diorama. Ahead of them the caliche sloped downwards again, pocketed by dry gulches the size of baseball diamonds. The air itself, despite the heat, was unnaturally clear all the way to the horizon, where it broke up into a shimmering heat haze. Dorjan could feel his face burning. The sun was fearsome, and the heat was as dry as the sand on which they trod.

With another click of her tongue she moved off ahead of him, her horse finding its own way down the incline. He kicked gently with his heels and his horse began following her. Within a few minutes he had lost his rhythm as the mare suddenly stopped short and he started bouncing uncomfortably on the tough leather of the saddle.

By the time he reached the bottom of the incline, Sandra was slipping gracefully out of the saddle and dropping to the ground. Once she had her feet firmly under she began stretching, waiting for Dorjan to join her. The mare came to halt next to Sandra's gelding and he shook his right foot free of the stirrup and dismounted by doing the exact opposite of what had gotten him into the horse almost an hour earlier.

'Well,' he said, stretching his legs, trying to get the circulation going again. 'Now I know why cowboys always walk funny.'

Sandra smiled briefly before leading the two horses to the rim of the gulch, where she heaved a large stone over the free end of the reins. She then retrieved several small carrots from her saddlebag and placed them on the ground for the horses to graze on. When they were finished she retrieved a pair of large water bag from her saddle and, giving one of the bags to Dorjan, allowed the horses and opportunity to drink. Beyond the haze and shimmer of the heat he could hear absolute silence. With the horses taken care of she lifted the flap on another of the saddlebags and took out a large military-style canteen. After taking a quick drink she handed the canteen across to Dorjan, who tipped some of the cool water over his sunburned face before gulping down several mouthfuls and handing it back.

'Thanks.' he said.

They sat down for several minutes, exchanging stories, before finally deciding to finish their ride around the property and return back to the farmhouse.

Sandra was quiet on the climb back up the rise. Dorjan was not sure if it was because she was concentrating on what she was doing, or whether it was for some other reason. Whatever it was she stopped once again on the peak. Below them, through the heat haze, the compound stretched before them, and Sandra just sat, looking down at it, her hands clasped lightly around the horn of her saddle, saying nothing, a far away look in her eyes. Dorjan's horse stopped as usual slightly behind hers, so that he got the same view she did.

'Do you ever get scared?' she suddenly asked.

Dorjan paused momentarily. He had never really thought about it. He always had butterflies in his stomach prior to any mission but he had always put that down to apprehension rather than fear. 'I would be lying if I said I didn't,' he finally answered.

She was quiet for a few minutes more. Just staring down at the house, then lifting her eyes to the horizon beyond it. She clicked her tongue, and once again the two horses moved off together, down the long gentle slope toward the road. She shifted occasionally in the saddle to keep her balance. Dorjan imitated her posture and stayed safely aboard. But not comfortably. He figured that horseback riding was an acquired art, something that he personally would not really require as part of his duties.

It was mid morning by the time they got back. They dismounted in front of the barn door.

'You go clean up,' Sarah said taking the reins from his hand. 'I can handle this.'

Dorjan nodded his thanks and made his way slowly to the bunkhouse. Very slowly because his legs were still a little stiff from the saddle. He used the bathroom and rinsed some of the accumulated dirt from his face. Splashed cold water over his shirt. Walked slowly back outside. Sandra was already busy brushing down his horse. Thin clouds of dust were coming off its grey coat.

In spite of his offers to help, Sandra insisted in doing all the work herself. Even going as far as ordering him up to the house to get something to eat. By that stage he was beyond arguing. His stomach felt as thought his throat had been cut. Maybe it was best to go grab some food. It was obvious there was little he could do until Dallas returned from wherever he had gone.