_______________

The Colonel came in making a lot of noise. He fumbled around, struck a match and lit a lantern. The uneven light cast abnormal shadows on the canvas walls. "Sit down, Marine." 

Ethan didn't move. He wanted to talk about Ortega.

"Damn it. Do as I tell you, Card. Sit down. That is an order. Not a fucking invitation."

Ethan moved to the rickety metal folding chair at one side of a small table. When he sat, the chair groaned. How do you tell someone you admire that you were being framed and blackmailed? 

Colonel Price stepped back and stared at him. 

"I respect men like you," Price said. "Dependable. When I was younger, I worked with men like you cutting down trees in Washington and fishing with my uncle on his dragger. You're the kind of guy that doesn't run when hell arrives and death fills the air we breathe. You're the kind of guy who takes care of his buddies, those guys you drink with and catch the clap with. To hell with everything else, right?"

The Colonel stopped talking, sucked furiously on his now-dead pipe and paced the width of the tent. "Army intelligence sent me a communication yesterday. They want you at division." He poked the pipe stem toward Ethan, and it was an angry gesture. 

"And they wanted you yesterday. They claim to have hard evidence that you are selling weapons to the Viet Cong. They said they have pictures that link you to a known Viet Cong woman. Is that true , Card?" 

Ethan didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure he'd heard the Colonel right. How could he defend himself when he didn't know what the lies were that had accused him of a crime he had not committed? He fumbled for words. "Who said so, sir?" 

"Army intelligence did some investigating when some dead Viet Cong turned up with brand new United States Army issue weapons. The paper trail led straight at you. Is it true ?" 

"No, sir," Ethan replied, but a block of icy defeat was growing in his stomach and chest. This couldn't be happening. He wanted to tell the Colonel about Ortega but nothing came out. Panic chewed on his sanity. Flashes of Gunny and the other dead members of the team sabotaged his focus. 

"Because if it is," Price said, "I'm going to kick your ass. I don't fucking like traitors." He shook his head. "But I don't believe you are a traitor. I'm putting you in for a Silver Star. When we clear up this mess, I'm sure the medal will be awarded to you. You deserve it. Calling you a traitor is a bunch of crap. You are one of my boys, and my boys are not traitors. Besides, you have proven yourself to me, and you have two Bronze Stars and a Purple Heart with a cluster to prove it to the others that doubt you, which I don't." 

"Yes, sir," Ethan said, and licked his burning, chapped lips. He could feel the pressure of a vice closing around his heart, and he wanted to run from the tent.

§ “Running with the Enemy” was awarded an Honorable Mention in General Fiction at the 2103 San Francisco Book Festival

§ Discover a new world of Publishing–-the 2013 San Francisco Book Festival Event held on May 18 at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel in SF.