This is it!
Second and last of the stories/thoughts/ideas bouncing around in my head.
Thanks to all who enjoyed my first attempt. It inspired me to go ahead and post this one.
Enjoy.

Jason stifled a groan. His stomach had yet to accept the fact it could not relocate to a location of its choosing by repeatedly attempting to force its way up his throat. His knees were wobbly even lying in bed. He was hot, he was cold; he shivered, he was sweating profusely. His head hurt. His mouth was dry. His lips cracked. God, kill me now.

"Hayes? You doing okay?" Lisa asked, poking her head through the door. "You need anything?"

"Go. Away." He groaned, pulling the sheet over his head.

"Having the flu sucks, huh?" she laughed, ducking the pillow flung back-handed from the bunk. He had pretty good aim, blindly tossing backwards with his left hand and not otherwise moving.

"Get. Out."

"If you would…." She began, as she entered the cabin. "…listen to the doctor. You might feel better." She nudged the door closed with a foot. "Hey, pretty girl. You staying cool?"

The dog woofed, tail thumping, but she didn't move from the draft between the window A.C. units and the fan.

"He's a fucking quack." Jason pooh-poohed. "Can't be the flu." he complained. "How does a guy catch the flu in 110 degree heat?"

"Orange juice is cold. Drink it."

"Don't want it."

"You still feverish? Still have chills? Head still hurt?" silence. He buried his head under the pillows. "Then drink your orange juice."

Lisa set a tray on the table, picked up the pillow and tossed it back onto his bunk, keeping her distance. Nope, a sick Jason was a cranky Jason and she didn't need her ears verbally blistered or her feelings hurt. And oh yeah, Jason was sick indeed.

So sick, the doctor had relieved him of command and he hadn't argued, relinquishing his entire unit to the command of Delta team. And hadn't Sonny just loved that! Had Ray been with the team, he would have assumed lead on the recon mission, but he was home with his wife and new son on paternity leave.

Of course Jason hadn't wanted his team to go anywhere while he was down, but it made no sense to leave an elite team idle when they could be used on a mission. And come on, it was a recon mission! What could happen?

And when would Jason learn not to say that?

The – well, mere cabin – that served as sleeping quarters for the six men was air conditioned by window units, and fans helped circulate the air throughout but Jason was hot…the sheets were sweaty and rumpled, but if he tossed the sheet off or dug his foot out for cool relief, the air rose goosebumps on his exposed skin and he shivered so hard his teeth chattered. In 110 degree heat.

His only company was a dog who sighed mightily every time he moaned or groaned and with a great show of annoyance, heaved to her feet and padded over to his bunk to lick his face, where, apparently not liking the taste of sweat, she whuffled her muzzle and blew dog breath on him and returned to her own bed.

Females.

The flu, the doctor had announced. Bullshit, Jason had retorted, because, how the hell did someone catch the flu in fucking Afghanistan? But apparently no one believed him and he'd been 'remanded' to his quarters by the good doc and forbidden to leave until he was declared hale and hearty. The flu? In this heat? This dry, arid, air. Really? Come on! And with Ray back in the States? Get serious.

He should get up and drink the juice. There was probably aspirin or some other medication meant to help relieve his fever with it and if Lisa said it was cold, then it was ice cold and not what passed for cold by the locals. He groaned, good God, did that even make sense? The quack insisted he drink plenty of fluids and liquids, – and really, someone needed to explain the difference to him, because he just didn't get it – said he was dehydrated and would be on IV fluids if he didn't start cooperating. Apparently, it was much easier to dehydrate over here, than at home. Duh. He flopped onto his back and eyed the pitcher of juice, but before he could make up his mind whether to attempt to gain his feet and pour a glass, the dog went on alert.

Jason frowned in surprise, rising up on an elbow. "What is it girl?" he rasped.

Cerberus was still in her bed, but her ears were pricked and she was listening to some sound Jason couldn't yet hear. Her head tilted to one side and then she was on her haunches, growling softly. Jason blinked and like a shot, the dog launched from her bed, cleared the desk in a leap and was out the closed, latched door.

Yeah, way to go Brock, Jason thought sourly. And here we thought it all so great when you trained her to open doors.

Eh well, she wouldn't go far. She knew the base better than any of them, no need to worry.

But...but then he heard what the dog obviously had; the arrival of heavy trucks. Faster than any armored vehicle would normally approach base camp, but Jason didn't recognize that fact like Cerberus had. So, he didn't panic. Wasn't an attack, no hostile vehicle could get this close to base, so, just Delta team returning.

Though he thought they'd be gone longer. Then again, he really didn't know what time it was. Or what time they'd left. Blackburn had said he was sending Bravo with Delta – his way of unofficially asking for Jason's approval – and Jason had merely waved him on his way. They guys were bored, left to amuse themselves with him down and Ray home, their antics had been a bit much and he was grateful for the peace and quiet. Only Sonny had quibbled about going under someone else's authority.

The mission, excursion, whatever, occurring during the day meant the dog stayed behind and Delta team didn't have a dog, so Cerberus had stayed in quarters with Jason, and what the hell was he trying to make his fevered brain understand? Oh, right. Was the team back?

Best drink the juice then. Sonny didn't back down to bared teeth and growled threats like Lisa did. He kicked free of the sheet and got to his feet. Woot, he was upright, albeit it, very unsteadily, and poured juice into the plastic cup. Not even five minutes, and despite the A.C., the pitcher was sweating. Proud he didn't spill much, he looked down at his t-shirt and boxer briefs….clean enough. Lisa usually left him a clean, dry shirt when he was in the john, and more often than not, when he crawled – collapsed – back into his bunk, the sheets had been changed.

How many days had it been now? Two? Four?

He poured more juice, pulled the t-shirt over his head and dried off with a towel before donning a clean shirt. There, felt better already. Though, he'd sweat through it soon enough. He sighed, tired of being sick and pulled a chair out from the table, meaning to sit down and see how long it was before he tossed up the juice or had to run for the john, when the silence on the base erupted into mass noise and commotion; horns, voices, dogs, slamming doors, running feet, yelling, shouting, cursing.

"The hell." He held the cup of juice to his cheek, seeking something cool against his hot skin, but either the plastic wasn't cold like a glass would be or the juice was already too warm. "Figures." So he held the pitcher and rolled his forehead against it instead. Better.

And like every mother knew her own child's cries, Jason knew both the voices of his men and the growls and snarls of his units' dog. Barking, Cerberus was barking. And no, this wasn't a 'so happy you're home' bark, or a 'you dare to invade my yard, you wily rabbit' bark or 'the mailman always goes away when I bark, so I'm barking' bark. This was an 'I'm going to rip out your throat bark'. She was attacking and she had something in her jaws and she wasn't letting go.

Christ, he couldn't even get sick and die in peace.

Setting the pitcher down, he swallowed the last of the juice in the cup, then steadied his way by hand-walking along the table, chair, desk, wall, over to the window. The door had swung shut behind Cerberus and even as he looked out the window, his hand reached for the knob.

And this is why you don't get the flu in the fucking desert.

"Fuck." He sighed, letting his head rest against the window pane. Utter chaos out the window and across the compound. The dust cloud was impressive and yet, with repeated squinting and blinking, he was able to see and what he saw made him sicker then he already felt.

Brock came off the truck, stumbled and went after someone…..who, Jason couldn't tell. From this distance, everyone looked alike. Men moved to stop him and the streak of brown was Cerberus coming to his defense. More shoving and shouting and struggling.

Jason blinked.

The second truck was now visible. Trent? Yes, Trent, swung off the back and hit the ground running before it had even started to slow down. Dumb ass, what was he thinking? At that speed, he was likely to fall and break a freaking leg. He ran for the medical tent. Sonny dove off the truck as it rolled to a stop, landed on someone and they hit the sand.

Jason blinked.

Brock was restrained between two men. The dog had the arm of someone and she had him on the ground, snapping and snarling, tugging and pulling. Sonny was on his feet and in the face of Delta's commander, Bevy – Jason's equal in rank. And Trent was running from the direction of the first aid cabin with Jason's doctor on his heels.

Jason blinked.

Men milled around. Someone was yelling at Trent to call off the dog. Trent was yelling back. Sonny was now in a fist fight with – not Bevy. The doctor had Brock's chin between his hands. Brock was struggling for his release because someone yelled to remove the dog by any means. More men came running. Someone tried to break up the fight between Sonny and whoever.

And Clay was nowhere to be seen.

Jason cursed. Swallowing bile and willing his stomach to allow the juice to remain, he opened the door and stepped out onto what served as a porch. The bright light blinded him, knocked him back a step or two, then drove him to knees. He knelt for a moment, letting the heat blister his already hot skin, then gained his feet and let out an ear-splitting, sharp whistle that instantly called Cerberus to heel.

The traitorous dog retreated to Brock's feet and sat.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck. Females. All up in his face and by his side all damn day, but now that Brock was back, Jason didn't exist. It was too hot outside for the dog this time of day. He didn't need to deal with a heat-stricken dog.

With the dog settled by his side, Brock submitted to the doctor, obeying commands to sit down.

Brock released and in the hands of the doctor, Trent produced a bowl of water, not for the doctor, for the dog.

Sonny picked himself up from the ground and collected his scattered belongings.

"That dog is out of control." Bevy spat, helping his fallen member to his feet. "Doc, need you over here. Dog bite."

The doctor ignored him.

Adjusted to the light and heat as well as he was going to be, Jason stumbled down the few steps to the ground and began to walk towards the melee in the compound. Once he left protection of the over-head canopy of tents that had been erected to provide shade on living quarters, the full force of the sun hit him and he staggered.

"Hayes." Bevy began angrily. "Like you and your men, that dog is undisciplined and dangerous. It attacked for no reason."

Jason had to shield his eyes with a raised hand, flicked a glance at the man Cerberus had taken to the ground in a fur-flying fit and shrugged. Good God man, let me get there before you get all up in my face. Fuck, the sand was hot. Ray was not having any more kids. Jason made the decision for him. Sorry Mrs. Ray, two is it.

That mere lift of one shoulder sent Bevy into a rage. "Doc! My man! Now!"

"Obvious head injury takes precedence over unconfirmed dog bite." The doctor snapped right back.

"Dog bites can carry rabies and cause infections that require antibiotics."

"That blood isn't his." Jason said dismissively. "He wasn't bitten. And the dog is update to date on all shots. Brock, what happened?"

"Oh no you don't." Bevy really was in Jason's face now. "You don't get to make this about your team Hayes. Not this time. I want that dog isolated. It came out of nowhere, attacked without provocation…"

Jason dropped his hand from his eyes and used it to push Bevy back out of his personal space. "You won't touch that dog. Now back off and get the fuck out of my face."

Anger exploded all around him. Everyone was yelling, shouting. The constant motion of everyone moving around, waving arms and talking over and at one another, kicking up sand and causing even more dust, caused blackness to encroach. He fought it back. But yeah, his knees were giving him clear warning of their upcoming betrayal.

"HAYES! BEVY!" Commander Blackburn strode into the melee, demanding order and silence. "ENOUGH! WHAT THE HELL?"

"Cerb attacked because the blood all over him…" Jason pointed at the man who clutched his arm, "….. is Brock's." he accepted the offer of a bottle of cold water and cold wet towel from Lisa who had appeared out of nowhere. "Now what the fuck happened?" he waited to see a stretcher bearing Clay off loaded from one of the convoy trucks. He didn't. His muffed-up brain managed to realize the doctor wouldn't be kneeling in the sand in the middle of the compound if a solider had been returned to base with injuries worse than those of a man who had come off a truck on his own two feet.

"That doesn't…."

"Where's Spencer?" Jason asked abruptly. "Brock, what happened? Sonny? Trent? Anyone? Someone?" he pressed a palm against his forehead. "DAMMIT! Someone talk to me!"

"Bevy sent him high." Brock said, holding the compress to his forehead while the doctor checked his pupils, pulse, whatnot. His face streaked with sand, dirt, blood, sweat.

Jason bobbed his head. Believable. Acceptable. He did it. Bravo had the best shooters. And of out them all, if anyone would be labeled a sniper, it would be Spencer.

"Didn't wait for him to come back before ordering pull-out," Brock was angry. His tone riled the dog up and she stood and bared her teeth. Jason saw no need to call her off. Yet. "Said there was no time, we couldn't delay. He ordered the driver to max speed. When I argued…" Brock pointed to the bruised lump and split skin on his forehead that still oozed blood.

"You left a man out there?" Blackburn stared. "On the dunes? Is this heat? This time of day?"

"He hit you?" Jason was stunned. "You hit him?"

"Delta doesn't dawdle." Bevy retorted. "I don't know about you and your team but when the command is given for pull-out, we go. We don't wait around."

"You. Hit. Him." Jason repeated, still trying to wrap his wayward head around that. "Hard enough to split his head open? You knock him out and leave Spencer out there? What the FUCK is wrong with you?"

"With butt-end of his rifle." Someone said and was instantly ordered to remain silent.

"Sonny and I were assigned to the other transport." Trent grabbed Jason's elbow and maneuvered him out of the sun to the shade thrown by one of the trucks. "You don't look so good boss."

"Yeah, tell me." Jason rubbed his face on his sleeve, the wet towel draped around his neck. "I feel like shit."

"We didn't know Spenser was missing or Brock was knocked out until we got here." Sonny added.

"Knocked out?" Blackburn repeated. "Bevy? Seriously?"

"Stunned." Brock cut in. "Came 'round in the truck, radioed Trent."

"When Spenser didn't show for our truck, we assumed he was on the other." Bevy retorted.

"You…..assumed?" Jason said so slowly, he didn't even manage to finish the last word. "You didn't know?"

"So, you knock the guy, asking where his team member is, in the head with a rifle?" Blackburn was speaking slowly, incredulously, slow to come to grips with what he was hearing. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Ask? Hell! He ranted and raved like a madman. He threatened to jump out of the truck! If the fall hadn't killed him, being run over by the truck behind us, would have." Bevy yelled. "What the hell did he think he was going to do? What the hell would you have me do?"

Jason rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, drinking more water, trying to clear his head and think. But it was a destination he wasn't able to reach. "Not leave my man behind."

"He should have been on the truck." Bevy insisted angrily.

"He didn't have time." Brock argued. "You waited 32 seconds before ordering the truck to roll, no one could have made it down from the dune Spencer was on in that time."

"The order to roll after pull-out is sixty seconds." Blackburn said.

"He's lying!" Bevy yelled. "Jesus Christ! Okay, maybe we left a few seconds early, but for fuck's sake, we are back here, safe, the mission completed."

"Not everyone." Lisa spoke up, disdain clear in her voice and eyes.

"You're a piece of shit." Sonny spat at Bevy.

"Quinn!" Blackburn barked. "Not helping! Doc? He good?" he nodded at Brock.

"No stitches needed. He'll have a headache, perhaps a mild concussion, nothing to pull him from the field."

Jason finished the water. "One question." He dropped the bottle and with one palm still against his forehead, used the other hand to brace his weight against the truck. Nope, no go. He was going down. He was on his ass in the hot sand, hands holding his head.

"Hayes." The doctor sighed. "Help him up, take him to the infirmary."

"One question Bevy." Jason said again, not looking up. "Do you know when you gave the order to come down you were pulling out, if Spencer responded via comm's?"

"I didn't hear him." Brock said.

"Anyone?" Jason pushed. "You did call him in, didn't you?"

"It was hectic." Bevy finally said. "And yes, you asshole, I called him in."

"So, no." Jason fought for his tempter, dug down deep and groped around for it. "He didn't answer. You left that kid out there, in this sun, this time of day, in full gear, not even knowing if he was ok."

"He has water." Someone said. "Least he should."

And Jason saw red.

"Trent, ammo us up. Brock, get cleaned up. Lisa, ice. Someone confine the dog. Doc, med bag. Eric, Humvee." Jason barked orders. "Sonny, help me up, you're driving."

"What the hell is this?" Bevy blew up, rounding on Eric. "Spencer will find his way back. Good God, but you coddle Bravo team. This is bullshit!"

Jason let his wrists dangle from his raised knees. "Fuck you Bevy, we aren't done. This isn't over." but it was going to have to wait until later. Getting Spenser back came first. And yeah, Jason had to be able to throw a punch, land it and not fall over.

"What do you think you're going to do Hayes? You aren't fit to command. You can't even stand up!" Bevy shouted.

"Not your call." Sonny said snidely. "Come on boss, up you go."

"Even delirious, dehydrated, puking my guts, cramped with the shits, I'm a better team leader than you will ever be." He let Sonny haul him to his feet and support his weight. "I don't leave anyone behind."

"Hale and hearty?" Eric was back from acquiring the speedy deliverance of the requested Humvee. He shared a look with the doctor, shaking his head with a grin. "Can't do a thing with him."

"Oh, he's hearty. Not so hale."

"Hayes...hey….hey…HEY!" Eric sputtered as a Humvee drove up. The driver got out, leaving the door open and the motor running. "Wait a damn minute….you need pants! And shoes! HEY! Jason? Damn you!"

"Dammit Blackburn, you can't just stand there and let them go!" Bevy yelled. "This was my mission! I know the land, the route, the locals…."

Let them go? Eric snorted. Hell, he'd made it possible for them to go. "It was a daylight excursion. No hostiles in the area. Armed escort wasn't required for you, isn't for them."

Sonny took the wheel, Jason climbed into the back, held the door for Lisa and they were off to collect Trent and Brock. They came to a quick halt outside the infirmary where the doc handed a medical kit through the window to Jason, along with a pair of camos and a pair of boots. Trent took shotgun and Brock hopped in the back with Jason. Lisa perched without complaint on the cooler of ice and cold drinks she'd brought with her at Jason's request.

The Humvee was a 4-seater, the back meant for cargo….dog…or in this case, a possibly injured soldier.

"Bring him home!" Eric yelled after a cloud of dust. "You." He pointed at Bevy, the man attacked by the dog, and the man who'd engaged Sonny in the fist fight. "My office." And he spun on his heel and strode away.