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warning."
    "You're not the only one who has people with him," Cook said, the threat in his voice clear.
    "Yeah, I see that," Smithson shot back. "Way I see it; it looks like three of you and thirty or so of my boys."
    "Three is enough." Cook fired back with a smile, which even despite the blazing heat, made Denton feel a wave of cold.
    For as frustrated and angry as Smithson was becoming, Cook seemed perfectly cold and at ease. Denton decided he was either unafraid, crazy, or a brilliant bluffer, all of which meant trouble.
    "You wanna start something little man?” Smithson said, poking a finger in Cook's chest. “I’ll fuck you and your boys up."
    "Don’t do anything rash," Cook replied, calm as ever.
    "Rash?” Smithson repeated, looking at the crowd with a grin. “You think you're better than me using words like that huh?"
    Cook didn’t reply. He met Smithson’s gaze, unblinking, unwavering and without fear. To Smithson, the show of disrespect was like a red rag to a bull. He looked past Cook to his two squad mates.
    "You got something to say?" Smithson said.
    "Not to you.” One of the men replied with a smirk.
    Smithson took a half step forward and was stopped by Cook, who grabbed his arm. “I wouldn’t do that.”
    "Get your fucking hands off me," Smithson hissed, pulling himself free of Cook’s grip.
    Denton noticed some of the other men had stepped out of the circle and were behind Smithson, the three Apex Team members now on the opposite side of a very obvious divide. Denton wanted to call them off, to tell them they were making a mistake. He looked at Cook and his men and saw nothing resembling fear or uncertainty. Since he first signed up, the army taught Denton to ignore such things as instinct and respond to orders without question. Denton had rejected that idea. He relied on and trusted his instincts without question, which made him wonder why he was more afraid for Smithson and his men than for Cook.
    "I think you need to calm down a little-"
    Smithson spat in Cook's face.
    Cook smiled, making no effort to wipe the mucus from his cheek. “That was a mistake.”
    Denton knew it was coming. There was a split second of absolute silence, then all hell broke loose.
     
    IV
     
    Robbins had made a quick stop at the vending machine. He really wanted a cold beer or two but decided a Pepsi would have to do it. He had already given up on doing his work for the day, and although he could get away with that easily enough, he knew he wouldn’t be able to explain having booze on his breath if someone happened to smell it on his and report him to his superiors. As a result of the delay to grab a drink, he had missed the initial confrontation between Smithson and Cook. He fed the machine, took his dispensed Pepsi and headed for the yard. He pushed out of the door, leaving the air conditioned confines of the base behind for the oven like heat of the Florida day. At first glance, he thought the men were switching teams. There was what looked to be a huddle of sorts in the centre of the yard. He unscrewed the cap of his Pepsi just as the mass brawl erupted and almost thirty men attacked three.
    Denton knew his instincts were right. He had witnessed death first hand in Bosnia and Syria, and so knew without question that Smithson was dead the instant Cook hit him. With frightening power and almost inhuman speed, Cook had thrown a punch. In the still air, the sound of the impact as knuckle connected with skull was sickening, second to the wet watermelon sound as the back of Smithson's skull smashed into the concrete as he crumbled to the floor. In a surreal moment in which time seemed to slow to a crawl, Denton saw a broken tooth arc through the air and skim his face as it was ejected from Smithson’s mouth. Denton had seen fights, and was a huge fan of both professional boxing and Mixed Martial arts, but never had he seen anyone deliver a blow with such venom or power. Denton was about to lunge for Cook, when someone