The tide turned as the militiamen plowed into the crowd, being very brutal with the short metal pipes that they were carrying. Lewis lost his footing and started to fall, his head ringing from a blow, but Blair dragged him back upright. A Hagen man dressed all in leather slid under his arm and helped him off the field. Gomez set up a triage station on the beach south of the pier, and the soldiers helped carry the wounded to her.

A major, Port Mist militia, started yelling orders. It quickly became apparent that he wanted to arrest everyone, including the defenders, the submariners, and team Romeo. The major sent a runner to fetch medical help and a lawyer from the secretary of justice’s office.

“You can’t just come in here and start a war with our citizenry,” the major said to Lewis and Victor, and then he poked Lewis in the chest with his finger. “I heard that you hit one of our people in the back of the head, thereby starting the fight,”

“Arad is his name, and I didn’t hit him. He was hit by a rock, check his head,” Lewis told him. “Somebody in the crowd told the people that I hit him.”

“All of you, mercenaries or soldiers, will be detained until we get to the bottom of this hostile action,” the major barked. “Tell all your people, and any others associated with you, to stand over there,” indicating an area near the pier.

“Major, do you want that grain unloaded here or not?” Lewis asked, moving closer to the major.

“Are you threatening me?” the major looked livid, but took a breath when Lewis shook his head. “What grain are you talking about?”

“We are carrying three cargo holds full of food for Port Mist,” Lewis tried to sound reasonable. “And I’m just afraid that if you start arresting people, those ships will simply pull out and head for Ascore. These people,” he indicated the crowd, which was standing around looking scared or helping lift up the injured. “They’re just hungry. I see that the militia isn’t suffering the same fate.”

“How dare you speak to Major Heflik like that!” one of the militia soldiers yelled, swinging at Lewis’ ribs with his pipe.

Fast as lightning, the man in leather who had helped Lewis snatched the man’s hand. The blow missed as the surprised soldier went over the Hagen’s shoulder and hit the ground hard. The man in leather stood and winked at Lewis, then took two quick steps into the surf, and dived under the waves. The major bent and helped the soldier, who was still trying to catch his breath, back onto his feet.

He looked Lewis in the eye. “I think we can overlook that unfortunate incident.”

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Lewis leaned forward until his nose was almost touching the major’s nose and spoke slowly and quietly. “Now why would I want to do that, major?”

“You bastard.” The major’s knee came up suddenly, taking Lewis completely off guard, and caught him in the bottom ribs. “You’re just a lieutenant; you don’t get to pull that on me. Lock them both away, and that submarine officer too.”

When Lewis doubled over two militia soldiers grabbed his arms and yanked them behind him. He looked at his team and saw them marching toward him.

“Stand down!” he shouted. “Finish the…”

One of the soldiers punched him in the mouth. He did not see any more of the scene on the beach as they pretty much dragged him toward the city. By the time they were passing through the street he was starting to see clearly. The chaos had apparently touched the city as well. Many of the burn barrels were turned over, and the few people in the street hurried nervously doing their tasks. He saw Nora, and when she recognized him she covered her mouth and ran off. He hoped she was going for help.

At city hall they took a stair well at the back of the lobby. In the basement they were given tight fitting yellow jumpsuits and plastic sandals. The woman at the desk asked their age, name, and nearest city to where they grew up. She pointed at them in turn.

“Twenty six, Micheal Victor, Fort Wutanna.”

“Twenty eight, Johnathan Lewis, Fort Smith.”

“Twenty two,” a deep voice rumbled behind them. “Lance Wilsey, Submerged People’s City Alpha, Pod two.”

Lewis turned and saw the guards handing Wilsey his jumpsuit. After Wilsey had changed clothes they were led through a big iron door and into a hall with cells on either side. At the far end was another large door. Almost to the end the guard opened a cell door and ordered them to enter.

“Welcome to between, this ain’t freedom,” the guard said. “But it is also not the pit.”

The guard checked the door while Lewis sat on one of the cots and the other two occupants stared at the door. When he had left, Victor went over and rattled the door, and then turned and looked at Lewis with a stricken look on his face. If it hadn’t looked so sincere Lewis would have laughed at him. Wilsey stood like a statue and stared at the door, tension radiating from his posture.

“Why don’t you guys come over here and sit down,” Lewis pointed at the other cot.

“You seem to be OK with this, have you ever been in an enemy prison before?” Wilsey asked.

“Relax. Let’s get a few things straight.” Lewis told him. “First, these people really aren’t our enemies. Second, this is not a prison, it is just a jail. Primarily, these people are civs and as long as we are in a civilian jail I don’t think it will be too bad.”

“So, you don’t think they’ll torture us?” Wilsey asked.

“I don’t see why they would,” Victor almost squeaked. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Are you going to be disappointed if they don’t” Lewis asked Wilsey.

“No, but I guess I just kind of took it for granted.” Wilsey replied thoughtfully.

“Well, I would like to avoid torture,” Victor put in.

“When did you graduate from the academy?” Lewis asked Victor, eager to change the subject.