Ana had other ideas. “Our grandmother has an old diesel truck, and if the soldiers haven’t wrecked it along with everything else, you could take that? It’s beat up, but it drives.”

Mac didn’t hesitate. Even if the Serbs had damaged it, there was always a chance he could work his magic. “Can you show us?”

Ana nodded and pointed back the way they just come.

Velid apparently wasn’t so enthusiastic about leaving. “What about him?” He jerked his AK47 to the Serb.

“I could take care of him?” Watkins offered, tapping the barrel of his Sig.

Ana shook her head. “No, there has been enough killing. I will come back and take care of him.” She glared at her brother. “And you, are going to help me.”

MacGyver sighed with relief as the girl led the way to her grandma’s. At least some people still had morals; after all they’d been through. He only hoped some of Ana’s pride and principles rubbed off on Velid – and soon.

* * * *

The truck was an old Ford transit flatbed that had seen better days, but it hadn’t been damaged by the Serbs. With a few pumps of the pedal and a few silent prayers, MacGyver soon had it ticking over. It sounded like a tank, and plumed out more black smoke than Harry’s old coal stove, but it moved a heck of a lot faster than being on foot.

Watkins took up position as shotgun, and with a quick wave Mac said goodbye to Ana and pulled the Ford out onto an old track. The road was barely more than something carts would move on, and it was filled with ruts and holes, but it was also safer than the only other road they could use – that would definitely have enemy checkpoints.

“Do you think the kid will kill the Serb?” Watkins asked after a while, meaning Velid.

“I hope not,” Mac admitted. “People need to learn there are other ways.” He looked pointedly at Watkins. “You need to learn there are other ways.”

The ex S.A.S. operative laughed. “What? Reprogram this Neanderthal into a modern, caring Homo Sapien like you? I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Try it – you might be surprised.” He dropped the Transit down a gear and was about to yank the wheel over hard to miss a tree stump when a hail of bullets spattered the windshield.

The toughened glass splintered into a myriad of spider’s web sections and a plume of steam erupted from the totaled radiator.

The truck careered on forwards, ramming the tree stump hard and coming to a rest with one of its rear wheels still spinning. The hood popped up with the impact, and the engine roared in protest for several moments, then died.

Inside, MacGyver and Watkins lay slumped forwards, Mac’s arms strewn over the wheel his hands had gripped seconds earlier.

From the tree line, two Serbian soldiers emerged; their Russian weapons poised to fire should the two prone forms in the Ford move.

The lead Serb signaled to his cohort to move to Watkins’ side of the truck, while he took the driver’s side. When no one inside moved, he strode closer, warily peering through the open window.

When he was within reach of his enemy, he seemed to relax a little, and that was when MacGyver made his move.

The troubleshooter sprang into life, punching the soldier right between the eyes before he could jerk back away from the truck.

On the other side, Watkins did much the same with the second Serb, albeit with a much stronger throw of his arm.

While Mac was forced to clamber from his seat and hit his foe again to silence him, Watkins was able to stand and watch his arms folded in apparent amusement. “Bit slow there DXS boy,” he quipped.

MacGyver puffed out a breath, shook his sore knuckles as usual, and took a moment to regain his composure. “I’m not in this to hurt people; I’m here to help them.”

Watkins shrugged and jerked a thumb at the still form of the man he’d hit. “Hey, if you weren’t here he’d have had the flat of my hand straight to his nose bone. Lights out, right permanent.”

MacGyver knew the move well. The force from the blow would have sent the Serb’s nasal bone up into his brain, a very quick, quiet death used by the likes of Watkins. Whether he should be thankful Watkins had used restraint because of him, well, he wasn’t sure on that one yet. For now, it was just good that he hadn’t killed the man.

“We can secure them both with some duct tape…” He tugged the roll from his pocket, rubbing absently at the back of his neck where he’d jarred it in the crash.

Watkins winced. “I hate leaving loose ends. Loose ends usually end up having big mouths later.”

A brief memory from another mission flashed through MacGyver’s mind – a memory of a Russian soldier in Afghanistan who he’d let live. The Russian had later returned the favor and allowed Mac, Zia and Ahmed to escape over the border.

“Sometimes compassion can go a long way, y’know?” Mac vocalized his thoughts, and Watkins simply shrugged as he began securing the soldier’s with Mac’s tape.

Once both Serbs were immobilized, MacGyver and Watkins picked up what little gear they had from the truck and began the journey back on foot. For awhile, neither man spoke. The chances of saving the Airforce pilots now were pretty slim, and that fact didn’t sit well with Mac, or Watkins.

Eventually, the dirt track they were following widened, and an offshoot to the left appeared to lead to an abandoned farmhouse. The outbuildings were losing their roof tiles and the windows were mostly smashed in by stray bullets, vandals and a multitude of other possible reasons, but sitting in front of the largest barn was an old Fiat.

MacGyver paused at the edge of the track and eyed the car. The two front tires were flat, but that could be with standing rather than punctures. He glanced over to Watkins who was checking out the path ahead like he expected an ambush. “We should check out the car. Maybe we can get it to run?”

“The tires are out and the battery is probably long dead looking at that old thing.” Watkins appeared uninterested, but MacGyver ignored him and padded up the impromptu road to the farm.

On close inspection, the tires appeared intact – at least he couldn’t see any bullet holes or obvious punctures. Maybe we can re-inflate them?

Of course, that was a mute point if the battery was dead. Mac peered through grimy windows, but there were no keys in the ignition. He tried the door, and it was open, so he clambered inside and rolled lithely under the dash. Taking out his knife, he swiftly cut through the relevant wires and hotwired the Fiat.

Nothing.

It was pretty much what he’d expected, but that wasn’t a reason to give in.

“Told you it was a no hoper,” Watkins offered as he moved up to join MacGyver outside the farm. “Maybe there’s something inside we could scavenge, though?”

MacGyver ignored him and remained focused on the car. “We could get the battery from the truck?”

Watkins kicked one of the flats. “What about these things? The truck wheels won’t fit, and we can’t blow them up with our mouths, despite all the hot air that comes out of yours sometimes…” He looked in the trunk for good measure. “No spare tire, either.” He pulled out an old rusted foot pump and tossed it in the long grass at the side of the car. “Even this thing is busted…”

Mac picked up the pump where it had landed, examined it, and then set it down on the passenger seat as if was of some use. Without saying a word, he jogged off through the open farmhouse door and vanished inside.

Heading for what he hoped was the kitchen, MacGyver made a beeline for the sink. He tugged open the two cupboard door below it and examined the pipes there. They were plastic. Perfect!

Watkins ambled in, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. He cocked his head to one side in amusement. “Planning on taking up plumbing?” He teased

MacGyver smiled back cryptically. He wasn’t going to give anything away just yet. “Can you go back to the Ford and get the battery, and the “O” rings off the intercooler pipes for me?”

Watkins raised a brow, then turned, obediently doing as he was told. While he was gone, MacGyver set to work on the pipes. They were the push on fittings, which made it easier, but the lengths of the sections he needed was all-important, as was the diameter. For his plan to work, he needed two sections, one that would fit neatly inside the other.

Tugging out his knife, he selected the saw attachment and cut a length a couple of feet long. There were a couple of t-pieces he could use in the kitchen, but not smaller diameter pipe.

Determined, MacGyver took the dilapidated stairs two at a time to the bathroom. It was crude with the pipes not even hidden from view. To Mac, that was heaven. He kneeled, examining what was on offer and taking off a couple of sections to check the sizing.

It took a few moments, but he found what he was looking for running alongside the bath tub for the waste water. He unscrewed it, jogged back downstairs and slipped it inside the first piece he’d cut. There was a tiny gap, and that would be where the “O” rings Watkins was collecting would play their role. They would make the gap airtight, creating a very impromptu piston effect.

First, Mac needed to cut two grooves for the rings to sit in on the inner pipe. He used the saw blade again, careful not to cut all the way through the plastic. Once this was ready, he set to work on the first t-piece, making a crude end cap with two smaller sections of pipe either side for a makeshift handle.

As he finished up, Watkins breezed back in and whistled as he saw the pieces ready to fit together in the floor. “I’m not sure what I’m looking at, but I think it’s impressive.”

“Did you get the rings?”

Watkins opened his palm and offered up the oily items. “Okay, so what are they for?”

MacGyver slipped them into the grooves on the pipe, and then slid the pipe inside the larger one. He put the t-piece “handle” in place and pumped it up and down. “It’s a crude hand pump for the tires. Or rather, it will be once we finish it off with parts from the broken one outside. We need the valve and adapter off that fitted on the bottom of this and…”

“And you’re a nuttier than a fruitcake,” Watkins offered helpfully. “That’s never going to work, and even if it does, how do you even know the parts you need on the foot pump are any good?”

“I don’t,” MacGyver admitted. “But I won’t know for sure until I try.” He stood up, taking the half-built pump and his knife outside with him.

Watkins followed.

Half an hour later, Mac, along with a little duct tape, had the pump pushing out air into the correct connector for the tire valves. It didn’t have the P.S.I. of anything you’d get at a gas station, but it would, MacGyver hoped, very slowly inflate the Fiat’s two flat Goodyear’s.

Watkins nodded his apparent approval. “Right, so we can pump them up…but in case you haven’t noticed, they’re not exactly seated on the rims anymore. How do we fix that one Mr. D.I.Y?”

Mac sucked down a breath and grabbed his canteen from his utility belt. “Go find me something flammable in an aerosol while I grab a drink, and I’ll show you…”

Watkins returned with a rusted can and passed it to MacGyver, crossing his arms in apparent anticipation, he hovered over the Fiat.

Mac looked at the aerosol, the writing was all in Croatian, and he had no clue what it said, so how had Watkins? Had he guessed, or could he read it? This guy is way smarter than most give him credit for…

Mac didn’t mention the can, but simply took it to the Fiat’s deflated tires, pushed them away from the rim slightly and sprayed all the way around the edge. Then he quickly took out a match to each and ignited what he’d pumped between the rubber and metal.

The tires swelled with a bang popping into place on the rims as the sudden flames expanded the air within, inflating them.

Watkins nodded. “You do know as the air inside cools, those bad boys will go flat again, though?”

MacGyver tapped the pump he’d made with the toe of his boot. “Yep, that’s why I just spent all that time making the pump. I don’t know how much air we’ll get in with it, but hopefully enough to get us moving.”

“Aye, or those two pilots are toast,” Watkins added somberly as he took the pump, attached it carefully and began to try and stop the tires from going back down again.

Mac watched him a second. They were worlds apart, and yet this cold-blooded killer with a license was growing on him.

* * * *

Pumping up the Fiat’s tires had proved more time consuming than either man had hoped. That, added to the time it had taken to actually make the pump, meant they were in trouble.

Once the car was movable, Watkins had insisted on taking the wheel, pointing out Mac was a good driver, but he was also way to cautious.

MacGyver hadn’t argued, and the little car had bounced and grumbled its way across the countryside breaking a spring and knocking off the rear bumper as it went.

Three and a half hours had passed since they’d spoken to the Serbian soldier Velid had wounded. The deadline had been four hours, and so far there was no sign of any enemy camp.

Maybe the Serb kid sent us in the wrong direction? Maybe I really am too trusting?

Mac was pondering the fact when Watkins pulled over and took off the meager sidelights he’d been using under the gloom of the overhanging trees.

“Over there?” The Brit hissed. “Through the trees…”

MacGyver squinted and realized he was looking at a truck with a camouflage net over it. He clambered out of the Fiat, and was followed by Watkins.

The pair edged across a small clearing, under a section of bushes, and emerged to find the camp they’d been searching for. There was a large olive drab tent that appeared to be the centre of operations.

MacGyver could hear voices from inside, but once again the language barrier stumped him. He winced as he realized he was at the mercy of his companion.

Watkins smirked cheekily. “They’re talking to Nikolic on the radio about the mission,” he explained. “We’re in time, the flight was delayed twenty minutes.”

“We sure could do with that radio right about now to get some help and tell them about Harpham.” Mac shook his head. “First I guess we better deal with the S.A.M.’s.” He gestured to two cases on the far side of the tent. There was just one guard watching them.

“You lure him back here into the trees, and I’ll deal with him.”

“No killing!” MacGyver growled, not daring to think what Watkins had in mind.

“We’ll see…” The Brit sounded sincere, but when Mac scowled at him he winked and trotted off into the shrubbery, instantly blending with it.

Sheesh, he’s like a wraith…and how come I get to be the decoy? MacGyver inwardly grouched as he jogged to the edge of their cover and began rustling leaves and foliage just enough to gain the Serb’s attention.

The soldier started as he appeared to realize there was something going on. Mac hoped he was going to be mistaken for some animal, and not instantly fired upon, and he continued to move around, low to the ground, like some wild boar.

The Serb seemed to deliberate, the rifle over his shoulder dropped into his hands and he moved forwards, apparently assessing the situation.

Just don’t fire or you’ll bring the others outta the tent…

The guard seemed to hear Mac’s thoughts and sprinted into the bushes without pulling the trigger. Before MacGyver could roll out of the way, Watkins had the man in his grasp, the Brit’s arm neatly wrapped around the Serb’s neck. He applied just enough pressure to make his opponent collapse, and then grabbed the man’s rifle as it slipped from his hands.

Watkins winked at Mac, who was still on the ground. “Blimey, you’re rubbing off on me! Yesterday I’d have snapped his spine…”

Mac clambered up, brushed himself off and glanced back to the clearing. He jerked a thumb towards the crates near the tent. “Can you deal with one of those missile launchers as easily?”

“We do get anti-terrorist and weapons training, y’know?” Watkins nodded, sounding offended that he’d even been asked.

Mac ignored him. It was getting to be a habit. “I’ll get the one on the left, you take the right.” He jogged back to the edge of their cover, scanned the area for more troops, and then cautiously dodged over to the crates.

Taking out his knife, Mac pried open the lid of his chosen launcher and licked his lips as he looked inside. It was already loaded with a S.A.M., so he’d have to disarm that too. Back on McGinty’s palomino again…

At his side, he could hear Watkins doing much the same, and Mac couldn’t resist looking at what he’d levered the lid of his launcher with.

Watkins had a rather large hunting knife in his grasp, and when he saw Mac watching he mouthed “Mine’s bigger than yours” and grinned.

For some reason, Mac couldn’t help but grin back. Dammit, Watkins humor was infectious, even if his love for weapons was not.

Mac took a breath and focused back on the launcher. It was simple enough to disable the thing with just a few moves, and thankfully, it wasn’t about to blow up on him if he made a mistake.

Seconds passed, and just as he’d finished sabotaging the S.A.M.’s trigger, he felt Watkins at his side.

“You done?” The Brit asked.

Mac nodded. “Yeah, it won’t fire anytime soon, but we still need to deal with the other soldiers to get to that radio.”

Watkins slid his knife into his boot and scratched at the back of his head absently. “I suppose a full frontal assault might be a bit much?”

“Just a touch,” Mac agreed, smiling at the sardonic irony in the other man’s voice.

“Maybe there’s something a bit less bloody…” He eyed the covered over truck they’d spotted when they first discovered the camp. An idea was forming from single objects into larger pieces of a dangerous puzzle. It was how his mind worked sometimes.

Without explaining, MacGyver stealthily moved from the crates over to the truck. He checked the lines holding the tarp to the canopy. Perfect!

Undoing the rope, he quickly dashed to the tent and threaded it around the guy lines, and then back onto the truck’s rear tow hook. He wasn’t done yet, though.

Watkins watched, apparently intrigued as his companion grabbed an old flask from the truck’s cab. Mac took the cup and filled it with oil from a pipe to the engine, and then ran back with it to the generator the Serbs were using to power their base.

The generator was close to the tent, and Mac clenched his teeth as he gently teased off the cap to the small fuel tank that fed it. The cap popped off with a thunk, and he swiftly poured in the oil from the cup.

Almost instantly, the generator started to belch out a thick acrid smoke as the fuel and oil mixed and burned. Mac nodded and turned to go back to the truck, but Watkins was way ahead of him.

The Brit had climbed into the cab, and once there was enough smoke to make a blanket around the tent, he started it up and pulled forwards. The engine dribbled oil where Mac had cut an oil feed for his booty, but it didn’t matter, once the tent guy lines were simultaneously ripped from the ground, effectively collapsing the tarp on the soldiers, Watkins cut the engine and jumped back out.

The Serbs inside the tent began to frantically shout as they tried to push out of the heavy material on top of them. Three soldiers eventually emerged – straight into the cloud of smog Mac had created.

The unexpected smokescreen obviously caught them by surprise, and it was enough of a distraction for MacGyver to punch out the first two without a single shot being fired.

The third managed to grab a rifle, but his finger never made it to the trigger. Watkins rammed the barrel of his own AK47 into the soldier’s back and spat out an order in his own language, apparently telling him to “drop it.”

The Serb complied, raising his hands in the air with an expression of fear. Whether the look was because he didn’t know what to expect from Mac and Watkins, or that he did know what to expect from Nikolic for failing, was unclear.

MacGyver signaled for all three men to get down on the ground, hands behind them, and they dutifully obeyed. He tugged out what was left of his roll of tape and secured them with it. “Time to check out the radio and see if we can retune it…”

Watkins nodded and switched off the generator, then began pulling at the tent canvas until he managed to get it up and over what had been inside. The radio was ancient and sat on top of a small wooden desk.

MacGyver checked it out and was relieved to find it was powered by batteries, not the generator he’d sabotaged. He wasn’t sure how much more smoke he could inhale without becoming asthmatic.

Looking at the frequencies, he quickly made a few adjustments until he found the channel he hoped would put him in touch with Phoenix.

Watkins watched, but didn’t argue or suggest they should try his people. Maybe he just didn’t want to reveal who “his” people exactly were.

It took ten minutes of being rerouted and passwords begin exchanged, but eventually Mac got a very bad line straight to Pete Thornton. Every few seconds, the signal would be lost and then come back again with a hiss and a pop as he told his story.

“So you think Harpham is behind all this?” Pete asked, seemingly incredulous. “But he’s a good man, why Mac? Why?”

MacGyver didn’t have the answer. There was no sense to the General’s actions, but deep down somewhere, he had to have a reason.

“Okay, stand by you two, I’ll get through to the authorities about Harpham,” Pete sighed. “And I’ll make the arrangements to get you out of there as fast as we can…” The line began to crackle. “…stand by, I’ll…in touch…”

And Pete was gone, at least for now.

MacGyver set down the mike and glanced around them. How long would it take to get picked up? The woods here could be full of Serb soldiers, and Nikolic wasn’t going to be happy they’d ruined his chances of downing US warplanes. Mac could see torture on the cards if they were captured.

Watkins apparently wasn’t concerned with the same things. He looked worried, but his next sentence proved it wasn’t about his own life. “You know, we can’t leave here, not yet. At least, I can’t…”

“Are you crazy? We’ll be the top of Nikolic’s hit list. We gotta get out of here with those photos you took.” Mac was no coward, but there was no point, no reason to die here now.

“There was another part to my mission,” Watkins finally admitted. “If there was any chance I could take out Nikolic then I was supposed to try. And after what I’ve seen him do here, I need to give it a go. If there’s one person in this world that needs stopping then it's that bas…”

Mac didn’t let him finish. “Killing one man won’t stop what’s happening here. There’s always another just as bad ready to step up and carry on doing the atrocities. The killing has to stop somewhere – that’s the whole point.”

“Aww, you’re going all preachy on me, Mac, you know I can’t take that girlie stuff.” Watkins was smiling.

The radio behind them burped back into life, saving Mac and the Brit any chance of arguing. It was Pete back on the line.

“Mac, Harpham has been arrested. It seems he has been giving the Serbians information, and he did set you up to find Watkins for them.”

Pete paused, and MacGyver could tell something was bothering his old friend. “There’s a catch to this isn’t there? A reason we didn’t know about?”

“There is,” Pete confirmed. “And it wasn’t what any of us was expecting. Remember how Harpham told us the downed pilot was a friend of his son’s from training school? Well, the truth is, Harpham’s kid never made it through training school – he flunked out, and later became a photo journalist. His last story took him to Bosnia…”

MacGyver’s heart skipped a beat of dread. Instantly an image of Sam flashed into his mind. Pete didn’t need to say what had happened next, Mac could already guess, and it made his stomach churn as he couldn’t help put see the parallel with his own son.

“Nikolic captured Harpham’s kid,” Pete continued the story. “He found out just who his dad was and has been blackmailing Harpham for intel ever since…”

The radio popped again and then grew silent. Mac guessed Pete was giving him time to digest the new information. How far would I go to save Sam?

Watkins seemed to read MacGyver’s thoughts, even though he knew nothing about Mac’s own son, or that he was a journalist. “You can’t justify his actions? He’s put too many lives at stake just to save one!”

“I take it you don’t have kids?” Mac’s tone wasn’t angry. He’d lived most of his life not even knowing about Sam – a life he thought meant he had no responsibilities, and how wrong he’d been. You should never pass judgment, or take anything in life for granted.

“No,” Watkins admitted. “I’ve never really had the opportunity. Too busy killing people I guess.” His shoulders sagged as the realization hit home.

There is a heart and soul inside him, Mac realized.

Pete broke the thought. “So what do we do now? I can get you guys extracted, but…”

“But you can’t authorize a rescue mission for Harpham’s kid, it could cause an international incident,” MacGyver finished for him.

It was cold, it was heartless, and it was what Mac had expected from the authorities. And no matter how bad Pete felt, he wouldn’t be able to overrule the decision.

“You should know how governments work by now,” Watkins grumbled. “It’s not about right or wrong, or lives, it's about them. About what makes them look good or bad. I’ve seen it enough.”

Mac believed the Brit had with the flat, deadness to his voice. The man before him had seen more than he would ever tell. And MacGyver was sure now that Watkins was sick of it.

Watkins lips edged back into a tiny smile. “Reading my mind again Mother Teresa?”

“Maybe,” Mac admitted, part of him sure where the conversation was going.

“So, can you leave that kid in the hands of the Serbs?”

The whole countryside seemed to fall silent.

Mac had a choice, and it was far from a simple one, or an ethical one, or a moral one. He had come here straight after finding out Mariotte might be after Sam again. And just how had he felt about that?

Two young men, their fates determined not by who they were, but by who their fathers were.

And Mac couldn’t leave it at that any more than Harpham had…

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