From the far side of the container, the Americans are interrupted by a deep, long, rasping smoker's cough. The coughing continues, more violently this time. Doc emerges. He has woken up at long last.
He strolls toward his new teammates, then stops halfway along the side of the container. He unzips his uniform and urinates against the steel wall. "Arrrrhhhhhh that feels so goooooood."
The Americans gawp at him.
His bladder emptied, Doc shakes himself dry causing several large drops of urine to splash all over the front of his uniform. Oblivious to the large wet patch around his groin region, he stretches, yawns, scratches his balls, and launches into another coughing fit. He brings up phlegm and spits it out onto the ground, then zips up his uniform. Now fully awake, he looks around and spots the large, round shape of Rita's dead body covered in the tarpaulin. He sees her dried blood on the ground. He appears unconcerned.
Doc turns his attention to the Americans and saunters up to them. He looks inside the container at all the hardware and weapons. He inhales deep and slow, as if savoring fresh air on a Sunday morning stroll.
He exhales, then nods. "Morning." At the same time, he notices Nevada. He smiles at her, a dirty old man leer.
Embarrassed, Nevada looks away.
Doc shrugs. "Cigarette—anybody?"
Silence. The Americans still stare at Doc.
"What I would give right now for a dry martini," Doc continues.
Sophia, with some force, aiming at Doc's head, throws him down a bottle of water. Doc catches it with ease. He does not drink.
He grins up at Sophia. He studies her glow. His eyes drop to her midriff. He tilts his head to one side, then mischievously asks her, "Four months?"
"Hey, old man—you've wet your pants," Sophia says.
Doc grins. "And with whom do I have the pleasure?"
Before Sophia can answer, she spots movement on the horizon. She looks through her binoculars and shouts down, "Hey, I got something here."
In the distance, Sophia tracks a Humvee, a motorbike and a quad bike. The green-colored vehicles are identified by the flag of the Rising Sun.
"What you got?" Matt yells.
"Two, no, three vehicles—on the horizon," Sophia says.
Books runs into the container. He grabs a sniper rifle and ammunition. He straps the gun on his back, then vaults up the container door's steel frame and joins Sophia. He sets up the powerful rifle, lies down, and looks through the gun's scope at the Japanese convoy. Sophia lies down next to him.
"What you seeing, Books?" Matt's concerned.
Books concentrates. He scans over each vehicle. His scope lingers on a Japanese man and a Japanese woman standing in their Humvee's gun turret. Like Books, they also scan the horizon through their binoculars. They spot the American container. The Japanese woman barks out an order, and the Japanese convoy stops.
Matt, again up at Books, asks more urgently, "Books, what's happening?"
"We got company. Three vehicles, same as ours. About two miles out. I need you to move that quad out of the container—right now—then the Humvee."
"Okay, but keep talking—you keep talking to me, you hear?" Matt dashes into the container.
"What flag they flying?" Cutter shouts up to Sophia.
"Japanese." Sophia still studies the convoy through her binoculars.
Matt drives the quad onto the salt pan. He parks it behind the container, out of the line of sight.
Books watches more Japanese emerge from their Humvee.
"Anything else?" Cutter yells.
"Like Books said, they got the same as us," Sophia says.
"Same everything—guns too?"
"Yeah—same Humvee, same quad, same bike—just painted green." Sophia spots a number on the vehicles. "Looks like they're team number seven."
Cutter shakes his head. "Motherfucker—that's my lucky number."
"Not this time!" Books says.
"How come?"
"Because it looks like we just made their shopping list."
"You mean seen, right? Fuck it. What they doing now?"
"Same as us. Just watching," Sophia says.
Lloyd starts up. "This is just great. Our man Rambo up there has a fucking sniper's rifle trained on them. That's one helluva bad look Books, so put the goddamned gun down."
"I'm sure Mr Books will consult with the majority before making any arbitrary decisions," Doc says.
Lloyd shouts up at Books, "You're sending out totally the wrong message. We don't want some international conflict kicking off here. I'm saying Bay of Pigs. That's how that all started."
"You're saying shit. Don't you get it yet? It's us or them. End of," Sophia snaps.
"That's a big risk assumption, lady. I'm with Doc. Let's put it to the vote," Lloyd says.
Books ignores Lloyd and Doc's protests. He still watches through the rifle's scope.
Lloyd tries again, "Books, BOOKS—are you listening?"
Books is not distracted.
Doc calls up to Books. "Son, I'm paid to save lives, not take them." He unzips his uniform and strips down to his white shorts.
Lloyd falters at the sight of a semi-naked Doc. "Books, now, put the gun down—before we all get killed."
Books ignores Lloyd. He sees a heated debate has kicked off within Team Japan.
"What you think, Books?" Jim calls up.
"Not sure, but they're not happy about something."
"How come?" Matt asks.
"They're arguing."
"What about?"
"Being about two miles away, it's kinda hard to hear what they're saying from up here!"
"Well, what you think they are arguing about?" Matt asks.
"I think they're deciding to defend or—"
"Or what?"
"Or attack us."
Matt shouts, "HOLY FUCK!"
