Four hours earlier, they’d been pinned down during a seige.

Three hours earlier, they’d been on the chopper headed home following the difficult but successful mission.

Two hours earlier, they’d mounted horses and headed here.

It was now a well established tradition. After every assignment, they camped together. The official debriefing would take place the next day, but coming down from the adrenaline high happened under the stars at Four Corners.

The evening was dark with only a whisper of a moon. Time had since ticked passed midnight but five of the men were still awake. Nathan was sitting up, chin resting on his chest. Soft snoring signalled he’d lost his battle with sleep a few minutes earlier.

Vin had drifted off by 10:00 but then, he’d been suffering from returning memories since the mission. It was a draining experience and his companions were relieved when sleep took him.

“Nathan,” Josiah prompted, gently shaking his friend.

Nathan blinked and raised his chin. He drew in a deep breath, mumbled, ‘sorry’ and rolled onto his bedroll. Josiah reached across the sleeping form and pulled a blanket over him.

Chris flicked his gaze down to where Vin lay curled on his side, only the top of his curly brown head visible form the confines of the down bag. Larabee’s hand rested on the sleeping man’s arm. Just some added assurance in case Vin’s memories continued in his sleep.

J.D.’s brow furrowed. “Can’t believe Vin brought down the chopper like that.”

“It’s a sight to see,” Josiah agreed. “Man against machine.”

“Just one shot.”

“As Vin says, choppers don’t fly well without pilots.”

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw him do it,” Buck murmured. “He’d only been with us about three weeks.”

“Tell us,” J.D. prompted. He was still wide awake and enjoyed stories of his companions’ past escapades.

“Well...”

Buck’s blood was boiling. Tate’s bragging was getting on his nerves. The pair stood at the end of a temporary encampment several miles from enemy territory. Overhead, the camouflage netting filtered the sunlight.

The STF1 were camped south of the base but Buck had been sent to pick up supplies, a job he enjoyed for it meant mixing with the fairer sex.

Nicholas Tate was a member of Special Squad Eight. He and Buck had been old friends...adversaries... for many years. Tate was a fine sharpshooter and loved to brag about it. He’d just successfully cracked off a couple of shots at a selected target an impossible distance away.

Buck was seething. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted...

Wilmington smiled briefly with satisfaction, then turned to Tate and shrugged unimpressed. “So? I mean, with the right instruction, anyone could make that shot.”

Tate lowered the rifle. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

Buck stepped closer and issued the challenge. “I say I can instruct the next fella who walks by to make that shot.”

“A bet?” Tate asked, chuckling. “And the prize?”

“All the beer your can drink today.”

Tate smiled; they shook on it and turned around to search for the next passer-by.

Striding by the supply tent was a young man in a khaki t-shirt and camouflage pants. There was no indication of rank, but age placed him a private. His hair flew out behind him in the breeze – certainly not a regulation haircut. Tate pointed. “Him.”

Buck pursed his lips. “Ahh, come on Tate. Not fair. He’s just a little one. Doesn’t even look old enough to shave.”

“You said the next person. He’s the next person,” Tate insisted.

Buck smirked – hook, line and sinker.

“Hey!” Tate shouted.

The young soldier continued to stroll with long casual strides.

“Hey, private.”

The soldier paused and looked toward Tate and Wilmington.

“Yeah, you. Come over here.”

The young man’s eyebrows drew down.

“What? Are you deaf? I’m ordering you to come over here.”

Bright blue eyes flashed ire. Buck shot off, stopping in front of him and lowering his voice. “Kid, I need a favour.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Vin. Just like we did the other day.”

Last week, Buck had pulled the same stunt to impress some female officers. Vin had been wonderful, playing along and making the shots following Buck’s ‘instructions’. The women had been suitably impressed and Buck had enjoyed the fruits of his success.

Vin, of course, had been unimpressed and while not prepared to embarrass his friend at the time, he’d given him a piece of his mind afterwards. He hadn’t appreciated Buck ‘using’ him to impress others.

Vin titled his head to the side, a stern reminder of that conversation silently communicated in a single look.

Buck licked his lips. “Tate is a pain in the ass, Vin. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

“So do you,” Vin murmured.

Buck opened his mouth to protest but paused. “You’re probably right, but I’ve just bet him all the beers he can drink.” He flashed Vin his most pathetic look.

“You should have thought of that before opening your mouth,” Vin pointed out, his expression immovable.

Buck sighed. Okay, he deserved that.

Vin’s eyes narrowed and Buck turned and spotted Tate approaching.

“Well?”

Buck beamed. “There’s a little problem... he...he doesn’t have a rifle with him.”

Tate grinned, holding his out to Vin. “There you go, Kid. Use mine.”

Vin snorted and continued on his path to the mess tent.

“You haven’t been dismissed, private,” Tate commanded, turning his shoulder to show his sergeant stipes.

“Who said I was a private,” Vin growled, without stopping.

“Of all the...” Tate started, taking off after him.

Buck grabbed his arm and reefed him to a stop. “Forget it.”

“The little runt needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Reckon he just taught us one. Come on. The drinks are on me,” Buck offered, diffusing the situation.

Tate nodded, his anger dissipating. “You would have lost anyway.”

“Tate, what you need to know is that soldier is...” Buck’s voice faded. He sensed... Tate’s head snapped around to the sky beyond at the same time.

“Chopper.”

Buck squinted. “One of theirs.” His stomach dropped. A fully-armed combat chopper. If it spotted the encampment there would be nowhere to hide. The temporary structures would provide no protection from the thousands of bullets the chopper would fire. Buck had seen camps that had been attacked by enemy choppers. The bullets ripped through everything and everyone. It was going to be a massacre.

“It’s coming straight toward us,” Tate cried.

Those inside the tents heard the approaching terror and poured outside. They all knew the situation. Some ran. Others chose not to cower but to stare death in the face.

The huge rifle cannons on the closing chopper tilted down toward the encampment. Any hope they hadn’t been spotted was gone. “God, protect us.”

Vin appeared out of the mess tent. Buck’s stomach did a slow roll. Tanner was a kid and didn’t deserve to die today. Perhaps luck would be with him and he would be one of the small percent the bullets would miss.

Tanner sprinted toward Buck. Wilmington raised his hands. “Calm down, Kid. There’s...”

Vin darted passed him, snatched the rifle from Tate’s numb hands and shot out from under the camouflage netting.

“What the hell’s he doing?” Tate screamed. “It’s an armoured chopper, you fool!”

Buck sucked in a breath. He’d been told Vin could bring down a chopper but the approaching demon wasn’t a normal chopper. It was an armed battle helicopter. The Katinese had purchased four of them recently and used them effectively to massacre a dozen temporary camps just like this one. Camps without armour piercing weapons. Camps without a hope of fighting back.

The chopper started firing, bullets smacking into the earth, a hundred feet out in front of it. The ground began disintegrating as a thousand bullets per second tore it apart – a dust cloud of debris thrown into the air above the destruction.

Vin stopped running, lifted the rifle and took aim. The chopper closed in – man against machine. The roaring of the bullets and the propellers was deafening.

“NO!” Buck screamed as Vin disappeared in the dust cloud, bullets tearing up the land around the young man. The chopper continued on its path.

Abruptly, it lurched to the left, arched for a few seconds and then spiralled downwards and crashed into the ground half a mile away.

There were cries of amazement and celebration from the men at the base. Buck stood frozen as the dust began to clear and... there was no sign of Vin. “Oh God. No. No, no, no.” Buck sprinted toward the spot Vin had disappeared. His heart lurched into his throat. The kid had been hit!

As he closed the distance, Vin materialized, kneeling on one knee, taking deep breaths and coughing.

“KID!” Vin looked up, wiping his eyes with his arm. He was covered in a thick layer of dust. Leaves, grass and other debris stuck to him and his face and arms were littered with small scratches and cuts.

Buck grabbed Vin and pulled him to his feet. “Are you hit? Are you okay?”

“Just choking on dust, Bucklin. Calm down. I’m fine.”

Buck stared at him. “That was... that was...”

Vin smirked.

“You’re incredible.” Vin had shot through the only part of the helicopter that wasn’t armoured -- the glass windscreen. Wilmington took out a handkerchief and handed it to Tanner to wipe his watering eyes.

“I need a drink,” Vin murmured, dabbing his eyes. “And a shower.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

Buck smiled and squeezed Vin’s shoulder. “Thanks Kid. You saved a lot of lives today.”

Vin’s chin bobbed.

The pair turned and started back toward the encampment. The soldiers collected had recovered from their shock, and realizing the danger had passed because of what Vin had done, broke into spontaneous cheers and applause.

Vin stopped, his face twisting with discomfort. “Oh, great.”

Buck beamed. He slid his arm across Vin’s slim shoulders. “Come on, pard. Let’s go and drown in all the free drinks you’re about to be bought.”

Vin glanced at Buck with apparent disgust, but his eyes were twinkling.

Tate jogged out to meet them.

Vin handed back the rifle. “Sight's a little off.”

“I...” The other sharpshooter was astounded.

Buck smiled. “Tate, this here’s Lieutenant Vin Tanner. He’s the sharpshooter in our squad.”

Tate shook his head. “You took out the pilot.”

“Yeah.”

“I... I’ve never seen anyone do that.” Nicholas Tate glanced at the insignificant target of his and Buck’s bet. He shook his head in amazement, then smiled his overwhelming relief at Wilmington. “You two-timing swindler. You spotted him coming and knew you were backing a sure winner.”

Buck beamed. “I only put money on sure bets, Tate.”

Ezra shook his head, his wistful gaze directed at the starless night. “While I would not dream of questioning Vin’s prowess with a rifle, for I myself have seen him bring down choppers on no less than two occasions now, I still do not believe there is any such thing as a sure bet.”

Josiah rubbed his chin. “Oh, I don’t know, brother. I’d say it was a sure bet Buck needed to change his shorts that day.”

Laughter filled the silent night -- just as it always did when the men of Em7 enjoyed an evening together camping under the stars.

It was a sure bet, they’d be doing so again in the not too distant future.

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© Dec 2007 Aussie Lass. : This relates only to the creative property in this story. The distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations are mine. I acknowledge that some of the characters and settings belong to the owners of "The Magnificent Seven" and I thank them sincerely for turning a blind eye so I can borrow them. (g) No infrigement of copyright was intended and no profit has been made from this story... so, please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your while.