<strong>Cole Madu: In a Meh-hee-co-han Standoff</strong><br/><br/>Cole had the sudden insight that this Russian was bluffing.  He kept talking about eating him and shooting his balls off, but he wouldn't be able to do any of that unless he lowered his M16.  All talk, no show.<br/><br/>His words struck a chord inside Cole, though, and gave pause to his thoughts.<em>Am I ready to die?</em>A second's deliberation later, he realized he was.  He just didn't want to.<br/><br/>The Russian's words also reminded him of the other Ruskies by the chopper.  The two on patrol could get her in about ten minutes, so he couldn't stand here in a Mexican Standoff all day.  Time was of the essence.  But there was no fucking way he was lowering his gun.  And all the talk about shooting his balls off and eating his calves...  That didn't make the decision any harder.<br/><br/>Five seconds had passed since the Russian had talked<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 1pt;"><em>A plan.</em></span>.<br/><br/>"All right," Cole said, not shifting his rifle but letting resignation enter his voice.  "All right.  Look at us, man.  The country's dead, and here we are ready to open backup breathin' holes in our skulls.  There isn't a Russia or an America anymore.  We're all the same flesh'n'blood now.  I'm good to die, but I don't want to for another couple of days<em>at least</em>."  He paused, thinking of the Russian's disturbing words.  "If it's food your after, or water, I have both.  I'm willin' to share what your friends down there don't have."<br/><br/>As he spoke, Cole sunk lower to the ground.  It was twitchy, as if his legs simply didn't have the strength to crouch anymore.  He had been at a medium crouch before, about four feet high, but now he was down on one knee, his M16 pointed upwards in order to maintain contact with the Russian's forehead.