(General Hawk's Office)

Beachhead had been called into a private meeting with General Hawk to discuss the recent training procedures put into place.

"So, how do you think it's going?" Hawk asked.

"There's been a definite improvement with preparedness in the ranks," Beachhead reported in his soft Southern drawl. "Sgt. Slaughter's got them running drills every single morning, seven days a week. And all of them just passed the new, tougher physical standards. None of them had to repeat."

"That's excellent news," Hawk admitted with a grin. "You and Slaughter have really shaped up this outfit, and I'm really pleased with the progress."

"Thank you, sir," Beachhead replied proudly.

"With that said..." Hawk glanced down toward his hands briefly, then continued. "I'd like to talk to you about further training implementation. As you know, our Joes are specialists. It's great to be physically prepared, but as far as training's concerned, I want to be able to drill down and ensure they aren't getting rusty in their respected fields."

"I understand what you mean, sir," Beachhead agreed and nodded.

"What I'd like for you to do is to come up with some individual training plans. Something to put our specialists through the paces. Do you think you'll be able to do this?"

Beachhead smiled rather unpleasantly behind his mask. This was the sort of thing he loved doing.

"Oh, I'll do it GLADLY, sir. How soon will you need the training plans?"

"Just as soon as you can come up with them," Hawk said.

"Then I'll have them on your desk by 1700 hours today," Beachhead promised.

Hawk grinned. He knew Beachhead would be up to the task!

(Two Days Later, 1430 hours)
(Off-Duty Lounge)

"It doesn't FIT now!" came the panicked, shrieking voice over the phone. "There's only weeks left until the wedding, and I can't make the dress fit! It's too tight around the middle!"

Edwin sighed. "Look, Stephanie, don't panic. Just call the dressmaker, I'm sure she can take it out a little bit..."

"I don't know, I didn't expect to gain 5 pounds before the wedding! How could this happen, I've hardly been eating anything!" There was a pause, and then muted sobs could be heard in the background.

"Hey, don't cry," Edwin said with growing concern. His little sister was pretty close to hysterical at this point, and he was convinced it was from pressures put on her by the upcoming wedding. "Everything's going to go just fine, you'll see. Just try to relax. There's no need to get completely over a barrel about it. Okay?"

"You're going to be there...right?" Stephanie asked. The crying had stopped, Edwin noted. Thank god.

"Of course I will," he insisted. "I absolutely will. Dad can't keep me away. No one can."

"Oh good." Stephanie sounded happier now. "I'm sorry for bothering you...I don't know what's gotten into me. You know I don't totally flip out like this very often."

"You're not bothering me. It's stress, you're stressed out," Edwin told her sympathetically. "Try running. I'm serious. 20 minutes a day. It will help."

"OK, I'll try it. Got to go now, I need to call the florist."

"Alright, hon. Take care of yourself. See you at the wedding."

"OK. Bye!"

As Edwin hung up, he pondered the upcoming wedding of his sister to a guy he hadn't really had time to know yet. Deep down inside, Edwin thought she was rushing things. (Couldn't they have prolonged the engagement for a while??) he thought to himself. (She's only nineteen, barely out of high school..) Even so, he couldn't much blame her for wanting to change her name so quickly. (I wonder if her fiance knows just what kind of a dysfunctional extended family he's getting as part of the package,) he pondered with a smirk.

His thoughts were cut short by Beachhead strolling into the room. "There you are! I been looking for you. Lifeline, front and center!"

Edwin knew that tone of voice. It meant trouble for whomever was on the receiving end. As he stood at attention, he wondered what he did wrong. It must have been something.

"I got a real treat for you," Beachhead said cheerfully. "I'll bet you're wondering what it is!"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Lifeline answered uneasily, wondering which was worse: His sister in a bad mood, or Beachhead in a good mood.

"Guess what I did just for you? I exempted you from the weapons training. 'Cause I know how you feel about it." Beachhead's brown eyes glimmered benevolently.

Lifeline blinked a few times. He wasn't quite naive enough to believe this didn't come with a catch. Considering the source. "Thank you," he said.

"Oh, don't thank me yet," Beachhead responded glibly, holding up a hand. "Just wait until you find out what I got planned for you instead of the weapons training!" He pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his back pocket, and shook it out. "As soon as you're ready to ship out, here's where you're going for the rest of the week," he explained, showing Lifeline a detailed relief map of what appeared to be a mountain. "Your assignment is to locate 20 beacons on the mountainside within 48 hours. Retrieve them as quickly as possible. They represent plane crash victims. And let me tell you, Snow Job did one heckuva job hiding them. You're to report back on your progress at regular intervals. The clock will start counting down once you're dropped off on the mountain. Any questions?"

"Actually, yes. Are all of these beacons buried??"

"Some are, some aren't," Beachhead said with a shrug. "But we're going to give you a little device that lets you know when you're getting real close to one. The point is to make it a challenge...not impossible."

Lifeline nods. "Understood. I'll get ready, then," he said simply, his voice not showing much emotion. Underneath the indifferent facade, he was dreading this training. It wasn't that he didn't think he could do it -- he was pretty sure he could locate most or all of the hidden beacons in the allotted time. It was just the thought of camping out in subzero weather that didn't really appeal to him. Nobody enjoyed freezing their ass off...except for maybe Iceberg or Snow Job.