CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: SOMETIMES THE HEROES MUST FALL

The room was silent as Major General Hawk stepped up to the podium. The same room that had been used for delivering countless mission briefings was now being used to remember their fallen comrades from their most recent mission, five days before. Various flower arrangements covered the room and the lights were dimmed; it hardly looked recognizable from the plain, utilitarian briefing room that everyone was used to. Two large photos were propped up on stands, with flowers strewn about their bases. One was of Air-Tight, and one was of Heavy Duty. They would soon be joining Short Fuze on the Fallen Warrior plaque hanging in the back of the room.

Zap's name would be noticeably absent.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. You know, it is never easy at a time like this, addressing warriors such as yourselves after losing fellow soldiers in arms. We were fortunate that many of you—many of us—survived the most recent conflict."

"Some of you came back wounded—but you're still with us. Snake-Eyes," the General said, nodding to the man in the crowd—his arm was in a sling, still. "Shipwreck," he said, referring to the seaman, sitting in a wheelchair with his arm in a cast. "Wild Bill," Hawk nodded to the Texan in the back of the room; Bill's head was wrapped with bandages, underneath his cowboy hat. "Low-Light couldn't be with us today, but he seems to be improving, and his status was just changed from critical to stable. Doc and Lifeline are both with him at Chicago National Hospital. Of course, any of you not on orders are cleared and encouraged to fly out and visit him. Doc agrees that his survival is nothing short of a miracle, so those of you that pray, make sure you give prayers of thanks."

"I salute you four; you have been put in for Purple Hearts and will receive them… well… when the paperwork makes it through." There was a brief rush of chuckles through the crowd. Hawk felt bad that the awards weren't ready for this particular ceremony, but that was the military. Not even a general had the power to speed up a bureaucracy, sometimes.

The general continued, "But even those of you who weren't physically injured still suffered. When one of us is wounded, all of us are wounded. When one of us dies, a part of us dies with them. We fight together. We bleed together. Sometimes, we even die together. Yet we accept this, because this is what we do, and this is who we are. God, duty, country. These are the words we live by. Because of this, sometimes the heroes fall."

"It is times like these that people like you make a difference between not only life and death, but also between freedom and slavery. It is people like you that, instead of sitting on the sidelines when terror strikes, stand up with pride and anger and are willing to do something about it, raising your fist in the air, declaring at the top of your lungs, 'Not in my country!'"

"So, today we honor the fallen. Reluctantly, we add two names to the Fallen Warrior plaque, joining our friend and compatriot, Short Fuze.

"Air-Tight, a.k.a. Kurt Schnurr, will always be remembered as a practical joker, a fearless warrior, and a trusted friend. He will most certainly be missed.

"Heavy Duty, a.k.a. Lamont Morris, will always be known for being one of the physically strongest on the team as well as one of the most intense. But he will also be remembered for his love of music and his gentle nature -- at least when you got to know him." The team let out a quiet laugh, momentarily forgetting the pain of the moment.

"But after the rain falls down and the raging storms pass on, we remember the sun comes out and the grass grows greener. Mark my words: we will march on. Our team has skipped a beat, stumbled, and maybe even fallen; but we will pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and we will march on." The inflection in his voice as he spoke the last four words resonated through the room, letting each and every person in the room know: their unit would not falter.

"But just as we have lost some dear friends, we have gained some new ones. Many of you know our dear civilian—Shana O'Hara." Shana blinked, and her chin jerked up—she found many of the people in the room turning their heads, offering her smiles. "Few of you know, I think, exactly what she's done for us."

"Imagine this, if you will. It's your first mission, and everything's gone straight to Hell. You're outgunned, outmanned, in unfriendly territory, without even a weapon in hand. You've been given very specific orders by your commanding officer, who is older, and more experienced: if he gives the signal, you're to run and not look back. He gives the signal—and you know he's trying to cover your escape. You know you can make it out of there… but you know, with the same certainty, that if you run, they'll gun him down. What do you do?"

"Now, I know what a good, well-trained, obedient recruit would do." Hawk's mouth quirked in a brief, startling grin. "Shana O'Hara picked up an antique crossbow, instead."

A light sprinkling of laughter echoed through the briefing room, and Shana ducked her head to hide her humiliation—but the gently condescending amusement trailed off as Hawk continued, "She put her first quarrel into the wall, just barely missing one of their attacker's ears—not where she wanted it, probably, but enough to take the pressure off Snake-Eyes and draw their fire onto herself. Her second shot jammed deep into a man's thigh, and Snake-Eyes gunned him and his partner down while they were distracted. And when Snake-Eyes's clip ran dry, and our man Snake here was looking down the barrel of a fully loaded M-16—Shana put an arrow right through the throat of the bastard holding it."

"Ladies and gentlemen, if it hadn't been for Shana O' Hara, we'd have another name on our Fallen Warrior plaque today. Some of you might say it was luck. Others of you—others who have seen her standing at our shooting grounds—know better, because skill is one thing… and courage under fire is another."

All eyes were on her, now, and she was sure that her famous redhead blush was covering her all the way to her arms. But despite the sorrow in the room, when she peeked up through her lashes… there was pride in many of their faces—nods and smiles in her direction—and understanding glittering in many, many pairs of eyes before they turned away. And when she glanced up, Hawk's smile was just for her.

But… but wait, how did General Hawk…

"Thank you, Shana," he said, in that same gentle voice. "I know I speak for all of us when I wish you all of the best… but I have the suspicion, too, that it's not luck that's going to get you to your goals. It'll be the same spirit that's seen you through all your trials this far."

When he looked away, finally, Shana felt a hand on her shoulder, a careful, subtle pressure—not squeezing as much as just barely touching her. When she glanced at it, she found Snake-Eyes watching her, his fingers gently resting against her shoulder.

There had only been two people who had survived that pawnshop—and she certainly hadn't told Hawk anything.

Oh. Oh, Snake-Eyes. Shana felt her blush brighten, and ducked her head further as his fingers gently released her skin. I guess… I guess you are proud of me, after all.

"On this note, there is more good news. We completed the mission, and the nuclear device was dismantled, thanks to all of you -- and specifically, Tunnel Rat," General Hawk said, gesturing to the New Yorker, as those next to him either nudged him or patted him on the back. "Millions of lives were saved, and not a single one of them—at least outside of this room—realizes how close they were to being vaporized. How close were they, Tunnel Rat?"

"One minute and fifty-eight seconds, sir!" Tunnel Rat shouted, and the room roared with laughter and applause. 'Rat stood up half-way, twisting to address the rest of the crowd with a quick wink to Roadblock, "…and if anyone wants to come fishing in my brand new boat…"

Major General Hawk couldn't help but smile, but brought the soldiers back to focus. "At ease."

He shifted his lapel and continued, "There is more. We found some very important documents at the site of the helicopter crash. These documents had the nuclear device activation code—the one that Zap used before he left the warehouse. They also contained the name of the terrorist organization. After all these years, we've finally been able to zero in on them...."

A hush fell over the warriors in the crowd, listening intently to General Hawk.

"They are known as... Cobra."

The name sunk in to each and every person in the crowd—a name that none of them would ever, ever forget. These people, these monsters, these snakes, for their own purposes, had felt no qualms about setting off a nuclear device in the middle of one of America's largest cities.

"Before you return to your posts, or your leave, I want you to think of this. It is because of terrorists such as Cobra that our unit was formed. We are all that stands between them and possible world destruction. Our name is classified, but you are the exemplars of it. Don't ever forget that—and carry yourselves, and our name, with pride."

He looked over the gathered warriors, and nodded, once. "Dismissed."

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*Authors note: One more chapter to go! More of an epilogue. Hope you enjoyed the story this far; please let me know what you think after I post the last chapter in the next few days!