Authors Note: Ok, so after my summer reading I have discovered many new wonderful things! Along with the fact it is ill-advised to but wind-shield wiper fluid in the radiator and other helpful tidbits of knowledge, I came to find out that Schmid, the Ranger Medic in the movie was actually a Delta Medic, so in my little fiction here, he'll be a Delta Medic. This will be the last chapter in here but I'll be starting up an Eversman fic now that I'm inspired to pick up where this leaves off. So enjoy and review. : )

36.

Delta Medic Kurt Schmid glanced up as fellow Operator Matt Eversman slammed his locker door with enough force to rattle the lockers down the wall. He watched with amusement as the obviously irate man threw his shoes on the floor and dropped down on the bench to put them on.

Calm and placid as usual, Schmid closed his locker and made sure his lock was in place. Somehow his supply of Chunky Soup always ran low when his locker was unlocked. At least when there was a lock it required picking, and that deterred the occasional thief, but not all of them.

Wordlessly he crossed his arms over his chest and leant against the locker.

Eversman didn't so much as look at him while he yanked his boots on.

Kurt was about to ask when the locker door opened and Garren barreled in, gun in hand, obviously looking for someone.

Which got both Schmid's and Eversman's attention.

"Have you seen Wosley?"

With a nod Schmid replied, "He was on his way to his desk a few minutes ago. Why?"

"CID's looking for him. He's been giving information away."

Both men were on their feet and right behind Garren, who ran like the well-muscled athlete he so resembled, the other two paces behind. The three men ran through the halls and paused only to key in their clearance as they got into the intelligence area of the building. Where offices and electronics were in great abundance.

Not a word was spoken between the three men.

Not until the got to the office door, opened it, and saw Wosley seated at him computer with a look of absolute sickness on his face. Garren leveled his weapon at the smaller man, "Put your hands above your head and stand up right now."

A pair of silver handcuffs gleamed in the back of Garren's jeans. Schmid grabbed them. Wosley had stood and had barely gotten his hands above his head when he was shoved onto the desk. He hit the hard surface hard enough that a snow globe fell off and shattered on the floor. His nose began to bleed as Schmid pulled his arms roughly behind his back, not even waiting for his safety. Not bothering to see if there was a weapon of anything in arms distance.

Both Matt and Garren walked around to the computer. Looking at the data, the information and files that were pulled up. A good amount had been destroyed. Garren keyed in a code onto the computer, stopping the destruction, saving a good amount of information, evidence.

"Call the colonel," Garren told Eversman, who looked Garren dead in the eyes and replied, "I'm going to need a minute with Wosley."

"Me next," Schmid spat, tightening the handcuffs.

Garren looked to Matt, the man he had grown so close to. His friend. With a look of pure remorse he said, "I can't allow you to do that Master Sergeant."

The room became silent. Except for the wheezing and gasping from Wosley, who obviously had a broken nose and quite possibly a few broken ribs from the force that Schmid had sent him into the desk with.

"Why?"

Garren took a deep breath. This was always the hard part, the worst part. "Because as a CID Investigator I am placing him under arrest for High Treason and quite possibly several deaths that came about from his crimes. Now, will you watch him while I go out into the hall and contact my superiors to let them know I have him in custody, and that he will need immediate medical attention."

Later that day…

Jordan was working on darkening his tan. Naturally he had his mother's Middle Eastern bronze skin, but the sun would darken it. That was the look he wanted at that moment. So he lay out on the lawn, on a towel, wearing a Speedo.

He was also babysitting.

Mere feet away Kiki, Daniel, and Wendy were seated in a circle and intent upon their task of painting the chicken Harry's toenails.

His moment of tranquility was interrupted when an unmarked sedan pulled into the driveway.

He lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow as three men got out. One man he did not know, the man wore a Green Class A Uniform. He was a middle-aged man that had shaved his head. The other man was the chaplain. Then there was his father.

Jordan was utterly confused.

Obviously, his father had not died, but someone had since the chaplain was there.

The men walked up the driveway and Daniel stood, excited at seeing his father. Jordan grabbed him as he ran by and pulled him on his sun block covered thigh, "Hold on little man, Dad's here for work."

Daniel pouted but sat down firmly on his brother's leg and crossed his little arms.

The three men came to a stop and Sanderson asked, "Where's your mother?"

Jordan pointed, "She's in there doing something with the other officer's wives." He looked at the three men, then the moping Daniel, and back to his father, "This is because of Uncle Hoot."

Sanderson nodded in response and led the way up the walk and into the house.