I've had this chapter ready for close to two months. Sentinel and CajunBear saw it shortly after Thanksgiving. I've been trying to get here for months and they both kept pushing me to get off the pot and finish.

Thanks Guys

Dedicated to my Uncle Rog

Roger Thomas Nichols

Staff Sergeant, USA

Veitnam

Bronze Star

Purple Heart

06/01/1950

06/23/1992

Chapter 27 He's My Brother.

Twenty-five years ago, at the start of her Senior year, she was walking to school. Ten months before that would have been impossible. She had herself a mission and it concerned a short young man that the year before had had the locker next to hers.

Her father had picked her up after the day before Thanksgiving break in her Junior year in High School and was driving her home when a car barreled through the intersection T-boning the smaller import her father had bought for the fuel savings. The impact had scarcely touched her father merely knocking him out. But it sent her to the hospital with her back broken in two places. It was only through the Grace of God's Miracle and the fact the EMT's had been trained for the injuries, that her spinal column hadn't been severed.

The doctors had quickly immobilized her to prevent any further damage and sent her by helicopter, 150 miles away to the new Neurological and Spinal Treatment Center in Middleton. There they carefully reset the vertebrae and placed her in a steel bracing cage. She had pins driven into her hips, shoulders, parts of her remaining vertebrae and skull to prevent any movement of the damaged C5 and L1 vertebrae.

She spent the first four months in that steel torture device. About the time Valentine's Day rolled around they sent her in for surgery again to remove the cage and replace it with a removable fiberglass body cast.

Nothing was easy, not moving around, going to the bathroom, getting out of bed or even sleeping. Some of the worse parts was taking a shower. Part of the treatment was hanging by the neck in a sling that stretched her spinal discs to allow them to heal better. In order to get even remotely clean she had to have help. A girl going on 17 and she couldn't even bathe herself. When she got the fiberglass body cast, she had to be in the sling to keep the pressure off of her spine while she showered.

Her parents transferred to Middleton so they could be closer to the Center that was saving her from being paralyzed. By the start of the second semester she had been cleared to return to school. Middleton High School, but she was forced to walk around wearing no makeup, a steel cage and baggy clothes that looked like a frame tent.

Most of the students just ignored her, which was fine with her. Some of them reacted with pity which she wanted nothing to do with. And a more than a few of the 'Elite' constantly tormented her. She knew she was tall for her age and waif thin from both her natural build and the injury. But the last thing she needed was the football players and cheerleaders razzing her about it. She bore it with grace and did her best to just ignore them. But there were two people that treated her like there was nothing wrong.

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

Performed by 'The Hollies'

http://www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=C1KtScrqtbc

The first was her younger brother. Until she had her back broken, she never really knew her brother. His wry, sometimes caustic sense of humor. His inner strength and determination. The way he tried to never let any one down. While her parents fluttered around, treating her worse than an infant and tried to drive her insane, he just took it in stride. The way her parents acted about it was maddening enough to make her vow to never treat her own children the same.

Before she got the fiberglass brace, it took her mother nearly ten minutes to help her out of bed by moving her just a little at a time until she was upright. Her father was almost as bad. Her brother's solution was considerably more straightforward and a lot more inelegant.

He looked at her laying in the bed and sarcastically asked "Ya ready to get up?"

Sigh, "Yes please." She couldn't even turn her head to look at him.

"Ya sure?"

"Come on!"

"All right." He gently jumped on to the bed and stood up, straddled her and grabbed the steel cage just below her breasts. Then with a surprising strength, lifted her and shuffled her to the foot of the bed. Once her legs were dangling, he jumped off and pulled her the rest of the way up. "There ya go!"

She didn't know whether to be thankful or mad. He treated her like she was hurt, but not like she was a cracked Faberge' Egg.

The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows when
But I'm strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain't heavy, he's my brother

One time, when they were walking home from school, just after she had gotten the new brace, she slipped and fell into a ditch filled to overflowing with muddy runoff from the snow banks littering the town. The pain was incredible, almost enough to knock her out.

She would have drowned except for him, but the problems were just getting started. Her parents would have totally flipped if she found her like that and it was still in the lower 30's so the cold was no joke. She had to get clean and dry fast, both to prevent frostbite and her mother's coronary and her dad's meltdown.

Her brother came to her rescue again. He practically carried her home. Then he saw more of her body that day than anyone besides her mother, or doctors for years, until she married her husband. He hustled her into the shower, got her in the hanging brace and pulled the soaking wet clothes and fiberglass brace off of her. Turning on the warm water, he used the separate showerhead and gently bathed the things she couldn't reach. As soon as the mud and grime was gone, he fetched her some warm clothes, dried her off and dressed her while she hung in the shower.

So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He would not encumber me
He ain't heavy, he's my brother

Then he took the fiberglass brace outside and used the hose and a brush to clean the rest of the mud from the body cast while she hung there in the bathroom. He brought it back inside and used her hairdryer to dry it out before her mother got home from work. All of this before he got out of his own soaking wet, freezing clothes.

For years, they never mentioned to their parents some of the things he had done for her. Like the times he had come home with both eyes blackened and a split lip. "I fell off my bike going down that hill over by the Jacobson's." Either her mother never noticed or chose not to mention anything about the busted and bruised knuckles he hastily stuck in his pockets. And while her dad must have spotted them while they did the yard work, he only nodded at his son in unspoken understanding. When she cornered him about it, his answer was shocking. He had gotten into a series of fights with the Ramer brothers.

If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's heart
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another

Both Kevin and Steve were on the football team and, outside of the cheerleaders, the worst offenders when it came to teasing her. Her brother just shrugged and said, "You're my sister. Nobody's allowed to tease you, but me!" He couldn't really do anything about the cheerleaders, but because he never quit, he got the other bullies to back off.

They might have beaten him up several times, but every time he saw one, the other or both, he barreled into them like rabid beagle going after a couple of pit bulls. Eventually they got the idea they had three choices, deal with the little lunatic multiple times on a daily basis, kill him or leave her alone. They chose option three.

His actions gained him a lot of respect around the school. Either the kind you give a crazy person that might turn on you or the genuine respect of his peers. Even the teachers let him be when it came to dealing with the Ramer's.

It's a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we're on the way to there
Why not share
And the load
Doesn't weigh me down at all
He ain't heavy, he's my brother

The other person that treated her like a human being, was the guy in the locker next to hers, Dean Stoppable. The man she would later marry. He treated her with respect and a quiet dignity for the entire time that she was wearing the torture devices. He would walk her to her classes, offering to carry her books or they would meet in the lunchroom and he would get her tray for her. And not once did he make her feel like a helpless cripple.

By the end of her Junior year she was nursing a serious crush for the slightly shorter young man. Sure he wasn't a hot guy, but he had something they didn't. The only word she could find for it was dignity. He wasn't a tall boy, but he walked with his head up. He wasn't loud or boisterous, but he was the President of the Debate Team. And he was smart. Smarter then most of the rest of the kids in school.

She finally got the brace off near the end of June and spent the next 10 weeks in physical rehabilitation. When school started back up she was determined to knock the socks off of the quiet young man. And when she was starting to become a nervous wreck, once again, it was her brother that settled her down enough to talk to her crush.

He's my brother
He ain't heavy, he's my brother...

It was because of her brother that 4 years later, in the summer of their Junior year in college, that she was married to her crush and became Mrs. Dean Stoppable.

Now her brother had been violently taken from her, and she didn't know what to do other than curl up in her husband's lap and sob.

**********

Ron was standing outside on the patio trying to make sense of what happened, when Barkin stepped out of the dining room carrying two cups of coffee. "I'd really kinda like to be alone for a while Mr. B!"

Barkin set one of the cups in front of Ron, saying, "It's cold out here."

"Mr. B, please!"

"Your family's inside worrying about you, all of them, including your crew and the Possibles." Barkin pointed a huge finger at the coffee. "Now drink, it's cold out here."

Ron might have been mastering the MMP and been training with both Kim and Sagara for the last few months and truth be known, Ron could have probably handled the large man like another one of the Henchman or member of the goon squads, but there was still something about the man that intimidated him. Ron took a sip and found it was just the way he liked it. He figured Kim must have made it for him. The coffeemaker was the only safe appliance in the kitchen for Kim.

"You ever wonder how I met your Uncle Roger, Stoppable?" Steve Barkin was nothing like what Ron expected him to be. Gone was the brusque, gruff, military minded school administrator he had come to know over his high school career. He was quiet, contemplative.

Ron turned and looked at the man to see him looking down into his coffee. He took a drink of the coffee and set the cup down. Then he did something that floored the young man. He pulled out a small hip flask that had an Anchor and Globe surmounted by an Eagle on it. He flipped the lid and added a generous measure to the cup. Seeing Ron's look he said, "Don't try giving me the hairy eyeball. We're both adults. You're not legal to drink, but we're both adults. And this isn't High School. Now answer the question. You ever wonder how I met your Uncle?" and then he took a sip of the 'fortified' coffee.

"I never thought about it, Mr. B."

"About, ohhh, sixteen, close to seventeen years ago now, there was this operation, a mission if you will, that never happened." He was looking to the cup, gently swirling the contents.

"It was the mid-nineties, and we had this pantywaist that was NCA. Man couldn't figure out whether to shit or get off the pot. Anyway, there was this little country in Central America that shall remain unnamed, that either couldn't or wouldn't do anything to interdict the flow of the end product of the local cocoa crop into the U.S. So it was decided that if they weren't going to handle the problem, then maybe someone else should."

"Well a couple of squads of Force Recon Marines were very quietly inserted into this Central American country under the Command of a newly promoted Captain. Their mission was to disassemble some of the facilities processing the crop from its' raw form into something more… transportable, let's say." Barkin took another drink of the coffee.

"Within a few weeks five of these facilities ceased operations. Causing a severe decrease in the supply side of the equation. The people that received the bulk of the revenue from those facilities and their product were not amused to say the least."

Barkin started gripping the cup so hard Ron swore he could hear it creaking, as he growled, "You know, it's amazing, just how much information you can find, if you've got enough money."

Barkin visibly regained control and continued, "Anyway, somehow the word got out that there were a bunch of Jarheads running around in the boonies, disrupting their livelihood. The local authorities mentioned something to that effect to the American Consul. Who relayed the information to NCA."

"Naturally, NCA was 'shocked and disavowed any knowledge of some supposed operation taking place in the Central American Highlands.' Orders were immediately flashed to this Amphibious Assault Ship that was standing to about fifty miles to the south of this little country. 'Cease all operations, report to Pearl, forthwith.' The only saving grace, was the fact that the orders came in as a very low priority. No 'Flash', no 'Urgent', just normal traffic."

"Now the radio operator on board this ship had a buddy in Force Recon, who just happened to be running around the boonies. He looked at this message for about three seconds and asked permission to 'step up deck', that's polite naval slang for hitting the can. He hustled down the Flight Country, found another one of his buddies, a crewman on an H3. Let him know that he could only sit on the message until the ship's commander came on duty in about four hours."

"Since this crewman had already prepped the bird for a re-supply mission that was to take off later that night in support of those 'Recon Pukes', all he had to do was rustle up the crew and let 'em know what was going on. The pilot requested an early take-off and tried to get clearance. Since the mission was already scheduled, ATC thought nothing about an early take-off."

"About thirty minutes into the flight, they went feet dry. At about thirty-five minutes, the radio started squawking 'Husky Flight, Husky Flight, RTB, RTB, do you copy? Husky Flight, RTB immediately, do you copy?' The pilot just looked at the radio and said to the copilot, 'I'm just making sure, but except for contacting those Marines, we're supposed to maintain radio silence until after we're feet wet, right?' The copilot said with a perfectly straight face, 'That's what I heard in the briefing, Sir.' And so they continued on their merry way."

"About 5 minutes from the LZ they contacted the ground-pounders and found out they had a problem. A hot LZ. The Federalies had been able to initiate hostile contact and the Recon Troops tried to wave off the incoming re-supply flight. The pilot informed them that the flight had changed from re-supply to extraction and there would be no other attempts. The Marine Captain got the message quite clearly. Get out now or be stuck."

"Since they were leaving anyway, there was no sense in conserving ammo. The Marine squads started pouring covering fire to protect the incoming bird. The H3 came in so hard they crushed the tail wheel. The crewman on the chopper was acting as a door-gunner, firing his mini-gun in support of the retreating Marines while the Marines fell back in a bounding over-watch."

"Didn't take long before the only people left in the wood-line were gomers, the Captain and his First Sergeant. They had started falling back and were in the open when the Captain was hit in the leg. The First Sergeant was trying to drag him to the chopper," Barkin gave Ron a significant look. "but this officer was a rather large man. The Captain tried to get the First Sergeant to leave him and get to the bird."

"The door-gunner started screaming 'Two more, two more.' over his intercom. He grabbed one of the exhausted Marines and stuck him on the mini-gun, unplugged his intercom and jumped, unarmed, from the chopper. He ran seventy-five yards, in the open, through enemy fire, got a hold of the Captain's LBE and helped the First Sergeant drag him back to the helo."

"Just before they got to the bird, the crewman was hit in the back by an AK-47 round. It was only the flak jacket he was wearing that saved his life, but he had a bruise that lasted for weeks afterwards. He got up and grabbed the Captain's LBE again, and together with the First Sergeant pulled the wounded man the rest of the way to the chopper.

"When the gunner climbed back onboard, he jacked back in to the intercom and screamed 'All aboard. Go, go, go!', and took the mini-gun back, hammering wood-line, forcing them to keep their heads down long enough for the chopper to open the range. Other then the Captain, the rest of the men only had the basic bumps, bruises and exhaustion that come from spending about a month in the boonies. Because of the change in mission from re-supply to extraction, when they landed back on the deck, they were almost bingo fuel."

"Since the recall message had come in as normal traffic, they couldn't really do anything to the radioman, the pilot cited weather concerns as the reason for the early take-off and the Marine Captain, as Commander on site, had decided that extraction in the face of numerically superior forces was the only option to preserve his Command."

"The paper-pushers and swivel-chair parade were upset that they had gotten caught with their hands in the cookie jars and wanted scapegoats. But they couldn't find any back on the boat. They were all in up the Puzzle-Palace. And since the operation never happened, there were no medals, no recognition…no acknowledgement of what happened. Except for one thing. The Marine Captain made a vow to somehow, someway, repay the door-gunner for his life. That man didn't have to leave the safety of his aircraft and no one would have blamed him for staying there."

"Later the Marine Captain found out that he and the door-gunner came from hometowns that were in the same state. Surprisingly close to one another as a matter of fact, 'bout eighty miles. After he got out of the Marines, he finished his degree in education and took a job with a local school district eventually rising to Assistant Principal. And he never forgot his vow."

"A few years later, when the door-gunner's only son was killed by a drunk driver, the former Marine tried to help his Brother put his life back together. When his wife died, The Marine again tried to help his Brother."

"When he found that the man's sister had a son in the school, he tried to push, prod, force and bully the boy into the best education he could possibly get. And although he will never admit it, the Marine is very proud of his Brother's nephew. The nephew of the door-gunner that saved his life. The nephew still has a few issues, but he's turned into a fine young man. And if that young man needs anything, the former Marine owes the family of his Brother, an Honor Debt that he can never repay." Barkin downed the rest of his coffee.

"I, I don't know what to say Mr. B."

Barkin looked Ron dead in the eye, with an expression of purest misery, eyes shining. The voice of the big man was strained, "Why say anything. The mission never happened, remember? G'nite Stoppable." Steve Barkin patted Ron on the shoulder, turned and left with his normal rolling gait that for the first time Ron realized hid a slight limp. He left Ron standing there with his coffee steaming, alone in the crystal clear night.

Ron wasn't alone for long as a red haired shadow appeared, took him in her arms and held him close as he finally broke. A few minutes later she felt a blanket draped across her and the form of her emotionally destroyed lover. She looked up, and to her shock, she saw her father looking down at the two of them. He wordlessly set the control to the electric blanket he had just lain across them close to her reach. He laid his hand on Ron's head and looked at him with compassion. Silently he pointed and mouthed, 'You stay with him, understand?'

She just nodded and rocked him as her daddy walked back into the house as her mother took up a vigil from the patio door. Her parents traded off for hours, watching over the both their daughter and the young man that was their son in all but name.

**********

When he returned to his condo, Steve Barkin picked up the phone for the first in a series of calls he really didn't want to have to make. He dialed the number from memory and heard the phone ringing on the other end. A groggy voice said "What?"

"Hey Top, it's Steve."

"Aww, Fuck! Cap'n, you wouldn't be calling me this time of night just to shoot the shit! Who is it?"

"Roger. I'm calling Chief Bouchard next. I need ya start looking over the list for who can get here in about three days. Full Dress."

"Aww, fuck me running. I thought that bastard would live forever. He was harder than woodpecker lips. How'd it happen?"

"………Someone set that old truck of his to go boom."

"WHAT?!?!"

"You heard me."

"Who?!"

"Not sure yet. But whoever did it's bitten off more than they chew."

"You got that right Cap'n! None of the boy's 'ill be happy about this! You find us target, we'll handle the rest."

"Don't worry bout that, Top. Rog's nephew is gonna be on the job."

"His sister Barbara's kid? The goofy one."

"Top, you remember Phillips, right?"

"Yeah."

"Phillips was a goofball too. Did he ever let us down?"

"………No, but I swear that he could clumsy himself out of some of the worst scrapes."

"Well Phillips has nothing on Ronald Stoppable. When he gets going, that boy's Hell, On, Wheels. You've heard of Team Possible?"

"Heard of Kim Possible."

"Well, Stoppable is her teammate. He's the other half of the field team and has been for years. Not his fault the media can't be bothered to remember his name. Something else, he's been Blooded!"

"What? But he's a civilian, and what about 18, 19 years old."

"He just turned 19. And how old were you the first time?"

"Cap'n, you know I enlisted under Ray-gun, right after the Peanut Farmer lost the election. I did Grenada, Panama, Iraq in 92, that little jaunt into the Highlands in 94. But that was a different era. How the Hell could he have been Blooded as a civilian?"

"Sorry Top, but that's Need to Know. Tell ya what though, there's a couple a video files I can send ya. You can check 'em out and then you tell me if he can't handle it! I'm telling ya, this crew he's running with now is No Joke! If they decided they wanted to, they could probably get NCA! And get away."

"What?! You kidding!"

"No, I'm not. Much as I hate to say it, they're better than we were!"

"Now I know you're full of it! When we were in the groove, there was nobody better than 'ReeeCon'."

"Jimmy, I'm telling ya. I've personally seen Stoppable do some funky shit. This bunch has moves we never even thought of. That's not even counting Possible's little disappearing stealth trick, and I do mean disappear, as in vanish in front of your eyes."

"Look, Top, we can talk about this later. I need to finish calling down the Alert Roster. Roger wasn't a Marine, but he was one of us. Because he wasn't Active or KIA, the Guard Unit might try to skimp by with the minimum Honors."

"Bullshit! You handle the Squids, Sir! I'll start calling the boys in! In about 36 hours, we'll have at least two squads onsite. Probably more. They might be scratch, but they'll be there. Full Dress!"

"Thanks, Jimmy. Rog would appreciate it."

"Least I can do. He saved my ass that day too. I wasn't about leave your gimp ass behind and if he hadn't bailed out of the bird to help me drag your bleeding carcass back, we'd 'ave both been fertilizer."

The First Sergeant voice turned somber, "I gotta tell ya though, I don't envy you on this one Cap'n. I mean you know these people."

"There, but for the Grace of God, go I."

"What do ya mean Cap'n?

"You didn't really keep up with the pilots did ya?"

"All due Respect, Cap'n, they're Squids. Cast iron balls, but they're still Squids."

"Well Chief Bouchard just retired. After the Highlands, he got himself a Commission. Made Lieutenant Commander. Probably could a went full Commander or even Navy Captain if he didn't have those bean counters in the E Ring pissed at him for his 'Weather Concerns' holding him back."

"A Commission, huh? And here I had some respect for him!" Both men knew the former First Sergeant was not as serious as he sounded.

"Yeah I hear ya, Top. I'll see ya in a few days."

"You're still in the same condo, right?"

"Yep."

"Alright, we be knocking the door in, in a couple a days. I'll call ya if plans change."

"Top, plans always change. 'Every battle plan gets fucked up when the enemy arrives!'."

"'That's why he's called the enemy!' Sir! HooRah"

A few minutes later, Steven Barkin had dialed another number. This one from a carefully preserved and updated list. Another groggy sleepy voice said, "It's two o'clock in the morning. Who the Hell is this?"

"Chief, it's Steve Barkin."

"If it was anybody else calling me 'Chief', I'd probably be insulted. What can I do for ya Cap'n?"

"I hadn't been a Captain for a while, and it's about Roger Olsen, your old crewman."

"Oh Hell! When and where?"

"Happened today, here, Middleton Colorado, Services will probably be in three days, same place. Can you make it?"

"If I have to appropriate a bird outta Norfolk, I'll be there, I'll have Harrison with me. I assume Full Dress."

"Yes Sir." Steve suddenly went very formal, "Commander Bouchard, at this time, I believe you will be the Senior Officer."

"OH HELL. Who's the Next Of Kin?"

"Either his Sister or his Nephew. It depends on the wishes of the deceased, but if I had to guess, it'll be his Nephew."

"Fuck! Alright. What's the detail looking like?"

"Mixed bag, Sir. Some Navy, some Marine. He might have been Navy, but he was one of us! You won't have any grief from the Jarheads, I give ya my word."

"I wouldn't expect any from 'em. Rendering Honors is something none of the Services fuck around with. You have my e-mail?"

"Yes Sir."

"Do me a favor, send me all the info. I'll see ya in about two days."

"Be good to shoot the shit with ya again, Chief."

"Yea, I just wish that funerals weren't the only times we get together."

"Me too, Sir, see ya in a couple a days."

Steve hung up the phone. He had done his duty this night and he would do it again tomorrow and the next day, and the next and the next. But for now, with his hand still on the receiver, he started quietly sobbing.

**********

From across a nation they came. From Norfolk, Virginia, from Sarasota, Florida, from the deserts of New Mexico and Yakima, Washington, from New York City and the Black Hills of South Dakota. One man, in the hills of Eastern Kentucky, packed his bag, kissed his wife and patted his son on the head and mounted his Honda 1300 Shadow for a 29 hour ride in the tail end of October to get there. Some flew while others drove, sometimes going 5 to 10 hours out of the way to pick up another one. Their ages ranged from youngest at 34 to the oldest who was pushing sixty. But they came and nothing was going to get in their way. They were coming for their Brother. They were coming because they, each and every one, knew the rest would do the same for them.

When Lt. Commander (Ret.) Jacob Bouchard landed with his former co-pilot Chief Warrant Officer 4 (Ret.) Michael Harrison, he called Steve Barkin and talked to both him and his former First Sergeant, James Griffith. So far everything was on track except for one problem.

The Rifle Squad. They had the Troops, but not the weapons. Jacob Bouchard had an idea, it was a long shot, but it was the best they had. He and Harrison drove to the closest National Guard Station and asked to see the Station Commander. After a short wait they were escorted in to the office of Colonel Dwayne Stanton.

"Mr. Bouchard, Mr. Harrison, what can Army Aviation do for you gentlemen today?"

Bouchard and Harrison looked at each other and shrugged. Jacob said, "Colonel, we'd like know if we could borrow seven M-16A1's for the day after tomorrow."

Colonel Stanton's eyebrows rose towards his hairline, "I think you gentlemen need to start talking fast, before I call up the Officer of the Day and have him get the MP's in here."

"We're doing Final Honors. The deceased has been out of the Navy for close to fifteen years and since we're so far from any Navy Base, I figure that they'll send a couple of guys to fold the Flag and have a boom box playing Taps. Like Hell!"

"The problem is we've got everything, Bearer and Folding Detail, Rifle Squad, we've even got one of those fake electronic bugles and a bugler. What we don't have is the weapons for the Rifle Squad."

As Jacob laid it out, Stanton understood clearly the problem. "You know I can't possibly let you sign out seven assault weapons from my armory, don't you?"

"I knew it was a slim to none chance, but I had to try. I flew H-3's when I was Active and Roger was my crewman and SAR swimmer once upon a time."

"He was SAR?"

"Yeah, we flew together for about two years on the New Orleans in the mid-nineties." Bouchard started to stand followed by Harrison, "Look, I'm sorry we wasted your time."

"Now wait a minute. I said there's no way I could let you sign the weapons out. I didn't say we couldn't solve the problem. How bout we do this. I can assign you a Rifle Squad. They've even been training for the detail regularly, so they'll do it better anyway." He held up a hand to forestall the bristling he saw. "You guys have been out, what, two to fifteen years? Now I understand what it would mean for your guys to be the ones pulling the triggers, but that's not gonna happen. So to make it up to your boys, how bout you let me add a little extra to the Detail? Come with me."

Stanton led them to a hanger where they saw a strange sight. Sitting amongst a collection of Army CH-47 Chinooks was a Sikorsky H-3 in Navy livery. Stanton explained "She was being transferred to the bone yard in Arizona. And you know how whacked the rules for the bone yard are. The aircraft has to be ready to fly or completely irreparable before they'll take it, right? Well she was on her way and had a hydraulic failure."

"She barely made it here before they failed. Since she couldn't be flown with faulty hydraulics, she had to be repaired. It took like nineteen weeks to get the regulator valves and get an H-3 A&P mechanic back out here to get her airworthy again."

She was weathered and battered. The sponsons for the front landing gear were dented and had paint flaking in places. But the engine cowlings were open and they could see that the turbines had the just rebuilt look. There were only traces of hydraulic leakage inside the cabin. Just enough to know the seals had been properly broken in.

She was huge and ungainly and old. But even with the dings and dents and chipped paint and all the other superficial damages, she looked like all she needed was fuel, a crew and a minigun to take off on a Combat Search and Rescue Mission to the rainforests of Central America or jungles of South East Asia or the forests of Eastern Europe. And to the two former pilots, she was beautiful.

"Before she gets certified for transport, she needs a check ride. And you're talking to the only Active, certified H-3 pilot between here and the Pacific Coast." Stanton looked at the other two pilots with a knowing grin "Ya know, I think it's only fair that since this is actually a Navy bird, for the check ride there should be a Navy presence on board!"

Bouchard looked sadly at Stanton, "You're a bastard, I'm the Detail Commander."

"Sorry! Chief Harrison, what about you?"

Harrison looked at his friend and asked, "Commander?"

Bouchard grinned and said, "I think don't Rog would mind. Matter of fact, he'd probably come back and haunt you if ya passed up the chance to go up again."

**********

Two days later, there was a group of mixed Forces standing in Formation at the Zebulon Pike National Cemetery waiting for the funerary party. Standing about 75 meters away from the plot was a Squad of U.S. Army Soldiers under arms, in Class A's led by a Staff Sergeant, standing at Parade Rest.

By the road, was a mixed group of four Navy Sailors in Service Dress "Cracker Jacks" with the "Dixie Cup" hats slightly flared to the sides and four Marines in Class A Greens, again at Parade Rest. Standing close behind the seating area was close to 15 more Marines and Sailors dressed the same. Some had hair that was slightly longer than strictly regulation and, for a lot of the men, the uniforms didn't fit quite as well as they did a few years ago, but they were still worn with the same pride.

The hearse approached followed by a procession of cars and limos. Directly behind the hearse was a car that seemed completely out of place. A Nineteen Sixty-four Ford Galaxie 500 driven by a blond young man accompanied by a redheaded young woman and a Japanese couple.

Behind the Galaxie was a limo carrying a older tall blond woman and a shorter man of about the same age. They were accompanied by a couple who were about the same age, a auburn headed woman and tall distinguished man with salt & pepper hair.

The older Possibles helped her husband support Barbara while Kim had her arm hooked through Ron's arm. They were flanked by a stern Kaname to one side and a very grim Sousuke on the other.

A Sailor in 'Cracker Jacks' having been briefed on who was who, escorted the Next of Kin to the front row and indicated that Ron take the center seat. He sat Kim to his right and his mother to the left, with her husband to her left. The Possible's were seated to Kim's right.

When everyone was seated, the Bearer detail opened the hearse and carefully pulled the casket from the back. The men chosen for Bearer Duty were not coincidentally the among youngest and in the best shape. The man at the head of the casket on the left side was a large Marine with Captains bar. They held the casket at waist level as they moved to the open plot and gently set the casket on the straps of the lowering device. Lieutenant Commander (Ret.) Jacob Bouchard stood attention at the head of the casket, waiting to carry out his final duty to the Fallen.

A thumping sound approached the assembly from behind. A few eyes turned to see a huge helicopter in Navy markings, as soon as it passed the foot of the Flag draped casket, it banked into a high speed/high powered orbit about 1000 meters away. All anyone could see was the top of the rotor as it thumpthumpthumpthumped it's way around the gathering.

When they completed the orbit, she settled into a hover, unmasking the Crewman/Door Gunners position with a secured minigun. No one there. They hovered there as the Rifle Squad fired over the casket. They hovered as the Flag was Folded and the Bugler played Taps.

As Steve Barkin passed the Flag to the Detail Commander, Colonel Stanton called for Max Military power from the 2 General Electric T58-GE-10 turboshafts and Chief Harrison reached up and shoved the throttles to the firewall. Stanton sharply pivoted the huge helicopter 90 degrees to the right. When Bouchard turned and approached Ron, Stanton pushed the stick forward and pulled up hard on the collective. The nose of the helicopter dropped and they accelerated, hard, towards the casket.

They passed over the top of the casket, at an altitude of less than a hundred feet, from the foot to the head just as Lieutenant Commander (Ret.) Bouchard stepped in front of Ron and took a knee. Stanton pulled up into a full power climb, rotor thumping hard from the high attack angle of the blades. The old war bird was battered and chipped, dinged and dented, but she was unbowed and unbeaten as she clawed for altitude.

Bouchard looked Ron in the eye and said "On behalf of the President of the United States and the Chief of Naval Operations, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's service to this Country and a grateful Navy."

After a moment, you could still hear the fading sound of her rotor as she was swallowed by the scattered thick cumulus clouds dotting the sky. They continued the climb until they reached the H-3's max service ceiling of 14,700 feet and set a course back to the National Guard Airbase.

It wasn't until the ceremony was over and people started walking back to the cars that Sagara noticed a silver haired, young man in a long overcoat or duster flanked by two very tall figures. Even standing as he was on a slight hill about a hundred meters away, Sousuke could imagine the smirk Leonard normally wore on his aristocratic features.

Seeing him standing there like he thought he was one of the Lords of Creation, Sousuke knew the bastard had something to do with what had brought them out here on this blustery November day and the only thought that went through the mind of the Soldier was 'Kuso!' (roughly "Oh Shit!")

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Authors Note: For those of you that don't speak militarese, here's a short glossary of the terms used.

NCA--National Command Authority/The President

H-3-- Sikorsky H-3 Helicopter. One of the largest navel choppers in the world, used mainly

for Search and Rescue and Resupply missions.

ATC--Air Traffic Control

RTB--Return to Base

Feet Dry/Feet Wet-- Transition between flight over ground/over water.

LZ--Landing Zone

Hot LZ--A Landing Zone that is under fire.

LBE--Load Bearing Equipment. The gear Soldiers wear to carry ammo/magazines, grenades, water.

Bingo Fuel--Empty fuel tanks

Puzzle-Palace--Term for higher command headquarters. In this instance, The Pentagon. A place where everyone sits around in their crystal palaces puzzled as to what to do or what the Freaks really happening.

SAR--Search and Rescue.