The former Feldweble entered the office of his superior, stopped three paces in front of the man's desk and saluted, "Hauptsturmfurer Bock, Berichterstattung, wie bestellt, Sir." (Captain Bock, reporting as ordered, Sir.)

Rubbing his eyes the officer said, "Gott en Himmel, Bock, I have a headache. Relax, please. I don't feel like dealing with this stiff-necked NCO act of yours today. Have a seat."

The junior officer eyed the offered chair for an instant before sitting down, in the approved modified position of attention. Back straight, hands resting lightly on his lap with his eyes straight ahead.

The Senior officer sighed and said, "Now, slouch and put your feet on the corner of my desk. You're going to relax if it kills you. You're not here to be reprimanded and you're an officer now. "

"Sir, I don't like being an officer. I never asked to be an officer. I liked being Unteroffizier. I was good at it."

"I know. That's why I promoted you after disposing of that fanatic." He stood and walked to a cabinet and pulled out two bottles of weizenbock. Offering one to the Junior officer, he continued, "Call it the needs of the service if you want, but your not an NCO anymore. You don't have to like it, but I need you to accept it. Can you do that for me?"

Taking the bottle Bock said, "If it was anyone else asking me, I'd be getting a transfer at the earliest opportunity. And, since no one transfers out of the Nu Reich, I guess I'm stuck with it. Sir."

The Lieutenant Colonel patted the younger man on the shoulder. "Good. And now, about the reason I called for you. As much as I don't like it, I need you to deliver the Englishman to his destination."

He circled the desk, picked up and handed a folder to the man, "The Geheimoperationen Abschnitt (Clandestine Operations Section) has set up a safe house for him in the operations area. And since one of the top neurological surgical hospitals in the world is there, your cover will be you are taking him there for treatment. Once on the ground, it should be a simple matter to disappear from official sight."

The Senior Officer could see the hesitation in the younger man. "You don't like your orders, do you?" The Hauptsturmfurer remained silent. He had been trained in the Bundeswehr under the American model. While a good Soldier was required to follow orders, they were also required to think about them as well. And a Soldier, a good Soldier was not only expected too, they were required to disobey orders that were illegal or immoral. Particularity orders that were given outside the heat of battle, where they actually had the chance to think about them. And these just didn't sit right with him. Turning a proven lunatic loose close to the object of his fixation stuck in his craw.

"Go ahead, Hauptsturmfurer. Let's get it out in the open."

"Sir, that man is an absolute maniac. If the reports we've read are even close to accurate, he was after a toddler, to either brainwash or kill her. I say we end the problem with a nine millimeter slug."

"I understand your problem, Hauptsturmfurer and I agree. But unfortunately, there is another maniac a couple levels below us. And even more unfortunately, that one I need. That means I have to seem to comply with his orders. That doesn't mean that I can't, as the Americans say, stack the deck. I will explain at the end of this briefing. Will you trust me until I can explain my plan?"

"Jawhol, Obersturmbannführer."

He paused, looking intently at the younger man. "Delivering Fiske will be the easy part of the mission. The hard part is next. You read and understood the material I gave you?"

"I can't follow the science and chemistry behind it, but I understood the tactical implications of it."

"Prove it. A basic explanation if you please."

"Sir, radical terrorist have acquired the methods to produce a Doctor Lipskeys 2nd generation Synthodrones. These are based on the 901 template and can pass as human. They are working on production issues. As yet they have a supply that is limited only by the time it takes to create them as they are apparently hand-crafted. While the first of the 901 series was bad enough, able to pass itself as a high-school student, these are much worse.

"On command, either by signal, at a specific time, or upon meeting a pre-determined set of factors, an additional mechanism within the drone chemically modifies the gel within. Two minutes after activation, the pump inside the Synthodrone will have completely mixed the gel into a much more volatile compound. Weight for weight, equivalent to the high explosive organic compounds HMTD or PETN." (Hexamethylene triperoxide diamine and Pentaerythritol tetranitrate)

"Hauptsturmfurer Bock, what does your military experience tell you of the tactical threat posed by this? If you were the enemy, how would you use it?"

"By using synthetics and composites in their construction, you avoid metal detectors. And these things would breeze past any bomb sniffing dogs. They are inert until the internal gel is modified. There's nothing to detect. Who needs a car bomb when you can have three to five of them in an auto? Each of them between 90 and 100 kilos average weight. That's as much as half a ton of high-explosives.

"Or what about a tourist bus? They're everywhere! And practically invisible. Thirty or forty on-board with cameras and maybe a couple of dozen in the luggage compartment and no one would know the difference. As much as five thousand kilos. That's half again the size of the device used in the Oklahoma City bombing. The Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, Big Ben in London, the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, the list of targets is endless.

"Or you can order a dozen of them into a building. Each programmed to go to a specific structural location bringing the building down from the inside out. They're a security officers worst nightmare."

"How do you go about stopping them, Hauptsturmfurer?

"In a free democratic society you can't. Not in the general public. Military bases, police stations and a few government buildings can restrict access to authorized personnel easy enough. Infrastructure such as power facilities and water treatment plants can as well, but it would be much, much harder. Too many civilian contractors and personnel coming and going. Restricting access to those facilities for too long would restrict everyday operations to much.

"The real nightmare would be things like courthouses, schools and shopping malls. They could even be programmed to somehow acquire weapons, go into a public building and start a firefight. Then when they are about to be disabled, simply blow themselves up. Or allow themselves to be captured and transferred to the police station, then blow up.

"Even a major bridge. Any competent civil engineer can point out the weak points on one. A dozen of them in the right spot can bring it down. They're worse then a suicide bomber. It takes an average of 18 years grow one of those. These new Gotterdamn Synthodrones take 18 to 24 months to build."

The Obersturmbannfurer nodded, "Very good, Hauptsturmfurer. And thank you for believing me. I tried to get Higher Command to take this threat seriously when we were in the Bundeswehr, but they choose to disregard the reports as too fanciful. Science Fiction they called it. The latest intelligence has the radicals ready to deploy the first of them within 10 to 16 months. We have that long to prepare.

And this is where the hard part of you mission comes in." The Obersturmbannfurer passed Bock a thin folder containing several sheets of paper, each with attached photographs. The Hauptsturmfurer flipped through the pages as the Senior Officer explained, "I need you to make contact with someone. They have no reason to trust you and a multitude of reasons to want you dead. Therefore this is not an order. I'm asking you to volunteer."

"Of course, Sir."

"Thank you. Inside that folder is a memory card containing all the information and data acquired to date on the threat. There are several possible contacts," the Obersturmbannfurer pointed to one, "However I would suggest this one. From the profiles, he is the least likely to immediately fly into a rage, making him the one most likely to hear you out.

The Obersturmbannfurer sat back in his chair and tossed back the last of his weizenbock. "And to address your earlier concern about Monkey Fist. Once you have finished explaining the Synthodrone threat, let him know about Fist. Don't go into too many details. If it's too easy the Arschloch downstairs will get suspicious. Just give him enough information that they will be on their guard. With that, I think that the former Lord Fiske will find he is neck deep in the septic tank and sinking fast, if and when he goes after Team Possible. Agreed?

Grinning savagely, Bock said, "Jawhol, Obersturmbannführer." He finished his own weizenbock and memorized the photograph of a shaggy haired, young man with a cross shaped scar on the left cheek.

The conference room was located deep inside the granite bedrock of the mountain above GJ Headquarters. One of people attending was there virtually via holograms. Lord Edwin Mallory, Peer of the Realm, Knights Order of the Victoria Cross sat at the head of the table. Doctor of Criminology Elizabeth Director, Head of Global Justice sat across from him with narrowed eyes, glaring at the older man.

"I don't like it either Elizabeth, but this information is highly time sensitive. It's viable for 72 hours. At most. More likely 48. If we don't get somebody in there the target will vanish again. You know it and I know it. The only thing I'm asking is for you to ask them to volunteer."

"Alright. But I'm not gonna ask the whole team. Sagara and Stoppable with Load on tech support. Sagara will take the mission because of orders. Stoppable on the other hand, will have to be convinced it's necessary." She flipped through the folder in front of her. "Looking at this it won't take much though. I just don't like manipulating him like this."

"Betty, this man is responsible for dozens of terrorist bombings around the Middle East. Most of them in Israel itself. And he has got to be stopped before he gets away. This is a politically sensitive area. We can't send in a whole battalion of SAS to capture him. The causality rate would be exorbitant, on the order of 50 percent or more. Not to mention the political fallout. And it would most likely end up with the target dead anyway. Better to sanction him. That's not even counting the hostage."

Betty sighed, "Agreed."

"Do you wish me to stand by and be here when you brief them?"

"Please." Betty reached for the keyboard and entered a series of commands. Three windows popped up on the screen. "Sergeant Sagara, Specialist Stoppable, Specialist Load. I need to see the three of you. Immediately, time is of the essence." Within minutes the three entered the room via the transport tubes. Sousuke's eye's widened upon seeing the image of Lord Mallory.

"What's up Dr. B?" Betty immediately took charge of the meeting.

"Specialist's Stoppable and Load, this is Edwin Mallory, Chairman of the Mithral Council. The same organization Sergeant Sagara came from before he transferred to to GJ. Twelve hours ago Mithral Intelligence located someone." She touched a control and a face appeared on the large screen behind her. "Rafi Mohammad Amed. He is a German born of Palestinian descent. Since 1989 he's been responsible, by himself for nearly 40 percent of the arms flowing into terrorist hands. Most of the attacks in Israel can be traced to this man one way or another.

"While he's not usually the brains behind any given attack, he's usually the one conducting overall strategy and definitely the one bankrolling them. He's also one of the voices most against a two-state solution in the Israeli-Palestine question. The explosives from the attack on the USS Cole came through his hands. There's even data linking him to the 9-11 attacks. He's also a money man that likes to get his hands dirty as long as he can do it without any real risk.

"Now, we know where he is going to be for about 36 to 48 hours."

Not liking where this was going, Ron asked the question, "What'd ya want from us, Dr. B?"

"Load will stay here for tech support. But we need this man dead. Lord Mallory has already pointed out that even a battalion of Rangers probably couldn't capture him without better than fifty percent losses and little to no chance of taking him alive anyway. The chances of the man seeing the inside of a courtroom are slim-to-none. Not to mention a lot of the evidence against him would be inadmissible in court."

Confused Ron asked, "Why?"

Lord Mallory explained. "A great deal has to do with how the information was collected. Means and Methods. The last thing we need is for the enemy to learn whether or not we've broken any codes or if we are listening in on cell phone conversations. If we have any informants in their midst. All of this would come out during a trial. And all of the data was gathered without a warrant. Not that much of an issue in the trial of an international terrorist, however it would be another chink in a prosecutions case."

Ron said, "So you want me and Sagara to kill him? Just like that, snuff, gone?"

Betty handed the file to Ron. When Wade stood to move closer, she said, "Specialist Load, sit down, you don't need to see what's in that folder."

"If you want me to help I do."

Seeing the first photograph, Ron's eyes were the size of saucers. He gulped, turned a little green, closed the folder and said, "Wade, siddown." Looking a the one-eyed woman he asked, "These aren't a joke, photo-shopped or something?"

"Like I said, 'if he can get his hands dirty with out risk.'. He's been present at the beheading of several hostages. As far as we know he's personally responsible for as least two. That's how we found him. He's going to be there when they execute another hostage. We'd like the two of you to go in and at least rescue the hostage and take down Rafi. Anybody else you get in the camp is gravy, but the hostage is the meat and Rafi the potatoes."

"Excuse me. I need to find the bathroom."

She pointed and said, "Out the door to the left, down the hall."

Ron bolted. Wade reached for the folder, but Sagara beat him to it and passed it back to Betty. "Load-sensei, please, I'm asking you as your friend. Don't. Don't dig.

Twenty minutes later, a very pale Ron Stoppable returned. Looking at Lord Mallory. he asked, "Why us? Why not the SAS or something?"

"Because the camp is right on the border of several less than cooperative countries. I will not lie to you. You're denounce-able if you're captured. Also except for the sniper teams, they're not trained to operate with just a two or three man team. Squads of 8 to 10 are the norm. And while a sniper team can get Rafi, they stand almost no chance of rescuing the hostage. And since GJ hoverjets are so small, quiet and fast they can land very close, let the two of you get in and then get the two of you and the hostage out."

"One of the things in your favor that we can and will do. There will be four drones overhead armed for ground attack. As many Rockeyes and cluster bombs as they can carry. And once your airborne and moving there's a U.S. Navy Carrier Group along the ex filtration route. And since you both are carded GJ Agents, you'll have all the support you could want once you're inside their defense cordon. They'll be alerted to expect you. If need be you can land on the carrier for medical attention."

"And I will tell you something else we can do. Once your mission is finished, there are a few friendly forces fairly close. The camp is too strong for them to take on their own hook. But, after the base is neutralized, we can get them to go in for clean-up operations. They can take care of what ever you leave behind."

Looking at his friend and knowing what he was thinking, Sagara said, "Stoppable-San, you concentrate on the hostage, I'll take care of Rafi."

Ron pulled the file back and opened it. He was looking at the photo of a man of Middle-Eastern descent holding the severed head some poor soul whose fate was to be a political statement.

Ron looked at the people that brought him here, "Am I wrong? Is he spitting in that mans face?"

Lord Mallory paused before he answered, "Yes, Mr. Stoppable, he is."

"Wade, I want the overheads. Now."

Wade took Betty's place at the keyboard and started pounding.

While Wade was busy, Ron asked, "Is there anybody in that camp beside the hostage not supposed to be there?"

Lord Mallory fielded this one, "No, everyone there has taken part in several operations. Only the most trusted are allowed there."

Ron pulled out another photo, this one of an older Caucasian man, "Who's this, the hostage?"

Lord Mallory nodded, "Nigel Collins. A British journalist. Late 50's, since 1979 he's been one of the most outspoken in the media against terrorism, of any origin, but particularity against the Radical Islamic. The IRA had him on a death list for years. He was captured 6 months ago in Mosul. A Sharia court tried him and found him guilty of crimes against Islam. Sentenced to beheading. To be carried out live on the net."

"Then I'm in. Sorry Sagara. No. I'm not saying that it'll be me, but whoever has the chance has to take it. If you can save this guy, do it. I'll take care of Rafi. If it's the other way around, that's fine too."

Sagara placed his hand on Ron's shoulder, "Are you sure Stoppable-San?"

Still looking at the photo, Ron said. "Yeah. This guys life is worth more than my feelings about the sitch."

East bound, Mach Three, 50,000 feet over the Atlantic.

When his Kimmunicator beeped, knowing who it was Ron jovially answered. "This is the Ronster."

"Ron, where are you?"

"Hey KP, GJ's got me and Sagara on a mission to the Amazin Basin in Africa."

She rolled her eyes, "The Amazon Basin is in South America, Ron."

"Are you sure? They mentioned a river, a big one, in North Africa"

"They must have meant the Nile, Ron.

"Denial? What's there to be in denial about?"

"Should I be asking you that?" she teased.

"Asking me what?"

"Ron are you OK?"

Ron thought to himself, 'Crap laid it on too thick.' "Never better Kimila."

"So when are you gonna get back?"

"Hold on. Hey Sagara, how long did Dr. B say we were gonna be?"

Knowing Kim would talk to Kaname and not wanting either to worry "By morning at the latest."

"You catch that KP?"

"Yeah. We'll save you some breakfast."

"Uhhh, your's or Kaname's?"

"Arrrgghh, hers."

"Thanks KP!"

"See you in the morning."

"You too, KP."

After signing off Ron called Wade, "Wade, KP asked about the super suits, how bout it?"

"Six months, Ron. Beside that, Kim's got the only only one. And if you went full Monkey, you'll probably fry it and Sagara's not trained with them."

"Alright then, do me a favor. I'm officially making them a high priority. We could really use 'em on this one."

"Especially the stealth features. You got it, Ron."

Ron thought for a second, then said, "Wade, one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Turn off the visuals. Kimmunicator, overheads, all of 'em, turn 'em off. Stick with the thermals."

The teen genius thought about arguing until he saw Ron's serious face. Instead, he said, "OK, but if it drops in the pot, not only are they coming back on, but I'm calling Kim and Kaname.

"Wouldn't expect anything else, Wadester."

Wade paused for a moment. "Be careful, Ron. This one's dangerous."

"No, the Lowardians were dangerous. This is simply surgery." He closed the connection before Wade could respond. He held the Lotus Blade shifting between weapons. His own words were coming back to haunt him, tasting of ashes. His conversation with Sagara on the flight just before they landed on Seniors island the first time

"It's...alive. Not like you or me, but it's alive. It really doesn't have a will of it's own, but it does have a purpose. And it won't be used against that purpose. It wants to fight for right. Sensei told me a lot about it's past." He looked at the Blade, staring into the forged steel just above the hilt. "And it's bloody one. But the Blade always chooses it's Master and tries to make a bond with them. It chooses people who have, as Sensei says, a sense of Justice. Who fight for those who can't fight for themselves."

Nigel Collins, a man who couldn't fight for himself because the dishonorable bastards holding him refused to act like civilized people.

He thought about the talk he had with Kim after her breakdown that first night in the apartment.

There are people in the world you don't try to capture. Rafi Mohammad Amed was someone who seemed to fit that to a tee.

The actions of your enemy will tell you what you need to do. The photograph of Rafi spitting in the face of the severed head of a man just to make some bullshit political point flashed through his minds eye.

If they're bent on killing innocent people, then they don't leave you much choice. A journalist whose only crime had been to try and tell the truth.

So you have a choice, one certain death of that you KNOW is Evil, or the possibility of dozens or hundreds of dead innocents. Ron had met a few Muslims on campus. And the ones he'd met weren't much different than most Christians or even those of his own Jewish faith. Live and let live for the most part, willing to follow the Christian Golden Rule. To do unto others as you would have then do unto you. But these... he didn't know what to call them. They weren't men and they perverted the very religion they espoused. For power and control over others. Drakken at his worst was nothing compared to this. Drew thought he was evil, but he didn't have a clue.

Ron let the Lotus Blade settle in it's default shape before sliding it home into the Saya Sensei had sent him. In his mind, he could hear the Blade, howling for Justice, roaring it's defiance at this Evil. Even the Mystical Monkey Power, the voices of thousands of primates, from spider and howler monkeys to chimpanzees and Silverback gorillas was screaming for Vengeance. Rafi Mohammad Amed, he was Evil. The taste of ashes was gone now as Ron thought about what Dr. B had said. "if he can get his hands dirty with out risk." Spitting in the face of some poor schulb that was just beheaded. Well, Rafi Mohammad Amed, if you want to live you'd better be ready to risk it all. Because you have really pissed me off!

The Mystical Monkey Power and the Lotus Blade require a willingness to kill. Not in a blood lust or just killing random people. But the true wielder MUST be willing to do so if necessary.

If someone with the power and the will had stood up to them! 'Prepare to meet Ron Stoppable. You've given me a reason to be willing and unlike Nigel Collins or the poor soul in that photo, I've got the power. I'm coming for you, dude.'

Kim woke to the sound of the clock radio spouting the weather at the top of the hour.

"Well it'll be clear and very cold today, with a high pressure system passing through today. Light clouds and a high around 20 degrees. Winds will be coming off of the mountains out of the west at 6 to 10 miles per hour. Tonight the low will drop to about zero with..." Kim tuned out the rest of the forecast as she stood up, grabbing her robe to ward off the slight chill in the room while she headed to the bathroom she shared with Kaname.

After taking care of the morning bladder issue and brushing her teeth, she went to her closet to lay out her cloths for the day. Since she had to walk between classes, polypropylene thermals to start, followed by a pair of old mission style cargos and a pair of sweaters, one thin with a thicker one over that. Thermal socks with a pair of Matterhorn boots finished the ensemble.

Once she started getting dressed, she smiled hearing Kaname fumbling around in the bathroom. She was worse than Ron in the mornings, if that could be believed.

As she was brushing her hair, the radio switched from music to a commercial break followed by the days breaking news.

"And from the BBC we have this report from North Africa.

A voice with a British accent continued the report, "As yet there is no word on who's responsible for the attack on what is reported to be a major terrorist training camp. Sources tell us that there are dozens dead and more wounded in what is being described as the greatest attack against a terrorist stronghold since the United States invaded Iraq and Afghanistan. Many of the fighters from the camp that surrendered to local forces were reported to be in a state of panic and terror themselves, begging to be incarcerated. They said they were attacked by a blue demon that shrugged of small arms fire and dodged heaver weapons such as RPGs and even machine gun fire. According to the word coming from local authorities, when the fighters tried to fire upon the attacker, he would use a sword of all things and hacked the weapons to pieces. One of the more tech savvy of the camps occupants had this to say." Kim were the size of teacups as she looked toward the bathroom to see a shining eyed Kaname. They were both thinking the same thing. That's my Man!

A very shaky trembling Arabic accented voice spoke in English, "I had seen it on the internet bbbbut I didn't bbbbelieve it bbbbecause the Imam denounced it. Bbbbut it was the same Demon that attacked the WWEE a few months ago. The bbbblue weapon that sliced through steel. The bbbblue djinn that rrrraised the whirlwind."

The British voice continued, "Word has also come that BBC reporter Nigel Collins who had been held hostage and was scheduled to be beheaded in a few hours was rescued during the attack. Nigel was delivered to the USS Iwo Jima, standing to in the Mediterranean and he insisted that they let him briefly speak to us."

The next voice reminded Kim of Winston Churchill, "Last night, I was saved from certain death by what the Radicals will want to call a pair of Demons. I choose to look at them as Avenging Angels visiting the Lords retribution upon the wicked. In the past six months, the ones holding me captive had given me little water and less food. Depriving me of sleep. Many times since that farce of a trial trying to get me to pray to Allah for forgiveness before my death. I was tried for crimes against Islam. I was beaten for questioning the mullah and asking 'How can I commit a crime against Islam when I am not Muslim'.

"As a bit of psychological torture, they had even gone so far as to show me the sword that they intended to use to remove my head. Supposedly it belonged to some great caliph, and I should be honored that it was being used upon my person. They placed it just outside the door to the cage I was being held in. One of the men who rescued me, took the sword and shattered it against a stone wall. I suppose the great caliph is rolling over in his tomb now.

"That was before they spoke to me and the first words they said," Nigel's cracked and nearly broke, but he recovered like the veteran reporter he was, "I will never forget this. They said and I quote, 'We're going to get you out of here, Dude."

Kim had tears in her eyes as she and Kaname cracked up hearing the veddy, veddy proper, upper crust British accent saying the word Dude.

"For many years, I have been very disdainful toward the use of such colloquialisms and Americanization of the Queens English. Never again. While they might have forgotten the Bard, they have not forgotten the heart and the courage that led them to our rescue in 1942.

"I don't know who my rescuers are and they didn't tell me their names. But as a reporter that has covered every conflict Her Majesties Service has been involved in since the Falklands, I do know that their uniforms matched nothing I have ever seen before.

"From what I could see of the battle though, these men acted with courage and honor not seen since the Age of Chivalry. If their enemy tried to stand and fight and I emphasize the word tried, then that enemy was brought down with ruthless abandon. Anytime a group of them tried to band together bombs would fall from silent, invisible planes and rockets would thunder in from the sky.

"But if an enemy threw his weapon, they went out of their way to avoid him. As long as they were running, they were left alone.

"I don't know who you are, but if you are within the sound of my voice you have my eternal gratitude." His voice cracked again. A deep breath, "This is Nigel Collins, free, aboard what is probably the most beautiful ship outside of Her Majesties Service, the USS Iwo Jima. Godspeed."

Kim snatched her Kimmunicator and before Wade could say a word, "Where is he Wade?"

Wade didn't look at her, "He's in the Dojo."

Seeing the question in Kaname's eyes, Kim asked, "Sagara?"

Wade never looked up, "He's there too."

"Wade, you were gone, down at GJ Headquarters last night. How bad was it?"

"Real bad. Really, really bad. Ron made me turn the visuals off before they hit the ground. The thermals and sound pickup was bad enough. Sagara was right though."

"About what?"

"To not go digging. As bad as the mission was it was nothing as bad as what those guys had done." Wade looked at her for the first time. There was a fire in his eyes she'd only seen once before. On the way to try and bring in Will Du. "They got what they had coming Kim! They earned it, bought and paid for! Ron was right last night too. The mission wasn't dangerous, it was simply surgery. I didn't understand at the time, but I do now. Just cutting out a cancer, that's all it was. The door's not locked, but I'd like to be alone for a while. OK?"

"Not to long Wade, we can't let this eat us up. You come up for dinner at the latest, OK?"

"You got it."

"Before you go, can you do me a favor? The guy they rescued, he made a broadcast from the carrier. Can you send a copy to the Kimmunicator. And Wade, please, listen to it yourself. OK?"

"Sure."

"You rock Wade." A few seconds later her Kimmunicator beep with the download. Looking at Kaname she said, "Let's go."

Entering the Dojo the girls found them on the far side of the room sitting cross-legged, facing each other about four feet apart. Fukushima was on the near side of the room, going through Tai chi katas. When they entered he simply stopped, bowed and went back to his katas. The girls approached the seated pair and sat down next to them. Ron was holding photograph. Kim gently took one of his hands and asked, "Ron?"

"Every time I question it, I look at this picture and tell myself, 'I did the right thing.' And I know it was right, just doesn't feel like it."

Kim turned the hand holding the photograph to see the grisly sight of a man with a severed head. Her hand flew to her mouth, "Oh my God."

"That's who we went after."

Very quietly, very gently she said, "Ronnie, baby, I'm not questioning you, ok? I'm just gonna ask the same question that I know you're asking yourself. Was there any other way?"

"No." Tears traced his cheeks.

"OK."

Filled with surprise and awe, his voice hitched, "You believe me?"

"Yes. I told you back on Merida Island, Ron." Her voice was still quiet but fierce, "I will never, let you down again."

Surprising the girls by using his friends first name without the suffix, Sagara said, "Ron, I told you before, until they were beaten and terrified, they were not going to surrender."

Kaname said, "Ron, you only think you did the right thing, but we know you did! Kim, play it."

Kim pulled out the Kimmunicator and played the file.

"You see Ron." Looking at Sousuke and not wanting to detract from his part in the mission, Kim said, "He might not know yours and Sousuke's names, but I'll tell you right now, you guys are his Hero's."

In an opulent office a graceful, elegant, elderly woman was sitting with her son and one of her grandsons. She was sternly talking to Lord Edwin Mallory, Peer of the Realm, Knights Order of the Victoria Cross. "Who were they?"

"Your Majesty..."

"Who were they?"

The grandson looked over to his homely father, grateful he had gotten his mothers looks. Then he looked at the screen and said "I know they weren't SAS, nor were they American Special Forces. I called an acquaintance in the Iwo Jima group. The aircraft they used was tiny and didn't really need the flight deck. Launched straight up, just like one of our Harriers and was gone. Three minutes later, it was off the scopes."

"Your Majesty..."

"Edwin, how long have you known me?"

Edwin smiled, "Since you were an ambulance driver during the Blitz. That was definitely a morale booster for the people. A Princess, the Heir Presumptive no less, shuttling the wounded to safety as Nazi bombs fell from the sky."

"Then please, use my name."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but we are discussing the business of the Realm and not only are you the Queen, but the Heir Apparent and his son are present. This forces certain formalities. Besides, you have too much of an edge if I do that."

"Very well, Lord Mallory. We're not angry. But someone deserves a great deal of recognition and it is Our intent to see they get it. No one has done Our nation so great a service since Team Possible stopped the Lil' Diablios and the Lowardans. But they don't take awards. If it were up to Us, Team Possible would not only have the VC, but the Bar as well.

"And that damn camp trained a goodly number of terrorist aimed directly at the realm. Not only did these men remove that threat, but they saved the life of one of our subjects as well. It is Our intent to award these men the Victoria Cross. They've earned it." Mallory was visibly uncomfortable. "Just spit it out, Edwin."

"One of the men, it would be hard to award him the VC or even the Bar."

"What's so hard about it, and you only get the Bar as a second award."

"Yes, Your Majesty, problem is, by your own admission, this would be his third."

The Heir blurted, "Third? Besides Team Possible, no one has been eligible for the Bar since Charles Upham in World War II."

The grandson chuckled, "The goofball strikes again. Stoppable! He was the one with the sword, wasn't he? I know he was."

"Yes, Your Highness"

The grandson was laughing out loud now, "I have got to meet this man. The Biggest Brass Ones since Mad Jack Churchill. 'Any Officer that goes into action without his sword is improperly dressed.' All he needs now is a longbow and a set of pipes."

The Heir said, "I'll give him mine! Mother's right. He's earned it. They all have. Edwin, who was their Air Support?"

When Lord Mallory tried to stall, the Queen snapped an order, "Lord Mallory!"

"Wade Load."

The grandson asked, "The computer man?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Although 'Man' might be a bit much. He's not quite 14. I watched as he handled it from a computer station, alone. And I think you should know, more than half the enemy causalities came from the Air Support. He threw up twice during the battle, but he didn't flinch. Didn't even bend over for the pot. Only cleaned himself up after Collins was on the Iwo Jima and his teammates were on the way home."

"Then We think he has earned the right to be called a Man, no matter what the calendar may say. That's three for this action. And now that We think about it young Mister Load was a part of Team Possible during the Lil' Diablo's and the Lowardans, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Goodness, I actually have to add it up. That's three for the Diablo's, three for the Lowardans, and three for this. That's nine! Three for Mr. Stoppable, three for Mr. Load, two for Miss Possible and who's the last?"

"Sousuke Sagara, Your Majesty."

"Four VCs and five Bars. Set it up Edwin. No later then New Years. That's just over three weeks away. And We know that Team Possible will try to wriggle out of it, so We will just have to ambush them. Since they seem to be going out of their way to remain undercover this time, We will just have to get them in public for the first two and the others presented in private."

Again Edwin looked reluctant, but before she could call him on it. "Your Majesty, if you find out later I didn't mention this, you'll have the Yeoman Gaoler at the Tower of London tend to me. There was one other during the Diablo's"

The grandson caught it. "Stoppable's pet, what was his name...?"

"Rufus, Your Highness. A naked mole rat. Although I think Rufus considers Stoppable to be the pet. He was instrumental in freeing Team Possible at a critical moment allowing them to stop Drakken. Your choice, Your Majesty."

She smiled, "Well, we have the Dickin Medal for just such an occasion. So We are up to ten. Four VCs, five Bars and one Dickin, correct?"

"Your Majesty, Your Highness', please. Mr. Stoppable isn't going to take what happened very well. It's going to effect him deeply."

The Queen was no dummy, "He didn't take what happened with the Lowardans very well either, did he."

"No."

"Then We might have to do something about that. We might be old and We might be a woman, but We've been sitting on this throne for over half a century and been through several wars. And from what We've seen, one of the best ways to get a Warrior to recognize that they did the right thing, what they had to do, is to recognize them for their actions and their heroism. Three weeks Edwin, make it happen."