As the Army sedan approached the historic Thayer Gate, Hannibal adjusted his green beret. The imposing stone structure loomed ahead, a gateway to the hallowed grounds of the United States Military Academy. Beside him in the back seat, Maggie Sullivan gave him a reassuring smile, her hand resting lightly on his thigh. In the front passenger seat, Decker glanced back with a rare amusement.
"You nervous, Smith?" Decker asked. "Didn't think I'd ever see the day."
"Nervous? About West Point?" Hannibal snorted, leaning back against the seat. "This place hasn't changed in decades. I'd bet the same paint's peeling off the walls I scrubbed as a cadet."
Maggie chuckled. "I think he means nervous about being the center of attention. You've got the Medal of Honor, John. People notice."
"I didn't earn it in Korea to be noticed." Hannibal patted her hand. "You know that, Maggie. And if I had my way, this would be a quiet return, no fanfare, no speeches."
Decker exchanged a glance with Maggie, the corners of his mouth turning up. "Well, about that…"
The sedan passed through the gate, and Hannibal caught his first glimpse of the Thayer Hotel perched atop the hill. It was like he remembered—stately, timeless, overlooking the Hudson River like a sentinel. But something seemed... off. The sound of drums carried on the wind, and as they crested the hill, Hannibal's eyes narrowed.
On the Plain below, the entire Corps of Cadets was assembled in full dress gray uniforms, a sea of precision and discipline. The Hellcats struck up a rousing march, the notes carrying on the crisp autumn air. Flags fluttered in the breeze, and the reviewing stand was adorned with the stars and stripes.
Hannibal groaned as the sedan pulled to a stop across from Battle Monument. "You've got to be kidding me."
Decker stepped out first, suppressing a grin as he opened the door for Maggie. "Welcome back to West Point, Colonel Smith. Did you think they'd let you sneak in the back door?"
Maggie slid out gracefully, turning back to Hannibal. "Come on, John. You've faced worse than a parade."
Hannibal sighed, adjusting his cane as he stepped out. The crowd below erupted into cheers and applause as the band transitioned into the Academy's fight song. A few reporters stationed near the Plain scrambled to snap pictures, their cameras clicking furiously.
"Not exactly low-key," Hannibal muttered, tugging at his uniform jacket to straighten it.
Decker clapped him on the shoulder. "Consider it payback for all the times you made me look like a fool. Enjoy it."
Maggie slipped her arm through Hannibal's, her eyes sparkling. "Face would've loved this. He'd have been on the reviewing stand, autographing copies of his book."
Hannibal chuckled, having seen the first draft of that book a year ago. He wasn't in it. Peck, it seemed, did everything, including Hannibal's job. "Yeah, Pecking Away at the System. Bet he's already working on a sequel."
"He is," Maggie said, walking alongside him. "And he's milking the movie deal for the plane crash story. He said the studio wants your story, not his."
"Of course they do," Hannibal said dryly. "I'll let Face handle the spotlight. He's better at it."
"And Murdock?" Maggie asked.
Hannibal chuckled. "Last I heard, he was in Canada, running a charter helicopter service. Something about 'freedom of the skies.' Sounds like him, doesn't it?"
Maggie laughed. "He never did like being tied down. And BA's helping his mom in Chicago."
"Yeah, he wouldn't fit in with all the order and discipline here." He'd probably slug the Supe.
As they descended the hill toward the reviewing stand, Hannibal's irritation faded. The cadets stood in perfect formation, their faces solemn and respectful. The band's music swelled, and a sense of pride settled over him. This place had shaped him, challenged him, and given him the foundation to lead.
When they reached the stand, an Academy official stepped forward, throwing a crisp salute. "Colonel Smith, I'm Captain Arnold, TAC officer for company M-1, on behalf of the United States Military Academy, welcome home."
Hannibal returned the salute, his blue eyes scanning the crowd. "Thank you, Captain. Let's get this over with."
Maggie squeezed his arm. "You'll do fine. Remember, John—these cadets see you as a hero."
Hannibal sighed, shaking his head. "I'm a soldier, Maggie. Nothing more."
"And that's exactly why you're their hero," she said softly.
As the ceremony began, Hannibal stood tall, leaning on his cane. The speeches were mercifully brief, but the applause was deafening. When the cadets paraded past, company by company, their eyes shining with admiration, Hannibal felt a swell of pride. This wasn't about him—it was about the values he'd fought to uphold, the sacrifices made by his team, and the legacy they'd left behind.
As the ceremony concluded and the crowd dispersed, Hannibal turned to Maggie and Decker. "All right, you two. Enough of this dog and pony show. Let's find a quiet corner where I can get a drink."
Decker laughed. "You've earned it, Smith. But don't think for a second, I'm paying."
Maggie slipped her arm around Hannibal's waist. "Don't worry, John. I'll take care of you."
He smiled, his heart lighter than it had been in years. "I know you will, Maggie. I know you will."
Together, they headed back to the sedan they arrived in, the past behind them and a new chapter waiting to be written.
A few weeks later, Hannibal's first lecture at West Point began. The room was packed with cadets eager to learn from the legendary colonel and academy staff wanting to hear his war stories. At the back of the room, Maggie stood quietly for moral support, watching as he commanded the room with his trademark wit and charm. The scarred warrior, once a fugitive, was now a mentor shaping the Army's future.