All returned to normal as the men prepared for their mission. Equipment was checked, contacts made and Larabee kept informed of every detail.

J.D. entered his leader’s now open office. Chris and Buck were discussing where the pilot would put down and wait before affecting the team’s retreat. "Excuse me, Sir?"

Chris glanced up and nodded. J.D. entered the room and handed him a note. Larabee glanced through the document, picked up his pen and scribbled his signature. "Looks good, Kid. Anything more on that fifty million dollar bounty?"

"No, Sir."

"What about that explosion on the west side?"

"They’ve found the remains of a body."

"Interesting," Larabee muttered, his attention returning to the street map lying open on his desk.

"Sir?"

"Mmmm?"

"I could take out the soldier on the roof." Chris’ eyebrows drew down but he refrained from looking up. "Really, Chris, I could. I know you think I lack experience, but I’m ready. Really I am. I can ride the web and I can shoot any gun you give me."

"Next thing you’ll be claiming is that you can fly!" Buck chuckled, his mustache dancing happily above his lip.

"I can fly a single engine Cessnock."

"No." The response was low and deadpan.

"But, Chris…"

Larabee’s face came up, but it lacked the anger the youth expected. "No, Kid."

"Dammit, Colonel. I’m just some green horn!"

Larabee eyed the boy carefully.

"Colonel?" Ezra called from outside. Chris continued to scrutinize the youth who desperately wanted to throw himself into the line of fire.

"There isn’t any glory in dying young, Kid." With that, E.M.6’s leader rose and went to investigate what Ezra wanted.

"Goddammit!" J.D. exploded, once Chris was out of earshot. "He’s never going give me a chance to prove myself. He keeps treating me like I’m some damn kid."

Buck sighed, picking up the wooden picture frame that sat on the edge of Larabee’s desk. Without a word he handed it to J.D. and waited for the younger man to study the image of the two.

"Chris had a son once, but he lost that boy in a fire. And that burned half the soul out of that man." Buck glanced up at the wall on his left where a small, framed poem entitled "Mateship", hung. ‘And that stole the other half’, Buck thought tragically.

"A fire?"

The captain paused, knowing he shouldn’t share what didn’t belong to him. Once, he’d almost had his throat cut for answering a question about his oldest friend’s past. "Buck?"

"We were on leave from our tour in Katinda, before Chris formed the STF1," Buck stated quietly. "Two month pass.  One weekend, Chris and I went on a fishing trip with a couple of friends. While we were away, Chris’ house was fire bombed." J.D.’s eyes widened with unbridled horror. "Sarah and Adam... they didn’t get out."

Dunne stared at the pretty young woman and little boy smiling at him from the flat piece of paper in his hand.

"Neighbors said they could hear their cries but..." Buck lowered his head, his voice breaking with emotion. "Sarah rang Chris… was on the phone during… It was horrific…. my fault. I forced Chris to come. He should have been there that night."

"You can’t blame yourself, Buck."

"Yeah, Kid, I can." Wilmington reached for the photo and gazed down at the two faces smiling back at him. He’d loved both Sarah and Adam almost as much as Chris. Hell, he’d almost fallen for Sarah himself, but she’d only had eyes for Larabee. And as for Adam, Buck had adored the little boy. ‘Uncle Buck’ had spoiled the kid rotten.

"Why would someone fire bomb Chris’s house?"

"We don’t know."

"They must have been after Chris."

"Yeah, but the authorities never found out who or why."

"I’m sorry."

"Yeah, so was I. But sorry don’t bring them back." Sorry wouldn’t return Chris to the happy-go-lucky and relaxed man he’d been before the fire. There had been a brief time when Buck had truly believed Chris was going to have another chance at ‘living’, but Katinda had stolen that. Now, Buck was certain Chris was doomed to dwell forever in the abyss of self-hatred that had consumed him after the deaths of those who had been his entire life.

With care, Wilmington placed the photo back in its place of honor on Chris’ desk.  His fingers lovingly brushed the frame as he turned and followed J.D. out of the office.

**********

General Travis sipped his very expensive imported port as he perused the morning’s news. A smile slipped across his face as the anchorman began the next story.

"In the early hours of this morning, the Luskaton Embassy, in the middle of Washington DC, was alive with fireworks. This celebration was to mark the successful signing of a treaty between The United States and the small provincial African country. According to the Luskaton Foreign Minister, they wanted to show the world how pleased they are to have secured the treaty with the American Government."

General Travis picked up the phone and dialed. "Have you seen the news, Sir?"

"Yes, General Travis. E.M.6’s mission was a clear success. Colonel Larabee reported all of the drugs were destroyed, the fourteen soldiers taken care of and it appears the official line from the Luskaton embassy is the entire episode was a fireworks display. They aren’t prepared to admit they had fully armed soldiers or drugs on United States’ soil. Would you pass on the President’s thanks to Larabee and his men?"

"Of course, Sir."

"I will be in touch in the future."

"That is why E.M.6 exists. I’ll be happy to pass on any further requests."

Travis replaced the receiver and settled back into his chair. He felt a certain amount of pride in E.M.6’s achievements. After all, he had provided Larabee with the opportunity to design and enact the STF1 in Katinda and he had personally put his neck on the line to ensure its continued existence after the war – even if under a new title and slightly different line-up.

The phone interrupted the General’s private celebration. "Travis."

"I am sorry to disturb you, General, but we have experienced a security breech."

"What do you mean security breech? When?"

"Actually, Sir, it was two nights ago."

"What! Two nights. Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier?"

"No one knew about the breech until we did a routine check of the tapes, Sir. Whoever it was had access codes to the building."

"I want to know what the hell went down."

"I am watching a security tape of the incident as we speak, Sir. Looks like the intruder was a professional. He knew exactly what he was after. He headed straight for your private office."

Travis sat up straighter. "My private office? Was anything taken?"

"A file."

"Computer file?"

"No, Sir. A single manila folder from your safe."

Travis allowed his mind to search through possibilities. He really didn’t keep anything of importance in there. Just a few outdated files.  Suddenly, the colour drained from his face.  "Oh, God. Which file?"

"I’m enhancing the image now. The file is marked ‘Texan’."

General Travis felt his heart leap into his throat. His worst nightmare had just come true.  "Get me Harris at the CIA! NOW!"

**********

As Ezra laid his cards on the table, the four men groaned and threw their hands down. Standish grinned as he raked in the pot.

"I swear, I don’t know why we let him play," Buck complained, lifting his feet up onto the desk.

"Now, now, Captain Wilmington."

"I’m telling you, he cheats," Buck insisted, pointing an accusing finger in Ezra’s direction.

"Believe, me, my friend, I have no need to cheat when playing gentlemen of your expertise, or should I say, lack there of."

"And now he’s insulting us!"

Nathan shook his head. "You’ve been dealing me shitty hands on purpose, Standish."

"You aren’t the only one," Buck snapped. "I’ve lost a whole week’s pay!"

"I did not acquire the pseudonym ‘The Gambler’ for nothing," Ezra chuckled. "Many a time a friendly game of poker enabled me to secure the prize I sought."

"Friendly!"

"Yes, games of chance have always been kind to me."

"Playing poker with you hasn’t anything to do with chance, Ezra."

"You can say that again, mate."

J.D.’s eyebrow arched. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d heard Buck use the term ‘mate’ - a word the computer expert associated with the British, and Buck Wilmington was no more British then Travis’s American Pit Bull. As a matter of fact, J.D. had heard all of the former members of the STF1 use the term on occasion, but only when they were very relaxed or very drunk.

"Mate?" J.D. inquired.

Nathan and Josiah exchanged a glance. "It’s an Australian term," Nathan explained after a short pause.

"The Aussie soldiers we fought with in Katinda used it."

"It means friend," Ezra explained to J.D. with an air of authority.

"No, it doesn’t," Josiah corrected. "It means a lot more than that… a hell of a lot more."

Ezra eyed the other men curiously.

Buck had become quiet. He had tried to remove the word ‘mate’ from his vocabulary, but sometimes it slipped out. "A mate fits somewhere between best friend and brother," he stated carefully. A mate is…" His eyes grew distant as he was dragged back to a place where mateship was essential to survival. "Implicit trust, loyalty and commitment. It’s unquestioned faith and dependence without losing your independence. It’s knowing with certainty that no matter what’s going on, or where the bullets are flying in from, your mate will cover your back even if he has to use his own body to do it."

"It’s a sacred trust," Josiah added, his own voice just above a whisper. "You have to earn the mateship of others. It’s not automatic just because you happen to be friends or are working together."

As Ezra unconsciously dealt the cards, he couldn’t help wonder if he’d earned the privilege of being a ‘mate’ to these men he trusted his life with.

"Chris has a poem on the wall in his office called ‘Mateship’, J.D. reflected.

"Yes, he does," Nathan stated quietly. "It was written by a mate of ours." The emotion in his voice was palpable. Josiah reached out and squeezed his companion’s shoulder.

"Easy, brother."

"Damn it, Ezra, you dealt me nothing but shit again," Buck thundered as he scrutinized his cards and deliberately changed the focus of the discussion.

Chris Larabee stepped out of the elevator and paused. He’d been in a meeting with the FBI liaison officer since eight o’clock. E.M.6’s leader glanced at his watch; it was well after 10:30. Larabee shook his head with amused disgust.

"I hope I’m not interrupting anything, boys."

"Not at all, Chris. We were just…"

"So I see. I could always find something for you to do if you don’t have enough work to keep yourselves occupied. Maybe a casual stroll through the obstacle course or an hour of PT or…" Larabee grinned as his men scattered – each scurrying to his individual work station and typing furiously on his keyboard or dialing on his phone or writing on the various documents from his inbox. Each man looked the picture of hard work. "Anything to report on that contract, J.D.?"

"No, Sir."

"Josiah, what about that explosion?"

"The report should be faxed through some time today, Sir."

"Buck, have you checked the helicopter after the skirmish."

"Everything a-okay boss man."

Larabee nodded and moved toward his office.

"Hey, Chris, what was the meeting about?"

"FBI isn’t happy we have the authority to pull rank on them," Chris muttered, accepting the bundle of files from Nathan as he walked past. "Seems the CIA is trying to recruit some powerful allies against us."

"And your response to the FBI was?"

"Tough."

"Now, Chris, that’s why all the other organizations have liaison officers. They say things with finesse, where as you..."

"I told him that if he interfered in my work or the work of any of my men I’d shove my fist up his nose and my gun up his ass," Chris growled softly, amusement reflected in his eyes.

"And for some reason you seem to think that lacks finesse, Buck?" Josiah mused. "Some people have strangest notions, don’t they?"

"You should make Ezra our liaison officer. He could have told them he’d shove his fist up their nose but he would have done it with fancy words," J.D. giggled.

Chris glanced at Ezra. "Well?"

"Perhaps something like, ‘Sir if you or your associates see fit to interpose in the duty of my emissaries I will be compelled to thrust one of my appendages up you proboscis and my revolver up your derriere’."

"Now that’s finesse, brothers," Josiah announced, his body raked with laughter.

Chris winked at Josiah and disappeared into his office.

"Chris seems relaxed today," Nathan commented thoughtfully.

"Maybe the FBI guy did try to interfere and Chris got to throw the odd punch - work out some tension."

"Wouldn’t surprise me," Ezra stated, shaking his head. "Colonel Larabee is an outstanding leader, but interpersonal skills are far from a strength."

***********

Just after lunch, J.D.’s chair flew across the room, the youth still on it. This wasn’t unusual. The printer was situated some nine feet from the boy’s computer terminal and every time he printed something ‘exciting’ the chair and its occupant would flash across the expanse. It was such a frequent occurrence that outside of Ezra’s annoyed grunt, no one battered an eye-lid. There had been a period in the past when Ezra had constantly berated the younger man for such a ‘foolish display of childish exuberance’ but eventually Ezra had decided he was fighting a losing battle.

J.D. snatched the printout and raced into his leader’s office.

"Chris!"

Larabee looked up.

"A couple of things, Boss. First, a file was stolen from this building two days ago."

"From where?"

"The sixth floor." Larabee’s eyes narrowed. Travis was on that floor. "Go on."

"This morning, the CIA deployed their top executive protection unit." Chris raised his eyebrows. "Unit One?"

"Yes, Sir. Don’t they usually reserve them for the President and the Pope and important people like that?"

Chris grunted. "Our fifty million dollar contract, perhaps."

"That’s what I thought."

"Have you got me a name yet?"

"No, Sir, I’m still looking. Maybe we can ask the CIA? It looks like they’re dealing with it."

"I might just do that, Kid," Chris muttered, returning to work. J.D. didn’t move. Larabee glanced up. "Is there something else?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Spill it." There was something about J.D.’s expressive hazel eyes that told Chris he wasn’t going to like what was going to follow.

Before J.D. could reply, Josiah, Nathan, Ezra and Buck entered the office laughing.

"Hey, Chris, we just heard on the news the Luskaton Embassy held a fireworks display to celebrate their treaty with the United States," Buck thundered.

"And here I was thinking Ezra had arranged it as a diversion so we could destroy all those drugs and deal with them soldiers." Josiah’s voice faded out toward the end. He realized he and the others had walked in on something. Both Chris and J.D. had maintained eye contact with each other throughout the interruption.

All of the men became quiet.

"General Travis has accessed the same two files about six times in the last few hours." The fact that J.D. knew that didn’t surprise anyone. Chris had made it clear to the younger agent from the outset that he wanted to be informed of all movement within the armed forces and other security organizations. Thus, J.D.’s hacking skills were utilized on a daily basis.

"So?" Chris prompted.

"So I tried to hack into the files, but they’re encrypted."

"Get Ezra onto it."

"I was able to crack one of them. It was one of the codes they were using a few years back... in Katinda."

Larabee’s expression descended into hell. "And?"

"It was a file on you guys when you were the STF1" J.D. began to move from one foot to the other. It was not easy confronting Chris when he was in this sort of mood. Dunne decided the best thing to do was to get it all out in one breath and so he did. "It said that there were five of you and the fifth guy was a sharpshooter - is that why you don’t want us to recruit..."

Chris Larabee was normally a very calm, controlled individual. He rarely, if ever, raised his voice. Today was the exception. The torrent of language that came out of his mouth was accompanied by him upturning his own desk as he rose to his feet like an angel of death. Buck instinctively stepped between J.D. and the enraged man. Larabee however, didn’t appear interested in any of his men. He snatched the phone that had tumbled to the floor and dialled.

"GIVE ME TRAVIS, NOW!"

Josiah ushered the others out of the room, leaving Buck to deal with their leader - Buck was the only one who had a chance in hell of doing so. A slim chance, but it was better than nothing.

"WHEN THE HELL IS HE EXPECTED BACK?... YOU TELL HIM COLONEL LARABEE WANTS TO SPEAK TO HIM!" With that, Chris threw the phone across the room.

"Chris?" Buck demanded firmly. He needed to be firm enough to calm his friend and leader. Buck hadn’t seen Chris like this in a long time.

"Get the *&%@ out of here, Buck! Who the &*%@ does J.D. think he is!"

"He didn’t know, Chris. Hell, he and Ezra are just curious. They have a right to know."

"They have a right to nothing!"  Larabee’s chest was heaving, his face contorted with a mix of rage and agony.

"That isn’t fair, Chris."

Larabee spun around and glared at Buck before his eyes flicked to the framed, hand-written poem on the wall. "YOU THINK WHAT HAPPENED WAS FAIR, CAPTAIN!"

Buck sighed, stepped up behind his friend and placed his hand on Chris’s shoulder. He could feel the muscles knotting and moving beneath his firm, supportive grip.

"I miss him too," Buck whispered.

**********

"Would one of you care to explain?" Ezra demanded as the group spilled out into the main office area.

Josiah glanced at Nathan.

The medic shrugged. "They have a right to know."

Josiah nodded and indicated for the men to move into the conference room. Silently, the qualified psychologist closed the door behind them.

"You’ll have to excuse, Chris. He isn’t usually like that."

"A fact we are more than aware of, my friend," Ezra stated. After fourteen months, Ezra had hardly heard Chris use anything as loud as a normal speaking tone, let alone yell - unless it was at outsiders trying to dictate to E.M.6. - that was altogether different.

"J.D. was right. We were a five man unit and our fifth man was a sharpshooter."

Nathan lowered his face as emotion stole his composure.

Josiah moved around and placed his hand on the medic’s shoulder before going on. "The war had taken a few bad turns. General Travis came up with the idea of letting Chris have his run of things. Complete autonomy to design a team and select the men he wanted."

"And the colonel designed the Special Tactics Force One," J.D. muttered.

Josiah nodded. "A group of marines with very unique skills - a medic, a pilot, an explosives expert and a sharpshooter. Chris chose each of us, but he didn’t know of a sharpshooter who had the combination of skills he was looking for."

"Combination?" Ezra inquired.

"We needed a sharpshooter who was also an accomplished tracker."

"And you couldn’t find one?" J.D. asked.

"In nine months we lost six men who tried to fill the position."

"Lost? You mean they were killed?" J.D. exclaimed horrified.

"Some. Others resigned. They didn’t fit in. The rest of us… Buck, Nathan, Chris and I, just jelled immediately.  And then one day, Vin Tanner rolled up." Josiah sighed and a smile spread across his face. "He would have been your age, J.D., but Vin was really quiet. Introspective."

"And you welcomed him into your team?" Ezra asked.

Josiah’s grin matured into a full smile. "Not exactly... "