"General," Josiah acknowledged without emotion.

"Josiah," the senior officer greeted shaking his hand. Normally there was never such familiarity between differing ranks, but the STF1 was very different to their counterparts and Travis was only too happy to oblige them any momentary lapses in protocol. "Where’s Colonel Larabee?"

"He was held up, Sir. He sent Nathan and me to greet the new man, get him something to eat and fill him in on a few things."

The propeller blades from the General’s chopper began to slow, making communication easier. The group was collected on the outskirts of a Western Katinese camp. While Americans and their allies were officially welcome, in reality, the soldiers stationed here, all trained locals, didn’t care for foreigners.

"Fast work, Sir," Nathan commented. "You've found us a replacement already. Paulson only walked out on us, yesterday." There was an element of disgust in the dark-skinned man’s voice. You never ‘walked out’ on a mate, but then, Doug Paulson hadn’t reached mateship status.

The Sergeant saluted the visiting General and then stepped onto the chopper to help the prospective sharpshooter with his things. After trialing so many new men for the position, the members of the Special Tactics Force One were quickly losing patience with both Travis and the lame excuses for marksmen being sent to them. The bottom line was, until the right man could be found and properly amalgamated into the team - a process that would take several weeks - the other members of the STF1 were in unnecessary danger every mission. They needed the combined skills of all five to enhance their chances of survival, and as yet, they couldn’t secure their fifth and final member - something that was beginning to grate on their usually well-concealed and controlled emotions.

Nathan looked briefly at the long-haired young man collecting his gear in the rear of the chopper. Without a word, Jackson looked into the cockpit.

"Hi."

"Hi," the pilot replied.

"Any other passengers?"

"Nope, just the General and the kid."

Sergeant Nathan Jackson turned, stared at Tanner for a moment, then pushed passed him and leapt from the helicopter. There was no way ‘he’ could be the prospective sharpshooter.

As Jackson alighted, he heard Josiah ask...

"Do we know him?"

"I doubt it."

"No sharpshooter!" Nathan reported with tired irritation.

At that moment, the finely built young man with shoulder length hair jumped from the helicopter and walked up to the trio. He wasn’t wearing army fatigues, but rather an old pair of jeans, a long buckskin coat and what could only be described as a beat up old cowboy hat on his head. With a quick nod to Josiah he turned to Nathan. "I reckon I’m the person you were lookin’ for." The young man’s response was soft, his Texas drawl, easygoing.

Nathan's eyes widened as he returned the nod and glanced at his equally wide-eyed team mate.

Josiah flicked his eyes to Travis and growled, "This is a joke, right?" Larabee was not in the mood for this. Hell, Paulson hadn’t ‘walked’ out - he’d run. The other man had proved less than satisfactory and the leader of the STF1 had let him know in no uncertain terms.

"Sergeant, this is your new sharpshooter."

"Sharpshooter!" Josiah repeated savagely. By this time, the helicopter had completely stopped, the only sound at the edge of the small military base coming from a few insects in the dense shrubs around them.

Sanchez, hardly amused by this ridiculous situation, and knowing exactly what his leader’s reaction to the boy would be, looked the youth up and down with appraising eyes. There was no way on God’s earth Chris would even consider a kid to take the position. He needed a man with experience under fire, not some snotty nosed youth from some military academy. "How old are you soldier?"

"Twenty-two, but I don’t reckon that’s any of your damn business, Sergeant," Tanner snapped back. "Sorry," he apologized immediately. Josiah could read strength of character and intelligence in the young man’s sky blue eyes. "Look, I left Africa sometime yesterday, touched down in South America an hour and a half ago and got straight on this chopper. So I ain’t in the mood for yours, or anyone else’s, prejudices." His voice was firm but lacked any discernable aggression - as a matter of fact, the only distinguishable emotion was fatigue "Yeah, I’m young, but I can shoot the balls off a fly from six hundred feet."

"This isn’t a normal unit, kid. It’ll take a lot more than fancy shooting to survive. And you don’t look old enough to shave."

Tanner’s eyes flashed deep annoyance, but again, no true anger. "I hope, for your sake, your colonel doesn’t misjudge your enemy as badly, or as completely, as you’ve misjudged me." For the first time in his life, Sergeant Josiah Sanchez was at a loss for words. He'd flattened people for saying less, and yet there was sense in the boy's words he couldn’t deny.

"Kid's got you there," Nathan chuckled.

"Cut the kid crap. You, judged me as soon as you saw me on the chopper. At least he had the decency to wait until he heard my age. Neither of you considered testin’ my ability and let’s face it, in war, that’s all that counts. I’m a marine sharpshooter. I’ve been servin’ in Africa for the last ten months. I ain’t a green horn so you can relax. I’ve been under heavy fire so I know how to handle myself. I can understand your concern but now ain’t the time to be discussin’ it because if I don’t get somethin’ to eat and some sleep I’m likely to do somethin’ we’ll all regret. Now, I don’t want to cause no friction my first day with your squad, but I’m real tired, hungry and jet lagged. So if one of you could point out the nearest place I can get some grub, I’d appreciate it. I’ll report to Colonel Larabee in about an hour. By then I should feel almost human again." With that, Tanner slung his rifle over his shoulder, saluted General Travis half-heartedly and then headed off in the direction of what looked like a mess tent.

Josiah and Nathan watched him go, glanced at each other and then turned to the General who had a grin on his face.

"He isn’t going to fit in," Josiah stated with absolute certainty. "Larabee isn’t going like him."

"Don’t judge on appearances. He comes highly recommended. He’s honest and straight to the point. As a matter of fact, he has a reputation for telling his superiors exactly what he thinks of... now how did he put it... your dumbass plans...so I’d have thought he’d fit into the STF1 perfectly."

"Sounds like he was cock sure of himself," J.D. commented.

"He was and he had good reason," Josiah laughed. "Vin Tanner was the finest sharpshooter I’ve ever met. I’ve seen him take out snipers from more than a mile out in gale force winds and hit them right between the eyes. Vin never missed. Not once. He was faithful to the Marine Sharpshooter’s motto - ‘One shot, one kill.’"

"Arrogant?" J.D. asked.

Josiah raised an eyebrow. "Completely the opposite. Oh, Vin was confident in his own ability, but he wasn’t one much for words. What makes you ask that?"

"He seemed to have a lot to say for himself when you first met," Ezra stated carefully.

"Vin was a lot more than jet lagged that morning," Nathan commented. "Turned out he hadn’t eaten or slept in almost forty-eight hours. He was running on adrenaline and developing a migraine."

"Poor kid almost collapsed at the end of the day. I ended up having to half carry, half drag his sorry ass to our camp. But basically, Vin was real quiet. What he said that day was the most words I ever heard him string together at once."

"Yep," Nathan agreed. "Vin only used the amount of words required to make his point."

"And just how did Colonel Larabee respond to this ‘newbie’?" Ezra asked. He hated that term. Buck and Josiah had used it to refer to him for the first few months he’d joined the team and it had always made him feel like he was a prep student on his first day in school.

"Well, Vin headed over to the mess tent while Nathan and I tried to convince General Travis he’d made one hell of a mistake. Now, I wasn’t there, but this is how I heard it happened…

Vin eyed the meal in front of him with distaste. He’d thought the food in Africa had been vile, but this slop that was supposed to be beef stew definitely took first prize in the nauseating category. Not that Tanner was altogether surprised. He’d heard that things in Katinda were bad. ‘If this chow is anything to go by, things are a lot worse than bad.’

The young man glanced around the sparsely populated room. None of the soldiers were wearing American uniforms. As a matter of fact, there was only one uniform represented and Vin didn’t recognize it. He guessed it belonged to the Katinese Army - the Western Katinese Army. These soldiers had been trained by the United States and its allies, but Vin got the distinct impression there was little love lost between these people and the foreign peacekeepers.

Before Lieutenant Tanner could reflect further, there were shouts and rifle fire from outside. No one in the mess tent batted an eyelid. They continued with their meals and hushed conversations without any apparent interest in the chaos that had erupted beyond the single room.

Unable to ignore the situation, Vin rose and stepped outside to investigate. At the far end of the street, which was lined with temporary buildings, several squads of Katinese soldiers were collected. The men were swearing and firing recklessly into the air as they celebrated the success of their mission. Letting off steam. Nothing wrong with that - though Vin couldn’t see the point in wasting ammunition. But then, the Katinese Army didn’t pay for their resources. Everything was provided by the Vanguard International Legion – which meant it came from the taxpayers of the industrialized world.

As the men continued to pile out of the three trucks, Vin noted a particularly rowdy group of almost a dozen soldiers, forcing a bound man in front of them.

"We’re gonna have us a lynching, you traitor!" one of the servicemen dragging the struggling prisoner shouted.

"I’m not a traitor. He was hurt. I didn’t stop to ask what side he was fighting for!" the bound man cried in protest. Like the soldiers, this man was Katinese.

Tanner glanced around at the occupants of the army base. Most were going about their business. No one seemed interested in what was happening. Vin searched for General Travis and the two sergeants who’d greeted him earlier. There was no sign of the trio.

"I’ve got the rope!" another man called, dangling it in front of his wide-eyed prisoner.

Vin’s brow creased. These men were serious. They were going to commit murder. Killing in battle was one thing, but murder was altogether different. It was a fine line for some – a gray issue for others and no issue at all for men the likes of these, but Vin Tanner saw this particular topic in black and white. Killing in battle was a necessary evil. This, on the other hand, was cold-blooded murder - plain and simple.

Out of nowhere, a young blond civilian woman appeared. In her hands she held a rifle. Her face, while remarkably beautiful, was contorted with rage tempered with determination. "We don’t hang men where I come from," she yelled, walking out into the middle of the street and effectively stopping the mob’s progress.

"Get out of the way, lady!" the leader of the rabble shouted. "This lousy traitor assisted a no good Kat Kong soldier. That’s treason!"

"He was dying! I’m a doctor! I don’t stop to ask what side my patients fight for!" the prisoner claimed.

"You aren’t hanging this man!" the young American repeated as she raised her rifle.

"I said, get out of the way!" The renegade soldier shoved her hard, sending her crashing to the ground.

Vin Tanner frowned. Things really were bad in Katinda if it took a female civilian to stop this sort of atrocity.

The mob laughed loudly, skirted around the brave reporter and continued their trek towards the small cemetery where all of the nameless soldiers killed in this area ended up.

Mary Travis climbed to her feet and stared around at the indifferent looks on the faces of the people milling around. "Are you just going to stand by and let this happen!" she shouted, before racing after the mob.

The sharpshooter standing outside the mess tent checked the chamber of his rife. He had no intention of standing by and allowing a man to be murdered, or a young woman to be pushed around by thugs.

"Don’t do it, friend. Out here, we don’t interfere," a German soldier commented. "You stick you nose in and you’ll end up being court-martialed."

"Aw, hell. I’m probably going to get myself killed anyway. Now I have to worry about a court martial as well."

The other soldier shrugged and moved on. Vin clicked his safety off. Suddenly, he had a peculiar feeling. Not a prickling on the back of his neck or anything unnerving - more an awareness… but a strangely comfortable one. Vin had uncanny instincts – always had. At that moment, he knew he was being watched and that usually perturbed him. Why then, did he feel no concern?

Glancing up, the scruffy young man discovered an American soldier was studying him from the other side of the narrow, dusty street. The man’s eyes were narrowed, his face revealing a natural strength. His fatigues showed no rank. Tanner’s and the stranger’s eyes met and in that split second, something nebulous took place. Something neither man would ever understand...but that instant in time would mark them for the rest of their lives. In that single glance, trust, faith and loyalty, the likes of which neither had ever known, were established and written indelibly on their souls . Vin had glimpsed the other man’s spirit and he knew, without question, that the serious stranger had done the same to his.

The American inclined his head ever so slightly in the direction the mob was moving. Shall we?

No words, but Vin understood completely. The sharpshooter nodded his reply. Without comment, Tanner stepped out into the middle of the street, the mystery soldier joining him. Shoulder to shoulder, they strode toward the tree in the center of the cemetery where the lynching was taking place.

The crowd of mostly Katinese soldiers, who had followed the group of nine thugs and their terrified victim, parted so that the two foreigners could make their way into the small graveyard of unmarked headstones. The doctor was standing on a small wooden stool, a rope around his neck.

Sensing the newcomers’ arrival, the ringleader turned. "Now what the hell do you want?"

"Cut him down." It was an order, but the speaker’s voice, while firm, was soft and dangerous - like a cobra waiting to strike.

"Go to hell."

"You fellas shot a lot of holes in the clouds back there," the softly spoken soldier pointed out, his hard eyes cutting his nine enemies in half. "Anyone stop to reload?"

"Reckon you’d be happier if ya all just walked away," Vin added. The mob began to wriggle restlessly, each fingering weapons.

Vin Tanner considered his predicament for the first time. He was in a country he’d arrived in only two hours earlier, standing in the middle of a graveyard facing off against nine armed soldiers - who were supposed to be his allies - with a man he’d never met standing at his side. It was crazy, but somehow Tanner instinctively knew he and the stranger could handle it.

Fifteen seconds later, the battle was over. The ringleader had lifted his rifle, but before he could fire, Vin Tanner’s new friend had cut him down. Two other men fell before the rest of the group turned tail and ran. At some stage, the stool had been knocked and the doctor ended up swinging by the neck. Vin Tanner’s right eye closed. He took aim at the rope. The sharpshooter fired. The prisoner fell safely to the ground.

Slowly Vin rose to his feet. He watched the louts go, his face colored with the disgust he felt. Stepping forward, he withdrew a knife from his boot and cut the rough bonds that held the doctor.

"I don’t know how I can ever thank you," the doctor whispered hoarsely as he rubbed his raw neck.

"Reckon you should be heading out of camp," Vin suggested. The doctor nodded his agreement, turned and moved swiftly to do so.

"Name’s Chris," the stranger beside the sharpshooter stated without prompting.

"Vin Tanner."

"New in camp?"

"Half an hour ago. You?"

"Ten minutes," Chris murmured. Both he and Vin were still watching the retreating backs of the mob.

"Are things this bad all over?"

Chris turned to the young Texan and nodded. "Yeah. And they’re getting worse." For the first time since the initial look they’d exchanged, Vin and Chris allowed their eyes to meet. Before either could say anything, the pretty woman marched up to them.

"Mary Travis, Washington Post. Where did you say you were from?"

Larabee felt his blood begin to boil. He hated reporters. "Saloon," Chris grunted, turning and striding away. Vin fell into step beside him.

"Wait a minute, I have some questions I want to ask you. Where are you going?"

Vin and Chris exchanged a simple glance and then they both answered, "Saloon."

Mary knew better than to push too hard. These were adamant, tough men. Things in Katinda had become increasingly worse over the past twenty-four months. Her husband, a primetime reporter for the Washington Post, had lost his life in this hellhole trying to uncover a conspiracy. Mary refused to allow his death to be in vain and thus she had bundled her son off to his grandmother and come to Katinda herself to continue her husband’s work.

After two years in the country, Mary Travis was beginning to understand the people. This place was sinking into hell, despite the efforts of the world peacekeepers. The Easterners - or slave drivers - melted into the background. Their attacks were efficient and relentless. The Westerners, whom the rest of the world was assisting, had begun to resent the presence and dictation from the foreigners. Mary honestly believed the tide had now turned to the extent Katinda may be a lost cause. Her father-in-law, a senior American General and representative on the Vanguard International Legion, had come up with a plan. A single squad he believed could turn the war. Mary, like almost everyone else in Katinda, had grave doubts. How could five men make a difference? The STF1 had been formed for just over nine months. They had achieved some successes, but the problem in Katinda was both physical and emotional. The sheer number of Kat Cong made things difficult, but it was the morale of the peacekeepers that was now the world’s greatest hurdle. General Travis was sure that some decisive victories would remedy the situation and he was certain the STF1 could provide the catalyst needed. However, Mary had heard the new squad was struggling with the dynamics of their own group and until the logistics could be worked out, they were fighting an uphill battle like everyone else.

The determined reporter watched the rough men who’d stopped the lynching as they entered the ‘saloon’ - a tent that reeked of alcohol. She couldn’t help thinking it was going to take men like them - men who did what was needed and didn’t turn a blind eye - men who were as rough as the situation demanded - men who were not afraid to back their actions - to drag Katinda from its downward spiral into hell. But men like that didn’t fit into the guidelines the peacekeepers had been given. The world’s soldiers had been told not to interfere in ‘private’ matters.  They were not to deal with anything without first checking and receiving official permission to do so. Thus, incidents like the one that had just taken place had become commonplace. It wasn’t something the peacekeepers condoned, but they had learned through experience it was better to just ‘butt out’.

Over the course of the two years Mary had been in the country, she had seen the solders’ attitudes change. Now, they didn’t seem to care. That of course, wasn’t their fault. None of them were prepared to be court-martialed simply for doing the right thing. That needed to be changed and Mary couldn’t help think it was men like the two here today, and not some fancy squad, that was needed.

**********

Chris slapped his money on the makeshift bar. "Whisky. Two."

"You been in Katinda long?" Vin asked his new friend.

"Since the beginning," the older man grunted, turning and running his eye over the occupants in the tent. He was searching for his men and the new sharpshooter Travis had promised. "Only arrived in this part of the country this morning. I’ve spent most of my time further north, but the Cong have infiltrated this area now."

Vin nodded.

Chris flicked his eyes to the younger man and assessed his clothes. He was dressed like a civilian but the rifle he held was no civilian weapon. "So what the hell are you? A buffalo hunter?"

Vin grinned. "Among other things."

"Army?"

"Marine." Chris Larabee paused, his brow creasing suspiciously.

"Hey, Colonel!" Buck, Josiah and Nathan marched into the tent looking concerned. "Heard there was trouble."

"It’s been dealt with," Chris stated in his low unriled voice.

Buck glanced at Vin, back at Chris and then grinned. "He with you?"

"At the moment."

Nathan and Buck exchanged an amused look.

"The two of you deal with it?" Buck pressed. Chris nodded shortly.

"Colonel," Josiah announced, "meet Vin Tanner. According to General Travis, he’s here to audition for the job."

Vin’s eyes narrowed and he turned to Chris. "So you’re Larabee." He’d heard a great deal about this man -- a damn fine soldier and even better strategist, if the rumors were correct. With one elbow leaning against the bar and his whisky still in his hand, Vin gave his superior a casual salute.

A smirk appeared on Larabee’s face. "I hear that you have trouble listening to superiors."

"Heard the same about you," Vin replied easily.

"I’m also told you’re the best sharpshooter the marines ever produced."

Vin snorted his disgust. "I could shoot long before I enlisted."

Chris smiled. He liked the self-assured, confident, but basically quietly spoken young man.

"According to General Travis," Nathan stated, "you can take down a chopper from a mile out."

"Choppers don’t fly real well without pilots."

Larabee listened with interest. So this marksman was good enough to take out a pilot.

"Travis says that ..."

"Sounds like the General had a great deal to say," Vin grunted, upending his glass. He wasn’t usually this talkative, but fatigue, hunger and mild anger at the situation he’d had forced upon him had loosened his tongue. "Travis told me being part of your unit would be an honor. I get conscripted to the most dangerous squad on the planet and I’m supposed to see that as an honor."

"You don’t want to be here?"

Vin eyed the colonel, two sergeants and captain. "Don’t know," he answered honestly.

"I grew up in one of the slave camps here," Nathan stated passionately. "The Western Katinese army helped to rescue my family. For that, they can have a couple of years of my life."

"Or all of it," Vin muttered. Hell, he felt tired. He glanced at the other men who were studying him carefully. A smile slipped onto his handsome face. Before enlisting, he’d worked briefly in a tiny hardware shop in a nowhere town in Texas. His job had consisted of stacking shelves, serving customers and sweeping floors. "Hell, I wasn’t intendin’ dyin’ with a broom in my hand anyway."

Chris half smiled at the young man and nodded. He couldn’t help but like Tanner. "You as good as Travis says?" The two men studied at each other, each trying to comprehend the powerful feelings of trust felt. Neither man trusted easily and yet...

"Try me."

"Oh, we intend to, soldier," Josiah growled.

**********

“Buck?” Chris asked via the sophisticated radio headset he was wearing. The men were grouped on the outskirts of the temporary camp. Things had sobered considerably since Vin and Chris had prevented the lynching. Several senior officers from the Katinese army had arrived in camp and calmed their men.

Satisfied things were well in hand, Chris led Josiah, Nathan and the man they hoped would fill the position of sharpshooter, out into the area beyond the tent town. Buck was half a mile away, stationed near a metal structure that had once been a tank. Now, it was a mangled mess thanks to an accurate bomb. Hanging on the side of the tank was a small army issue canteen.

“Buck?” Chris repeated.

“Yooooooo!” came the exuberant response that was loud enough for Vin to hear despite the fact he was standing several feet from Larabee.

“We set?” the colonel checked.

“All ready, ole buddy.”

Chris turned to Vin and inclined his head in the direction of the tank. “You see Buck?”

On cue, Buck began doing what looked like a war dance in front of the tank.

Vin’s left eyebrow peaked. “This man is a member of the world’s top tactical unit?” Chris lowered his face in mock disgust. Vin’s lips parted in an amused smile. “Let me guess. He’s the one who picked up all the dignitaries some time back and flew them upside down for five minutes.” It hadn’t gone down well with the senior officers, particularly when Buck refused to right the plane until the ‘assholes’ listened to what he had to say about the direction the war was taking.

Josiah smiled. “Yep, that was Buck.”

“You heard about that?” Nathan asked. “Thought you said you were in Africa?”

“Flying nine of the world’s highest ranking soldiers upside down for five minutes is the sort of thing that crosses continents,” Vin stated quietly. “Heard he was going to be court-martialed, but he was selected for some special squad. Guess it was this one.”

Chris eyed Vin with deep thought. “Buck’s the best pilot in Katinda.” It was a justification; Chris hadn’t simply selected his friend to save his neck.

Tanner shrugged his indifference. “That’s good enough for me.” Again Tanner and Larabee stared at each other.

Why? Why is it good enough? You don’t know me.

Don’t know why. Just is.

Josiah and Nathan watched with interest. It was almost as if these two knew each other. They were definitely communicating on a different level - a level that tended to be reserved for those who had known each other for many years.

“You see the tank?” Chris asked finally. “On it’s a canteen.”

Vin’s eyes narrowed. He could just make out the speck. “I see it.”

“Can you make the shot?”

“Like lickin’ butter off a knife,” the sharpshooter muttered, lifting his rifle up and taking aim. “Might wanna tell Buck to shift his crazy ass before I shoot it off,” Vin stated.

Again Larabee smiled.

Josiah began to nod quiet gratification. He’d known the colonel for nine months and in that time he could not remember seeing the man smile. In the last ten minutes, Chris had done so at least four times. Whoever this Vin Tanner was, he and Larabee had developed an instant affinity. The explosives expert prayed Tanner was exactly what Larabee was looking for.

“Buck, get your carcass out of the way,” Chris ordered.

Tanner lined up his target. At the last possible moment he glanced at Chris and then a split second later he fired six times in quick succession.

“Buck?” Chris asked, watching his Sergeant bound up to the canteen. Larabee’s eyes narrowed as he strained to see what his captain was doing. Wilmington had frozen - and then, “JESUS CHRIST!!” exploded over the headset.

“Buck?”

“I’m coming, Colonel,” the captain replied breathlessly. He was already running - the canteen clutched to his chest.

“Travis says that you can track. I need someone who can track our enemy - both when they’re in front and behind us.”

Vin nodded. “I can do that.”

“Travis says you were trained by some Native American Indian,” Nathan commented.

“The General is just a fountain of knowledge isn’t he,” Vin grunted. “Yeah, a Native American friend taught me what he knew and what he didn’t know, he made up.”

By this time, Buck had arrived, his eyes wide. He stared at Vin as he handed the canteen to Chris. “You’re amazing!” the captain whispered.

Josiah and Nathan stepped up beside their leader and watched open-mouthed as Chris lifted the canteen up. There was one hole dead in the center of the flask. The hole was jagged and decidedly larger than one formed by a single rifle bullet. Chris Larabee turned the canteen upside down. Six bullets rolled into the palm of his hand, all trapped in the canteen because of the reinforced metal of the tank that had been behind it - all obviously and incredibly having entered through what was basically the one hole.

Nathan, Josiah and Chris looked into Vin’s calm face.

“That’s impossible,” Josiah cried.

“I’ve never seen anyone do anything like that,” Nathan agreed.

Chris Larabee’s face gradually lost the look of shock. A very satisfied smile lit up his green eyes. He had always vowed when the right man came along they’d know it immediately. Stepping forward, he offered his hand. Vin accepted it, but not the palm - a full forearm shake. The trust and loyalty that had been established in the initial glance was confirmed and consummated in that gesture - an unbreakable bond that transposed human understanding and that would last for the rest of their lives. Glancing at the other men, Larabee stated quietly, "Boys, I think we’ve found our sharpshooter.”

*********

The silence in Larabee’s office was uncomfortable, the two occupants mesmerized by they poem.

Buck exhaled slowly and whispered, "It’s time to let go, Chris. We..."

"Stop it, Buck," Larabee snarled softy. He couldn’t handle the images that were forming in his tortured mind.

Buck watched his friend’s face cloud with great pain. "Chris..."

"Captain!"

"Don’t go pulling rank on me, dammit!" Buck was angry… really angry. Damn Chris for shutting him out.

"I don’t want to talk about it!" E.M.6’s leader turned away from his oldest friend, but Buck wasn’t about to be cast aside.

"Yeah, and that’s the problem, Chris. You never wanted to talk about it. You ordered us not to talk about it and all that’s done is made it worse."

Larabee spun around, his eyes wild.  "I did what I had to, to ensure the survival of the team!"

Buck felt his heart tear as he stared into the tortured face of the man he loved like a brother. What Chris had done, hadn’t been easy. As a matter of fact, it had probably been the hardest and most soul wrenching decision the colonel had ever made. Buck just had to pray somehow, someway, Vin would have understood.