Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission though I be the lone survivor.
-- excerpt from The Ranger Creed --

In the crisp autumn air, the last notes of Taps faded away. The trumpet's vibrations gradually ceased, but echoes lingered in the hearts of the men and women gathered at the gravesite. All eyes were on a solitary figure in full Army dress uniform, Ranger insignia and beret proudly worn, medals glinting in the afternoon light. The man stood motionless, as if he were not completely aware of the crowd around him. In truth, his thoughts were focused inwardly, on the men he was here to lay to rest.

The onlookers, made up mostly of family members of the deceased, watched him with profound sadness. It wasn't enough that their sons and husbands and fathers had died, their grief extended to the man who had survived. The lone survivor. The man who had led their loved ones into their final mission. The man who had pulled each team member from the downed Huey, who had prayed with the mortally wounded, and then buried them when they died.

Eventually, he had arrived home-alone. When he insisted on fulfilling his duties, he had come face to face with the families his comrades had left behind, they were shocked at what they saw. The glacial blue eyes were banked, hooded. They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much, had lived through too much. When he'd voiced his only request to the families, they had agreed without hesitation, too overcome with grief to deny him.

The men had been a unit, together on their mission to stop drug trade. They had trained collectively, fought collectively, and they had realized collectively that they were going down, facing that too with grim resignation. When the last of them had died, their leader buried them together. It only seemed right to him that, after returning home, the unit remain together. It was an intensely emotional request, perhaps made more so by the man's rigidly correct demeanor, and one that could not be denied. In the end, the men were buried side by side at Arlington National Cemetery: Together in all things.

What had been a six-man team had reached out to embrace the two members of the flight crew as well. One unit. One team. One man left behind.

With a final glance at the freshly turned earth, Captain James Ellison saluted his men, turned and walked away.

November 11, 2000
Arlington National Cemetery

Jim and Blair walked in silence, oblivious of the people around them. The official Veteran's Day ceremonies were long over, and the crowd had dwindled down considerably. But it didn't matter. There were only the two of them...and the ghosts from the past.

Eleven years had passed since the last time Jim Ellison had walked through this cemetery, and those years weighed heavily on his mind. He'd had eleven years of life, the good and the bad, but his men had not. Softened and muted by time and distance, the sadness was always there, often rising to the forefront in times of crisis.

It was during one of these dark nights that he'd broken down and admitted his failures and fears to Blair. Blair had sat close at his side, sharing his strength and warmth as Jim shared his soul. They'd cried together when Jim talked about what it was like to hold a friend's hand and watch him die. The story came out in bits and pieces, broken by hugs and reassurances. It was a cathartic outpouring, leaving both men emotionally as well as physically exhausted. That night in bed, they held each other closer than ever, their souls touching as if for the first time.

It was a few weeks later that Jim mentioned the Veteran's Day ceremonies held at Arlington National Cemetery. They booked flights to D.C. the next day.

Standing in the shadow of the Memorial Amphitheater, Jim leaned against Blair's solid comfort, glad they were there together. With the volume of people visiting the cemetery today, Jim had all his senses turned down, but he could still hear the flags rippling in the gentle breeze and see the rows and rows of white headstones stretching into the distance. It was a truly stirring moment.

They wandered past all the popular memorials, watched the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and stood a moment at the gravesite of John F. Kennedy and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, working their way to the resting place of Jim's fallen unit.

As if mirroring the emotions of the two men, the sky darkened and a light rain began to fall. Eyes meeting, Jim and Blair knew it was time to face the ghosts. Silently, they made their way to the large granite headstone. Clustered near the base were seven smaller ground markers, each bearing the name of one of the fallen men. Blair held back while Jim continued forward until he was close enough to touch the cold, damp stone.

Scanning the words etched there, Blair shivered.

The sky continued to weep, but they were unaware as the ghosts from the past gathered around them.

Jim's soft words broke the silence, "Mikey and I were buddies from basic. He followed me into Ranger training, competing with me every step of the way. We made each other work hard, harder, just to see who would be the best man. He was a good friend."

Jim's fingers traced the carved letters.

"I didn't know Mitchell or Ripley all that well. They'd flown for us a couple of times before, and we'd had a couple of beers, worked out together sometimes, but we weren't really close friends. I think Mitchell was married, but I know Ripley was a real ladies' man. We chased a few skirts together," Jim said, smiling to himself.

Sighing, he moved to the next name on the list.

"Mac had this tough guy act going on, but once you got past it, he was a real sweetheart. He had a little girl. What was her name?" Jim paused, searching his memory. "Holly. He had her picture taped to the butt of his rifle, and he kissed it every time we went into a situation. I remember him kissing that picture right before we went down."

He was silent for a moment, as if remembering the crash again. Blair took a step forward, wanting to be closer, but he saw Jim's fingers move on to the next name and paused.

"Reese's Pieces we called him," Jim snickered, glancing back at Blair. "Oh, not because of the candy, although we teased him about that a lot. Every time we went on a mission someone would sneak a pack of 'em into his kit. Nah, he was our medic. Always putting our pieces back together. I may've had the training but he had a real gift. He was gonna be a doctor after he got out." His eyes closing, Jim spoke more softly, "He was already dead when I found him, never had a chance."

Closing the distance between them, Blair laid his hand on Jim's back, softly caressing, offering his presence as solace against the painful memories.

"We called Ryback 'Cookie' because he liked to cook. He was always reading cookbooks; even on missions, he'd have a little cookbook tucked away. Every time we got back from an assignment, we all got together to celebrate making it out alive. Cookie would make this elaborate dinner, and we'd get drunk on these fancy wines he had to go with the meal. He came from a rich family and joined the Army to get away from them, but he sure enjoyed their money. He was a nice kid."

Blair slid his hand up to Jim's shoulder and down his bicep, squeezing gently.

"The first time I met Teddy Poe, we were both drunk as skunks. We were off base, out of uniform. And then later, way out of uniform. I was," Jim stopped, choking back a sob, "I was his first."

"Oh, Jim."

Laughing bitterly, Jim continued, "He reported to his new commanding officer the next day. Me. I should've had him transferred, but I couldn't. He'd told me the night before how proud his folks were of him, and I just couldn't dishonor him like that. But I swore I wouldn't touch him again. I couldn't. And I kept my word until the end, when I held him as he died."

Unable to hold back, Blair pressed close against Jim's back, wrapping his arms around Jim's chest, holding him close.

"I can't believe you held all these feelings inside for so long," Blair said, his voice muffled by Jim's jacket.

Jim shrugged, "Way I was raised, Chief. Pops didn't think men should show their feelings. They had to be strong and tough. I've never been good at-"

Blair forcefully turned Jim until they were face to face, "You listen to me, James Ellison. You are the strongest, toughest, bravest, kindest, most loving man I have ever known. You may not always show your feelings, but when you do, it's incredible." Blair paused, kissing Jim lightly on the lips. "And I never question how you feel about me. It's right there all the time. I see it in your eyes, feel it in your touch, taste it in your kiss, hear it in your voice, smell it when we make love. When we're together, it's like I'm the Sentinel, too."

Jim pulled Blair into his arms, hugging him tightly.

There, in the ghostly presence of past friends and lovers, Jim finally let go of his survivor's guilt and fully embraced his future. Blair. His guide. His friend. His lover.

He realized, in that accepting embrace, what a truly lucky man he was. He had survived everything life had thrown at him, all the curveballs and penalty shots, and he'd come out the other side a stronger and better man for it. He'd survived to become a Sentinel. He'd survived to find Blair.

The sun chose that moment to break through the clouds, bathing them in its healing warmth. It was like a ray of acceptance washing over them as the weight of the burdens and sadness of the past left their shoulders.

Kissing Blair once again on the lips, Jim lingered, his tongue tasting the sweetness and joy that was Blair.

Pulling away, Jim smiled, "So, if you're the Sentinel, does that make me your Guide?"

"Yes," Blair agreed. "Guide me home, James. Guide me home."

---------

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