The men of Em7 had returned from a mission only a few hours earlier and without discussion, had collected supplies, mounted horses and set out across Four Corners ‘by the light of the silvery moon.’ They had ridden in silence, apart from basic questions regarding where to camp and allocation of jobs.

While the mission just completed had been successful, it had stretched the unit and now each was taking the opportunity to come to terms with what had happened. There would be time for debriefing and written reports tomorrow. Now, they needed to unwind and camping under the stars had proved the best way to do this following harrowing missions.

“Feels good to be home,” J.D. murmured, breaking the silence. His comment seemed to shake the other men from their thoughts, each turning his attention to the youngest in their group. Dunne smiled. “Been a while since we’ve camped like this.”

“We should make it a fortnightly thing. We need to relax more often,” Nathan diagnosed, sipping his coffee.

“Got no argument from me. Of course, it may cramp Buck’s style. You had a date tonight didn’t you?” Josiah asked, shifting to get more comfortable.

Wilmington nodded. “I called when we landed. Don’t worry. I’ve always found absence makes the heart grow fonder. We’ve rescheduled.”

“And there was space in your ‘schedule’?” J.D. giggled, leaning back against his saddle and peering at his friend through the darkness.

“Had a cancellation.”

“That doesn’t happen often.”

Buck smiled happily. “Nope, but Ann’s parents arrived from Canada for the week. She wasn’t expecting them so I was able to slot Caitlin in.”

Ezra shook his head with disgust.

“Jealous Ez?” Buck teased.

“Oh, please. The life of a gigolo is not one I crave.”

Chris glanced at Vin and the pair exchanged a grin as Buck and Ezra began to debate morals and values.

“Enough,” Nathan interrupted. “We came out here to relax, not listen to you two stirring each other up.”

“Was it like this during the war?” J.D. asked, staring up at galaxy on display. “Sitting around a fire each night?”

“Sometimes,” Chris answered, taking Vin’s mug and refilling it with coffee before doing the same to his own. “Depended where we were. Anyone else?” he asked. The others shook their heads and Chris settled against the rock he’d been leaning on.

“So you moved every night?” J.D. pressed curiously, directing his gaze at his Colonel. He never would have dreamed of asking such questions before Vin had returned, but Chris had changed… changed a lot since Vin joined the group.

“If we were on a mission, yeah.”

“We had our own permanent base just outside a Western Katinese camp. Tents. Cots to sleep in. It was comfortable,” Josiah explained. “After a mission, we’d return there for a few days to catch our breath before heading off again.”

J.D. reached for an apple and crunched into it. “Were others camped with you?”

“Hell no. You know how anti-social Chris is,” Buck chuckled.

“We had our own camp for security reasons… and to keep you away from female company,” Chris laughed.

Buck looked mortified. “That was below the belt.”

“It was what was below your belt that was the problem,” Josiah chuckled.

Ezra glanced at Vin who sat in reflective and contented silence. “You must have wondered what you were getting in to when you met Colonel Anti-Social, Captain Gland and the rest of the STF1 merry crew.”

Vin smirked. “So long ago, I can’t remember.” The skin around his left eye pinched.

“You remember?” J.D. asked, recognizing the tell-tale sign a memory was being recalled.

Vin nodded slowly. “I remember the day we met.”

“Do tell,” Ezra prompted, smiling. “I would like to compare it with my own impressions. I have always found first impressions very telling.”

Vin exhaled, his brow furrowing. “I’d been pulled from my squad in the Middle East without a lot of explanation. Just told I was being sent to Katinda to join a new unit.”

“Much further?” Vin asked the General seated next to him.

Travis shook his head, raising his voice above the chopper blades. “Less than ten minutes.”

Vin returned to staring out the window of the huge army helicopter. He massaged his left temple, the vibrations pounding through his aching head. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since this morning… or was it yesterday? He no longer remembered.

“Are you okay, soldier?”

Vin glanced back at the general and nodded. “Just a bit jet-lagged.”

“Do you have any questions about the STF1?”

“No.” What was there to ask? He was in the army. He went where they sent him and the job was always the same – hit the target… preferably without getting himself killed.

“The STF1 are different to what you’re used to.”

“You think so?” He didn’t mean the tone to be sarcastic. Hell, he was tired.

“I know so. Larabee is… well, he’s… different.”

Vin smiled. “You mean he’s crackers?”

Travis smiled. “I have heard him described that way, but no. Chris is the best damn soldier I’ve ever come across and I’ve come across my fair share after thirty years in the army.”

Vin considered the statement and the man who'd made it. Travis didn’t appear the type to bestow accolades unless they were well deserved.

“The others?”

“Sergeant Jackson’s a fully trained medic and marine. A useful combination. Calm in a crisis. Buck… well… umm, Josiah is… okay. Those two are definitely ‘crackers’,” Travis laughed. “They’re good men, Tanner,” he assured.

Vin nodded, accepting the description as accurate and returned to his window gazing, deciding that as soon as he landed he needed to get something for his building headache.

When the chopper set down, Travis alighted swiftly, leaving Vin to collect his gear. As the helicopter blades slowed, Vin overheard the conversation outside.

Vin crouched over his duffle bag and rummaged in it looking for some Panadol.

Vin paused, his face creasing with a frown. ‘Nathan’ sounded disgusted. As for Paulson, Vin had been told he hadn’t walked away – he run! He’d stuffed up and Larabee reportedly threatened his life. That was fair enough, Vin decided. The job of a team sharpshooter was to protect his squad. If this Paulson failed to do that, he deserved a roasting from his commanding officer.

Vin cursed, unable to find any tablets. As he rose, a dark-skinned man stepped onto the chopper. He was tall, unable to straighten on the chopper. His eyes were dark and intense… and weary. He eyed Vin briefly, and then stuck his head into the cockpit where the pilot was waiting.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” the pilot returned amiably.

“Any other passengers?” Vin’s brow furrowed with interest. This Nathan had just dismissed him based on his appearance. It was true he was dressed in jeans and the buckskin coat Kojay had given him, but judging a man on the way he looked wasn’t just dangerous, it was stupid.

“Nope. Just the General and the kid.” Vin grimaced. Another stupid person.

Jackson turned, eyed Vin again, and then shouldered passed him and stepped off the chopper. Tanner shook his head. “This is a good start,” he grumbled, following.

As he alighted he heard Josiah ask, “Do we know him?”

“I doubt it,” Travis responded, spotting Vin.

“No sharpshooter,” Nathan announced irritably.

Vin studied the other man’s face. He looked dog tired… not unlike the way Vin felt. So, maybe Jackson wasn’t stupid. Based on what he’d heard, the STF1 had been looking for a sharpshooter for some time without success. Continually changing a unit was disconcerting for all involved. Vin had heard about the STF1 ‘concept’ and he liked the sound of it. The idea of being a part of such a unit was appealing.

Vin's thoughts drifted to the man he was replacing. Apparently Larabee had sent Paulson packing was because his failure had almost cost Jackson and Sanchez their lives. So, maybe he needed to cut Nathan some slack.

Vin nodded to Josiah who was staring at him, and then returned his attention to Nathan. “I reckon I’m the person you’re lookin’ for.”

Jackson’s eyes widened with genuine surprise, before turning to an equally wide-eyed Sanchez.

Vin had been told Josiah was big, but no one had said mammoth. His forearms were like tree stumps, his shoulders the width of a grid iron player wearing his padding!

Josiah took one Herculean step toward the general. “This is a joke, right? Do you have any idea what Larabee’s reaction will be?!”

To his credit, the elderly general held his ground. “Sergeant, this is your new sharpshooter.”

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

Josiah turned his steely gaze on Vin, looking him up and down as if he were something on the bottom of a shoe. With an irritated shake of the head he snapped, “How old are you, soldier?”

Vin’s temper dam burst. He was tired, hungry, thirsty and his head was pounding. He’d put up with this sort of narrow-mindedness just one too many times. “Twenty-two, but I don’t reckon that’s any of your damn business, Sergeant.” Abruptly he heard the volume and tone of his voice and sighed, apologizing immediately. “Sorry.” This man was only reacting based on previous experience. Vin understood that. “Look, I left Africa sometime yesterday, touched down in South America an hour and a half ago and got straight on this chopper," he explained suddenly feeling very weary. “So I ain’t in the mood for yours, or anyone else’s prejudices. Yeah, I’m young, but I can shoot the balls of a fly from six hundred feet.”

Josiah’s face was unyielding in its judgment. “This isn’t a normal unit, kid.” Kid. That word burned into the recesses of Vin’s soul. “It’ll take a lot more than some fancy shooting to survive. And you don’t look like you’re old enough to shave.” Josiah turned to Nathan shaking his head and grumbled, “Larabee’s going to eat him alive.”

Tanner’s brilliant blue eyes flashed with deeper annoyance, but he controlled his anger. “I hope, for your sake, your colonel doesn’t misjudge your enemy as badly, or as completely, as you’ve misjudged me.”

Sanchez blinked at him, clearly unaccustomed to being challenged.

“Kid’s got you there,” Nathan chuckled.

Were they laughing at him? Or was Nathan trying to build a bridge? Vin was too tired to decide, but he wanted to get his point across now. “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 in the Middle East for the last ten months. I ain’t a green horn so you can relax. I’ve been under heavy hire 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 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.”

Vin walked between them, heading for what looked like a mess tent. As he departed he heard the men continue their discussion.

Nathan: He looks pale.

Josiah: He isn’t going to fit in. Larabee won‘t accept a kid.

Travis: Don’t judge him 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 them…”

The rest was lost in the wind, which was probably a good thing. Vin entered the tent, walked straight to the bar and asked for Panadol and water. He dropped onto a stool and tossed back the offered tablets, shutting his eyes in the hope it would help ease the ache piercing his temples.

He sighed. He’d over-reacted. He’d known he was over reacting at the time but couldn’t help himself. Kid. It always triggered that response. Memories of his childhood rose and he ground his jaw. Foster family number two… or was it three? He no longer remembered. The two older boys had teased him mercilessly and then one had tried to... make him a man. Vin had known by the way the other was looking at him that it was wrong and so he’d run. He hadn’t stood up to him and fought back and for some reason that ate away at him now because he feared another kid may have been sent there… and may not have been so lucky.

Every time he heard Kid, it was Aaron’s voice… and all the anger returned.

A plate of food was smacked down on bar in front of him, the sound reverberating through his skull.

Picking up the dish, Vin moved to the closest free table. He eyed the meal with distaste. He’d thought the food in Afghanistan had been vile, but this slop, that was supposed to be beef stew, definitely took first prize in the nauseating category. Not that he was altogether surprised. He’d heard things in Katinda were bad.

“If this chow is anything to go by, things are a lot worse than bad,” he murmured to himself, tentatively tasting the stew. The taste was worse than he’d anticipated and despite the cramps in this stomach demanding food, he pushed it away.

Vin surveyed 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 Vin could reflect further, there were shouts and rifle fire from outside. Curiously, no one in the mess tent batted an eyelid. All continued with their meals and hushed conversations without any apparent interest in the chaos erupting 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 had never seen the point in wasting ammunition.

As the soldiers 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.

Vin shook his head. The face of war.

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

Vin’s eyebrows drew down. Did he say lynching?

"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, he was Katinese.

Tanner studied 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, but there was no sign of the trio.

"I’ve got the rope!" a soldier laughed, dangling it in front of his wide-eyed prisoner.

Vin’s brow creased. Surely they were just bullying the prisoner, and yet Vin had the dreadful feeling they were serious. They were going to commit murder.

Vin’s chest tightened. Killing in battle was one thing, but murder was altogether different. It was a fine line for some – a grey issue for others, and no issue at all for men the likes of these, but Vin 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 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.

Vin watched with interest.

"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 American woman 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’s anger rose. Things were bad in Katinda if it took a female civilian to stop this sort of atrocity.

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

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

Vin had no intention of letting it happen. Innocent men being lynched. Women being pushed around by thugs. What the hell had he walked into? Silently he checked his rifle.

Vin turned and held the other soldier’s gaze. The German shrugged and moved on. Vin shook his head with disgust. 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, Vin spotted an American soldier 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. As Vin’s eyes connected with the stranger’s, a tingling sensation lit up his body from within. It was a nebulous feeling, but in a single heart beat, Vin knew this man. Not knew in a traditional sense, but knew on a whole different level. Vin held the soldier’s gaze, sensing the other was experiencing the same strange sensation. Vin actually felt like he could see the other’s being and he knew, without question, that the serious stranger was doing the same.

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

No words, but Vin understood as if the man had called out across the street.

With a nod of agreement, Vin stepped out into the middle of the street, the mystery soldier joining him. Shoulder to shoulder, they strode toward the tree in the centre of the cemetery where the lynching was taking place.

Vin felt a strange sense of calm wash over him, igniting the throbbing in his head.

The crowd of mostly Katinese soldiers, who had followed the group of nine thugs and their terrified victim, parted, allowing Vin and his companion to make their way into the small graveyard of unmarked headstones. The doctor was standing on a small wooden stool, a rope around his neck. Vin couldn’t help feeling like he was in some Hollywood western and he was John Wayne about to stop a lynching... or perhaps his silent friend was The Duke and he was the sidekick. Didn’t the side kick usually get killed?

Obviously sensing the newcomers’ arrival, the ringleader turned.

"Now what the hell do you want?"

"Cut him down." The words came from the man beside Vin. 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.

Any minute now all hell was going to break loose.

Vin 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 he 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’s companion 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 dealt with it swiftly and the prisoner fell safely to the ground.

Revolted, Vin watched the louts go. 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 briskly to do so.

"Name’s Chris," the stranger introduced without prompting.

"Vin Tanner."

"New in camp?"

"Half an hour ago. You?" Vin asked.

"Ten minutes.“ The pair continued to watch the retreat of the mob.

"Are things this bad all over?" Vin inquired.

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

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

Vin grimaced. ‘Great. A reporter.’ He noted the strain on Chris’ face.

"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 exchanged a simple glance with his new friend and then they both answered, "Saloon."

To Vin’s relief, the woman didn’t follow.

*********

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

"You been in Katinda long?" Vin asked, grimacing. The Panadol didn‘t appear to be working, the ache spreading across his temples and throughout his entire skull.

"Since the beginning," the older man grunted, turning and running his eye over the occupants in the tent. He appeared to be searching for someone or something. "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 turning to study the other. His face was grim but relaxed, a fascinating combination. His blond hair was short, his fatigues faded.

Chris flicked his eyes to Vin, mirroring the other’s assessment. "So what the hell are you? A buffalo hunter?"

Vin grinned with genuine amusement. "Among other things."

"Army?"

"Marine." Chris’ brow creased with suspicion.

"Hey, Colonel!"

Vin glanced over his shoulder, spotting Josiah and Nathan with a third man, all three looking concerned. "Heard there was trouble."

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

Vin turned back to him. So this was Chris Larabee, his new commanding officer? He wasn’t at all like the image Vin’d had in his mind. Perhaps the reputation was responsible for the imprinted broad-shouldered image. Rather, while Larabee was well built, he was by no means large.

The man Vin hadn’t been introduced to glanced at him, back at Chris and then grinned widely, the moustache on his lip twitching with mirth. "He with you?"

"At the moment,” Chris murmured.

Nathan and Buck exchanged an amused look.

"The two of you deal with it?" the moustached man pressed. Chris nodded shortly.

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

The word ‘audition’ caused Vin’s eyes to narrow. So his position wasn’t a given - interesting. "So you’re Larabee?" He’d heard a great deal about Chris Larabee -- a damn fine soldier and even better strategist, if the rumours 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 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, the look one of genuine pleasure. Vin liked the self-assured, confident, but basically quietly spoken man.

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

Vin flicked his gaze to Nathan, understanding that the comment and the look that accompanied it were an apology. "Choppers don’t fly real well without pilots," he stated, acknowledging the apology with a slight bob of the chin.

Larabee seemed to be listening with interest.

"Travis says that ..." Josiah started.

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

Larabee‘s expression didn‘t change and he finished his drink before asking, "You don’t want to be here?"

Vin eyed the colonel, swept his gaze to the two sergeants and then to the captain who were looking at him seriously. "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 and the headache was starting to become more than uncomfortable. He looked at the other men who were studying him carefully. A smile slipped onto his face as he considered what he’d said. Before enlisting, he’d worked briefly in a tiny hardware shop in a nowhere town. 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 and nodded, accepting the honest answer. "You as good as Travis says?"

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

**********

Vin followed the group out of camp. Each step seemed to jar through his head. He couldn‘t remember having a headache like this.

“Buck?” Chris asked via the sophisticated radio headset he’d put on.

The group had stopped and were grouped on the outskirts of the temporary camp. 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. He‘d heard about Buck Wilmington - the clown who was the best damn pilot in the world. “Let me guess. He’s the one who picked up all the dignitaries some time back and flew them upside down for five minutes.” Apparently 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.” For the first time, Josiah appeared to have relaxed. Up until this point, Josiah had been the most hostile of the group.

“You heard about Buck and the generals?” Nathan asked. “I thought you said that you were in Africa or something?”

“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. He was beginning to feel light headed, the ‘screws’ tightening at his temples. “Heard he was going to be court-marshalled, except 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.

Vin shrugged his indifference. “That’s good enough for me.” Again he discovered he and Larabee were staring at each other.

Vin blinked. He understood Larabee so completely he felt he knew what the other was thinking. 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?”

Vin smirked. “Like lickin’ butter off a knife.” He lifted his rifle and took aim. “Might wanna tell Buck to shift his crazy ass before I shoot it off.”

Again Larabee smiled.

Josiah began to nod, as if in acceptance.

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

Vin lined up his target. It blurred in and out of focus for a moment - his head pounding. 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. Vin watched Buck 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.

Vin smiled.

“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,” Chris stated, the tone official.

Vin nodded responding in turn, “I can do that, Sir.”

“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.” Kojay. For a moment, Vin’s heart ached, but he pushed that part of his life away.

Buck arrived, his wide eyes displaying his amazement. He stared at Vin as he handed the canteen to Chris. “You’re amazing!” he whispered.

Josiah and Nathan stepped up beside their leader and watched open-mouthed as Chris lifted the canteen. There was one hole dead in the centre 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 at Vin, none able to hide their astonishment.

“That’s impossible,” Josiah cried.

Vin smirked.

“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 his green eyes. He offered Vin his hand. Tanner 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 Vin knew instinctively,

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 others began to talk at him. Vin sighed and lowered his gaze. The nausea in his stomach was growing. He still hadn’t eaten and his head! God, his head ached. As he looked up, he snapped his head away from the direction of the sun, the light hitting him like a sledge hammer.

He realized he was being led by the arm and noted it was Nathan. The other man’s mouth was moving, Vin only picking up every second word.

“... you... ate... very... pale... avoiding... light... sensitive... migraine?”

“Huh?” Vin recognized the others were crowded above him. “I’m okay. Just a bit of jet-lag, I guess.”

“...it’s... needs... and... my bag... give... shot.”

A canteen was handed to him and Vin drank from it. “Thanks.” Black dots appeared in his vision.

“...need... close... eyes.”

Vin understood that and did so. Abruptly he felt a stinging prick in his arm. He opened his eyes, grabbing the hand holding the needle. “What the hell are you doing?”

The plunger hadn’t been depressed. “Easy. I’m giving you a shot of Imitrex. Do you suffer from migraines regularly?”

“Huh? What? No. And I don’t want any damn shot.” He attempted to pull Nathan’s hand away, but another gripped his wrist. Vin looked up at Chris. The other man’s face was firm, but his green eyes held assurance and his grip relaxed.

Vin licked his lips with uncertainty.

“I can make it an order if that’s easier,” Larabee offered with mild amusement.

“Yeah, and I’ll tell you where you can stick your order, Larabee.”

Chris smiled. He released Vin’s wrist and gripped his shoulder, nodding to Nathan at the same time. “Give it to him.”

...

“I don’t remember much after that.”

“With good reason. You passed out. I had to carry your sorry ass to the chopper,” Josiah chuckled.

“I had him on a drip during the chopper trip to our new camp. A migraine and suffering from low blood glucose and dehydration. Damn fool.”

Vin smiled. “So, Ez, my reaction to meeting them? They gave me a migraine.”

The other laughed.

Ezra nodded thoughtfully. “I do believe I had a similar reaction.”

“Shut up, Ezra,” Buck chirped.

“So, in review, you thought Nathan stupid, Josiah aggressive and Buck crazy,” Ezra reflected. “What did I tell you about first impressions?” he chuckled.

“And me, Standish?” Chris growled.

Ezra smiled. “Why Colonel, my first impression of you was that of a man of incredible strength of character, quick intelligence and noble heart.”

“Good answer.“ Chris turned and pinned Vin with an accusatory stare. “And you?”

“Hmm. Crazy son-of-a-bitch with a death wish.”

Chris smiled. “Both of your first impressions were 100% correct.”

The men’s laughter echoed in the still night once again as the easy feeling of family drowned the tension of their last mission.

J.D. smiled. “Man, it’s good to be home.”

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© Oct 2007 Aussie Lass. : This relates only to the creative property in this story. The distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations are mine. I acknowledge that some of the characters and settings belong to the owners of "The Magnificent Seven" and I thank them sincerely for turning a blind eye so I can borrow them. (g) No infrigement of copyright was intended and no profit has been made from this story... so, please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your while.