Ex-Patriots

Epilogue NOW

It took them four days to make their was back to Los Angeles. They lost eight soldiers at a refueling stop just outside of Salton City. They found a group of fifteen survivors in Palm Springs.

Now St. George hung in the night sky above the Mount’s water tower. One hand rested on the tall spire, anchoring him in place while he looked down at his home. He’d been back for seven hours and already buried with a week’s worth of requests, updates, and decisions to make.

He heard boots on the tower’s ladder. The conical roof shuddered under heavy footsteps. It wasn’t Stealth slipping up behind him.

“Nice view,” said Freedom.

“That it is,” agreed St. George. He glanced back at the huge officer. “I never get tired of it.”

“How is Mr. Burke doing?”

“He’s okay now. He went into shock as soon as he changed back. Doctor Connolly got him on a glucose drip or something like that. She says he’ll probably be eating and requesting DVDs tomorrow.”

“And that’s good, right?”

“Well…it’s normal. Let’s leave it at that.”

The huge officer coughed once, then cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize, sir,” he said. “For everything that happened back at Yuma.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I could shift the blame and say I was following orders, but I think on some level I knew a lot of it didn’t make sense. I knew it was wrong. I take full responsibility for my actions.”

“Don’t worry about it,” repeated St. George. “Smith was screwing with your head. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m still sorry for what happened, sir, and for how I treated you. You and your woman.”

“Oh, jeeeez,” St. George shook his head and glanced over at the Roddenberry building. “Don’t let her hear you say that or she’ll beat you senseless.”

Freedom smiled. “I’d like to see her try.”

“Yeah, don’t say that either. Seriously, it’s like tempting fate.”

“Not wearing your coat, sir?”

St. George glanced down at his patchwork flight jacket. “I’ve got to be honest. Digital camouflage isn’t really my style. Plus, it’s hot as hell.”

“You get used to it.”

“Maybe when winter rolls around.” He let his feet settle down onto the roof of the water tower. “So, captain, what are you going to do now?”

Freedom looked out at Los Angeles. “I’m not sure, sir, to be honest. First Sergeant Kennedy and I discussed it several times on the trip out here. The men want me to stay in a command position, but I think an active military presence doesn’t fit with what you’ve established here at the Mount.”

St. George shook his head. “Not really, no.”

“A few of them have even said we should strike out on our own. Try to make it back to Yuma or maybe Fort Bliss. See if there’s anyone left there.”

“Could you make it?”

“Probably.”

“Do you really think you’ll find anyone?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t sound like the best tactical decision.”

“Maybe not, sir. But it’s the one that fits best with who I am.”

St. George smiled. “What if I could give you another option?”

“Like what?”

The hero bent down and picked up the bundle resting against the spire. He grabbed it by the corners and shook it out. Freedom raised an eyebrow.

“Is this a joke, sir?”

“Not at all,” said St. George. “The position’s been empty for nine months now. A couple people have tried to fill it unofficially, but I think you might be just the man for the job.”

Freedom stepped forward, his boots clanging on the tower. “You’re serious?”

“Very. I talked it over with Danielle on the trip, and she agrees this is the way to go. And that you’re ass-kicking enough to deserve this. So does Stealth. We got someone to let it out for you.”

The larger man took it and shrugged it up over his body. “It’s tight in the arms. And across the chest.”

“Do you own anything that’s not tight across the chest?”

“Not at the moment.”

“He can probably add in some more material or something. What do you think?”

“It is appealing, sir, but I can’t abandon my commission. Or my men.”

“I’m not asking you to,” said St. George. “I’m just hoping you can do this for now, help us protect these people, and keep this place safe and peaceful. It gives your men a purpose. It gives you a purpose.”

Freedom stretched his arms. It was tight, but he could still move. “You know, I’ve got to be honest, sir. I’ve wanted one of these coats ever since I saw Hellboy .”

“You can lose the sir. It’s just St. George. Or George, even.”

“I’ll hang onto sir for now, sir.”

Voices echoed up to them from the base of the tower. Two men were shouting at each other. St. George recognized one of them as Roger Mikkelson. He was waving his arms at one of Christian Nguyen’s regular lackeys.

“Duty calls,” said St. George with a smile.

The large officer smirked and bowed his head to the hero. Then he leaped off the water tower and plunged down to street level.

Captain Freedom hit the pavement and it cracked under his heels. The two men leaped back, their argument forgotten. He straightened up and brushed back the lapels of the leather duster to let the light hit the seven-pointed silver badge.

“Let’s take it easy there, gentlemen,” he said. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”