ISSCV heading for Planet 2063 Yankee, September 2, 2064, 1545 hours

Nathan West piloted the small troop carrier through the atmosphere of Planet 2063Y. The craft bucked as Nathan fought with the controls. He shook his head trying not to think what it must have been like coming down in a severed cockpit.

"Look alive back there," Nathan called out to Hawkes who was manning the waist gun.

"We're alive and kicking," Hawkes responded as he checked the sights of his weapon for the fourth time in an hour.

"Connelly," West called back to the man at the radio. "Anything on the signal tracker?"

"Zilch, so far," Mitch Connelly called back. He was an attorney from Ann Arbor, Michigan, who had been flying since he was twelve. His sister had been a Vesta Colonist. When news of the attack had reached Earth, he had joined the Marine Air Calvary.

"Jenny, you all right back there?" Nathan was worried about the woman. She had been strangely silent during the trip. He would give a lot to know how she had convinced the Commodore to let them go on this mission. Even more to know how she had convinced him to allow her to go along. Sure, Ross had left the final decision up to them, but how could they deny her, when she had been the one who had been able to make it all happen?

"Just checking to make sure all the medical gear is strapped in nice and tight," Jen had been trapped on one planet without adequate supplies, it wasn't going to happen again.

"I'm going in for a closer look, so everyone keep their eyes open." Nathan warned. "Jenny, back up Mitch, will ya'?"

"Sure thing," she was glad for something to do, the trip out had seemed to take forever. They had to find Vanessa and Shane, they just had to.

The determined people in the ISSCV began doing a low altitude search pattern over the planet. Starting with the equator, they circled 2063Y, moving further and further south. When that resulted in nothing, they went back to the equator and began to search north.

"We got to turn something up soon. We've been searching for fifteen hours," Jenny looked at her watch, refusing to admit defeat. "Can we go in any lower, Nathan?"

"Not safely," the pilot shook his head. "An extended search like this is going to attract attention sooner or later. If we go in much below the 100 mile mark, we'll be seen by anything down there."

"Nathan," Connelly called. "I think I've got something, it's faint and it just started transmitting after we flew over." He quickly fed the coordinates to the pilot's computer.

"That's one of ours all right," Nathan examined the signal. "The question is who's sending it?"

"Chiggy could've picked us up on LIDAR and decided to play a little game with us," Hawkes tossed out. "But we gotta check it out."

"I'm getting a garbled, message from the Saratoga," Mitch called out. "I'm trying to clear it, but it doesn't sound good."

"5-8 this is Commodore Ross," Connelly got the message stabilized enough so that they recognized Ross' worried face. "We are taking fire, repeat the Saratoga...........fire." In the background, the sound of guns blazing echoed through the small craft. "We are going to try.......lead them......from you. Will return in..........six days.......maybe.....longer......drop a com-sat.......that time. Good luck, Ross out."

An hour later the ISSCV was headed in for a landing on 2063 Yankee. They had all wanted more time to search, but this wasn't the way they had wanted to get it. Everyone was worried about the Saratoga, but focused on the job they were doing. Ross said he would return, if it was humanly possible to do so, they knew he would. He had proved that once before, and they all believed him now.

"How close in do we dare get?" Jenny asked, her eyes glued to an observation port.

"Dare, is the right word, Dr. Kirkwood," Connelly sighed. "That homing beacon is located in some rough terrain. I figure it'll take us a day or so to get there. Nathan, I'm sending you the coordinates of the closest place we can land this thing."

---

The Clara Barton September 3, 2064, 0615 hours

"Colonel," John Stark arrived at McQueen's room minutes before they were to take him to surgery. "If you'd like, I'll keep these books for you until you're well enough to read them?"

McQueen nodded his head and reached for his dog tags with the hand not attached to an IV. He held the tags out, needing the Corpsman's help to get them over his head. The Colonel had been through enough surgery to know that they would be taken off of him very soon. For some reason, he knew that Stark would understand it was a private thing, so he wanted him to keep them for him.

"You want me to take these?" Stark's blue eyes met McQueen's, as he helped him take off the chain containing a set of dog tags and a gold rope bracelet. "I'll keep it safe for you, Sir. Don't worry, by the time you wake-up, you'll be wearing it again." Both men understood Stark was referring to the bracelet, and could give a damn about the tags.

That was the last thing McQueen remembered, that he knew was real, for the next twenty-four hours. He knew he had been taken to the OR, but the dreams he had under anesthesia and while recovering were so intense that it wiped everything else from his mind.

'Over The Mountains Of The Moon':

It was a warm day. McQueen could feel the sun on his face and smell the sea air. He was walking a path up a mountain. His body felt light and he moved easily in jeans, hiking boots, and a t-shirt. He was carrying a light jacket against the possibility of wind. He knew where he was. He was climbing Mount Iwato in Higo province of Kyushu, Japan. His climb had a sense of purpose, but he wasn't sure what it was.

When he finally reached the top, he saw an old man sitting on a mat writing in scrolls.

"Warrior McQueen," the old man motioned for him to join him. "You have come at last. I have waited a long time for you to seek me out. Do you know who I am?"

"You are Miyamoto Musashi?" McQueen didn't know how he knew, but he did. "What am I doing here?"

"You have come to learn, McQueen," Musashi paused and watched the man before him. "Up until now you have lived a life of 'shin-ken' or as you would say, 'real sword,' you have walked the path of a warrior with 'utmost earnestness.' But of late, you worry much. You have many questions. I am here to help you answer them."

"Am I dead?" Standing there, McQueen remember all of his conversation with Paul.

"No, McQueen, your warrior's body is resting," Musashi reassured. "They have made you new again. Now is the time for you to 'become new', as well."

"New? In what way?" McQueen sat cross-legged on the mat facing the old Warrior.

"'If you get to feeling snarled up and are making no progress, you toss your mood away and think in your heart that you are starting everything anew. As you get the rhythm, you discern how to win.' So tell me, McQueen what has you snarled up?"

"I made a decision a few months ago," he paused. "It was a Soldier's decision. It was the correct thing to do and we did it, but my heart wouldn't accept it, because it almost cost me the lives of five people who mean a great deal to me." McQueen felt again what he had felt during those three months while the Saratoga fought the battle at Ixion and the Wildcards had been left on Demios.

"I had hoped 'a mountain and sea change.' would make the newness complete, but now I'm not so sure," the old man thought carefully.

"'It is bad to do the same thing over and over again.'" McQueen squinted his eyes as he tried to remember the quote. "'You may have to repeat something once, but it should not be done a third time.'"

"Yes, you have read this well," Musashi pointed to the unfinished scrolls, but you need to remember, 'this requires careful reflection.'"

"But Sir," McQueen knew the Book Of The Five Rings well, there was much he wanted to ask. "What you are talking about is changing fighting strategies."

"Ahhh Warrior," Musashi shook his head in disappointment. "Just as I thought. You are only looking at the fight without, but what about the fight within? The 'reflection', McQueen, the 'reflection'! It is as important as the fighting."

"I have been fighting all my life, Sir," McQueen looked far out over the valleys below. "Sometimes the fight has been just to stay alive, but most of the time it has been as a warrior."

"Ahhhh, it is as I thought," the old man nodded his head. "Your fight has been a long and hard one, and it isn't over yet, but your heart is straying from the battle, is it not?"

"It can't," McQueen denied what he was feeling. "I won't let it! I am what I am. This is what I was born to do!"

"Is it, Young Warrior?" Musashi whispered. "But what of your 'genuine path'?"

"How did you know?" McQueen was surprised, "how could you know what has been on my mind so much lately?"

"We are much alike, Warrior," the old man sighed. "You must look into your heart and remember what I say. 'Even if you strive diligently on your chosen path day after day, if your heart is not in accord with it, then even if you think you are on a good path, from the point of view of the straight and true, this is not a genuine path. If you do not pursue a genuine path to its consummation, then a little bit of crookedness in the mind will later turn into a major warp.'"

"Why do you keep calling me Warrior, if that isn't my path?"

"One doesn't need to take up a sword or weapon, to be a warrior," Musashi smiled at his student. "There comes a time in each man's life when the killing must stop. If one is a strong warrior, one can choose the time. If one isn't, then he dies and the killing stops anyway. Tell me McQueen, how many years have you been a 'killing warrior'?"

"This is my sixteenth year in the Marines," McQueen thought back to all the fighting he had done in that time. "I am a soldier, a warrior by trade."

"As I said before," the old man looked up and smiled. "We are much alike. I killed my first man at thirteen and my last at twenty-nine. For that sixteen years I was a killing warrior, just as you are."

"Master, I have read that, but when you stopped killing, you didn't give up fighting," McQueen argued. "You went on to gain deeper knowledge and fighting skills. You were still a warrior."

"That is so, Young Warrior," the Old Warrior nodded. "But that was my 'genuine path'. I followed it to the end as should be done."

"Are you saying that it isn't mine?"

"I am saying that you need to take this great worry that is upon your heart and cast it away," the old man's words became light and breathy. "Look at your life, all you have become, all you want to become. Follow your 'genuine path,' McQueen. There is one who will help you, but you must see her for what she is, first." His words moved on the breeze as the old warrior began to disappear.

"Wait come back," McQueen called, still having many questions.

"Remember this," the wind called back to him. "'Efficiency and smooth progress, prudence in all matters, recognizing true courage, recognizing different levels of moral, instilling confidence, and realizing what can and cannot be reasonably expected,' these are the principles that count. Live your life with 'shin-ken', and you will be a warrior in all your endeavors."

Fog moved up from the valley below, as McQueen sat on the old warrior's mat thinking about all he had seen and heard. He reached an involuntary hand for his dog tags and the bracelet that hang between them. His fingers touched the warm gold and he thought of Jen, as the fog closed in. His body grew heavy and he heard the beeping of monitors in the background.

---

The Clara Barton, September 3 2064, 2300 hours

"Easy there Colonel," the quiet voice of John Stark pierced the fog. "You're doing just fine. The surgery went real well!"

McQueen fought to open his eyes, but it was too much effort. "Jen," he mouthed her name and was surprised that he had forgotten about the trach tube. In his dream he had been able to speak and it had seemed so real. It caught him off guard that he couldn't.

"You're going to be good as new, Sir," Stark whispered as he eyed McQueen's hand that was holding onto the gold rope. The Corpsman had seen Dr. Kirkwood hold onto that chain in the same way when she was worried or frightened when they had been trapped on Kordis. "Don't worry she's watching over you."

McQueen heard the whispered words. Jen was watching over him, so he could sleep. He relaxed back into the fog, not knowing who he would meet there, but knowing it would be all right because Jen had given him a piece of herself.

'Down The Valley Of The Shadow':

The sound of the cardiac monitor was replaced by the second movement of Beethoven's "Eroica" Symphony. Jen never liked that piece, she always said it was too maudlin, he thought to himself. She prefers Chopin and Mozart.

Looking up, McQueen realized he was standing in his quarters on the Saratoga. He was wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt. In his hand was his wedding picture. He did a double take when he looked into the smiling face of Amy. The glass covering the picture wasn't cracked? He looked over and Kelly Winslow was looking at him, waiting for him to speak. He realized it was that moment when he had a choice: truth or lie. In his anger after lying to her, he had thrown the picture across the room and cracked the glass. A short time later Winslow was killed.

What had Winslow just asked him? Yes, I remember now, she had asked about the wedding picture and if Amy was on my mind

"I'm sorry Lieutenant," McQueen was finally able to apologize for lying to her all those months ago.

"Colonel, I didn't mean to pry, Sir," she pulled herself to attention, thinking that she had gone too far in inquiring into his personal life.

"Wait," the Colonel stopped her from leaving. "I was about to lie to you, that's what I'm sorry for."

"Sir?" Winslow didn't think she had ever heard him apologize to anyone.

"When I told you 'SHE Was on my mind a bit,' even that's a lie, of omission," he moved away from her and turned off the music. He didn't want any misunderstanding between them. He had been given another chance and he wanted to do it right.

"Please, Colonel McQueen, this isn't necessary," Winslow was seeing a side to her commander she had never seen before and wasn't comfortable with.

"It is, Lieutenant." McQueen nodded toward the picture, "yes, she's been on my mind, but only because I keep her there. I make myself look at this picture every day. It's become my shield against anyone else who tries to get in," as he said the words he realized how true they were. Not only a figurative shield, but he had literally put Jen's picture behind Amy's.

"Is that why you've had no one to share your feelings with these last months?" Winslow rephrased her words from moments ago.

"Yes and I've made sure it stayed that way," McQueen turned away from her. "My life with Amy.....has been on my mind a lot. I deliberately remind myself of what I had and......the hell it turned into. That way I can keep......Well I think you get the idea."

"There's someone the Colonel has come to care about," Kelly was able to speak freely because she knew he wasn't talking about her. "Sir, a little advice from a woman, who is a Marine. There's a war on, you never know who will be here today, but gone forever in a matter of hours."

Her words caught him by surprise, did she know she was talking about herself? He wondered as she smiled at him.

"Sir, you said to me once," then she looked a bit puzzled. "No, maybe it's something you're going to say to me?" Shrugging her shoulders she continued, "you believe in asking yourself, then answering 'who am I?' Maybe you should change that to asking yourself, then looking for the answer 'who can I become?' That leaves open so many more possibilities."

"She's going to say that to me," McQueen looked at Winslow in surprise. He was remembering things that had yet to happen. "The night that I kiss her, she told me that, too."

"So then the feelings are mutual?" Winslow squirmed a bit when she thought of the Colonel kissing someone. She realized why Shane had been uncomfortable when they had talked about him in the Tun. "She feels the same way about you?" Shaking her head, she couldn't understand why she had ever thought of him as anything but The Colonel!

"No, Winslow, she doesn't," he admitted. "She thinks of me as a friend."

"Colonel, you're the man who killed Chiggy Von Richthofen," she stepped close to him, not seeming to realized that she was talking about something that happened after her death. "You're known as an excellent tactician and strategist. Plot yourself a campaign. Out maneuver her. Ask yourself, then answer, 'what can my life become?'"

Winslow's voice mixed with Beethoven and the room spun. McQueen closed his eyes to fight the dizziness.

---

The Clara Barton September 4, 2064, 0230 hours

He heard the sounds of that damn monitor again, but other then that, his room was quiet. Fighting to open his eyes, he found himself back on the the hospital ship. Someone, probably Stark, had left a pad and pen next to his right hand. Reaching for them, McQueen quickly scribbled a few words. He knew that he needed to remember his dreams.

The effort it took to write the key words left him feeling drained. His hands slid to his sides, still gripping the pen and pad, as music kept beat with the monitor. He thought it was Beethoven again, but it was so faint he couldn't tell.

'Ride Boldly, Ride':

No, it wasn't Beethoven that throbbed in McQueen's brain, but the honkytonk sound of Johnny Cash. McQueen didn't know the song, but it made him think of...

"You know, McQueen, you taught them real good," the smoky voice of Lt. Col. Ray Butts caused McQueen to turn quickly. "Yup, real good."

"Butts, what are you doing here?" The in-vitro Colonel looked around and he was no longer in his quarters or on the Clara, but standing beside a table in the Asteroid Bar in Loxley, Alabama. He was wearing the jeans, t-shirt and hiking boots from earlier. Over his arm was his black Angry Angel jacket.

"More to the point is what you're doing here," Butts took a drag on a cigarette and poured himself more whiskey. "Have a drink," the dead man picked up the extra glass on his table and filled it half-full.

"Okay, I bite, what am I doing here?" McQueen pulled out the other chair at the table and sat.

"You're here, we're here," Butts crushed out his cigarette. "To come to an understanding. There are things I couldn't tell you when we met before, that need to be said now."

"The 58th...?"

"This isn't about them, this is about you," the Recon Colonel leaned back in his chair. "That first day on the Saratoga when I told you, 'don't think for one second that we're equals----Tank.' I added the insult to throw you off. We aren't equals, McQueen. You're so far above me that we don't belong in the same room. But we're flip sides of the same coin. You're what I would have become, if things had been different. What I should have become. Keep in mind, you were starting to become me a few years ago and you'll head back down that road if you don't get your head screwed on right."

"You're crazy, Butts," the man had finally gone round the bend. McQueen didn't want to hear anymore of his nonsense. "West was right when he called you Colonel Semper-Psycho."

"Ha, you knew about that did ya? But consider this, you're sitting here talking to a dead man. Whose the crazy one?" Butts grinned, then got very serious, "did Shane tell you what she said, as well?"

"I don't know how I know what they said about you," McQueen looked puzzled. "I'm not talking to a dead man. This is just a dream, or in your case a nightmare!"

They could hear Shane's voice as Johnny Cash grew quiet for the moment. "'No one is born that mean, they either put it on for affect, or something happens. Something turns them that mean and they can never go back. The worst is they know it.'"

"Dreams can be a real bitch," the Recon Colonel shook his head. "Hay, I thought in-vitros didn't dream?"

"You thought wrong," McQueen challenged.

Butts shrugged then went on. "You're worried about those kids of yours," he held the other man's eyes as he spoke. "Don't be."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"It means just that, 'don't be'!" The dead man leaned closer to McQueen, ignoring his question. "You were right back then. I was only interested in me, and my needs. If that squad had belonged to anyone else I would probably have gone on as I always had. Then they would've died. My God, if I couldn't protect my own men, how could I be expected to protect someone elses. But something happened when I met you. I saw me in you, but me a long time ago. When it came time to make that last decision, for the sake of the tiny piece of my soul that was left, I did what needed to be done."

"Have Vansen and Damphousse died?" McQueen ground out.

"I only know about Paul," the dead man whispered. "But if they were to die, you need to know that you have the ability to overcome it. That's the difference between us. Too much death, walking ankle deep in blood and still not having the killing stop, that's what did it to me. You were headed that way. You need to look deep in you and find why you changed. Believe me when I say this, McQueen. If that change hadn't already taken place, the 58th would've been just another group of Marines. Not that different from the Angry Angels."

"No, you're wrong!" McQueen denied.

"Am I?" Butts began to blur and his voice was indistinct. "Ask yourself, then answer, 'who was I? And 'what am I now?' Then if you have the guts, ask 'why?'" The questions echoed through the empty room, as it too began to blur. The sound of Johnny Cash faded and McQueen could hear the familiar sound of the cardiac monitor beating the tempo of his heart.

Next : Chapter Five - Part Six

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