Emmy stood off to the side, her hand clamped over her mouth, trying not to let the sobs slip out. Watching them, her heart ached. The emotion in the room was almost too much to bear.
At last, James, who had been silent through it all, walked up to the microphone. He didn’t shout like the others had before him. He just stood there, eyes locked on Will lying motionless in the hospital bed. His gaze was steady, deep, unwavering, like he was delivering one last order on the battlefield.
“Will, the mission’s done. The enemy leader’s in custody. He’ll go back home for trial. Their whole operation’s been wiped out.” James’s voice rumbled through the empty hallway, calm and strong. “I took care of Black Mamba myself. I got your revenge for you. Will, it’s time to wake up and come back to the team.”
It wasn’t just a captain giving a command. It was a brother calling his own back home.
But Will didn’t move. The heart monitor at his bedside kept its lonely, weak rhythm, the line barely fluttering across the screen. One minute passed, then another. James kept his eyes on Will, his brow drawing tighter. In the end, he closed his eyes for a moment, pushing down the pain inside.
“Let’s go.” His voice sounded rougher than before. He turned and gave a quick gesture. “Back to base. We need to report in.”
The tough soldiers behind him, men trained never to show their feelings, turned away with eyes rimmed red. They followed James, walking in long, silent strides toward the stairwell.
When James reached Emmy, he paused. He looked at her, really looked, like he wanted to say a hundred things but settled on just one.
“Wait for me.”
Emmy nodded, hard, her voice scratchy. “I will. Be careful.”
As the rest of the squad passed her, every one of them slowed their step. Their eyes were bloodshot, faces drawn, yet each of them tried to force out a smile, the kind that hurts more than crying.
“Ma’am,” they greeted her, one after another, voices clear and sincere.


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