To Rescue Warriors
It was supposed to be an easy mission with the extra help that they had received. The five man team, plus one, were positioned around the camp where men and women had been killed in horrible ways, some even worked to death in the hidden facility that spawned destruction in one form or another. Weapons of mass destruction had been confirmed, including mustard gas, to be on the location, with a possible lead on a nuclear device, but that particular rumour hadn't been confirmed as of yet. What the group, called "Holy Warriors of the Lord", did not anticipate that they had been found out and were about to be destroyed.
Phoenix Force's leader, David McCarter, growled to himself as he watched a couple of young men drag a teenage girl out from the barracks, laughing about her state of dress. Fingers flexed around the grip of his Steyr AUG assault rifle as the men chained the girl to a fence post and told her something, which was soon obvious as she was forced to contort her body into an awkward position to clean the insides of a piece of machinery. "Phoenix One to team," he spoke into his com unit.
Five people answered him; four from his own team and one from a man who had more experience in this type of justice. McCarter grimaced when he noticed a larger group of people being herded out into the open and locked in a cage. Eyes went wide when he realized what was about to happen when some of the older men grabbed weapons.
"Take them out," came the order that everyone was waiting for.
Bullets cracked out from the barrels of multiple weapons around the compound, felling the men who were about to execute the people in the cage. The terrorists reacted poorly, some running away from the sudden deaths of their comrades and some aiming their weapons at either their captives or the surrounding landscape.
Thomas Jackson Hawkins, T.J. to those who knew him best, left his sniper rifle on the ground and headed down the embankment, his assault rifle at the ready to take out any one who stood in his way. Sharp eyes picked out his teammates coming down from the opposite side of the natural depression and he kept an eye on Calvin James as the ex-SEAL and the medic of his team quickly bandaged a young girl's wounds before moving on and gunning down a couple more terrorists. Sudden movement in his periphery startled him, but he held his fire when he recognized the black clad form of the man who was helping them; Mack Bolan, the Executioner.
Nearby, a grenade thumped to the ground and exploded a second later, spewing shrapnel and dirt through the air and rendering a few terrorist incapable of returning fire. Thanking Gary Manning, the Canadian demolitions expert and sniper God, Hawkins followed Bolan through the compound, keeping an eye out for any resistance and gunning down any one who was threatening the civilians, who were busy running away from the firefight that had broken out in the compound where they had been held for an undetermined amount of time.
Rafael Encizo teamed up with McCarter and together they cleared a portion of the base, working their way inside the building. Now that the numbers were dwindling, they had the time to look around and help the former captives escape. It was just pure coincidence when Encizo happened to look over at the river canyon that ran through the depression in time to see two members of his team standing at the edge, firing their weapons at the Holy Warriors, trying to kill as many as they could despite their clearly injured status. He was stunned to see a grenade hit the ground and explode, sending the figures tumbling over the cliff and into the swollen river below. McCarter, having looked over when the Cuban had unconsciously tapped his arm, cursed when he saw the exact same sight.
"Check in!" the Phoenix Force leader snarled into his communications set.
Two other replies echoed in his ear, confirming that the two to have gone over the edge of the cliff were two of his team; Hawkins and Bolan.
Minutes later, the compound had been cleared and the rest of the team stood at the exact place where their friends had gone over. They stood around quietly as McCarter dialled a number on a secure satellite phone, waiting as he was put through a series of secure routes. They tensed when the Britain informed Aaron "the Bear" Kurtzman of the events, including the loss of two of their own. He acknowledged that a helicopter would be there soon to pick them up and ferry them to the airbase where they had landed and that a secure transmission line would be ready for them when they had cleaned up.
Bolan grunted when he crawled away from the river bank. He collapsed a few feet later, unable to move. Instead he took a mental inventory of his physical wellbeing and groaned when he realized how bad it was. His arm was broken from what he could tell, and he was one massive bruise, which explained why he felt so bad. But that did not include the grazes and one bullet wound that he had acquired in the fleshy part of his hip. Turning his head to get a look around him, he noticed Hawkins laying not ten feet from him, curled in on himself and blood running down his face. Crawling as fast as he could to the younger man's side, he took his pulse, relieved to find one fluttering under his fingertips, but he was worried as it beat so slowly. A quick visual scan and a check with his hands told the Executioner that the Texan was just as bruised as he was and he had a couple of bullet wounds high on his upper arm. Suddenly feeling light headed, Bolan lost consciousness a minute later, unable to keep his eyes open any longer.
Ari Sharon kept his faith close to his heart, as it was all that he believed. He did not trust the government and he definitely did not trust the Al Qaeda, or any other terrorist groups in the region who claimed to be helping the people of the country. Instead, he lived on a farm with his faithful wife and son, living far enough from the city so as not to be a part of the city proper, but close enough that he was bothered less than his neighbours ten miles away, though he did have problems from time to time as he had been cast out of his Bedouin tribe many years ago. Still, his house was remote enough and as he and his son made their way to the river to fish, he was surprised to see two injured men lying on the banks. At first glance, he thought them to be Al Qaeda, but he soon realized that the men were American. Keeping an eye on his son and his surroundings, he crept forward to the two and checked to see if they were alive.
By Allah! These two men were fighting to live, and judging by the shade of skin and dried clothing, they had been lying in these positions since yesterday. A part of his brain made the connection that these must have been part of the group to have taken down the Holy Warriors up river from here as that particular piece of news had traveled fast. Gesturing to his son, they placed the men on the back of the wooden cart and urge the donkey to hurry back home. An hour later, and many attempts to get the two to drink a little water, they arrived.
"Mama!" little Ben called out, jumping from the cart and running inside. "We found two Americans. They need help!"
Ziya exited the house; her burka wrapped around her head, as every woman in this part of the world was required to wear by law, and stared at the two men in the family cart. She rushed back inside and prepared two cots for the men, stripping them of their clothing when they were laid down. She cleaned their wounds as best as she could, cooling their skin with tepid water, bringing their temperatures down from the high level they were at. Once done, she headed to the kitchen to check on the evening meal that she had started to prepare that morning and made a quick broth, letting the liquid boil as she spoke to her husband.
"Where did you find these men?" she asked in a quiet tone.
"On the river bank where we fish," Ari replied. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. "I have reason to believe that these men are part of a larger group, the same group who took down the Holy Warriors not three days ago."
Eyes wide, Ziya gazed at the room where the two men lay. "They have done us a great deed. My mother and sister were killed by those men," she murmured quietly, letting her husband caress her face. He was not like the other men of the city, her husband. He was caring, and did not beat her or any other woman should they do something that any other man would find offensive. Coming from a military family, where her mother was beaten by her father if the food was not ready on time when he got home, she knew the other side of life, and she did not care to experience it, even though her father had preferred her over the other children and had tried to train her to become a killer and failing miserably. She was just lucky to find a man who loved her the way that she was with her scars and extra baggage.
Ben watched the men as they rested, wanting to know why his parents were acting strangely. At seven years of age, he considered himself to be old enough to know some of these things, but his mother and father wished to protect him as best as they could from the horrors of the world for as long as they could. Reading a passage of the Koran silently to himself, he was not aware of one of the men awakening, but he did jump when he let out a pain filled moan. Curious, he put the book down and inched forward to the younger of the men and placed a hand on the side of his face. He murmured a nursery rhyme that his mother used to tell him when he was younger, and watched in relief when the injured man relaxed and fell asleep again.
Ziya entered the room and smiled to herself when she saw her son comfort one of the injured men. She placed two broth filled bowls on the small table and proceeded to dribble the liquid over their lips and into their mouths, hushing them when they groaned in pain. Finished, she and her son exited the room and left the men to rest up. As Ari and Ben worked outside to maintain the hut that they lived in, Ziya mended the clothes and washed them, hanging them to dry on a small clothes line.
Coming back into the world of consciousness was a battle of wills as Hawkins found out the hard way. Blinking his eyes, he frowned at the sight of canvas and at the slight rocking motion that came from underneath his prone body. Craning his head, his frown deepened when he noticed Bolan lying by him, covered with a homespun blanket that hid his six foot plus form. He felt comforted by the fact that their wounds were bandaged and that they were being taken care of, but he wanted to know what the hell was going on. As he made to sit up, he winced and cried out in pain when something in his back gave out. Collapsing, he groaned when he realized that there might have been some spinal damage that hadn't been noticed before. Focusing on his feet, he tried to lift them, to do something when the canvas was ripped away from the back. He ignored the woman as she got in beside him or the little boy as he crouched beside the woman. He couldn't move his legs. Cold realization sunk in minutes later and he bit his lip out of worry.
"They're not moving," he whispered, almost brokenly. He admired Kurtzman for working at the Farm with his own disability, but what would he do? He had a passion for hunting down the scum of the Earth, to serve justice, but now he wouldn't be able to do it.
Bolan had woken up when he heard T.J. cry out and had snapped his eyes open in time to see a woman and child enter the canvas-covered cart. He heard his friends' murmured words and was shocked to come to a realization that Hawkins could be paralyzed. Sitting up, he ignored the blanket that spilled to his lap and manoeuvred his body so that he would be right behind the Texan. Though he was compassionate, he had never comforted people like this, but he gathered the other man in his arms and muttered soothing words in his ear, waiting for Hawkins to drift back to sleep.
Minutes passed, and Bolan almost forgot about the woman and child until a delicate hand offered him a canteen. Looking up, he smiled at the woman and accepted the offer of a drink. He was surprised to find a sweet tasting tea inside instead of water, and he dribbled some over Hawkins lips, massaging his throat so that he would swallow the liquid and not choke on it. "Thank you," he said, passing the canteen back. "May I ask what happened to us?"
"My husband and my son found you and your friend by the river four days ago. I treated your wounds as best as I could, but when government soldiers started scouring the area for the bodies of Americans they suspected were behind the attack of a military camp, we decided to move you to my husband's tribe," the woman answered.
"Tribe? He's Bedouin?" Bolan asked.
"Yes, he is. He was cast out for not wanting to marry another woman from another tribe, therefore uniting both," the woman said.
"Ziya!" a man's voice whispered fiercely, followed by a string of Arabic that was too fast for Bolan to follow with his limited vocabulary. Scrambling, the woman, Ziya, made her way up front where she spoke with the unseen male. Making her way back, she held a finger to her lips, hidden by the burka, indicating that they weren't alone.
Minutes passed like they were hours before the canvas was removed from the back, revealing two men in black Bedouin robes and another man dressed as a peasant. "I am glad to see that you are awake. My name is Ari. These men have agreed to take a message to your embassy or closest American camp while you stay at the village. You may tell them what to say and include a note if you must," the man in peasant garb spoke up.
Nodding, Bolan eased Hawkins down to the floorboards of the cart and jumped out. Despite the fact that he wore clothes that fit him badly, he still made an intimidating figure. He gave instructions to the two messengers and he wrote a quick note, informing the two Bedouin that if they stayed around the camp or embassy until their help arrived and led them to their village, they and their tribe would be rewarded. Silently, the two men mounted their waiting camels and headed east. Not a moment later, another Bedouin stepped forth and stood where the others had previously been.
"Ari has explained your situation to me, and I have agreed to let all of you stay in the village where we now reside," the new man spoke. "You will be provided with food and clothing, but you will be expected to help us for the duration of your stay."
Bolan nodded and accepted the large bundle of cloth that was handed to him. He bowed slightly in thanks and hopped back into the cart, letting the small family stay together up front. With a sigh, he silently disrobed Hawkins and dressed him in the traditional robes of the Bedouin before slipping into the other outfit. Then, quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping Phoenix warrior, the Executioner cradled the younger man to his chest and dozed for the rest of the ride. He accepted help from another man to get the younger warrior to a tent and placed him in a bed. Sitting on his own cot, he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. This would be a long wait, depending if Phoenix was allowed to come back and get them.
Kurtzman would have jumped out of his wheelchair if he had been able to. Instead, the bear of a man shouted out for the mission controller, Barbara Price, to hurry down as he had something to tell her.
"What is it?" the woman asked when she hurried into the room, pushing strands of her honey blonde hair back behind her ears as she assumed that there had been some kind of catastrophic incident that had happened in the mere five minutes that she had since left the room.
"We have them!" clicking on a couple of keys, the cyber genius pointed out an image of a note on his computer screen, all the while grinning like a loon. "Two Bedouin appeared at one of the local Marine contingents in Israel. They claimed that they needed to speak to their head and then offered him this note after explaining why they were there. They were actually very vague on the details, though, so no one could figure out exactly why the Bedouin had appeared with information that they needed to pass on. Colonel Stevenson sent this image to one of our dummy accounts and then destroyed the note as he was instructed. He is now waiting on orders from his superiors and trying to ignore the two natives that have camped at the edge of their contingent. Mack and T.J. are alive!"
"I know that it seems like that, but what are the odds that this is a hoax?" Price hated to be the devil's advocate, but someone had to be.
"But it's not a hoax. Look here," enlarging a portion of the note, Kurtzman easily manipulated the image so that everyone in the computer room could see it. "It's Mack's marksmen medal. He knew that if there ever came a time that he couldn't get information to us personally, he came up with the idea to include a small sketch of his medal on the bottom of the page, to prove that he had written it."
Nodding in agreement, Price came to a very simple solution. "Deploy Phoenix and Able to the Marine camp. Don't tell them that they're investigating the fact that Mack and T.J. could be alive, but do tell them that they will be following the Bedouin back to this meeting point. I'll go inform Hal about the turn of events," she said. Exiting the room, she allowed herself a small smile filled with hope as she dialled Harold Brognola, the man from the Justice Department and the only man who would be able to get through to the president and inform him of the recent happenings.
The debrief with Colonel Stevenson was very short, and then the men of Able Team and Phoenix Force were on their way, following their two Bedouin guides on a journey, they were told, that would take a couple of days, depending on if the weather cooperated with them. Naturally, Carl "Ironman" Lyons, leader of the three man team called Able, grumbled about the distance, and the travel methods- he had never been a big fan of camels, even when he was a boy- but he soon settled down in hopes that he could shoot a few bad guys for the fun of it. Electronics genius Hermann "Gadgets" Schwarz spent the time tuning the communications gear that everyone had brought, making sure that they were secure and worked well, cracking jokes that weren't all that funny just to annoy his team leader. It was a pastime that he liked for some odd reason, and he was very good at it. He often included the members of Phoenix in his jokes, even his other team member, Rosario Blancanales. The "Politician" as he was called, was able to talk down armed suspects with apparent ease, unless they were truly dedicated to their cause or calm down frightened bystanders.
"I swear to god, if I so much as hear another joke..." Lyons growled on the second day, having been pushed to his limit. The ex-L.A. cop was ready to toss Schwarz on the ground and pound him to mush.
One of the Bedouin stopped him from doing just that. "There is trouble at the village," he said. Pointing out the area, the warriors saw what had alerted him.
There, leaning against one of the outer buildings, was a body. It did not look to be from the Bedouin tribe, so the only other explanation was that there was an attack going on right at that moment.
"Who is it?" Manning asked, grabbing his assault gun.
"The ones that your countrymen fight; Al Qaeda," the Bedouin answered and urge his camel into a run.
Following as fast as they could, Able and Phoenix were not prepared for the sight that greeted them beyond the outer buildings.
Bolan had been a tremendous help in the village as he waited to see if his note would be answered, despite the fact that his arm was broken. Hawkins had been forced to stay confined in bed, unable to do anything seeing as he still couldn't move or feel his legs.
Trouble started on the fourth day of their stay.
The air had reverberated with the call. Stumbling to the opening of the hut, Bolan looked out, instantly aware that something was wrong when he caught glimpses of other Bedouin hurry out of their huts and armed with rifles. "Ari!" he called out to the man who had saved him and Hawkins. "What's wrong?"
"Al Qaeda has been spotted heading to the village. We are to hide and pick them off as best as we can," Ari replied. "Here."
Bolan caught the rifle and ammunition. He slipped back inside the hut and informed Hawkins of the situation. He helped to get the man near the door, armed with their handguns that had been returned to them when they had settled in. They had cleaned the weapons as best as they could, but they weren't sure on how well they would fire, or if they would even work.
Hawkins kept an eye out for any danger that he could see, and frowned when he saw men dressed in clothing that did not match what he had seen in the village or when he caught glimpses of parts of camouflage pants or shirts. These men were Al Qaeda enforcers, and they were sneaking in to corner the Bedouin. Sighing, he lifted a pistol and aimed at the men, letting his finger close around the trigger. He watched as one of the men fell, clutching his neck as bright red blood squirted between his fingers. He lined up another shot and squeezed the trigger again and again, dropping men left and right. Then, without warning, the weapon jammed and Hawkins found himself at the wrong end of an AK-47. Raising his hands in the air, the last thing he saw was the butt of the weapon descending towards his head. And then he knew no more.
Bolan had been using his skills as a sniper when the intruders had surrounded the small group of Bedouin, pushing women and children in front of them. He was forced to drop his rifle when he was ordered to, but was glad to see that the gunmen had been reduced to a quarter of what there had been, leaving only ten or so men to deal with. His hands were soon bound behind his back and he was made to sit on his knees, along with the other Bedouin. Looking up, the Executioner caught sight of Hawkins being dragged towards them and tried not to show how it hurt him internally to see the young Texan get treated in such a manner. Luckily, he was dumped unceremoniously next to Bolan.
As the men from Al Qaeda discussed which woman they would take for themselves, something shifted in the shadows. Detaching from the darkness that partially hid him, McCarter raised his assault rifle and fired upon the men, dropping two where they stood with one extended burst. Then, as if that had been the starter's pistol, the rest of the gunmen fell to the ground, dead, thanks to multiple bursts of gunfire.
Ari watched as seven unknown men came from the shadows like some avenging warrior from ancient times, accompanied by the two Bedouin that had been sent away with a message for the Americans. He nodded his thanks when one of the men parted his bonds and made his way over to his wife and child, hugging them to his side. Ziya kissed him lightly on his cheek, knowing what they had been saved from.
Calvin James recruited the help from McCarter and Lyons, seeing as both team leaders were the closest to the most amazing sight he had ever seen. He was surprised to see his missing team member and Bolan among the group of captive Bedouin. He was a little worried when he noticed that Hawkins was unconscious, but then he realized that there was a mark on his forehead, indicating that he had been knocked unconscious. Opening his medical kit, he started to treat every ones' injuries, even though no one suffered much more than a severe contusion from blows that they had received from the butts of the weapons before moving on to the two other warriors of Stony Man.
"You are a sight for sore eyes," McCarter murmured quietly. "What happened to you two after you fell from the cliff?"
Bolan explained everything that he could remember, ending the tale with a large sigh. "Hawkins found out a couple of days ago that he couldn't feel or move his legs. I don't know if his back is broken or not, but with the amount of time that's passed, I was beginning to worry," he said.
Lyons nodded and activated his com unit, informing the team back home in Virginia that they had found their missing members and that they needed transportation to the nearest well equipped hospital so that they could get a better diagnosis of Hawkins' condition. He kept an eye on the small group of three that approached them, realizing that they were a family not a second after noticing them. "Do you know these guys?" he asked.
"Yeah, Ari and his son were the ones that found us and brought us to his home where we were treated. We left when soldiers started looking around the city for Americans they claimed that were a part of the destruction of a military camp. We found the Bedouin some time later and you know the rest," Bolan answered. He then turned to the family. "Ari, these are my people. This is Ironman, Chicago and England." Pointing each man out as he spoke, Bolan purposely used their nicknames so that they couldn't be traced, even though he trusted this man.
Bowing to the three, Ari thanked them for helping them against the Al Qaeda. "We have been invited to stay with the tribe for the duration of our lives. They, and I, wish you and your friends well, and for you to know that you will have a safe place to rest should you stop by again," he told them.
"Thank you, Ari. Please thank the tribe as well, and may Allah guide you fairly," Bolan said, clasping the man's hand in a warrior's grip, slipping a folded sheet of paper to the man. "Should you need our help, call this number and ask for Able, Phoenix or Striker when you are answered. We will get the message, and provided that we are not busy at the time, we will come and help you with your problem."
Hawkins was loaded onto a backboard and was secured on the sturdy piece of plastic. He was unaware of being prepped for transport or that someone was gripping his hand. He never knew when the helicopter landed just outside the village, piloted by Stony Man's own ace pilot, Jack Grimaldi, or when he was wheeled off for x-rays and the like. Instead, he slept on through all of the hustle and bustle, content to rest in the peaceful darkness of his mind for the moment.
Opening his eyes, T.J. Hawkins frowned when he saw the plain white ceiling that rested above him. Trying to figure out if this was real or just a figment of his imagination, he craned his neck to take a look around, his frown deepening when he realized that he was in a hospital. What was he doing here? The last thing that he clearly remembered was being propped against a doorframe with his hand grasping a handgun. What happened after that, he didn't know. Movement caught his attention from the doorway and he recognized the figure as Mack Bolan dressed in plain civilian clothing that consisted of a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, one arm wrapped in a stark white cast and resting in a sling. "Mack?" he croaked.
Sitting by the bed, the Executioner gave the young warrior a couple of ice chips and quietly informed him that they had been found a couple of days ago and what had passed since then.
Hawkins had been flown to a hospital where he had undergone multiple tests and x-rays. He was not paralyzed, but he had quite a bit of swelling around his spinal cord and with all of the moving to keep them safe from soldiers who were out for their blood and from the Al Qaeda, the swelling had worsened instead of reducing like it would at rest. Once he had been deemed well enough to travel, he had been brought back to the United States and placed in a private hospital until the swelling was down to a bare minimum. He would soon start physical therapy to regain the use of his legs.
"Thanks for looking after me," Hawkins yawned, eyes drooping as sleep lulled him back under again.
"There's nothing to thank, kid. You would have done the same thing if it was me in your position," Bolan was heard to say before Hawkins was completely under once again.
A year later, Hawkins had already completed a couple of missions after he had regained the mobility in his lower extremities and Bolan had long since returned to dolling out his own brand of justice to the worst of the scum of the Earth. So, it came as a shock when the phone rang and Carmen Delahunt, ex-FBI agent and a member of Stony Man's cybernetic crew, answered the call on the second ring. She had a sad air about her when she called Bolan and Hawkins to the War Room and told them the news. Ari had called the number Bolan had given him and had reported that the Bedouin tribe had been attacked and that his son and wife had been killed in that very recent skirmish.
The flight had been long to the two warriors who had decided to head out on their own, and when they arrived at the village, dressed in the robes that they had been given and lugging their war bags, they found a much smaller community living in the village where they had taken shelter a year ago. They were directed to a central hut and shown inside. A dark figure lay on a cot in a small room, and upon closer inspection, Bolan and Hawkins were horrified to find Ari on the cot, his face flayed open to the bone, red and oozing with infection. It was clear that the brave man who had saved them would not last all that much longer. Quietly, Ari told them a horrible story of how they had been attacked, how most of the children had been executed and how the women in the village had been violated while their husbands were forced to watch while their pleas were ignored.
Sharing a look, both Stony Man warriors promised that the wronged would be avenged and watched as Ari took his last breath that night. As one unit, the two exited the hut and asked one of the Bedouin which way the attackers had headed in when they had left the village. The young man, no older than fifteen, pointed to the East. He kept up his silent sentry as the two men in black followed the cold trail that led to their attackers.
It wasn't long before the news reached the tribe. The bandits that had attacked, killed and violated their own had been killed, left to rot in their own spilled blood. What had really shocked the tribe into silence was the small backpack that had mysteriously appeared the night after they had learned of the death of the bandits. When they opened the container, paper notes spilled out, revealing thirty thousand dollars that had been liberated from the bandits. There was also a note inside the bag, informing the chief that he could use the money for whatever purposes he wanted, as long as it helped the tribe and did not hurt any innocents in the process.
The number that Bolan had given to Ari was rarely used. It was only called to inform the warriors of any dangers in the area, helping to prevent many worldwide attacks and the destruction of nations. The tribe greeted the men with open arms whenever they stopped by and allowed their young ones to be trained in ways to defend themselves and others, knowing that it was the right thing to do. However, Bolan and Hawkins had been accepted into their society, becoming one of the few white men to be adopted into a Bedouin tribe, slowly followed by the other members of Able Team and Phoenix Force.
Okay people. Sorry about the long wait between stories, but I do have a valid excuse. An uncle of mine died on the 30th of November and then a second on the 14th of December. Add onto that the fact of Christmas shopping and decorating and the fact that my little sister might be pregnant (I say might because who knows how her pregnancy will turn out), well, things are a little hectic. Again, I apologize for anyone who was waiting for me to update sooner. Kudos to you for hanging on!
Anyways, I'll be changing my penname to astronomyluvr, in hopes of trying to get more people interested in the most wonderful of wonders out there: outer space and all of its mysteries and beauty. I mean, you haven't seen anything until you have seen images of the Orion Nebula (M42), an eclipse (whether it is lunar or solar) or even a meteor shower. Also, this is in honour of the Hubble Space Telescope being decommission in a couple of years and being replaced by the James Webb by 2013 (or thereabouts). This change will take place the first of January, 2011, or at least when I post next, whichever comes first.
So, now that this story is finished, I will start another one shot. I had hoped to have a multi chapter finished for your enjoyment, but alas, it was not meant to be. I hope that you forgive me, but I will do my best to get one up as soon as I can in the New Year.