AN: Whew! Okay, I teased this story a little last month and got a great response (even though this is actually nothing like my teaser), so I'm buckling down and committing to writing it. Hope you guys enjoy chapter one!

No.

No. This couldn't be happening. They had won. This couldn't be how the story ended. Why was nothing ever simple? Rorke was supposed to be dead.

Logan twisted in the dirt and reached for Hesh with his good arm. He was only a few feet away, but it felt like miles separated them. The elder watched in horror as his little brother slipped through his fingers. Hesh stretched, willing his arm to grow longer, but there was no use.

"Logan." His voice came out as a hoarse croak, owing to the water that was probably still lodged in his lungs. Overbalancing, he fell forward on his bullet wounds. Inhaling sharply, he looked up desperately, only to see Logan being dragged further and further away.

"Logan!" He dragged himself forward and tried to ignore the pain, only to collapse after a couple feet. Where does the man get his strength? Every inch Hesh gained, Rorke was another yard away. Logan, battered and only semiconscious, did the only thing he knew to do when he was helpless. He looked to his brother, with a silent plea. He didn't have to talk, it was written in the lines of his face, even in the way he breathed. Panic. Dread. Terror. He was trying his best to control it, to stay strong, but Hesh saw right through the act.

"LOGAN!" Hesh screamed, as if the force of the shout alone could stop Rorke. Logan didn't call to him, but his eyes communicated more than his voice ever could. Hesh panicked. He was powerless to stop this. He couldn't save him.

Not yet. The small voice came from the back of his mind. He wouldn't give up so easily. Though the panic gnawed at his senses and threatened to overwhelm him, he yelled to the receding pair of figures.

"I'll come for you, Logan! I'll find you, I promise!" His voice cracked and Hesh hung his head into the sand. "I'll save you." He whispered to the seashells. He couldn't face Logan, not when so much pain and fear were in his eyes. He had failed him. Shame and guilt crashed on his shoulders. Lying on his front, Hesh listened to Logan's screams of desperation and agony - heard him call his name - as Rorke struggled to drag him away.

Captor and captive faded from sight and hearing. Hesh's senses were shutting down, his head left reeling from confusion and blood loss. What had Rorke meant?

"You woulda' been a helluva Ghost." Over the past couple of months, Hesh had learned to the southern drawl and the man who owned it with every ounce of his being. "But that's not gonna happen. There ain't gonna be any Ghosts. We're gonna destroy 'em together." He had been speaking to Logan, just after he had broken his arm and punched him in the jaw. Hesh and Logan both knew the story of how Gabriel Rorke, former captain of the Ghosts, had been captured and tortured to insanity by the Federation. They brainwashed him, and now used him as a tool for their own purposes.

That was why the last word out of Rorke's mouth scared Hesh the most: "together." Their dad, Elias, had once said that if the Feds could turn Rorke against his comrades, then they could turn anyone. He fiercely prayed it wasn't true. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the pain and misery that sent his head spinning, but when he did, he saw Logan, forlorn and petrified, looking back at him as he was pulled away.

I'm sorry Logan. Hesh looked at the sky instead of the image seared into his mind's eye, but it followed his gaze like the afterimage left from staring at the sun.

Farther away, where American forces were pushing the Feds back into the desert, kinetic missiles were still raining down from the sky, devastating the enemy, even as they retreated. In a way, it was a beautiful view. Destruction fell from the heavens, adding insult to injury by not only slaughtering the Federation forces, but completely annihilating them. There was no one left to resist. Somehow, the day was won, but still so lost. A military victory, but a personal defeat. The paradox chased itself through Hesh's mind as he slipped from consciousness.

Logan fought and kicked for all he was worth. Adrenaline had washed away most of the pain in his shoulder and arm, but he knew it wouldn't last for long. Even though he couldn't break free from the iron grip on his ankle, he made Rorke pay dearly for every inch of ground he gained, every inch that carried him farther from Hesh and rescue. He twisted himself around to kick at Rorke's arms and chest; anything he could reach, he struck.

He looked up again towards the beach and noticed in alarm that they were almost to the tree line He could barely see Hesh's still form near the surf, his head hung in the dirt. He wasn't looking at him. Logan tried to tell himself that he couldn't, he was too weak. He had been shot. Twice. Instead, a very different thought ran through his head.

You selfish jerk! Logan surprised even himself with the thought. As soon as the outburst occurred in his mind, he felt bad for it. But Hesh knew how much comfort Logan could draw from just simple eye contact with his brother. Why won't he look up? Is he too weak? He stared at where Hesh lay, wanting, willing him to move.

Logan clawed at the dirt with his good arm, desperately trying to stop Rorke's retreat. Panic rose. Not for the pain that was sure to come, but for the unmoving figure lying alone in the sand. With one great effort he managed to yell, one word, to call out to the still form of his brother.

"Hesh!" The cry came out garbled and smothered by his rusty and tired vocal cords. Hesh didn't move.

"DAVID!" Desperate now, for any reaction, Logan screamed for all he was worth. He had to know. Hesh couldn't be dead. Not now, after all that they'd done. His brother's head remained still as death, but Logan drew a small glimmer of hope when he saw the miniscule rise and fall of his back. He was breathing. He would make it. Recon was on the way.

Can they get here fast enough? No. Fast enough to save Hesh, yes.

But not Logan.

He then began to worry for his own life. He had heard the Hesh's promise, shouted across the beach, "I'll come for you! …I'll find you, I promise!" He wanted to believe the words. As much as he squirmed in Rorke's grip and fought against it, he knew it was a battle he could not win. He tried to convince himself that Hesh would come. He'd promised, right? Hesh never broke his promises. He was always there. Logan just had to remember that and he thought he could get through this.

He found himself wishing he had gone for the headshot. Twisting, Logan looked up at the man in whose grip he writhed. The man who he hated so much. It should have been simple. Kill Rorke. That was the only objective. Hesh had agreed, side effects and repercussions didn't matter so long as the man - more like demon - died. But, in the train car, under the ocean, he'd been given a choice, and Logan couldn't do it. The memory replayed itself in his head, accompanied by the thought,

Why couldn't I have just hit him where it counted?

He had snapped the chamber of the revolver shut as Hesh grappled with Rorke, seizing him in a headlock from behind. He wrestled the stronger man to stillness for Logan to take the shot. One bullet. One kill. One shot to end it all. Logan had taken aim at his enemy's head, but stopped as he came to a realization. The gun in his hand was a .44 Magnum. It packed enough punch to stop a charging bull; it would tear right through Rorke no matter where Logan hit him. He hesitated.

One second. Rorke's head was pinned against Hesh's chest. The bullet would go straight through his cranium and tear into Hesh's chest cavity. Logan would be signing his own brother's death certificate.

Two seconds. Hesh was yelling, panicked,

"Logan! Do it! Now!"He couldn't hold Rorke much longer. The stronger enemy groped with his free hand along the floor for his fallen blade. Even Hesh, Logan's invincible brother appeared slight and frail next to their enemy. The Fed was a literal juggernaut. Nothing seemed to slow him down. Under different circumstances, Logan would have respected him. But he was their enemy, and a formidable one.

In hindsight, he shouldn't have made the choice he had. Rorke couldn't be killed so easily; he wouldn't stoop so low.

Three seconds. Logan had adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger.

Immediately the struggling of both men stopped. The bullet flew true, right where Logan had sent it. It ripped open Rorke's center of mass, and tore through Hesh's abdomen before flying farther, cracking the window. Hesh and Rorke fell backwards, dead or unconscious. The glass behind them spider-webbed under the water pressure, each audible snap sending a twinge of dread through Logan's gut. He didn't know if he could get both himself and Hesh out of there. He barely had time to gulp one deep breath before the window caved inwards, its shards slicing at his arms and face. He tumbled in the sudden torrent of water, grabbing for Hesh as the pressure equalized.

After he found both his brother and gravity, he swam for all he was worth towards the surface. His lungs screamed at him. His legs cramped and shut down in protest. Logan was consumed by one thought,

The surface. Get Hesh to the surface. Whipping his exhausted limbs into submission, he broke into the air an eternity later, coughing and sputtering. Dropping Hesh into the sand next to him, he fell hard onto his elbows and knees, gasping the precious oxygen into his lungs. Ridding himself of the briny taste of seawater, he looked to Hesh. Thankfully, he was coughing up water and breathing on his own.

He felt giddy, which was rather hard for a grown man to do. He couldn't help but smile as he crawled up the beach, towing Hesh along behind him. He was liberated, like a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. Rorke was dead. All the signs pointed to it. He took a forty-four to the chest and then was locked in a steel cage at the bottom of the ocean. Shock and blood loss alone would have finished him off, minus the seawater. They couldn't call it a 'confirmed' kill, but it was the next best thing.

Propping Hesh up against the rocks, Logan had slumped down next to him, relaxing for what seemed like the first time in ages. He remembered a strange, untangling, untwisting feeling in his heart. He felt like whooping for joy, but settled on peeling his wet mask off his face and pushing it up on his head. Hesh slapped him weakly on the leg, a congratulation.

Good job. Of course, the words were said aloud. They bantered back and forth, almost like old times, though, Logan had never been much for talking anyway. He spoke now, mostly to keep Hesh awake, and worried over him like a mother hen. The pair of them had left a red trail through the sand from the edge of the water, but it was mostly Hesh's, and he was still losing blood. Logan checked him over completely, applying what limited combat aid he could. He had told Hesh to call in their success to help keep him awake. Even if his radio had survived the scuffle with Rorke, Merrick may not have even recognized Logan's voice over the radio, he used the thing that infrequently. Hesh reached up and toggled on his microphone.

"Merrick, come in." His voice was weak and breathy. "Merrick, do you copy?"It didn't take long to get a reply.

"Hesh? Hesh, is that you?" His relief was plainly evident over the soft crackle of the radio. It was a strange tone for him. Merrick seldom broke his cold, calculating mask of calm. Logan chuckled inwardly. It was a nice change from the aloof, imposing stoic he'd been when they first met him.

"Yeah. I'm with Logan. We're okay." Hesh's voice was still tinted by the pain, but the words came out stronger than when he first spoke. Logan watched him. What few movements he made still seemed strong and normal, so he didn't look like he was going into shock. That was a relief

"… and Rorke?" Despite his obvious relief, Merrick's hesitancy in this question was plain. It was like he was afraid to even ask, the man had slipped through their fingers so many times.

"Dead. He's dead." Hesh's voice had leveled out with these words, imbuing them with a decisive, hard edge. As if expressing the force of his emotion had exhausted him, he rested his head on the damp rock at his back. Merrick's voice sounded over the radio for a third time.

"Copy that. The Federation's in full retreat. The rest of the payload's inbound to finish the job. Sit tight. Recon's coming for you." Logan sighed contentedly and at last fully relaxed. He clapped Hesh on the shoulder, squeezing tightly to keep him awake. Hesh spoke.

"I'm proud of you… good job, bro." Logan smiled sadly. Hesh probably didn't realize how much he sounded like Dad. Logan had smacked him lightly on the leg and was about to speak when a noise to their right distracted him, like shoes scraping through the dirt. He wrenched his head to the right and it was met solidly with the sole of a combat boot. Recoiling, Logan grabbed his combat knife from its sheath on his thigh. He briefly wondered how he'd managed to hang on to it through all the fighting of earlier. Swinging the blade in an arc intended to connect with his opponent's knee cap, he found his arm caught, the blow countered. Rorke squeezed his wrist hard, pinching the nerves together and making him drop the blade. Then his arm was wrenched backwards as a simultaneous blow smashed his elbow forward, breaking all three bones in his arm and dislocating his shoulder. Logan howled as Rorke let go of his hand; he had never known such agony existed.

Rorke then had monologued for a good minute, deeming the two of them not enough of a threat to worry about, before dragging him away.

Logan was snapped back to the present when Rorke kicked his right arm, sending signals of pain that overrode his brain's command to keep his grip on the young tree he'd managed to get a hold of. He ground his teeth to contain the scream. Hesh had once commented that he had an insanely high pain threshold.

Well, maybe that will come in handy. Rorke had only dragged him a short distance beyond the tree line when Logan heard it, a gorgeous noise. Rotor wash, slicing through the air in the most beautiful cacophony he'd ever heard. Rorke swore under his breath and picked up his pace as much as he could while pulling his struggling prisoner. The rotors grew steadily louder and Logan knew from the frequency of the engine that the bird was circling over the beach, searching for an LZ. Slowly, the rotors wound down, and the engine roar faded to a dull whine.

Logan took a deep breath, intending to shout as loud as he could. Before he could loose the yell, though, he was on his back, Rorke on top of him, forcing away his breath. One hand was over his mouth, the other poised above his arm, ready to turn it into a compound fracture instead of the less painful break it was now. The menacing look in the former Ghost's eyes conveyed only one message,

"Don't even think about it." Then he hauled Logan to his feet, drew the knife that he'd taken from the younger man, and made him walk in front of him. In spite of the obvious threat, Logan emptied his lungs into the air, not even trying to form an intelligible cry. He only hoped that the sound would carry to the beach were his comrades were. It was his last hope.

Almost immediately Rorke seized him from behind and rammed his face into a tree, knocking him out.