Aged Hero

Thatcher took slow, steady breaths, breathing in and out with his steps. The news played on a radio in the background, though Thatcher had long since tuned it out. He glanced at his watch. Two hours past the start of the run. Exhaling with a sigh, Thatcher turned the treadmill off. Ash, on the treadmill next to him, pulled an earbud out of her ear and asked, "Getting tired, old man?"

"Stuff it, lass," Thatcher responded lightheartedly. "I could still outrun you." He waved goodbye as he walked towards the changing room. Ash waved back before sticking the earbud back in her ear.

Once in the changing room, Thatcher scanned the room. Once he confirmed he was alone, a grunt of pain escaped Thatcher's throat. He flexed his hands, trying to work the stiffness out. After several minutes, Thatcher gave up flexing and moved towards his locker. Opening it up, a fresh change of clothes greeted him. He changed out of his workout clothes, suppressing winces and grunts when he moved his hands the wrong way. After throwing his sweaty clothes into a bag, Thatcher moved to shut his locker. Before he closed the door, he noticed the black braces inside.

Thatcher pulled the braces out. They were given to him by the physician, and they were supposed to help with the arthritis. Thatcher tossed them back into his locker before slamming it shut. "They're supposed to help with the pain." Thatcher turned around, seeing Montagne now standing in the room.

"Bollocks," Thatcher said, starting to leave. "My hands are fine."

"I doubt that," Montagne said, standing in front of the door. "There's been a deployment. You and I are pretty much alone in here for the next couple of hours."

Thatcher tried to stare down Montagne. It didn't work. "Right then," Thatcher said. Montagne sat down on a bench, with Thatcher sitting down next to him. "Start talking."

"Why don't you want to wear the braces?" Montagne asked.

"I don't need them," Thatcher said. "Besides, the last thing I need is something thinking I'm too old to fight."

"We are getting old," Montagne said. "You've been serving for over thirty years, and I'm not far behind you. Our bodies just can't keep up anymore. I've accepted it, and you need to as well." Montagne paused, thinking. "I've talked with Five. Once I retire from field ops, I'm going to stay as an adviser and trainer for Rainbow."

Thatcher looked at Montagne in disbelief. "Blimey," He muttered after a moment, shaking his head.

"I'm not turning in tomorrow," Montagne said, "I still have a couple years left. But that doesn't mean I can't make plans for when I'm a liability more than an asset in the field."

"As if you'll ever be that useless," Thatcher said. "And why are you telling me this anyway?"

Montagne lifted his hands and said, "Hold out your hands." Thatcher complied, lifting his hands out. They were shaking visibly compared to Montagne's. "How's the shaking going to affect your aim?"

"It doesn't," Thatcher said, setting his hands down.

Montagne sighed. "Would you trust your hands when one of Rainbow is on the line?"

Thatcher glared at Montagne. "What are you getting at?"

"Say, the worst happens," Montagne said. "You get captured and the gun is in the hands of a White Mask. Rainbow has one shot to save your life. Who wouldn't you trust to take the shot?"

"I'd put my life in any one of their hands," he said.

"You'd trust all of them?" Montagne asked.

"Every last one," Thatcher confirmed.

Montagne nodded before continuing. "Now, reverse the situation. You have to save someone's life with one shot. Could you do it?"

"Yes," Thatcher said reflexively. "You'd be mental to think otherwise."

"Could you?" Montagne asked again. "Honestly." Thatcher looked down at his hands and flexed them. Stiff, they didn't initially move the way he wanted them to. Enough of an error to shift a gun. Thatcher looked at his locker, wondering if him appearing old was worth the life of his squadmates. Montagne stood, dragging Thatcher out of his thoughts. "I would trust you," he said. The look on Montagne's face was pure trust. Trust that may be misplaced. Without another word, he left the room. Thatcher looked back down at his hands, watching them shake, before looking back at the lockers.

Wood and debris filled the air as the breach charge went off. Capitão and Fuze entered first, the former going left and the latter going right as they cleared different rooms. Thatcher entered next, making sure the hall stayed clear. Montagne and Blackbeard appeared on the stairs at the far side, Working their way up from ground floor to the second bomb. Several burst of gunfire came from Thatcher's right as Fuze cleared the White Mask with his AK.

The sounds of a White Mask started breathing through some sort of apparatus filled the air. "Bomber!" Capitão yelled.

"Where?" Thatcher yelled. A man in a hazmat suit started to descend the stairs, above Montagne and Blackbeard. The Bomber noticed the two operators on the stairs first, pulling a trigger out and running towards them. Thatcher immediately pulled out an EMP grenade, arming and throwing it down the hall in one motion. Montagne backed up, almost knocking Blackbeard over and causing the SEAL to miss his first shot. The Bomber jumped the last three steps, landing with a thud before turning and sprinting towards the operators on the stairs. Thatcher fired a burst from his AR33, landing several hits in the side of the Bomber's chest and one in the facemask. The Bomber fell to his knees as the EMP went off. Thatcher let out the breath he was holding. The Bomber clicked the detonator, and after not exploding, fell to the ground. Blackbeard fired one shot into the Bomber, making sure he stayed down.

Montagne retracted his shield. "Bomber down," Thatcher said.

"Disarming the second bomb," Fuze said. The rest of Rainbow hurried to his position, knowing that more White Mask were coming. Montagne nodded at Thatcher once as they set up. Thatcher returned the nod, flexing his hands on his weapon. The bloody braces help after all, Thatcher thought. Might even keep me in the field for a couple of years.