Full Metal Panic Remembrance of the Fallen

**Remembrance for the Fallen **

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Panic. Inspired by "Jack's Memorial" by PaBurke.

Silence reigned in the darkened room of a certain nondescript apartment in Tokyo. Rain pattered against the window, beating a soft staccato which seemed to gently fill the room. The silence, low lighting, and the rain gave the room a very somber air. Very much like a cemetery or a shrine. Sitting perched on the bed, alone in the semi-darkness, was a young man in crisp fatigues, the insignia identifying him as a sergeant sewn onto the shoulder along with the Mithril symbol. His hair was a paradox, seemingly messy yet at the same time neat and organized, enough to appease most drill sergeants. A crossed scar stood prominently on his left cheek, speaking volumes about the hardships the young man had seen in his life. Stormy gray eyes bore into an old photo held by callused and skilled hands.

Souske just held the battered photograph in his hands, staring at it. This was his single most valued possession, the only thing he truly owned and treasured. Within were the images of himself several years younger and half a dozen other men, all in uniform. The only memento he had of his former unit. The people he lived and fought with. People who died by Gauron's hand. It was so bittersweet, remembering them. He remembered with fondness how they rigged an improvised basketball hoop to the wreckage of an RK-92 Savage AS back in Afghanistan. They'd spent hours shooting hoops, shouting encouragements and cheerful taunts. It was one of only a few memories he actually enjoyed.

Glancing up from the photo, he looked out through the window to gaze at the lit window of Kaname's apartment right across the street. She didn't understand. Couldn't possibly understand. She hadn't had anyone really close to her KIA. And she was a civilian. True, she understood better than most civilians. Kaname had been exposed to so many combat situations and other dangers, watching on the sidelines as he fought to survive. She'd been there with him and Weber when they were stranded behind enemy lines in Khanka. She'd been there waiting for him after the failed assassination mission against Gauron, and she'd seen how losing his squad had torn him up inside with guilt, guilt over having survived when they didn't. She had seen Mao wheeled in on the gurney, barely hanging onto life as she was brought to the Tuatha DeDanan's medical bay. And she'd seen McAllen and Lian's flag shrouded caskets. But still, she couldn't fully understand. What civilian truly could?

The term "brothers in arms" was closer to the truth than anyone who hadn't seen combat realized. When the only thing keeping you alive is the man right there in the foxhole next to you, a special bond develops. You know that the reason they're still fighting is because of you. That they're willing to die to try and protect you, out of friendship. And you would do the same for them in a heartbeat. There is no closer sort of relationship in the world.

The young Mithril soldier was pulled away from his brooding thoughts by the sounds of his teammates in the next room, talking and singing loudly. Curious, he rose and went to the door, looking in on them. Sergeant Kurz Weber and Sergeant Major Melissa Mao, the two older members of his team, were sitting in the middle of the living room. He was not surprised by their flushed faces, the stench of alcohol, or the countless empty beer cans and bottles of booze surrounding them. The two were notorious drinkers after all. What surprised him was their proximity to each other. The two were side by side and... hugging. And Weber wasn't even making any attempts to grope his attractive squad leader. What was even more surreal were the tear tacks and somber expressions on the two jokers faces.

Moving into the room to interrogate them on what was happening, Souske's foot sent one of the bottles rolling over. Glancing down, he was surprised to see a name scrawled in marker on the side of it. _Lieutenant Gail McAllen, Urzu 1_. Picking the bottle up to examine it more closely, he noticed it was a bottle of Jack Daniel's. The young soldier was snapped out of his puzzlement when Melissa spoke up, voice only slightly slurred from the liquor.

"Tha' was his favrit' brand, ya know."

This naturally didn't ease Souske's confusion. "Who's favorite brand?"

This time it was Kurz who answered, waving about a dusky bottle proclaiming itself to be magnolia wine and bearing the words _Leading Seaman Lian Shaopin_ on it's side, once again written in marker. "Jack Daniel's was Lt. McAllen's favorite drink, Souske. We woold aways share a couple a' rounds wi' him. He had good, simple tastes. Now Lian, he einjoyt' sumthin' a bit more exotic. He really liked this Korean magnolia wine, believe you me. Good times, man."

Understanding beginning to blossom, Souske began picking up the cans and bottles scattered on the floor. Some were empty, others were still full and unopened. But all of them bore a name. Most of them Souske knew, members of Mithril who'd been KIA or MIA. A few of the names he didn't recognize, probably from the time before he met them. People who'd died or been captured while they had somehow survived. He had a pretty good idea of what they were up to, but he needed to be sure. "So what are you two doing?"

Kurz again answered, looking at Souske like he was incredibly stupid. "REMEMBERING THEM, man! Havin' a few o' their favorite drinks in their honor. Remembering what they gav' up. How they died protection' us."

Melissa spoke now, her voice sad and somber. "Our memories are all we 'ave left a' dem, Souske. We can't ever lose 'em. We can't fergit wha' they did fer us. What they sacrificed. We need ta' honor 'em always, however we can. But above all, we can't forget."

Nodding his understanding, Souske glanced about the apartment until his eyes came across the marker they'd been using and several unopened cases of various alcoholic beverages. Picking up the marker, he started selecting specific drinks and writing on them. The names of his old comrades went on several bottles of a strong Turkish liquor, often the only sort of booze to be had in the Middle East. Bryant's name went on a bottle of Russian vodka, strong like the leader of the Gauron Assassination Team had been before the terrorist shred his M9 Gernsback to pieces. A bottle of Wild Goose somehow seemed appropriate to Andy, the sharpshooter from Texas who'd charged Gauron head on even though there was no hope. Jackson, the loud mouthed African-American who'd died trying to get the nuclear warheads away from Gauron's grasp, seemed the Samuel Adam's type. And Batist, the wise and religious old soldier who'd willingly sacrificed himself to buy the rest of them a few minutes to try to escape, an English stout was appropriate to his quiet strength. And then there was Gray. The only woman on the team, who'd treated Souske with respect and dignity but also showing him caring and compassion. In just a few short hours, she'd become the mother figure he'd never had before in his life. Seeing her AS crucified against that rock wall like that, left there by Gauron to mock him, had been the final straw which caused Souske to snap. Her quiet grace, elegance, and courage was deserving of only the finest French wine that Souske could find amongst Kurz and Melissa's supplies. There were other names of course, marked onto other bottles, but none were quite as important as those five names and those which had come before them.

Gathering the bottles and cans, Souske sat down on the floor, joining Mao and Weber. This was unlike him. He wasn't one to get drunk or even one to drink. But tonight was different. It was something special, important, necessary. Tonight was a night for remembrance. A remembrance of the fallen, of those who had given every single shred of themselves to fight for a better and safer world. One where their families and homes were safe and protected. There was no way to honor them all as much as they deserved, but keeping their memory alive and raising a glass in honor of those memories were the best that they could do.

Uncorking the wine, he held it up towards the light, and imagined Gray's smiling face imprinted upon it. Bo, he would never forget, and he would always honor them however he could. Looking at his comrades, Souske allowed himself one small, sad, barely noticeable smile which was so brief that none of them would remember it tomorrow. "You two mind if I join you?"

At their nods, he raised the wine bottle to his lips, the memories flowing through his mind as the alcohol flowed down his throat. Honoring the fallen and those still serving to protect the world. Remembering them. And for the rest of the night, that's all that the three soldiers did. Remember.

--- --- ---

In memory of my Grandfather Elmer, armored calvary, Europe, 1944; and my Grandpa Jamie, medic, Korea, 1952. Dedicated to my Cousin Mike (Marine Corps), my Cousin Ronnie (Navy), my other relatives who are serving or have served in any of the Armed Forces, and the members of the WIU Army ROTC Bulldog Battalion. We remember you all. And we won't forget.

- Night Hunter MGS, a.k.a. Matt


End file.

Full Metal Panic