The scanner screen glowed bright green. The sharp electronic alarm stopped. The heavy silence of the military base returned, broken only by the rustle of the chain-link fence in the wind. The smell of damp earth and diesel exhaust hung thick in the chilled air.
The young soldier stared at the screen. His eyes widened. He looked at the scanner, then at the tarnished metal tags in my hand, then at my face. His hand slowly moved away from his belt.
“Sir,” he stammered. His voice lost its booming authority. It sounded thin. Scared. “This is… this is a Ghost Protocol tag. I thought these were a myth.”
I didn’t answer. I just pressed my thumb against the center of the tag.
A soft, blue light hummed from the metal. The air above my palm shimmered. A holographic projection flickered to life. It showed a black-and-white image of a muddy encampment. Rows of canvas tents. Men in vintage fatigues. The 101st Airborne. 1968.
The soldier took a half-step back. His breath plumed in the cold air. “You’re… you’re Sergeant Vance. The founder of the Night Stalkers.”
“I was,” I said softly. The hologram faded, the blue light dying down. “I built this unit. I wrote the doctrine. And then the government erased me to protect the black ops budget.”
The soldier looked at the gate, then at the scanner, then at me. He realized, in that exact moment, that he wasn’t standing in front of a vagrant. He was standing in front of a living legend.
He didn’t say a word. He just snapped his heels together. The sound was sharp. Final. He raised his right hand. His fingers pressed flat against the brim of his patrol cap. A crisp, perfect salute.
“Sir,” the soldier said. His voice was steady now. “Permission to escort you to the memorial.”
I nodded. I walked through the open gate. The soldier marched beside me, his boots clicking against the asphalt.
We walked past the guard booth. We walked past the barracks. The sun was setting, casting long, golden shadows across the parade ground.
We stopped in front of the massive flagpole. The American flag snapped in the wind, the stars and stripes catching the last light of the day.
The soldier stood at attention. He held the salute.
I stood there, the heavy dog tags resting warm against my chest, the holographic memory of my lost brothers fading into the twilight, while the flag waved silently above us.