“Oh fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Sister Helena, her voice tinged with frustration.

  “What is it?” asked Colonel Larkin, his brow furrowing in concern.

  “The tracks split into two directions. One goes to the cave, the other to a camp,” she explained her eyes scanning the ground and the surroundings.

  Colonel Larkin pulled out his range finder and looked through it. He could see a group of young people milling about the camp, their movements casual but purposeful. “Was this the group of young people that Simon mentioned?” he wondered silently. He then scrutinized the tracks leading to the cave and to the camp.

  “Let's continue to the cave,” the Colonel decided, his tone resolute. “The tracks to the cave are fresher in my opinion. Plus, that might be the camp of the devotees of the Goa’uld. I don't want to risk anything with them yet.”

  “Right,” affirmed Sister Helena, her determination matching his. “The cave it is.” The two continued towards the cave. Before they reached it, they heard the rustling of branches and brush.

  “Down!” Colonel Larkin whispered urgently. The two crouched behind a large tree. Peering from behind the trunk, Colonel Larkin and Sister Helena saw a group of young people gathered near its entrance. Unaware they were being watched the group spoke in hushed tones, their faces illuminated by a torch. Sister Helena strained to catch snippets of their conversation.

  “They're talking about supplies and secret meetings,” she whispered to Colonel Larkin, her eyes wide with concern. “This cave must be used for smuggling resources. Or worse! This could be the layer of the Goa’uld Maerwynn showed me in her communications.”

  Colonel Larkin's eyes narrowed, his jaw set. “We need to investigate further, but we can't risk being detected. Let's observe for now and gather more information.”

  “Agreed, whispered Sister Helena. The two continued to observe the young people from behind from their hiding place. Sister Helena continued to hear snippets of the conversation and relayed them to the Colonel. After some time, the young people left the cave. Colonel Larkin and Sister Helena waited for a little longer in case there were any stragglers. After confirming there were none, the two cautiously moved into the entrance of the cave. Cautiously, they meticulously examined its entrance for any booby traps.

  “Should we go in?” Sister Helena asked, her voice barely audible after confirming that there were no traps.

  “Just a little way in,” replied Colonel Larkin. “We’re doing a simple recon operation while we wait for Father Anselm to return to the village. Plus, we need Fairbairn, Bjornson and proper spelunking gear.” Sister Helen nodded, her resolve unwavering. Sister Helena pulled out a small flashlight from her tactical vest and turned it on. Colonel Larkin did the same with the flashlight attached to his P90. The two ventured inside, cautiously checking for more traps. Finding none they continued several meters further in.

  Sister Helena's eyes widened in astonishment. “Sir, look!” she gasped There were a myriad of crates placed in a haphazard manner on the cave floor, their contents obscured by shadows.

  “Talk about your pack rats,” observed Colonel Larkin with a wry smile.

  “Indeed,” replied Sister Helena, with a hint of nostalgia in her voice. It reminds me of my Papa's garage back home in Katy.”

  “He was a pack rat too?” Colonel Larken asked. Sister Helena nodded. “Mine too. Dad would save everything; he thought it would be whatever he saved might be useful one day.” Just then, a loud, shrill horn in the distance sending a shiver down their spines. “Time to go, Sister.” Colonel Larkin said, his voice firm. The two quickly cleared their tracks in the cave and the two swiftly but silently retreated to the village.

  Simon and Godric were waiting in the center of the village when Colonel Larkin and Sister Helena returned.

  “You've returned,” said Simon, relief evident in his voice. “Come with me. Father Anselm is waiting for you.” They made their way to the wardrobe in the Lord Mayor's Office. Father Anselm stood as soon as Simon and Godric entered the room. When Sister Helena entered, she saw Father Anselm; immediately, her face was flushed with joy but that joy quickly subsided as she recognized her error.

  “Is there a problem, Sister Helena?” Simon asked, his tone gentle yet cautious.

  “No, Simon. I'm alright,” Sister Helena replied, trying to compose herself.

  Simon, with a little hesitation, made the introductions. “Reverend Father, may I present Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Larkin and Sister Helena the Cross of SG-24. Colonel, Sister, may I present Father Anselm de Faverches, the spiritual leader of Eversham.” Father Anselm was a kindly middle-aged man with gray hair and blue eyes. He wore a black cassock.

  “A pleasure to meet you Lieutenant Colonel Larkin, said Father Anselm warmly.

  “Likewise, Reverand Father, replied Colonel Larkin. “You can refer to me as Colonel Larkin.” Father Anslem nodded and turned to Sister Helena.

  “Sister Helena, I am most honored by your presence. But you seemed joyful for a moment but then that joy left you. Are you all right?”

  “Forgive me, Reverend Father. You look exactly like a priest I know back on Earth.” The priest in question was Father George Crooker, a Carmelite Friar who had been stationed in Leavenworth, Kansas while Sister Helena was in prison and was known as Victoria. The two had first met on Christmas Day when Father George had come to the military prison at Leavenworth as a substitute for the prison's chaplain. He gave a beautiful Christmas message that moved to Victoria. Father Abraham continued to minister to Victoria for the remainder of her stay in prison, helped guide her into the Catholic Church, helped Victoria find gainful employment once she was released, and nurtured Victoria's vocation as a Carmelite nun. “Is a pleasure to meet you, Reverand Father. I bring glad tidings on the faithful of Earth and of His Holiness, Pope Francis.”

  “Francis! That's a very unusual name for the Holy Father to take!” Father Anselm exclaimed.

  “It is indeed! He was named for...” she chose her words carefully as Father Anselm had never heard of the great Saint Francis of Assisi, for whom the Holy Father had taken his name and for whom he wished to emulate. “…for a great and holy reformer of the Church. He lived a few hundred years after your ancestors were brought here through the Stargate.”

  “I see,” said Father Anselm thoughtfully. “Please sit.” All were seated at the wardroom table except for Godric who preferred to stand. The entire time of the meeting he eyed Colonel Larkin and Sister Helena with a hint of suspicion, as he was unsure of what to make of these newcomers that had come through the Circle of Darkness.

  “Reverend Father, Simon and Maerwynn tell me that you wish to help repair the faith of this planet that has long been tainted by the Goa’uld Sokar.”

  “Yes! Ever since I was elected to this position in the wake of Canon's passing…” he and all the others in the wardroom, including Colonel Larkin (out respect for the planet’s culture) crossed themselves, “...I have felt that this planet needs to heal the scars of our planet’s demons. With Simon and Maerwynn when telling me of this new threat by the demons of old, it is now imperative that our faith be strengthened.”

  “I agree, affirmed Sister Helena. But I must confess I am not a theologian by any stretch of the imagination. I am an unworthy servant, a former member of the military, and a member of the Carmelite Order. I have my personal demons and a sordid past. Though I have been forgiven of my sins, I still ask God to forgive me and heal those who have hurt.” This did not sit well with Colonel Larkin; he became rigid and squirmed in his chair. “I was sent here by the Holy Father to observe your customs, catechize were needed, and report any findings to the Holy See. It will not be an easy process and there will be resistance, but with God's help and grace, we shall reunite this lost flock with the True Shepherd.”

  “Well said, said Father Anselm, his eyes filled with understanding. I will do all I can to help you. In three days, it will be the Day of the Lord. We will celebrate our Divine Liturgy. We would be honored by your presence.”

  “Thank you, Reverend Father,” Sister Helena said. “I will be in attendance.”

  “All of my team will attend your Divine Liturgy as a sign of cultural respect,” Colonel Larkin added. Father Anselm nodded.

  “I believe this concludes our meeting,” said Sister Helena. “There will be more visits in the days to come.”

  “Indeed,” affirmed Father Anselm. “I look forward to them. May God bless you in your work.” At that point a young boy of eleven entered the room. He had been running for some distance and was out of breath.

  “Reverand Father, you are needed!” the boy exclaimed as he panted. “Widow Lambert is ill and needs the sacraments. She is asking for you.”

  “Thank you, Alban.” Father Anslem replied as he stood; the rest stood. “Well, it looks like I am needed again. I hate to run, but duty calls. Thank you, Sister, Colonel.” He left the room quickly.

  “We should get on to the monastery and set up camp,” Colonel Larkin said.

  “Agreed. Again, feel free to see me if you need anything,” replied Simon.

  “Thank you, Simon. Godrick.” Sister Helena said. Simon bowed; Godric gave a curt nod. Colonel Larkin and Sister Helena stepped out of the Lord Mayor’s office into the warm afternoon air. The sky was a medley of bright reds and oranges and yellows.

  “Did you mean what you said back there?” Colonel Larkin asked, breaking the silence. “That you regret your past life, even being in the NID?” His voice carried a mix of curiosity and concern.

  Sister Helena paused, her eyes reflecting a hint of pain hidden within her. “What do you mean by that?” She asked softly. But before the conversation could deepen, Fairbairn, Bjornson, and Edward arrived in the village with the FRED filled with their gear. Their arrival was accompanied by the rhythmic clatter of horses’ hooves against the dirt street.

  “Supplies received and delivered, Colonel,” said Fairbairn her voice steady and sure. Bjornson and I need to put Starfire back in the stable.”

  “Good work, you two,” replied Colonel Larkin with a nod of approval. He turned to Sister Helena, the hint of their previous conversation still lingering in his gaze. “Can you guide the FRED to the monastery? The Colonel pointed to a large, imposing complex of buildings adjacent to the ancient church.

  “I can, sir,” Sister Helena responded with a nod of approval. Bjornson handed the remote to Sister Helena and she guided the FRED to the monastery, while Fairbairn and Bjornson rode Starfire to the stable. They dismounted the horse and removed the saddle from Starfire’s back.

  “Squadron Leader, thanks for letting me ride with you. I had a good time,” said Bjornson said as he helped Isolde put away the saddle and tack.

  The Scot smiled warmly. “You're very welcome, Sergeant.”

  Bjornson hesitated before speaking again, his confidence replaced by a timid curiosity. “Do you think... you could teach me how to ride?” he asked.

  “Of course!” Isolde replied, her smile growing. “If that would be alright with our friend.”

  Edward, who had been listening quietly, nodded. “Just check with me if you'd like to borrow a horse,” he said kindly.

  “Thank you, my friend,” said Fairbairn, appreciating the camaraderie.

  *** **** ***

  Colonel Larkin and Sister Helena took their time reaching the monastery with their gear, the weight of the mission momentarily lightened by their surroundings. They entered through the entry gate next to the church, which stood at the heart of the cloister. The architecture was awe- inspiring, with intricate stonework and towering arches that hinted at the monastery’s storied past.

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  “I guess this is right up your alley, Sister,” said Colonel Larkin taking in the serene beauty of the place.

  “I guess so,” the Carmelite replied, her eyes scanning the area with both familiarity and reverence. “It may be a little different. Most monasteries before the 1200s were mostly Benedictine, so I'm suspecting this is probably some variation of sorts. In fact, most monasteries are very similar. With your permission, sir, may I give the team some cultural insights about the monastery as we go through it?”

  “Go right ahead, Sister,” said Colonel Larkin. “I assume you'll help us unload our gear?”

  “I wouldn't have it any other way,” Sister Helena replied with a determined smile. Just then Fairbairn and Bjornson arrived.

  “Alright. We're going to check out the monastery. Bjornson, take point. Sister Helena, lead the way. The three soldiers readied their P90’s, the weight of the mission settling back onto their shoulders.

  “Aye, Colonel,” Sister Helena said as she did a visual inspection of the building. She could make out at least four distinct structures. “Let's try the building on the right.”

  “Agreed,” said Colonel Larkin. “Let's move out. The team moved cautiously through the monastery grounds; their senses heightened. They found a door on the side of the building and entered, their footsteps echoing softly in the silent hallway.

  After Fairbairn and Bjornson cleared the hallway, Colonel Larkin and Sister Helena stepped inside. They came to a larger hallway and could see two sets of double doors at both ends of the hallway. Colonel Larkin pulled his challenge coin from his pocket and flipped it, the coin catching the light before landing in his palm.

  “We'll go to the right,” he said declared. The team followed his lead. Coming to the double doors, Larkin and Fairbairn opened them while Bjornson cleared the doorway.

  “Standard clearing tactics,” Sister Helena reminded herself, recalling her tactical training. Upon hearing the area was secure, they all went inside. After navigating around a short partitioning wall, they entered a large room. The room had two long tables with benches along the backside. There was a small table and bench at the front and a large, raised podium near the short partitioning wall and the short table. Art adorned the walls of the room, telling stories of faith and history.

  “What was this place for, Sister?” Bjornson asked, curiosity evident in his voice as he gazed around the room.

  Sister Helena stepped forward, her eyes scanning the ancient surroundings with a mix of reverence and nostalgia. “It looks like this was the monastery’s refectory,” she began, her voice taking on a soft, almost melodic tone. “This is where the monks or nuns—though I can't be certain which—would gather to have their meals. The Rule of my Order requires it: ‘Nevertheless, you are to eat what may be heaven given you in a common refractory, listening in common to some reading of Sacred Scripture where this can be done conveniently.’ That explains the raised platform you see over there.”

  She pointed to the slightly elevated area at the front of the room. “One or two of the monks or nuns would take turns reading Scripture or another spiritual reading book. One would read for a part of the mealtime, then the other would take over so the first could eat. I remember doing it many times in the monastery,” Sister Helena said, her voice tinged with fond memories.

  Bjornson and Fairbairn nodded, absorbing the historical context.

  Colonel Larkin glanced at his watch. “We'll make camp here for the night,” he announced, his authoritative voice cutting through the silence. “I don't want anybody sitting around until all the gear is loaded from the FRED and brought in here.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sister Helena leaning against one of the tables and pulling out her rosary. “That includes you too, Sister,” he barked.

  Sister Helena blushed, quickly putting away her rosary. “Sorry, Colonel,” she apologized.

  Colonel Larkin gathered his team. “We’ll set up our gear in the center of the hall in a duffel line for starters. From there we establish our camp and take inventory of our supplies. Let's get to work!” SG-24 wasted no time unloading their supplies from the FRED and into the refectory. General Carter had issued SG-24 a modified extended camp kit, which included extra MRE's, ammunition, and weapons instead of ATV’s.

  Once the gear was brought in, Colonel Larkin divided up the divided up the inventory tasks. “Bjornson, inventory our ammo and weapons; Sister Helena, inventory our MRE's and our medical supplies; Fairbairn, inventory our repair tools and the generators, both diesel and Naquadah. I'll check the rope, the radio and the replacement electronics.” He handed the team inventory logbooks, and they set to work.

  Sister Helena, adept to inventory tasks from her time in the monastery, completed her work swiftly. She wrote in shorthand to save time, knowing she could translate it later for a formal report.

  The alarm on Colonel Larkins watch sounded 18:00 hours (assuming it was actually 18:00 hours on the planet; he made a mental note to set up a sundial in the morning but for now they would remain on Zulu time). “Alright, chow time,” he declared. “Sister, get each of us an MRE.”

  “Yes, Colonel, Sister Helena replied she reached into the chest and picked out four MREs at random. She placed them on the table and the team chose which one they wanted. After preparing their meals, they sat down at one of the tables. Sister Helena said grace, and then the four began to eat.

  “Fairbairn, how did your ride to and from the Stargate go?” Colonel Larkin asked as he took a bite of his Italian sausage with vegetables.

  “Alright,” replied Fairbairn as she spread some jalape?o cheese spread on a cracker. “Nothing to report, although Bjornson got to ride a horse.”

  “How did that go, Sergeant? Sister Helena asked, her interest piqued.

  “Surprisingly well,” the Norwegian replied. “I've asked the Squadron Leader to teach me, and she agreed.”

  “How did your reconnaissance go, sir?” Fairbairn inquired.

  “We made some progress,” Colonel Larkin replied. “Sister Helena and I found some tracks that led to a cave about four Klicks outside the village. We saw several young people near the mouth of the cave talking about supplies and secret meetings. We went inside the cave briefly.”

  “And what did you find?” Fairbairn asked.

  “We found a lot of crates, but we didn't have a chance to investigate further because Godric's horn blew, and we had to return to the village.

  “I see. So, we'll have to recon the cave, the camp and complete the recon of the surrounding area of the village,” said Fairbairn.

  “That's affirmative,” said Colonel Larkin. “We'll go tomorrow afternoon as we finish exploring the monastery and setting up our base.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Bjornson.

  Colonel Larkin took a measured bite of his meal, savoring the rich flavors before speaking. “Changing the subject, what are your first impressions of the people of Eversham? We’ll go around the table. Fairbairn?”

  Fairbairn finished her bite of beef goulash, wiping her mouth with a napkin before she spoke. “They seem friendly, sir. Though I’m not sure about Godric.”

  “He did seem a bit uncomfortable at our meeting with Father Anslem,” said Sister Helena, gently stirring her chicken burrito bowl, the aroma of spices wafting through the room.

  “I do think we need to keep an eye on him,” Bjornson said, his voice low and cautious.

  “Agreed,” concurred Colonel Larkin, nodding thoughtfully. “But don’t do anything to arouse his suspicions further.” The three nodded in agreement. “Sister Helena?”

  “I would like to know how and why Maerwynn has the ATA gene,” Sister Helena mused, her brow furrowed in contemplation. “Why did she appear to me in her communications and not one of her parents?”

  “Is it possible that the ATA gene could skip a generation? Say if one of Maerwynn’s grandparents had it and one of her relatives had it, like an uncle or an aunt?” Colonel Larkin asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.

  “I’m not an expert on the ATA gene, as I have it through therapy,” Fairbairn admitted, her tone measured. “We could ask Dr. Jackson and possibly Dr. Lam the next time we contact the SGC. We could medically scan people with the Asgard scanner in our medkit, but we’ll need their consent first.” Colonel Larkin and Sister Helena nodded in understanding.

  “I wonder if this is a trap set by the Goa’uld,” Bjornson pondered, a hint of concern in his eyes. “We should remain on alert.”

  “Why could it be?” Bjornson asked, looking around the table. “Simon and Mary seem grateful for our arrival.”

  “It could be we remind them of SG-1,” Sister Helena suggested, her voice thoughtful.

  “True,” Colonel Larkin replied, stroking his chin. “There could be some hero worship involved. Bjornson, what about you? How do we stand from a tactical standpoint?”

  “We have 250,000 rounds of ammunition both for our M9’s and our P90’s. We have claymores, a M2 .50 caliber machine gun, and an RPG. Sister Helena has her Zat. I also have extra M9’s, P90’s, Zats, and a few Staff Weapons,” Bjornson reported, his expression serious.

  “Quite the arsenal, Sergeant,” Fairbairn remarked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Alltid Beredt. Always prepared,” Bjornson replied with a faint smile. “I remember that from my scouting days.”

  “So do I!” exclaimed Colonel Larkin, a nostalgic look in his eyes. “Anyway, what about the villagers? What weapons do they have?”

  “I would imagine that they have bows and arrows, swords and pikes, maybe a rudimentary knowledge of gunpowder,” Fairbairn speculated.

  “I concur,” put in Bjornson, nodding.

  “Simon can fire a staff weapon,” added Sister Helena, her voice barely above a whisper.

  The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

  Colonel Larkin’s face became livid. “How do you know this? That was in a classified report that General O’Neill wrote a quarter of a century ago.” Sister Helena opened her mouth, but Colonel Larkin interrupted her. “Did your superiors at the NID tell you this?” Again, Sister Helena tried to speak, but Colonel Larkin interrupted her once more. “I bet they got that info from when Colonel Simmons was visiting the SGC!”

  “Haud yer wheesht, Colonel!” interjected Fairbairn, her Scottish accent thickening with her irritation. “Let the lass speak. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for the lass’ knowing this.”

  “Thank you, Squadron Leader,” Sister Helena said, grateful for the Scot’s assistance. “Maerwyn communicated it to me in one of our communications. I did not get it from the NID.”

  Colonel Larkin blushed, realizing his mistake. He knew he shouldn’t have jumped the gun and accused her, but she was formerly NID, and he didn’t trust her. “Sorry, Sister,” he said, his voice softer.

  “Apology accepted, Colonel. I should have clarified. Simon has fired a staff weapon. He used Teal’c’s weapon when he defeated the Unas. He did have a lot of coaching from General O’Neill.” Colonel Larkin nodded in understanding.

  “If Simon would be willing, I could give him some training,” Bjornson offered, his expression earnest.

  “I'll ask him the next time I see him,” Colonel Larkin replied.

  Bjornson glanced at his watch as he took a bite of his chicken with egg noodles and vegetables. “Are we going to get into the game of poker General Carter asked us to have tonight before we set the night watch?”

  “How about tomorrow night?” Colonel Larkin countered. “We need to set up camp and set the night watch.”

  “Sounds good,” Bjornson agreed.

  “Speaking of night watch, have you decided upon the turns of the night watch?” Colonel Larkin inquired.

  “Yes. I'll go first, then Colonel Larkin, then Fairbairn. I will work on a duty roster for the week,” Bjornson confirmed.

  Are we in agreement?” Colonel Larkin asked, scanning the faces around the table. Three heads nodded in unison. “It’s settled. As soon as we finish eating, we'll make camp here. Fairbairn, I noticed in your files that you play the penny whistle. In lieu of having a bugler, can you play some of the major bugle calls on your penny whistle?

  “Aye, I can,” Fairbairn replied

  “Can you sound off Tattoo at 21:45 and Taps at 22:00?” the Colonel asked.

  “I can,” the Scot replied. After dinner, the team pitched tents in the refectory, the cool evening breeze wafting through the makeshift camp. The scent of pine and the distant call of nocturnal creatures set the backdrop for their preparations. Sister Helena had finished pitching her tent, her movements swift and practiced. She glanced over and saw the Colonel struggling to pitch his tent, the poles and fabric a tangled mess.

  She walked over to him, her steps confident. “Need help, Colonel?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm.

  “Blasted tent! What am I doing wrong?” Colonel Larkin responded, frustration evident in his tone. He glared at the stubborn poles. Sister Helena thought to herself, “These tents again?” She was familiar with this design from her Rogue NID days, especially when they were on the run after killing Patrick and his team.

  “Let me help, sir. I have experience with these tents from my past,” she offered, kneeling beside him. She could see that the poles had bunched up in the grommet, a common issue she had encountered before. With practiced ease, she quickly corrected it, untangling the mess and securing the tent in place. “All better! There you go!”

  “Thank you, Sister,” Colonel Larkin replied, his voice gruff but appreciative. He straightened up, dusting off his hands. Sister Helena smiled, a warm but fleeting gesture, and returned to her own work, the moment of camaraderie fading as the night deepened.

  After helping Colonel Larkin with his tent, Sister Helena turned her attention to her own tent. After pulling out an electric lantern, she moved her base kit and her duffel bag into her tent. She then pulled out her bed roll and meticulously made it with a soldier’s precision. She then moved all her gear into its proper place. Once she was satisfied with the results, she changed into PT shorts and a t-shirt, pulled out her scapular and her breviary out of her duffle bag and her backpack respectively and sat cross legged on her bed roll. After she adjusted the breviary’s ribbons, Helena made the Sign of the Cross.

  “God, come to my assistance. Lord, make haste to help me. Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen. Alleluia,” prayed Sister Helena as she began Vespers. She recited the ancient psalms and canticles with a serene and quiet reverence as if she was back in the monastery with her fellow sisters. She imagined herself next to Sister Marie Evangeline, who would always give her a smile every time Helena caught a glimpse of her.

  After Helena finished Vespers, she could hear Fairbain sounding Tattoo on her pennywhistle, which meant, she had about fifteen minutes before the sounding of Taps and lights out. She sat silently seeking solace and guidance as she reflected on the recent events, particularly the Battle of Zulu Station. The chaos and the fear were still fresh in her mind. She pictured her comrades and remembered their bravery and gallantry in the halls of the space station. She remembered Major Will Troy who guided her from the Gate Room to the Chair Room and SG-8 who protected her from the Lucian Alliance. Finaly one face stood out—Wing Commander Cate MacGregor, her newfound friend. Cate had been a beacon of hope during the battle, guiding Helena how to use Ancient technology. Helena sensed that Cate had a long journey ahead with her mission.

  “Heavenly Father, shower your blessings upon Cate and guide her in the way that she should go. If she ever feels burdened with her missions, send your angels to comfort and strengthen her. Let her know I am praying for her always. I entrust Cate to you, Mamma Mary and that you wrap her in your mantle.”

  Her thoughts now turned to her team. “Lord, bless the members of my team: Fairbairn, Bjornson and especially Colonel Larkin. Whatever rift we have between us, I ask for your healing upon us. All these things I ask in Your Son’s name. Amen.”

  After a few moments of silence, Sister Helena began to pray Compline, starting as she did with Vespers. As she finished her prayer, she could hear Fairbairn play Taps on her pennywhistle. Instinctively, Sister Helena put her hand over her heart to reflect and honor those who had given their lives while serving. As the last note of Taps was played Sister Helena turned off her lantern. She got under the covers of her bedroll, feeling the cool fabric beneath and top of her. Sister Helena said one final prayer and went to sleep, grateful for the day and looking forward to the challenges of the day to come.