Ammunition

Bring Him Home

"I suppose this is goodbye." Jehan said.

They had landed in the same place that they had left from. The ramp was lowered and Jehan lingered at the edge. One step, and he would be on the ramp and would be on his way to the battlefield once more.

"I don't like goodbyes." Rip shrugged. "They sound as if it is the final time the people will see each other."

Jehan chuckled. "Well how about so long?"

"That's better." Rip smiled.

"That was everything I dreamed it would be." Jehan told him.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Jehan." Rip spoke. "It was wonderful to meet you. And here." Seemingly out of nowhere, he produced a large bag of ammunition that could be used for the fight.

Jehan looked at the bag and then back to Rip. "Does this mean you aren't going to fight with us?"

"You know I can't." Rip replied sadly. "I shouldn't have even met you in the first place, but fate had it's own way." He took a deep breath. "Just promise me something. Finish your poem before the night is over. I'll come by later and see how things are."

Jehan grinned and hugged him. A single tear escaped Rip's eye. He felt as if he were saying goodbye to his son.

Jehan stepped back and smiled. "Of course. Anything for a friend. So long, Mr. Hunter. And thank you. God bless you, sir."

"I wish you all the luck in the world, Jehan." Rip smiled back. "Be strong and may God bless you as well tonight."

Jehan turned to the bag, picked it up, and stepped off of the Waverider for the last time. He passed through some strange substance and turned around sharply. The ship disappeared from his view.

"Goodbye," he muttered and continued down the stairs.

Little did he know that the ship had not gone. He had passed through the invisible cloaking device.

Meanwhile, Rip had watched Jehan until he had gone from his sight. Just as he was getting ready to close the ramp, he heard a voice ring out from the street.

"He's like the son I might have known, if God had granted me a son." Someone sang. He recognized the voice as Jean Valjean.

As the ramp closed, he heard the next few verses. He continued to hear them as he went slowly to the control room.

"Bring him peace . . . bring him joy . . ."

Rip through off his coat, only for it to disappear. He remembered that it was a copy.

"He is young . . . he is only a boy . . ."

Rip saw Jehan's cup still in its place.

"Let him be . . ."

He pulled out his slightly crumpled photo of his family, which he had taken from his original coat.

"Let him live . . ."

Rip couldn't hold back his sorrow any longer.

"Bring him home!" Rip sang with Valjean.

The song ended and Rip punched the wall.

"Sir, you have left your coat in the midst of the battle." Gideon spoke.

"I know that!!" He yelled and sat back in his chair.

After a few minutes of his silence, he punched in coordinates. He pulled the seat strap back over him. With what seemed like every ounce of his strength, he pulled the lever.

The Waverider lifted into the time stream. Its green sea whirled around the ship for a few short moments. It seemed to Rip that he had merely blinked. The green vortex disappeared and was replaced by the dawn of the next day.

The coordinates that he had put in was the same place he had been a few moments before, but it was the morning of the next day. He listened for any sound, any song. He heard nothing.

"Sir, I must tell you of one event that has changed." Gideon announced, taking Rip by surprise.

For a moment, he was hopeful.

"You mean Jehan's alive?!" He exclaimed.

"As of now, he is." Gideon told him

"What do you mean-" He began.

He heard the sound of chanting. Loud, angry chanting. He heard roughly six or seven voices.

They were shouting in unison. "Vive la France! Vive la France!"

To his horror, he heard a gunshot. One voice dropped out. The remaining voices kept yelling the words. Another bang. One more voice disappeared.

He knew what was about to happen. Completely forgetting to put the invisibility cloak back up, he rushed out of control room. Another shot sounded. He leaped out of the Waverider. Another shot fired. He nearly flew down the stairs. One more shot sounded.

He stopped in shock. One more voice was left. Pain seared through his heart like a sword. It was Jehan's. He ran out of the building blindly. He was met with an empty street, with the dead bodies of the students who only a few hours before had built the now shattered barricade.

"Vive la France!" Jehan's voice echoed one last time. A shot rang out. The voice was no more.

Jehan was dead.