Page 9 of Gentle Warrior

As the group neared the clearing where the ambulance waited, Bear spotted Jim standing nearby, leaning on his trusty old pickup. His weathered face looked tired but determined, jaw set stubbornly as always.

Jim grunted as Bear approached. “Ain’t gonna leave this place. Too much work. Can’t just up and abandon the farm, even for Nancy.”

Bear nodded, understanding the man all too well. The farm wasn’t just land and buildings—it was Jim’s livelihood and his pride wrapped into one. “I get it, Jim. You keep things sorted here. We’ll make sure she gets where she needs to be.”

Jim gave a reluctant grunt of thanks but refused to budge. Bear watched him for a moment, recognizing the gruff love beneath that stubborn exterior.

Bear watched closely as Flora carefully lifted Nancy onto the stretcher, her movements precise yet gentle despite the urgency of the moment. The paramedics moved swiftly around them.

Softly, she relayed the critical medical stats in clear, measured tones: heart rate, breathing patterns, level of responsiveness. Her experience as an EMT and forensic pathologist showed in every word and gesture, a steady presence amid the controlled chaos.

As the paramedics adjusted their plan, Flora leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Nancy is neurodivergent. Please keep that in mind during transport and evaluation. She responds best to calm, minimal stimulation.”

Bear nodded silently, appreciating the nuance and care Flora brought to the task. “I’m going with her,” Flora said softly, glancing back to Stephan once more with a reassuring nod just before the ambulance doors slid shut, sealing them inside.

Bear climbed into his truck with Link, Rhys, and Sammy close behind. The early afternoon sun cast warm light over the landscape, but tension vibrated beneath the surface inside the cab. As the truck rumbled down the dirt road leading away from the farm, Rhys broke the silence.

“Dad, why was Nancy humming instead of talking to us? Did the fall do something to her?”

Sammy leaned forward, eyes earnest. “Yeah. Did she hit her head or something?”

Bear tightened his grip on the steering wheel, eyes scanning the road ahead. “That humming? Not from the fall. She’s using it like a shield, something to lock her focus when the world gets messy.”

Link turned in his seat to face Rhys and Sammy, speaking crisply. “Analyzing behavioral data, the humming aligns with self-regulation techniques often seen in neurodivergent individuals. It suggests an undiagnosed autism spectrum presentation.”

Rhys paused, eyes narrowing as he mulled it over. After a moment, he spoke thoughtfully, “Kind of like a feedback loop in a circuit—when the system detects too much noise, it uses a steady signal to stabilize itself. So the humming helps calm sensory overload?”

Bear nodded. “Exactly. When you’ve been in the field, you learn silence can mean survival—not avoidance. It’s a signal, not a shutdown.”

Link tapped his tablet. “Jim mentioned dementia, but symptoms like memory loss or confusion don’t fit here. This behavior points elsewhere.”

Rhys considered that. “So the humming and silence weren’t just caused by injury but a way of coping?”

“Right,” Bear confirmed. “We’re dealing with someone whose wiring works differently. Our job? Keep the environment stable, predictable. No unexpected shocks.”

Sammy’s eyes flicked toward the window. “Hospitals are full of lights and noise.”

Link nodded. “Protocols exist for managing sensory sensitivities. Flora’s experience will guide how they handle the stressors.”

Rhys’s voice softened. “Do you think she knows we’re helping her? Even if she can’t say it?”

Bear glanced in the mirror. “Actions speak loudest. She knows.”

6 - MOOSE

The military transport plane rumbled as it touched down on the runway at Norfolk Naval Base, tires skimming the tarmac with a sharp screech. Early morning light filtered through a thin mist, casting pale hues over the sprawling base below. Inside the cavernous aircraft, the team shifted, gathering gear and preparing to disembark.

Moose remained seated for a moment, exhaustion and tension etched deep into his face. As the hatch opened, an ensign in crisp dress uniform stood nearby, clipboard in hand, her expression calm and professional.

“Senior Chief Wilkins,” she called out as he approached.

He nodded.

“Commander Michaels has arranged everything for you,” she said, handing over a neatly printed itinerary. “Your connecting flight to McGhee Tyson Airport in Tennessee is confirmed, and your rental car reservation will be ready for pick-up upon arrival. Additionally, the Commander has authorized a week of emergency leave.”

She paused, offering a small, reassuring smile. “If you need anything else during your travel or once you arrive, you can contact Commander Michaels directly. His number is included with these documents.”

Moose accepted the papers, the routine grounding him briefly amid the weight of what lay ahead.