BJ Blazcowicz had just entered the ninth floor when he heard the unmistakeable roar of an HKMS-940 some distance away. Well, thought BJ, that answers my first question. Henry's still alive. 

BJ followed in the direction of the sound, his own HKMS locked and loaded. Suddenly, there was an eerie silence. The battle was over, one way or another.

As BJ approached an open area sprinkled with wooden obstacles, he could smell the unmistakable stench of burning flesh wafting through the air. He approached cautiously past the gold key door, his weapon tightly clutched in his right arm. 

Irons spoke first, before BJ was in sight. "Blazcowicz, you burly bastard, what took you so long? You've missed all the sport, son. There's nothing left to do.".

"Hello Hank. I didn't think there was a need to hurry. Looks like you were able to handle things without me, like I thought. I'm just here for the cigar." Both men smiled, and gave each other a firm shoulder embrace.

"It took a while to walk through 60 floors," said BJ. "At least you left me the shooting gallery, so it wasn't a total waste of time".

"How'd you do?" said Irons.

"Eight under par", said BJ. "I know, I should have done better. I guess I've been neglecting the pistol range these past few months. A little rusty, I guess." 

Irons: "Any trouble finding me?".

BJ: "No, not really. You leave pretty clear signs. When I see a pile of bodies stacked in a doorway, or at a corner, I know you've been there. When I see a string of corpses, I know you took them one at a time. It was nice of you to use the arms of the dead Nazis to point the route to the keys. I must say, some of those takedowns were quite daring. I wouldn't have used the knife quite so much.".

"You've relied too much on your guns, son. The blade never lies to you. Have you forgotten why we do this? Nothing makes you feel more alive than starring Death in the chops and removing his head from his neck. It's what we were born to do. You and me, we're a breed apart, but we've had our share of the glory. It's time to pass the torch, let someone else save the world from here on."

"Hank, you were born too late. You should have been a Spartan at Thermopylae, or a Viking berserker, or one of Arthur's Knights. I don't think there's a man then or now that can take you one on one, but a Knife against guns? Sure, you can do it, but who else would even try?"

What makes you think I wasn't a Spartan, or a Viking, or a Knight? I am a warrior. It is my calling and my destiny. I do it not because I want to, but because I must.  But... even the champion knows when there are no more hills to climb, no more prizes to be won, no more enemies to vanquish. I'm out.".

Irons handed BJ a cigar. "Hoyo de Monterrey. Rolled on the thighs of a Cuban virgin.".

"I suppose it will have to do." said BJ. "How long has it been?"

"Three years since I gave them up." said Irons. "But this is special. One last mission, one last smoke.". 

Irons pulled a safely match from his shoulder pocket, drew it across the teeth of the fallen Boss, lit his own cigar, and proffered the match to BJ.

BJ: "They got Herman.".

Irons: "I know, mate. I put him out of his misery. Made a damned Mutant of him. Tough son of a bitch, too, but not tough enough.".

BJ: "Just the three of us left now. Any word on Jordan?"

Irons: "Not a one, mate. I think they still have their hooks in him. Somebody's got to do this now. Me? I'm done. This was the final fight.".

BJ: "That's what I said a while back, but they managed to pull me back in. What makes you think you can give it up?".

Irons: "This is no game for a man my age, lad. For fifteen years I've been a pawn in this game of theirs, with some unseen hand moving me about on their desktop. I've long since lost count of how many men I've killed, and how many of our boys I've seen fall. And for what? You and I both know that, for every mission we complete, there's two more new ones popping up. Sure, this one's over, and this enclave is secure, but all they have to do is press a button, and all that we've done will be wiped clean, and it will be as if we've never been here. Give them a bit of time, and they'll fill this place with new Nazis, and someone else will have to do it all over again. It just won't be me. I took an extended break after Operation Spear: Resurrection, but I had to prove to myself that I could still do it, that I still wanted to do it, and now I'm satisfied. I can still do it, but now I no longer want to. I don't want the next fellow killing a Mutant with my face. I'm sure old Herman though he would make it through. You can only cheat Death so many times, before he cheats back.".

BJ: "So, what's up next for the legendary Lieutenant Irons?"

Irons: "I'm not sure yet. I think I'll take a break, then get away from things completely. Maybe I'll raise horses in the middle of nowhere. Strong horses that outlast the others. I think I'd be good at that. How about you?".

BJ: "Back to Greece. Spring starts in about three weeks. Nothing quite like the smell of fresh laurel leaves. They smell like...".

Irons: "Victory. 'Ever was it so, ever will it be.".


                                  ~ The End~


