So many memories of my oldest brother James from when all five of us were growing up. We were army brats, always on the move from base to base, country to country as dad got reposted. With the stream of new schools, there was the inevitable fights with other kids, and when it wasn't the Bakers vs the world, well, we were fighting amongst ourselves. James was always the protector, the peacekeeper; the voice of reason. He’d keep the bullies at bay and stop things when we got out of control. Mom and dad had put him in charge of enough times that whenever "that tone" crept into his voice, we all pretty much froze and snapped to attention. I was only eight when James went into the army. Without his influence around the place, we all basically ran wild. I think my folks were relieved when, one by one, we all followed him into the service When I heard my mom’s voice in the phone, I immediately knew something was wrong. James was KIA. They’d only found out this morning. I was to come home ASAP. Before I could say anything, she’d hung up. I had to get home. I informed my CO and packed my bags, trying my best not to let the shock of it knock me down. Dad met me off the transport, and while he drove us home, he told me what had happened. James’s unit was running escort, moving civs out of a hot zone when they were engaged by a hostile rocket crew, He’d circled around using terrain to flank and engage the enemy with a set of Grav Spikes. The spikes blew the crew’s ammo dump sky high, and James, along with it. Ever the protector, he gave his life ensuring everyone else got to keep theirs. It was a bright, clear morning when we gathered at Arlington for the funeral. Three generations turned out in their dress uniforms. I was so lost in my own thoughts I hardly heard the rifle volley ring out. The last time I attended a service here, I was a little girl, and taps was playing for my uncle. I watched my father’s face as the honor guard folded the Winslow Accord colors before presenting the tightly packed triangle to him. Sure, there were tears in his eyes as he accepted the flag; the token final exchange of child for cloth. But there was fierce pride, too, as he returned the OIC salute. He had instilled the military traditions of honor, loyalty, and courage in us, and James hadn’t wavered from his duty to the last." All of us stuck around for a week or so after James’s funeral. Grieving, relaxing, telling stories about the good times we had growing up, feigning embarrassment as the inevitable photos from school and family vacations got handed around. Mostly, though, we were just there for each other, there for mom and dad, crying with them when things got too much, laughing with them when we were all reminded of some ridiculous drama that James had gotten us out of. Soon enough, the time came for us to part company and return to our separate units. I’ve been back for a day, now. I want to get guns up as soon as I can. James died fighting for what he believed in, for what we all believe in. And the best way I can honor him is to get out there and be the protector he can no longer be. I love you, bro. I'm gonna miss you
So many memories of my oldest brother James from when all five of us were growing up. We were army brats, always on the move from base to base, country to country as dad got reposted. With the stream of new schools, there was the inevitable fights with other kids, and when it wasn't the Bakers vs the world, well, we were fighting amongst ourselves. James was always the protector, the peacekeeper; the voice of reason. He’d keep the bullies at bay and stop things when we got out of control. Mom and dad had put him in charge of enough times that whenever "that tone" crept into his voice, we all pretty much froze and snapped to attention. I was only eight when James went into the army. Without his influence around the place, we all basically ran wild. I think my folks were relieved when, one by one, we all followed him into the service
When I heard my mom’s voice in the phone, I immediately knew something was wrong. James was KIA. They’d only found out this morning. I was to come home ASAP. Before I could say anything, she’d hung up. I had to get home. I informed my CO and packed my bags, trying my best not to let the shock of it knock me down. Dad met me off the transport, and while he drove us home, he told me what had happened. James’s unit was running escort, moving civs out of a hot zone when they were engaged by a hostile rocket crew, He’d circled around using terrain to flank and engage the enemy with a set of Grav Spikes. The spikes blew the crew’s ammo dump sky high, and James, along with it. Ever the protector, he gave his life ensuring everyone else got to keep theirs.
It was a bright, clear morning when we gathered at Arlington for the funeral. Three generations turned out in their dress uniforms. I was so lost in my own thoughts I hardly heard the rifle volley ring out. The last time I attended a service here, I was a little girl, and taps was playing for my uncle. I watched my father’s face as the honor guard folded the Winslow Accord colors before presenting the tightly packed triangle to him. Sure, there were tears in his eyes as he accepted the flag; the token final exchange of child for cloth. But there was fierce pride, too, as he returned the OIC salute. He had instilled the military traditions of honor, loyalty, and courage in us, and James hadn’t wavered from his duty to the last."
All of us stuck around for a week or so after James’s funeral. Grieving, relaxing, telling stories about the good times we had growing up, feigning embarrassment as the inevitable photos from school and family vacations got handed around. Mostly, though, we were just there for each other, there for mom and dad, crying with them when things got too much, laughing with them when we were all reminded of some ridiculous drama that James had gotten us out of. Soon enough, the time came for us to part company and return to our separate units. I’ve been back for a day, now. I want to get guns up as soon as I can. James died fighting for what he believed in, for what we all believe in. And the best way I can honor him is to get out there and be the protector he can no longer be. I love you, bro. I'm gonna miss you
I was an army brat, I'm planning on enlisting for the Marine Corps after high school
she uses every acronym possible lol
Anyone else think of Marco Reus when they see Battery's hair?
ily bro I'm gonna miss u #ripjames
The 2 Dislikes Are The 2 People That Died To The War Machine!
She's supposed to be a Ranger. Can I at least get a damn #RLTW ?
James has to be spectre
That'd be too cool
Welp, he was originally but they changed it
awsome
Ruin loves her
really? how do you know It?
+Lorenzo Etzi I know that because the way how they talk to each other
+TUNA SUB ah.... okay thanks
+Lorenzo Etzi watch ruin transmissions bro
+TUNA SUB sure m8
My question is why do all of the specialists have metal arms
OFFICIAL_DEER_BOY /taco master cybernetic enhancements
Big Henry 43 the winslow accord cyber ops. same as the ppl in the campaign
They dont
Firebreak, nomad, outrider, spectre, dont have
grab spikes? #rip ruin
Ruin is not her brother, she is just saying that her brother sacrificed himself in order to save is squad by using Ruins grav spikes.
Donnie Walsh is ruins name
Lol my name is James
Kia?
You still alive
@@xoxolove395 ayoo wat I am lol
Infamous 2 reference
where
+Space Potato at the very end, I love you bro (brother), and I'll always miss you
or ruin
what if her brother is spectre
how do you know if spectre real name is beavus
+Blak Jak dosent mean that's her name
+Blak Jak and butthead
+Blak Jak There is also theories about Spectre being a woman
+Brandon Soto that's what I think
am i the only one who thinks shes hot
Yeah
pierce keller no