STRIKE Team Omega

The year 1999 arrived bringing new challenges for John. After months of intense training in the army, being exceptional in both physical and theoretical aspects, he was selected to try to join the Green Berets, the United States Army Special Forces. It was not something he expected so soon, but his instructors, impressed by his discipline, skills and natural leadership, knew he was destined for something greater.

The Special Forces training, the difficult and famous Q-Course, was even more rigorous than anything he had ever been through. Each phase was a test of physical and mental endurance, designed to push recruits beyond their limits and form elite operators. John, however, embraced each challenge with determination and discipline, qualities that set him apart from his peers. However, more than his brute strength or combat skills, what impressed everyone was his ability to care for others, to always put his teammates above himself.

The sun was rising, painting the horizon with soft pinks and oranges as John and his platoon wrapped up one of their last training missions in the field. They had gone days without proper sleep, surviving on minimal rations, pushing through the dense terrain of North Carolina.

"Hawke, over here!" one of the recruits whispered, pointing to a rise ahead. "I think we have movement."

John approached, slipping through the undergrowth. His trained eyes quickly identified what his teammate had seen, a group of "enemy" trainees hiding behind some trees. Without making a sound, he signaled to the rest of his team.

"Form an arc. We attack from the sides. Make no sound," John murmured, his words firm but calm.

The team followed his orders without question. They trusted him more than anyone else. In that moment, John was not just another soldier; he was their natural leader. The operation was swift and precise. Each member of his team played their role perfectly, and minutes later, the group of "enemies" had been neutralized. Everything went according to plan, without a single mistake.

"Good job, Hawke!" the drill sergeant shouted after the simulation. "Your command was impeccable."

But John, instead of celebrating, walked over to his teammate, who was kneeling next to a tree, holding his ankle.

"Is everything okay?" John asked, helping his teammate to stand up.

"Just a sprain, nothing serious," he replied, trying to hide the pain.

John helped him support himself, making sure that his "training partner" would not fall behind. This did not go unnoticed by the instructors. For John, taking care of his brothers in arms was a priority, something he took seriously, almost obsessively. He had no family, and his teammates had become his only possible family.

Months later, at the end of all the training, the graduation ceremony finally arrived. John was among the best in his class, and to no one's surprise, he was announced as the best of all, receiving the Green Beret insignia directly from the colonel in charge of the command.

"Hawke, you stood out not only for your physical abilities, but for what you demonstrated here," the colonel said, looking at John with genuine respect. "A leader takes care of his men, and you exemplify that in every way."

As the other recruits applauded, John stood still, with a slight smile on his face. For him, this wasn't about being the best or receiving awards. It was about the team, about making sure everyone did well on missions. He didn't want personal glory, just that no one was left behind.

Peter, his bootcamp buddy, who had also entered training and graduated as a Green Beret, approached with a wide smile on his face.

"Man, you're like Captain America!" Peter joked, patting John on the shoulder.

"Don't start with that..." John smiled, shaking his head.

But the joke stuck. Over the next few weeks, as he and his team prepared for their first real missions, the nickname "Captain America" began to spread. Every time John took care of someone or led an operation successfully, the others began to joke that he was the "modern-day Steve Rogers."

In fact, John had admired Steve Rogers, Captain America, since he was a little boy. His sacrifice, his sense of duty, and most of all, his ability to care for others while facing danger was something he had always looked up to. But John had never seen himself as a true hero. He saw Steve Rogers as a possible ideal, something to strive for but not to achieve.

One night, after an intensive training session, the group was gathered in the barracks, laughing and telling stories. Peter, always the most outgoing, stood up with a beer in his hand and looked at John.

"Okay, guys, I have to ask you." He paused dramatically. — "If Captain America and John Hawke got into a fight, who do you think would win?"

The group burst out laughing.

"I don't know, man," said one of the other operator. "I think Captain America, even if he's a super soldier, would have to fight hard. Our 'Captain' here doesn't mess around."

John shook his head, laughing too. "I'm not Captain America, Peter. I just do what any of us would do."

Peter raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. But you have to admit, you look just like him. Always looking out for us, always the first one in and the last one out. It's only a matter of time before you get a shield!"

John laughed, but there was a deep truth to the joke. He didn't see it as a compliment. To him, it was a reminder of the weight he carried. He felt an innate responsibility to his teammates, something that went beyond training or duty. It was an almost desperate need to make sure no one was left alone, that no one had to face what he had faced when he lost his parents.

The first missions came soon after graduation. The Green Berets were not sent to easy places, and John soon found himself in combat zones, clandestine operations, and high-risk situations. Each mission brought its own challenges, but the team always returned, intact, thanks in part to John's meticulous care.

During one mission in the Middle East, his team was tasked with rescuing hostages held by a terrorist group in a heavily guarded compound. It was a delicate operation, fraught with risk. During the infiltration, one of the soldiers, Miller, suffered a broken leg while jumping out of a helicopter.

"Captain, we have to leave him. There's no time," Peter said, his tone mixed with urgency and concern.

John glanced at Miller, who was clearly trying to hide his pain. He knew what the mission required, but leaving a man behind was not an option for him.

"We're not leaving him," John replied firmly. "We'll find another way."

Calmly and coolly, John organized the team, redistributing the weight of Miller's equipment among the team and finding an alternate route. They managed to complete the mission and return safely, with Miller sick but alive.

On the way back to base, as the helicopter cut through the night sky, Peter looked at John and, with a tired smile, said,

"You're the modern-day Captain America, man."

John just smiled, looking out at the dark horizon. He knew he wasn't a superhero. He didn't have a shield, he didn't have super strength. What he did have was a family, and to him, that was everything.

Later that night, as he lay in his narrow bed in the barracks, John thought about Peter's words. Maybe there was some truth to that joke. Maybe he was trying to be something more than a soldier. Not a hero from the movies, but someone his teammates could trust, someone who would never leave them behind. And deep down, that was all he'd ever wanted. A family to care for, and a purpose to guide him.