Writer's Note: I have never been to Iraq, so I have no knowledge of what these experiences are truly like, nor what the locations truly look like. I can only go by what the media has shown me. To any veteran of the Iraq war, if this story is offensively inaccurate, let me know and I will remove it immediately. Thank you.

Chapter 1

Fear

A day like today would kill the common man. But Ronald Tadur had fallen far from the title of "common" long ago. As he slowly made his way down the streets of Baghdad, sweating in the burning, one-hundred-ten degree heat, he was loving the feel of nature. It was the environment he was born in, from the moment he popped out of his mother's womb back in Las Vegas, Nevada all those years ago, he was destined to be a man of the desert.

He just wished that it wasn't this desert.

The people of Iraq were good people, not really that different from anyone else in the world. What made them different was that they were nervous people; tortured by a growing band of fanatics begging for attention at the sake of the innocent. It could be seen in there eyes and heard in their tone of their voices when they spoke.

Ronald Tadur didn't plan on being a part of the chaos intertwined throughout this tortured culture; but, by choice, he was. He was a hero. Ronald was the name that only his mother called him anymore. Now…now, by ninety-nine percent of the world he was known as Dusty, desert trooper of the G.I. Joe Team.

Today we wore a modern military uniform, to help disguise his identity. Dusty roamed with a group of Army soldiers on their patrol through central Baghdad, heading back to the US Army's main base. Fellow Joe teammates Footloose and Hit & Run walked with him, but they were affected far more by the heat. Dusty could only smile at their gasps for air and sweating faces.

"You guys aren't looking so good."

"Don't you think it's a bit hot out today, Dusty?" asked Hit & Run.

"Sure I do." The Joe desert trooper pulled out a canteen and handed it to the Joe light infantryman. "But I don't spend all my time worrying about it. That just makes the problem worse." Hit & Run began chugging the water. "Whoa, slow down there, cowboy. You drink too much, that'll just add to the problem. You take care of yourself proper, and you might just begin to enjoy the sunshine."

"That's pretty deep, there, Dusty."

"Not really, Footloose. Just something a desert native forces himself to learn."

Hit & Run stared at Dusty while handing back the canteen. "Uh-huh."

The master sergeant of the military unit walked back to the Joes. "Everything all right with you guys?"

"Yes, Sergeant." Said Dusty. "Just stopping for a drink of water."

"Okay. Let's pick it up. We've got to be back at the base in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir!" said the Joes in unison.

The group started to make good time east, with only a couple of stops to talk with some Iraqi police and another infantry unit driving through town in a Hummer.

"Seems like a pretty laid-back day today, Sarge." commented Footloose.

"So far. But the day is young." The sergeant looked down the street towards a busy restaurant, and lifted up his rifle across his chest. Dusty walked up to him.

"Something bothering you?"

"I don't like the look of that area around that restaurant. It's really busy down there today." Dusty analyzed the sight two blocks down the road, and quickly respected the sergeant's quick eye. Due to the day's extreme heat, many customers were eating outside, underneath white umbrellas. The sidewalk was pack-full of people, and anyone trying to get around them had to step out onto the street.

The sergeant called up two of his men. "Get down there and walk the far side of the street. Look for anyone that looks like a suicide bomber."

"Yes, sir."

"What do you want us to do, sir?" asked Dusty.

"We need to stop traffic through this street. Take your men a block past the restaurant and start shutting it off. I'll use the rest of my guys to bar off this end."

"Yes, sir."

Briskly walking down the street, the Joe team walked past the restaurant, much to the nervous looks of the patrons. Desperately trying to keep their cool, the three elite troopers felt like trainees again, unsure of what to do in this new situation.

"Dusty, I'll take the far side of the street." Informed Hit & Run.

"Good." Replied the desert trooper. "See if any of those Iraqi Policeman can speak English and will help you." The Light Infantryman nodded and ran off, dodging traffic.

"What do we do, man?" asked Footloose, lost in the dizzying flow of traffic.

Dusty grabbed some traffic cones that were set at the corner of a building. "They must keep these around for just such a coincidence. Take those wooden bars and start blocking off the lanes."

"What about the people?"

"We can't stop them from walking. Just work on the cars."

Amidst a heavy barrage of car horns, the Joes—along with the Iraqi police—began blocking off the densely populated city block. Once the task was completed, Hit & Run ran back and rejoined the Joes at the street corner.

"Well, the people don't like it, but it's done." Said the light infantryman.

"I don't think those police are too happy with us, either." Pointed out Footloose. His teammates looked over to see the law enforcers being swamped by local Iraqi's, all wanting to know what was going on. A swarm was beginning to form around the Joes as well, but not a single word made any sense to the guys.

But the sight coming down the street did.

"Get these people out of the way now!" barked Dusty. Swinging his trademark FAMAS sub-machine gun into firing position, the desert trooper clicked off the safety. A dented, orange car was charging down the city street, and was making no hints at stopping at the traffic cones. Dusty opened fire, shattering the windshield. The driver was killed instantly, and the car began to swerve out of control, but it was too late. The car's momentum sent it the twenty yards more it needed to blaze past the Joes and crash into the crowd around the restaurant.

Then, it exploded.

A concussive force strong enough to crack a tank slammed into Dusty, Footloose and Hit & Run. Flying almost ten feet down the street, the Joe's bodies hit the pavement and rolled. After a few moments, some Baghdad natives helped the troops stand back up.

Dusty could barely keep his eyes open, but quickly snapped to attention when he saw the ball of smoke and blazing fire engulfing the people around the restaurant.

"Damn!" Dusty stumbled forward, but was caught by a native, who said something to him. The Joe nodded and tried to calm the man down, then looked behind him. "Footloose, Hit & Run, speak to me, are you all right?"

"Yeah…yeah, Dusty. I'm okay." Said Footloose.

"I may have cracked a rib." Groaned Hit & Run.

"Then you go check on the police. Footloose, let's get the people out of there, pronto!"

"You got it, dude!"

The Joes attempted to return to the restaurant, but the hysteria in the area made movement down the street five times harder than before. Regrettably, the sounds of police and ambulance sirens were the only force able to make cracks in the mob of people.

Dusty had never seen so much blood, and Footloose could barely keep his already unstable mind together. The former hippie started to crack with laughter but Dusty slapped him back into reality. "Not now, Footloose! Not now!" His fellow Joe stared at him until the laughter settled. He sniffed, then coughed from the smoke.

"Yes, sir. What do you want me to do?"

Dusty slapped him on the shoulder. "Get the injured people that can still walk down the street towards the ambulances. Move it. Yo Joe!"

Footloose nodded with a slight shake. "Y-yo Joe!"

As his friend began herding the hunched over, stumbling wounded down the street, Dusty knelt down amidst a group of locals that were checking bodies for any survivors. They were few and far between. Ronald Tadur was nearing the point of panic that he had just rescued Footlose from.

After less than a minute, the Army sergeant pushed his way onto the scene, followed by a large unit of Iraqi policemen. "Dusty! What are you doing here?"

Taken aback by the question, the Joe desert trooper moved past a crying woman over to another body. "I'm checking for survivors, sir. The rest of my team is moving any still able to walk down to the ambulances."

"That'll be enough for now. The police are here and will take over."

"But--."

"That'll be enough for now, Sergeant Tadur!" The Master Sergeant reached out his hand. "Please come with me, now."

Dusty looked down at the body lying on the ground before him, and bit his lip. Accepting the Sergeant's hand, he let himself be pulled up and walked out of the restaurant.

Footloose and Hit & Run stood at the street corner with the rest of the Army squad, looking almost as angry as Dusty.

Almost.

Once the group of American soldiers began walking again, the Sergeant spoke up again, "Look, I know that you three are probably all pretty pissed off at me right now, and I understand why. We all want to help the people at that bombing. But I have been given orders by my commanding officer to leave the situation up to the Iraqi police. We've been taking care of all of the Baghdad law enforcement for so long, that the Colonel thinks we need to let the Iraqi's take care of a few things by themselves."

"But we could at least help out a little." Said Hit & Run.

"We did." Replied the Sergeant. "We blocked off the city street, a move which will probably get me a serious verbal whiplash back at base. But I have a basic order that doesn't change anymore: if there is a terrorist bombing, and police have arrived at the area, I am ordered to return to base immediately."

"But over a dozen people just died back there!" barked Dusty. "I can't just leave that!"

"You're out of order! You may be a G.I. Joe, but on this day you are under my command." The Sergeant took a deep breath, and talked quietly, "If we answer all the questions for them, how will the Iraqi's ever pass the tests themselves?"

Slumped in defeat, the Joes looked back at the smoke, then turned around, trying to ignore the sirens and the screaming.

"Okay. Let's go."

"I'm sorry, Dusty. I hate it, too."

1.

"Looks like you got a little beat-up today."

Dusty leaned forward to see Flint walk into the injury-room at the Army Base. He always looked so chipper and bright with his Warrant Officer's uniform on, polished to perfection. His smile was said to be a lady-killer. Most G.I. Joe men just wanted to punch him when they saw it. Of course, he was second-in-command of the G.I. Joe ground forces, a fact that still boggled most Joe members. He was sharp, skilled and very bold, but he was also out-ranked by over a dozen men on the force, and he even out-ranked Duke, the ground-force leader. Nevertheless, he was numero-dos, and you couldn't help but be amazed at the guy.

"Hey, Flint."

The Joe Warrant Officer sat at the end of Dusty's bed. "You okay?" The look on his face told Dusty that he understood everything.

"I keep seeing the faces, Flint. I don't give a damn about what happened to me. I just wish…"

"That the faces could have moved one more time?"

"Yeah. I guess so." Dusty looked out the window.

"Hey, despite what happened, you did great, pal. You're a hero. I'm afraid there's going to be another medal for you guys." Flint braced himself for the reply.

"I don't want a medal for this!" A look of panic smacked the desert trooper's face. "S-sorry, sir."

Flint raised a hand. "That's all right. If I complain about your attitude today, what would that say about me?" Flint stood up. "Look, despite what happened, I have a request, Dusty: I need you for a mission."

"Sir, I—"

"The entire team of Joes that I need are here, and the only missing piece…is you. You are critical to the success of this mission."

"I was hoping for a couple of days to regain my wits, you know?"

Flint nodded. "I know. But we don't have a couple of days. We have just a few hours."

Dusty gulped some air and closed his eyes, but could only see faces. "Flint, I just can't—"

Flint held out his hand, and Dusty jumped. The Joe Warrant Officer pondered the action for a moment, then pulled his hand back. "Can you at least sit in on the briefing? After you hear what I need you for, you might just change your mind."

After thinking for a few seconds, Dusty asked, "What about Footloose and Hit & Run?"

"They're in."

Sergeant Ronald Tadur quivered and thought about why the other guys would join the mission. Perhaps because they hadn't been so close to the bodies as he had. Footloose was a real surprise. He seemed on the brink of insanity, but was still willing to test his limits once again. And Hit & Run? Hadn't he broken his ribs? If those guys were going to join the mission after suffering that much, then Dusty could to. He was a hero, after all.

Dammit.

"Okay, Flint. I'll listen."