The Falcon in this story is the Falcon from the GI Joe Movie, who is Duke's half-brother. If you hate the fact that the movie made him Duke's half-brother, then I wouldn't read this. I don't remember him much from the comic books, so I just went by the cartoon. Special thanks to Kase, for being my tech advisor, my beta-reader & of course, best friend.
90 DAY WONDER
That's all it took, Falcone told himself, 90 days, and bam, instant officer. 3 months. It's not like Falcone had a choice, he HAD to be in the military. His family would've practically disowned him if he even thought of not enlisting at 18, like his half-brother, Conrad. A lot of people called him by his nickname, Duke, but Falcone preferred the term "Golden Boy." Falcone's father was career army, a Green Beret full colonel when he retired, and his grandfather had been a WWII hero. In fact, you could probably trace the Falcone's military history back to the Revolutionary war. That's why on his 18th birthday, Vincent Falcone knew, there was no question. he was joining.
He survived basic training, a feat that even amazed him, seeing as he wasn't one to be told what to do, or who believed in following orders. But still, it's kind of hard, seeing as the minute you step off that bus, you're thrown into another world entirely. You know immediately that it will be a long time before you, or anyone else are able to think for yourself, let alone object to something you were told to do. Falcone smiled as he remembered his early basic training days, learning to march, to work as a team, but most importantly, to avoid the snake pit area in the mess hall. More than once Falcone's drill instructor would get in his face for being a step behind in formation. He shuddered to think of what would happen if he really screwed up. Much different than a high school dean sighing, and saying how he was "disappointed in you." But, he kept his nose clean, he passed with flying colors, despite his family's expectations of failure.
He figured his mom would just about faint after he told her that he was planning on getting his bars. Last week before you graduate basic, they give you this list, with any MOS open to you listed on it. Falcon figured he had to have scored good; well enough on his ASVAB test to qualify for Officer Candidate School. But, that meant going through another 12 weeks of a basic training like atmosphere.
"Mom, hey, it's me, Falc... Vince." He said into the receiver. Falcon knew he wouldn't have much time to talk. Last three weeks of basic, they let you have a phone call, if you didn't get too many hits. As long as you played their game right, folded your shirts the right way, exactly six inches in length, and you made sure your socks were put in the drawer, smiley face up, you were okay. The mess hall, that's always where you took the most hits. Going past the snake pit.
The snake pit is where all your drill instructors would sit, waiting to strike. It was impossible to walk past them without taking at least three hits. 12 hits, and you didn't get your phone call.
"Vincent! It's so good to hear your voice." Falcone smiled, knowing it was good to hear her voice, any voice for that fact, calling you by your first name, rather than just Falcone or Private.
"Yeah, good to hear your voice, too. Hey, I got some news, I picked my MOS."
"And?"
"I'm going to be an officer." There was silence on the other end. "Mom? Did you hear me? I made it into OCS."
"That's... that's great, Vincent. Are you sure that's what you want to do? 90 days of training, that's a long time." His father had almost busted a gut laughing last week when he told him he was going to apply. "Conrad has a nice career, and he isn't an officer." Golden Boy again.
"Conrad has to work for a living. My grades here were good enough. Mom, this is what I want to do."
"Is that why? Because you think officers' don't work? Your father worked very hard as an..."
"Mom, it's an expression, it's a basic training thing, I guess." It's what happens the first time you make a mistake and call your Drill Instructor "sir."
"Sir? DID YOU CALL ME, SIR, PRIVATE? YOU SEE THESE STRIPES? I WORK FOR A LIVING!"
There was another long pause on the phone.
"Look, there's others waiting to use the phone, so I should go. Just tell Dad... tell him I made it in. Tell Golden Boy, too." Falcone smiled at the image, his older half brother having to salute him, call him sir. It wasn't that he didn't like Conrad, it was just that he had been in his shadow for long enough. The phrase "Why can't you be more like your brother" was etched in his head.
"I'm sure they'll be very proud of you, dear." She said, as Falcone cradled the receiver. For some reason, he doubted it.
90 days ago, Falcone graduated basic training, and rather than take some leave time and go home, he went straight to OCS, figuring it would be easier. He knew if he went home, he was bound to slack off, get used to sleeping late, and not doing P.T. everyday. 90 days ago came and went, with both of his parents there to see him graduate, but not Golden Boy.
"He tried." His mother explained. "But he couldn't get any leave time right now."
90 days later, and once again, Golden Boy was going to let him down. Falcone figured he was owed this one thing, since he made it a point to go to all of Conrad's graduations. First high school, then basic training, and that ceremony they had when he made first shirt. That one hurt most of all. Falcone was supposed to go to a party at Sandy Jensen's, a private party with him, Sandy, and his old friend, the Trojan man.
"You have to understand." His mother told him, when she let him know Golden Boy wasn't coming. "Your brother is very busy."
"Mom, a commissioning, it's a once in a lifetime thing. Basic training, I could understand, but missing this, I was hoping..." Falcone didn't finish his sentence. He was secretly hoping his first salute would come from his big brother. Especially since he was graduating red-rope, tops in his class. Falcone was proud of himself, and it seemed to him that he was the only one.
The night before graduation, he hit town with a few fellow soon-to-be officers. They went to blow off a little steam, get some well-deserved rest, maybe chase some tail. There were a few females in the OCS program, but Falcone always made it a habit to not play with anyone who knew where he slept. He knew he was good looking, a hottie, the girls in high school called him. He saw more than his share of action there, too, and 90 days, 90 days was a long time to go without.
"You must be a ticket," One of his classmates tried on the bar waitress. "Because you have FINE written all over you." Falcone nearly spit out his beer laughing at him. The fellow cadet knew nothing about how to score, but at least he opened the door for Falcone to glide right in.
"You'll have to excuse old Wooldridge." He told her, as he poured on the Carolina charm. "He's about as smooth as hominy grits." The waitress said she liked his accent, had a "thing" for southern boys. Good old Wooldridge. Falcone would have to thank him for that notch.
He barely made it back on campus in time for graduation, but it was something he wasn't about to miss, even if Shelly, Shirley, Shelby... Even if the waitress was upset he wasn't sticking around for breakfast. He figured she'd get over it, they always did.
He bragged his latest conquest to his buddies, as he showered in record time and got dressed for graduation. He ran a quick comb through his hair as he made sure everything was in inspection order, shirts starched, jacket pressed, ribbons even, perfectly spaced. He grinned as he paused to check out his reflection in the mirror. If possible, the uniform made him even better looking. And chicks dig officers, he told himself, convinced now more than ever that he made the right choice. 90 days was a long time, it was a lot of work. Now it was time for it to pay off.
Falcone sat on the stage with the other cadets, minutes away from being commissioned. It was an even more impressive ceremony than high school graduation, and, Falcone noted, twice as long. He tried to pay attention while the General gave his speech, talking about the responsibility and long road that lie ahead of them, but finally, it was time. He watched as cadet after cadet was commissioned, as family members would pin on their bars. Then someone, a friend, a family member, a non-com or enlisted man would come up, and give that first salute. As an officer, it was customary for you to give them a coin in return, usually a silver dollar. The military was big on that, giving coins. Falcone still couldn't understand why. Finally his name was called. "Vincent Falcone." He raised his right hand, and repeated the words that meant he would soon be a second lieutenant. He beamed as his parents each pinned a gold bar onto his lapel.
"Good work, el-tee." His father told him, as he winked at his son.
"We have a surprise for you Vincent." His mother said as Falcon scanned the auditorium for Golden Boy, figuring that had to be what the surprise was. He was being dramatic, Falcone thought. Sitting away from his parents, so he wouldn't notice him. Any minute, he would march up the steps, wearing his full dress, and give a perfect salute. Falcone had a silver dollar in his pocket saved just for this occasion. Someone was coming from the crowd, but it wasn't Conrad.
"Your cousin, Tara came to see you!" Tara was a lance corporal with the Marine Corps. Falcon tried not to look too disappointed as she performed the kind of salute only a marine could. He returned it, and reluctantly, as was the custom, handed over the shiny silver dollar to the first soldier who saluted him.
Golden Boy did manage to call that night, at the restaurant where his parents took him and a couple of buddies to celebrate. Falcone's big fear was that he would sound like a crybaby, he didn't want to show Conrad how disappointed he was. Because being disappointed would mean that he cared, and at this point, he didn't.
"Hey! Congratulations Lieutenant!" Golden Boy said on the other side of the phone. "I knew you could do it."
Falcone held off from saying a sarcastic "yeah, right" and instead answered: "Thanks."
"Sorry I couldn't make it, kid, but I hear you're looking into the Green Berets."
"Yeah." Falcone replied, still sulking.
"You know, chicks dig Green Berets." Conrad joked. Falcone smiled at that. It wasn't something Golden Boy usually said. "Listen, you do as good there as I hear you did in OCS, and maybe you'll hook up with the outfit I'm in."
"Why? So I can blow off things that are important to other people, too?" Falcone snapped. immediately regretting it. He hated showing his family and friends that this would bother him, but he couldn't hold it in any more. He heard the heavy sigh from the other side of the phone.
"You'll understand someday, kiddo."
Duke didn't know how right he was. Within a year, Falcone made it through Beret training, and was signed up with G.I. Joe. Not tops this time, but just getting through was challenging enough. Like the song said, 100 men we'll test today, but only three make the Green Beret. Falcone was one of those three. He dropped the "e" at the end of his last name, and just became "Falcon." He was used to it, and it suited him.
He drove his own car, a 68 cherry red Mustang Convertible to the Pit, where he was greeted by his older brother.
"Welcome to the team...Sir." Duke said, grinning and giving him the long awaited salute. Falcon wanted to be angry. He wanted to tell his older brother off, yell at him for always being the perfect one, let him know how badly his feelings were hurt at graduation, but he couldn't. He knew what G.I. Joe was about, he knew how important their job was. He only wished he had known that his brother was a part of it. He may have been a little more understanding. After a minute of staring into his brothers ice blue eyes, his anger faded, Falcon smiled, and returned the salute.
"I hear you did good, real good." His big brother commented, as he took one of Falcon's bags. "Not like when you were in high school, getting suspended every other week, or when..."
"So," Falcon cut him off. "Where do the girls hang out?"
"Nice to see at least some things never change." Duke said, with a shake of his head, and with that, Falcon was home.
90 DAY WONDER
That's all it took, Falcone told himself, 90 days, and bam, instant officer. 3 months. It's not like Falcone had a choice, he HAD to be in the military. His family would've practically disowned him if he even thought of not enlisting at 18, like his half-brother, Conrad. A lot of people called him by his nickname, Duke, but Falcone preferred the term "Golden Boy." Falcone's father was career army, a Green Beret full colonel when he retired, and his grandfather had been a WWII hero. In fact, you could probably trace the Falcone's military history back to the Revolutionary war. That's why on his 18th birthday, Vincent Falcone knew, there was no question. he was joining.
He survived basic training, a feat that even amazed him, seeing as he wasn't one to be told what to do, or who believed in following orders. But still, it's kind of hard, seeing as the minute you step off that bus, you're thrown into another world entirely. You know immediately that it will be a long time before you, or anyone else are able to think for yourself, let alone object to something you were told to do. Falcone smiled as he remembered his early basic training days, learning to march, to work as a team, but most importantly, to avoid the snake pit area in the mess hall. More than once Falcone's drill instructor would get in his face for being a step behind in formation. He shuddered to think of what would happen if he really screwed up. Much different than a high school dean sighing, and saying how he was "disappointed in you." But, he kept his nose clean, he passed with flying colors, despite his family's expectations of failure.
He figured his mom would just about faint after he told her that he was planning on getting his bars. Last week before you graduate basic, they give you this list, with any MOS open to you listed on it. Falcon figured he had to have scored good; well enough on his ASVAB test to qualify for Officer Candidate School. But, that meant going through another 12 weeks of a basic training like atmosphere.
"Mom, hey, it's me, Falc... Vince." He said into the receiver. Falcon knew he wouldn't have much time to talk. Last three weeks of basic, they let you have a phone call, if you didn't get too many hits. As long as you played their game right, folded your shirts the right way, exactly six inches in length, and you made sure your socks were put in the drawer, smiley face up, you were okay. The mess hall, that's always where you took the most hits. Going past the snake pit.
The snake pit is where all your drill instructors would sit, waiting to strike. It was impossible to walk past them without taking at least three hits. 12 hits, and you didn't get your phone call.
"Vincent! It's so good to hear your voice." Falcone smiled, knowing it was good to hear her voice, any voice for that fact, calling you by your first name, rather than just Falcone or Private.
"Yeah, good to hear your voice, too. Hey, I got some news, I picked my MOS."
"And?"
"I'm going to be an officer." There was silence on the other end. "Mom? Did you hear me? I made it into OCS."
"That's... that's great, Vincent. Are you sure that's what you want to do? 90 days of training, that's a long time." His father had almost busted a gut laughing last week when he told him he was going to apply. "Conrad has a nice career, and he isn't an officer." Golden Boy again.
"Conrad has to work for a living. My grades here were good enough. Mom, this is what I want to do."
"Is that why? Because you think officers' don't work? Your father worked very hard as an..."
"Mom, it's an expression, it's a basic training thing, I guess." It's what happens the first time you make a mistake and call your Drill Instructor "sir."
"Sir? DID YOU CALL ME, SIR, PRIVATE? YOU SEE THESE STRIPES? I WORK FOR A LIVING!"
There was another long pause on the phone.
"Look, there's others waiting to use the phone, so I should go. Just tell Dad... tell him I made it in. Tell Golden Boy, too." Falcone smiled at the image, his older half brother having to salute him, call him sir. It wasn't that he didn't like Conrad, it was just that he had been in his shadow for long enough. The phrase "Why can't you be more like your brother" was etched in his head.
"I'm sure they'll be very proud of you, dear." She said, as Falcone cradled the receiver. For some reason, he doubted it.
90 days ago, Falcone graduated basic training, and rather than take some leave time and go home, he went straight to OCS, figuring it would be easier. He knew if he went home, he was bound to slack off, get used to sleeping late, and not doing P.T. everyday. 90 days ago came and went, with both of his parents there to see him graduate, but not Golden Boy.
"He tried." His mother explained. "But he couldn't get any leave time right now."
90 days later, and once again, Golden Boy was going to let him down. Falcone figured he was owed this one thing, since he made it a point to go to all of Conrad's graduations. First high school, then basic training, and that ceremony they had when he made first shirt. That one hurt most of all. Falcone was supposed to go to a party at Sandy Jensen's, a private party with him, Sandy, and his old friend, the Trojan man.
"You have to understand." His mother told him, when she let him know Golden Boy wasn't coming. "Your brother is very busy."
"Mom, a commissioning, it's a once in a lifetime thing. Basic training, I could understand, but missing this, I was hoping..." Falcone didn't finish his sentence. He was secretly hoping his first salute would come from his big brother. Especially since he was graduating red-rope, tops in his class. Falcone was proud of himself, and it seemed to him that he was the only one.
The night before graduation, he hit town with a few fellow soon-to-be officers. They went to blow off a little steam, get some well-deserved rest, maybe chase some tail. There were a few females in the OCS program, but Falcone always made it a habit to not play with anyone who knew where he slept. He knew he was good looking, a hottie, the girls in high school called him. He saw more than his share of action there, too, and 90 days, 90 days was a long time to go without.
"You must be a ticket," One of his classmates tried on the bar waitress. "Because you have FINE written all over you." Falcone nearly spit out his beer laughing at him. The fellow cadet knew nothing about how to score, but at least he opened the door for Falcone to glide right in.
"You'll have to excuse old Wooldridge." He told her, as he poured on the Carolina charm. "He's about as smooth as hominy grits." The waitress said she liked his accent, had a "thing" for southern boys. Good old Wooldridge. Falcone would have to thank him for that notch.
He barely made it back on campus in time for graduation, but it was something he wasn't about to miss, even if Shelly, Shirley, Shelby... Even if the waitress was upset he wasn't sticking around for breakfast. He figured she'd get over it, they always did.
He bragged his latest conquest to his buddies, as he showered in record time and got dressed for graduation. He ran a quick comb through his hair as he made sure everything was in inspection order, shirts starched, jacket pressed, ribbons even, perfectly spaced. He grinned as he paused to check out his reflection in the mirror. If possible, the uniform made him even better looking. And chicks dig officers, he told himself, convinced now more than ever that he made the right choice. 90 days was a long time, it was a lot of work. Now it was time for it to pay off.
Falcone sat on the stage with the other cadets, minutes away from being commissioned. It was an even more impressive ceremony than high school graduation, and, Falcone noted, twice as long. He tried to pay attention while the General gave his speech, talking about the responsibility and long road that lie ahead of them, but finally, it was time. He watched as cadet after cadet was commissioned, as family members would pin on their bars. Then someone, a friend, a family member, a non-com or enlisted man would come up, and give that first salute. As an officer, it was customary for you to give them a coin in return, usually a silver dollar. The military was big on that, giving coins. Falcone still couldn't understand why. Finally his name was called. "Vincent Falcone." He raised his right hand, and repeated the words that meant he would soon be a second lieutenant. He beamed as his parents each pinned a gold bar onto his lapel.
"Good work, el-tee." His father told him, as he winked at his son.
"We have a surprise for you Vincent." His mother said as Falcon scanned the auditorium for Golden Boy, figuring that had to be what the surprise was. He was being dramatic, Falcone thought. Sitting away from his parents, so he wouldn't notice him. Any minute, he would march up the steps, wearing his full dress, and give a perfect salute. Falcone had a silver dollar in his pocket saved just for this occasion. Someone was coming from the crowd, but it wasn't Conrad.
"Your cousin, Tara came to see you!" Tara was a lance corporal with the Marine Corps. Falcon tried not to look too disappointed as she performed the kind of salute only a marine could. He returned it, and reluctantly, as was the custom, handed over the shiny silver dollar to the first soldier who saluted him.
Golden Boy did manage to call that night, at the restaurant where his parents took him and a couple of buddies to celebrate. Falcone's big fear was that he would sound like a crybaby, he didn't want to show Conrad how disappointed he was. Because being disappointed would mean that he cared, and at this point, he didn't.
"Hey! Congratulations Lieutenant!" Golden Boy said on the other side of the phone. "I knew you could do it."
Falcone held off from saying a sarcastic "yeah, right" and instead answered: "Thanks."
"Sorry I couldn't make it, kid, but I hear you're looking into the Green Berets."
"Yeah." Falcone replied, still sulking.
"You know, chicks dig Green Berets." Conrad joked. Falcone smiled at that. It wasn't something Golden Boy usually said. "Listen, you do as good there as I hear you did in OCS, and maybe you'll hook up with the outfit I'm in."
"Why? So I can blow off things that are important to other people, too?" Falcone snapped. immediately regretting it. He hated showing his family and friends that this would bother him, but he couldn't hold it in any more. He heard the heavy sigh from the other side of the phone.
"You'll understand someday, kiddo."
Duke didn't know how right he was. Within a year, Falcone made it through Beret training, and was signed up with G.I. Joe. Not tops this time, but just getting through was challenging enough. Like the song said, 100 men we'll test today, but only three make the Green Beret. Falcone was one of those three. He dropped the "e" at the end of his last name, and just became "Falcon." He was used to it, and it suited him.
He drove his own car, a 68 cherry red Mustang Convertible to the Pit, where he was greeted by his older brother.
"Welcome to the team...Sir." Duke said, grinning and giving him the long awaited salute. Falcon wanted to be angry. He wanted to tell his older brother off, yell at him for always being the perfect one, let him know how badly his feelings were hurt at graduation, but he couldn't. He knew what G.I. Joe was about, he knew how important their job was. He only wished he had known that his brother was a part of it. He may have been a little more understanding. After a minute of staring into his brothers ice blue eyes, his anger faded, Falcon smiled, and returned the salute.
"I hear you did good, real good." His big brother commented, as he took one of Falcon's bags. "Not like when you were in high school, getting suspended every other week, or when..."
"So," Falcon cut him off. "Where do the girls hang out?"
"Nice to see at least some things never change." Duke said, with a shake of his head, and with that, Falcon was home.