Part 3
Diana M.
Conrad sat mutely looking out the car window as St Louis flashed by. He had
been surprised when his mother volunteered to take him to the airport; she
usually left that task to Jack, saying goodbye at the house. When he had left for
'Nam, his mother had sobbed and kissed him repeatedly, but refused to go to
see him off. It was to painful for Jane Falcone to watch her first boy actually leave.
She couldn't bear to see that cold, impersonal plane loft him into the sky and away
from her safe, loving arms. A plane similar to the one that had carried Conrad's
murdered father back to Germany to be buried on family ground. She
had come home from the funeral and never flown again.
So it was with a combination of surprise and concern that kept Conrad quiet
as he sat next to his mother as they drove towards the airport and the plane that would
take him, unbeknownst to her, into more danger than he had ever faced before. He
turned from the window and saw that the tears had not yet stopped falling.
Perhaps he should have offered to drive out. But she had already turned down
Jack's offer, and forbade anyone else to accompany them. They were alone
together. This reminded Conrad ever more of his father's death. The few years they
had spent, just the two of them, had been both terrible and wonderful. He rarely
had her to himself since then.
Conrad leaned back in his seat and sighed deeply.
How long do you think it will be before we see you again? Jane Falcone
stared intently at the road ahead.
I'm not sure, he turned to face her again, I think it could be a while this time.
And we only had you a little while. Vincent, Drew and Jennifer never get to
see their big brother. She dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue.
They'll be OK. Vincent's almost a teenager, and the girls never saw much
of me, anyway, Conrad offered his mother a clean tissue from the box on the floor,
Besides, most men my age would be starting a family of their own by now, anyhow.
I know, I know, a fresh river of tears coursed their way down her cheeks, and
I'd have grandchildren, and a daughter in law to deal with, She smiled at him with
wet eyes, you don't seem to have anyone,dear.
No, I don't have time for anything serious.
Aren't you lonely? She sounded concerned.
Conrad ran his fingers through his hair, Truthfully...yes.
Sometimes, when its late, and dark, and I'm all alone, I get real lonely, he thought
to himself of all those nights on base when he went alone to bed, longing for someone
to talk to. Worse were the special missions, when he could spend days huddled in
some blind or hideout, silently watching his most recent target. That loneliness could
eat through a man quickly, leaving a bitter,cold shell. Conrad had almost lost himself
several times. There were a few debriefing sessions he would rather never think
about again, But, Mom, I don't have time for anyone.
You should make time, Conrad. You work too hard. You serve your country
well, dear, but you forget about yourself.
He wished he could. Conrad doubted he could find a woman who
would put up with the constant disappearances his secret missions caused. Base
life was hard enough on a relationship. Few women could stand life with a man
called away mysteriously and often. It was tough on his family already. He kept
them from finding out what he was really doing by being known as an instructor
important enough to be mostly inaccessible.
A sign on the side of the expressway announced the airport was nearing.
They had managed to distract themselves for a little while, but the inevitable soon
became unavoidable. Conrad watched as his mother grabbed the tissue pile
that had collected next to her on the seat and began stuffing a few into her sleeves
for later use. He laughed softly to himself. For as long as he could remember, his
mother had always had a tissue stashed up her sleeve; for wiping runny noses,
dabbing cuts, spit shining faces, or soothing away tears.
They lapsed into silence again, trapped by the coming goodbye that neither
of them could face, let alone discuss. They pulled off the expressway, and turned into
the airport. Everywhere, planes of all sizes were landing and taking off. Hundreds of
people on the move; some arriving, some leaving, some just stopping through. So
many destinies reached and begun; all from this one point. Conrad wondered
just what he was getting himself into. Abernathy had said his life was going to take
a drastic turn, but he hadn't said where.
Which terminal, dear? His mother was quiet; matter of fact. There was no
turning back now.
American. Over there.
She pulled the car over to the white curb. They sat in silence for a minute.
You don't want to see me off? Conrad wasn't sure which he preferred.
No..No, I don't think so, dear. The curb was a bustle of passengers being
picked up and dropped off. No, I'll say a quick goodbye here, she fished a tissue
from her sleeve and reached to pull the lever that popped the trunk. It opened with a
metallic thud. They climbed out and he swung his ruck and duffel from the trunk to the
curb. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to face her. His mother; smiling
at him while tears flowed freely from her soft loving eyes. She was the strongest
person he knew, really. She had worked hard to keep him going after his father had
died and left them alone. Together, they had taken on the world, and won.
Make sure you get enough sleep, and eat three square meals a day, you hear
me? She dabbed her eyes with the crumpled tissue, And don't drink too much, it
can get you into more trouble than its worth. Your uncle drank too much, and now he's
paying for it, you've seen, the tissue made a return trip, Write your brother and
sisters. You don't know it, but they idolize you. They need to hear from you. She
hid her anxiety in a flow of motherly babble. He cut her off with a powerful embrace,
and she began to sob quietly into his shoulder.
I love you, mamma. Goodbye. Quickly, so she couldn't see his own tears, he
turned, slung his ruck over his shoulder, picked up his duffel, and strode into the
terminal. He couldn't bear to turn around. He didn't know when he'd see her again.
He'd regained his composure by the time he reached the reservations counter. The
woman behind the counter gave him an overly perky smile.
Good afternoon sir. And how may I help you?
Conrad cleared his throat, I should have a ticket waiting for me; sergeant
Hauser.
The woman's brow crinkled in thought as she searched for his reservation.
She beamed when she found his ticket and held it up, Yes, here we are, sir. One
way to National airport. Are you sure you don't want to purchase a return ticket, sir?
We're having a special offer this week on round-trip flights inside the continental U.S.,
No...That won't be necessary.
If you're sure, sir. Your flight leaves in ten minutes. Gate A-3, she flashed him
a blinding smile and held out his papers.
Conrad took his ticket and headed through the security terminal. The attendant
noticed the fruit salad' on his chest, and snapped him a tight salute. Conrad could
tell by the way the man stood that he had served. Brothers in arms. He returned the
salute and walked towards his gate, and destiny.
*********************************
9:00 that evening found Conrad deep within the Pentagon. An unmarked green
sedan had picked him up at National airport and swiftly carried him to just outside
of D.C., to Department of Defense headquarters. His I.D. earned him a quick
bypass of all the Marine guard stations, down into the levels few men of his rank
ever saw or heard about. He stood now in a small briefing room, directly across
from Clayton M. Abernathy, a man with whom he had worked with closely in the past
few years. Their connection was rarely discussed outside of the room in which they
both stood. Conrad was slightly surprised to see the former Colonel
Abernathy sporting stars on his shoulder boards. The insignia were barely out of the
plastic.
Congratulations, sir. You should have told me when you called.
Yes, well, we're all about to move up in the world, Duke, Conrad smiled at
the way his nickname sounded in the General's gravelly voice. He had been saddled
with it in Nam by his captain; he had used his golden-gloves power in bar brawl
while on pass. The captain had been impressed, the name had stuck. His friends
knew him by it. His mother hated it. His enemies feared it. It was a useful thing.
Life's going to get more difficult for the both of us, Duke. Sit down, General
Abernathy waved at a nearby chair. He was known around the Pentagon as the
Hawk. He had incredible insight and intuition, which served him well. Little
went on that Hawk didn't know about. Conrad respected him more than any superior
he had ever known; mainly because Hawk listened to his men and acted on their
advice. Hawk never asked any soldier to do something he wouldn't do himself.
Most officers had no compunctions against sending their men to die. Hawk was
different. Conrad sat as General Abernathy dimmed the lights and picked up the
remote for the slide projector. The carousel turned with a click, and two familiar
figures lit up the screen. No doubt you recognize these two, Duke. Hell, you took the
pictures.
Of course sir. The one on the right is Destro. Genteel Scottish nobility by day,
arms dealer by night. Castro loves him. Pain in the ass to deal with, since he
develops half his stuff himself, and steals the rest. Currently number one on half the
world's public enemy lists. The other half think he's a real swell guy.
Anything else, Duke?
He has a mean right hook, and that stupid mask of his broke three of my fingers
when I tried to pop him one. I think I dented the fucker, though. Conrad cracked
his knuckles loudly.
Hawk smiled and moved his pointer to the left, And this one?
That nitwit. Came out of nowhere. Has no past. No cultural identity. No family.
I couldn't even find a grade school report card. The guy didn't exist five years ago.
Now, he's a real trouble maker. That crazy terrorist cult he heads gets their fingers
into all the small irritating places. Luckily, he has such a Napoleon complex, he blows
most of his plans before they come to a head. Likes to be called Commander'. He
has a flair for the dramatic. Old crumbling castles. Snakes. Hides behind that blasted
hood. I think I saw some sort of mirrored mask, the last time I was snooping around.
He and Lord Destro should get together, they both have a kinky mask thing going on.
They have. Hawk fingered the pointer grimly.
The carousel clicked forward. There stood Destro and the Commander,
surveying a passing troop of men in uniforms Conrad had never seemed before.
This shot was taken by our friend Mouse last week. It seems our two friends have
joined forces, a new slide snapped into place, It gets worse. They've recruited these
two to help.
The Baroness, black snake of eastern Europe. She's a blast. And I guess
that's Sebastian Bludd, although I can barely see him under that helmet. Moustache is
new, too. I guess I scraped out more of his eye than I thought. I hope Mouse didn't
have to endure his poetry to get that shot.
Mouse is dead, Duke.
It felt like hitting a wall,
He must have known they were on to him, he shipped the film out
after this shot. It was half used. His body washed up on the shore of the Danube
last Friday. We still haven't found his head, Hawk put the pointer and the remote
on the table and slid wearily into the chair across from Conrad., I'm sorry, Duke. I
know you two were close.
Conrad held back the tears, He was a damn fine soldier, sir. His courage
was bigger than he was, but he was a good guy, men like Mouse didn't come around
often. Conrad would miss the little man; fast, cunning, and a real sick sense of humor.
We have a bad situation here, Duke. On their own, those four amounted
to a little more than a tactical nuisance. Now, they've raised an army. What we have
on our hands is an international terrorist faction powerful enough to attempt world
domination. And that Commander is crazy enough to try it.
Conrad tore himself away from grief, What do we intend to do about it, sir?
We've been preparing for this for some time. What you and Mouse have
been bringing us over the past three years made us wonder what would happen
if several terrorist factions joined forces, Once again, Hawk's insight had second-
guessed the opposition, Now that the time is here, we're ready to act. I have been
empowered by the president and the joint chiefs to put together an elite anti-terrorist
force to deal with this threat. Hawk pointed to several file boxes piled up at the
end of the table, Those boxes contain all the files and plans for that force. I call it
G.I. Joe.
And what exactly, sir, do I have to do with G. I. Joe? Conrad crossed his arms
over his chest and leaned back.
You're going to lead it, Duke. As of this instant, I'm reassigning you. No more
special forces schools Duke. No more secret spy missions on the side. I'm putting
you back on the battlefield, son. You're my field commander.
Conrad stared at Hawk in amazement. When he woke up that morning, he
hadn't expected anything much to happen. Now this. his voice shook with
uncertainty.
Of course, this is going to mean a lot of change for you, I understand. There
is going to be no way to keep G.I. Joe away from the media. For security reasons,
you and your troops will have to go by code names. No problem there, I haven't
met a soldier without a handle. From now on, you're Duke'. Actually, Captain
Duke', since you're promoted, active immediately. Now, we have to go through these
files. We have here a loose gathering of possibilities, all specialists, but they need
weeding out-
Conrad interrupted.
Hawk was taken aback, No? What do you mean, no? Son, I won't take
another. You're the only one who has experience with these people that I trust.
I'll take the assignment, but I won't be an officer. I won't let you promote me.
Whatever can you mean?
They tell me that an officer's job is to impel others to take the risks-so that the
officer survives to take the blame in the event of a total catastrophe. With all due
respect sir..if that's what an officer does, I don't want any part of it, in his head,
Conrad swore he heard Mouse cheering, Soldiers will serve me better if I'm closer to
them, sir. I refuse to be promoted beyond their reach. I'll be one of them, or nothing.
Hawk looked thoughtful, I can see your point. He rubbed his chin, Very
well. I can work around this. I'll promote as high as I damn well can, and that's Master
Sergeant. I'll assign an officer to advise you in the field. I know a few people.
Why not you sir? We've worked well together in the past.
Don't think I wouldn't want to. The Chiefs want me here. Besides, you'll
need someone in administration at your back. I can cut you more funding from this
side of the desk. Conrad could tell Hawk was disappointed. He, too, preferred to
be in the field, So, Duke, do you accept?
Master Sergeant Duke Hauser reached across the table and shook Hawk's
hand firmly, With pleasure, sir.
Well, Duke, welcome to G.I. Joe. Now let's get to those files. We have a long
night ahead of us.
*******************************************************************************************
Next: Duke goes a gatherin' Joes!