August 11th,
She's fine.
I know she's fine.
She has to be fine.
Damn it all to Hell! Why can't I focus? It's not as though my mission here with Eco-Warriors is over. My main task has been completed for certain…Cesspool has been arrested and his COBRA lackeys rounded up and detained. However, duty dictates that I remain to supervise the clean up, as well as make sure COBRA doesn't come back for more.
If not for this responsibility I would be on the first chopper out of here. As it is, I am slowly going insane as Cleansweep and Ozone mop up the chemicals while I worry endlessly over something to which I have absolutely no control.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I'll tell you what is wrong…I am on an oilrig in the middle of the bloody Gulf of Mexico with bloody Greenpeace, while the woman I lo…
…While someone I care deeply for is missing in a very unstable region of Eastern Europe.
I was informed of the situation when I called in my status to the base. Hawk, Lady Jaye and the others had disappeared in Borovia after a mad flight out of Trans Carpathia. Hawk was down…whether dead or wounded no one was sure…and Lady Jaye was being held prisoner by the secret police.
Why the hell did Marvin let her out of his sight?
No, that's unfair. He isn't her babysitter…nor does she need one. She is a soldier, a Joe…as much a warrior as any of us. I remember the day I met her…the day I joined the team…the first thing I did after introducing myself was tell her I was here to 'class up her act'. Ironically, she ended up classing up mine.
I was born to be a soldier. The son of a retired Colonel, the nephew of a war hero, the youngest of four boys…all of whom had ended up in on branch of the military or another…it was fated from the day I took my first breathe.
To say that I accepted this destiny without question would be a fallacy unworthy of this journal. These pages are supposed to be filled with honest, soul- searching introspection…not my usual arrogant ramblings. The truth is I resisted.
This is not to say that I wasn't ready to give it my all when I finally walked of the bus and into boot camp…that I wasn't excited to be there. I was ready for a new challenge and the Army was the perfect outlet for a young man with excessive amount of energy. Sports just weren't cutting it anymore, and Oxford, although an experience I will always treasure had proven that academia was not a route that suited my nature.
The latter was most surprising, as most of my life was spend devouring any book I could get my hands on. I love literature, and a degree in the subject from Oxford…on a Rhodes Scholarship no less…was a dream come true. I can just picture the shock on your face as you read this. Flint…the Joe bad ass…a literati! It is a trait I keep well hidden.
In any case, when I was a small child the idea of the military fascinated as much as it frightened me. I wasn't frightened of soldiering as a profession…of war or giving ones life for ones country…how could I be, having been immersed in the culture every day of my life. I knew the military inside and out by an age when most children are picking up their first toy soldier.
I was more frightened of failing and disappointing my father.
My brothers were all much older than I…already grown when I was a mere grade schooler. I guess you might say I was an 'accident', for my abrupt appearance in my parent's life was certainly unplanned. Not that I was ever made to feel like I wasn't welcome. On the contrary…my family is quite close. At any rate, Ray, Mickey and John were either in the forces already or about to join while I was still a mere child…and my father used to brag endlessly about his three boys…officers all.
As for me…well…he didn't quite know what to make of me. I was, how did he put it?.. 'odd'. To add insult to injury I didn't seem all that interested in the military. What was a colonel to do?
It was not, however, a typical case of childhood determination to be as UNLIKE your parent's as possible…to be different. Certainly, a bit of that teenage rebellion came into play, but it clashed against an almost overwhelming need to be the tough like my brothers…to make my father proud.
Not to mention the ever-present drive to be accepted by my peers…to adapt, to change, to bury the very thing that made me what I am. My gift…
…my curse.
I don't know what it was that made me such a bastard about the whole thing. I could have gone to West Point…instead I went to Oxford. I could have done officers training…instead I signed up as enlisted. I delayed the inevitable as long as I could and it drove my father to distraction.
Which I think was precisely my aim…to get him back for some perceived slight from my early years. It all seems so shallow now, so childish…and ironically, despite my being the lowest ranked member of my family, I have excelled past all of them to become one of the military's finest…a Joe. I have seen more action that even my highly decorated Uncle. Me…the Warrant Officer…who would have thought!
Henry Miller wrote that every man has his own destiny. The only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him. I accepted mine…and in doing so I found myself doing something I loved, something I was good at…something that challenged both my mind and my body. And I was good at it.
No.
I was excellent.
I ripped through basic like it was kindergarten. I breezed through Airborne, Ranger and Special Forces school. Chopper lessons and Flight Warrant Officer's school came next…cake-walk. Needless to say the 'powers that be' took notice and I began to be selected for the tough missions…the impossible rescues and the no win situations. My friends always joked that the brass were trying to get rid of me and my big mouth…but deep down they knew that if anyone could get the job done, it was 'Flint'.
I might come across as a braggart…an arrogant egoist…but I am good at what I do and I am not afraid to let people know it. While I realize my attitude grates on the nerves, as soon as my detractors see me in action they cease to complain.
I am certainly not perfect. Far from it! I have a short fuse and tend to go off half cocked despite the meticulous planning I do before every mission. I can be a troublemaker and like to take risks…sometimes-unnecessary ones.
This is why I say Lady Jaye classed up my act.
I am not really used to fighting side by side with a member of the opposite sex. Although there are many women in the military, combat was, and still is for all intents and purposes, off limits to females.
This rule, like many others, did not apply to the Joe team.
I have to admit to being a bit closed minded about the whole 'women in combat' thing. Sure, intellectually there is no logical reason WHY they shouldn't be fighting right next to us…but still the all prevailing 'brotherhood of the sword' mindset tends to cloud even the most liberal of males.
Nevertheless, she impressed me tremendously, and I needn't tell you that I am not easily impressed. Seeing Lady Jaye fight…seeing any of the Joe women fight…is truly an eye opener. I remember the first time I saw her in action while teamed with her in Scotland…our first mission together in fact. I began that operation with arms crossed and eyes narrowed; annoyed at being partnered with her despite the friendship that had formed between us.
I ended the mission in awe of her strength and cunning. She is as good a soldier as they come, professional and no-nonsense.
In fact, the only thing she seems to lack is confidence in her own abilities. She never lets it show…no one would ever see her so much as hesitate when in combat. But then again they don't know her as well as I.
We make a great team, she and I…she reins me in while I push her forward. I supply confidence while she provides prudence. I could say I am the brawn and she is the brain, but those to traits are pretty much even between us. Sure, physically I might be the stronger one, but having been knocked out by her before believe me when I tell you she packs quite a punch.
Despite my testosterone charged chauvinist attitude, I can say with all honesty here on this page that she is by far the best partner I have ever had. There is no one I would rather serve with…there is no one I would rather have at my side when COBRA comes a calling.
So…with all that said…why is it that I am sitting here, teetering on the edge of my sanity, ready to charge off this platform and head to Europe like some knight of old rescuing a damsel in distress?
Why is it that I can't stop thinking about her…hoping that she is all right…praying that she is all right?
You know the answer to that question, though…don't you Dashiell?
She's fine.
I know she's fine.
She has to be fine.
Damn it all to Hell! Why can't I focus? It's not as though my mission here with Eco-Warriors is over. My main task has been completed for certain…Cesspool has been arrested and his COBRA lackeys rounded up and detained. However, duty dictates that I remain to supervise the clean up, as well as make sure COBRA doesn't come back for more.
If not for this responsibility I would be on the first chopper out of here. As it is, I am slowly going insane as Cleansweep and Ozone mop up the chemicals while I worry endlessly over something to which I have absolutely no control.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I'll tell you what is wrong…I am on an oilrig in the middle of the bloody Gulf of Mexico with bloody Greenpeace, while the woman I lo…
…While someone I care deeply for is missing in a very unstable region of Eastern Europe.
I was informed of the situation when I called in my status to the base. Hawk, Lady Jaye and the others had disappeared in Borovia after a mad flight out of Trans Carpathia. Hawk was down…whether dead or wounded no one was sure…and Lady Jaye was being held prisoner by the secret police.
Why the hell did Marvin let her out of his sight?
No, that's unfair. He isn't her babysitter…nor does she need one. She is a soldier, a Joe…as much a warrior as any of us. I remember the day I met her…the day I joined the team…the first thing I did after introducing myself was tell her I was here to 'class up her act'. Ironically, she ended up classing up mine.
I was born to be a soldier. The son of a retired Colonel, the nephew of a war hero, the youngest of four boys…all of whom had ended up in on branch of the military or another…it was fated from the day I took my first breathe.
To say that I accepted this destiny without question would be a fallacy unworthy of this journal. These pages are supposed to be filled with honest, soul- searching introspection…not my usual arrogant ramblings. The truth is I resisted.
This is not to say that I wasn't ready to give it my all when I finally walked of the bus and into boot camp…that I wasn't excited to be there. I was ready for a new challenge and the Army was the perfect outlet for a young man with excessive amount of energy. Sports just weren't cutting it anymore, and Oxford, although an experience I will always treasure had proven that academia was not a route that suited my nature.
The latter was most surprising, as most of my life was spend devouring any book I could get my hands on. I love literature, and a degree in the subject from Oxford…on a Rhodes Scholarship no less…was a dream come true. I can just picture the shock on your face as you read this. Flint…the Joe bad ass…a literati! It is a trait I keep well hidden.
In any case, when I was a small child the idea of the military fascinated as much as it frightened me. I wasn't frightened of soldiering as a profession…of war or giving ones life for ones country…how could I be, having been immersed in the culture every day of my life. I knew the military inside and out by an age when most children are picking up their first toy soldier.
I was more frightened of failing and disappointing my father.
My brothers were all much older than I…already grown when I was a mere grade schooler. I guess you might say I was an 'accident', for my abrupt appearance in my parent's life was certainly unplanned. Not that I was ever made to feel like I wasn't welcome. On the contrary…my family is quite close. At any rate, Ray, Mickey and John were either in the forces already or about to join while I was still a mere child…and my father used to brag endlessly about his three boys…officers all.
As for me…well…he didn't quite know what to make of me. I was, how did he put it?.. 'odd'. To add insult to injury I didn't seem all that interested in the military. What was a colonel to do?
It was not, however, a typical case of childhood determination to be as UNLIKE your parent's as possible…to be different. Certainly, a bit of that teenage rebellion came into play, but it clashed against an almost overwhelming need to be the tough like my brothers…to make my father proud.
Not to mention the ever-present drive to be accepted by my peers…to adapt, to change, to bury the very thing that made me what I am. My gift…
…my curse.
I don't know what it was that made me such a bastard about the whole thing. I could have gone to West Point…instead I went to Oxford. I could have done officers training…instead I signed up as enlisted. I delayed the inevitable as long as I could and it drove my father to distraction.
Which I think was precisely my aim…to get him back for some perceived slight from my early years. It all seems so shallow now, so childish…and ironically, despite my being the lowest ranked member of my family, I have excelled past all of them to become one of the military's finest…a Joe. I have seen more action that even my highly decorated Uncle. Me…the Warrant Officer…who would have thought!
Henry Miller wrote that every man has his own destiny. The only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him. I accepted mine…and in doing so I found myself doing something I loved, something I was good at…something that challenged both my mind and my body. And I was good at it.
No.
I was excellent.
I ripped through basic like it was kindergarten. I breezed through Airborne, Ranger and Special Forces school. Chopper lessons and Flight Warrant Officer's school came next…cake-walk. Needless to say the 'powers that be' took notice and I began to be selected for the tough missions…the impossible rescues and the no win situations. My friends always joked that the brass were trying to get rid of me and my big mouth…but deep down they knew that if anyone could get the job done, it was 'Flint'.
I might come across as a braggart…an arrogant egoist…but I am good at what I do and I am not afraid to let people know it. While I realize my attitude grates on the nerves, as soon as my detractors see me in action they cease to complain.
I am certainly not perfect. Far from it! I have a short fuse and tend to go off half cocked despite the meticulous planning I do before every mission. I can be a troublemaker and like to take risks…sometimes-unnecessary ones.
This is why I say Lady Jaye classed up my act.
I am not really used to fighting side by side with a member of the opposite sex. Although there are many women in the military, combat was, and still is for all intents and purposes, off limits to females.
This rule, like many others, did not apply to the Joe team.
I have to admit to being a bit closed minded about the whole 'women in combat' thing. Sure, intellectually there is no logical reason WHY they shouldn't be fighting right next to us…but still the all prevailing 'brotherhood of the sword' mindset tends to cloud even the most liberal of males.
Nevertheless, she impressed me tremendously, and I needn't tell you that I am not easily impressed. Seeing Lady Jaye fight…seeing any of the Joe women fight…is truly an eye opener. I remember the first time I saw her in action while teamed with her in Scotland…our first mission together in fact. I began that operation with arms crossed and eyes narrowed; annoyed at being partnered with her despite the friendship that had formed between us.
I ended the mission in awe of her strength and cunning. She is as good a soldier as they come, professional and no-nonsense.
In fact, the only thing she seems to lack is confidence in her own abilities. She never lets it show…no one would ever see her so much as hesitate when in combat. But then again they don't know her as well as I.
We make a great team, she and I…she reins me in while I push her forward. I supply confidence while she provides prudence. I could say I am the brawn and she is the brain, but those to traits are pretty much even between us. Sure, physically I might be the stronger one, but having been knocked out by her before believe me when I tell you she packs quite a punch.
Despite my testosterone charged chauvinist attitude, I can say with all honesty here on this page that she is by far the best partner I have ever had. There is no one I would rather serve with…there is no one I would rather have at my side when COBRA comes a calling.
So…with all that said…why is it that I am sitting here, teetering on the edge of my sanity, ready to charge off this platform and head to Europe like some knight of old rescuing a damsel in distress?
Why is it that I can't stop thinking about her…hoping that she is all right…praying that she is all right?
You know the answer to that question, though…don't you Dashiell?