August 12th,
"The greatest weakness of all is the great fear of appearing weak. "
Lady Jaye said that to me once, I cannot quite remember the circumstances. The quote is attributed to Jacques Benigne Bossuet, a French prelate from the 17th century, and I have no doubt that she repeated it to me…mimicking my own habit of quoting great works…as a witty yet sharply accurate observation of behavior quite similar to the scene that just took place between us over the phone.
I received word that she and Hawk had been found late tonight. Ozone had been monitoring the radio the time the call came through from HQ, and although I was up and roaming the decks…unable to sleep…he neglected to inform me until several hours later.
Needless to say I nearly took his head off when the news finally reached me. Frustration, anger and worry had all been seething inside my gut for over 48 hours and was desperately seeking release but somehow I managed to control myself long enough to realize that the poor man had no idea as to the importance of the message…at least to me.
Furthermore, I was in such a rush to get on the satellite phone and confirm her safety for myself that I had little time to pull rank and nail the guy to the wall.
Wild Bill picked up immediately and before I could even say hello he greeted me with an amused 'She's fine, Flint…' in that caricature Texas drawl before breaking into some melodramatic country western love song.
Have I become that predictable?
"Put her on the line Bill…"
"I don't know, Pardner…the Lady kind of wanted to be left alone…"
"Just put her on the line!" I snapped. I didn't mean to, Wild Bill is a good friend. Given a little time he would probably become one of the few I allow close. Unfortunately, this was not the best time to be teasing me.
"Ok, ok…keep yer beret on…oooweee, Flint…you come by yer name honestly I tell you."
Ah yes…my name. My code name at least. My real name is Dashiell Robert Faireborn…named after Dashiell Hammett of Maltese Falcon fame and my Uncle Robert Faireborn…war hero extraordinaire.
Dash for short.
I hated my name growing up. It was a major cause of trouble for me in the schoolyard as the others constantly made fun of my girly-name…among other things. Needless to say that stopped when I finally came into my own and learned how to fight. No one dared make fun of me after that…not that they would regardless…for by that time I had managed to worm my way into the popular crowd and had somehow been miraculously transformed into the school hot-shot.
Mind you…my name still causes me to cringe inwardly when I hear it. It doesn't really suit my nature…at least the manifestation of my nature that I allow others see. It is a name suited more to some Lacoste wearing blond high school quarterback with friends like Biff and Todd, and a girlfriend named Muffy.
I prefer to be called Flint…and truth be told hardly anyone knows me as Dash anymore. Just like everyone calls Duke 'Duke' and not Conrad…even his family!
It was he who gave me my code name on one of our early missions together…same time he gave Roadblock his as a matter of fact. Marvin's, of course, was a commentary on his size and imposing stature. Mine is a bit more subtle.
I am hard as a rock…nothing phases me…nothing can turn me from my mission. Nothing can penetrate my skin. Deep inside, however, is a spark…a fire…a temper that can ignite in a flash. You don't want to be on the receiving end when that happens.
Mind you, when Duke dubbed me Flint…I think he was thinking more along the lines that I have rocks in my head and I end up exploding into action without thinking.
Surprisingly, as much as I love my code name…if I was to be frank with you I would admit that neither interpretation is an accurate description of my true character…although the temper is bang on.
I have neither rocks in my head, nor am I as tough skinned as I make myself out to be. That said, Duke couldn't possibly have known this when he dubbed me 'Flint'…nor would anyone be the wiser. Flint is…well…he is exactly that…he is FLINT.
Dashiell…well…he is another story altogether.
God…you probably think I have some sort of schizophrenic multiple personality disorder by the way I am writing this. I just don't know how else to describe it. I am Dashiell…I am Flint…they are one in the same. Separate one from the other and I would cease to be…well…I would cease to be me.
Its just that one side of my personality tends to overshadow the other…in fact it had gotten to the point where Dashiell had pretty much ceased to be. That is until a rainy night outside of a destroyed PIT when he began to emerge again. Until a night in Grenada when I heard my name uttered with a melodic gaelic lilt, heard it cried out in sorrow and in passion and in...in something else…
"Dashiell…"
In any case, back to my original tale. Wild Bill finally handed me off to Lady Jaye and when she picked up the handset and I heard her voice…tired and shaken…but alive and well, relief flooded through me. I hadn't realized quite how much I had been affected by her capture…but as it dawned on me I suddenly became angry with myself for behaving so unprofessionally.
For allowing personal issues to interfere with my job.
But more than that, I was loath to let the woman in question know that I had been sick with worry. So instead I kept the conversation short and light, teasing her about getting into trouble, joking about her getting some sense knocked into her…telling her if I was there I would have kicked some ass.
I was done in part to save myself from the tirade that would follow should she interpret my concern as some slight against her abilities as a soldier…God knows she is very sensitive about her work. However, the most pressing reason was my own fear.
Fear of appearing weak. Fear of letting go…
To me, the worst thing in the world is to be weak…to let someone see your Achilles' heel. Give the world nothing they can use against you. Give them nothing they can turn around and hurt you with.
A man is never weak, a soldier never lets his fear show.
Lady Jaye once asked me if I knew what it was to be afraid. I didn't answer her at first, thinking of a typical asinine reply, but eventually I admitted the truth…which was yes. I have been afraid…I have been afraid more times that I can remember.
But I know how to hide it.
It might sound like some macho-mantra, but it's the truth. Fear clouds your judgment. Weakness leaves you vulnerable. I am an expert at concealing it…at pushing it aside. In its place I turn to humor and arrogance, male- posturing and party-boy shenanigans.
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
That was Frank Hebert's 'Litany Against Fear'. It's from DUNE…one of the few Science Fiction novels I have read. A classic…up there with Asimov's 'I, Robot'. I remember when I first read it. I was 11, I think. That quote has stuck with me to this day. In fact, it represents a kind of turning point in my life, an awakening.
I have had an army of COBRA troops chasing my ass. I have walked through booby trapped jungles and penetrated enemy bases under cover of night. I have faced some of the worlds most ruthless men and have run headlong into hostile fire.
Just recently I have had a loaded gun put to my head…and through it all I have never flinched, never broken a sweat…never let either my allies or my enemies see me as anything other than cool and collected.
And yet this woman has me loosing sleep…has me on the razors edge. I don't know which is worse…the fear of losing her to an enemy bullet or the fear that I have completely lost control of this relationship and allowed myself to do what I swore I would never do again.
Yet…worse than that is my absolutely spineless insistence that she never be given so much as a clue as to how she has come to effect me.
Even after hearing the exasperated sigh while I was speaking with her, even knowing that she was waiting to hear words of comfort and concern that I am unable or unwilling to give…I still refuse to budge. God knows she has wrung more out of me than I have ever thought possible…but I fought her every inch of the way.
I wonder how much longer she is going to put up with me before she decides to look elsewhere? It is inevitable, isn't it? It will happen eventually, why not help it along?
But as much as that little voice grates at me day in and day out, I can't help but wish I had told her I was happy to hear her voice. To have told her that she had done a wonderful job getting Hawk to safety…that I was proud of her…
You are nothing but a coward, Flint.
"The greatest weakness of all is the great fear of appearing weak. "
Lady Jaye said that to me once, I cannot quite remember the circumstances. The quote is attributed to Jacques Benigne Bossuet, a French prelate from the 17th century, and I have no doubt that she repeated it to me…mimicking my own habit of quoting great works…as a witty yet sharply accurate observation of behavior quite similar to the scene that just took place between us over the phone.
I received word that she and Hawk had been found late tonight. Ozone had been monitoring the radio the time the call came through from HQ, and although I was up and roaming the decks…unable to sleep…he neglected to inform me until several hours later.
Needless to say I nearly took his head off when the news finally reached me. Frustration, anger and worry had all been seething inside my gut for over 48 hours and was desperately seeking release but somehow I managed to control myself long enough to realize that the poor man had no idea as to the importance of the message…at least to me.
Furthermore, I was in such a rush to get on the satellite phone and confirm her safety for myself that I had little time to pull rank and nail the guy to the wall.
Wild Bill picked up immediately and before I could even say hello he greeted me with an amused 'She's fine, Flint…' in that caricature Texas drawl before breaking into some melodramatic country western love song.
Have I become that predictable?
"Put her on the line Bill…"
"I don't know, Pardner…the Lady kind of wanted to be left alone…"
"Just put her on the line!" I snapped. I didn't mean to, Wild Bill is a good friend. Given a little time he would probably become one of the few I allow close. Unfortunately, this was not the best time to be teasing me.
"Ok, ok…keep yer beret on…oooweee, Flint…you come by yer name honestly I tell you."
Ah yes…my name. My code name at least. My real name is Dashiell Robert Faireborn…named after Dashiell Hammett of Maltese Falcon fame and my Uncle Robert Faireborn…war hero extraordinaire.
Dash for short.
I hated my name growing up. It was a major cause of trouble for me in the schoolyard as the others constantly made fun of my girly-name…among other things. Needless to say that stopped when I finally came into my own and learned how to fight. No one dared make fun of me after that…not that they would regardless…for by that time I had managed to worm my way into the popular crowd and had somehow been miraculously transformed into the school hot-shot.
Mind you…my name still causes me to cringe inwardly when I hear it. It doesn't really suit my nature…at least the manifestation of my nature that I allow others see. It is a name suited more to some Lacoste wearing blond high school quarterback with friends like Biff and Todd, and a girlfriend named Muffy.
I prefer to be called Flint…and truth be told hardly anyone knows me as Dash anymore. Just like everyone calls Duke 'Duke' and not Conrad…even his family!
It was he who gave me my code name on one of our early missions together…same time he gave Roadblock his as a matter of fact. Marvin's, of course, was a commentary on his size and imposing stature. Mine is a bit more subtle.
I am hard as a rock…nothing phases me…nothing can turn me from my mission. Nothing can penetrate my skin. Deep inside, however, is a spark…a fire…a temper that can ignite in a flash. You don't want to be on the receiving end when that happens.
Mind you, when Duke dubbed me Flint…I think he was thinking more along the lines that I have rocks in my head and I end up exploding into action without thinking.
Surprisingly, as much as I love my code name…if I was to be frank with you I would admit that neither interpretation is an accurate description of my true character…although the temper is bang on.
I have neither rocks in my head, nor am I as tough skinned as I make myself out to be. That said, Duke couldn't possibly have known this when he dubbed me 'Flint'…nor would anyone be the wiser. Flint is…well…he is exactly that…he is FLINT.
Dashiell…well…he is another story altogether.
God…you probably think I have some sort of schizophrenic multiple personality disorder by the way I am writing this. I just don't know how else to describe it. I am Dashiell…I am Flint…they are one in the same. Separate one from the other and I would cease to be…well…I would cease to be me.
Its just that one side of my personality tends to overshadow the other…in fact it had gotten to the point where Dashiell had pretty much ceased to be. That is until a rainy night outside of a destroyed PIT when he began to emerge again. Until a night in Grenada when I heard my name uttered with a melodic gaelic lilt, heard it cried out in sorrow and in passion and in...in something else…
"Dashiell…"
In any case, back to my original tale. Wild Bill finally handed me off to Lady Jaye and when she picked up the handset and I heard her voice…tired and shaken…but alive and well, relief flooded through me. I hadn't realized quite how much I had been affected by her capture…but as it dawned on me I suddenly became angry with myself for behaving so unprofessionally.
For allowing personal issues to interfere with my job.
But more than that, I was loath to let the woman in question know that I had been sick with worry. So instead I kept the conversation short and light, teasing her about getting into trouble, joking about her getting some sense knocked into her…telling her if I was there I would have kicked some ass.
I was done in part to save myself from the tirade that would follow should she interpret my concern as some slight against her abilities as a soldier…God knows she is very sensitive about her work. However, the most pressing reason was my own fear.
Fear of appearing weak. Fear of letting go…
To me, the worst thing in the world is to be weak…to let someone see your Achilles' heel. Give the world nothing they can use against you. Give them nothing they can turn around and hurt you with.
A man is never weak, a soldier never lets his fear show.
Lady Jaye once asked me if I knew what it was to be afraid. I didn't answer her at first, thinking of a typical asinine reply, but eventually I admitted the truth…which was yes. I have been afraid…I have been afraid more times that I can remember.
But I know how to hide it.
It might sound like some macho-mantra, but it's the truth. Fear clouds your judgment. Weakness leaves you vulnerable. I am an expert at concealing it…at pushing it aside. In its place I turn to humor and arrogance, male- posturing and party-boy shenanigans.
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
That was Frank Hebert's 'Litany Against Fear'. It's from DUNE…one of the few Science Fiction novels I have read. A classic…up there with Asimov's 'I, Robot'. I remember when I first read it. I was 11, I think. That quote has stuck with me to this day. In fact, it represents a kind of turning point in my life, an awakening.
I have had an army of COBRA troops chasing my ass. I have walked through booby trapped jungles and penetrated enemy bases under cover of night. I have faced some of the worlds most ruthless men and have run headlong into hostile fire.
Just recently I have had a loaded gun put to my head…and through it all I have never flinched, never broken a sweat…never let either my allies or my enemies see me as anything other than cool and collected.
And yet this woman has me loosing sleep…has me on the razors edge. I don't know which is worse…the fear of losing her to an enemy bullet or the fear that I have completely lost control of this relationship and allowed myself to do what I swore I would never do again.
Yet…worse than that is my absolutely spineless insistence that she never be given so much as a clue as to how she has come to effect me.
Even after hearing the exasperated sigh while I was speaking with her, even knowing that she was waiting to hear words of comfort and concern that I am unable or unwilling to give…I still refuse to budge. God knows she has wrung more out of me than I have ever thought possible…but I fought her every inch of the way.
I wonder how much longer she is going to put up with me before she decides to look elsewhere? It is inevitable, isn't it? It will happen eventually, why not help it along?
But as much as that little voice grates at me day in and day out, I can't help but wish I had told her I was happy to hear her voice. To have told her that she had done a wonderful job getting Hawk to safety…that I was proud of her…
You are nothing but a coward, Flint.