*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to
Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I
STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no
intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.
*WARBIRDS was originally meant to be a one-shot story, but thanks to the kind feed back from ladymagna1100, LanceGirl3132, and the encouragement and inspirations from ROuge, DoomKitty, and Lurker, I've decided to see where this can lead. I've incorporated aspects of the cartoon into this story as well, where it fits.
*SHIELD= Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate.
_________________________________________________________
Hawk awoke. The adrenaline hit his blood and drove sleep away in an instant. He jerked upright, clearing the .45 hidden in his bed's headboard in one practiced motion.
Nothing.
His bedroom was empty.
That didn't make him feel better.
Something woke him.
He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 0300. An hour and a half too early for Stalker, who was to swing by and pick him up for the 0500 Obstacle Course Run.
Dark out. That meant Low Light would still be outside, guarding the perimeter of Hawk's new base bungalow. Duke had wanted at least one Joe with Hawk at all times until the assassin was caught. Lack of confirmation or not, Duke didn't want to take any chances. Hawk flat out did not like the idea of a guard, but relented after both Duke and Flint logically (long and loudly) pointed out that even Hawk needed to sleep sometimes. Jokingly, Hawk had pointed out that he could always sleep in a tank.
No one had laughed.
And now, neither did Hawk.
Low Light would never have made enough noise to disturb Hawk…unless something was wrong. Hawk reached for his Joe-communications bracelet on the nightstand.
It wasn't there.
The hackles on the back of his neck rose as he felt around his nightstand more carefully.
In place of his bracelet and regular phone was a sheet of paper, a laminated card, and the mini-Maglite he normally kept in the drawer.
Someone had been in his room.
That meant one way or another, Low Light had somehow been neutralized.
Hawk's knuckles whitened around the grip.
Silent as a cat, Hawk slipped out of bed, feeling accursedly vulnerable in barefeet and boxers. With one hand, he twisted the Maglite on and pointed it at the paper and card.
ABERNATHY,
I'M MAKING COFFEE. DON'T SHOOT. JUST WANT TO TALK. STEVE SAYS HI.
NICK
The card was an ID. Colonel Nicolas Joseph Fury, Executive Director of SHEILD.
After a moment's hesitation Hawk put the Maglite between his teeth and cautiously pushed his left thumb against the SHEILD insignia.
1…
2…
3.
A small, full-bodied holographic image of Fury sprang to life above the ID picture.
Genuine.
He spat out the Maglite and snatched up the ID. Back rigid as a board, he threw open his door and stormed out, gun still in hand.
Low Light was in Hawk's small living room, dumped on the couch, unconscious but not unmoving. He thrashed weakly, whimpering, a sound Hawk rarely heard from his night spotter. Hawk was about to check on him when the flare of a lighter in his open kitchen caught his attention.
"Mornin', General," Fury rumbled from his comfortable seat at the breakfast table. He stuffed his lighter back into his trenchcoat pocket. "Ya woke up quick. Just got the coffee goin'." He took a puff on the cheap, acrid cigar. "Hope ya like a powerful brew."
Hawk tossed Fury his ID and grabbed the cigar as he stomped past the older man.
"HEY!"
The General put both gun and cigar flat on the counter, jerked out a clever and chopped the stogie in half, sending the lit end washing down the disposal. "I've got to run with fresh bucks ten, twenty, some even thirty years younger than me in two hours," Hawk growled, tossing the rest of the cigar back at Fury. "I don't need lungs full of smoke. You want to chew on that, fine, but light it up again and this conversation is over before it's begun. Got it?"
Hawk couldn't see Fury's face well, but he could practically feel the SHEILD Exec's one remaining eye try to bore a hole in him. "Ya know," the gravelly voice rasped. "I've burnt the eyes outta men who told me where I could and couldn't smoke."
Hawk leaned forward. "I don't care," he hissed. He ran a dishtowel under cold water and wrung it until it was merely damp. "This is my house, and if you don't like my rules, there's the door!" With gun in one hand, and towel in the other, Hawk went back to the living room.
He knelt next to Low Light, leaving his gun within easy reach on the floor. "Easy, Low Light," Hawk said, pitching his voice to a soothing rumble. He removed the sniper's night-vision goggles and knit cap, gently toweling off the man's sweating face. At first the younger man feebly tried to push him away. "It's just Hawk, Low Light. Just Hawk."
"Hmph. The tranq I hit him with shoulda made him as limp as that towel. Didn't realize he got night terrors."
Hawk glared at Fury angrily, but his voice remained calm. "Relax, Low Light. That's an order."
And Low Light, being a good solider even in sleep, obeyed.
"Nice trick," Fury commented.
"No trick," Hawk told him, taking a seat across from Fury. "Trust."
"Cute. By the by, fer the record, yer guard's a good one. If I weren't looking fer him, never woulda spotted him."
"Low Light's the best damn night operative in the country. How the hell did you get a drop on him?"
Fury grinned. "An old man's gotta have some secrets."
"'Some secrets,'" Hawk snorted. "Try a lot." After a pause Hawk laid his gun down, keeping only a light touch on the grip. "Word in the Belt said you were on personal leave."
"Yep. Still am. But when Carter needs ta pull out the big guns, I'm only a call away. So. Here I am, playin' Spy vs. Spy, through you. Just like ya so politely requested."
"What do you want, Colonel?"
Fury stretched out, taking his time. "New digs, huh?"
"Yes," Hawk said warily.
"Ya used ta live in that roomy two-story on the other side of base, right? Big change from that," Fury commented, waving a hand around. "I can fit the whole damn place in my apartment with room ta spare. Real humble fer a rich Pentagon boy like you."
Hawk gritted his teeth. "It suits my needs."
"Yeah. I'm sure it does. Tell me, General. Yer man…whazzis name…Stalker?"
"What about him?"
"Ya managed ta get him a real nice home fer him and his family."
"He needs it. He deserves it."
"Does he know ya downgraded so yer housin' budget could swing fer his place?"
"He doesn't need to know. Is there a point to this, or did you by-pass security just to critique base quarters?"
"Just pointin' out yer Unit's got a budget problem, General."
"Thank you for that vital intel, Colonel. However is SHIELD surviving without you?"
"I also noticed ya've been getting' a lot of orders from the higher ups ta cut back on manpower."
Hawk clamped up and scowled.
"Heard ya've been raisin' all sorts of hell over that," Fury continued mildly. "Can't blame ya. Didja also know how many officers are scramblin' ta get just one of yer Joes under their command? Its like watchin' a pimp announce an outta business sale, everthin' must go!"
"Watch your mouth," Hawk growled.
"Sorry," Fury said lightly. "Didn't mean ta ruffle yer feathers, but I call it like I see it. Ya know what's almost as bad? Folks on the Hill. There's an almighty fight ta see who really ends up with G.I. Joe, Department of Defense, or that new Department of Homeland Security W's been pushing."
Hawk digested that quietly.
"Anyone tell ya ta never play poker? Yer face's really lousy. I mean, I just met ya, it's dark, I only got one eye, and I can still tell that ya didn't know a blessed thing about the reshufflin' 'til just now."
"Thank you for---"
"Care fer the opinion of an old solider?"
Hawk leaned back. "I'd be a fool if I didn't at least listen," he said cautiously.
"Yeah, ya would be. Good ta see ya ain't. Here's my thoughts. DOD…obviously ya got a bunch of back-stabbin' sons of bitches after yer men. Friends of yers I believe…l'il club that starts with a 'J.' Be real pissed if they knew I was here."
Hawk stayed silent.
Fury let that go. "Stay with DOD and yer fightin' the system almost as much as yer fightin' Cobra. That ain't good. Uncle Sam needs ya ta be concentrating on the important stuff. But if ya go with DHS, since it's new, ya get ta help shape it from the inside out, ground up. Run a tight, clean ship. Only problem with that is you and yers would be mewed up within the borders mostly. That's bad. One of Joe's strengths always was mobility. Ya go where yer needed, no matter where. Won't be the case under DHS."
Hawk eyed him suspiciously. "But you have a third alternative."
Fury chuckled. "Ya catch on quick. That's good. Third alternative is this." Fury leaned forward, and in a conspiratorial whisper, said, "Make G.I. Joe a part of SHIELD."
The General jerked up straight. "What?"
"Ya heard me! Make Joe a part of SHIELD. Hell, we ain't got no budget problems. Got all the toys ya could want and yer pick of quarters! The United Nations foots the bills. It'd get ya out from under those damned two-faced J-Brass. Won't lie, still got a lotta political jockeyin' in SHIELD, but it ain't nowhere as bad. I won't stand fer it. And since we're a part of the UN, we can cut through diplomatic red tape in no time flat. That'd make Joe twice as mobile, easy. And before ya ask, no I ain't doin' this outta the kindness of my heart. Purely mercenary."
"Oh?"
"Yep. See…" Fury scratched the back of his neck. "It irks me somethin' fierce ta admit this, but I ain't all that different from those other CO's. I want yer Joes. Real bad. Only I want the WHOLE unit, intact, command structure and all."
"Intact?"
"Intact. See, SHIELD handles every trouble ya can think of, and lots ya can't even begin ta imagine. As an Agency, we're heads and shoulders above everyone else. Thing is…when ya boil it down, we're trouble-shootin' generalist, and lately, we need specialists. The best. Specifically, the best damn anti-terrorist strike force in the world."
"Namely, my Joe team," Hawk finished for him.
Fury slapped the table-top. "Ya got it."
The coffee began to boil.
Both men ignored it.
"Well," Hawk said at last. "This is…very flattering, Colonel. And it does sound like a rather neat answer to both of our many problems."
Fury sighed. "I hear a 'but' comin'."
"But," Hawk said obligingly, "I'm sorry. I've got to say no."
"Yer doin' yer team a disservice, General. Ya ain't givin' 'em a chance ta 'be all they can be.' Yer not doin' yerself any favors either, ya know."
Hawk's lips thinned. "Perhaps. But all of us Joes swore an oath of allegiance to America, first and foremost."
"I made the same oaths when ya weren't even a fond thought in yer Daddy's mind," Fury told him. "I found the best way ta serve America was ta keep an eye on the whole planet. Global community and all that. Look at the bigger picture, General, and ya'll see this won't go against any oaths."
"Everyone tells me to look at the bigger picture," Hawk said softly. "I have. Well. This is what I see. Its taking the concentrated efforts of the best military and federal people to ensure that Cobra isn't a threat against one country. They aren't our only problem, just one of the biggest, and we're barely keeping them in check. It's true you have everything we need: money, men, firepower, equipment, scissors for red tape…freedom to move about anywhere we need to. But you're forgetting something very important."
"Oh? Didn't think I did."
"Motivation, Colonel. My Joes aren't fighting for the glory, or the bragging rights to be called the best of the best."
"Coulda fooled me, General."
"They don't fool me, Colonel. I know my Joes, and at the heart of every one of them is the drive to protect their country. THEIR country, Colonel. Not Britain, not Japan, not Egypt or any other country you care to name. They're in this to defend their home, Fury, and woe be to anyone who tries to deny them that when they know they're needed."
"I…see."
"We aren't blind to the global community, Colonel. The other governments know that if they need our help, they just have to call. If we see a danger to another country out there, we'll put the word out and lend a hand. But we're an AMERICAN task force. Ask me to take that away from them, you might as well forget about the drive that makes them the best of the best. All they'll be doing then is their jobs, not their duty. So no, Colonel. Thank you, but G.I. Joe is going to stick it out with Uncle Sam."
Fury chewed on his cigar thoughtfully. "Nice speech," he finally grunted. "Gotta narrow view-point, in my opinion, but nice speech. I can see why Steve's taken a shine ta ya. Warbirds. Hmph. Cute." He tossed his cigar into the sink. "Funny thing about hawks and eagles, though," he said slowly. "They're strictly meat-eaters. Sometimes, they even develop real specialized tastes like, oh, say, fer snake. Real easy fer them birds ta starve. Not big survivors."
Hawk didn't like the direction this conversation suddenly turned.
"Now, ravens. THERE'S a bird that'll thrive anywhere on anything. Seeds, bugs, meat, two-week old banana peels, they'll down it. In fact, unlike hawks and eagles, ravens really live it up on battlefields…flockin' and peckin' away at any poor unlucky bastards layin' around, cleanin' up other people's messes. Yep, just…PECKIN'," Fury said, making pinching motions in the air. "Getting' under the skin, right ta the bone, flyin' off with anything shiny and hoardin' it…ta use fer later. Like secrets."
"Oh, for crying out loud, man, cut the analogies and just spit out what you're trying to say," Hawk snapped.
"Then listen up," Fury shot back. "Yer Joes are too good ta be rottin' in red tape and cutbacks. Patriotism is all well and good, but practical matters needs ta take precedent. The Joe's are fightin' ta stay efficient, and the biggest enemy ain't Cobra! It's the Jugglers!"
"So…what then? That offer was just a ruse, a way for me to give up the evidence against them?"
Fury hooked his thumbs into his pockets and stared hard at Hawk. "Naw. My offer was genuine. Would have been a plus ta get that evidence, but that's moot now. Yer not gonna budge, are ya?"
"No, Colonel. I'm not."
"Too bad then," Fury said. "Thing about some secrets is they got a shelf life. Whatever ya got on the Jugglers ain't gonna last. They'll figure a way ta sweep it ALL under the rug. No reform, no more influence over them, General. Just material fer some geeky conspiracy theorist's newsletter no one will ever read."
"I'll move before that happens."
"Not sure you will," he said, biting off the end of a fresh stogie. He spat into the sink. "Yer a damn fine combat general. One of the best I've seen, and I've seen a lot. Ya've done a lot of intel and covert ops…but that ain't yer specialty. Ya might miss yer window, then where will the Joes be? Spit outta luck, that's where." Fury crossed his arms. "Just give me names, General. That's all I ask. I got names, I can find my own dirt."
"If I give you names and you move too soon, I'm back to square one. No, Colonel. I've worked too long and too hard to dismantle the Jugglers to risk it. I'm sorry, but the answer again is no."
"I'm sorry too," Fury said softly. "I wanted yer co-operation, 'cause I know how tight you and yer troops are." His voice hardened. "As a Department of the UN Security Council, I got the authority ta TAKE the Joes from ya."
Hawk shot to his feet. "LIKE HELL YOU WILL!"
"I ain't gonna let ya waste the talents of yer team and jeopardize the Free World just so you can get the glory fer bringing down the Jugglers!"
The Tomahawk grabbed his gun and slammed his fist against his table. "Glory? GLORY? You think I'm doing this for some GLORY?! If I thought I could pass this responsibility off onto someone else and be with my men on the field THEN I WOULD HAVE!! Do you think I like it in the Pentagon? I HATE IT!! But my men NEED me there, so THERE I AM! And there is nothing, NOTHING, you or anyone can do to take my Joes from me. Get ready for a long campaign, Colonel, because I will fight you tooth and talon on this!"
"No. You won't."
"You think I'm bluffing," Hawk demanded, scowling fiercely.
"No, I don't. I know yer perfectly serious," Fury said, eerily calm. "But remember what I said 'bout if I got a name, I can find my own dirt? Well, I've got dirt on the only Juggler known." Fury casually jabbed the cigar at Hawk. "You. No shelf life on it. And if ya don't want ta air yer dirty laundry, ya'll just smile and wave good-bye ta the Joes and wish 'em good luck, 'cause Heaven knows it'll kill yer vet Joes if they knew."
Hawk snorted. "You're nuts. I haven't done a thing wrong and you know it!"
"Two words," Fury said holding up two fingers. "Li Hueah."
Hawk inhaled sharply, his chest suddenly feeling too tight. A hit and Fury knew it. "Not enough, not nearly enough," Hawk hissed. "That all you got?"
Fury sighed. "Three words," he said, holding up three fingers. He hesitated. "General, ya really don't want me ta do this. Just surrender."
"No."
"Please."
"You can't hurt me."
"Three words," Fury sighed. "Viet Cong spy."
Hawk frowned in honest confusion. "'Viet Cong spy?' What on Sam Hill are you---"
And then it hit him.
The blood drained from Hawk's face.
"Aww…HELL," Fury spat. "Now ya know. Happy now?"
Slowly, very slowly, Hawk shook his head. "You're wrong," he said in a low intense voice. "She sold cookies. COOKIES. Outside of Chu Lai Base. It was a family business---"
"Just a cover. Li Hueah was supposed ta hit on any officer she saw in the hopes of getting' intel ta her father."
"Her father stepped on a landmine," Hawk said fiercely. "He was dead before I even met her. And Hueah never hit on anyone! She was too shy. All those cookies I had to buy---"
"The ol' sweet and demure act? C'mon, man, still tryin' ta fool yerself? First night with her shoulda told ya she was an experienced Saigon whore--- "
The table went crashing into the wall followed by Fury. Hawk was suddenly in his face, gun muzzle digging into Fury's eyepatch. Fury cursed as he pressed his own gun against the General's ribs. "Back off, General! Don't make me shoot you!"
"Call my wife a whore again, go ahead," Hawk dared in a dangerous voice.
"THINK, man! Why'd ya think yer CO and Chaplain refused ta let ya get married ta her? Why'd ya think her mother was less than thrilled when ya asked permission? 'Cause they suspected she was a spy, and her mother didn't want her shackin' up with a lowly Lieutenant when Captains and Majors were around!"
Hawk slammed Fury into the wall again.
Fury winced. "If it makes ya feel better, all reports indicated she was a hell of a lousy spy. Good ta know ya kept yer pillow talk off sensitive subjects. But ya were still sleepin' with the enemy!"
"SHE WAS MY WIFE," Hawk roared.
"A ceremony held by a missionary with no witnesses or paperwork---"
"We were married in the sight of God, and for the last time SHE WAS NOT A SPY!! SHE LOVED ME!"
"NEVER SAID SHE DIDN'T," Fury bellowed back. "AND THAT'S WHAT KILLED HER!"
Hawk whipped his gun across Fury's face. The impact knocked Fury to the floor. The spy rolled with the blow and fell on his back, gun up and ready.
The General had his back to Fury, his .45 flat on the counter he was gripping tightly with both hands. "Get out," Hawk said, his voice full of suppressed rage.
Cautiously, Fury rose. He reholstered his gun and began to straighten up the table and chairs. "I won't lie and say I know how ya felt, General. But I seen enough ta know what ya went through. Went totally career. That's why Joe means so much ta ya. After yer…wife and unborn---" Fury broke off when he saw Hawk's back stiffen. "Damn," he said without heat. "She didn't tell ya, did she? Naw," Fury said, answering himself. "She never got a chance. You were in the jungle fer three months, and when ya got back---"
"Colonel. Just…go," Hawk whispered wearily. "Just go."
Fury fished the General's Joe-com bracelet from his trenchcoat pocket and placed it gently on the center of the table. "I'll give you a week ta let Joe go with some dignity, General. Owe ya that much. After that, all bets are off. Don't ferget the coffee."
Hawk said nothing.
Nick Fury turned and walked away into the darkness, leaving as silently as he came.
Hawk looked at the coffee with red rimmed eyes.
He shot the pot and sank to the floor, pressing the hot flat metal of the gun's barrel against his forehead. "Hueah…"
It was only0335.
*WARBIRDS was originally meant to be a one-shot story, but thanks to the kind feed back from ladymagna1100, LanceGirl3132, and the encouragement and inspirations from ROuge, DoomKitty, and Lurker, I've decided to see where this can lead. I've incorporated aspects of the cartoon into this story as well, where it fits.
*SHIELD= Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate.
_________________________________________________________
Hawk awoke. The adrenaline hit his blood and drove sleep away in an instant. He jerked upright, clearing the .45 hidden in his bed's headboard in one practiced motion.
Nothing.
His bedroom was empty.
That didn't make him feel better.
Something woke him.
He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 0300. An hour and a half too early for Stalker, who was to swing by and pick him up for the 0500 Obstacle Course Run.
Dark out. That meant Low Light would still be outside, guarding the perimeter of Hawk's new base bungalow. Duke had wanted at least one Joe with Hawk at all times until the assassin was caught. Lack of confirmation or not, Duke didn't want to take any chances. Hawk flat out did not like the idea of a guard, but relented after both Duke and Flint logically (long and loudly) pointed out that even Hawk needed to sleep sometimes. Jokingly, Hawk had pointed out that he could always sleep in a tank.
No one had laughed.
And now, neither did Hawk.
Low Light would never have made enough noise to disturb Hawk…unless something was wrong. Hawk reached for his Joe-communications bracelet on the nightstand.
It wasn't there.
The hackles on the back of his neck rose as he felt around his nightstand more carefully.
In place of his bracelet and regular phone was a sheet of paper, a laminated card, and the mini-Maglite he normally kept in the drawer.
Someone had been in his room.
That meant one way or another, Low Light had somehow been neutralized.
Hawk's knuckles whitened around the grip.
Silent as a cat, Hawk slipped out of bed, feeling accursedly vulnerable in barefeet and boxers. With one hand, he twisted the Maglite on and pointed it at the paper and card.
ABERNATHY,
I'M MAKING COFFEE. DON'T SHOOT. JUST WANT TO TALK. STEVE SAYS HI.
NICK
The card was an ID. Colonel Nicolas Joseph Fury, Executive Director of SHEILD.
After a moment's hesitation Hawk put the Maglite between his teeth and cautiously pushed his left thumb against the SHEILD insignia.
1…
2…
3.
A small, full-bodied holographic image of Fury sprang to life above the ID picture.
Genuine.
He spat out the Maglite and snatched up the ID. Back rigid as a board, he threw open his door and stormed out, gun still in hand.
Low Light was in Hawk's small living room, dumped on the couch, unconscious but not unmoving. He thrashed weakly, whimpering, a sound Hawk rarely heard from his night spotter. Hawk was about to check on him when the flare of a lighter in his open kitchen caught his attention.
"Mornin', General," Fury rumbled from his comfortable seat at the breakfast table. He stuffed his lighter back into his trenchcoat pocket. "Ya woke up quick. Just got the coffee goin'." He took a puff on the cheap, acrid cigar. "Hope ya like a powerful brew."
Hawk tossed Fury his ID and grabbed the cigar as he stomped past the older man.
"HEY!"
The General put both gun and cigar flat on the counter, jerked out a clever and chopped the stogie in half, sending the lit end washing down the disposal. "I've got to run with fresh bucks ten, twenty, some even thirty years younger than me in two hours," Hawk growled, tossing the rest of the cigar back at Fury. "I don't need lungs full of smoke. You want to chew on that, fine, but light it up again and this conversation is over before it's begun. Got it?"
Hawk couldn't see Fury's face well, but he could practically feel the SHEILD Exec's one remaining eye try to bore a hole in him. "Ya know," the gravelly voice rasped. "I've burnt the eyes outta men who told me where I could and couldn't smoke."
Hawk leaned forward. "I don't care," he hissed. He ran a dishtowel under cold water and wrung it until it was merely damp. "This is my house, and if you don't like my rules, there's the door!" With gun in one hand, and towel in the other, Hawk went back to the living room.
He knelt next to Low Light, leaving his gun within easy reach on the floor. "Easy, Low Light," Hawk said, pitching his voice to a soothing rumble. He removed the sniper's night-vision goggles and knit cap, gently toweling off the man's sweating face. At first the younger man feebly tried to push him away. "It's just Hawk, Low Light. Just Hawk."
"Hmph. The tranq I hit him with shoulda made him as limp as that towel. Didn't realize he got night terrors."
Hawk glared at Fury angrily, but his voice remained calm. "Relax, Low Light. That's an order."
And Low Light, being a good solider even in sleep, obeyed.
"Nice trick," Fury commented.
"No trick," Hawk told him, taking a seat across from Fury. "Trust."
"Cute. By the by, fer the record, yer guard's a good one. If I weren't looking fer him, never woulda spotted him."
"Low Light's the best damn night operative in the country. How the hell did you get a drop on him?"
Fury grinned. "An old man's gotta have some secrets."
"'Some secrets,'" Hawk snorted. "Try a lot." After a pause Hawk laid his gun down, keeping only a light touch on the grip. "Word in the Belt said you were on personal leave."
"Yep. Still am. But when Carter needs ta pull out the big guns, I'm only a call away. So. Here I am, playin' Spy vs. Spy, through you. Just like ya so politely requested."
"What do you want, Colonel?"
Fury stretched out, taking his time. "New digs, huh?"
"Yes," Hawk said warily.
"Ya used ta live in that roomy two-story on the other side of base, right? Big change from that," Fury commented, waving a hand around. "I can fit the whole damn place in my apartment with room ta spare. Real humble fer a rich Pentagon boy like you."
Hawk gritted his teeth. "It suits my needs."
"Yeah. I'm sure it does. Tell me, General. Yer man…whazzis name…Stalker?"
"What about him?"
"Ya managed ta get him a real nice home fer him and his family."
"He needs it. He deserves it."
"Does he know ya downgraded so yer housin' budget could swing fer his place?"
"He doesn't need to know. Is there a point to this, or did you by-pass security just to critique base quarters?"
"Just pointin' out yer Unit's got a budget problem, General."
"Thank you for that vital intel, Colonel. However is SHIELD surviving without you?"
"I also noticed ya've been getting' a lot of orders from the higher ups ta cut back on manpower."
Hawk clamped up and scowled.
"Heard ya've been raisin' all sorts of hell over that," Fury continued mildly. "Can't blame ya. Didja also know how many officers are scramblin' ta get just one of yer Joes under their command? Its like watchin' a pimp announce an outta business sale, everthin' must go!"
"Watch your mouth," Hawk growled.
"Sorry," Fury said lightly. "Didn't mean ta ruffle yer feathers, but I call it like I see it. Ya know what's almost as bad? Folks on the Hill. There's an almighty fight ta see who really ends up with G.I. Joe, Department of Defense, or that new Department of Homeland Security W's been pushing."
Hawk digested that quietly.
"Anyone tell ya ta never play poker? Yer face's really lousy. I mean, I just met ya, it's dark, I only got one eye, and I can still tell that ya didn't know a blessed thing about the reshufflin' 'til just now."
"Thank you for---"
"Care fer the opinion of an old solider?"
Hawk leaned back. "I'd be a fool if I didn't at least listen," he said cautiously.
"Yeah, ya would be. Good ta see ya ain't. Here's my thoughts. DOD…obviously ya got a bunch of back-stabbin' sons of bitches after yer men. Friends of yers I believe…l'il club that starts with a 'J.' Be real pissed if they knew I was here."
Hawk stayed silent.
Fury let that go. "Stay with DOD and yer fightin' the system almost as much as yer fightin' Cobra. That ain't good. Uncle Sam needs ya ta be concentrating on the important stuff. But if ya go with DHS, since it's new, ya get ta help shape it from the inside out, ground up. Run a tight, clean ship. Only problem with that is you and yers would be mewed up within the borders mostly. That's bad. One of Joe's strengths always was mobility. Ya go where yer needed, no matter where. Won't be the case under DHS."
Hawk eyed him suspiciously. "But you have a third alternative."
Fury chuckled. "Ya catch on quick. That's good. Third alternative is this." Fury leaned forward, and in a conspiratorial whisper, said, "Make G.I. Joe a part of SHIELD."
The General jerked up straight. "What?"
"Ya heard me! Make Joe a part of SHIELD. Hell, we ain't got no budget problems. Got all the toys ya could want and yer pick of quarters! The United Nations foots the bills. It'd get ya out from under those damned two-faced J-Brass. Won't lie, still got a lotta political jockeyin' in SHIELD, but it ain't nowhere as bad. I won't stand fer it. And since we're a part of the UN, we can cut through diplomatic red tape in no time flat. That'd make Joe twice as mobile, easy. And before ya ask, no I ain't doin' this outta the kindness of my heart. Purely mercenary."
"Oh?"
"Yep. See…" Fury scratched the back of his neck. "It irks me somethin' fierce ta admit this, but I ain't all that different from those other CO's. I want yer Joes. Real bad. Only I want the WHOLE unit, intact, command structure and all."
"Intact?"
"Intact. See, SHIELD handles every trouble ya can think of, and lots ya can't even begin ta imagine. As an Agency, we're heads and shoulders above everyone else. Thing is…when ya boil it down, we're trouble-shootin' generalist, and lately, we need specialists. The best. Specifically, the best damn anti-terrorist strike force in the world."
"Namely, my Joe team," Hawk finished for him.
Fury slapped the table-top. "Ya got it."
The coffee began to boil.
Both men ignored it.
"Well," Hawk said at last. "This is…very flattering, Colonel. And it does sound like a rather neat answer to both of our many problems."
Fury sighed. "I hear a 'but' comin'."
"But," Hawk said obligingly, "I'm sorry. I've got to say no."
"Yer doin' yer team a disservice, General. Ya ain't givin' 'em a chance ta 'be all they can be.' Yer not doin' yerself any favors either, ya know."
Hawk's lips thinned. "Perhaps. But all of us Joes swore an oath of allegiance to America, first and foremost."
"I made the same oaths when ya weren't even a fond thought in yer Daddy's mind," Fury told him. "I found the best way ta serve America was ta keep an eye on the whole planet. Global community and all that. Look at the bigger picture, General, and ya'll see this won't go against any oaths."
"Everyone tells me to look at the bigger picture," Hawk said softly. "I have. Well. This is what I see. Its taking the concentrated efforts of the best military and federal people to ensure that Cobra isn't a threat against one country. They aren't our only problem, just one of the biggest, and we're barely keeping them in check. It's true you have everything we need: money, men, firepower, equipment, scissors for red tape…freedom to move about anywhere we need to. But you're forgetting something very important."
"Oh? Didn't think I did."
"Motivation, Colonel. My Joes aren't fighting for the glory, or the bragging rights to be called the best of the best."
"Coulda fooled me, General."
"They don't fool me, Colonel. I know my Joes, and at the heart of every one of them is the drive to protect their country. THEIR country, Colonel. Not Britain, not Japan, not Egypt or any other country you care to name. They're in this to defend their home, Fury, and woe be to anyone who tries to deny them that when they know they're needed."
"I…see."
"We aren't blind to the global community, Colonel. The other governments know that if they need our help, they just have to call. If we see a danger to another country out there, we'll put the word out and lend a hand. But we're an AMERICAN task force. Ask me to take that away from them, you might as well forget about the drive that makes them the best of the best. All they'll be doing then is their jobs, not their duty. So no, Colonel. Thank you, but G.I. Joe is going to stick it out with Uncle Sam."
Fury chewed on his cigar thoughtfully. "Nice speech," he finally grunted. "Gotta narrow view-point, in my opinion, but nice speech. I can see why Steve's taken a shine ta ya. Warbirds. Hmph. Cute." He tossed his cigar into the sink. "Funny thing about hawks and eagles, though," he said slowly. "They're strictly meat-eaters. Sometimes, they even develop real specialized tastes like, oh, say, fer snake. Real easy fer them birds ta starve. Not big survivors."
Hawk didn't like the direction this conversation suddenly turned.
"Now, ravens. THERE'S a bird that'll thrive anywhere on anything. Seeds, bugs, meat, two-week old banana peels, they'll down it. In fact, unlike hawks and eagles, ravens really live it up on battlefields…flockin' and peckin' away at any poor unlucky bastards layin' around, cleanin' up other people's messes. Yep, just…PECKIN'," Fury said, making pinching motions in the air. "Getting' under the skin, right ta the bone, flyin' off with anything shiny and hoardin' it…ta use fer later. Like secrets."
"Oh, for crying out loud, man, cut the analogies and just spit out what you're trying to say," Hawk snapped.
"Then listen up," Fury shot back. "Yer Joes are too good ta be rottin' in red tape and cutbacks. Patriotism is all well and good, but practical matters needs ta take precedent. The Joe's are fightin' ta stay efficient, and the biggest enemy ain't Cobra! It's the Jugglers!"
"So…what then? That offer was just a ruse, a way for me to give up the evidence against them?"
Fury hooked his thumbs into his pockets and stared hard at Hawk. "Naw. My offer was genuine. Would have been a plus ta get that evidence, but that's moot now. Yer not gonna budge, are ya?"
"No, Colonel. I'm not."
"Too bad then," Fury said. "Thing about some secrets is they got a shelf life. Whatever ya got on the Jugglers ain't gonna last. They'll figure a way ta sweep it ALL under the rug. No reform, no more influence over them, General. Just material fer some geeky conspiracy theorist's newsletter no one will ever read."
"I'll move before that happens."
"Not sure you will," he said, biting off the end of a fresh stogie. He spat into the sink. "Yer a damn fine combat general. One of the best I've seen, and I've seen a lot. Ya've done a lot of intel and covert ops…but that ain't yer specialty. Ya might miss yer window, then where will the Joes be? Spit outta luck, that's where." Fury crossed his arms. "Just give me names, General. That's all I ask. I got names, I can find my own dirt."
"If I give you names and you move too soon, I'm back to square one. No, Colonel. I've worked too long and too hard to dismantle the Jugglers to risk it. I'm sorry, but the answer again is no."
"I'm sorry too," Fury said softly. "I wanted yer co-operation, 'cause I know how tight you and yer troops are." His voice hardened. "As a Department of the UN Security Council, I got the authority ta TAKE the Joes from ya."
Hawk shot to his feet. "LIKE HELL YOU WILL!"
"I ain't gonna let ya waste the talents of yer team and jeopardize the Free World just so you can get the glory fer bringing down the Jugglers!"
The Tomahawk grabbed his gun and slammed his fist against his table. "Glory? GLORY? You think I'm doing this for some GLORY?! If I thought I could pass this responsibility off onto someone else and be with my men on the field THEN I WOULD HAVE!! Do you think I like it in the Pentagon? I HATE IT!! But my men NEED me there, so THERE I AM! And there is nothing, NOTHING, you or anyone can do to take my Joes from me. Get ready for a long campaign, Colonel, because I will fight you tooth and talon on this!"
"No. You won't."
"You think I'm bluffing," Hawk demanded, scowling fiercely.
"No, I don't. I know yer perfectly serious," Fury said, eerily calm. "But remember what I said 'bout if I got a name, I can find my own dirt? Well, I've got dirt on the only Juggler known." Fury casually jabbed the cigar at Hawk. "You. No shelf life on it. And if ya don't want ta air yer dirty laundry, ya'll just smile and wave good-bye ta the Joes and wish 'em good luck, 'cause Heaven knows it'll kill yer vet Joes if they knew."
Hawk snorted. "You're nuts. I haven't done a thing wrong and you know it!"
"Two words," Fury said holding up two fingers. "Li Hueah."
Hawk inhaled sharply, his chest suddenly feeling too tight. A hit and Fury knew it. "Not enough, not nearly enough," Hawk hissed. "That all you got?"
Fury sighed. "Three words," he said, holding up three fingers. He hesitated. "General, ya really don't want me ta do this. Just surrender."
"No."
"Please."
"You can't hurt me."
"Three words," Fury sighed. "Viet Cong spy."
Hawk frowned in honest confusion. "'Viet Cong spy?' What on Sam Hill are you---"
And then it hit him.
The blood drained from Hawk's face.
"Aww…HELL," Fury spat. "Now ya know. Happy now?"
Slowly, very slowly, Hawk shook his head. "You're wrong," he said in a low intense voice. "She sold cookies. COOKIES. Outside of Chu Lai Base. It was a family business---"
"Just a cover. Li Hueah was supposed ta hit on any officer she saw in the hopes of getting' intel ta her father."
"Her father stepped on a landmine," Hawk said fiercely. "He was dead before I even met her. And Hueah never hit on anyone! She was too shy. All those cookies I had to buy---"
"The ol' sweet and demure act? C'mon, man, still tryin' ta fool yerself? First night with her shoulda told ya she was an experienced Saigon whore--- "
The table went crashing into the wall followed by Fury. Hawk was suddenly in his face, gun muzzle digging into Fury's eyepatch. Fury cursed as he pressed his own gun against the General's ribs. "Back off, General! Don't make me shoot you!"
"Call my wife a whore again, go ahead," Hawk dared in a dangerous voice.
"THINK, man! Why'd ya think yer CO and Chaplain refused ta let ya get married ta her? Why'd ya think her mother was less than thrilled when ya asked permission? 'Cause they suspected she was a spy, and her mother didn't want her shackin' up with a lowly Lieutenant when Captains and Majors were around!"
Hawk slammed Fury into the wall again.
Fury winced. "If it makes ya feel better, all reports indicated she was a hell of a lousy spy. Good ta know ya kept yer pillow talk off sensitive subjects. But ya were still sleepin' with the enemy!"
"SHE WAS MY WIFE," Hawk roared.
"A ceremony held by a missionary with no witnesses or paperwork---"
"We were married in the sight of God, and for the last time SHE WAS NOT A SPY!! SHE LOVED ME!"
"NEVER SAID SHE DIDN'T," Fury bellowed back. "AND THAT'S WHAT KILLED HER!"
Hawk whipped his gun across Fury's face. The impact knocked Fury to the floor. The spy rolled with the blow and fell on his back, gun up and ready.
The General had his back to Fury, his .45 flat on the counter he was gripping tightly with both hands. "Get out," Hawk said, his voice full of suppressed rage.
Cautiously, Fury rose. He reholstered his gun and began to straighten up the table and chairs. "I won't lie and say I know how ya felt, General. But I seen enough ta know what ya went through. Went totally career. That's why Joe means so much ta ya. After yer…wife and unborn---" Fury broke off when he saw Hawk's back stiffen. "Damn," he said without heat. "She didn't tell ya, did she? Naw," Fury said, answering himself. "She never got a chance. You were in the jungle fer three months, and when ya got back---"
"Colonel. Just…go," Hawk whispered wearily. "Just go."
Fury fished the General's Joe-com bracelet from his trenchcoat pocket and placed it gently on the center of the table. "I'll give you a week ta let Joe go with some dignity, General. Owe ya that much. After that, all bets are off. Don't ferget the coffee."
Hawk said nothing.
Nick Fury turned and walked away into the darkness, leaving as silently as he came.
Hawk looked at the coffee with red rimmed eyes.
He shot the pot and sank to the floor, pressing the hot flat metal of the gun's barrel against his forehead. "Hueah…"
It was only0335.
