*Disclaimer: I've incorporated aspects of the cartoon into this story as
well, where it fits.
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.
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It hurt. It hurt like hell to have heard those words. Thirty years gone now and that little slip of a girl still had the power to hurt Hawk worse than any bullet that ever tore through him.
"You OK, sir," Stalker asked, throwing the General a sidelong look as he drove the jeep.
"Fine," Hawk said curtly, furiously swiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Allergies."
"Um…if you say so, sir."
Low Light just hunkered down in the back seat and didn't say a word.
After Fury had left (and Hawk had gotten a better hold of himself) the General cleared away as much evidence of Fury's visit as he could and woke the sniper. No easy feat, but with the help of cold water, pills and instant coffee, Low Light was alert by the time Stalker picked them up. With very specific instructions from Hawk.
As far as Low Light was concerned, NOTHING had happened that morning. No tranq from nowhere knocking him out, no Hawk standing over him looking like hell telling him to wake up. Everything was just FINE
Hawk, on the other hand, had a serious problem to deal with.
Ruthlessly, Hawk shoved his personal feelings aside, ignored the hurt and told himself coldly that Hueah WAS DEAD! For the sake of GI Joe, he HAD to acknowledge the possibility that Fury had been right. His bride COULD have been a VC spy, which automatically made Hawk guilty by association.
Guilty of High Treason.
During a time of Military Conflict, no less.
IF Fury was right, then the best Hawk could hope for was a General Court Marshal and a firing squad, with his Joes transferred to SHIELD's command…or a Juggler's.
That was a thought that made him both depressed and royally pissed as hell.
"Begging the General's pardon…but you've been kinda quiet," Stalker said softly.
"I'M---!" Hawk bit his lip. "Sorry, Stalker," he finally sighed. "Got a lot on my mind today."
"S'OK, sir," Stalker said. "Don't mean to seem like a mother hen, but we worry about you, ya know? Especially with that assassin out there."
"Hmph. I might actually thank him if he put me out of my misery quick," he muttered.
"Don't say that, sir," Low Light said harshly.
"I agree, Hawk. Mucho not funny."
Hawk sighed. "Am I the only with a sense of humor about this?"
"Yes," both men replied in synch.
A smile flickered across his face before dying completely.
'…it'll kill yer vet Joes if they knew,' Fury had said.
He might be right again.
Hueah…
"Hawk?"
"Hm?"
"Your, uh, 'allergies'," Stalker said, tapping the corner of his eye.
Hawk wiped his eyes with his thumb. "Thanks."
"Almost there," Stalker told him, pulling into the dirt parking lot. He looked at the General worriedly. "You sure you're up to this, Hawk? I mean, this being your first time on the Course with the new Greenshirts, and with your…'allergies' and all that---"
"Cobra's not exactly going to give me the same courtesy," Hawk snorted, grabbing his battered aviator-jacket. "Besides, I've been looking forward to this all week."
Stalker swung out of the jeep and shuddered. "Now THAT'S a scary statement."
Hawk stayed in his seat for a moment and just looked at his jacket. "I know," he said softly. "I should have done this a long time ago."
"You're doing it now," Stalker pointed out.
"I should have done it sooner," Hawk repeated, closing his eyes.
Stalker shifted uncomfortably, frowning. But before he could say anything more, a whispery, autumn-dry voice spoke up from the backseat. "Hawk?"
The General twisted in his seat. "Yes, Low Light?"
"May I talk with you for a second?"
Hawk studied his night spotter carefully. Gone was the man-child that had cringed from night terrors on his couch. Low Light was again his inscrutable self, cool and composed, his face an unreadable stony mask.
Since they rarely 'just talked,' Hawk could guess why he wanted to talk now.
Hawk nodded slowly. "Go on, Stalker. We'll catch up."
"OK, but don't take too long. You know how cranky Beach Head gets when people show up late." Stalker turned to leave. He stopped and turned back. "Hawk?"
"Yes?"
A brilliant smile flashed from the Joe's dark skin. "It's damned good to see you back in fatigues, man!" And with that, the Field Commander loped off down the hill.
Hawk grinned and stretched.
It FELT good.
But he had only a week to savor it.
…dammit…
He shrugged into his jacket and hopped out of the jeep. "What can I do for you, solider?"
Low Light slid out of the jeep. "I need---"
The sniper stumbled to his knees.
In an instant, Hawk was at his side, giving the sniper a hand up.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Low Light told his CO, straightening out of his grasp. "Just…got a little light headed for a second."
Damned tranq, Hawk cursed mentally. "You're not fine! You can't run the Obstacle Course like this," Hawk snarled.
"Like you pointed out, sir, Cobra's not going to give me any courtesies. If you can do it, so can I."
"Low Light---"
"Sir. I owe it to you."
"You don't owe me a damned thing! Now get back in that jeep and sit your ass down!" Hawk scowled at the sniper until Low Light nodded and crawled back into the jeep. Hawk swung into the jeep from the other side and sat next to him. "Better. Now. What did you need to talk to me about?"
The night spotter crossed his arms and stared at the floor. "A favor, sir."
"A favor?" Hawk's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?"
"Assign me as your permanent night guard, sir. Or at least until we catch this bastard."
Hawk cocked his head. "Any particular reason for this request," he finally asked.
Low Light shrugged. "No reason."
"I see." Hawk crossed his own arms. "And if I were to loosen that gag order I slapped on you this morning?"
The corners of Low Light's lips tugged down. "I let someone get past me, sir. I…don't know what happened after I got knocked out, but I know something bad went on. Real bad. I could smell the gunpowder. And I saw your ribs, Hawk. There was smudges and gun oil there, like someone pressed the muzzle of a revolver or an old pistol against you. And that red mark on your forehead."
Hawk touched his forehead and winced. He didn't even realize.
"Faint. Almost looks like a sunburn…except it's blocky, and I know you don't burn." He turtled his neck further into his dark Kevlar-jacket. "But it does bear a resemblance to the barrel of a Colt," he whispered. "I'm betting a freshly discharged .45 General Officer's Pistol." He jerked a thumb at Hawk's sidearm. "Yours. You had your gun out this morning. And the angle of the burn indicates…self-infliction. You fired it, didn't you, sir? But no one came to investigate and you're not reporting it. So something very, VERY bad went down. On my watch."
"Low Light," the General began, not quite sure what to say.
"Hawk," Low Light said in a voice that stopped him cold. The sniper squeezed his eyes shut tight. "You were directly threatened ON MY WATCH! I…" Low Light swallowed hard. "I let you down, Hawk. Don't try to BS me and say you're fine except for 'allergies'," he went on when it looked like Hawk was about to speak. "You put a GUN to your own HEAD right after firing it. That's not fine! And..." Low Light looked the older man directly in the eyes. "…I personally know wounded when I see it."
Hawk became perfectly still.
Low Light looked away. "Yeah," he said unhappily. "Like that."
"Dammit, Low Light---"
"I just want a chance to redeem myself, sir. Please. No one gets by me this time, I swear to you. Please."
Hawk let out a long, deep breath. "I would much rather forget the whole thing happened," he finally admitted. "Deal with it much later. But," he sighed, "this is really bothering you, isn't it?"
Low Light lowered his head. "Yes, sir."
"Well," Hawk sighed again, "I can't ignore that." He nodded. "Barring special missions, then, permission granted."
Low Light visibly relaxed. "Thank you, sir."
"Feel better?"
"Yes, sir---well, almost." He looked at Hawk from the corner of his eyes, almost timidly, tense again. "Why won't you tell anyone?"
Hawk closed his eyes, unconsciously drawing his jacket tighter about himself. 'Wounded' Low Light called him. The man was right. It was both too old and too new a pain to touch logically just now and Hawk HAD to tread carefully. The Joes didn't deserve the fallout from his personal life, but they would get it anyways. Hawk had to tell the Joes in the Chain of Command, to prepare for ANY scenario to ensure GI Joe's continuation, just in case…but…
…but not just yet…
Hawk reached out and clapped the sniper on the shoulder. "I have my reasons," he said softly. "Not necessarily good ones, not necessarily wise ones, but reasons."
"Reasons…that give you 'allergies,'" Low Light stated sadly.
Hawk bit back something that felt like either a choke or a chuckle. "Yeah, solider. It's giving me a hell of a lot of 'allergies.'"
Low Light absorbed that in silence.
"Ahhh, to hell with being miserable." Hawk squeezed the sniper's shoulder companionably before jumping out of the jeep. "The gag order is back in place," Hawk told him. "We don't even talk about it between ourselves unless I clear it, understood?"
Low Light nodded resignedly. "Yes, sir." He hesitated. "Good reasons or not, sir, I'll follow your lead."
"Thank you." Hawk coughed. "Well. Let's not keep the rest of the team waiting. Buddy up with an old bird?"
"Suits me fine, sir. Technically, I'm still on guard duty." Under Hawk's watchful eye, Low Light slid out of the jeep and carefully stepped away. He stretched out and gave Hawk a thumbs-up. "Good to go, sir."
"Then move it, Joe! We got less than three minutes to make it!"
Together they practically flew down the hill and into the forest of the river valley below. If they were late then even Hawk would become subject to Beach Head's authority as GI Joe's Head Trainer. Many push-ups would be in the cards then, and Hawk didn't think he could deal with his hard-nosed Fourth without blowing up.
There was only so much a man could take in one morning.
They broke through the trees into the sun-dappled clearing with ten seconds to spare, right smack into…
Hawk blinked.
…chaos?
The Joe team was standing around in loose clusters, arguing--- ARGUING!---instead of preparing for the Obstacle Course. Even more dumbfounding was the sight of his entire Command Chain standing at the outskirts of this group argument, scowling but not interfering.
Before Hawk could get more than a lung full of air, Duke, dressed in a black spy-jumper, gripped his arm. "Don't, sir. Not yet anyways." He pulled Hawk back into the tree line, followed by Beach Head and Low Light.
No one else noticed.
"Duke. Beach Head," Hawk hissed. "What the hell IS this?"
"This," Beach Head said, his Southern drawl thick with disgust, "is what I get for not listening to the medicine-man and the shrink." He drew himself up ramrod-straight. "As the Head Trainer, sir, I take full responsibility for not putting the fear of God into the Greenshirts like I was supposed to."
"What about the Greenshirts," Hawk growled.
Duke sighed. "Apparently the Greenshirts lost enough of their awe of us Vets to cross that thin line into terminal stupidity."
Hawk pinched the bridge of his nose. "Start from the beginning. Pretend I've been bouncing between here and DC too much to know what's been going on."
"Let me start, BeachHead," Duke said, squaring his shoulders. "I don't know if you knew this, sir, but there's been a lot of tension between the newer Joes---the Greenshirts---and the Vets. The Greenies are all used to being overachievers. Not being in the top slots is a new sensation for most of them, and they're not adjusting well. Of course," he said wryly, "it doesn't help that a lot of the Vets are feeling a little threatened by this ambitious bunch."
"I was hopping to channel all that into a healthy form of competition," BeachHead continued. "Keep the older Joes on their toes, try to toughen up the youngers. Make 'em lean, mean, fighting machines." He shook his head. "'Least I can honestly say I got that much done." He crossed his arms. "Spirit and Psyche-Out tried to warn me I was just riling 'em up…but, well…I didn't listen. Never even saw the powder keg till it blew up just now."
"Even Spirit and Psyche-Out didn't expect it to be this bad," Duke said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Where are they," Hawk asked.
BeachHead gestured with his chin. "Out there. Trying to calm folks down. Them and Lifeline are the only voices of reason out there."
"And before you ask, Hawk," Duke put in, "they asked for the Command Chain to keep out of this for now. This was going to come out sooner or later, so they said we all might as well deal with it in the privacy of the woods."
Hawk's eyes narrowed. "Doesn't look like they're dealing very well."
"Neither does Psyche-Out," Low Light observed softly. "He actually looks pissed."
The other men peered around the sniper's shoulders. "That," Duke said, loosening his collar with a finger, "is not a good sign."
"What set this powder keg off," Hawk demanded.
"Umm…" Duke and BeachHead exchanged quick glances before studying the ground intently.
"Duke," Hawk said, his voice deceptively soft. "Are we going to have another talk?"
"No, sir," Duke said hastily. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you this time." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just…don't know how to phrase this."
"Beach Head, give it to me straight," Hawk said impatiently.
"Me? I…" He glanced at Duke nervously. The Second gestured to him resignedly. "I…don't quite know how to say this tactfully---"
"If I wanted tact, I'd pry it out of him," Hawk said, jerking a thumb at Duke. "But I want to know NOW. So I'm asking YOU. Do I have to repeat myself?"
"No, sir!" BeachHead took a deep breath. "The Vets just found out the Greenies were running a bet."
"And…that's it? A damned BET?"
"Not JUST a bet," BeachHead said. "A bet about today's run. About you, sir."
"Me?"
BeachHead braced himself as Duke winced. "They were betting on your performance, sir. Most were betting you wouldn't even make it to the end under your own power. I understand there were even bets on which station you'd wuss out on."
"Maybe a little too blunt," Duke murmured.
For a very, very long time, Hawk said nothing.
Hawk shrugged out of his old aviator-jacket and tapped the three silver stars on one shoulder strap with a thoughtful finger. "Catch," he said suddenly, tossing his jacket at Duke.
The Second caught it out of pure reflex. "What am I supposed to do with it?"
"Wear it for all I care. You three, stay here," Hawk ordered. "Keep out of my way."
"Sir, I'm still on duty," Low Light protested.
"You're a sniper. Snipe," Hawk said curtly, tucking his dog tags under his olive tee shirt.
"Hawk, where're you going," BeachHead asked.
"Where do you think," Hawk snapped. "Damned desk," he muttered.
"Let him go," Duke said, holding both Beach Head and Low Light back. "Low Light, Hawk gave you your orders."
"Yeah, he did," Low Light sighed, slipping his rifle from his shoulder.
"He didn't pull anything like this last night, did he," BeachHead asked.
"Can't complain," Low Light said blandly, making a sniper's nest behind a diseased stump.
"Beach Head, c'mon," Duke said, putting the jacket on. "Help me pull Flint and the Field Commanders out of the line of fire." His lips thinned. "I think this is going to be bad."
Hawk checked his stride, slowing down enough to not be too noticeable. Just another Joe in green fatigues. No one ever really saw past the dress uniform or stars enough to notice his face.
No one but his Veterans, whom he signaled to be quiet. Pale, doomed, but compliant, the senior Joes held their tongues. The Greenshirts, emboldened by the silence, pressed their arguments even louder.
"---might have been good in his day, but c'mon, he's OLD---"
"---you old Joes just can't take a ribbing---"
"---YOU guys did a whole lot worse than this, and got away with more-- -"
"Um, isn't the General a platinum blonde?"
"More like ash. I hear $100 from the pot goes to any Joe with enough guts to ask him if its real. Why? OH SH--- I mean shoot. I mean---"
Shipwreck's voice cut right through the babble. "HEY! GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!"
Hawk automatically locked onto the sailor and broke off into a dead run, dodging past the other Joes. Like flashcard pictures, he saw Lifeline sprawled on the ground, Shipwreck rushing up, and a huge red-haired Greenshirt (Bert McDowel, Hawk remembered distantly. Army Corporal, Infantry) standing over Lifeline waiting for the sailor's attack. "STOP!"
Shipwreck hit the brakes hard, stopping off balanced.
McDowel, seeing this, grinned and hauled back a fist.
Hawk slid the rest of the way to the men, sweeping the Greenshirt's legs from under him. "Dammit, when I say stop, YOU STOP!" He grabbed a double handful of McDowel's shirt and hauled him up to his own eye level. "DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, GI JOE?"
The change of uniform may have masked Hawk to the Greenshirts, but no one was deaf enough to forget his voice. Especially when it thundered right point blank at them. Beads of sweat sprouted from McDowel's brow. "G-General Tomahawk---"
"You have a problem with the medic? Deal with it! You're his candy striper for the next month!" Hawk shoved the man back. "FALL IN!"
As the Joes fell into formation, Hawk gave Lifeline a hand up. "You OK?"
"Yes, sir," Lifeline said, brushing himself off. "Thank you, sir."
"Fall in with the others," Hawk ordered. Lifeline nodded and jogged off.
The sky began to darken. A storm was rolling in fast.
That suited Hawk's mood just fine.
Hawk swung his raptor's scowl at the columns of Joes standing at ramrod attention in the middle of the clearing. "GOOD MORNING, SIR!"
"No! NOT 'good,'" he sneered, stalking the front of the columns. "I came here expecting to train with the elite of the world. Instead I land smack into the middle of a gossiping hen house!" He paced before them, his fists clenched tight behind his back. "Let's get some things straight," he hissed. "My age, my sense of humor, my DAMNED HAIR COLOR is NOT your concern! What kind of shenanigans I USED to let Joe get away with is NOT your concern any more! When I command the best of the best, I turn a blind eye to some going ons because I believe in the truism of 'work hard, play hard.' But if this is the results of my leniency then you may consider such privileges REVOKED!"
Shipwreck snickered.
"DID I HEAR YOU SAY SOMETHING, JOE?"
"Um, no, sir."
"Glad to hear it, because the next time I see you, that beard will be shaved."
The sailor's eyes went wide. "Wha---Hawk---"
"DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY! ARE YOU SMILING AT SOMETHING, CANDY STRIPER? GET DOWN AND JOIN HIM!" McDowel began to pump out push-ups next to Shipwreck. "All beards will be shaved, all hair will be bound or cut above the shoulders." He grabbed the jaws of one nervously chewing young woman and pried out a wad of gum from her mouth. "None of this on duty or training," he growled, throwing it to the ground. "And no more bets! I catch a whiff of so much as a poker game anywhere and you are ALL busted. ALL OF YOU!" At the look of utter dismay on the Joes, Hawk's lip curled back even further. "What's that? No fair, you're all thinking? Almost as unfair as a Joe trying to pick on a PACIFIST, wouldn't you say?"
McDowel, to his credit, at least had the grace to look embarrassed.
"No, not fair at all," Hawk snarled. "And it sticks in my craw that I've got to resort to this, but we've got a problem." His scowl deepened. "There's an 'us vs. them' mentality here. Not 'us Joes vs. Cobra.' It's 'us old Joes vs. the new Joes.' It's 'Greenshirts vs. the Vets.' And that has to stop. If I have to adopt an 'All of us or none of us' policy, then so be it!" Hawk stopped abruptly. "Now I'm not so old or so full of my stars to actually believe that me yelling and threatening a mass punishment will cure all problems. There are some damn hard feelings here, and they should have been dealt with before they got out of hand. This is one of the reasons we have a Command Chain. I haven't been able to get a chaplain ornery enough to deal with you all yet, but if you didn't want to drag any of this before the Command Chain, you should have approached Spirit, Psyche- Out, or even Lifeline! Instead…we get this." He crossed his arms and waited for Shipwreck and McDowel to get back in line. "I'm damned disappointed in all of you," he said through grit teeth. "I expected a greater degree of professionalism from my Joes. Since you've all proven that belief to be faulty, I'm going to allow a cooling off period between factions. Maybe a little time apart will help." He beckoned to the Command Chain, lurking from behind the trees. "Beach Head, take the Vets and hit the Course. I'm with the Greenshirts today." He smiled humorlessly. "You all get to warm-up with me, and get my full, undivided attention." He bared his teeth wider. "Think of it as spending quality time with me."
"All right, Vets, you heard the General," BeachHead said. "Move 'em out!"
Hawk watched as his Vets took off in a run down the Course. Thunder rumbled and the sky turned even darker, almost night black. The Course was going to be hell to slosh through.
Nothing like a little adversity to bring a team together.
Hawk was in the middle of push-ups when the sky finally opened up. Rain poured down in sheets, splattering mud over everyone. "What's the matter," Hawk demanded, spitting out silt. "Afraid of getting dirty?"
"SIR, NO, SIR!"
"Then give me twenty-five more!"
And that's when a corpse fell right on top of Hawk.
"GENERAL!"
"I'm fine," he said, pushing the dead man off. He got to his feet and yanked out his gun. "What the hell---"
Another dead man fell from the trees.
At that moment Flint's voice echoed form dozens of wrist-coms across the clearing. "Ambush! Duke's down! GET HAWK OUT!"
Before anyone could move, another dark shape crashed into Hawk, this one still very much alive. Hawk's gun went flying as they tumbled past the tree line, sliding in the mud and wet vegetation to take them far beyond the clearing. Something cold and sharp sliced across Hawk's chest, grating against his dog tags. Cursing, he struggled against the slippery rainwater and muck to hold his assailant back. Behind him the sounds of gunfire told him that his Greenshirts were under attack in the dark of the storm. "Com on," he yelled, activating his wrist-com by voice. "FALL BACK AND GET DOWN," he roared. "USE THE TREES FOR COVER!" He fought to get back on his feet. "SOMEONE GET A FLARE!"
"GENERAL!" A voice in the forest. "WHERE ARE YOU?"
Paige Adams, he thought distantly. Army Lieutenant, Marksman. The woman who wanted to know if his hair was natural. She was close. She was standing.
She was going to get him killed.
"Adams, get down," Hawk screamed. "That's an order!" He couldn't tell if she obeyed, but he was going to have to trust that she did. He was slipping too much. He could feel the knife start to bite into his neck now. "TAKE THE SHOT!"
"Sir, I can't see you," Adams said, her voice close to the ground.
Hawk ignored her. "TAKE THE SHOT NOW!"
A high-powered bullet ripped clean through Hawk's right shoulder and lodged into his attacker's heart. Together they fell as the clearing lit up in a bright magnesium flash.
"HAWK!" Adams fast-crawled to his side.
"Ahh DAMMIT," he hissed sitting up, clutching his bleeding shoulder. He glanced at the wide-eyed Greenshirt, still hugging the ground. "Good girl," he smiled weakly.
"Sir, your shoulder---"
He nodded curtly. "Wrap it for me. Give me your pistol. I'll watch your back." She passed him her gun, which he awkwardly gripped with his left hand. He spoke calmly into his wrist-com. "Hawk here. Status report."
At the sound of his voice, cheering could be heard over the line. "McDowel here, sir! The enemy has been neutralized. We're securing the area now."
"Don't shoot Low Light. He's out there somewhere."
A dry, whispery voice spoke up over the com. "I see you, sir. I'll do a sweep before coming over."
"Acknowledged. Flint?"
"We got them on the run, Hawk! Request permission to pursue!"
"Denied. They're running too quick. I don't trust that. Get your ass back here, you've got wounded to think of. How bad is Duke?"
"Pissed as hell!" Hawk smiled in relief at the sound of his growling Second. "Dammit, Lifeline, I'm fine!"
"Lifeline here. Duke's our only causality. He's lucky. Just got his skull creased."
"Yeah, lucky me Cobra snipers can't hit worth a damn. Lifeline, I said I'm fine!"
"He's also got a mild concussion. I recommend we get him back to base."
"Lifeline, I said---"
"Duke, shut up," Hawk snapped. "That's an order! Flint, you're in charge. I'm sending a detachment of Greenshirts to meet you. Mainframe, inform Wright-Patterson Airbase that we've got intruders. Tell them to scramble Hueys for a search and to kick up their radar. And dammit, I want to know how they snuck in here! Hurry back, Joes. We've got wounded here too. Watch yourselves. Hawk out."
"You didn't tell them you're one the wounded," Adams commented, ripping his shirtsleeve open.
"Bad for morale," he hissed. He waited until he was sure he could talk normally again. He hit the com a second time. "McDowel---"
"I heard, sir. Already sent ten of our guys to go meet them."
"Good work, son. Anyone else down?"
"Just the bad guys."
"We have prisoners?"
"Just one," he said grimly. "But Kamakura doesn't think he'll last long."
"Hell," Hawk sighed.
"Sir? Kamakura…he said there's something not right about these guys. He said they don't feel like Cobra."
"Great. Just what I needed to hear," Hawk muttered, grimacing as Adams cleaned the wound. "Leave the bodies, McDowel. Try not to disturb anything. Despite the rain there could be clues. If anyone finds anything else, send it encrypted to me." Hawk thought quickly. "Low Light, you were with Criminal Investigations. I want you and Lady Jaye to play sleuth for me. If these guys aren't Cobra I want to know who they are and why they're trying to kill me and Duke."
"Sir," Low Light said slowly. "I think Duke was a mistake. Flint, is Duke still wearing Hawk's jacket?"
"Yeah. Yeah he is, stars and all. Still think this is funny, Hawk?"
"Muzzle it, Fairborne. Low Light, Lady Jaye, ID these guys."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"And Low Light?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You did good work, solider. You didn't let me down."
The Joe sniper let out a whoosh of air, his soft voice shaking as he spoke. "Just promise you won't ever make me take another shot like that again, Hawk."
"Sorry, solider. Wish I could." He winced as Adams cinched the wet bandage tight. "Really."
Low Light sighed. "I'll be there soon, sir. Low Light out."
"Sir?" Hawk looked at Adams. Her eyes were wide with awe. "Low Light…HE made that shot? In this weather? THROUGH you? He could have---I mean---"
"He wouldn't have missed," Hawk told her. "He's the best of the best." He grinned. "You can learn a lot from him, Adams."
She nodded slowly. "I think…I'm really beginning to see that, sir."
"Brown," Hawk said abruptly, flexing his shoulder slowly.
"What?"
"I dyed my hair brown once. Got tired of Cobra taking pot shots at me like I was some white wigged Redcoat Officer from the Revolution."
"OH! So it really is---I mean, why'd you stop? Not that it's any of my concern---"
"No, it's not, but I'll tell you anyways. Too much of a damned nuisence to keep up and I was still getting shot at. So I said, to hell with it, and let it grow gilt again."
"Oh."
"Since you were all so damned curious."
"Sir…about that…the whole thing…I'm sorry."
He looked at her for a second. "Well," he said, smiling. "That's a start."
"But we're all still busted, huh?"
"Oh, yeah."
She shrugged. "Had to try."
"I know, Joe. I'd be worried if you didn't."
His wrist-com started to vibrate. Hawk frowned. An encrypted text message was coming in. "Adams, if you'll excuse me?"
"Of course, sir." She pulled out a second pistol from her gunbelt, stood, and turned her back to him, alert for troubled through the torrent of rain.
Hawk punched in his private code and read the transmission.
HAWK,
PRISIONER JUST DIED. LAST WORDS: "MCBRIDE YOU TRAITOR."
PLEASE ADVISE.
KAMAKURA
Hawk immediately wiped the screen.
'McBride you traitor.'
McBride…
Dammit.
Quickly, he typed his own encrypted message back.
KAMAKURA,
GAG ORDER. WILL HANDLE PERSONALLY.
HAWK
He wiped the screen clear again. He reached over and tore the mask off the body. He couldn't see it too clearly. Too dark.
Didn't matter.
A dry voice whispered through the rain. "Hawk?"
Adams jumped, swinging her gun around. "Dammit, sir!" She lowered her gun. "Make some noise next time!"
"Sorry. Hawk, you OK?"
"Been better," he grunted, getting to his feet. "But not dead. Here's your third kill," he said, nodding to the body. "You can start your investigation with him."
"May I help you, sir," Adams asked Low Light eagerly, holstering her gun.
"Actually, Adams," Hawk said. "I'd appreciate it if you could find this old man's gun. I'd hate like hell to lose it."
"Might still be in the clearing. I'll go see, sir. You can borrow mine until I find it."
"Thank you, Adams. I'll stay and assist Low Light. We'll meet you back there." He waited until she was well on her way and Low Light shifted his weapon so he could kneel. "Here, Low Light, let me hold your rifle for you."
"Thanks, Hawk." Low Light handed the high-powered rifle to Hawk, who slung it over his left shoulder. Low Light knelt in the mud and bent closer to the dead man. With his night vision goggles and his extraordinary natural eyesight, he managed to get a good look at the man's bare face.
He froze.
Very deliberately, very loudly, Hawk chambered a round into the pistol. He didn't point it. Even now he didn't have the heart.
But Low Light didn't know that. Very slowly, he raised both hands above his head.
"Cooper McBride," Hawk said harshly, addressing the sniper by his real name. "Look at me."
Carefully, passively, Low Light turned to face Hawk, still kneeling in the mud.
"Lower your hands but keep them where I can see them. Understand?"
Low Light's voice was almost inaudible. "…yes, sir…"
"You've served under me for a long time. You just saved my life when you could have killed me easily. So against my better judgment, I'm going to trust you to answer me truthfully." He nodded at the body. "Do you know this man?"
"…yes, sir…"
"From where?"
"Hawk…I shouldn't---"
"Dammit, McBride, you tell me or I'm going to have to assume you're a Cobra agent!"
"NO! Sir, I'd never work for those snakes! You know that!"
"I thought I knew a lot of things about you, McBride, but now I'm starting to wonder!" He glared at Low Light for a long moment. "Dammit, man, tell me something, give me a second option. Give me the TRUTH."
"I…" Low Light's shoulders slumped. "He's…he's a Special Agent, sir. A Field Operative." He took a deep breath. "Of SHIELD." He bowed his head. "Like me," he whispered hoarsely.
Hawk scowled fiercely. "You're the SHIELD spy," he hissed.
Low Light nodded dejectedly. "Yeah. I am. But, sir, if you'll just let me explain---"
"Can you explain him," Hawk demanded.
Low Light glanced at the body and shook his head. "The only thing I know about any of this is what Duke told us and now…this." He shook his head again. "This doesn't make any sense. Neither Carter nor Fury would authorize anything like this against you, sir. It's too sloppy and obvious. Especially since I'm here to ID the bodies."
"Does anyone else know you're a SHIELD spy?"
"Just you, sir. I report directly to Carter. All of my former colleagues in SHIELD believe I'm dead. I'd like to keep it that way."
"Well, at least one of these men knew you were alive and here. He called you a traitor."
"He knew I was here?" Suddenly the sniper's gaze became intense. "What name did they call me by?"
"McBride."
Low Light's face was as grim as a tombstone. "Then I'd say we both have a problem, sir. When I worked with other SHIELD Agents I went masked and was only known by my Agent number. Everything about me was classified."
"Why?"
"Not here, sir. The area isn't secure enough for this night-owl to sing anymore." He paused. "Respectfully, sir? I think we're both in serious trouble."
"I'm very much aware of that, son. More than you know."
"So…what now, sir?"
Hawk regarded Low Light for a long while, thoughts racing. Without taking his eyes off the sniper, Hawk typed out another encoded message on his wrist-com.
MAINFRAME,
TRANSMIT TRIPLE ENCRYPTED/SCRAMBLED/STEALTH TO AVENGERS CHAIRMAN SECURED PRIVATE LINE.
WARBIRDS
HAWK
"Now we wait for help," Hawk told him, clearing the screen. "Until it gets here, you're going to continue this investigation with Lady Jaye. Share with her as much as you feel necessary, but tell her to keep the info just between you two and me. No one else, not Duke, not even Flint, not even if W himself comes asking. And then…" Hawk slipped the rifle from his shoulder and held it out. "Then, son, you've got some serious explaining to do."
Low Light flinched as he gently took back the rifle. "I know I do, sir." He bowed his head as he cradled the rifle. "I know I do."
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.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
It hurt. It hurt like hell to have heard those words. Thirty years gone now and that little slip of a girl still had the power to hurt Hawk worse than any bullet that ever tore through him.
"You OK, sir," Stalker asked, throwing the General a sidelong look as he drove the jeep.
"Fine," Hawk said curtly, furiously swiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Allergies."
"Um…if you say so, sir."
Low Light just hunkered down in the back seat and didn't say a word.
After Fury had left (and Hawk had gotten a better hold of himself) the General cleared away as much evidence of Fury's visit as he could and woke the sniper. No easy feat, but with the help of cold water, pills and instant coffee, Low Light was alert by the time Stalker picked them up. With very specific instructions from Hawk.
As far as Low Light was concerned, NOTHING had happened that morning. No tranq from nowhere knocking him out, no Hawk standing over him looking like hell telling him to wake up. Everything was just FINE
Hawk, on the other hand, had a serious problem to deal with.
Ruthlessly, Hawk shoved his personal feelings aside, ignored the hurt and told himself coldly that Hueah WAS DEAD! For the sake of GI Joe, he HAD to acknowledge the possibility that Fury had been right. His bride COULD have been a VC spy, which automatically made Hawk guilty by association.
Guilty of High Treason.
During a time of Military Conflict, no less.
IF Fury was right, then the best Hawk could hope for was a General Court Marshal and a firing squad, with his Joes transferred to SHIELD's command…or a Juggler's.
That was a thought that made him both depressed and royally pissed as hell.
"Begging the General's pardon…but you've been kinda quiet," Stalker said softly.
"I'M---!" Hawk bit his lip. "Sorry, Stalker," he finally sighed. "Got a lot on my mind today."
"S'OK, sir," Stalker said. "Don't mean to seem like a mother hen, but we worry about you, ya know? Especially with that assassin out there."
"Hmph. I might actually thank him if he put me out of my misery quick," he muttered.
"Don't say that, sir," Low Light said harshly.
"I agree, Hawk. Mucho not funny."
Hawk sighed. "Am I the only with a sense of humor about this?"
"Yes," both men replied in synch.
A smile flickered across his face before dying completely.
'…it'll kill yer vet Joes if they knew,' Fury had said.
He might be right again.
Hueah…
"Hawk?"
"Hm?"
"Your, uh, 'allergies'," Stalker said, tapping the corner of his eye.
Hawk wiped his eyes with his thumb. "Thanks."
"Almost there," Stalker told him, pulling into the dirt parking lot. He looked at the General worriedly. "You sure you're up to this, Hawk? I mean, this being your first time on the Course with the new Greenshirts, and with your…'allergies' and all that---"
"Cobra's not exactly going to give me the same courtesy," Hawk snorted, grabbing his battered aviator-jacket. "Besides, I've been looking forward to this all week."
Stalker swung out of the jeep and shuddered. "Now THAT'S a scary statement."
Hawk stayed in his seat for a moment and just looked at his jacket. "I know," he said softly. "I should have done this a long time ago."
"You're doing it now," Stalker pointed out.
"I should have done it sooner," Hawk repeated, closing his eyes.
Stalker shifted uncomfortably, frowning. But before he could say anything more, a whispery, autumn-dry voice spoke up from the backseat. "Hawk?"
The General twisted in his seat. "Yes, Low Light?"
"May I talk with you for a second?"
Hawk studied his night spotter carefully. Gone was the man-child that had cringed from night terrors on his couch. Low Light was again his inscrutable self, cool and composed, his face an unreadable stony mask.
Since they rarely 'just talked,' Hawk could guess why he wanted to talk now.
Hawk nodded slowly. "Go on, Stalker. We'll catch up."
"OK, but don't take too long. You know how cranky Beach Head gets when people show up late." Stalker turned to leave. He stopped and turned back. "Hawk?"
"Yes?"
A brilliant smile flashed from the Joe's dark skin. "It's damned good to see you back in fatigues, man!" And with that, the Field Commander loped off down the hill.
Hawk grinned and stretched.
It FELT good.
But he had only a week to savor it.
…dammit…
He shrugged into his jacket and hopped out of the jeep. "What can I do for you, solider?"
Low Light slid out of the jeep. "I need---"
The sniper stumbled to his knees.
In an instant, Hawk was at his side, giving the sniper a hand up.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Low Light told his CO, straightening out of his grasp. "Just…got a little light headed for a second."
Damned tranq, Hawk cursed mentally. "You're not fine! You can't run the Obstacle Course like this," Hawk snarled.
"Like you pointed out, sir, Cobra's not going to give me any courtesies. If you can do it, so can I."
"Low Light---"
"Sir. I owe it to you."
"You don't owe me a damned thing! Now get back in that jeep and sit your ass down!" Hawk scowled at the sniper until Low Light nodded and crawled back into the jeep. Hawk swung into the jeep from the other side and sat next to him. "Better. Now. What did you need to talk to me about?"
The night spotter crossed his arms and stared at the floor. "A favor, sir."
"A favor?" Hawk's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?"
"Assign me as your permanent night guard, sir. Or at least until we catch this bastard."
Hawk cocked his head. "Any particular reason for this request," he finally asked.
Low Light shrugged. "No reason."
"I see." Hawk crossed his own arms. "And if I were to loosen that gag order I slapped on you this morning?"
The corners of Low Light's lips tugged down. "I let someone get past me, sir. I…don't know what happened after I got knocked out, but I know something bad went on. Real bad. I could smell the gunpowder. And I saw your ribs, Hawk. There was smudges and gun oil there, like someone pressed the muzzle of a revolver or an old pistol against you. And that red mark on your forehead."
Hawk touched his forehead and winced. He didn't even realize.
"Faint. Almost looks like a sunburn…except it's blocky, and I know you don't burn." He turtled his neck further into his dark Kevlar-jacket. "But it does bear a resemblance to the barrel of a Colt," he whispered. "I'm betting a freshly discharged .45 General Officer's Pistol." He jerked a thumb at Hawk's sidearm. "Yours. You had your gun out this morning. And the angle of the burn indicates…self-infliction. You fired it, didn't you, sir? But no one came to investigate and you're not reporting it. So something very, VERY bad went down. On my watch."
"Low Light," the General began, not quite sure what to say.
"Hawk," Low Light said in a voice that stopped him cold. The sniper squeezed his eyes shut tight. "You were directly threatened ON MY WATCH! I…" Low Light swallowed hard. "I let you down, Hawk. Don't try to BS me and say you're fine except for 'allergies'," he went on when it looked like Hawk was about to speak. "You put a GUN to your own HEAD right after firing it. That's not fine! And..." Low Light looked the older man directly in the eyes. "…I personally know wounded when I see it."
Hawk became perfectly still.
Low Light looked away. "Yeah," he said unhappily. "Like that."
"Dammit, Low Light---"
"I just want a chance to redeem myself, sir. Please. No one gets by me this time, I swear to you. Please."
Hawk let out a long, deep breath. "I would much rather forget the whole thing happened," he finally admitted. "Deal with it much later. But," he sighed, "this is really bothering you, isn't it?"
Low Light lowered his head. "Yes, sir."
"Well," Hawk sighed again, "I can't ignore that." He nodded. "Barring special missions, then, permission granted."
Low Light visibly relaxed. "Thank you, sir."
"Feel better?"
"Yes, sir---well, almost." He looked at Hawk from the corner of his eyes, almost timidly, tense again. "Why won't you tell anyone?"
Hawk closed his eyes, unconsciously drawing his jacket tighter about himself. 'Wounded' Low Light called him. The man was right. It was both too old and too new a pain to touch logically just now and Hawk HAD to tread carefully. The Joes didn't deserve the fallout from his personal life, but they would get it anyways. Hawk had to tell the Joes in the Chain of Command, to prepare for ANY scenario to ensure GI Joe's continuation, just in case…but…
…but not just yet…
Hawk reached out and clapped the sniper on the shoulder. "I have my reasons," he said softly. "Not necessarily good ones, not necessarily wise ones, but reasons."
"Reasons…that give you 'allergies,'" Low Light stated sadly.
Hawk bit back something that felt like either a choke or a chuckle. "Yeah, solider. It's giving me a hell of a lot of 'allergies.'"
Low Light absorbed that in silence.
"Ahhh, to hell with being miserable." Hawk squeezed the sniper's shoulder companionably before jumping out of the jeep. "The gag order is back in place," Hawk told him. "We don't even talk about it between ourselves unless I clear it, understood?"
Low Light nodded resignedly. "Yes, sir." He hesitated. "Good reasons or not, sir, I'll follow your lead."
"Thank you." Hawk coughed. "Well. Let's not keep the rest of the team waiting. Buddy up with an old bird?"
"Suits me fine, sir. Technically, I'm still on guard duty." Under Hawk's watchful eye, Low Light slid out of the jeep and carefully stepped away. He stretched out and gave Hawk a thumbs-up. "Good to go, sir."
"Then move it, Joe! We got less than three minutes to make it!"
Together they practically flew down the hill and into the forest of the river valley below. If they were late then even Hawk would become subject to Beach Head's authority as GI Joe's Head Trainer. Many push-ups would be in the cards then, and Hawk didn't think he could deal with his hard-nosed Fourth without blowing up.
There was only so much a man could take in one morning.
They broke through the trees into the sun-dappled clearing with ten seconds to spare, right smack into…
Hawk blinked.
…chaos?
The Joe team was standing around in loose clusters, arguing--- ARGUING!---instead of preparing for the Obstacle Course. Even more dumbfounding was the sight of his entire Command Chain standing at the outskirts of this group argument, scowling but not interfering.
Before Hawk could get more than a lung full of air, Duke, dressed in a black spy-jumper, gripped his arm. "Don't, sir. Not yet anyways." He pulled Hawk back into the tree line, followed by Beach Head and Low Light.
No one else noticed.
"Duke. Beach Head," Hawk hissed. "What the hell IS this?"
"This," Beach Head said, his Southern drawl thick with disgust, "is what I get for not listening to the medicine-man and the shrink." He drew himself up ramrod-straight. "As the Head Trainer, sir, I take full responsibility for not putting the fear of God into the Greenshirts like I was supposed to."
"What about the Greenshirts," Hawk growled.
Duke sighed. "Apparently the Greenshirts lost enough of their awe of us Vets to cross that thin line into terminal stupidity."
Hawk pinched the bridge of his nose. "Start from the beginning. Pretend I've been bouncing between here and DC too much to know what's been going on."
"Let me start, BeachHead," Duke said, squaring his shoulders. "I don't know if you knew this, sir, but there's been a lot of tension between the newer Joes---the Greenshirts---and the Vets. The Greenies are all used to being overachievers. Not being in the top slots is a new sensation for most of them, and they're not adjusting well. Of course," he said wryly, "it doesn't help that a lot of the Vets are feeling a little threatened by this ambitious bunch."
"I was hopping to channel all that into a healthy form of competition," BeachHead continued. "Keep the older Joes on their toes, try to toughen up the youngers. Make 'em lean, mean, fighting machines." He shook his head. "'Least I can honestly say I got that much done." He crossed his arms. "Spirit and Psyche-Out tried to warn me I was just riling 'em up…but, well…I didn't listen. Never even saw the powder keg till it blew up just now."
"Even Spirit and Psyche-Out didn't expect it to be this bad," Duke said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Where are they," Hawk asked.
BeachHead gestured with his chin. "Out there. Trying to calm folks down. Them and Lifeline are the only voices of reason out there."
"And before you ask, Hawk," Duke put in, "they asked for the Command Chain to keep out of this for now. This was going to come out sooner or later, so they said we all might as well deal with it in the privacy of the woods."
Hawk's eyes narrowed. "Doesn't look like they're dealing very well."
"Neither does Psyche-Out," Low Light observed softly. "He actually looks pissed."
The other men peered around the sniper's shoulders. "That," Duke said, loosening his collar with a finger, "is not a good sign."
"What set this powder keg off," Hawk demanded.
"Umm…" Duke and BeachHead exchanged quick glances before studying the ground intently.
"Duke," Hawk said, his voice deceptively soft. "Are we going to have another talk?"
"No, sir," Duke said hastily. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you this time." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just…don't know how to phrase this."
"Beach Head, give it to me straight," Hawk said impatiently.
"Me? I…" He glanced at Duke nervously. The Second gestured to him resignedly. "I…don't quite know how to say this tactfully---"
"If I wanted tact, I'd pry it out of him," Hawk said, jerking a thumb at Duke. "But I want to know NOW. So I'm asking YOU. Do I have to repeat myself?"
"No, sir!" BeachHead took a deep breath. "The Vets just found out the Greenies were running a bet."
"And…that's it? A damned BET?"
"Not JUST a bet," BeachHead said. "A bet about today's run. About you, sir."
"Me?"
BeachHead braced himself as Duke winced. "They were betting on your performance, sir. Most were betting you wouldn't even make it to the end under your own power. I understand there were even bets on which station you'd wuss out on."
"Maybe a little too blunt," Duke murmured.
For a very, very long time, Hawk said nothing.
Hawk shrugged out of his old aviator-jacket and tapped the three silver stars on one shoulder strap with a thoughtful finger. "Catch," he said suddenly, tossing his jacket at Duke.
The Second caught it out of pure reflex. "What am I supposed to do with it?"
"Wear it for all I care. You three, stay here," Hawk ordered. "Keep out of my way."
"Sir, I'm still on duty," Low Light protested.
"You're a sniper. Snipe," Hawk said curtly, tucking his dog tags under his olive tee shirt.
"Hawk, where're you going," BeachHead asked.
"Where do you think," Hawk snapped. "Damned desk," he muttered.
"Let him go," Duke said, holding both Beach Head and Low Light back. "Low Light, Hawk gave you your orders."
"Yeah, he did," Low Light sighed, slipping his rifle from his shoulder.
"He didn't pull anything like this last night, did he," BeachHead asked.
"Can't complain," Low Light said blandly, making a sniper's nest behind a diseased stump.
"Beach Head, c'mon," Duke said, putting the jacket on. "Help me pull Flint and the Field Commanders out of the line of fire." His lips thinned. "I think this is going to be bad."
Hawk checked his stride, slowing down enough to not be too noticeable. Just another Joe in green fatigues. No one ever really saw past the dress uniform or stars enough to notice his face.
No one but his Veterans, whom he signaled to be quiet. Pale, doomed, but compliant, the senior Joes held their tongues. The Greenshirts, emboldened by the silence, pressed their arguments even louder.
"---might have been good in his day, but c'mon, he's OLD---"
"---you old Joes just can't take a ribbing---"
"---YOU guys did a whole lot worse than this, and got away with more-- -"
"Um, isn't the General a platinum blonde?"
"More like ash. I hear $100 from the pot goes to any Joe with enough guts to ask him if its real. Why? OH SH--- I mean shoot. I mean---"
Shipwreck's voice cut right through the babble. "HEY! GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!"
Hawk automatically locked onto the sailor and broke off into a dead run, dodging past the other Joes. Like flashcard pictures, he saw Lifeline sprawled on the ground, Shipwreck rushing up, and a huge red-haired Greenshirt (Bert McDowel, Hawk remembered distantly. Army Corporal, Infantry) standing over Lifeline waiting for the sailor's attack. "STOP!"
Shipwreck hit the brakes hard, stopping off balanced.
McDowel, seeing this, grinned and hauled back a fist.
Hawk slid the rest of the way to the men, sweeping the Greenshirt's legs from under him. "Dammit, when I say stop, YOU STOP!" He grabbed a double handful of McDowel's shirt and hauled him up to his own eye level. "DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, GI JOE?"
The change of uniform may have masked Hawk to the Greenshirts, but no one was deaf enough to forget his voice. Especially when it thundered right point blank at them. Beads of sweat sprouted from McDowel's brow. "G-General Tomahawk---"
"You have a problem with the medic? Deal with it! You're his candy striper for the next month!" Hawk shoved the man back. "FALL IN!"
As the Joes fell into formation, Hawk gave Lifeline a hand up. "You OK?"
"Yes, sir," Lifeline said, brushing himself off. "Thank you, sir."
"Fall in with the others," Hawk ordered. Lifeline nodded and jogged off.
The sky began to darken. A storm was rolling in fast.
That suited Hawk's mood just fine.
Hawk swung his raptor's scowl at the columns of Joes standing at ramrod attention in the middle of the clearing. "GOOD MORNING, SIR!"
"No! NOT 'good,'" he sneered, stalking the front of the columns. "I came here expecting to train with the elite of the world. Instead I land smack into the middle of a gossiping hen house!" He paced before them, his fists clenched tight behind his back. "Let's get some things straight," he hissed. "My age, my sense of humor, my DAMNED HAIR COLOR is NOT your concern! What kind of shenanigans I USED to let Joe get away with is NOT your concern any more! When I command the best of the best, I turn a blind eye to some going ons because I believe in the truism of 'work hard, play hard.' But if this is the results of my leniency then you may consider such privileges REVOKED!"
Shipwreck snickered.
"DID I HEAR YOU SAY SOMETHING, JOE?"
"Um, no, sir."
"Glad to hear it, because the next time I see you, that beard will be shaved."
The sailor's eyes went wide. "Wha---Hawk---"
"DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY! ARE YOU SMILING AT SOMETHING, CANDY STRIPER? GET DOWN AND JOIN HIM!" McDowel began to pump out push-ups next to Shipwreck. "All beards will be shaved, all hair will be bound or cut above the shoulders." He grabbed the jaws of one nervously chewing young woman and pried out a wad of gum from her mouth. "None of this on duty or training," he growled, throwing it to the ground. "And no more bets! I catch a whiff of so much as a poker game anywhere and you are ALL busted. ALL OF YOU!" At the look of utter dismay on the Joes, Hawk's lip curled back even further. "What's that? No fair, you're all thinking? Almost as unfair as a Joe trying to pick on a PACIFIST, wouldn't you say?"
McDowel, to his credit, at least had the grace to look embarrassed.
"No, not fair at all," Hawk snarled. "And it sticks in my craw that I've got to resort to this, but we've got a problem." His scowl deepened. "There's an 'us vs. them' mentality here. Not 'us Joes vs. Cobra.' It's 'us old Joes vs. the new Joes.' It's 'Greenshirts vs. the Vets.' And that has to stop. If I have to adopt an 'All of us or none of us' policy, then so be it!" Hawk stopped abruptly. "Now I'm not so old or so full of my stars to actually believe that me yelling and threatening a mass punishment will cure all problems. There are some damn hard feelings here, and they should have been dealt with before they got out of hand. This is one of the reasons we have a Command Chain. I haven't been able to get a chaplain ornery enough to deal with you all yet, but if you didn't want to drag any of this before the Command Chain, you should have approached Spirit, Psyche- Out, or even Lifeline! Instead…we get this." He crossed his arms and waited for Shipwreck and McDowel to get back in line. "I'm damned disappointed in all of you," he said through grit teeth. "I expected a greater degree of professionalism from my Joes. Since you've all proven that belief to be faulty, I'm going to allow a cooling off period between factions. Maybe a little time apart will help." He beckoned to the Command Chain, lurking from behind the trees. "Beach Head, take the Vets and hit the Course. I'm with the Greenshirts today." He smiled humorlessly. "You all get to warm-up with me, and get my full, undivided attention." He bared his teeth wider. "Think of it as spending quality time with me."
"All right, Vets, you heard the General," BeachHead said. "Move 'em out!"
Hawk watched as his Vets took off in a run down the Course. Thunder rumbled and the sky turned even darker, almost night black. The Course was going to be hell to slosh through.
Nothing like a little adversity to bring a team together.
Hawk was in the middle of push-ups when the sky finally opened up. Rain poured down in sheets, splattering mud over everyone. "What's the matter," Hawk demanded, spitting out silt. "Afraid of getting dirty?"
"SIR, NO, SIR!"
"Then give me twenty-five more!"
And that's when a corpse fell right on top of Hawk.
"GENERAL!"
"I'm fine," he said, pushing the dead man off. He got to his feet and yanked out his gun. "What the hell---"
Another dead man fell from the trees.
At that moment Flint's voice echoed form dozens of wrist-coms across the clearing. "Ambush! Duke's down! GET HAWK OUT!"
Before anyone could move, another dark shape crashed into Hawk, this one still very much alive. Hawk's gun went flying as they tumbled past the tree line, sliding in the mud and wet vegetation to take them far beyond the clearing. Something cold and sharp sliced across Hawk's chest, grating against his dog tags. Cursing, he struggled against the slippery rainwater and muck to hold his assailant back. Behind him the sounds of gunfire told him that his Greenshirts were under attack in the dark of the storm. "Com on," he yelled, activating his wrist-com by voice. "FALL BACK AND GET DOWN," he roared. "USE THE TREES FOR COVER!" He fought to get back on his feet. "SOMEONE GET A FLARE!"
"GENERAL!" A voice in the forest. "WHERE ARE YOU?"
Paige Adams, he thought distantly. Army Lieutenant, Marksman. The woman who wanted to know if his hair was natural. She was close. She was standing.
She was going to get him killed.
"Adams, get down," Hawk screamed. "That's an order!" He couldn't tell if she obeyed, but he was going to have to trust that she did. He was slipping too much. He could feel the knife start to bite into his neck now. "TAKE THE SHOT!"
"Sir, I can't see you," Adams said, her voice close to the ground.
Hawk ignored her. "TAKE THE SHOT NOW!"
A high-powered bullet ripped clean through Hawk's right shoulder and lodged into his attacker's heart. Together they fell as the clearing lit up in a bright magnesium flash.
"HAWK!" Adams fast-crawled to his side.
"Ahh DAMMIT," he hissed sitting up, clutching his bleeding shoulder. He glanced at the wide-eyed Greenshirt, still hugging the ground. "Good girl," he smiled weakly.
"Sir, your shoulder---"
He nodded curtly. "Wrap it for me. Give me your pistol. I'll watch your back." She passed him her gun, which he awkwardly gripped with his left hand. He spoke calmly into his wrist-com. "Hawk here. Status report."
At the sound of his voice, cheering could be heard over the line. "McDowel here, sir! The enemy has been neutralized. We're securing the area now."
"Don't shoot Low Light. He's out there somewhere."
A dry, whispery voice spoke up over the com. "I see you, sir. I'll do a sweep before coming over."
"Acknowledged. Flint?"
"We got them on the run, Hawk! Request permission to pursue!"
"Denied. They're running too quick. I don't trust that. Get your ass back here, you've got wounded to think of. How bad is Duke?"
"Pissed as hell!" Hawk smiled in relief at the sound of his growling Second. "Dammit, Lifeline, I'm fine!"
"Lifeline here. Duke's our only causality. He's lucky. Just got his skull creased."
"Yeah, lucky me Cobra snipers can't hit worth a damn. Lifeline, I said I'm fine!"
"He's also got a mild concussion. I recommend we get him back to base."
"Lifeline, I said---"
"Duke, shut up," Hawk snapped. "That's an order! Flint, you're in charge. I'm sending a detachment of Greenshirts to meet you. Mainframe, inform Wright-Patterson Airbase that we've got intruders. Tell them to scramble Hueys for a search and to kick up their radar. And dammit, I want to know how they snuck in here! Hurry back, Joes. We've got wounded here too. Watch yourselves. Hawk out."
"You didn't tell them you're one the wounded," Adams commented, ripping his shirtsleeve open.
"Bad for morale," he hissed. He waited until he was sure he could talk normally again. He hit the com a second time. "McDowel---"
"I heard, sir. Already sent ten of our guys to go meet them."
"Good work, son. Anyone else down?"
"Just the bad guys."
"We have prisoners?"
"Just one," he said grimly. "But Kamakura doesn't think he'll last long."
"Hell," Hawk sighed.
"Sir? Kamakura…he said there's something not right about these guys. He said they don't feel like Cobra."
"Great. Just what I needed to hear," Hawk muttered, grimacing as Adams cleaned the wound. "Leave the bodies, McDowel. Try not to disturb anything. Despite the rain there could be clues. If anyone finds anything else, send it encrypted to me." Hawk thought quickly. "Low Light, you were with Criminal Investigations. I want you and Lady Jaye to play sleuth for me. If these guys aren't Cobra I want to know who they are and why they're trying to kill me and Duke."
"Sir," Low Light said slowly. "I think Duke was a mistake. Flint, is Duke still wearing Hawk's jacket?"
"Yeah. Yeah he is, stars and all. Still think this is funny, Hawk?"
"Muzzle it, Fairborne. Low Light, Lady Jaye, ID these guys."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"And Low Light?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You did good work, solider. You didn't let me down."
The Joe sniper let out a whoosh of air, his soft voice shaking as he spoke. "Just promise you won't ever make me take another shot like that again, Hawk."
"Sorry, solider. Wish I could." He winced as Adams cinched the wet bandage tight. "Really."
Low Light sighed. "I'll be there soon, sir. Low Light out."
"Sir?" Hawk looked at Adams. Her eyes were wide with awe. "Low Light…HE made that shot? In this weather? THROUGH you? He could have---I mean---"
"He wouldn't have missed," Hawk told her. "He's the best of the best." He grinned. "You can learn a lot from him, Adams."
She nodded slowly. "I think…I'm really beginning to see that, sir."
"Brown," Hawk said abruptly, flexing his shoulder slowly.
"What?"
"I dyed my hair brown once. Got tired of Cobra taking pot shots at me like I was some white wigged Redcoat Officer from the Revolution."
"OH! So it really is---I mean, why'd you stop? Not that it's any of my concern---"
"No, it's not, but I'll tell you anyways. Too much of a damned nuisence to keep up and I was still getting shot at. So I said, to hell with it, and let it grow gilt again."
"Oh."
"Since you were all so damned curious."
"Sir…about that…the whole thing…I'm sorry."
He looked at her for a second. "Well," he said, smiling. "That's a start."
"But we're all still busted, huh?"
"Oh, yeah."
She shrugged. "Had to try."
"I know, Joe. I'd be worried if you didn't."
His wrist-com started to vibrate. Hawk frowned. An encrypted text message was coming in. "Adams, if you'll excuse me?"
"Of course, sir." She pulled out a second pistol from her gunbelt, stood, and turned her back to him, alert for troubled through the torrent of rain.
Hawk punched in his private code and read the transmission.
HAWK,
PRISIONER JUST DIED. LAST WORDS: "MCBRIDE YOU TRAITOR."
PLEASE ADVISE.
KAMAKURA
Hawk immediately wiped the screen.
'McBride you traitor.'
McBride…
Dammit.
Quickly, he typed his own encrypted message back.
KAMAKURA,
GAG ORDER. WILL HANDLE PERSONALLY.
HAWK
He wiped the screen clear again. He reached over and tore the mask off the body. He couldn't see it too clearly. Too dark.
Didn't matter.
A dry voice whispered through the rain. "Hawk?"
Adams jumped, swinging her gun around. "Dammit, sir!" She lowered her gun. "Make some noise next time!"
"Sorry. Hawk, you OK?"
"Been better," he grunted, getting to his feet. "But not dead. Here's your third kill," he said, nodding to the body. "You can start your investigation with him."
"May I help you, sir," Adams asked Low Light eagerly, holstering her gun.
"Actually, Adams," Hawk said. "I'd appreciate it if you could find this old man's gun. I'd hate like hell to lose it."
"Might still be in the clearing. I'll go see, sir. You can borrow mine until I find it."
"Thank you, Adams. I'll stay and assist Low Light. We'll meet you back there." He waited until she was well on her way and Low Light shifted his weapon so he could kneel. "Here, Low Light, let me hold your rifle for you."
"Thanks, Hawk." Low Light handed the high-powered rifle to Hawk, who slung it over his left shoulder. Low Light knelt in the mud and bent closer to the dead man. With his night vision goggles and his extraordinary natural eyesight, he managed to get a good look at the man's bare face.
He froze.
Very deliberately, very loudly, Hawk chambered a round into the pistol. He didn't point it. Even now he didn't have the heart.
But Low Light didn't know that. Very slowly, he raised both hands above his head.
"Cooper McBride," Hawk said harshly, addressing the sniper by his real name. "Look at me."
Carefully, passively, Low Light turned to face Hawk, still kneeling in the mud.
"Lower your hands but keep them where I can see them. Understand?"
Low Light's voice was almost inaudible. "…yes, sir…"
"You've served under me for a long time. You just saved my life when you could have killed me easily. So against my better judgment, I'm going to trust you to answer me truthfully." He nodded at the body. "Do you know this man?"
"…yes, sir…"
"From where?"
"Hawk…I shouldn't---"
"Dammit, McBride, you tell me or I'm going to have to assume you're a Cobra agent!"
"NO! Sir, I'd never work for those snakes! You know that!"
"I thought I knew a lot of things about you, McBride, but now I'm starting to wonder!" He glared at Low Light for a long moment. "Dammit, man, tell me something, give me a second option. Give me the TRUTH."
"I…" Low Light's shoulders slumped. "He's…he's a Special Agent, sir. A Field Operative." He took a deep breath. "Of SHIELD." He bowed his head. "Like me," he whispered hoarsely.
Hawk scowled fiercely. "You're the SHIELD spy," he hissed.
Low Light nodded dejectedly. "Yeah. I am. But, sir, if you'll just let me explain---"
"Can you explain him," Hawk demanded.
Low Light glanced at the body and shook his head. "The only thing I know about any of this is what Duke told us and now…this." He shook his head again. "This doesn't make any sense. Neither Carter nor Fury would authorize anything like this against you, sir. It's too sloppy and obvious. Especially since I'm here to ID the bodies."
"Does anyone else know you're a SHIELD spy?"
"Just you, sir. I report directly to Carter. All of my former colleagues in SHIELD believe I'm dead. I'd like to keep it that way."
"Well, at least one of these men knew you were alive and here. He called you a traitor."
"He knew I was here?" Suddenly the sniper's gaze became intense. "What name did they call me by?"
"McBride."
Low Light's face was as grim as a tombstone. "Then I'd say we both have a problem, sir. When I worked with other SHIELD Agents I went masked and was only known by my Agent number. Everything about me was classified."
"Why?"
"Not here, sir. The area isn't secure enough for this night-owl to sing anymore." He paused. "Respectfully, sir? I think we're both in serious trouble."
"I'm very much aware of that, son. More than you know."
"So…what now, sir?"
Hawk regarded Low Light for a long while, thoughts racing. Without taking his eyes off the sniper, Hawk typed out another encoded message on his wrist-com.
MAINFRAME,
TRANSMIT TRIPLE ENCRYPTED/SCRAMBLED/STEALTH TO AVENGERS CHAIRMAN SECURED PRIVATE LINE.
WARBIRDS
HAWK
"Now we wait for help," Hawk told him, clearing the screen. "Until it gets here, you're going to continue this investigation with Lady Jaye. Share with her as much as you feel necessary, but tell her to keep the info just between you two and me. No one else, not Duke, not even Flint, not even if W himself comes asking. And then…" Hawk slipped the rifle from his shoulder and held it out. "Then, son, you've got some serious explaining to do."
Low Light flinched as he gently took back the rifle. "I know I do, sir." He bowed his head as he cradled the rifle. "I know I do."
