Epilogue
The thunderous blast of a Skystriker's take-off woke Dusty up from his light nap. It was hard not to hear them from anywhere on the USS Flagg, and ever since the Joe team started air patrols in Iraq, takeoffs were non-stop.
Flint walked into the sick-bay carrying a bag and a canteen. "Afternoon, Dusty. Thought I'd come see how you're doing, and bring you some of your stuff." Tossing the dirty bag on the bed, Flint handed the canteen to the wounded trooper. Looking at it, Dusty saw two bullet holes in it.
"How much longer are you going to be in here?" asked the warrant officer.
"Another week at least. The sword slash cut up my intestines."
Flinching, Flint replied, "Ouch. Does it hurt to eat?"
"A little." Through with the small talk, Dusty got to the point, "So what's happening with Scimitar?"
Flint frowned and sat on the end of the bed, draping an arm over Dusty's bag, "The Court Martial will happen almost as soon as we get back to the States. General Hawk is pissed." Letting out a sigh, Flint looked sideways over to Dusty. "There is a question as to why you didn't notice any of this."
Slightly insulted, Dusty nodded in understanding, "Honestly, I didn't have a lot of time to talk to the guy. He kept to himself, and only brought up his concerns about the battle once." Looking down, Dusty continued, "I talked to him a little bit about it, but I never thought…"
"It's okay. I know you wouldn't hurt us, but big-wigs in the military don't. Make sure you remember everything." Standing back up, Flint cracked his knuckles. "All right, I've got a briefing to sit through. You get better."
"Yes, sir." Dusty returned his friend's smile as he left the room.
This last mission had been just about the worst in Dusty's G.I. Joe experience. Not because of any physical challenge—there were plenty of missions that topped this one in that respect—but because of the mental strain. Terrorism is a word that is too wide; it can mean so many different things. Battles with Cobra were never like the battles with fanatic Middle Eastern terrorists.
To top it all off, a Joe who could have potentially been a great friend, turned out to be a fanatic traitor. That hurt.
Though he was still proud to call himself the G.I. Joe Desert Trooper "Dusty," Ronald Tadur knew that if he was going to survive the stress of the new definition of "terrorism," he could no longer do it alone.