.
GI JOE Season 3: episode 2
"Invincible Shield"
Chapter 1
GI JOE Headquarters – November 1, 1989
...tick...tick...tick...tick...
The sound of the wall-clock had become deafening as the hours droned on for the finance clerk. Only the scratching of her pencil, as it glided across the form, provided relief. She cursed when the tip of her lead broke. She retrieved the sharpener from her desk drawer. A katydid crawled along the windowsill across the room. She turned the pencil against the blade and regarded the bug moving back-and-forth across the ledge of the open window. A smile came across her face. The blade of the sharpener, the chirping of the katydid and the ticking of the wall-clock made for a unique harmony: a harmony uniquely appreciated by boredom. She reached into her desk again and retrieved a rubber band. She stretched the band between her thumb and index finger and took aim; the projectile shot across the room, knocking the unsuspecting bug out of the window. It then deflected off the pane and ricocheted back across the room and into the clerk's waiting hand. She replaced the rubber band and finished sharpening her pencil.
...tick...tick...tick...tick...
It was a welcome distraction, but she was eager to get back to her reports: not for the sake of the paperwork, but rather as refuge from the quiet din that putting pencil to paper offered. Given the choice, she would much rather be going through one of Sgt. Slaughter's all-day PT sessions. She finished the last page, signed it and stamped it with a sense of accomplishment. Placing it in her out-box, she glanced at the wall clock. Three hours... She referred to her wristwatch to confirm that the time was accurate and that the second hand was indeed moving in proper one-second intervals, and in defeat, rested her chin in her hands and sighed, blowing back a tuft of hair that had fallen in her eye.
...tick...tick...tick...tick...
In the interim, she decided to re-organize her desk – again. Unfortunately, everything was already in place and could not be optimized further. She lazyily flicked her nameplate at the front of her desk, setting it slightly askew. She picked up the plaque and wiped the dust off with her sleeve. Her fingertip traced the outline of the letters that spelled her name:
CPL. KIMIKO AKAMATSU
It was a designation indicative of the formal atmosphere exercised in the office where she now worked. Given the choice, she preferred to be called by her code name:
"Jinx!"
Startled, Jinx looked up from her nameplate to see Amy, the office manager, struggling with boxes of office supplies. Jinx's muscles tensed, and she bolted from her desk. She moved swiftly to the counter that separated her from Amy. Her body, hungry for exertion, involuntarily vaulted over the counter with undue vigor. She landed, effortlessly, next to Amy and caught a box of toner that fell from Amy's arms inches before it hit the floor.
Amy blinked. "I... uh... thanks."
"You're welcome," Jinx replied, and she placed the toner on the counter-top. She blushed when she saw Amy's reaction to her acrobatics and added, "Girl Scouts."
"Oh." Visibly satisfied with the explanation, Amy placed her box next to the toner on the counter.
"You shouldn't try to carry so much at one time."
"You're right," Amy replied. "But, you know Lt. Jenkins' philosophy about being efficient." She opened the box and pulled out a stack of envelopes. "I've just been swamped today, and I still have to mail out these disbursements."
Jinx raised a thoughtful eyebrow as Amy thumbed through envelopes. "Er... why don't you let me deliver those for you?"
"I don't want you to go through all that trouble."
"No trouble at all," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I have to go to Hawks office anyway... efficiency, right?"
"Right," Amy said. She smiled in appreciation and handed Jinx the envelopes with a delivery log.
Jinx collected the rest of the paperwork in her out-box and made her way to the exit. She was careful to keep an outward appearance of indifference; inwardly, however, she was glad to get out of the office for a change. When she opened the door to leave, she made sure to close it quietly behind her so as not to draw attention from Lt. Jenkins, whose office was situated near the exit. It wasn't because what she was doing was dishonest, but rather because she wasn't prepared to justify leaving her desk in the middle of the workday to run ancillary errands. The door closed without a sound. She released the doorknob slowly and the latch engaged with a quiet but audible 'click'. She looked through the frosted pane to see if anyone inside had noticed her departure. Her eyes focused on the letterhead printed on the glass:
Special Branch - 261st Finance Brigade
Satisfied, she made her way down the hall and to the elevators leading to the common area. If she planned her route just right, she could kill up to an hour before being missed. She let out a sigh as she let her thoughts wander, content like the locust on the windowsill.
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
Jinx left the common area and walked outside on the path leading to building six, otherwise known as the Motor Pool. It was a bright and sunny day, and Jinx looked skyward to take in the warmth of the sun. The administrative offices were kept at a nippy sixty-five degrees, so the heat of the day made for a comfortable transition. Further along the path, she noticed that Mutt and his guard dog, Junkyard, where approaching. They passed each other, and she gave a nod. She was put off when Mutt returned her greeting with a glare. Jinx shuddered and gripped the clipboard she was carrying tighter to her chest when she heard a menacing growl as they parted ways. She couldn't tell if the growl came from the man or the dog. She continued on to the motor pool; the warmth of the desert sun was starting to cause beads of sweat to form on her brow.
Jinx opened the entrance to building six, and went directly to Cover Girl's office. It was no surprise that Cover Girl wasn't there: anyone who's done a stint at the Motor Pool knew that Cover Girl spent most of her time in the garage. The corridors of building six, like the common area, were sparsely populated. As she walked the halls on the way to the garage, she realized how much she missed working here. She passed a cork board when she turned the corner and paused to look at some of the pictures that were posted. The carefree camaraderie of the soldiers in the collage stood in stark contrast of the prim-and-proper atmosphere of the finance corps office. She was surprised to see that there was even a picture of her standing in front of an old HAVOC – she never was able to get that junker to work. Above her picture, her eyes were drawn to a somewhat larger photo placed in a position on prominence in the center of the board. The three Joes in the photograph were posed lightheartedly standing in front of a MOBAT; presumably, the picture was taken right before a mission. According to the caption, the soldiers Clutch, Grunt, and Steeler are officially listed as MIA. However, from the short time she spent in the motor pool - amid the whisperings of her colleagues - she got the impression that the circumstance regarding their disappearances was more mysterious.
She continued lazily to the garage entrance just across the hall. Her eyes were still trained on the cork board, so she wasn't looking where she was going. She came to an abrupt stop when she bumped into something solid. At first she thought she walked into the wall, however, when she snapped her head forward, she saw that it was Roadblock. She gasped in surprise and dropped her clipboard. She felt embarrassed as it echoed loudly in the empty hallway when it struck the floor.
"Hello, Jinx." Roadblock retrieved the clipboard at his feet and handed it to her.
"Uh, hello, Staff Sergeant. Sir." She blushed as she took the proffered clipboard. So much for my honed ninja reflexes.
"Just 'Roadblock' will do, kid," he said, with a reassuring smile, and he left.
She let out a sigh when he was out of earshot as it was odd running into the team's cook in the motor pool. She didn't bother to dwell on the incident further when she opened the garage door and was greeted by the familiar scent of motor oil and burnt rubber. She made her way up the main driveway, waving to the familiar faces of Cross Country, Heavy Metal and Crank Case. They all waved back, but gave her odd glances as they did so.
Jinx found Cover Girl busy working from the undercarriage of an AWE-Striker. She "coughed", and Cover Girl slid out from under the vehicle. The team's only female grease monkey removed the scarf tied around her head so as to unfetter her full auburn hair, allowing it to hang freely. Her face and coveralls where stained with grease and oil. If Jinx didn't know any better she would have thought that every spattering and every smear on her person was placed there by design. Only Cover Girl could pull off being imbued from head-to-toe in grime. That was just one of the many reasons why Jinx could not relate to the ex-model, that and the fact when Jinx had first came to work in the motor pool, Cover Girl, in her own way, made it clear that she was the alpha-female.
"Oh, hi, Jinx. I almost didn't recognize you in your DoD duds."
Jinx cursed inwardly. She had forgotten that since she had joined the finance corps, that she was required to wear the same black ACU's assigned to the rest of the support personnel. That explained everyone's odd behavior: they probably didn't recognize her at first. Being the last of the Rawhides, she had a hard enough time fitting in without having to contend with the stigma of being a DoD-wearing Blacksuit.
"Can I help you?" Cover Girl asked, with her hands on her hips. She tapped her foot.
"Oh, sorry," Jinx replied, snapping out of her reverie. "I have a check for you." She handed her an envelope and the clipboard.
"This is a nice surprise. It's been so long; I've almost forgotten I had this coming." Cover Girl signed the clipboard and handed it back.
"'Reimbursement for damage waiver?'" Jinx said, reading the memo item on the clipboard. "Have you guys been taking the AWE-Strikers on joyrides again?" she asked with a grin.
"Of course not," Cover Girl replied, dismissively.
Jinx frowned. She meant her previous comment as a joke, but Cover Girl didn't seem receptive. "Well, sorry about the wait. We've been in the weeds."
"Not a problem. We've been running behind schedule ourselves." She took off her gloves and placed them on a nearby worktable before wiping her face off with a towel. "We have until the end of the month to finish de-milling our surplus vehicles before carting them off to Sierra Army Depot."
"Oh? Do you guys need a hand? I have some free time after my shift—"
"No, that won't be necessary." Cover Girl turned her back, sorting through the wrenches in her toolbox. "We've got it covered."
Jinx, interpreting Cover Girl's curt response as rejection, left without addressing her further, her anger increasing with each step she took, reminded of why the woman infuriated her so. She was so upset that she gave no regard to the rest of the staff as they waved good-bye to her.
Upon leaving building six, Jinx headed for the training hall on the other side of the base. The heat of the afternoon sun wasn't as pleasant for her as it was the first time around. She wasn't following the most efficient route by delivering to Beach Head next, but she wasn't exactly in a hurry.
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
"Alright, you mute maggot! You've had this a long time coming!"
Snake-Eyes and Sgt. Slaughter circled each other. The soft mat that both men tread on creaked quietly under their feet. The combatants dug in and squared off. Slaughter stood with a modified kickboxing stance: his weight was evenly distributed on both feet, his arms were outstretched at mid-length, and his hands were slightly cupped palm-downward. Snake-Eyes, on the other hand, stood relaxed – employing no obvious technique; his arms were hanging at his sides and swayed as if caught in a breeze.
Slaughter rushed him, closing the gap with ferocious speed. He got closer and closer until... he abruptly stopped. The men were now standing less than two feet apart – the air between them was electric. Slaughter betrayed a grin of approval: when a man of his size charges, most fighters either make a mistake by reacting too quickly or by retreating in panic. Snake-Eyes did neither.
Slaughter knew, of course, that Snake-Eyes was waiting for him to attack.
Since both men knew how this was going to start, that made for a simple equation: attack faster than your opponent can react. In this regard, Slaughter did not disappoint. He threw a blindingly fast lunge punch aimed for Snake-Eyes' chest.
Snake-Eyes shifted on the heels of his feet, turning his torso at a slight angle. The movement was hardly perceptible, but sufficient to bypass most of the force. Before Slaughter could recoil his arm, Snake-Eyes dropped into a low stance as he entered toward Slaughter's exposed side, leaning under the punch to deliver an elbow to the marine's ribs.
Slaughter stumbled backward. By the time the strike registered, Snake-Eyes was out of range. Slaughter smiled, stood tall, and let loose a long protracted battle cry: the dance had begun. Slaughter came at Snake-Eyes without further pretense.
Snake-Eyes gave as good as he got; both men held nothing back. Slaughter set the pace of the fight by raining down an unending hail of punches and kicks: eventually one of them was bound to get through. When that happened, Slaughter would go in for the kill.
Snake-Eyes was forced to go on the defensive by either dodging or deflecting Slaughter's attacks. The punches that he managed to sneak in merely bounced off Slaughter's dense musculature. The only thing that kept Slaughter at bay was the occasional well-placed fingertip strike to a vital nerve cluster that would easily drop a normal man.
As the minutes passed, a stalemate was reached. Slaughter was unable to get past Snake-Eyes' defenses, and Snake-Eyes' attacks were likewise ineffective.
Something had to change. Slaughter raised both arms high, like a charging bear, and rushed Snake-Eyes with his torso exposed. As he hoped, Snake-Eyes found it too tempting a target to ignore and delivered a sidekick to Slaughter's open mid-section. In anticipation of the attack, Slaughter bore down and engaged every muscle in his torso. Upon impact, he exhaled and bucked his hips forward to push the force of the kick back to its point of origin.
When Snake-Eyes stumbled backwards off-balance, Slaughter saw the opening he needed. He knelt, digging his fingers in the matting, and pulled it out from under Snake-Eyes' feet. Instinctively, Snake-Eyes did a back flip just before the jerk of the matting would have compromised his footing. He alighted to his feet on the now exposed hardwood flooring, but Slaughter kept the pressure on by tackling him before he could square off into a stable stance.
As they fell, Snake-Eyes twisted in mid-air to keep from being sandwiched between the hard floor and 230 pounds of meat. Both men crashed on their sides and rolled to their feet, but Slaughter managed to grab a hold of Snake-Eyes' arm, and he began to crank it at the wrist. Snake-Eyes dropped into an extremely low and exotic-looking stance with his free hand outstretched perpendicular with respect to Slaughter.
And he hissed.
In an uncharacteristic display of force, Snake-Eye turned into his shoulder and tried to wrestle his arm free. In response, Slaughter re-asserted his grip and supinated the arm completely at the shoulder. Snake-Eye's arm was hyper-extended to its limit. Muscles and tendons strained; bone grinded against bone. Slaughter continued to crank the arm harder until...
TAP...TAP...TAP
Snake-Eyes gave the signal of submission by tapping the ground with his free hand. Slaughter immediately released the pressure and helped Snake-Eyes to his feet. The training hall was suddenly in an uproar – it looked like half the Joes on base showed up to watch the fight. Those that didn't cheer boo'ed loudly.
"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" Slaughter said. He gave his training partner a slap on the back, "Thanks for the workout Snakes."
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
Jinx had entered the training hall just before the fight and was watching in a remote corner when it began. This was the first time she had seen Snake-Eyes in action, and by all accounts, the rumors she heard of his prowess in battle were true. However, the outcome of the match left her confused. She decided to ponder the details of the fight later when she caught a glimpse of Beach Head on the other side of the hall. She followed him out of the room. Slaughter's booming voice could still be heard echoing from the hallway outside:
"Okay, which one you maggots is next?... C'mon you all have to go through me to pass your hand-to-hand... You think I'm too hard? That's nuthin' compared to what Cobra's gonna do to ya!... You there, Lifeline! I see you there hiding behind Lady-Jaye! Come here, milksop!"
Jinx had since lost sight of Beach Head and quickened her pace. When she rounded a corner, she heard voices coming from across the corridor and decided to investigate. She came across a group of Joes congregated in the lounge. Amid the gathering, seated at a table, was Ace counting a stack of money. When she walked in, a hush fell over the crowd as they all stopped to look at her. She smiled nervously, and they eventually went back to what they were doing, but kept their voices low. On a TV screen in the corner of the room, she could see live video broadcasted from the training room. It dawned on her that someone spliced into the security camera feed; she was relieved to see that Slaughter was taking it easy on Lifeline. She didn't know the names of most of the Joes huddled around Ace, but she did recognize Slaughter's Renegades: Taurus, Red Dog, and Mercer.
"Here you scurvy crop-duster," Shipwreck said, throwing a pile of crumpled bills at Ace. "I hope you choke on it!"
"It's all good, Hector," Ace said. He bent down to pick up the money that had fallen on the floor and proceeded to straighten them out into a neat stack. "I'm never too proud to take money from a swabbie."
"That's what happens when you bet on a loser," said Taurus, waving his winnings in Shipwreck's face.
"Watch your mouth, baldy," Shipwreck spat back. "Sgt. Slaughter wouldn't've won if he hadn't cheated!"
"What do you mean cheated?" said Red Dog. "The Sarge's hand-to-hand is unmatched."
"I wouldn't expect you know about fair play Red Dog," Shipwreck countered. "You weren't known for that when you were in the NFL either."
Jinx looked on as Shipwreck was now almost nose-to-nose with Red Dog. When she was dating Falcon, she heard stories of the Renegade's ruthlessness in battle – with Red Dog being the worst of the lot. She figured that the only thing keeping him from tearing into Shipwreck was the fact that a large bare-chested marine and a chopper pilot with a cowboy hat were standing behind the sailor. Similarly, Taurus had Red Dog's back, however, Mercer, the third Renegade, was sitting quietly on a sofa, listening with curiosity, but opting not to take part in the "discussion".
"...And since when does a ninja fight fair?" said Red Dog. "It's not hard to win when you hide in the shadows to slit your enemy's throat while he's sleeping."
Shipwreck snorted. "Tell me something, Red... Is Slaughter the big spoon or the little spoon?"
"Neither. Your mother sleeps between us!"
"Listen, my friend, it's not like we're calling him a 'sissy-boy'," said Taurus. He kept himself between Shipwreck and Red Dog in a placatory gesture. "All were saying is, all that ninja hocus-pocus is fine for the dojo, but in a real fight it's nothing special..."
Jinx had become bored with all the machismo. It was obvious that Beach Head was not here, so she decided it was time to look elsewhere.
After some wandering, she eventually tracked down Beach Head standing outside the men's locker room. She was about to approach when she saw Snake-Eyes exit the locker room. When Beach Head turned to face him, it became obvious to her that he had been waiting for him. As a result, she decided it would be prudent not to disturb them and stayed back at a discreet distance.
"Hey, I wanna talk to you."
Snake-Eyes stopped to regard Beach Head, and he started to sign. Jinx didn't understand sign language herself, but saw that it wasn't a problem for Beach Head.
"This won't take long. I see that Hawk has renewed your contract, against my better judgment. The old man has always had a soft spot for you, and I never understood why."
"..."
"Be that as it may, now that Flint is the Chief, that means I will be overseeing the majority of the field missions. I want to make sure we have an understanding."
"..."
"For starters, let's talk about you throwing that fight with Slaughter..."
Jinx, felt her heart skip a beat when she heard Beach Head's accusation, thus confirming her suspicion. During his match with Sgt. Slaughter, she could tell from his movements and the techniques used that Snake-Eyes was in full control the entire time, passing up obvious avenues of attack in favor of maintaining a stalemate. What surprised her more, however, was the fact that Beach Head picked up on this as well. She was impressed with his adeptness and now saw him in a new light.
"Passing your hand-to-hand is not the point. The point is that you bring that same mentality of 'holding back' to the battlefield. Why?"
"..."
"Not wanting to kill in cold blood is one thing, but showing mercy to an enemy that will not stop until he kills you is just plain stupid."
"..."
"I realize that smart-ass! The difference with Lifeline is that he's at least honest about it: I know where I stand with him. You, on the other hand, need to either shit or get off the pot!"
"..."
"Well, if you're on a solo mission, where it's only your ass on the line, then feel free. But, if you ever come under my command and I see that your antics put the team in danger, I will bench you."
Beach Head spun around and walked away, any rejoinder on Snake-Eyes' part would fall on deaf ears. The 'conversation' ended so abruptly, that Jinx didn't have time to hide the fact that she had been eavesdropping.
"Jinx, don't you have something better to do?" Beach Head said as he approached.
"As a matter of fact, I've been looking for you." She handed him his check.
"Housing Allowance," he said, reading the memo aloud. He took the clipboard and signed it. "Are you bean-counters pinching stamps now?"
Jinx rolled her eyes. "Mail it? And miss out on the opportunity to bask in your sunshine, Master Sergeant?"
Beach Head crossed his arms and stared her down. "Carry on, corporal."
Jinx, hugging her clipboard, left, smiling in satisfaction.
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
The last stop on Jinx's route was General Hawk's office. She wasn't particularly looking forward to it, yet found the resolve to draw in a deep breath and knock.
"Come."
She entered Hawk's office and stood at attention. She kept her head facing forward, but allowed her eyes to wander. The last time she stood in his office was not a pleasant memory for her, being reprimanded alongside Falcon. Standing in the same spot a year later brought back those same feelings of anxiety.
Hawk had his head buried in paperwork from the moment she walked in. He was aware of her presence, but he did not acknowledge her. Jinx continued to stand at perfect attention: the only movement she allowed herself was the involuntary blinking of her eyelids and the subtle rising and falling of her chest. Perhaps boredom isn't such a bad thing after all.
...tick...tick...tick...tick...
"You have something for me, corporal?"
"Yes, General," she handed over the report.
Hawk looked it over briefly and grimaced. He rose, walked over to his file cabinet and retrieved a single manila folder.
"Please return this to Lt. Jenkins when you get back to Finance." He handed her the folder and returned to his desk. "Dismissed."
Jinx saluted, did an 'about-face' and left the office all according to regulation. The etiquette that she was taught in the dojo since childhood served her well in the Army. She felt more relaxed now that it was over. In the reception area, on her way out, she met Snake-Eyes who was waiting to go in next. As they passed each other, Jinx could feel the aura of his Qi as it collided with hers. She was compelled to stop as the energy inundated her being: it felt like her skin was on pins and needles.
Does he feel it too?
Her heart racing, she turned to face him. His Qi rivaled, if not surpassed, that of her mentor Blind Master, and it pounded her soul like waves crashing on a seashore. However, not once did he pause. The door closed, yet she remained: Ninja etiquette did not teach her to abstain from eavesdropping.
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
Snake-Eyes entered Hawk's office and stood in front of his desk. Hawk was standing with his back to him as he stared out of his office window onto the grounds below. He had a single envelope gripped tightly in his left hand. He drew the blinds, but continued to stare through them as if they were transparent.
"As I recall, I made a promise to you before bringing you into this unit. I stand with you today, in this office, to fulfill that promise."
He took his time proffering the unassuming envelope. "We've found him."
Snake-Eyes opened it: Inside was a satellite map and a picture of a man. Snake-Eyes' features were hidden behind his permanent mask, but the hiss he let out was telling of the expression he must have had upon seeing the photograph.
"I kept telling myself that I was doing you a favor when I asked you to join GI Joe. I knew you wouldn't refuse because deep down you feel just as responsible as I do about that last day in Saigon. However, I also hoped that bringing you back on a team – giving you a sense of purpose – would eventually fix whatever broke inside you. If I knew back then that we would be having this conversation ten years after the fact, I never would have lied to the Army for you."
Snake-Eyes ignored Hawk, never once taking his eyes off the picture. Hawk finally got the ninja's attention by carefully placing his hand on his shoulder.
"For your sake, I beg you to stop chasing after ghosts."
Snake-Eyes regarded Hawk. The fist he made in response served to mangle the picture along with the visage of the man therein. He stormed out of the office.
Hawk shook his head and lamented.