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GI JOE Season 3: episode 2

"Invincible Shield"

Chapter 2

Ben Hoa AFB, Vietnam – April 9, 1975

Sergeant First Class Conrad Hauser was awakened by a sudden jolt. He didn't mean to fall asleep, but the rhythmic meter of the rotor blades was unexpectedly soothing. He looked outside the window of the Huey and saw that they were flying relatively low; he could track the helicopter's shadow against a background of fast moving foliage.

"Sorry about the bump, Boss. We're on final approach to Ben Hoa. We should be landing in five," said the chopper pilot.

It was the first time the Sergeant took notice of the pilot since he picked him up from the USS Kitty Hawk. He always wondered whether chopper pilots were born ostentatious, or if it was a prerequisite of the job. This one, in particular, spoke with a southern drawl sporting a bushy mustache and a cowboy hat.

"Mind if I smoke, Tex?"

"No, Boss."

"Stow that 'Boss' shit. Call me Duke."

The pilot regarded him. "They call me Wild Bill."

Duke nodded in reply and pulled a stogie from his lapel pocket. He lit the cigar and inhaled that first smooth drag. He held it in until he felt the familiar dull sting of the smoke as it burned his lungs. At one time he thought he had kicked the habit. As he got closer inland, however, he was reminded why he started in the first place: Vietnam always had a smell that he could never stand. It was a stench that defied description; he agonized to find an appropriate word to describe it. It wasn't until his last tour of duty ended, and with much introspection, that he was able to give it a name: despair. Only the sweet stink of tobacco numbed his senses sufficiently to mask it.

When the chopper landed he grabbed his gear and disembarked. Once he was out from under the vortex of the rotors, he stood up straight and took another drag from his stogie as he regarded the haze in the air. At first, he thought it was the smoke from his cigar irritating his eyes. But when he threw it on the ground and stamped it out, the haze persisted. His rational mind told him it was pollution from the vapors of the aircraft taking off and landing nearby. However, he couldn't help but feel that the stench of despair had now taken physical form and was now starting to congeal around him. He took in a breath, tasted the air, then immediately spat on the ground – as if despair could be rejected so easily. He looked skyward and prayed as he breathed in deeply to embrace it. God Bless America.

"Sergeant First Class Hauser?"

Duke's head snapped in the direction of the voice. A stern-looking soldier had just pulled up in a jeep. The soldier yanked the parking brake and hopped out. He had jet-black hair that was just starting to grey at the temples. When Duke saw the War Eagle on the soldier's collar, he stood at attention and saluted.

The soldier returned his salute, ordered him at ease and took his papers. "I'm Colonel Abernathy, welcome back to Vietnam, soldier."

Duke packed his gear and the two headed off in the jeep.

"Colonel Abernathy—"

"Call me Hawk."

"Colonel Hawk, have your men been briefed on my assignment?"

"I reserved that privilege for you." Hawk eyed Duke suspiciously. "I trust your CO has made you aware of the sensitive nature of my Kilo Company?"

"I'm aware of the basics: that K Company is under a modified Table of Organization. On paper, as far as the press is concerned, you're regular Army – non-combatants stationed here as advisors. Unofficially, you're Long Range Recon – specialists in Snatch-and-Sniff operations."

"Which is why, I imagine, the Defense Intelligence Agency requires our services?"

"I'm sorry your unit got dragged into this, Colonel, especially since the war is all but over."

Hawk grinned. "I can't blame central command for not wanting to leave this to the Jarheads."

"Hooah." Duke was relieved to see his new CO had a sense of humor.

They arrived at the command bunker. Hawk and Duke exited the vehicle and went in through the main entrance. On the way to Hawk's office, a tall imposing soldier met them. His countenance was that of a seasoned veteran; something rattled loosely in his closed palm. Hawk introduced him as Snake-Eyes.

"The men are assembled and ready to be briefed, Colonel Hawk," Snake-Eyes said.

Hawk dismissed them, and they left. The two command Sergeants walked side-by-side in silence, until Snake-Eyes happened to glance at the wings on Duke's collar.

"Airborne, I see. What're you doing slumming down here?"

"I'm no shake n' bake, if that's what you're worried about," Duke replied sharply. "Besides, I did a stint at Ft. Benning, so I know the drill."

Snake-Eyes snorted. "That don't make you no Ranger, boy." He casually continued to rattle whatever was inside his palm. "I'm only asking because I've read about that stunt you pulled during Tet. I figured the Brass would've offered you a commission instead of shipping you back here."

"I turned it down," Duke said, keeping his eyes looking forward.

"Like being a bullet sponge, do ya?"

"For the same reason I entered as an enlisted: It is my understanding that an officer's job is to impel others to take the risks so that the officer gets the privilege of surviving to take the blame in the event of a total catastrophe... If that's true, then I don't want any part of it."

Snake-Eyes snorted. "Well, don't expect anybody here to drop their panties for you just yet. You gotta be willing to chew dirt to make it out here."

"Good thing I brought along my toothbrush."

They arrived at the briefing room. The grunts remained seated and barely took notice at first. However, they all snapped to when Snake-Eyes spoke and introductions were made. Duke was accustomed to the practice of grunts adopting nicknames in small units such as this, so he made it a point to memorize the faces to the names as they sounded off: Rock n' Roll was the team's machine gunner, Zap handled demolitions, Stalker was the sniper, and Preacher was the linguist.

Snake-Eyes began the briefing. "Men, I have some good news, and I have some bad news," he bellowed. "The good news is, within the next few days the rest of the covert-ops units will start pulling out of Vietnam. That means for 99.9 percent of us, the war is over."

Upon hearing this, the soldiers cheered and started high-fiving each other. Snake-Eyes waited until a reasonable decorum had returned.

"The bad new is Rangers live on the margins. Therefore, you will not be a part of that 99.9 percent. We are going back into The Suck one more time."

The room was silent. When it was clear that Snake-Eyes was serious, the cheering was replaced by curses – in three different languages. Snake-Eyes let his men vent as he motioned for Duke to come over, as if to say, they're all yours. Duke took his place as the presenter while Snake-Eyes retired to the back of the room to operate a projector. The room was quiet once again when the lights went down and the projector came on. An image of a man in a steel mask flashed on the screen and Duke began:

"This is Destro. He is the premier underground weapons supplier on the planet. It is believed that he has worked as a go-between with the Russians and the Chinese, so chances are he's kissed every bullet that the Doc has had to dig out of each and every one of our sorry asses."

With a click of the projector, the next slide showed a topographical map of Saigon.

"As you know, in anticipation of Northern aggression, Pacific Command is going to step up the helicopter evacs. The Marines are going to cover the withdrawal; however, the DIA has learned that elite VC death squads are going to start inserting themselves into key areas and take out as many choppers as they can during take-off. It's their way of saying, 'don't let the doorknob hit you'. That, gentlemen, is unacceptable."

"So, why not let the jarheads deal with it?" Rock n' Roll said.

"The VC are going to be equipped with state-of-art long-range shoulder-mounted heat seekers supplied by Destro. Our ground forces won't be equipped to deal with that kind of mobility and firepower. That's where we come in."

The projector clicked. It was another map.

"The DIA has been tracking Destro's movements for months. There appears to be a pattern, and we think the arms are going to be shipped here," Duke said, pointing to the area marked on the map. "Unfortunately, with the advancement of the Vietcong, that puts this area well behind enemy lines. You guys are the only lurps that have logged any significant hours in this region. You should be familiar enough with the land to get in and out undetected."

"We're familiar with it all right," Zap said. "It's a jungle-rot, leech-infested cesspool."

"Yeah," Stalker confirmed. "Reminds me of your mom's cooch."

The rest of the men burst into laughter. Zap wadded up a sheet of paper and threw it at Stalker, hitting him square on the forehead.

"Stow it, ladies," Snake-Eyes barked; his grin betrayed him.

"Our orders are simple," Duke continued, "Stop the arms shipment from going down and apprehend Destro."

Preacher snorted. "Holee shit... would you like a side of fries with that?"

"I said stow it, Preacher!"

"You guys specialize in POW extraction, this won't be any different," Duke replied. "We're set to leave before dawn; we're going in by slick." The lights came back on. "Are there any questions?"

Preacher raised his hand, and Duke nodded. "Why do you keep saying 'we'?"

"Because, I'm coming with you," Duke answered, and before they could respond in protest, he added, "I'm not here to step on anyone's toes. Snake-Eyes is in charge of getting us in and out. My job is to provide on site intel."

Preacher snorted. "Well, Boss, seeing as how you're now part of the team, what's your handle?"

"You can call me Duke."

Preacher smiled. "Welcome aboard... pilgrim."

Once again, the room was filled with laughter as Preacher's John Wayne impression was spot-on. Duke regarded his new team of misfits: from reading their service records, he never would have thought that this undisciplined lot was deserving of all the commendations they had earned as a group. They were brash, raw, and disrespectful to authority.

He smiled. They're perfect.

Saigon, Vietnam

Cholon district

The soldiers of K Company rode into town. They parked at the entrance of a crowded business district. There were so many people crowding the streets that it was faster to disembark their vehicle and negotiate the busy plaza on foot. Every sidewalk corner had a string of street merchants selling various wares. The majority of the buildings resembled pagodas, and most of the billboards and other advertisements were written in Chinese.

"This place looks more like Chinatown than Vietnam," Duke said, taking notice of the surrounding architecture of the bustling market place.

"That's because it is Chinatown, Vietnam's version of it anyway," Stalker replied.

"Saigon has a significant Chinese population, most of them live here," Preacher added.

"I can't tell the difference, myself," Rock n' Roll said under his breath.

Zap nodded. "Amen to that, brother."

A group of children, presumably orphans, approached them, holding out their hands. Duke searched his pockets for spare change, but a nearby merchant shooed them away with her broom.

"So, tell me why you grunts are dragging me along on this field trip?" Duke said.

"Tradition," Snake-Eyes answered. "Since K Company was put together, we haven't failed a mission or lost a soldier. That's why every mission is done by the numbers. And part of our pre-mission ritual is a last meal at the best Chinese bistro outside of China."

Duke lit a fresh stogie. "I didn't figure you lurps were the superstitious type."

"Its hard not to be with the suckage we've seen," Stalker said.

Zap nudged Duke in the ribs. "You know, part of that ritual says that the new guy pays." He coughed as Duke blew smoke in his face.

Preacher broke away from the group, his attention directed toward a sidewalk vendor selling flowers. He picked out a Lotus that stood out prominently from the other flowers on display. Duke took notice as Preacher conversed with the vendor in an odd language. He paid her and rejoined the group.

"Oh, Preacher, you shouldn't have," Zap said in a mockingly feminine tone. He leaned in to smell the flower.

"It's not for you." Preacher pushed him away. "A man never knows when he'll be presented with an opportunity to woo a pretty girl with a flower."

"Hmm..." Stalker rubbed his chin. "Maybe we should all go in on a bouquet for Zap's mom next time?"

Rock n' Roll smiled. "Zap's mom only takes cash."

"Que Pendejo! Why is it always my mom?"

They arrived at the restaurant. An attractive hostess wearing a pink and cerulean dress greeted them. She had long hair that was tied up into a style resembling a French braid. Preacher pushed to the front of the group and started conversing with her casually.

Duke's eyes narrowed. He seemed to be the only one that noticed Preacher handing the woman an envelope. He didn't understand what they were saying, but their manner of speech seemed to be informal – as with the flower vendor. They took their seats, at their usual table, and were served appetizers.

Duke's curiosity eventually got the better of him. "Preacher, what language is that you've been speaking?"

Preacher eyed Duke over the top of his menu. "Why do you ask, pilgrim?"

"I'm familiar with most Southeast Asian dialects... I thought I'd heard them all until today."

Preacher shrugged dismissively. "I don't think it has a name."

Duke was about to press the issue, when young a girl ran up to Preacher and hopped into his lap. Her eyes lit up when she smiled; her front two teeth hadn't come in yet, so she spoke with a lisp when she spoke to Preacher in that same odd dialect. Preacher reached into his bag and pulled out the Lotus he had purchased earlier. The little girl giggled, and he pinned the flower in her hair.

From across the restaurant, an old man, who appeared to be the proprietor, called out to the little girl from the kitchen. The child did not respond, so the hostess came by and retrieved the little girl by the hand. The girl frowned, but was allowed to wave goodbye. The old man picked up the little girl and returned to the kitchen, but not before glaring angrily in the soldiers' direction.