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GI JOE Season 3: episode 2
"Invincible Shield"
Chapter 6
Vietnam – April 12, 1975
Duke closed the door at his egress from Hawk's office and breathed an exasperated sigh. He regarded Snake-Eyes, who was waiting beside the water cooler.
The blond approached. "Whew, I haven't been chewed out like that since Tet."
Snake-Eyes grinned knowingly. "He must like you." The dispenser rattled with a 'glub' as he filled his water cup. "At least we got Destro."
"Yeah, but the brass wanted him alive." He and Snake-Eyes left the command bunker. The sun shone brightly overhead, and Duke put on his sunglasses. "You know, I get the feeling that we're going to take the heat for Panther Force. Those bastards made My Lai look like a picnic. There'll no doubt be a full inquiry."
Snake-Eyes crushed the now empty paper cup. "Don't bet on it; somebody high up sent them there illegally. Both sides are going to want this swept under the rug. "
The blond frowned. "You're right."
"It looks like you guys did alright against them."
Duke snorted quietly at Snake-Eyes' indirect approval. "Stalker told me that it was your idea to shadow them... How did you know that they were lying about being in Special Forces?"
"It was their green berets."
"Pardon?"
"Green Berets don't wear their green berets in the field. If you ask me, they fought like spooks."
"I agree. We got our initial intel on Destro from the CIA. It looks like they were holding out on us. And that jerk Firefly certainly played his part to the hilt!"
Snake-Eyes had casually brandished his combat knife in reverie. "Personally, I'm making Firefly my new hobby. I have friends in Black Ops. If he ever shows his ugly mug again, I'll be there to chop that Son of a Bitch's head off."
"You're not the only one with a score to settle, you know."
"I have to admit at one time I thought you had been holding out on us too."
"Nope, I was just as surprised as you were."
"That much became apparent real quick; if I thought for one second that you kicked us into that shit-grinder on purpose, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
Duke arched an eyebrow. "So, what did I do to gain your trust?"
"The men vouched for you; that was good enough for me."
Duke smirked. "Two back-to-back compliments... are we going steady now?"
The senior soldier scowled. "Just don't expect a reach-around."
They arrived at the barracks and entered the lounge where they came upon Stalker, Rock n' Roll, and Zap eating in silence. Duke and Snake-Eyes each took a soda out of the cooler and joined them.
Snake-Eyes opened the bottle cap and spat it onto the floor. "Why the long faces, ladies? I thought you girls would be happy to be getting home."
"Naw, we're just waiting for the other shoe to drop," Zap said. "The last time you got us all worked up, you gave us blue balls with that '99.9 percent' bullshit speech."
With an unapologetic smile, Snake-Eyes took a seat at a table away from the others. Reclining back in the chair, he rested his feet on the tabletop as he took a pair of dice out of his pocket. "The Southern Army 18th is making a stand at Xuan Loc. From the level of resistance, we know that they're not going to be able to hold off the NVA for long."
Rock n' Roll stroked his beard."Xuan Loc? That's less than sixty kliks from Saigon."
Snake-Eyes expertly rolled the dice between his busy fingers. "Central command is getting antsy; they want us out now. The chopper is already on its way from the Kitty Hawk."
"So, why isn't Preacher here?" asked Duke.
Snake-Eyes threw the dice on the table. He scooped them up and rattled them in his hand. "He was given a special furlough back in town. He'll catch a ride back with Colonel Hawk tonight."
Duke's brow furrowed. Furlough...?
Zap regarded Duke's quizzical expression at Snake-Eyes' cryptic answer. He changed the subject before Duke could press the issue. "Stalker was just about to tell us his plans stateside when you two walked in..."
Stalker shrugged his shoulders. "It's no big. I thought I'd try my hand at Special Forces."
"You're not fooling anyone." Zap knocked the cap off his teammates head. "You just want an excuse to wear those cute beanies."
"What can I say? Chicks dig the beret—" he smirked "—just ask your mother."
Rock n' Roll snorted. "Well, I can't wait to hit the beach and pick up where I left off: pumping some iron and working on my tan."
"I'm going into the private sector... anything that involves blowing something up," said Zap.
"You guys don't want to stick with it like Stalker?" Duke questioned. "It'd be a shame to let all that talent go to waste."
"I don't see the point with grunts like us renewing our contracts," Rock n' Roll said. "Zap and me are specialists, not Rangers."
Duke shrugged. "It's the wave of the future. With the way things are going now, there's going to be a demand for small specialized support groups. I even hear that SOCOM is trying to put together an all-purpose interservice unit."
"Swabbies and Jarheads working with the Army...?" Zap shook his head. "That'll be the day."
"If this mission has proved anything, it's that the face of warfare is changing," Duke persisted.
"Humph... Nothing ever changes," Snake-Eyes said. "Warfare will always be about someone giving orders and someone taking a bullet."
"That's a jaded view coming from someone in your line of work," Duke said.
"My 'line of work' will always be to minimize the number of grunts that have to take that bullet."
"Thankfully, that's no longer an issue given that we're between wars now. What are your plans for the future?"
"Plan...?" Snake-Eyes threw the dice on the table. A smile carved its way into his rugged, battle-scarred face as two single pips stared back at him. "I plan on living forever—"
The dice fell off the table as an explosion rocked the building. The lights flickered and then dimmed as the backup generators kicked in.
Snake-Eyes bolted to his feet. "What was that you were saying about being between wars?"
After retrieving their weapons from the armory, Kilo Company headed for the command bunker to meet up with Hawk. It was chaos outside. Southern Army soldiers scrambled to get to their battle stations. More explosions set off around the base as the unit traversed the buildings. They arrived at Hawk's office; he was being briefed by a liaison officer.
"Where do you want us, Hawk?" asked Snake-Eyes.
"Right here. Remember, we are official non-combatants. Reports are sketchy so far, but this appears to be just panic fire. It's doubtful that a large NVA contingent made it this far south, it's probably a couple of guys lurking on the outer perimeter testing us."
The phone on Hawk's desk rang. He picked it up and spoke briefly to the person on the other side. He hung it up. "That was security... four intruders penetrated medical."
Duke scowled. "That's where we have Destro's body packed on ice."
"What if this panic fire is just a diversion?" Snake-Eyes mused. "Is it VC or NVA?"
Hawk shook his head. "Neither. They wore masks and were dressed in blue battle fatigues."
"Destro routinely employs mercenaries—ex-Foreign Legion commandos," Duke said.
Snake-Eyes drew the obvious conclusion. "There's no way a four-man team can carry a body and cover their escape. They must have an exit strategy."
"Aw, man! It's gotta be an air extraction!" Rock n' Roll exclaimed.
"No way," Stalker replied. "They would need some serious firepower for that."
"Have you already forgotten about their gunship that had us pinned down outside of the Badlands?" Rock n' Roll said.
Hawk snapped to. "What gunship?"
"It looked like a Choctaw—"
"It was a Sikorsky H-34," Stalker clarified. "They're ancient."
"Maybe so, but the bitch had teeth with twin 50 cals and a Mighty Mouse."
Hawk reached into his desk and retrieved his pistol. "We can't take any chances. We've risked too much to just let them waltz in here and take the body."
Rock n' Roll took point as Kilo Company traversed the base to the medical compound. On the way, they where met by a security team. As they approached, they could see signs of a firefight. When they got to the building, they had to wait until the security team secured it before they were allowed inside. Snake-Eyes, Duke and Hawk entered first followed by Zap, Stalker and Rock n' Roll. The dead bodies of the medical staff were still seated at their desks, shot before they had time to react.
They entered the morgue. The body of Destro had been taken out and laid on the main examination table. The head had been removed. There was a message written in a foreign language on the adjacent wall. It was written using copious amounts of blood.
Snake-Eyes almost slipped on the wet floor as he walked past the body. "Sloppy amateurs."
Zap covered his nose. "Why did they take the head and leave the body?"
"Obviously to evade identification," said Duke. "We were getting too close." He then examined the writing on the wall.
"Smart move, leaving the body; it kept them agile," Snake-Eyes said. "While we were out there scratching our asses, waiting to repel a gunship, they were able to slip out under our noses."
"What about the message?" Zap said, taking note of the sanguine graffiti. "Is that blood?"
Duke pursed his lips as he struggled to read the writing. "It's standard Chinese... which, if not victory, is yet revenge."(1)
"What does it mean?" Zap asked.
"It's a challenge," said Hawk.
Stalker shook his head, nonplussed. "But, for whom? And why in Chinese? Why not Vietnamese – or even English if they know we're American?"
"The only person in your unit that speaks Chinese is Preacher..." Duke continued to rub his chin, pondering the significance of the words.
"Do you think they're going after Preacher?" Zap said, warily.
Duke shook his head. "No. The fact that they left it here means that they expected him to be here to read it." He regarded Hawk, saying, "They're going to Cholon, aren't they?"
Hawk returned the glare. "Duke, I want you to take Rock n' Roll and Zap; round up some troops, and see if you can track down those mercenaries... Snake-Eyes and Stalker, I want you two to go into Saigon—"
"With respect, Colonel," Duke interrupted. "If they're going to Cholon, they need someone who can speak Mandarin. I'm the logical choice."
Snake-Eyes snorted. "What about your precious Destro?"
"The team is more important," Duke replied.
Hawk nodded approvingly. "Stalker, do you think you can you handle the mercenaries?"
"No sweat, boss."
"Okay, then, Duke, you're with Snake-Eyes. I'll call the embassy and see if they can spare some Marines to meet you there."
They left the medical bunker. Once outside, before they split up, Snake-Eyes stopped to regard his teammates one last time. He was not the type of leader that gave pep-talks, but the looks that he gave each of his men expressed all the sentiments that words could not.
"Kilo Company, sound off!"
Kilo Company replied in unison, "YO KILO!"
The men marched off to their destiny.
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
Preacher parked outside of the Bistro in Cholon. He walked around his jeep to the passenger side where his daughter was seated, playing with her new toy. She giggled as she jumped into his arms. He tried to put her down so that she could walk, but when she protested, he relented and carried her instead.
"Did you have fun?" he said in English.
"Phoon?"
"No, 'fun'... can you say 'fun'?"
"Thun?" She smiled wide, showing the gap where her two front teeth should be.
He returned her smile. "Close enough."
When he entered the Bistro, he was met by the Hostess dressed in pink and cerulean. When the little girl saw her grandfather, she ran over to him – stumbling a few times on the way. The grandfather, busy repairing a section of wallpaper that had become unglued, didn't notice her at first. She tugged on his robe and showed him a toy that her daddy had bought for her. He picked her up and spun her around playfully before setting her back down. He looked toward the entrance of the bistro: to his disdain, he saw Preacher was still there. He did not acknowledge him.
Preacher too ignored the old man. Averting his attention instead to other side of the bistro. There was a single customer seated in the corner with his back to him. He thought it was odd that the customer was wearing a large hakama with a silk overcoat. He concluded, from the raiment, that the customer was Japanese.
"Business is slow?" he said to the hostess, in Chinese.
"Many have left the area out of fear."
"A reasonable precaution; it would be advisable for you to do the same."
She shook her head, saying, "No, father will not leave, and I must stay with him,"
"He is a stubborn old fool."
"And you are just like him," she said, smiling. "I think that is why my sister fell in love with you."
Preacher blushed at first, but then his countenance grew somber. "My unit is leaving tonight. I must go with them."
"I understand. What are you going to do?"
"When my obligation to them is over, I'm going to resign and come back for my daughter."
She looked over to her father, the old man, playing with the little girl. "His granddaughter is all that is left of my sister. I fear that he will not let go easily."
"Nor can I."
"Take care that your daughter does not become another casualty in this private war between you and my father."
"What do you mean?"
"It was not the childbirth that killed my sister, but rather her heart could not take the strain of being pulled between my father's Yin and your Yang."
He bowed his head. "Your words are wise; I will dwell on them."
She lowered her eyes. "I am humbled."
"If I write, will you read to her."
"Of course. She is my niece."
"I am in your debt."
He regarded his daughter from across the room one last time and left reluctantly. The walk back to his jeep was the longest of his life. He sat in the car, but he couldn't bring himself to drive away. Instead, he pondered as he stared at the Bistro from the outside. Six months...
An eternity. Will she even remember him?
VROOM! VROOM!
The sounds of a roaring engine and screeching tires brought Preacher out of his thoughts. Before he could react, a blue sedan T-boned his jeep, flipping the vehicle on its side. Preacher unbuckled his set belt and fell out, lying on the pavement and gasping for air.
Two police officers came on the scene, having witnessed the accident. As they approached, the driver of the sedan, wearing a gold sash, greeted them. The passenger, wearing a black shirt, checked on Preacher. The policemen talked to Gold-Sash in Vietnamese, but Gold-Sash only responded in Japanese; as a result, they did not understand each other.
Black-Shirt examined Preacher, and he gave a signal to his partner. Gold-Sash smiled, pulled out a short sword from under his sash, and sliced open the chest of the nearest policeman. The remaining officer ran away screaming. Gold-Sash threw his sword, lodging it expertly in the back of his fleeing victim. He walked over to the slain officer to retrieve his sword and regarded the surrounding neighborhood; any onlookers had since retreated inside, locking their doors out of fear.
Gold-Sash met Black-Shirt who knelt over the semi-conscious Preacher. He raised his sword to strike, but Black-Shirt immediately rose to stop him.
"No, he is for Tho to finish," he said in Japanese.
"So, this is the one who opposed Tho?" Scoffing, Gold-Sash kicked Preacher over onto his back. "I am not impressed."
When Preacher heard Tho's name, a surge of adrenaline shot through his body. He kicked with both feet, striking both of their knees, causing them to wince. He vaulted to his feet and punched Gold-Sash's elbow, causing him to drop his sword. He then grabbed him by his golden sash and pushed him into Black-Shirt.
Both assassins stumbled over each other. Preacher pressed the advantage and rushed them with a flying kick. Gold-Sash rolled out the way as Preacher soared over him, forcing Preacher to parley his momentum and change of focus onto Black-Shirt since he was still in range.
He tackled Black-Shirt and brought his elbow down hard on the assassin's clavicle. The bone made a loud 'pop' when the point of his elbow snapped it in twain. Black-Shirt fell to the ground in agony.
Gold-Sash charged.
Preached chambered his arm in time to shield his ribs from Gold-Sash's kick. The extra meat and bone provided sufficient padding, but the force of the kick sent him stumbling into a nearby lamppost, knocking the wind out of him again.
Gold-Sash retrieved his sword.
Preacher climbed to his feet, slumped against the post. When Gold-Sash leapt, Preacher let his legs go limp, relying on gravity to pull him down just in time to duck the sword aimed for his neck. Bent over backwards onto his heels, he was perfectly position to punch Gold-Sash's exposed groin, just as the edge of his sword lodged into the lamppost. The assassin doubled-over and fell on top of him. Preacher pulled a .38 out of his ankle holster and jammed it under the assassin's chin:
BLAM!
The explosion of the gunpowder was deafening. Preacher's ears were ringing, but he was grateful that he couldn't hear what he saw with his eyes, for the bullet tore through the throat and severed the tongue at its base. The force from the wake of the projectile caused the tongue shoot out of the mouth. The bullet traveled through the sinus cavity; the mounting pressure caused the eyeballs to dislodge and dangle out of their orbs. The dense bone and flesh slowed the bullet's fatal trek just enough to spare the skull from an exit wound. However, it could not stop the brains from being liquefied as the bullet stirred into the grey-matter like a whisk.
He pushed the corpse off him and turned his pistol to Black-Shirt, who was trying in vain to hold his shoulder together. They shared a knowing, contemptuous look:
BLAM!
Blood was everywhere; Preacher felt his stomach working backwards. He rolled over onto his side and threw-up onto the pavement. His hearing slowly started to return as he was now able to detect the muffled sounds of screams coming from the Bistro.
He composed himself quickly, spitting out the last bits of undigested vomitus that coated the roof of his mouth, and he rose to his feet. He retrieved the sword lodged in the lamppost and a baton from one of the slain officers. Given what was at stake, failure was not an option. He prayed silently as he entered the Bistro:
The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; the God of my strength, in Him I will trust, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold and my refuge; my Savior, You save me from violence. (2)
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
Duke turned off the CB radio and put the receiver back on the hook. "That was Hawk... the embassy can't spare any Marines."
"Looks like we're on our own," said Snake-Eyes, blaring the horn. Without slowing down, he cut the wheel and sped into the oncoming lane to cut around a slow-moving bus.
Duke nervously gripped the door's handle until they where stable again. "So, what's the story with Preacher?"
"It's personal," Snake-Eyes replied, not taking his eyes off the road.
"Hey, I'm risking my life here too! I think we're past personal!"
Snake-Eyes curled his lip, but he relented. "How did you figure it out anyway?"
"It's one of the first things I learned in Language School: native speakers don't code-switch to their local dialects unless there is an intimate familiarity between them. I didn't have to understand what Preacher was saying in the Bistro the other day to know that he had a personal interest with the people in that community."
Snake-Eyes snorted. "Einstein strikes again."
"I imagine this is over a girl. Is it the hostess? They seemed friendly."
"Wrong girl: Preacher's woman died during childbirth."
"Childbirth...?" His eyes widened in realization. "The little girl with the flower?"
Snake-Eyes nodded his head in reply, confirming Duke's suspicion. "Preacher's father was a Chaplain stationed in Okinawa. Pops fell in love with a government-contracted civilian that ran an orphanage in Naha. They married and had Preacher. A few years later, the mother went back to the States, and Preacher stayed with his dad. He practically grew up around the dojos. By the time he was ten, he was fluent in three languages."
"That explains some things."
"When he was seventeen, he lied on his application to enlist so he could fight in Vietnam. He was a natural; I took him and Stalker, under my wing and trained them to be Lurps. He was turning out to be the best field commando I've ever seen, but being young, he got stupid and, like his dad, fell in love. He always had an affinity for Asians."
"How did Hawk handle it?"
"He came down on him hard. I was able to convince Hawk to keep him in the unit, but it was a mess. And it only got worse: when his woman died, her father was awarded custody of the child since they were never properly married."
"So, the old man from the restaurant is the child's grandfather?"
Snake-Eyes nodded. "You're very observant."
"It's kept me alive," Duke said. "What about common-law?"
"The rules are different here. I figure, she didn't want to go against her father's wishes and get married without his blessing."
"I can't believe they couldn't come up with a compromise."
"Preacher and his father-in-law don't exactly get along."
"Surely the Army has polices for this sort of thing?"
"The Army had a war to run; they had better things to do. But, he did get visitation rights; us guys in the unit tried to help him out by using any excuse we could to get him into town without using up his leave."
Duke grinned knowingly. "Like that 'traditional' pre-mission meal?"
"Exactly. But, since we're pulling out, it's doubtful that he'll ever get to see her again. Like I said, it never did sit well with the old man that his daughter got knocked-up by a foreigner."
Duke sighed. "FUBAR."
"FUBAR."
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
Stalker's team moved swiftly through the tall grass, accompanied by a squad of Southern Army soldiers, as they followed the tracks left by the mercenaries. They stopped when Stalker kneeled to examine a blood trail left in the grass.
So far, the trail had been easy for the ranger to follow. Too easy... they're going for speed.
Stalker signaled to his team by putting his hand over his mouth—there would be no more verbal communication. He then raised his fist to his shoulder and pumped his arm up-and-down in rapid succession. In understanding, the team started to march double-time, foregoing any cover. Two kliks later, they arrived at the edge of a ridge. Stalker raised his fist high in the air, signalling the men to halt.
Zap approached Stalker and signed, I know that look. What is it?
There's a paddy field over this ridge. That's where they're heading, he signed in return.
Why would they go there? There's no cover.
Rock's right about it being a chopper extraction. They're making a break for an LZ.
Stalker raised his fist in the air again, and then opened his palm. The men immediately spread out over the ridge.
—oOo—
The stranger lowered his binocular's. "I ssssee them coming from over the ridge with your package ahead of sssschedule. Bludd's mercenaries are very efficient."
"They had better be for the price," said the son. "And you seem to be right at home commanding them in Bludd's absence."
The stranger remained silent and signaled the pilot to prepare for liftoff. From the safety of the helicopter, he continued to monitor the four-man squad as they approached. Their point man stood up from the brush and gave the all-clear signal. The rest of the team stood up and started to march double-time to the chopper. Suddenly he heard 'popping' sounds in the distance. There was a pink mist, and two of the mercs fell still to the ground. The remaining two knuckled down and returned fire toward an unseen enemy.
The son perked when he heard the sounds of gunfire. "What happened?"
"Sssnipers." The stranger gestured to one of the gunners. "Lay down ssssupression fire to cover their essscape!"
The gunner obeyed and fired a volley toward the enemy's approximate position. More shots were heard from the other side of the field; an explosion several feet away rocked the chopper.
A second gunner broke off to cover their flank. "They're coming in from multiple fronts, trying to pinch us, sir!"
The stranger pointed to the squad leader covering their forward position. "You there! Go retrieve the package!"
The son rose from his seat. "Belay that." He brushed past the stranger.
"What are you doing? It's not ssssafe out there. Leave this to the underlings!"
"No", the son replied plainly. "This is my responsibility."
The son stepped off the helicopter and into the tall grass. He stood tall, too proud to bow beneath the vortex of the rotors. The brat, worn over his shoulder, swayed in the wind, displaying his family colors like a flag. He marched across the muddy field to the salute of gunfire and exploding ordnance. A trail of blood, diffused into the marsh, lay before him like a red carpet. At the end of his march lay a dying soldier. His mission accomplished, the soldier handed the son his birthright, and breathed his last. The son took what was his with reverence, regarding his reflection in the polished steel mask. A stray bullet nicked the top of the mask; the resulting vibrations echoed: his father's wails from beyond the grave. The son used the key tied around his neck to unlock the mask at its base. He removed the head inside and regarded his father's face one last time. His father's empty, half-open eyes stared back. A tear ran down his cheek, and he dropped his father's remains into marsh. He then held the empty mask high over his head and screamed to the heavens, "Fear gu aois!" He continued to chant in Gaelic as he slowly and deliberately donned his birthright. Electric motors and servos locked it into place.
Destro made his way back to the helicopter. Turning into the wind caused the brat to loose from his belt and flow behind him like a cape. The tall grass bowed before him in the breeze created by the rotors. Bullets whizzed by his head and shot around his feet, but they did not dare assail his person. They were beneath his notice. The sun came out from behind the clouds, as if awakened by the pomp and circumstance of war. To any onlookers from afar, the rays reflecting off the mask gave the appearance of a halo of fire. Like Helios made flesh, he stepped into his sky chariot, and his men closed ranks behind him.
The stranger regarded the son respectfully. "What are your orders, Lord Desssstro?"
"Take off."
The stranger's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to desssstroy them?"
"We've delivered Tho's message; our obligation to him is at an end."
"But they are ressssponsible for your father's death."
"I will not inaugurate my vengeance in a rice field. Moreover, there are formalities that must be observed within my family that I cannot ignore."
—oOo—
Stalker's team watched the chopper rise and disappear into the sky. Stalker and Zap went over to the area to search for clues while Rock n' Roll broke off with the Southern Army troops to check the enemy LZ.
Once Rock n' Roll had the area secured, he rejoined the others. "All men are accounted for—no casualties."
"What do we do now?" Zap said.
Stalker kicked the dead mercenary over onto its back and checked its pockets. "The mission is scrubbed. We're going back."
Rock n' Roll retrieved the father's head from the marsh, grabbing it by its hair. "At least we stopped them from getting away with Destro's remains."
Stalker arched an eyebrow, noticing that the disembodied head was without its metal mask. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, Rock."
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
Snake-Eyes and Duke arrived at the bistro. The street looked like a war zone with bodies scattered everywhere. Snake-Eyes slowed the car to a crawl. They didn't have the luxury of securing the area, but it appeared that they were alone. Duke caught a glimpse of drapes closing in a window across the street.
"There's Preacher's Jeep," Snake-Eyes said. He parked next to the overturned vehicle. They both got out and split up to examine the area.
"We have an audience," Duke said, looking about, regarding the various onlookers who dared to peek through their windows that overlooked the street.
Snake-Eyes nodded. He knelt over one of the assassins. "The good news is Preacher is not among the dead. These two took a bullet to the head... small ordnance gunshot wounds consistent with Preacher's .38."
Duke rose from the body he had been examining. "No gunshot wounds here... these policemen have been carved up like a couple of Thanksgiving turkeys... What gives?"
In answer, Snake-Eyes retrieved a ninjato that was hidden on one of the assassins.
Duke's brow furrowed upon regarding the odd weapon. "A sword? What in the hell are they doing with swords?"
"How the hell would I know?" Snake-Eyes scoffed. "They don't look like VC, and they're not dressed like the mercs that attacked the base."
"No, but they're definitely out-of-towners," said Duke. He regarded the tattoo on the arm of one of the dead assassins, and added, "If I were to guess, I would say they're Japanese.
Snake-Eyes pursed his lips. "Japs, eh?"
Gunshots sounded across the street, and both men turned in the direction of the bistro in response to the sounds of the battle within.
"Looks like the party's still going," Duke said, charging his shotgun with a loud, CHAK-TOK! "Preacher must be inside... This time I get the impression that these guys aren't simple villagers armed with machetes. How is he against swords?"
"I didn't train him to use a sword. But, he did grow up around some weird Okinawan shit."
Duke and Snake-Eyes penetrated the bistro's back entrance. They kicked the door down and entered via the kitchen. When they got to the dining hall, they happened upon the old man, being surrounded by swordsmen dressed in black.
Old-Man wielded a spear as he fended off the attackers. Although, he did more than hold his own: every time he swung his weapon, his attackers gave ground. Snake-Eyes took point, and he joined the battle. With twin Uzi's in hand, he sprayed the room with bullets to provide cover for Old-Man. Duke acted as backup with his shotgun, taking out two assassins with one shot as they flanked Snake-Eyes.
"Thanks, Einstein."
Tires peeled on the pavement outside, and a truck crashed through the front of the restaurant. Duke, Old-Man and Snake-Eyes dove for cover behind the counter as glass and other debris showered the room. Duke peeked around the corner; he saw more assassins exit the van. He drew his head back behind the column in time to avoid a flash of metal that missed him, lodging instead into the baseboard. He pulled the star-shaped object out of the wood and examined it.
"Shuriken," Old-Man said in answer to Duke's bewilderment.
Skake-Eyes slapped a fresh magazine into his Uzi. "Don't these assholes know that this is the twentieth century?"
Old-Man set his spear aside and reached into a hidden panel under the counter. He found his ringed broadsword, as well as a satin bandoleer that he threw around his shoulder. He spoke to Duke in Mandarin. In understanding, Duke pulled Snake-Eyes aside.
"He wants us to go upstairs and help Preacher. He'll guard our rear," Duke said.
"How is he supposed to back us up?"
In reply, Old-Man retrieved a dagger from his bandoleer. He rose from behind the counter, and with a flick of his wrist:
CHA-THUNK!
The dagger found its mark in one of the attacker's temples.
Duke brushed past Snake-Eyes. "Like that..."
The two broke off from the dining area and found the stairs leading to the second floor. More dead bodies littered the hallway. They came across the hostess slumped to the floor. Her pink and cerulean dress was stained with red. Her severed arm lay next to her in a pool of blood. She was still alive, but her breathing was shallow. Duke knelt next her, removed his belt and tied it around her injury. When she came to, she screamed and lashed out. Duke held her fast and spoke to her in Mandarin, calming her. When she recognized the soldiers, she started pleading with Duke.
Snake-Eyes grimaced at the sight of her bloody arm stump flailing about. "What is she saying?"
"She said that Preacher is on the roof."
She then grabbed Duke's lapel and started ranting frantically before she lost consciousness.
"What's wrong with her?"
Duke listened, struggling to translate her waning ramblings. "I don't know; it's some kind of warning... She keeps saying the word Ninja."
"What is a Ninja?"
"I don't know."
Duke took off his jacket, folded it and rested her head atop it. He searched some of the adjoining rooms and came back with a blanket. He wrapped her in the blanket and picked her up in his arms.
"What are you doing? We have to go!"
"She's going into shock. If I don't treat her, she'll die." He took note that the sounds of the battle below that were getting louder. "Go ahead, I'll cover your rear and join you when I can."
Snake-Eyes started for the staircase leading to the floors above while Duke tended to the hostess.
—oOo—
Preacher released his chokehold from around the ninja's neck, and the corpse slumped at his feet. He stepped over the body as he reloaded his revolver with the last of his ordnance. The enemy soldiers gave ground as he approached, their swords drawn in defense of their master, General Tho, who stood calm in the middle of the rooftop, dressed in a hakama made of the finest silk.
At Tho's command, his minions sheathed their weapons and parted their ranks, affording him a clear line of site to the American.
Preacher ignored the guards as they broke off, and he aimed his revolver, cocking back the hammer. "Where is the girl, Tho?"
Tho beckoned, and Preacher approached closer. Tho slowly drew his katana, and he ceremoniously stabbed it into the rooftop; nary a shadow was cast in the noontime sun. In understanding, Preacher discarded his weapons. The loose-fitting hakama that Tho wore draped loosely over him; he pulled his arms in and crossed them under his robe as he regarded Preacher with a sneer.
"In order to see the child again, you must best me in personal combat, round-eye."
Preacher squared off, digging the balls of his feet into the flooring. "Your beef is with me; she's an innocent—"
"No one is innocent!"
Preacher's fists clenched at his sides. Without regard for strategy, the soldier rushed him. All he wanted to do was knock that arrogant smirk off his face.
Tho gave ground and shifted his torso slightly, at alternating angles, to dodge the furious combinations that Preacher threw at him. He squatted to duck a spinning back kick aimed for his head. He then caught the foot on the return and threw it violently out of joint. Preacher twisted in mid-air with the throw, spinning his body to pronate the joints in his leg back into alignment.
Tho followed the energy of battle, kicking to sweep Preacher's feet as they alit on the ground. Having his legs thrown out from under him, Preacher fell hard on his back.
Tho sneered. "Your tricks will not serve you here."
Preacher spun on his back, kicking as he vaulted to his feet. Tho hopped out of range of Preacher's jumping-spinning back-kick. He taunted Preacher with subtle evasions, glancing blocks and ripostes; it was like trying to punch water. This served to enrage Preacher further. He feinted toward Tho's midsection, then spun around with a furious back fist that connected with the side of his skull.
Tho mitigated the attack by turning with the strike. Although dazed, he recovered in time to catch the soldier's follow-up haymaker, twisting the arm at the wrist, and redirecting his enemy's momentum, flipping him.
Preacher cartwheeled with the flip and landed on his feet. Nothing had worked, and he was breathing heavily, having wasted too much energy. He regarded the sword stabbed into the floor; in desperation, he made a break for the weapon.
Tho proved to be deceptively fast. Even though Preacher had a head start, by the time he reached the sword, they were neck-and-neck. Preacher dove and grabbed the hilt a split-second before Tho. His momentum was sufficient to pry the sword out of the floor as he rolled to his feet. He somersaulted backwards and landed behind Tho.
Before Tho could turn around, Preacher drove the sword into him from behind. Tho arched his back and screamed as the sword feasted on flesh. When Preacher saw blood trickle down the blade from Tho's back, he twisted it for good measure, allowing himself a smile of satisfaction.
"Now tell me where my daughter is, you bastard, or I swear to God I'll run you through!"
Preacher kept a tight grip on the katana as Tho answered him with more protracted screaming. Looking about, he thought it was strange that Tho's henchman had not come to their master's aid. He then slowly began to realize that something was wrong—mistaking screams of pain for a victor's song. A sickness washed over him that struck him at the core of his soul when he noticed a strange movement under Tho's shirt. Tho drew his arms into his robe, unfastened his obi and threw his top off.
Preacher was subjected to a sight that no father should ever have to see: his daughter strapped to the back of his mortal enemy... the sword in his hand plunged into his child's chest.
This isn't happening!
She kicked in vain against the straps. Her hands grabbed onto the sword, trying to pull it out, slicing her little fingers against the edge of the blade in the process. Her mouth was tapped shut, denying him the sound of her voice. He struggled to pull the sword out, but his hands were shaking. He looked away. The horror on her face and the pleading look in her eyes was more than he could bear.
Tho unfastened the straps and threw her off. As the girl fell, Preacher released the katana and dove to catch her.
He sat there, powerless, with her in his arms, watching the light fade from her eyes, Not her too...you can't take her away from me too. He tried to scream, but was denied even that simple luxury. All that his paralyzed vocal chords could manage was a raspy hiss.
Tho snapped his fingers and two henchmen came to his side. The first henchman used a towel to blot the sweat from his master's heavily tattooed torso, and the second underling clothed him in a fresh uwagi. He looked down at Preacher with contempt, saying, "I told you that you would pay in blood."
Tho retrieved his sword and circled Preacher, casually twirling the weapon, but the American was oblivious to his presence. Not one to be ignored, Tho slowly slid the tip of his blade between the soldier's second and third ribs, piercing his lung. He did not stop until the young man winced involuntarily, forcing his attention.
"Arrogant Gaijin trash... You come from across the ocean and presume to teach the ways of war, when in fact it is you that has learned its first lesson: there is no greater shield than your enemy's love. If you surround yourself with that which he cherishes, then you will become invincible."
Tho raised his sword, ready to give the killing blow. He regarded Preacher one last time, and his lips quivered, and his voice cracked. "The man that you killed in the bunker last night was my son!"
Preacher closed his eyes in anticipation of the sweet release, but his enemy paused, distracted.
"THO!"
Snake-Eyes had sprinted onto the roof, wielding an Uzi in each hand. Tho retreated to the ledge while his guards swarmed in to protect him with their swords drawn.
Snake-Eyes fired into the guards as he rushed them. Not one bullet hit its mark. The guards advanced upon him slowly. Their intuition was uncanny; every time Snake-Eyes fired his weapons they jumped out of the line of fire. He screamed in frustration as they taunted him in foreign curses. Although he couldn't hit them, they stayed back at a distance.
They're waiting me out.
His ordnance spent, he ejected his magazines and retreated behind a nearby air intake. While he reloaded, he regarded his protege. "Preacher, snap out of it!"
Preacher did not respond. Snake-Eyes looked back toward the entrance, What's taking Duke so long? Unfortunately, going by the sounds of the gunfire below, Duke had his hands full. He was alone; if he was going to survive, he had to change tactics. Someone threw a smoke grenade. They'll be coming soon. And he wondered how they were able to dodge the bullets.
How the hell can they leap in the air so fast?
A smile crept across his scarred face.
He threw away his UZI. A crutch. He Retrieved his pistol. Precision. And he stepped out from behind the intake and walked slowly into the mist. He held the gun in his right hand with it pointed straight out in front of him. He steadied his right wrist with his left hand. The first guard approached, but he resisted the urge to shoot and remained relaxed. Suddenly, the guard rushed him and leapt into the air with his sword drawn. Snake-Eyes swiveled at his waist thus:
BLAM!
The bullet found its mark, and the guard fell to the ground dead. He heard voices surrounding him. He tracked a wisp of displaced smoke overhead with his pistol.
BLAM!
The guard screamed in surprise as the bullet tore into him. He fell with a thud onto the rooftop and thrashed around in the throes of death.
BLAM!
Another bullet found its target. Snake-Eyes was now the hunter. His smile broadened.
Like shooting skeet.
When the last of the guards was dispatched, he approached Tho, his pistol aimed directly at the murderer's heart.
"Most impressive," said Tho. He stood tall and relaxed with his hands clasped behind his back.
Snake-Eyes cocked the hammer and trained the cross-hairs between Tho's eyes. "You shouldn't bring knives to a gunfight—"
BLAM!
Snake-Eyes flinched as he felt a hot prick in his neck. Then the sensation of a warm wetness rushed over his chest. He brought his hands to his throat and could feel his life's blood spurting out in time with his pulse. He tried to curse, but could only manage a 'gurgling' sound. He fell to his knees, clutching his throat.
Tho sneered. "Excellent advice."
Snake-Eyes peered into the haze to see the outlines of more guards stepping into view. Still more guards appeared from over the ledge, having scaled the wall from the other side. They were armed with rifles. He lost his pistol. His only chance was to make a run for the air vent. On pure adrenaline, he rose to his feet and lumbered for cover.
BLAM!
A round tore into his thigh. He fell to the ground. Ignoring the pain, he dragged himself along – if he could just make it to his UZIs, he could take a few of the bastards with him.
One of the guards caught up to him, aiming the rifle point blank at the back of his head. He knew what was coming next, but that didn't stop him from continuing to crawl defiantly to the air vent. He clenched his teeth when he heard the bolt pull back on the guards AK-47:
CHA-THUNK!
Snake-Eyes looked over his shoulder at the source of the strange sound. The guard standing over him had a throwing dagger sticking out of his forehead. His eyes rolled up into their sockets, and he slumped to the ground.
Duke and Old-Man had made it to the roof. Duke laid down suppression fire, and Old-Man ran to Snake-Eyes, dragging him to the air vent. Snake-Eyes was barely conscious and had trouble breathing. When he saw the damage to his neck, Old-Man took out one of his throwing daggers, and used the blade to make an incision at the base of the soldier's throat. He then bit off the head of the dagger and inserted the hollow bamboo shaft into the incision. Snake-Eyes coughed up some blood and started breathing again. Old-Man continued to work on him, ripping his sleeve off and wrapping it around the neck in order to control the bleeding.
Duke reloaded and gestured toward Preacher. Old-Man nodded, and Duke came from behind cover to lay down another volley suppression fire. Old-Man sheathed his broadsword, and ran. Snake-Eyes picked up one of his UZIs and assisted Duke. Tho and his guards dove for cover.
Old-Man used the cover of the crossfire to make it to Preacher. He shook him, but Preacher did not respond. He looked into the young man's eyes and saw life, but no signs of humanity. Then he looked down to regard the lifeless form of his granddaughter. It was then, for one brief moment, that the noise of the firefight was paled in comparison to one man's screams of despair.
Old-Man's angst caught the attention of Tho, who monitored the firefight from the safety of ledge. His eyes narrowed when he saw this peasant of a restaurant owner rush one of his troopers. Before the trooper could aim his weapon properly, he was decapitated with one clean stroke from a broadsword. The disembodied head rolled to Tho's feet, and he kicked it aside, not once taking his eyes off Old-Man, nor he him. Tho set in his stance as Old-Man ran straight toward him. The sole guard that remained between them aimed his rifle and fired. However, Old-Man's broadsword was wide enough to use as a shield while he closed the distance. Before the guard could pop off another burst, Old-Man leapt past him like a flitting grasshopper. The guard's body turned to face him for another shot, but his head had other plans as it peeled back and fell over, dangling off the base of the neck by a flap of skin.
Tho gripped the handle of his katana, but kept it sheathed even as Old-Man stood mere feet in front of him. He spoke in Japanese, "Who are you?"
Old-Man responded in kind. "Your death!"
The ongoing cacophony of war registered as no more than that of white noise beyond the mutual regard of the two sword masters. Everything beyond their gaze was irrelevant. Life and death were mere concepts. Neither one moved, yet the duel was already well underway. There they stood, unflinching, neither's Qi willing to yield. There could be no room for error: a mental map of each strike is made; possible avenues of escape are accounted for. Once the sword is drawn, it is committed to follow the path laid out for it.
Metal scraped against scabbard in stereo; even to an adept eye, it would have been impossible to discern who drew first.
Tho drew his katana backhanded, aiming for the legs. He was denied his target as Old-Man had already leapt into the air with his broadsword raised high. Tho reversed the grip on his sword and brought it up to defend his head. He released his scabbard, enabling his free hand to re-enforce his grip just in time to block the razor-sharp death aimed for the top of his skull. When their swords kissed, Tho angled his katana downward, skimming the broadsword harmlessly down the length of his blade, like rain trickling off of a rooftop.
Old-Man was left overextended when he landed with his left side exposed. Tho spun around, angling his sword to decapitate, but Old-Man tilted his neck in time to duck the slash, rolling his head around-and-under, then coming about to lunge for Tho's belly.
Tho used his momentum to twist out of the way and bring his weapon down to parry the thrust aimed for his abdomen. Swords, eyes, and Qi death-locked for what seemed like an eternity. Tho sneered when he detected a hint of a tremble in his enemy's sword and a bead of sweat trickling down his brow. Using all of his strength, he pushed off with his katana and charged, digging his shoulder into Old-Man's chest.
Old-Man stumbled, but recovered by rolling out of range. Tho continued his advance while swinging his sword furiously in a figure-eight motion. All that Old-Man could do was roll in order to stay ahead of the charge. Every time he came about, he raised his broadsword to use it as a shield. And every time, his arm complained from having to support the weight of his weapon coupled with the force absorbed from each block.
Tho stopped his advance when he had him backed up against the opposite ledge. Using his broadsword for support, Old-Man rose slowly to his feet, clutching his chest and gasping for air.
"Your sword is heavy, and you are tired. You will not have my death today... peasant." Tho signaled for two of his bodyguards to close ranks in front of him.
The guards drew their katanas and engaged Old-Man. With the last of his strength, he swung wide with his broadsword, disarming the guards. They retreated back and drew their guns. Old-Man staggered, his chest heaving. He watched helplessly as Tho turned his back to him, beneath his notice.
Tho retrieved his scabbard and, after wiping off the blade on the uniform of one of his slain troopers, sheathed his katana. "Kill them all, but save the one named Preacher for last," he said, evenly, and he disappeared over the side of the ledge.
—oOo—
Preacher sat calmly in the eye of the firestorm. He looked down on his daughter; her face looked peaceful as if she were asleep. A stray bullet entered the thorax of the corpse, forcing the remaining air out of the lungs; creating the illusion that it still breathed. He knew this was not possible, but the part of him that was still a father forced him to instinctively bend over to shield the remains with his body. Another stray bullet missed his head by inches, landing instead in his deltoid. He waited in anticipation, eager for that one well-placed shot that would take him out of this miserable existence of flesh.
It won't be long now, baby. Soon I'll be with you and mommy. We'll be a family again and daddy will hug you and kiss you forever and ever.
—oOo—
From Duke's vantage point, he saw the tide of battle was not in their favor. Troops were closing in on Old-Man, and Snake-Eyes had passed out. Preacher was sitting in the center of the roof, but the enemy ignored him, as if he was invisible – he might as well have been. He checked the magazine in his rifle. He then peeked around the edge of his cover and immediately drew back to avoid the hail of bullets.
He sniffed the air, and then spat on the ground. The enemy was poised to overrun his position and he had only one bullet left. He took a stogie out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. He searched his pockets and cursed when he realized that he didn't have any matches left. He took his cigar, placed it next to the muzzle of his rifle and pulled the trigger:
BLAM!
The muzzle flash of the gun lit the stogie. He put it back in his mouth and closed his eyes as he took one last drag. Ignoring the bullets ricocheting around him, he kicked his head back and prayed. He prayed for America, he prayed for his fallen comrades, he prayed for his family – even his screw-up half-brother. A brisk breeze brought him out of his meditation – but it was more than a breeze. He slowly opened his eyes and gasped; God had sent him an Angel:
"YEEEEE-HAAAAW!"
Everyone on the roof looked skyward. A Huey hovered several feet overhead. The pilot's battle cry could be heard over the helicopter's loudspeaker. The bay doors slid open, and Hawk regarded his men pinned down and bleeding on the rooftop below. He popped the latch on the chain gun that was bolted to the cabin. He didn't look happy.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRAP!
The sunlight glinted off the many copper shell casings that were purged from the bowels of the gunship. The enemy scattered as Hawk shredded the roof with thousand rounds—blood and gore littered the grounds.
When the roof was clear, Hawk gave the order to set down. Before the pilot, Wild Bill, could comply, a flight pod ascended from over the side of the building. The pod came within twenty-five feet of the chopper and hovered in place. Seated at the controls was General Tho; he had a smug expression on his face as he drew his hand across his neck, giving them the kill sign.
"What in the Sam Hill is that?" said Wild Bill.
"Looks like trubble," Hawk replied.
Hawk swung the chain gun toward the pod and pulled the trigger. With a blast from the jets, Tho shot straight up into the air and out of the line of fire as he flew across the front of the chopper.
FZZAP!
A blue light, emanating from the pod, raked across the cockpit, leaving behind an orange scar of burned glass seared across Wild Bill's HUD. He instinctively took evasive action, gaining altitude on the flight pod.
"Did that sum'bitch just shoot a laser beam at my baby-girl?!"
Wild Bill brought the copter about, keeping the Huey's gun-side facing the flight pod. Hawk fired the chain gun, but Tho had already darted out of the line of fire.
Hawk cursed when he missed the pod again. "Get me a shot, dammit!"
"I'm trying, sir, but that varmint is slipperier than the drawers off a honeymoon bride!"
FZZAP!
Smoke started to flood the cabin when the laser pierced the side of the hull. Hawk took off his jacket and tried to fan the smoke away from the cockpit.
"There's two things you just don't do to a Texan and get away with it: one is tellin' him that ain't ain't no word, and the other is taking pot-shots at his lady."
"Soldier, you do realize that this Huey is the property of the United States Government and is not a woman?"
"Shucks, you and I know it, but don't let her hear you say that, sir—Aw shoot, were did varmint go?"
Wild Bill banked sideways at full speed.
FZZAP!
The Huey moved out of the line of fire just in time to avoid a blast aimed at the rear rotor. Hawk grabbed onto some linkage to keep from falling over the side. He could feel the helicopter tremble from the stresses.
"We can't take much more from that laser!" he said.
"I have an idea sir, but you'll need to tie yourself to the cabin."
Hawk straddled the chain gun and secured himself with the surrounding linkage. "What do you have in mind?"
"Do you think you can shoot that thing upside-down?"
Hawk shot the pilot a sideways glance. "Er, have you ever done this before, soldier?"
"Not sober."
Wild Bill lined up for another volley. As usual, before Hawk could fire, Tho easily passed over him and angled in for another attack run. He strafed the chopper's unarmed side, causing smoke to erupt from the tail assembly. A sneer came across Tho's face as the chopper started to violently barrel roll sideways. He licked his lips in anticipation of the chopper going into a tailspin. He started to revel in his victory, when he felt that something was amiss: in mid-roll, over the horizon of the chopper's belly, he saw Hawk's inverted face and wondered why he was grinning.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRAP!
Tho was in awe – its not everyday you get to see an upside-down helicopter. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind to turn his back to the hail of bullets, using the pod's engine as a shield. The pod shook as the bullets tore in to the turbine. The engine sputtered and smoke shot out of the exhaust. By the time the chopper completed its barrel-roll attack, the pod managed to stay in one piece, but it was fatally wounded. Tho struggled to regain control as he spun helplessly back to earth.
Wild Bill looked over the edge of his HUD to see the pod slam into the side of the Bistro. "Whoo-Wee! That sum'bitch blowed up real good!"
—oOo—
The smoke spewing from the side of the building obscured Dukes vision, yet he worked to control the bleeding from Snake-Eyes' wounds. The field tracheotomy allowed him to breathe, but he was already pale from blood loss. He glanced over at Preacher across the roof, he was still sitting up, so he assumed that his injuries were not as extensive. Thankfully, a strong gust of wind blew the smoke away. From the sound of the rotors, he could tell that the Huey was landing behind him.
Hawk approached with a stretcher and helped him to carry Snake-Eyes to the chopper. As they loaded him on the Huey, Old-Man met them, his unconscious daughter in tow. Duke took the hostess into his arms and placed her next to Snake-Eyes.
The three men then went over to Preacher. Old-Man took the lifeless child from Preacher's arms. Duke watched him as he walked away and disappeared into the stairway with his granddaughter never to come back.
Duke knelt next to Hawk and examined Preacher. He gasped when he saw the extent of the wounds. Preacher breathed in short rasps. Blood bubbled out from the laceration in his collapsed lung. His arms and legs were riddled with sword cuts and stray bullet holes. He sat in a pool of his daughter's blood mixed with his own. How he managed to stay conscious was a mystery. They placed him on the cot; his eyes were open, but his body was limp as dead weight.
Hawk ordered the chopper to lift off when everyone was safely aboard. Duke broke out the chopper's first-aid kit and continued to work on the injured.
"How does it look?" he asked.
Duke shook his head. "These people won't survive without immediate medical attention."
Hawk nodded. He turned to Wild Bill and ordered, "Head for the hospital nearest the embassy."
"Begging the Colonel's pardon, but my orders are to return to the Kitty Hawk."
"Belay that soldier, if your CO has a problem with that, then he can take it up with me."
Wild Bill obeyed and changed course. Duke checked Preacher's pupils with a small flashlight and felt for his pulse.
"What's wrong with him?" Hawk asked.
"I don't know. He's catatonic. It's like he's given up."
"Can you patch them up till we make it to the hospital?"
"The girl is stable. The men each have a 50-50 shot, but I can't treat them both."
Hawk's eyes softened. "Then choose one."
Duke glanced between Snake-Eyes and Preacher. He curled his lip in frustration, then began to work on Preacher. He opened his shirt and applied pressure to his wounds.
"What can I do to help?" Hawk asked.
"Keep Snake-Eyes' trach clear and release the pressure on his tourniquet every few minutes."
It was then that Preacher coughed up blood, closed his eyes and slumped against the side of the cabin. Duke continued to work frantically to close his wounds. "Damn you, Preacher! Fight!"
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
A black armored sedan pulled into the American Embassy the following morning. The car parked in the back entrance. Two Marine MPs stepped up and opened the door. Colonel Hawk exited the car and was escorted into the building. He signed in and was led to a reserved meeting hall that was under guard. Once inside, he put his briefcase on the table. He acknowledged Duke sitting in the far corner of the room. Just then a secretary entered pushing a breakfast tray carrying coffee and pastries. The two men helped themselves to coffee and sat at the table.
"How is he? Did he pull through?" Duke asked.
Hawk shook his head. "He didn't make it. The other one is still in critical condition."
"I'm sorry, Colonel, he was a good soldier." Duke saw from his expression that this was a sensitive matter for Hawk, so he quickly changed the subject. "Did you read my final report?"
"Yes I've read it. Make sure you keep a copy for yourself in case there's a formal inquiry."
Duke nodded. "I typed it in triplicate."
"Did General Flagg summon you here?"
"Yes, sir, I'll be the acting DIA liaison."
At that moment, the door opened. General Flagg, Hawk's immediate superior, entered the room. Behind him was a tall man in his late twenties dressed in a black suit. Flagg introduced him as special agent Sitwell. After introductions were finished, the men all seated themselves with Flagg at the head of the table.
Flagg started the meeting by addressing Hawk. "Abernathy, you do realize that to call this a disaster is a gross understatement."
"I went into this with the full knowledge that someone would have to take the fall; that's something that I'm prepared to do."
"Dammit, Clayton, it's not that simple! If you go down, there will questions raised; questions that should not be answered."
"Why not? I have always maintained that we wouldn't need secret POW extraction units if all of our POW's were returned in the first place."
"This isn't about your mandate, Colonel," Sitwell interjected. "You screwed up plain and simple. Now the CIA has to clean up your mess."
"My mess?"
"You authorized a strike force led by American soldiers who are supposed to be official noncombatants. And you personally instigated a high-profile firefight in the middle of the city, leaving two of your men down and dozen's of witnesses to keep quiet. All of this in direct violation of a treaty that our CiC signed in good faith."
"Don't give me that. You and I both know that the Paris Accords are a joke. In any event, this had nothing to do with the conflict with the North anyway. This was a coordinated terrorist attack on American interests. In my estimation, we were obliged to act."
The agent grinned. "In your estimation...? I'm afraid that you presume too much for your rank, Colonel."
"My men were in danger. What would you have me do, Sitwell?"
"I would have you consider the big picture: if the cease-fire fails, hostilities will escalate. America will delay pulling out. If that happens, Warsaw and China won't sit on the sidelines much longer. I don't have to tell you where that could lead."
"Maybe you should have thought of that before your people sent in Panther Force to take out Tho," said Duke.
Sitwell glared in Duke's direction. "I beg your pardon?"
Duke returned his glare. "With all due respect, sir, I know that I'm just a grunt, but let give you my take on the big picture. When America pulls out, I think we can all agree that Saigon will fall. Now losing Vietnam to the Commies doesn't sit well with the REMFs back home, so what do they do? They call in The Agency to enlist a bunch of knuckle-draggers to run a false-flag operation behind enemy lines."
Flagg leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "That's a serious accusation, Sergeant Hauser. To what end?"
"By masquerading as VC and killing everything in their path, they'll have created a groundswell of sentiment against Anti-North occupation from the populace. By using terror, they can proliferate a strategy of tension in order to undermine the communist regime and keep stability out of the region."
"That's very imaginative. Do you really expect that to stick?" Sitwell said.
Duke clenched his jaw in anger, but kept his countenance respectful. "That's what I'm going to put into my report. So, I guess we'll find out, sir."
"Ok, I've heard enough," said Flagg. "I'm not interested in assigning blame, I just want it fixed. I'm meeting with the CSA in nine hours. I want a plan outlined before he gets here.
Flagg adjourned the meeting and dismissed Duke and Sitwell. Hawk stayed behind. When they were alone, Flagg put his hat on the table and went over to the breakfast tray to pour himself a cup of coffee.
"What happened to the good old days when war was simple, Abernathy?"
"Are we going to let them get away with this, General?"
"Like I said, there would be too many questions raised. Unfortunately, you don't get a star on your shoulder without making some compromises." Flagg sat down next to Hawk and took a sip. "You have to learn to pick your battles carefully, Abernathy."
"It's not just about this, sir…. Six years and we have nothing to show for it: the waste of resources, manpower and lives. They brought us here, didn't let us win it, and left some of us behind."
General Flagg nodded, and took another sip of coffee. "You do realize there will be formal inquiry. I don't know how much of this I can protect you from."
"I don't care about that. What's going to happen to Kilo Company? My men?"
"I promise there will be no blow back for your men. As for Kilo Company, I imagine that its colors will be retired, but the resolution that established your TOE will remain in effect."
"Why? The mission's over."
"As a place-holder. That way DIA can keep the unit in-house."
Hawk smirked. "You mean, keep the funding for the unit in house."
"The way I see it, your regular army G.I. Joes held their own against a rouge Dark Ops unit, an entire NVA regiment, and a terrorist insertion team. I'm sure SOCOM can find something else for them to do."
Hawk left General Flagg. In the hallway outside, he was greeted by a young marine who met him at attention. Hawk saluted back and ordered him at ease.
"Sir, your man in critical condition has gone AWOL."
Hawk eyed the young MP incredulously for several seconds before answering, "What do you mean he's gone AWOL? Do you realize the condition he was in?"
"He somehow overpowered the MP guarding his room and left the hospital before the transport arrived," the marine replied nervously.
Hawk ran his fingers through his hair and paced. "How many people know about this?"
"Just me and the guard involved, sir."
"Keep it that way."
(1) Paradise Lost. Book ii. Line 105.
(2) 2 Samuel 22:2-3
For you sword guys, yes, I know the sword being committed to a path line is not universally true. I ask you to grant me some dramatic license.