Prologue: under a sky of gun metal grey (song: 'Angel' by Fleetwood Mac)
A warbling voice emerged from behind the green tarp flap, breaking the weary silence that hung over Camp.
"Just in time, I found you just in time
Before you came my time was running low
I was lost, the losing dice were tossed
My bridges all were crossed, no where to go.
Now you're here, now I know just where I'm going
No more doubt or fears I've found my way
For love came just in time, you found me just in time
And changed my lonely life that lucky day…"
The record started to skip, needle bouncing across the vinyl as it spun in warped whirls beneath it.
Sgt. Hunter ran over to it, muttering under his breath, and dropped the needle further on. After a little pop, the music began again.
"All the way across the pacific and I still can't escape that corny crap. Come on, Hunter, could you have picked something less lavender?"
Adler's harsh voice preceeded him, as he strolled through the tent, his face only coming out of the shadows by the time he was directly standing in front of Hunter. The sergeant turned a little red. Sims rolled off his bunk and approached his captain.
"Aw come on Adler, he misses his girl."
Adler raised an eyebrow.
"Girl? Hmm. Sure."
"You got a problem with the fags now?"
"No. Just that fucking song."
Sims laughed.
"Alright Hunter, give it a rest for tonight. We can slow dance tomorrow."
The sergeant lifted the needle with a small smile. He could take that banter, Adler assessed.
"I'm taking over perimeter watch, officially. Unofficially, I'm headed for Nam Phang. Had a tip there's Soviet agents on the outskirts, figured I would sniff it out to see if it was true."
Sims clucked his tongue.
"Getting shot at from the trees, jumping out of choppers, and facing dysentery isn't enough for you huh?"
Adler smirked.
"Hey, if I have to go to Hell tonight, can't be worse than this."
Sims shrugged and turned away, as if to say 'go ahead.' Adler liked Sims. He understood suffering better than most, and also understood that made you invincible if you let it. Life, death, it was all a roll of the dice here. If a win could help bring some good into the world, then he would kiss the die. He would take the loss, when it one day came, with a curse to God and that would be that.
Adler met his own gaze in front of their lopsided mirror, as he started combing his hair. If he was going to Hell he was going to look neat, at least.
He set out just after the lights went out. It was a five mile trek, though he would take it slow, half-tiptoeing. Mom sending him to ballet lessons at 8 had given him strong bridges, at least. He would have to do an actual perimeter check first, then slowly edge out as he circled back round.
Wasn't long before the moon was high in the sky overhead, laying an eerie veil of blue grey mist over the jungle around him. A shiver went down his spine. Something was different about tonight.
Yet in the dark, alone, Adler felt most comfortable. In the day, behind his lenses, he was protected from the world in his sepia toned comfort zone; a barrier between himself and being forced into reality, being forced to integrate. But he was always aware that, despite his camaraderie with the boys, he was being looked at as different. Now, in moments like this, he could take them off and look around himself, without feeling eyes on him looking back.
He covered about three miles in forty minutes, taking his time. Nothing along the trail indicated anyone had passed through; not even animal tracks or droppings. He saw a glimmer of something along the ivy around the base of a tree stump— traces of a lone slug, inching its way across the fallen trunk nearby. He admired the little guy's persistence.
He could see the faint outline of huts over the next ridge; a tiny little village, one they hadn't yet taken. There was one little flame burning by an outpost to the right— regular night watch or the Vietcong guarding territory, he didn't know yet. He flicked out his binoculars and tried to get a better view. He thought he saw a couple of men standing by the flame, talking, with PPSh-41s in their hands. Fuck. The Soviets had gotten them first.
Adler zoomed in, then suddenly the lens was blurred. He dropped the binoculars a split second too late. A sharp blow to the neck, smacking up to his chin, and he was thrown back on the ground. He had already reached for his gun, but a sharp point was pressing on his hand, crushing it so hard he thought his tendons might crumple. He raised a hand, deferring to the one who had the upper hand, and looked up.
Above him was one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen in his life, dressed in US military uniform. They cocked their head, and smiled down at him. Adler was utterly confused.
"Hey," he managed to mumble. "Friend!"
The soldier shook their head and bent down over him. Something jabbed him sharply in the throat— a syringe. Adler noticed the deep blue eyes of his captor, fringed with long black lashes. They leaned back and continued to smile, studying him, waiting. He was going to have some kind of reaction to their drug very soon. Adler could think of nothing better than to stare up and let the ride begin.
The face in front of him slowly began to change colour; it seemed to glow, golden, the whole sky above lighting up as it did. It was suddenly bright, too bright; sunrise had come far too soon. Yet everything was still somehow in shadow, no others detail clear except those damn blue eyes.
The figure above him started to move, pulling at their helmet. The soldier pulled it back and shook their hair out and down; a spiral of golden brown hair fell around the face and as they continued to smile Adler realised it was a woman— young, beautiful, and powerful. An angel. Was he dead? Had he been shot? Maybe he was overdosing, and his mind was sending him on his way in the most peaceful way it could imagine.
"Deine Augen sind wie die Sterne, was geht's Süße? "
The German was slipping out of him, autopilot from when he was trying his best to be Don Juan in West Berlin. She would surely understand his broken tongue, as a celestial all knowing being. Whether or not she understood, it seemed to make her smile, and she bent down closer to him. Her lips, pink and full, were inches from his face and he awaited her kiss of death eagerly.
"So wunderschön, Herr G.I. Joe. но вы говорите не на том языке, чтобы подобрать меня."
Adler's heart gave a jolt and the world began to flash orange, red streaks exploding across the golden sky. Her voice was low and smooth, and so distinctly Russian. Fuck.
"Советский ангел?"
She gave him a little wink.
"Farewell, Yank. Enjoy your trip. Watch out for the mines when you wake up."
She stepped away, and the golden glow faded. His eyes, now itching, couldn't stay open. He heard steps running round him, metallic clicks, and whispers echoing around his head as all the sounds started to fade. So they were setting an ambush around him, to kill whoever found him, if anyone did. Even dying, he couldn't get a break. At least his deceiving angel had been pretty, he supposed.
"Adler! Wake up! What the hell…"
Sims' voice sounded like a gunshot in his ear. He jerked up and regretted it, head suddenly spinning, like he'd had a litre of whiskey the night before. For a second he had no clue where he was or what had happened. Then, as Sims stepped over him, he suddenly realised and grabbed his leg.
"Watch it, mines around."
Sims halted and slowly turned around, crouching down gently to help lift Adler to his feet. Despite his lurching brain, Adler managed to stand steady. It was nearly dawn.
"You're lucky I underestimate you," said Sims. "I knew something wasn't gonna go to plan. You get too cocky for your own good sometimes."
"Damn Sims, way to kick a man when he's just up."
"Well, you made this mess for yourself. How did you end up drugged out?"
Adler was slowly stabilising, his vision less blurred. He felt the sting in his neck, still throbbing, and his chin had taken a heavy enough kick.
"Soviet agent, undercover as one of us. Caught me off guard."
He couldn't bring himself to tell Sims the full story.
"You're lucky they didn't put a bullet in you, must've wanted you to be able to tell the story. Damn cocky bastards."
"I'm not complaining, long as I'm still standing. The nearby village is already compromised. We better get back and gear up, case they start an advance."
He waved around him.
"God knows how many mines they planted here. Too dangerous to come at them. We need to get a squad out ASAP to sweep. Get some snipers planted over the ridge, cover their backs. We'll take it slow going back, just in case there's any left on my trail."
"Got it."
Adler and Sims trudged back through the overgrowth, half expecting the next step to propel him into the stratosphere, with a click click boom.
But they made it back intact. Well, mostly. Only Adler's pride had been truly blown apart. With each step back, what had happened to him came clearer and clearer into focus, and each stride seemed harder and harder to keep light. He wanted to stomp; to kick, to take his blazing rage and humiliation out on the hard soil till it broke. It wasn't even being taken so utterly, brutally off guard. It was his delusion that hurt him most; imagining he was going to a better place, believing the angel was real even for a crazed moment. He had thought he was going to die and accepted it? Hell no. Is that how much this war had changed him already? Three small years felt like a lifetime. But it wasn't his time yet, not by a long shot. He would never just fade into the light, unless it was the blinding white of a nuke taking the Reds with him.
And his lines— God he had almost forgotten that part— the utter cheese of them, gagging his throat as he thought about them now. He had seemed such a boy. Being faced with such an undeniably outstanding face, ready to die, he had picked the most overused pickup line in history? Fuck.
He was grateful for another day to prove he was better than that. A few dead Cong and he would have forgotten the whole thing. Russki bitch wasn't gonna get the satisfaction of making him squirm for a minute longer.
Adler went into the tent to wash his face. Hunter was sleeping soundly. Once his ears were scrubbed, Adler took a little cup of water and dunked it over Hunter's head.
"AH!"
He woke up with a start.
"Look alive, Hunter. If you're a good boy today, next time I'll give you a kiss."
Hunter looked mortified. Adler nudged his foot.
"Relax, you're one of the boys. Sims makes fun of me and my hair, I make fun of his Playboy collection, this'll be your thing for the month. Anyone actually gives you hell, I'll give them it right back."
Hunter smiled weakly and rolled himself out of bed.
"So what're we doing today?" He asked.
Adler smirked grimly.
"Nest of Reds a few miles up. We're gonna try smoke 'em out before they smoke us. Need you to hack their radio first, keep us in the loop, sound doable?"
Hunter gave a half-hearted salute.
"Nothing these magic fingers can't manage, sir."
He looked a little sheepish as he made his half-flirt, half-pun, glancing up at Adler for a response. To Hunter's surprise, Adler responded with a roar of laughter.
"I don't doubt that, but I think we'd better keep it professional. C'mon, it's go time!"