Chapter Text
Chasing Gold
Chapter 3
General Hawk walked quickly down the halls of the Pentagon. He had a meeting soon with several senators, representatives, and a couple of generals. It was time for the annual review of GI Joe’s operating budget. Hawk always dreaded this time of year. This year was a little different though. Normally the Department of Defense approved GI Joe’s budget, which they included in their overall budget request to Congress.
This year, though, a few Congressmen, who were unhappy with GI Joe, had requested a special review of his unit’s operating expenses. They refused to approve the Department of Defense budget request until they scrutinized GI Joe’s budget.
He paused his quick walk for a moment though to admire the scenery outside. Large trees spread generous branches of green foliage. A short rain shower had just ended and the green of the leaves popped brighter than usual. You couldn’t admire scenery like this in the middle of the Utah desert.
“Nice view, huh?” Joe Colton asked. The general joined Hawk at the window. “It almost makes up for the messy politics in this city. Well, sometimes, at least.”
“Yeah, the desert’s nice too in some ways,” Hawk smiled. “I prefer the mountains though.” He was still a Colorado boy at heart.
“Hnn…” Colton grunted. “Well, let’s get this over with. The Budget Committee vultures are waiting for us.”
Hawk braced himself for what would be a long meeting with the Senate Budget Committee. A few representatives from the Senate Armed Services Committee and the Department of Defense would be present as well, but Hawk wasn’t as worried about them. It was the budget committee that he had to convince.
Storm Shadow and Jinx both trailed behind the two generals as they walked. Both Joes were wearing their dress greens instead of their ninja gear. They had accompanied Hawk both for security reasons, but also for a secondary purpose as well. Hawk was grateful yet again for Jinx’s finance background. She had helped prepare the budget request, as well as a presentation.
Never underestimate a ninja who also knew how to crunch numbers.
General James Jackson, the Secretary of Defense, was waiting for them outside of the conference room. Hawk was thankful at least that none of the Jugglers would personally be in the meeting, but that didn’t mean their influence wouldn’t still be felt. They had the Secretary of Defense’s ear and, Hawk was responsibly sure, had at least a couple of the Senators in their pocket as well.
"Ah, good, you’re here,” the Defense Secretary said. “I hope you’re well prepared, Clayton. There are a few people here who are out for blood and would be perfectly happy to cut GI Joe’s budget.”
“Thank you for the forewarning,” Hawk told him. “I know there are...some circles in the Pentagon who probably side with them.”
“I hope you weren’t referring to me,” the Defense Secretary replied. “But I wouldn’t blame you if you were. If I wanted to cut your budget, I would have already done that. The last thing I want is Congress making the decision on what you actually need, when that’s my decision and the President’s decision.”
Maybe the Defense Secretary was on his side after all. Hawk realized that the Jugglers, even if they wanted to cut GI Joe’s budget down, would balk at any outside interference from politicians. Since the DOD and White House had cleared the budget, then GI Joe was safe on that end.
It was all up to Congress now, even though this was an irregular budget meeting.
They took their seats. Hawk rubbed his hands together under the table as they waited. The last few committee members trickled in, most of them clutching coffee as they entered. He wished for a moment that he’d thought to bring coffee as well. Too late now.
“I call this meeting to order,” a woman said. Hawk recognized her as Barbara Larkin, who he’d been informed was the chair of the Senate Budget Committee. He’d met her once at some gala in Washington, but had never really spoken to her. The only thing he knew about Larkin was that she was a moderate who was generally favorable towards the military.
“We are here to review the proposed budget to GI Joe for the next fiscal year,” Senator Larkin continued. “The committee acknowledges that this isn’t the normal procedure, but Congress voted in favor of the budget review because of concerns regarding GI Joes’ necessity.”
Hawk took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He couldn’t tell where Larkin stood on the issue, but the way that she had emphasized necessity set off some alarm bells in his mind.
“If I may ask, Senator, could you please clarify what you mean by those concerns?” Hawk asked.
“What she means is,” another senator stated, “What purpose does GI Joe serve now that Cobra is a sovereign nation?”
“Yes,” another person added. “We already have several intelligence agencies in addition to the four branches of our military, who all have their own special forces. Why does the government need to fund yet another special forces unit?”
Hawk shot down a sudden burst of anger. He saw Storm Shadow shift in agitation and shot the other man a warning look.
“Just because Cobra has been recognized as a sovereign state doesn’t mean they are no longer a threat to us,” Hawk pointed out with forced calm. “We have still treated the Soviet Union, now Russia, Iran, and other sovereign states as dangerous to U.S. interests. The Soviet Union maintained an embassy in Washington during the duration of the Cold War, just as we had our own embassy there. GI Joe also monitors other terrorist threats in addition to Cobra.”
“I agree,” Senator Larkin said. All attention in the room turned to the budget committee chair. Hawk was taken aback a moment with surprise, but quickly recovered himself.
“Intelligence has clearly shown that Cobra has engaged in human trafficking, illegal experimentation, general terrorism, and has incited violence in other countries and even violence in our own,” Senator Larkin said. She had a calm, but powerful way of speaking that made people pay attention to her. “Of all the government agencies tasked with monitoring threats, GI Joe has the most experience in dealing with this threat. I’m not a military tactician, but it seems like a poor move to stop supporting the group who is best equipped to deal with Cobra.”
“But the Springfield debacle,” another Senator interrupted. “GI Joe invaded a small town and…”
“GI Joe has proof that there was a Cobra operation there,” Hawk said, standing up. “Despite all efforts by Cobra to cover it up. We also have very clear evidence that the former population of Springfield, as well as Americans from Broca Beach and other Cobra associated towns, have relocated to Cobra Island.”
That elicited some murmuring among the politicians. Hawk caught Senator Larkin’s eye and gave her a curt nod of acknowledgment. He was happy to find at least one ally among the committee members. The corner of her lips twitched, but she nodded back.
“We would like to see this evidence,” one of the Senate committee members finally stated. “If what you’re saying is true, then I’m more in favor of approving the requested budget.”
“We’ve already taken the liberty of bringing that information with us,” Hawk said. Colton and the Defense Secretary had forewarned him that Springfield might cause them problems. He caught Jinx’s eye, but she was already stepping forward with folders of the Intel reports. There was a shuffling of paper as the members of the budget committees started flipping through the reports.
Storm Shadow stayed near the doorway and continued to watch the proceedings. Hawk knew that the man was on high alert considering the occupants of the room.
“Alright,” one of the politicians conceded. “I still don’t like that civilians were in the crossfire though, even if they did end up defecting to Cobra Island.”
“Believe me, we weren’t happy about it either,” Hawk told him. “We did everything we could to keep them out of harm’s way...as did Cobra. I will say this for Cobra at least. They kept their own civilian population out of it, for the most part.”
Hawk could see from unhappy expressions that he hadn’t convinced everyone, even with the reports and photographs in the folders. All he needed was a simple majority on his side though.
“The issue here is whether or not to approve the requested budget,” Senator Larkin said. “While Springfield is relevant to the discussion at hand, that is not the main purpose of this meeting.”
“Yes, but it’s relevant enough,” the Senator from Ohio stated. “I personally don’t want taxpayer money to fund another Springfield fiasco. Do you really expect us to approve this high of an operating budget, General Abernathy?”
“It already has approval from the Department of Defense and the White House,” the Secretary of Defense stated.
“Of course it does,” someone said. He was the Senator from...Maine, Hawk thought. The senator had a sour expression on his face. “You’ll agree to anything if it means more weapons.”
“To be honest, I’m not even sure why we need a special review for GI Joe’s budget,” Joe Colton shot back. “The budget committee reviews and approves the Department of Defense’s annual operating budget. It should be up to the DOD on how it spends that money. Why is a special review necessary?”
Hawk exchanged a silent look with the Secretary of Defense. Neither he nor General Jackson were going to bring it up, but leave it to Colton to address the elephant in the room. The other general didn’t have much patience for political circuses.
“Are you suggesting that there should be no government oversight of GI Joe?” one of the senators asked incredulously.
“Of course not,” Colton replied. “But even you have to admit that this isn’t the normal procedure.”
“If I may,” Hawk said, standing up. He was worried that Colton might add fuel to the fire. Hawk adopted his most diplomatic voice, one which he’d had to use on a few other occasions.
“I understand the concern,” Hawk admitted. “Yes, it looks bad. The fact is though, that Cobra was active there. The committee rightly expressed their misgivings about the matter. We have provided evidence to support why we took the action that we did. I ordered military action and I take responsibility for it.” He paused for a moment and swept his eyes over the room. Hawk met the eyes of a couple of senators before continuing. “I only ask that you fairly review the evidence that we have provided and listen to our budget proposal. We have complied with every request that you have all made so far.”
“Given that the purpose of this meeting is to review GI Joe’s operating budget,” Senator Larkin said, “That request is granted. The general has responded to the concerns of the committee. It’s time for us to move on to the real objective of this meeting. I don’t think any of us want to be here all day and talking in circles about Springfield.”
She continued speaking as she steered the attention of the other Senators back to the budget issue. Hawk and Colton exchanged silent looks. The Defense Secretary leaned in towards Hawk and whispered.
“You have the makings of a politician yourself,” General Jackson told him. Hawk scowled back at him, but only received an amused chuckle from the other man.
“General Hawk,” Senator Larkin stated. “I assume that you have prepared a presentation?”
Hawk nodded at Jinx and she stood up. The ninja walked towards the center of the room, where a projector had been set up. She opened the presentation slides on the computer, which contained several graphs regarding various expenditures and comparisons to previous budgets. Hawk felt his eyes begin to glaze over a bit through the presentation, so he started to discreetly study the other members of the room.
Most seemed to be paying attention, though there were a few people who, like Hawk, obviously would rather be somewhere else. Senator Larkin was giving Jinx her undivided attention. She made a flurry of notes as she listened to the presentation. Hawk felt his gaze wander for a bit as he noted how attractive she was. He gave himself a mental slap when he realized what he was doing.
Nope. Not going there. This wasn’t the time or the place for that.
The meeting dragged on for a while as the senators continued to throw all kinds of questions at Hawk and Jinx. The mood in the room slowly began to change in favor of the Joes, but Hawk wasn’t going to let his guard down yet. Senator Larkin finally called for a recess.
“Thank you,” Senator Larkin said. “We’ll need to discuss this amongst ourselves and will let you know if we have any more questions. We’re adjourning for a ten minute break and then we will resume our discussion. General Abernathy, General Colton, and General Jackson are free to go.”
The three Joes left the conference room, glad for the break. The two other generals walked with them.
“Good job,” Hawk said, turning to Jinx. “I don’t know how I would have done that without you. If they end up cutting our budget, I’m going to need your help with figuring out how to best stretch it.”
“The hell that I’m letting a bunch of senators dictate how the Department of Defense decides to fund you,” General Jackson growled. “I’ll make sure you get the money, Clayton. You might not end up with the higher budget that you requested, but I’ll make sure that you have the same budget as this year.”
“Senator Larkin seemed to be on your side at least,” Colton pointed out. “And she’s pretty well liked in Congress. I think the chances are good with you pulling through with the same budget at least. You shouldn’t have to readjust your estimated operating expenses too much if that happens.”
“Let this be a lesson though,” the Defense Secretary added. “The invasion of Springfield does look bad, so thank God you did end up scrounging up the evidence. You might not be so lucky next time. Speaking of, I assume you intend to monitor Cobra at the Olympics, correct?”
“Yes…” Hawk trailed off as he wondered where this was going. “Is that a problem?”
“No, we’ve always kept an eye on potentially hostile countries,” General Jackson said. “Cobra’s no different. Besides, even if Cobra keeps their hands squeaky clean, you think I want them to win any medals?”
“I would hope not,” Hawk answered, this time with a genuine smile.
“I don’t know how you plan to run your operation yet,” General Jackson added, “But if you plan to insert any of your people as Olympic officials or even athletes, it had better be legitimate and discreet. We don’t need a political or diplomatic incident when the entire world is watching.”
Hawk hadn't actually voiced any intention of inserting any Joes undercover as actual athletes, but he had been entertaining the idea. He just hadn’t worked out the details yet. That was next on his to do list when he returned to the Pit.
“Of course,” Hawk answered. “We’re always discreet.”
“Except for the Springfield fiasco,” the Secretary of Defense reminded him.“Those senators aren’t likely to forget that anytime soon.”
“Right,” Hawk muttered.
General Jackson had to leave them then, as he had another meeting to attend. Hawk watched the man quickly walk off before turning his attention to Joe Colton. Colton crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
“He’s got a point,” Colton told him. “You need to be careful with that mission. I’m not saying don’t monitor Cobra, we definitely need to do that. The next Summer Games are in Mexico, right?”
“Yes,” Hawk answered.
“That’s concerning,” Colton replied. “That’s practically Cobra’s backyard. The Mexican authorities are probably just as keen to monitor Cobra though, so we could probably coordinate something with them without any issues.”
They talked for a while after that, until Colton also had to say his goodbyes. Hawk checked his watch. If they left soon, they could be back at the Pit in time for dinner.
The morning was off to a terrible start.
Psyche Out quickened his pace as he sought the refuge of the showers. His steps dragged from exhaustion. He hadn’t managed much sleep last night. That in of itself shouldn’t have been an issue. Like any Joe, the PsyOps specialist had been trained in how to deal with sleep deprivation.
PT though…that had been a huge clusterfuck. His performance had been an utter disaster, to the point that Psyche Out had caught other Joes gaping at him after Beach Head hauled him out of the mud.
Psyche Out stripped off his muddy clothes, still feeling his cheeks burn from humiliation as he finally stepped under the hot water. The hot shower distracted him for a couple of minutes. Finally though, he shut off the water with a sigh and leaned his head against the wall for a moment.
Yesterday had rattled him more than he had thought. The morning so far wasn’t doing anything to ease the doubts that had plagued him all night and lingered through breakfast that morning.
He sighed and reached for a clean towel. Psyche Out heard the bathroom door open and low voices as other male Joes entered the showers. Not quite feeling up to interacting with anyone else at the moment, Psyche Out turned the water back on. He decided to wait it out until the other men were out of the common area.
“Anyone know what the hell was up with Psych this morning?” He heard Airtight ask. “He was really off his game.”
“Dunno, man,” Dusty answered. “I heard his bike got trashed yesterday.”
“It wasn’t just the bike,” a third Joe replied quietly. It was Outback this time. “I think something else happened. Duke and Flint were talking about it, but they shut up when Alpine and I walked by them.”
“Probably confidential then,” Dusty mused. “Must have been something bad if it made him mess up that bad.”
“I heard something about a prank,” Airtight mentioned. “But he’s been pranked before and he’s never reacted like that.”
“Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with whatever happened,” Outback groaned.
“I didn’t!” Airtight protested. “Much…I only heard about it, but it wasn’t anything bad!”
Cringing now, Psyche Out shut off the shower again and quickly toweled himself off. He slipped into a clean pair of fatigues and exited the shower as quickly as he could. The other three men continued to discuss the fourth Joe, unaware that he had also been in the showers with them.
He then made a beeline towards his dorm room and entered it, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. Psyche Out immediately dumped the muddy fatigues in the dirty laundry bin to deal with later. A light knock on the opened door caused him to jerk involuntarily. The Joe took a second to calm his nerves before looking over at the door.
Doc peered into the room, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.
“Are you doing okay?” the older man asked. Doc’s eyes studied him intently from behind his pair of glasses. “You were pretty off this morning.”
“I’m fine,” Psyche Out lied. “I just…didn’t sleep well.” Doc raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.
“Right,” the field doctor replied. “Why don’t you stop by the infirmary later, just to be sure? You look pale.”
“I appreciate it Doc, but I’m not sick or anything…” Psyche Out started, but the other man held up a hand to stop him.
“Uh uh, you’re not pulling that on me. If I believed every Joe who claimed they weren’t sick or injured, over half of you would be dead at this point. Find the time to come in.”
Psyche Out bit back a frustrated hiss, but finally nodded. He understood the hidden threat. If he didn’t come willingly to the infirmary, Doc or one of the other medics would come looking for him. Their bedside manner tended to deteriorate rather rapidly whenever they had to hunt down uncooperative Joes.
“Good,” Doc told him. He patted Psyche Out reassuringly on his shoulder. “I’m sure you have appointments this morning, but I expect to see you by this afternoon.”
“I’ll come by, don’t worry,” Psyche Out sighed, already accepting his fate. There wasn’t any way he was getting out of a check up from a determined Doc.
“Yes, also, how about we get lunch together later?” Doc asked, looking him over again. “We haven’t had time to catch up recently. It’s been pretty busy.”
“Uh…”
Psyche Out was even less enthused about the idea of eating at the moment, but knew he didn’t dare voice it. Doc would take the lack of appetite as further proof of his “illness.” He certainly didn’t want to tell Doc no, especially when the other man was trying to be friendly.
“Of course,” Psyche Out managed. His stomach felt queasy at the thought of eating in the mess hall at the moment. He didn’t want to deal with food or the stares.
“I’ll see you later then,” Doc smiled. “Try to take it easy today, if you can.” He gave the younger man another reassuring pat and left.
Psyche Out allowed himself a frustrated groan once the GI Joe doctor was out of earshot. Doc was going to keep tabs on him today and make sure he came into the infirmary, no matter what.
He rubbed his eyes a moment and decided to head to his office before anyone else decided to drop by. Psyche Out grabbed a roll of trash bags on the way, remembering that he still had to clean up the mess of styrofoam peanuts from yesterday’s prank.
Psyche Out felt his teeth grind again at a reminder of yesterday and let out a small sigh when he finally reached his office. He shut the door quietly behind him and stood silently for a moment, before opening one of the filing cabinets.
Whoever had pranked him yesterday had cleaned up the mess. He was relieved when he found that every styrofoam peanut was gone. At least he didn’t have to clean up anything and could go straight to work.
He wasn’t sure who the perpetrator had been, but they had taped a typed apology note to one of the filing cabinets. Psyche Out ripped the note off and read it.
“Sorry Psyche Out. We won’t prank you again. We didn’t mean to piss you off that much that you flunked PT this morning.”
Psyche Out ripped the apology note off the cabinet and crumpled it up. Heat rose in his face again. He slowly uncrumpled the note a few moments later and reread it.
Well…at least whoever it was had apologized and cleaned up, even though that last sentence really wasn’t necessary. Whoever wrote that honestly thought far too much of themselves, if they thought their stupid prank had been enough to throw him off.
Psyche Out gave a little snort of annoyance. A little knot of tension in his stomach finally eased a bit. He placed the letter on his desk and looked back at the filing cabinets. The would-be pranksters had also taped a couple of Snickers bars to the filing cabinet as well as their way of apologizing.
He stuffed the unused trash bags in a desk drawer and sat down. Psyche Out stared blankly at the computer screen for a few moments before sighing. Never once in his time with GI Joe had he woken up dreading going to work, even when things were stressful, but today he had.
The day wasn’t going well so far, but the apology at least was nice. Psyche Out at least managed to avoid Beach Head after PT. He had slipped away immediately while the sergeant major had been distracted by Shipwreck.
Psyche Out had no illusions. He would have to deal with the harbinger of doom that was Beach Head at some point in the near future. Hopefully he could put off the encounter a little longer yet.
He yawned and reached for his coffee. Psyche Out decided to first check his calendar for the day. His morning was filled with counseling appointments, which he was also dreading. At least the first appointment wasn’t for another hour.
He knew he should really use that hour to finish up a report, but Psyche Out just couldn’t make himself focus.
It was a ridiculous fear, but Psyche Out found himself wondering if he was even cut out for the Joes anymore. He didn’t quite fit anyway and if he let himself get this rattled by what happened yesterday, did he really belong out in the field? Psyche Out wouldn’t blame some of the Joes for thinking that after his performance that morning.
A small part of his mind chided him and told him that today’s performance was abnormal. That didn’t do anything to calm his fears. Psyche Out knew if he had responded to stress this way once, he could again.
He also regretted telling Chuckles about his fears last night. It would have been better if he hadn’t said anything.
Psyche Out rubbed at a growing headache. His thoughts were going in circles at this point and he could feel the growing anxiety because of that. He had to break the cycle before it got worse.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he quietly told himself. Psyche Out would have to play his own therapist today. “It’s going to be fine. You belong here.”
Did he though? Maybe it had been a mistake for him to join GI Joe.
Psyche Out idly wondered what the reaction would be if he requested a discharge or a transfer. He frowned and shook his head. No, he didn’t want anyone to think that he was a quitter. This was just the anxiety speaking.
One part of him wanted to prove that he did belong in the Joes. The other part of him still wondered if it was even worth staying. Certainly he could be just as happy or even happier somewhere else? Somewhere he wasn’t so isolated and was allowed to make friends? It was arrogant to think that he was the only one who could do the same job in GI Joe. There were other highly qualified psychologists in the military.
“I don’t even know what I would do if I left,” he muttered.
It was something he would have to consider eventually though. He couldn't stay in GI Joe forever. Eventually the unit would be disbanded. It wasn’t too early to start thinking about his life after GI Joe. Should he keep working in PsyOps? Transferring to another Army unit was always an option, but Psyche Out wasn’t sure if he really wanted to do that. The FBI and CIA could certainly find a use for him.
The second idea intrigued him a bit. A former classmate of his was working in the CIA. He could always use her as a contact. Working for an intelligence agency would still be interesting and he shouldn’t have to juggle both PsyOps and counseling duties like he was doing now.
Or should he just do counseling? Psyche Out didn’t think it would be hard to find a job with the Veterans Affairs or even to open a private practice.
How did one even list classified work on a resume? Presumably that wouldn’t be an issue for an intelligence agency, but what about the VA?
Skills: Chased down ninja with sociopathic tendencies and tried to convince them that their mental health was important. Experience also includes dealing with ornery Army rangers, Marines, and other military personnel.
Interrogated snake themed terrorists as a side gig.
Yeah...that would go over well in a CV or a resume.
The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted at least a 500 mile radius from his mother.
Psyche Out sighed. He was on the clock and would have to think about this later. Still, he decided to find a copy of an old resume and print it out. It didn’t at least hurt to update it just in case. He jotted a few editing notes down on the resume and slipped it inside a cycling magazine to look at later.
He reminded himself that he had choices and if he ever chose to leave the team, it would be because he wanted it, not because he couldn’t cut it. The doubt, however, continued to gnaw at him as Psyche Out finally started working on his report.
His phone rang a few moments later.
“Psyche Out here,” he answered. He cringed as soon as he heard the Southern drawl respond.
“You ready to talk now or are you gonna keep runnin’ away from me?” Beach Head asked.
“I...have appointments this morning,” he answered, trying to put off this conversation. “And I wasn’t trying to…”
“Bullshit,” Beach Head replied. “Duke told you yesterday that I wanted to talk to you, so we’re talking. Ah know you have appointments this morning, but you don’t at 1100, right?”
“...Right,” he replied. Psyche Out felt his heart sink a bit. Other than the disastrous PT that morning, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He shouldn’t be dreading talking to Beach Head about what had happened, but he was.
“Good. Pencil me in. Do you want to meet in my office or your office?”
“I...either is fine,” he said. Psyche Out wanted to say that he preferred own office, but didn’t want to say it. Beach Head was even more intimidating in his own office.
“Ah’ll come to you then,” Beach Head answered. “You’d probably be more comfortable that way, right?”
It was so easy to forget sometimes how perceptive the ranger was. That was why he was such a good trainer though. He knew how to read people...his lapse in judgment regarding Payton and Mueller notwithstanding. Psyche Out felt a flash of anger at Beach Head again.
“Yeah,” Psyche Out admitted reluctantly. “Thanks.”
“You ain’t in trouble, shrink. We ARE going to talk about PT this morning too, but Ah can understand why you didn’t do well. I’ll see you at 1100.”
Classic Beach Head. Blunt and to the point, without wasting words. Psyche Out let out a breath and tried to ignore the growing feeling of dread. It was still early in the morning and he had quite a bit of work to do. He couldn’t dwell on his own problems. There were other people who needed his help with their problems.
“So…what do you think?” Duke asked. He eyed the two other men in his office. Flint thoughtfully sipped on a Pepsi while a burly ranger fiddled with a butterscotch candy. Beach Head stared down at the candy for a long moment, before finally unwrapping, reaching under the balaclava, and popping it in his mouth.
“You stole that from Lifeline, didn’t you?” Duke smirked. Beach Head snorted.
“Of course he did,” Flint said. “As for what I think…” the warrant officer trailed off. “It could work. We’ll need to run it by Hawk.”
“Beach…has Psyche Out talked to you yet about what happened yesterday?” Duke asked. Beach Head shook his head and all three men sighed.
“Ah have an appointment with him soon though,” Beach Head answered. “He couldn’t keep avoiding me if he had an appointment.”
“Good,” Duke answered. “Chuckles and I talked a bit last night. Apparently Psyche Out talked to him about some things last night. Chuckles wouldn’t say what they talked about, since Psyche Out told him things in confidence, but he did imply that Psyche was more shaken by what happened than he’s letting on.”
“Considering how bad he did in PT this morning, I think that’s a given,” Flint said. “It’s just as well we’re not telling anyone who doesn’t need to know about everything that happened yesterday. It would only feed the gossip mill more.”
“I told Clutch that what he overheard yesterday was confidential and ordered him not to tell anyone about it,” Duke added. “He was quick to agree.”
“He did do bad today though,” Flint repeated.
“Yeah…” Duke sighed. “Bad enough that people are talking about it.”
Beach Head was uncharacteristically silent while he played with the candy wrapper. Usually when the subject of PT was involved, the sergeant major made his opinions loudly known. However, Beach Head only listened while Flint and Duke continued to discuss that morning’s PT session.
“I’ll talk to him about that,” Beach Head finally said. “His morale is probably pretty low right now and I ain’t losing a good soldier because of what those dumb fuck greenies did. Someone pranked his office yesterday too and that probably only made him feel worse.”
“I already had a chat with the culprits about it,” Duke said. “They came to me and fessed up after PT, because they thought it was their fault that Psyche Out messed up.”
“Even though it wasn’t, it’s probably not a bad idea to put a stop to the pranks for now,” Flint suggested. Beach Head nodded his head in agreement.
“I’ll make an announcement later,” Duke told them. “We need Psyche Out in top shape though if we’re putting him on the Olympic mission. He can’t be off his game like this.” If Psyche Out had been any other Joe, Duke would have sent them in for counseling. The top sergeant wasn’t sure who to send the counselor to when he needed counseling.
“We still need to figure out who else to put on the mission,” Flint pointed out.
“Psyche Out probably would have some ideas since he’s competed before,” Beach Head replied. “He would know who we could sneak in as other athletes or officials.” Flint thought that over and then finally agreed with the sergeant major. Beach Head and Flint would never be friends, but they at least were professional with each other…for the most part.
“Alright,” Duke said. “I’ll talk it over with Hawk when he’s back on base. Beach…I hope your meeting with Psyche Out goes well.”
Beach Head tossed the candy wrapper in the trash as he stood up.
“Ah’ll set his head back on straight, don’t worry,” Beach Head answered.
The sergeant major left the office, leaving Duke and Flint. The two men sat in silence for a few moments, before Flint drained the rest of his soda.
“About yesterday…” Flint said hesitantly. Duke held up a hand to stop him and shook his head.
“Right,” Flint muttered. “Don’t ask, don’t tell. I’m going to celebrate whenever the government finally throws that policy in the trash.”
Beach Head’s visit came all too soon. Psyche Out had managed to distract himself for the most part that morning, but a little feeling of dread kicked in between appointments as the morning progressed. A knock on his door announced the ranger’s arrival precisely at eleven o’clock.
Psyche Out steeled himself and opened the door. His heart hammered slightly when Beach Head came in. He forced his unease down.
Beach Head, for his part, silently noted how pale the other man looked. There were circles under his eyes, which indicated that the man hadn’t slept well the night before. Psyche Out avoided meeting his eyes, another indication that all was not well. Beach Head sighed and shut the door.
“Ah’m sorry,” Beach Head told him, immediately cutting to the chase. “For my part in what happened. Ah should have listened to you a few months ago.”
Psyche Out’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he accepted the apology. He bit his lip, but finally met the ranger’s eyes.
“Thank you,” Psyche Out replied. “I appreciate that. Please...have a seat.”
“If they had gotten you kicked out, that would have been on me,” Beach Head told him, still electing to stand. Psyche Out didn’t respond at first, other than to take a deep breath and then let it out.
"Please sit, Beach. Really,” Psyche Out said. “Even if you don’t want to, it would make me feel better.”
Here Beach Head finally sat down. The sergeant major swept his eyes around the office as he settled into a chair. Psyche Out had done his best to make the space feel comfortable. His eyes fell for a moment on a cycling magazine on the corner of Psyche Out’s desk.
“Hawk will be back today,” the ranger said. “Duke is going to announce today that he won’t tolerate any more pranks. He heard that someone had pranked you again yesterday.”
Psyche Out gave a start, because he hadn’t filed a complaint about that. He nodded his head, but didn’t say anything. Whoever had done it must have fessed up to one of the higher ups.
“Did they clean it up?” Beach Head asked.
“Yes,” the other man answered.
“Good.”
An awkward silence fell upon the two men, until the ranger finally spoke again.
“I’m sorry about the bike too,” Beach Head added after a moment. “I forgot that you used to race. I remember reading that in your file when you were first recruited. We’ll make sure Mueller and Payton get you a nice, new replacement. How’d you do when you were at the Olympics?”
“Honestly, not my personal best,” Psyche Out admitted. “I was still recovering from a knee injury at the time and my doctor didn’t even want me to race.” The fabric of Beach Head’s balaclava folded as his lips quirked up into a smile.
“But you didn’t quit,” Beach Head observed. “You wouldn’t be in the Joes if you were a quitter.” Psyche Out felt a pang as he thought about the resume that he’d started working on. He definitely wasn’t going to say anything about that.
“It was the Olympics,” Psyche Out told him, as if that was the only explanation required. “I couldn’t quit! I did end up getting 39th out of 130, even with the injury, but I wish I could have done better. I was in quite a bit of pain after the race and had to quit cycling for a while.”
“Hmm…” Beach Head tapped his chin a moment and then surprised Psyche Out by asking for more details about the race and what it entailed.
“Well, there’s more than one type of cycling event,” Psyche Out explained. “I competed in the road race, which is pretty grueling. The race is about 145 miles long. The fastest riders usually finish in about six hours and not everyone ends up completing the entire race.”
“Six hours non stop?” Beach Head actually seemed more interested now. “No breaks?”
“Non stop,” Psyche Out repeated. “It was hot the day we raced too. There are small vans that drive by cyclists to give out water or pour water on them since the race is so long.”
"And bathroom?”
“Ah...not the most glamorous part of cycling,” he admitted. “You go right before you race and hold it as best as you can. Sometimes you can’t...especially with as hard as the body gets pushed, so you have to wear really good shorts and...special underwear...in case of accidents. You want to dress appropriately and take precautions, so that no one sees if you have an accident.”
“Eh, I’ve heard of grosser things,” Beach Head replied, not fazed by it. “When you’re in the field and under sniper fire, sometimes you don’t have a damn choice of where and when you go. You just deal with it.”
“Yeah...that’s the Army life,” Psyche Out agreed.
Beach Head studied the other Joe again. Psyche Out had noticeably relaxed since the ranger had first entered the office. Good. The sergeant major had wanted to get his apology out of the way and calm the other man, before talking about more difficult topics.
“Look, I know PT was bad this morning,” Beach Head said. Psyche Out stiffened again, but the ranger continued on. “But I also know that what happened this morning isn’t normal for you. You did the best you could under the circumstances. I know you weren’t intentionally messing up. What counts the most for me is that you tried and gave one hundred percent of your effort...even if it wasn’t your personal best today.”
Psyche Out swallowed, but nodded. Beach Head could tell that the other man was still a little rattled by his poor performance that morning.
“Just like the Olympics,” Beach Head added. “It wasn’t your personal best, but you tried and didn’t give up. I can tell you’re not satisfied by what happened and will do better tomorrow, right?”
Psyche Out nodded, but still didn’t say anything.
“Are you going to do better tomorrow?” Beach Head asked him.
“Yes, sergeant major,” Psyche Out replied quietly.
“How about you say that with a little more confidence?” Beach Head asked. “Because you can and will do better tomorrow.”
“Yes, sergeant major,” Psyche Out repeated, this time more firmly. “I promise that I’ll do better tomorrow.”
“Good.”
They sat in awkward silence for a few moments. Beach Head strummed his fingers against his knee. He seemed to be waiting for Psyche Out to say something.
“I just…” Psyche Out faltered for a moment. He gathered his courage and pressed on. “What if I mess up again? In the field? If I had that kind of stress response in PT…maybe I don’t belong here…”
“You belong here,” Beach Head told him sharply. His Southern accent, which had faded earlier, had thickened again. “We wouldn’t have promoted you to Joe and kept you on the team this long if you didn’t.”
Psyche Out was silent for a long moment. He knew the other man was being truthful. Beach Head didn’t lie like that.
“Somehow Ah think there’s more going on than what happened yesterday and today,” Beach Head said after another moment. “You wanna talk about it? Ah ain’t a therapist, but Ah can listen.”
Psyche Out debated that. Beach Head wasn’t exactly his ideal “counselor,” but the other man was professional. Even though he had a notorious temper and was harsh, he was fair and a fairly good listener. He was also fourth in command of the unit and needed to know if one of his soldiers was mentally fit for duty.
And to be fair…Psyche Out knew he needed to talk to someone and GI Joe didn’t have any other counselors on the team.
“Do you…ever feel isolated?” he finally asked. “In your position as sergeant major and drill instructor, I mean?” Beach Head’s eyes flicked over to him and studied him silently for a few seconds, before the man finally responded.
“Sometimes,” Beach Head admitted. “I’ve figured out how to make friends, but certain job duties didn’t make that easy. Frat regs especially don’t make it easy, even though GI Joe is more lenient with them.”
“No…they don’t,” Psyche Out admitted quietly. “Hawk…warned me that it would be hard. Mental health isn’t exactly a glamorous topic that people are rushing to come talk to me about and…”
"And you have to keep a professional distance to do your job,” Beach Head finished. Psyche Out nodded. There was a glint of understanding in the sergeant major’s eyes then. Beach Head strummed his fingers against his knee as he thought about that.
“When I first joined the team, people went out of their way to avoid me when I was off duty,” Beach Head said quietly. “I ain’t exactly the friendly type. I know that. It took a while, but people finally figured out how to relax around me, even with the rank.”
“They haven’t figured out how to do that around me yet.”
“Some people haven’t figured out how to do that around you yet,” Beach Head corrected. “Not everyone.” Psyche Out wanted to argue that, but had to admit that Chuckles and a few others, like Lady Jaye, at least didn’t tense up around him.
“Ah know it ain’t easy,” Beach Head added, his accent thickening again. “Ah’ve been there. If you dwell too much on it, it will drive you crazy. It’s easy to feel unwanted when people avoid you. You need to know though that none of it is personal. That’s just the hard thing about your position. What Payton and Mueller did doesn’t reflect how the rest of the team feels about you.”
“That’s what Chuckles told me last night,” Psyche Out admitted.
“And he was right.”
Psyche Out sighed, but finally nodded. Beach Head studied him for a moment before finally standing up. His eyes fell on the cycling magazine, which was sitting on top of a stack of papers. The sergeant major picked up the magazine and Psyche Out tensed slightly, remembering the resume that he had put inside of it to work on later.
Beach Head, thankfully, didn’t open it. He just looked at the cover briefly before laying the magazine back down.
“When you have time, make a wishlist of new bikes,” Beach Head told him. “And then give it to me or Duke. If we’re off base, give it to Flint.”
"I’m not sure when I’ll get to it, since it’s not really a priority, but I’ll do it when I can,” Psyche Out told him. “And thank you.”
“Hmm…well, make it a priority,” Beach Head told him. “And don’t skimp and choose a cheap bike. You might be needing a competitive racing bike again. Make sure it’s top quality.”
“Why?” Psyche Out asked, trying to figure out where this conversation was going. “I don’t race anymore.”
The corners of Beach Head’s eyes crinkled as he smiled underneath the balaclava. He tapped the magazine cover as he replied.
“Never say never, shrink.”
And then he was gone. Psyche Out stared after him, too stunned to think. His mind slowly began to unfreeze and he considered what Beach Head had just said. Did this perhaps have anything to do with Cobra joining the Olympics? Surely the Joes weren’t thinking of letting him compete for a mission?
Psyche Out didn’t want to get his hopes up too much, but he felt his mood improve as he thought it over. He grabbed the magazine and flipped through the pages until he found a short catalog in the back.
Choosing a new racing bike consumed his thoughts the rest of the day.
Footsteps echoed down the hall of the Terror Drome. It was empty, save for the occasional on duty Cobra trooper. It was a rare day that the island wasn’t entertaining a visiting dignitary, but they had other matters to attend to at the moment.
Tensions were already visible when the Baroness finally entered the meeting room. Serpentor sat on a small dias just at the head of the table. Cobra Commander glowered nearby, obviously still perturbed at having his leadership usurped. Her beloved Destro sat between the two, in a physical attempt to mediate calm.
The Baroness really couldn’t blame Cobra Commander for being furious about the situation. If the former Cobra leader had understood what Mindbender had really been playing at, she knew he would never have authorized the various missions to gather the genetic material for the Cobra scientist’s little project.
It was water over the dam now. They had to deal with the current situation as it was.
“Ah, Baroness, very good,” Serpentor greeted her. “We are only missing Zartan.”
“What about the twins?” she asked.
“They will be calling in remotely,” Destro answered. “Both of them are in California on business at the moment.”
Cobra Commander continued to sit silently. His eyes occasionally flicked murderously up to Serpentor. Eventually he turned his gaze towards her and they shared a silent look. She gave a subtle nod of understanding. He wanted her help getting rid of Serpentor, that much was for sure. Now wasn’t the time for that though. And as much as Cobra Commander hated it, he understood it too.
She took a seat across from Destro. Zarana and Zandar were also missing, but they were probably out on a mission. Zartan would fill his siblings in on the meeting, so it wasn’t necessary for all three to be present. Major Bludd sat to her right. The mercenary idly flipped through a Robert Burns poetry book while he waited for the meeting to start.
A swoosh of the doors alerted her to Zartan’s presence and the twins called in a moment later. Destro tapped at a few keys on a controller. A large, blank screen flickered then revealed the faces of the Crimson Guard.
“Greetings Lord Serpentor…” one of the twins began.
“We apologize for not attending in person…” the other continued.
“Rather urgent business required our immediate attention,” both answered at the same time.
“Yes, of course,” Serpentor answered. “Your work is of great necessity to Cobra. We couldn’t run our operations without you.”
The Crimson twins held great power within Cobra and they were well aware of it. If they ever decided to pull out, Cobra would lose the main portion of their financial and legal backing. If Cobra became divided in any kind of internal conflict, as the Baroness suspected would happen eventually, the faction with the twins on their side would be the likely winner.
A fact that neither Serpentor nor Cobra Commander missed. Baroness knew the twins well enough to know that they would stay out of brewing conflict as much as possible, until they had decided on who they wanted to support.
“Yes,” Cobra Commander finally said. “Your work behind the scenes was instrumental in the IOC accepting our bid for the Olympics. I would like to hear any further updates that you have for us.”
With that, the former Cobra leader successfully took some control of the meeting. Serpentor frowned slightly and his eyes narrowed. Destro glanced at the clone and smoothly tapped another key. Another blank screen activated, this time to show a list of names.
“Yes, after that, it would be a good idea for us to finalize our recruitment plans,” Destro spoke up, breaking up the argument before it could begin. “We have already decided on what our roles will be. The Baroness, of course, will be our official media spokesperson and she has been working closely with the twins for that reason. The construction of our Olympic training facility is scheduled to be completed in two weeks. The dorms should be finished in another three to four weeks.
“We still need to decide on athletes though,” Zartan stated.
“Yes, our athletes!” Serpentor shouted with glee. The clone had been infatuated with the idea of the Olympics ever since being introduced to the idea. The plan itself had been Cobra Commander’s brainchild, but Serpentor had latched onto it with great enthusiasm.
“We’ve decided on a date for the Olympic trials,” the Baroness answered. “The issue is finding enough qualified athletes to compete.”
“Yes, yes,” Cobra Commander said, standing up. “It’s for this reason that Cobra has initiated a recruitment drive. Our agents have been working with some of the top athletes in the world, especially with those who may be sympathetic to our cause.
Serpentor frowned again at Cobra Commander’s physical display of command. Whether it was out of a desire to not escalate the conflict at the moment, or simply out of deference that this plan was originally Cobra Commander’s idea, he at least didn’t vocalize his displeasure.
For now, at least. The Baroness was sure that would come later.
“Dr. Mindbender also had some suggestions as well,” Serpentor said instead.
“Going to dope up the athletes, are we?” Zartan asked sardonically. “That’s going to go well with the Olympic Commission. That could fly back in our faces.”
“Dope, hardly,” Serpentor replied. “We’re aiming for the best athletes and Dr. Mindbender has particular talents that would aid us with that. Something far better than performance enhancing drugs.” There was an edge to his voice. Sensing that he had caused offense, Zartan wisely didn’t say anything else.
"You mean genetic engineering?” Major Bludd asked. “You wanted us to be clean at the Olympics, right? That’s not going to make us very likable if we’re caught.”
“And we won’t be,” Serpentor smirked. “And there isn’t anything in the Olympic code about genetic engineering…or simply genetic modifications, as will be the case. The twins already checked the legality of it. If we are caught, which is highly doubtful, there’s nothing specifically against it.”
The Baroness was pretty sure that was still against the spirit of the Olympic code, but she didn’t really care. The only reason that something like that wasn’t yet against the rules was because no one had yet the technology to pull it off. She didn’t doubt though that would eventually change.
Even if genetic engineering already was against the IOC code, since when did Cobra ever believe in following the rules when it didn’t suit them?
“And the Joes?” Major Bludd asked.
“Hah,” Serpentor answered. “Let the Joes try. It will be a major diplomatic incident if they get caught spying on us at the Olympics.”
“It’s the before that’s concerning,” Destro pointed out. “We need to be careful with our operations. Speaking of which, where is Dr. Mindbender anyway? If Cobra is going to rely on genetic engineering for our athletes, he should be here to give us his full report.”
“He is currently running a little project related to our discussion as we speak,” Serpentor answered with a wave of his hand. “He will provide full details once he returns. Now back to the matter at hand…I want to know who we are trying to recruit…”
The Baroness sat back and listened for the remainder of the meeting. This particular mission was of great interest to her…exciting, even. She’d always loved watching the Olympics ever since she was a young child and even though she was a much more jaded person now, the Baroness still enjoyed it.
And with Cobra now being an official member of the Olympics, they were finally being recognized as a legitimate nation.
At least, as long as Serpentor and Cobra Commander’s rivalry didn’t screw everything up.
Chapter notes:
Barbara Larkin is a canon character who briefly appeared in Marvel’s G.I. Joe and the Transformers as Hawk’s love interest. She was assassinated in the original story and I thought it was a shame that a potentially interesting female character was fridged. She won’t play much of a role in this story, but I’ve always wanted develop her character beyond “woman who gets in Hawk’s pants and then dies.”
Gene doping has been banned by the International Olympic Committee since 2003. In this story, it hasn’t explicitly been banned yet. For the purposes of this story, only drug doping and steroids have been banned at this point.