Categories > Cartoons > G.I. Joe

G. I. Joe - The Unthinkable

by Wolfman769 0 Reviews

A diary entry on the day a patriot, a hero, and a father dies.

Category: G.I. Joe - Rating: G - Genres: Angst - Characters: Duke, Scarlett - Published: 2005/09/17 - Updated: 2005/09/17 - 2598 words - Complete

"The Unthinkable"

A G. I. Joe fan fiction / songfic

By "Wolfman Six"

G. I. Joe, Cobra and their associated characters are copyrighted by Hasbro International, Marvel Comics and Devil's Due Comics. No specific infringement of their copyrights is intended; this is solely a work for entertainment purposes. No profits are made from the use of their copyrighted characters.

The song lyrics from "When I'm Gone" were originated by 3 Doors Down and reproduced from the web site www.lyrics-songs.com. (I don't know who to credit for writing it - Please don't sue!)

All other characters in the story are of my own design.

-xxx-

Saturday, January 31, 2009

Reston, Virginia

Dear Diary,

I just can't believe the news I got today. I was sitting in front of my house, waiting for my boyfriend to show up in his flashy new Mustang III. We were going to his house to have our usual Saturday 'movie day' in front of his dad's huge sixty-inch HDTV.

Okay. I'll be honest. We never really watched a lot of movies over at Joey's house. Since his mom and dad both worked on Saturdays, we spent more time making out since we could do it undisturbed. He is SUCH a sexy guy! I love him SO much!

Mom was up to her usual Saturday morning stuff, like catching a few cooking shows in the kitchen on the TV Food Network, while she tidied up the place, and planning for a shopping trip into town. Since they had me, Mom says her life has been so blessed, even though not as full of action as it used to be. I'm not sure I really understand what she means by that, but then again, I'm just a dumb teenager sometimes.

You see, Mom and Dad were both soldiers. They served in a special unit called G. I. Joe for many years. They both met while serving there, fell in love, and got married.

When I was born, Mom and Dad were both getting on in their careers, and nearing the age where the Army would've strongly considered retiring them from active duty. So the choice to take on a new responsibility at home, raising me, was an easy one for Mom.

Dad, however, couldn't quite get the bug out of his system. Mom used to tell me little bits here and there about what they did, about fighting Cobra. But there were still lots of things she knew she couldn't tell. G. I. Joe must've been a place full of secrets, or so I believe.

But, anyway, back to the story at hand. While I was waiting for Joey to come by, I had a bunch of tracks that I skimmed off the Internet, with some music from five years ago or so. It was stuff my mom and dad sometimes listened to on the car radio, and it stuck in my mind after a while too.

So, I was boppin' to said tunes in my MP3 player, when a black sedan pulled up. Some guy in a business suit, and this wrinkled ol' General in stiffly pressed Army Greens, named Abernathy, showed up. Honestly, the soldier looked like what I would've pictured Dad to be in a hundred years, if he had stayed on with G. I. Joe, instead of teaching agency recruits at Foggy Bottom, just a few miles away in Langley.

The suit and wrinkled General asked me if Mom was around, and when I gave them my favorite teenage nod, smile and shrug, they went on into the house. I know... I know... You'd think that Mom and Dad would've raised me up to salute anything that wore Army Green and stars on his shoulders, but they brought me up to be a kid first, and to enjoy the life we have.

Maybe I should've been nicer to those guys though, because after a few minutes, I heard Mom scream. It was like a painful, anguished scream, and nothing I ever heard come out of her mouth, ever. It cut right through my headphones, and I knew something was badly wrong.

So, I ditched my music for a second and ran inside. Mom was sitting on the couch in our living room, with the black suited guy on one side, and the General had his arms around her, trying to hug and comfort her. I don't think Mom noticed that I was in the room yet, but as soon as she saw me, she dabbed at her face with the collar of her blouse and called me over.

"Stephanie," Mom said in between her obvious sobs. "Your father is dead."

I couldn't believe it, dear diary! I just couldn't! Dad was just with us on Wednesday at dinner! He said he was going on a business trip to visit some of his old students in Europe. And now, he's dead?

Mom was trying to get back to her usual tough-as-nails exterior... and failing miserably. I had never known her to get overly emotional over the usual hum-drum details of life, and she even stayed calm when I used to get into trouble with Tricia Pulaski and Grace Hoppe, my two best friends in the world. (They're also the daughters of two of Mom and Dad's old G. I. Joe Team buddies, who settled down in the same community here in Reston.)

But, I don't blame her for having such a conflict of emotions about that news. Dad was dead. Even as I write this, I'm not sure how I'm going to handle things going forward.

Based on all the stuff Mom and Dad shared about their lives as soldiers, and the bits Dad could tell me about his work with "the Company" (as he liked to call it), I can only picture how he went. The suit and General weren't about to tell us everything; that was for sure.

So, I excused myself for a while, to let the adults do their thing. I knew Mom needed to cry, and I think she would be able to let it out without me around. That way, when the time comes that I need to cry, she'll be there for me. She can be my rock when I need her.

I went up to my room, and plugged my MP3 player into the stereo, to pick up where my playlist left off. And the very next song really got me thinking about Dad. So I curled up on my bed with my favorite picture of him. You know the one, taken at the old G. I. Joe headquarters before his blond hair went gray, and when he looked like a real hottie. I always knew why Mom liked him so much.

Anyway, after hugging my fave picture of Dad, I closed my eyes, and listened.

There's another world inside of me

That you may never see

There are secrets in this life

That I can't hide



Somewhere in this darkness

There's a light that I can't find

Maybe it's too far away...

Maybe I'm just blind...


Somehow a picture of a dark street corner in some Eastern European city popped into my head. You know, a scene from one of those James Bond spy movies, or the Robert Redford flick "Spy Game". Traditional old buildings, narrow streets, dark alleys, the whole nine yards.

Dad would be leaning against the inside of a shadowy doorway, with a local newspaper tucked under one armpit, and a drab gray trench coat to cover the trusty old Colt .45 he loved to show me. (Dad even taught me how to shoot with his favorite pistol, dear diary. I'm getting pretty good at it.)

Whoever he was out there to find was nearby, trying to be inconspicuous in a sea of passing faces. But he knew my Dad, and Dad knew him. So they would meet in the shadows to discuss some state secret, or whatever Dad was sent out to obtain.

But at the same time, I see my dad's face right across from mine at the breakfast table. He's sipping a cup of coffee that Mom made for him, and reading the Washington Post. I'm telling him about my upcoming Cross Country meet, and hearing him apologize about being unable to make it to see me race because of the business trip.

Even though I could see the guilt in Dad's eyes, I still raised my voice to him. I screamed out that I hated how Dad's job was more important than me. He just sat there and took it, never once shouting back at me. He let me vent, and even silently told Mom to back off and not to scold me.

Of course, when Mom drove me to school later in the morning, she still explained to me that Dad's work was very important, and sometimes much bigger than just our individual lives. She said that I would eventually get it, and that it was okay to feel what I felt when I was frustrated.

When I stormed out of the kitchen and back up to my room to gather my things for school, Dad knocked on my door after a few minutes and reminded me he was leaving for work. No matter how upset I was with him, he never forgot to come and find me, to give me a hug and kiss, and to wish me good luck in school that day. He must've understood what it was like to be growing up, and a lot of my static didn't faze him one bit.

Dad never tried to buy my affections either. Some of my other school friends have parents that are so into their careers that they practically ignore their kids, and then they shower them with gifts like cars, and concert tickets with friends, or elaborate birthday parties, because the old folks feel guilty about the level of their ignorance.

Dad knew that I appreciated the understanding that he truly felt bad about missing something important to me, more than any superficial gift could appease. And he always went out of his way to make time to make it up to me in a way I wanted him to.

So hold me when I'm here

Right me when I'm wrong

Hold me when I'm scared

And love me when I'm gone



Everything I am

And everything in me

Wants to be the one

You wanted me to be



I'll never let you down

Even if I could

I'd give up everything

If only for your good



So hold me when I'm here

Right me when I'm wrong

You can hold me when I'm scared

You won't always be there



So love me when I'm gone...


I guess that the meeting on that distant city's street corner went wrong. In my mind's eye, I see a black sedan filled with gunmen squealing to a halt in front of Dad's little doorway, and a bundle of nasty, armed men piling out of it, screaming, "COBRA!"

But the sight of some nasty baddies didn't scare Dad. He had his trusty Colt .45, tucked into the small of his back, or in the black leather shoulder holster rig that Mom and I bought him for Father's Day one year, when he asked for one.

He would've played it cool at first, telling the bad guys that there wasn't anything going on, all the while ready to come out shooting. I know Dad was a crack shot. The thirteen rounds in his Colt would've been put to good use. He'd make each and every one count.

I don't know if fate plays a part in someone's life as a soldier. Mom and Dad told me they were always wary of the notion that one day, out in the field, the "golden bullet with your name on it" would come, and there was no way to avoid it.

Maybe tonight was Dad's brush with the Golden Bullet. Maybe he used up all the rounds he had in his Colt and the baddies kept on coming. Maybe he had to punch a few of them out, or give their necks a twist. Or maybe he pounded a few of their faces into the pavement before they overpowered him.

Maybe it was a hand grenade, tossed into the doorway by a cowardly Cobra agent from a distance. Or it was a Molotov Cocktail from some mercenary street thug. Maybe the driver of the gunmen's car decided to turn it into the engine of my Dad's demise.

But, you know what? Until someone tells me the truth about how Dad went, I will always believe in my heart that Dad went down fighting. The odds might have been against him, but he still pressed on, because he knew that he was protecting people like me, from people like them.

When your education x-ray

Can not see under my skin

I won't tell you a damn thing

That I could not tell my friends



Roaming through this darkness

I'm alive but I'm alone

Part of me is fighting this

But part of me is gone


He would've preferred to be home, with Mom and me. But he went anyway. He went to die for his country. I firmly believe that to be the last thought in his head when he left us. Even though Mom and I weren't at his side, he knew that he could go, secure in the knowledge that he fulfilled his duty to his family, and to his country.

So hold me when I'm here

Right me when I'm wrong

Hold me when I'm scared

And love me when I'm gone



Everything I am

And everything in me

Wants to be the one

You wanted me to be



I'll never let you down

Even if I could

I'd give up everything

If only for your good



So hold me when I'm here

Right me when I'm wrong

You can hold me when I'm scared

You won't always be there



So love me when I'm gone...


Dear diary, it's going to be a long road for us to heal, for Mom and me. Maybe, seeing old friends will help Mom get past the hurt this is going to bring. I know that I will need her strength when I feel Dad's loss and no longer have his arms to hold me tight.

I wouldn't be surprised if Uncle Ralph and Aunt Lisa are already in the living room, lending Mom some support. She still calls Uncle Ralph by his old Joe code name, "Steeler", by accident, and they get a laugh out of it. Uncle Kurt ("Crypto", when Mom slips) and Aunt Claudia are probably downstairs too. That means Tricia and Grace will be up here in my room soon enough, and I'll have my friends here to talk to about Dad.

Maybe Mom will call Uncle Dash ("Flint") and Aunt Alison ("Lady Jaye") in California, to let them know what happened. I'd love to see them again. Even though it takes a crappy event like someone dying to bring good friends together again.

Dad, I'll miss you every day for the rest of my life. I'll remember you and never stop loving you. For all the bad and the good that we've shared, you are still the only dad for me.

And, I know that wherever you are now, you've left a better world behind, because you stepped up to the plate and gave everything you had to defend it. You're my hero, Dad. I love you.

All my love,

Stephanie O'Hara-Hauser
Log in to rate and review this story

Log in!




Register Lost password

Filter

You won't see stories with a lower score when you browse or search. Log in to adjust filter.
0

 

Featured Story

Site Stats

  • Authors: 610413
  • Stories: 40308

Recent Stories