FIELD-TRIP
“…Tell me this, who’s flyer than a G5 airplane…”
Patina’s safe house, Guantanamo Bay Naval Base
15 Nov 2019, 0900. EST
…
..
.
Gunnery sergeant has been enjoying the jacuzzi every night before bed.
He even got lucky the second night in, Patina guided him on a wet evening of pass the kutchie.
His first time, everything was heightened, bubble-pops, and giggly.
The landlady spent most of her time isolated in her room with her cat, Tilcayo.
Faint music can sometimes be heard from her room.
Or, she’ll suddenly find herself busy at the lab or cells, monitoring the behaviors of the animals and plants under her domain.
The few times they bump into each other, he feels like his behaviors are being judged as well.
To pass the time, Gunny binges on popular tv shows and video games.
He finished God of War, and is now working on Red Dead Redemption 2.
He re-saw the movies Full Metal Jacket twice, Black Hawk Down, and the Godfather.
And Major Payne, for the LOLs.
His morning routine became two protein shakes before benching over 300 lbs to his earphones blasting rap and grunge metal.
He’d obsessively stop randomly at times to check the screens and see Cassandro cleaning his cell, maintaining his own food, or rolling his own cuban tobacco and Jamaican doobies.
Cassandro comfortably killing, bleeding out, and making jerky out of a banana-rat over an induction stove and cast iron skillet made him uncomfortable.
Gunny watched as if it were some kind of reality TV survival horror show on how Cassandro salted the leftover meat to preserve it, made a sheath out of its pelt.
Gunny felt waves of dread with the knowledge that this monster was just 5 floors down. Existing. Waiting.
He’s convinced that guy shouldn’t have a kitchen knife.
At the back of Gunny’s mind there’s a nagging element.
A strong voice inside wants him to focus entirely on Cassandro and truly understand what his problem against the rule of law is, but something else fights back.
Quickly, he’ll find himself doing something entertaining instead.
He tried reading the white donkey, but soon found himself back on the more familiar pages of TV or PC.
Occasionally revisiting the Cassandro files, feeling he made some progress by catching a thing or two he missed before.
It’s been just 6 days, but feels like ages.
He wonders every so often about his family, but fights that feeling away also.
Darvok, a few klicks out by a secluded airfield, spends a good portion of his time in his own version of a fortress of solitude.
His home doubles as a miniature school house for advanced acting and role playing, inviting high status students from all over the world.
Current and future leaders in politics, religion, banks, business, and other forms of legal corporations, are covertly brought into his work space.
Some of them in orange uniforms and with their heads covered.
He teaches big group institutional psychology and expected pecking order behavior through either respect or fear, with an emphasis on fear.
“Speak softly and carry a big stick.”
To the students that do well in their expected roles; he warmly coaches, instructs, and may even promote in their field.
To students who’ve strayed the course, he practices advanced interrogation techniques on them as a warning.
Occasionally, a rebel actor would reject the dilemma of their carrot or whip scene, and would get slaughtered in front of the others as the ultimate lesson.
They’re rotated out, mostly alive, in small groups of 2-5 every few days.
When not engaged in global puppeteering, or running his android through all the submissive Kama Sutra positions; he’s practicing on virtual simulators or advancing his 2700+ global ranking on chess/com.
As for Darvok’s participation with Cassandro’s case, he assigned some agents to track a lead he thought worth exploring in the Balkan peninsula.
After 4 days of dragon-drone reconnaissance on the crows, he had confirmed 3 murder families and two caves Cassandro was using as live-in command and control posts.
In an afternoon, he judged the time was right and merced the crows, all of them.
Unable to confirm if they were of the Pied species or Hooded; he collected the cameras from those that had any, dissected one, and trashed most of them.
The plumper young ones’ corpses were tasked to Alexa to turn into teriyaki jerky for field snacks.
Hit with an email, Darvok is confirmed a meeting window from an overseas contact.
The next day, he calls Gunny through the prick-117 radios.
“Yo Gun-nay, I’m heading out to a bar on the habu.
We got this lead I wanna shake down and could use the help of my favorite wing-man.
I promise, it’s gonna be fun, it’s just like in the movies. You coming with?”
Gunny was bored and glad at the prospect of catching some air outside of the safe house and watching Darvok work on a perp for a change.
He figures the Habu is Darvok slang for some kind of place nearby.
Then he remembers it’s Darvok, and it could easily mean something crazy like a bar in Havana.
Which would be a cool flex maybe. But he shrugs it off, too embarrassed to ask, and lets Jesus take the wheel.
“Hey! Yeah, sure, I’m down. What time Dee?”
“Wear whatever feels comfortable to you, smell good, and a lyft will swing by in an hour.
Think you can handle that hard-charger?”
Gunny cracks up, “Right, good one. Good to go, I’ll be ready”
“Oh, by the way? What outfit should we bring the bot in?
Alex looking like bootleg Adam Sandler, or Alexa looking like a knock-off Cortana?”
Gunny thought this was some kind of bro test, and smoothly hollered back, “Hell yeah! Let’s bring the water boy to a rendezvous!”
“Ha! You got it brohan. ‘Oo-rah”
” ‘Rah”
Gunny gets ready to go on his man date with Darvok.
He was looking a little scruffy and the bald spot on the top of his dome was becoming obvious.
Whipping out his trusty Mach 3 razor, he lathers up the 5 o’clock shadow on his beard and head.
Patina shows affection and support on this; tells him with Betty Davis eyes to have fun and keep his head on a swivel.
Slaps his rear, almost causing him to nick himself, and laughs as she walks away.
She’ll be confirming some cognitive tests on some Parrot behaviors in the lab and is glad he’ll be out of the house for a bit.
Alex, outfitted as Adam Sandler with a BBL, picks up a Gunny that can’t stop smiling at how hilariously crazy it looks.
Alex even sounds like him.
“Do it again Adam, I mean, Alex man, come on-come on, just one more time!”
Gunny is shaking his head laughing it up riding shotgun in the van as Alex-Sandler does, “Stop Making fUn of mEEE”, and, “YEiiiiiii” in the Bobby Boucher caricature while driving.
The white van catches a pleasant sea-breeze as it surfs up and down the coast line, bringing them to an abrupt stop at the triple-classified MissingNo airstrip.
Gunny steps out of the vehicle:
Clean shaved face and scalp.
USMC branded polo; tucked in.
Khaki pants, belted up to the waist.
Skechers, with white crew socks.
No creases or irish pennants anywhere.
Cheap F-91W Casio watch.
His old one in his room, on top of his obsolete xbox he repurposed as a paperweight.
A low pitch jet noise hangs steady in the air.
He can’t believe his frikin eyes.
Darvok is running a pre-flight checklist in the cockpit of a customized Lockheed RS-71 Blackbird.
It’s jet black and has a unique design; like a spear and a mantis-ray morphed with an orca tail and strapped two massive turbo-ramjet engines to the sides of it.
It feels like it shouldn’t exist.
Yet here it is, in real time, the Gunny’s stoked and can’t stop being giddy with his feet and shaking Alex-Sander right next to him, almost hugging him.
Acting like a contestant that got called up for the Price Is Right.
“No way, no way, no fkn way, this is insane, you’re saying we’re going to take a spin on THAT thing Bro!
Are you crazy dude! Don’t we need astronaut suits or something!?”
Adam Sandler thumbs up at him, channeling Darvok’s voice from the Comm.
“Check it out playboy, Uncle Sam says go ahead and take this blackbird for a spin; but they’re going to want her back before the stroke of midnight.”
Alex-Sander/Darvok voice points to the plane,
“It’s an older model, but it checks out. The pressurized cabins and all kinds of additional safety system upgrades will get us there safe and sound.
These cockpits can get a little cramped, but it’ll all be over before you know it…”
Darvok-Sandler winks at Gunny and fingers shoots him, “…cuz it’s that fast.”
Gunny’s flipping out.
This is a huuuge difference from that one time he got bumped up to first class for wearing his Dress C’s on his leave trip to Las Vegas.
This plane has 8 wheels.
“Aaaaaw, snap Dee. Are those 20s!?”
Alex-Sandler highlights the wheels and explains with Darvok’s voice ,
“They tens, but I keep ’em clean though.
Now get in hard-charger, It’s a 2 hour trip to Serbia”
There’s a yellow ladder against the side of the cockpit.
Two Agents in plain clothing, dark shades, and protective ear-muffs are holding it up.
Gunny doesn’t exactly know where Serbia is, but it sounds far.
“Fkn Serb– Wait, you sure you can fly this thing?!”
Second doubts are starting to creep into Gunny. He wants the experience, but his gut is punching itself.
You don’t just jump into an extreme performance anything with a person you just met, “It’s leaking fuel on the tarmac, I’m not trying to get Paul Walkered today boss man!”
Alex-Sandler under Darvok’s voice rests his hand on Gunny’s shoulder and shakes a bit, “It’s just a few pin-holes here and there mah dude, at different temps the metal expands and shrinks. That fuel leak is wehhhhhhhhhhhl within the limits, and I’ve flown this thing countless times. Alex, persuade and bring in.”
Alex-Sander’s voice changed back to Bobby’s character, let go of his shoulder, and assured him with more formal body language, “You got this Marine. This plane has never been shot down by enemy fire, so you can rest assured it’s safer than Virginia traffic. We’ve never had an incident nor been pulled over for speeding. Have you had any incidents with your vehicles?”
Gunny looks for a moment and doesn’t exactly know how to react to a boot-leg Bobby Boucher telling him it’s okay to get into the leaky rocket with a ghost pilot he met last week.
But, ultimately, he wouldn’t be able to handle the embarrassment of other Marines finding out he walked away from this chance.
Also, he’d die before admitting he’s scared and doesn’t really trust Darvok that well.
At the same time, FOMO.
Gunny makes up his mind, and charges forward.
He says “Thanks, carry on” to the mysterious agents quietly holding the ladder as he climbs up, while Alex follows along.
Gunny eases his way into a surprisingly comfy seat in the rear cock-pit.
He quickly buckles up, and then is fascinated to note he can see under the craft, and in front there’s cool gadgets and screens and levers and red buttons.
This was going to be great, wow, what an experience.
He thinks Darvok is too spoiled to appreciate all this space, it’s so much better than coach.
Wishes he had his phone on him, he’d take a selfie to show off to everybody.
After adjusting his protective headgear in place, and not a moment later, Alex-Sander’s BBL plops hard on Gunny’s lap.
“What the f–!”
Just as quickly, the cockpit doors are sealed shut.
A confused and uncomfortable Gunny and a surprisingly lightweight Alex-Sandler struggle and move around trying to get adjusted.
The engines rev up from snooze mode to wave after wave of deafening roars of power and thunder rolls that get louder and louder as the jet quickly begins to move.
>>>asdfqwertyasdf<<<
Gunny couldn’t hear anything in the headset due to the extreme rage from the engines.
He’s not happy at the realization that the whole trip will be cramped-up by Alex-Sandler pressed onto the side of his crotch and the engines assaulting his ears.
There’s a moment of runway alignment.
The blackbird screams even louder as a heads up to the sky and drops a huge load of fire-torque against the back-blast area behind it.
Pure. Adulterated. Rocket. Acceleration.
The men were stapled into their seats as they went from Zeeeeerow to 60 in 2 seconds.
386 kph as the wings lifted them off the runway.
460 knots climb speed into the atmosphere.
The blackbird flies.
And disappears as a fleeting event into the horizon
The faster it goes, the more eerily quiet it gets, even as they’re crop-dusting hyper sonic booms behind them.
Gunny is feeling the G-force hard on his chest and cheeks.
Alex-Sander is on him like weight lifting gone wrong.
Holding onto Alex’s hips as hard as he can to keep him off his dck.
Static cuts in and out of the headsets as communication kicks in.
>>>Mic check one two, mic check one two, How’s it going Gunny?”
<<<I’m… ….okay… …do… …you… think…. that….—>>>
>>>—Ohp, give me a moment. Gotta make a quick correction here, can you believe this thing has a turn radius the size of Ohio?<<<
The aircraft shifts and accelerates gracefully, ever slightly.
>>>I’m surprised you chose Adam Sandler over Cortana Gunny. Call me crazy, but I prefer Alexa to Alex. To each his own though right?
My celebrity crush for the longest time was Dot, from reboot. I guess yours was the wedding singer? Haa–<<<<
Darvok cuts off his mic fast so Gunny doesn’t hear him laughing.
The G-force eases up a bit and Gunny gets Alex to shift off for a moment, successfully moving the flashlight in his pocket out of the way.
>>>Check it out Gunny<<<
Gunny can’t see below him, but he can see through the sides.
Something’s different, what is this?
<<< Oooooooh… ….Wooooow… >>>>
Gunny is feeling light bodied.
Floaty. Weightless in his seat.
>>>You know what’s the best thing about flying on the edge of space Gunny?…<<<
Gunny looks at the edge of the world, and sees the black of space contrasted to the purity of a brilliant moon.
Perfect, especially with all its shadow accentuated crevices and craters.
He never in his entire life would’ve thought to experience something like this, with his own eyes.
Peak privilege perspectives.
The world is round, and there’s tears coming out of his eyes.
He’s speechless. Blessed. Life is priceless.
Gunny feels whole and is consumed by the moment.
In the surreal and quiet womb of spatial bliss.
He wishes he could live for–
–>>>…that gravity finally lets go of your nutsac for a moment.
You just can’t put a price on that brah…
–Now, standbyeeeee for Jet-ram<<<
The vehicle’s engines transform slightly, air vents inside add even more air to the turbines, the cones in the front shift.
The dots of star lights ahead turn into a mane of brilliant hair around them.
Gunny passes out to the overwhelming force powers.
…He wakes up some time later…
There’s a big fat plane outside in the air with a long fat fuel hose pulling-out from dumping its payload into the craft.
It then peels off and away.
Gunny is groggy.
His leg’s got a few pins and needles from Alex-Sandler sitting on him.
He’ll never complain about flying coach again.
<<< …hello?… >>>
>>>Heeeeey, welcome back Gunny. Sorry about that refuel inconvenience, it was necessary.
Silly me, I forgot to factor in your weight. Anyway, ready to rock and roll and try again?<<<
<<< …huh?… >>>
>>>Alexa, play song 2 from my playlist; and blast that thang<<<
Drums. Electric guitars noises play back and forth in the headset.
Grunge rock voice kicks in:
>>>WOO-Hoo!!!<<<
The engines transform once more and the vehicle picks up speeds that pulls the blood and organs from the front of the body to the back.
Gunny passes out again as the plane tears through the empty unnarrated pages and ripples of space-time like skipping stones over a rip-tide.
Everything’s blurry af.
.
..
…
TRIP-FIELD
“…I lie and I’m easy, all of the time, but i’m never sure why…”
Skorenovac, Serbia
15 Nov 2019, 8pm CEST (UTC+1)
…
..
.
Blurry lights on and off, blurry noises in and out.
Gunny hears Charlie Brown’s teacher telling him it’s time to wa-wa wake up now.
Gunny dozes and bobs in.
Brings his head level. Opens his eyes.
He looks at Alex-Sander sitting in front of him. He’s wearing a sweater and beanie that goes low over his eyes.
Darvok is dressed sharp with leather jacket and gloves.
He hands him some of his water.
“Hey gunny, welcome back. Was that clear hot or what?”
Gunny’s getting back his senses. He remembers flying.
A dream? Was it real?
The water tastes a little weird.
He’s in a small white van. An agent is driving them.
There’s an oversized deflated bear suit collapsed in the next seat over.
He’s wearing a USMC issue all weather trench coat, and a beanie.
“Looks like we’ll be right on time Gunny. The party’s scheduled for 2030. Hope the bar host’s ready for us.”
Darvok double checks his revolver before putting it back inside his jacket.
Gunny heard and saw half of what was said and happened.
He shakes his head.
A small headache was receding.
“How’d we get here?”
“You passed out from the G-force. Don’t feel bad, Mach 3 isn’t for everybody.
Alex shouldered you from the blackbird to a helicopter.
Then, from helicopter to hotel helipad.
Down the elevator.
Into this van.
There’s a little bitter, metallic taste in Gunny’s mouth.
“Seeing that it would be weird seeing a guy like him,” motions with his finger to Alex-Sander,
“Shoulder carrying a guy like you,” points at Gunny;
“We had to put you in a disguise like that”, indexes at the lifeless bear suit.
Gunny nods in understanding.
Feelings ashamed for being a dead-weight that had to be carried.
Impressed at the improvisation.
He’s ready to get his man card back.
Darvok asks him if he’s ever killed anyone before?
Gunny doesn’t count his hit-and-run on a black 17yr old jaywalker.
Alerted, he asks, “No, what’s up?”
Darvok hands him a decked out and loaded SIG Sauer M18.
It had a red dot sight and a PDW chassis that holds an additional magazine inside its forward grip.
Silencer attachment with required Nielsen mod.
Gunny’s amazed, the gun makes him feel likes he’s officially part of an elite black-ops group.
Proud of himself.
Darvok is trusting him with a bad-ass gun, he’s not going to mess this up.
“It’s condition 3, keep it that way.
If I say the words clear hot twice, you cock that toy hard and dump on anyone and anything that’s not me.
Terrorists come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages.
Good to go?”
Gunny nods, a little nervous, a little excited.
He might get to kill a bad guy today.
Prove he’s up to the stuff to his country, god, and servitude to both of them.
And a cool story to share, make everyone proud.
He appreciates the weapon and gets familiar with its weight, grip, etc.
Rumor has it the Marines were going to phase out the Beretta M9 and move towards this model in the near future.
The modularity of it makes it both more versatile in the field, while customizable at the individual level.
He removes the magazine, confirms the chamber is clear.
Does a quick function check. Trigger goes click.
Re-inserts the mag and leaves it in condition 3.
He likes it. It’s crisp and clean and new all over.
Around 8:13pm the van gently stops in front of a Serbian suburban house.
It’s a pleasant, tranquil night outside.
The street lamps have insects flying around, crashing into each other.
Darvok asks the driver, “All actors in place? What’s our set look like right now?”
The agent in the front shows them a thermal camera that x-rays the inside of the house from his tablet.
A figure of a man sitting comfortably inside is visible.
He’s alone.
The agent reports.
“Target’s family is at the theaters as scheduled.
Here are the keys sir.”
“Right. What movie?”
“Lion king, the live version one”
Darvok takes the keys a little perplexed, kind of disappointed.
“Really? Damn, I calculated the grand-daughters would’ve gone with Frozen 2. I mean, they’re missing out on not one, but two white princesses.
Not to mention, Olaf doing charades…”
Darvok head hangs a moment,” I had material riding on this.”
Agent nods, “Who doesn’t like furry animals that talk sir?”
Darvok makes sure his shoes are tied, “Meh, haven’t seen it. I’m not that much into that watered down nostalgia bait.”
Agent concludes. “Understood sir. It’s 8:13pm now”
Darvok leans back up in his seat. Puts on some kind of high-tech eye patch.
“Alright Gunny, we’re about to go in for a few drinks and a chat.
It’s going to get real dark, real soon, so stick close to Alex. You ready?”
Gunny puts on his tough voice, “As I’ll ever be”
Darvok nods, “Here we go then.”
He touches the agent’s shoulder, “Turn up the inconsiderate neighbor, cut the lights for 1 minute”
“Yes sir.”
The agent sends a text from his tablet.
In a few seconds, a singing male’s voice outside fills the swirly cloud, starry night.
Darvok shakes his head,
“Seriously, there wasn’t something with more base?”
“It was this or Camila’s Seniorita… …sir.”
Darvok put his hand on the rear van door, ready to step out, and mumbles, defeated, “…k.”
Half a minute later, the street lights go off.
All the neighborhood house lights are off. Everything was pitched dark.
On this cue, Darvok leads them out and casually walks up to the residence.
Gunny follows behind. Alex-Sandler gently closes the door of the van and tails them.
It’s crisp and chilly.
Two blocks away, an audiophile’s tricked out white Volkswagen hatchback blasts its music while driving slowly.
The black-ops air fills with a booming female voice over what sounds like a concert audience.
♫Tell me something, boy
Aren’t you tired trying to fill that void?
Or do you need more?
Ain’t it hard keeping it so hardcore?♫
Darvok gently inserts the key in the front door.
♫I’m falling
In all the good times, I find myself longing for change
And in the bad times, I fear myself ♫
He pushes open, goes in with a gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, straight to the Target’s disorientated face that was still sitting.
It was a frail 70 yr old man, who was reading a book and enjoying a coffee a moment ago.
“We’re just here for some drinks and ghost stories old man.
Don’t move, keep seated, stay comfortable; nothing bad has to happen.”
Alex-Sanders translates Darvok’s sentences into Serbian as he locks doors and closes windows and shades.
Gunny has his weapon fixed at the senior serbian citizen, a few steps away from Darvok.
He remembers his tactical flashlight in his pocket and is happy he finally has a chance to use it for real.
He shines it on the old man as well, double blinding him as he has his arms raised, unable to see anybody or anything.
“Three of us, 1 of you. How are you feeling?”
Alex automatically translates”
“I don’t have any money, please”
Alex automatically translates serbian to english.
The lights come back on.
Darvok sets the expectations, “We’re gonna put the guns down.
We don’t want any tragic accidents, we just wanna talk.
Is that okay? Can you keep calm and carry on?”
“Yes sir. Please, no problem.”
Darvok puts down on the coffee table a Fallout 3 lunchbox.
Opens it up to reveal it’s full of cash and exotic jewelry.
He closes the lunch box and puts his gun on top.
It’s a little warm inside compared to outside.
He takes off his jacket and slides right next to the old man on the couch.
Darvok puts his hand over the rear cushions behind the old man’s neck and shoulders.
“We’re here looking specifically for a Colonel Dani Zoltán. Do you prefer Dani, or Zoltán?”
“Zoltán is okay, sir”
“Pleased to meet you Dani, I’m Sam.”
Darvok points to himself, tight leather gloves still on.
“And that’s Uncle, He doesn’t like you Dani, he wants to shoot you. don’t give him a reason to.”
Darvok motions for Gunny to put the gun away and sit down in the single seater couch right next to them.
Darvok then points to Alex, his light halo eyes visible, making it obvious he’s not human, “And that’s Adam Sandler. He’s going to fetch us some drinks while we calm down for a moment.”
Alex-Sandler translates as it goes into the kitchen.
Darvok reaches into his pocket and brings out a bidi.
He offers a bidi to Dani, who shakes his head gently no thank you.
Darvok keeps the offer extended and his eye and eye patch gaze directly on him, with a completely serious face.
Dani takes it.
They both light up.
Darvok passes Gunny a can of his favorite dip.
Gunny, surprised without showing it, accepts it.
Relaxing his readiness to shoot the target, resting the gun on his lap.
He snaps the tobacco can and puts a fat wad of dip inside his lip.
Darvok passes to Gunny Dani’s still warm, half full mug of coffee for spitting into.
Alex-Sandler returns with a large bottle of Rakija fruit brandy and a few cans of Jelen Pivo Pale lager beer.
Darvok accepts the Rakija and offers it to both Dani and Gunny.
Dani shakes his head no thank you.
Gunny points at the beer.
Darvok gives them both beers, pops his bottle, cheers “Živeliand” out loud, and encourages them all to touch drinks.
Darvok takes a swig and wipes his upper lip as everybody else pops theirs open.
Gunny drinks as well and notes the living room.
The old man has a picture of himself when he was younger.
He’s shaking hands with a pilot in an Air-force uniform.
The location appears to be in front of an American house that looks to be part of a suburbian neighborhood, just like this one.
Just like Gunny’s own suburban cookie-cutter home.
In the corner of the living room, there’s a large, black, kite shaped piece hanging like wall art.
It looks expensive, it reminds Gunny of the blackbird they just rode.
There’s other frames as well, the old man’s family.
Picnic here. A group shot in front of some plaza over there. Children’s first day of school. Another child’s graduation.
And even a picture of them sitting around a large table at some Chinese restaurant.
For a split moment, in this domesticated living room, he remembered he had a family he cares about and is probably thinking about him right now.
He put that thought away quick, spit into the coffee mug, and kept his focus on Darvok as he started interrogating this foreign informant.
“Just here for an interview Dani. My superiors keep running into a white horse problem and you’ve been tagged as a voluntary informant.”
Darvok takes a drag while he reaches into a pocket and draws a grainy security camera picture.
Gunny manages to get a quick look-see.
It’s Cassandro, armed to the teeth.
“This guy’s going around, taking names, being uncivil.
Attacking our brotherhood of good order and public safety
Doing things that are wrong and illegal, you know?”
Darvok taps the picture twice,
“He’s planning on hurting even more innocent people, and that scares us.
We just wanna find him, arrest him, and hand him over to the international courts before anyone gets hurt.
Let justice do its job.
You gonna tell us about him, right?”
Darvok reaches over and drops ashes into Dani’s coffee mug, the same one Gunny was using to spit his dip in.
The old man blinks. He seems a bit more scared now than moments ago.
“…Yugo?…”
“He likes to call himself Cassandro these days, but sure, tell us about Yugo.”
“I thought you were, maybe, robbers from the street.
What is it you wish to know about Yugo? I talk about him, and you leave in peace?
Please, do not hurt my family, they know nothing about him. I never told anyone.”
“Just tell us about Yugo, start from the very beginning.
Do your part, and your grand-daughters will live another day to tell you all about how great and cute the talking CGI snowman–
–I mean– animals, were after we leave.”
Dani nods, terrified, but tapping into the composure of a man that’s survived war.
He, also, drops ashes of his bidi into his coffee mug.
“Yugo, was not from Yugoslavia. He was more likely from the Iraq-Iran area. Or, better way to think about it, he was from Kurdistan.
Does your mind allow you to understand Kurdistan as a country even though your countries do not recognize it?”
Darvok impatiently snaps, “Yeah, go on.”
Gunny had to think about that question, and no, you can’t be a country if the USA does not recognize you as a country, that would be stupid.
That’s terrorist talk.
“Ironically, the agency called him Yugo because a Spanish business man found him sick in a car dumpster, under a wooden yoke inside a yugo car that was about to be crushed and scrapped for parts.
Yugo had escaped one of those UN Peacekeeper refugee camps nearby and was living on the streets.”
Dani proudly speaks of his sister,
“My sister, she take him in, we think he was 12-14. She assumed he was one of the lost children of Halabja, she–“
Darvok cuts in, “–she adopted a teenager?”
“My sister, she was a good soul. There was something about him.
She; felt compelled.
He wouldn’t speak to anyone. A scrawny boy with glasses.
She understood that older boys in foster care never get adopted.
When their legal age birthday comes, they are released to the world like pets no one can afford anymore.
She took pity.”
“What was her name?”
“Maja Zsófia… …Yugo loved her.
He learned the language immediately and was eager to pay her generosity forward.”
Dani laughs a moment, remembering the positive things about his sister, and how excited she would be to tell him all about Yugo over the phone while he was in the field.
She didn’t have anything else and felt her life purpose was finally being given new purpose and blessings by God.
Yugo helped her start a new bakery and maintain mine as well.
They both loved Baklava..
….I…
…lost contact with her on her final days. The Americans had bombed our phone lines.
… She died a little over a year after bringing Yugo in… I wasn’t there to hold her hand good-bye”
Dani’s face is soft and ashamed.
Darvok scoffs, “Died to what? Cancer?”
The old man puts his head down, hurt, “No. We wish. That, at least, would have been natural.
She died of preventable medical malpractice.”
Darvok scrutinizes him, “How does he go from this sht hole town, to find you, a stealth anti-air ground unit, in an active war field?
Make it make sense.”
The old man goes on to explain his Cassandro story.
Maja Zsófi spoke highly of me.
Told him I understood war, and I would have answers when I got back that she did not.
And that if anything happened, I would be there for him.
After she passed, he personally helped bury her, and cleaned all the graves in the yard.
Then.
Yugo hunted me.
Combination of sneaking into government buildings and simply asking around is what he told me.
Because I had a name with them, he found me the same way they would find me.
My sister said he was Intelligent. I saw more.
How he was efficiency obsessed. Had to understand every problem down to its atomic roots.
He blended different logics from different fields together.
And, he kept speech brutally simple.
At first, I sent him away, it was dangerous.
But, Yugo does what he wants, and makes camp in the area.
He asked to pass my soldier test to stay.
He did. He could handle the psychological stress of being targeted by aerial weaponry while working a task.
Can you imagine that?
To function under the real threat of violence at any moment?
With, maybe, a few seconds of beeping before everything ends?
He went from helping with the food, labor and equipment, to quickly earning respect, and then, feared.
He was more different. From the rest of us. Not normalized. Undomesticated.
You couldn’t order him in any way as he had no rank. No country. No god.
And no favorite soccer team.
We became afraid, because he would ask questions.
You know, the type of questions that make you question yourself.
We didn’t like that. Nobody does.
Darvok pries, “What specifically would he ask?”
Why play games with rules that were made up by strangers and benefit strangers?
Why are we using other people to justify our good deeds and our bad behaviors?
Why do we send our kids to be educated by strangers?
Reminded us how unwise it is, to accept, candy from strangers.
We start to think he’s some kind of prophet.
We were all starting to get afraid. Not, physically afraid.
More so, what are we doing here and how do we matter, afraid.
What is the meaning of life, afraid.
Like some kind of messenger from an unknown universe, he was telling us to bite the hand that feeds, to be free.
If it was better to fight on your feet, that live on our knees…
…and we had weapons, what was stopping us?
The old man shifts slightly in his seat,
Gunny adjusted as if ready to pick the gun back up from his lap.
Darvok’s listening. Occasionally sipping and smoking.
“It’s uncomfortable to learn that you’re not a good person by simply doing what is expected of you, do you understand?
During Yugoslavia, Serbia brought bloody war to Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and thousands of other communities.
Yugo saw that and challenged us on that disbalance of power.
Told us it’s hard to create, but easy to take. Tesla was Serbian also, and hated war.
Yet, we were using his fruits to cause pain and suffering to others.
We ignored him, collected our checks.
We were cowards to him. He made us feel inferior.
Intellectually. Morally.
So, we mostly didn’t like him.
Darvok points to the kite looking plate hung on the wall, “What was his role in regards to bringing down that plane?”
Dani marvels at the engine exhaust plate memento, “That is from 1999. The Nighthawk F-117 was truly an invisible plane.
It was Yugo who said that the inside of the plane can’t be invisible, if they open their bomb doors.
He noted that their return paths were predictable.
The hunter observes, then works a trap.
To tell you, modify radar was illegal in Serbian army. I was not going to do it, I was afraid to disobey.
Yugo didn’t have that fear to stop him. He wanted to modify. So he did it.
He re-wired a Honda Accord chip to make the Soviet P-18 scanner stronger for a lower frequency.
The old man goes over admiringly.
I taught him everything I knew about use of electronic weapons and surveillance.
And, how to shoot-and-scoot.
But.
It was not me that found the way to shoot that plane down. It was Yugo.
He had to see a problem in the design no one saw.
Do the extra work to develop a tool no one could immediately imagine.
To take down something everyone brushes off as impossible.
When we were cheering at seeing the fireball in the sky.
He stole one of our Russo-jeeps and left.
That’s when I last saw or heard about him.
I live a humble life, I own a bakery, I keep to myself.
I don’t want any trouble, only peace.
Darvok isn’t satisfied, “Yugo went where, and to do what?”
I don’t know the facts, I can only share what he told me.
When we played chess, he would mention what he was thinking.
Dani chuckles in memories of over 20 yrs ago.
He argued, you could knock a thousand planes, it doesn’t matter if the enemy can get angrier and come back with bigger guns.
I told him, the art of war says, he has to be able to understand ideological warfare to go above that.
Animal behaviors is not my specialty, only radars and planes.
I think he went to Africa, to find Jane Goodall, and learn about chimpanzees.
He reasoned they had wisdom he was lacking.
That is everything I know. Are you not able to ask him yourself?
Darvok tells him. “No. He’s still running around Africa, and Africa’s a pretty big fkn place.”
Dani shares, hoping it would be a cue for them to leave, “We have baklava. You’re welcome to take some with you.”
Alex-sandler alerts Darvok, “the family is–“
Darvok barks at her, “–keep them stuck in traffic.”
“Yes sir, modifying the traffic lights accordingly, and instructing appropriate agents for diversions and block-aids.”
Darvok follows up, “…and pass me that chessboard, and get us more beers.
Please.”
This is the first time Gunny notes Darvok get frustrated.
Darvok takes another swig of Rakija, while appreciating the solid wood craftsmanship and wear and tear of the chessboard.
Alexa comes back with the beers for Dani and Gunny.
Darvok asks Dani if this is the board from his field days.
He answers yes.
“Were you the one who taught him?”
“Yes sir.”
“A game please if you would, Colonel Zoltán. And uh, fair warning, you’re absolutely not allowed to go easy on me.
I don’t know much, but I’ve played enough mind games enough times to learn when I’m being lied to.”
Dani agrees to participate, because he didn’t have a choice.
They play Chess.
“Uncle, if you had questions, I’m sure Dani would love to answer”
Gunny was eager to ask, “Who’s the pilot over there?
Dani doesn’t want to put his family in any risk.
He knows he’s being set up to fail.
His palms are sweaty, he doesn’t know how to deal with this threat.
He has his gun underneath his seat cushion, but knows that this is a fight he cannot win in any scenario.
Even if he killed them right then and there, there’s always more of them.
They would get angry, come back with bigger guns, and his family would be targets as well.
“That is my brother from another motherland. After the invisible plane was blown up, we both wanted to have a beer and talk about it.
We were enemies under a script before, but today, we are dearest friends. I never told anyone about Yugo, he doesn’t know.
It was safer that way for everybody.”
Dani gets a cold chill. He just realized a mistake he made.
He would have to waste a chess move trying to patch it up. It would be a gamble if Sam would see it or not.
Darvok takes out a zip-lock bag of jerky from his leather jacket pocket.
He takes one and is chewing on it.
Gunny accepts an offer for one.
Dani knows he doesn’t have a choice and takes a small piece when he was offered.
Gunny asks another question.
“Why didn’t you join him? Or he join you. What’s the difference between the two of you?
Old man Dani replies, “Yugo says Warriors don’t get paid, they protect the weak. Soldiers get paid, to protect the strong.
That difference made us… …enemies.”
Darvok follows up, “what’s up with the crows?”
“They were always with him, from a distance.
He would trade with them food he would find, and they would bring him things like coins, clothes and bidis.”
Dani noticed the taste of the jerky behind the teriyaki flavoring.
He knows what crow tastes like.
He realizes then and there, Sam is not going to let him live.
And that would be the best case scenario.
He was going to have to beg for that, on his knees.
The hope for mercy from a stranger, is the only thing he had.
Gunny comes up with another question he thinks his team would appreciate him for asking,
“I can’t believe not one of you knocked him the fk out for giving y’all lip. Why didn’t you?”
Shaking, Dani keeps playing.
“I would like to imagine, everyone respected me enough to respect each other.”
Darvok notes the subtle changes on the chess board.
He feels he’s being coerced by Dani to move the fight from the right side of the board into the left, and suspects a trap of attrition to his pieces if he does that.
He maintains his original momentum, electing instead to start chipping away at his right flank.
Gunny feels a little worried about Dani getting killed.
He has no say in what Darvok does, and it’s better for him to just keep quiet.
Darvok knows what he’s doing.
Dani is defending himself the best as he can.
Darvok is a higher level, he knows this.
Alex-Sandler alerts the family will arrive in 3 minutes.
Darvok warns everybody to let them in and remain cool no matter what.
Dani’s kept playing. He’s losing, Darvok had rejected a last minute swap and instead was closing in.
Pleading,
“I’m just a humble soldier Mr. Sam.
I have nothing against the rule of money. I did what I was told, I followed along, I played the game.
I don’t have to live anymore, but please, my family are no threat to you at all sir. They go to school, they work, they pay taxes, and–… ”
Darvok triumphantly declares, “Behold! A pale horse, and his name that sat on him, was Checkmate.”
He moves the piece in place. Dani stays in silence.
Petrified.
Even more vulnerable than he was two decades ago, when he was targeted by the era’s most sophisticated war weapons.
“Adam, how many baklavas did they have in the kitchen?”
“A bakers dozen sir”
“Bag em, and let’s start heading out.”
Darvok starts picking up the chess board pieces and putting them into the portable folding board.
“Look, I wish I could let you live, I really do.
But.
You helped train an enemy that kills innocents that just want to collect a paycheck and go home.
Can’t have that transgression go unchecked now can we Colonel?”
The Colonel keeps his head down.
Quiet.
Reasoning that if he doesn’t resist in any way, they will kill him and leave.
And that would protect his family.
Darvok picks his weapon back up from the lunchbox on the coffee table, puts it against his forehead, and thinks before speaking,
“I respect you though. You’ve earned that.
I’m going to give you options.
Option 1; Take this cash. Spend a week with your family. Make a last testament or whatever.
After that, fold yourself out like a king.
Make it public, make it accidental.
Or.
Option 2; I cut down your whole family tree and point a gun at you while you burry the branches.”
The man begs for the first option.
“I agree sir, thank you sir.
You have my word. Thank you.”
He’s crying. “Bless you, for your mercy.”
Darvok looks at him with disgust.
Gunny’s thinking this is what winning looks like.
Darvok gets up and puts his jacket on,
“Welp, Uncle, Adam, I’d say it’s time to do like some good lance-coco-dudes and skate the fk out.”
Darvok helps himself to the Chess set and takes it with him.
Alex-Sandler, with his beenie over his eyes, has a bag of baklava with him.
“Gunny, do me a favor, take the gun he has under his couch seat and pocket it.”
Gunny trains his gun on Dani and does as told, on edge at how close he was to possibly getting shot by this informant.
Darvok peeks outside, he’s working to timing this just right.
“Adam, tell them to cut the grid as soon as the gate closes.
The family is back home, they pull slowly into the garage.
You can hear the motor closing the garage door, up until that last clank.
The neighborhood lights go out again.
Darvok struts out the front door with Gunny and Alex-Sander following along, back into the white van.
The agent opens up the rear door for them both, they get in, the agent whispers them away.
The family never saw them leave.
In the van, Darvok asks Gunny, “Now, was that clear hot or what?!”
Gunny smiles and nods. He can’t remember the last time he felt so alive.
As they keep driving towards a fancy hotel with a helipad on the roof, Gunny asks, hoping the answer is no,
“Are we.. …Taking the blackbird again?”
Darvok puts away his eyepatch and assures him, “Not an option. The fuel leak from the seams is no longer within regs.
No worries though, we’ll just bar hop all the way back bro.”
Gunny had a nagging voice and to shut it up, had to confirm with Darvok.
“If he had chosen option 2? I’m just saying, I would’ve backed you up.
I know that sometimes you don’t know what you’re dealing with and you gotta do what you gotta do and that’s a sacrifice.”
“You’re right. If they make me do it, I would have to.
Because if the tables were switched, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill our family right.
Not everybody can understand that, do you?”
Gunny lets that sink in.
He agrees out loud, looking to prove himself and be included, “The hardest choices require the strongest wills”
Darvok eases Gunny into it,
“…But these guys were okay, they stayed in their lanes.
What makes you a terrorist, is when you think you’re too good for your role and go OFP, you know?”
Gunny had seen plenty of YouTube videos on Sun Tzu as a Staff Sergeant, because the Art of War was on the USMC Commandant’s reading list.
He reasons with Darvok,
“Pride. That’s a mortal sin.
Good for him for choosing the first option.
I saw what you did there, Art of war says always give your opponent a golden bridge.”
“That’s right! You get it!” Darvok gives Gunny props, and opens up an offer,
“I’m glad you showed up today. I’ll be keeping an eye open for positions for ya, just in case you get bored of being retired.”
Gunny’s chest swelled with pride. He felt valuable.
He takes out the guns from his all weather coat pockets.
Darvok challenges him,
“That reminds me, which gun did you want to keep? The M18, or the colonel’s Zastava CZ 99?”
Gunny didn’t know, he wanted both.
The CZ 99 was older, worn out, and cheaper.
But the CZ belonged to the colonel.
This would be a better souvenir.
He chose the colonel’s.
“Ha, you can keep them both Gunny. For a job well done.
Also, waiting to hear when you’re gonna take another crack at Cassandro.
I think it’s smart that you’re waiting him out for a bit.”
Gunny agrees that you gotta let the prisoners get lonely first.
That the prisoners talk more after long stints of isolation.
In reality, Gunny had been waiting for Patina or Darvok to tell him what to do next.
Now he felt even more pressure to perform.
They arrive to the hotel.
They are having drinks in the hotel bar as they wait for their helicopter to arrive and take them to a local American Air-base.
Darvok offers Gunny another jerky.
“This shts good, a little darker tasting. What is it, jack-link’s?”
Darvok lights a bidi.
“You guessed it. But I ask Alex to season it with beef-fat, for a little extra testosterone boost nah-mean?”
Gunny smiles and nods.
“Chucks Gunny, it just hit me bro, we’ve missed the Marine corps ball this year.
Happy belated birthday Marine,10 November 1775, Rah!?”
Gunny joins him, stuffing another wad of dip inside his lip.
‘Rah! Happy 244th birthday there Warrior.”
Gunny and Darvok cling their bottles of American beer.
“And yo, be straight with me Gunny, you prefer an Alex, or an Alexa?
Gunny doesn’t skip a beat, and tipsily replies, “Alexa! Always! 100%!!!”
Alex-Sandler is just sitting there, blending in in the empty hotel bar with an agent bartending.
They laugh, eat some Baklava, and have plenty more drinks as they take a long empty c130 with 3 connecting flights back to Camp No.
They spend the next day nursing their hangovers.