Chapter 1
Ever since I was a little kid, I have had an affinity towards wild animals, exploring exotic places, and oddly enough, the military. My dad and mom were strongly against the idea of me ever joining the Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, or any branch of the military. I, however, was not going to allow that to keep me from my dream of one day being part of the elite team referred to as, Real American Heroes.
It had all started roughly fifteen years ago with my first set of green, plastic, army men and a bag of colorful safari animals. I grew up in a small suburb of New York City known as Elmwood Park, New Jersey. My parents had a cute little colonial cape with a huge backyard. I would play for hours in that backyard against both seen and unseen foes. My imagination was ever running wild as I concocted new and exciting adventures that somehow always seemed to incorporate larger than life animals with anthropomorphic characteristics. These animal companions could not only communicate with their teammates but at the same time, lay out strategic plans which they would later carry out. This involved several missions. There was one where a lion led a successful ambush against the bad guys and another where a giraffe had led a rescue mission for imprisoned POWs. I knew in my mind that these things weren’t real, but I always hoped that these things would someday change.
On the morning of my tenth birthday, my grandfather visited with a unique gift in tow. “Son,” he always called me that. “I brought you some interesting new friends from up country.”
What could he possibly be referring to? He carried with him an empty plastic milk gallon with part of the top cut off that appeared to have some grass and water in it. He handed it to me with a big smile on his face. “I had to wrestle these away from some of the local kids up at the lake house,” he said proudly. I peered inside to find three, no wait…. five new friends in the form of orange-colored newts all with red spots running down their backs. Cool! I exclaimed. These are awesome! I gave him a big hug. And so began my obsession with exotic pets.
I trained those little amphibians to not only respond to their unique names but also to eat from my hands. I saw in them a curiosity and intellect I didn’t think a little salamander could have. They had the ability to learn, remember and communicate not only with each other but with me as well. I knew when they were hungry, sick or just wanted to be left alone.
Over the next few years, many other creatures joined my pet sanctuary. I had catfish, toads, an opossum, a rabbit, a snapping turtle and even a cat or two. I know compared to the rest, the cats seemed pretty ordinary. Each one of my pets had its own unique personality and varying IQs. While I learned from my new found friends, I continued to dream of the day that I would finally be eighteen and able to run away and join some branch of the military.
By the time I was sixteen, I had started to hear rumors of a newly formed super-secret branch of the military. One, that only the best of the best could be a part of. I didn’t yet know all of their requirements to join, but I knew that that is where I wanted to be. So when I turned eighteen, amongst the falling tears of my mom, I left home and joined the Marines. It was the early 1990’s and U.S. military forces were being sent off to Iraq for Operation Desert Storm. I had started my basic training nearly three weeks into the war. My parents were terrified that the war would be long fought and that I would soon be deployed. I, on the other hand, was hoping for the latter. I wanted to be a part of it! I knew in my heart of hearts that if I could just get out there on the battlefield, that I could do spectacular things. This would be my in. This is how I was going to become part of that elite military team known only as G.I.Joe.
Unfortunately, basic training wasn’t exactly easy for me. I had to work really hard every day to get into the best physical and psychological shape. The early morning run was a bit more than what I had grown accustomed to running on the high school track team, but I never wavered. I conditioned myself and over the next couple of weeks, I began to excel. The obstacle course soon presented little challenge for me and I was also becoming quite a marksman. I was interested in learning how to accurately shoot every firearm the corps had available. The area where I felt I was lacking, however, was human interaction.
I didn’t care much for my fellow recruits and spoke with them very little. I spoke even less with my superior officers, preferring to let my actions do the talking. Surprisingly though, they did take notice of me. I made it hard for them not to. During the first eight weeks I spent in basic training, I slowly clawed my way to the top of my class, but I sorely missed my animal companions back home. My parents had promised to take care of my cats and fish. Many of my other pets from my childhood had long since passed on, but I never forgot the spark of intelligence I had seen in their eyes.
I began to look for animals in and around the base. There really weren’t many to be found. The sounds of daily target practice and PT did much to keep them away, but still, I yearned to find new friends. As the thirteen weeks of boot camp flew by, so did Operation Desert Storm. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Kuwait was liberated and the U.S and other European superpowers began to enforce sanctions upon the Iraqi government. My opportunity to get right into the heat of battle was lost; my mother's wish had come true.
Upon graduation, I was deployed to a United States Marine outpost on the coast of Kenya. The region was peaceful, so our presence there was a peaceful policing. Talk about a dream come true. I was not only one of the few and the proud, but I was also stationed in one of the world’s well-known centers for biodiversity. Around the outpost, I could regularly see wildebeest, lions, hyenas and the occasional giraffe or elephant. It was here that I finally made a friend. His name was Max Cory, but he insisted I call him Hollow Point. He was a country boy from Quitman, Arkansas and one hell of a crack shot. The Marine Corps had almost immediately taken notice of his marksmanship and began training him as a sniper. He could easily shoot the flies off the back of an elephant at sixty yards on a breezy day. He was a lot like me in that he didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was about his parent’s farm back home and the animals he had come to know as friends.
We began to share stories of the strangest animals we had had as pets growing up. He was intrigued by the fact that I had been able to own and train as many reptiles as I had. I also shared with him my obsession with automotive repair. I recapped for him how in order to stem some of the boredom of high school; my father would take me to work with him at a service station on weekends and over the summer. It was a great experience. I was willing to learn whatever anyone would show me. At the early age of twelve, I already knew how to set up a car on a lift, change the oil, remove, replace and balance tires, and replace air filters and spark plugs. By the time I was thirteen, I was pumping gas and had learned to check and change just about every fluid in a car. Max would share with me how he had driven his dad’s tractor at the age of ten to till the fields. It wasn’t quite the same, but we had each been granted permission by our fathers to do some things earlier than most of the other kids our age had done. Hell! I was moving cars around the parking lot when I was fourteen and could drive a manual transmission shortly after.
It seemed like such a long time ago. I was nineteen now and had spent a full year in the corps without seeing any military action. It was a little disappointing, but every time I wrote home and received a reply letter; I could sense my mother’s relief. She was happy that her oldest son was still alive and well and she was still holding on to hope that I would give up my ridiculous dream of becoming a military hero and eventually come back home. She wanted more from me. She felt I deserved a safer existence; that I should be going to college and getting some sort of degree. I just couldn’t imagine that at this point in my life. I was holding onto my dream of being part of G.I.Joe. I just didn’t know how I was going to make the cut.
Max wanted pretty much the same thing, but at least he was becoming a sniper. I was spending most of my time on daily watch duty. I was stationed in the north tower from sun up till dinner every day. My lunch was brought to me every day at 1230 hours and around 1700 hours my shift would end. My evening consisted of two hours of intense lifting and cardio. I would then eat a light dinner in the mess tent and retire to my barracks for some light reading or banter with my roomy and friend, Max.
We shared our room with one other individual, who went by the name of Hidalgo. He was a Mexican-American with some ties to the Hopi out west. He really didn’t talk much and usually spent his nights on what he called a Vision Quest. He basically just burned a lot of incense and meditated. Max and I didn’t care, we respected his beliefs. In some ways, I found it fascinating. These vision quests were an attempt for him to connect to the essence of his ancestors and totem animals, as a way to gain their strength, guidance, and a direction in life. A little creepy if you asked me, but who am I to talk? I spent half of my life talking to exotic pets and believing that they could understand me.
Most days were uneventful. Not that that is necessarily a bad thing. It was the beginning of my shift on a warm, dry Wednesday in April; when I started to see plumes of smoke rising on the shoreline. When the ground suddenly shook violently, I immediately sounded the alarm, not really sure what the threat was. On the horizon, I began to see and hear a stampede of wildebeests. More disturbing were the zebras and gazelle intermingled with them. I was almost expecting to see a pride of lions rounding the animals up, but what I saw next could not have been predicted. And that battle cry... “COBRAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!” is something I had never heard before and that would be forever etched in my mind.
The troops were all clad in navy blue fatigues with black facemasks. They were riding ATVs behind the approaching herd. Using what appeared to be electric whips and laser pistols as if they were attempting to herd the animals towards the river. Then I heard the bullets begin to erupt from my own brothers at arms. I could see the silvery glare reflecting off of Hollow Point’s rifle in the western tower. He had easily sniped two of the blue soldiers from atop their quads. I could see him lining up his sights for a third but then……. the air overhead became filled with blue fighter jets resembling A-10 Thunderbolts. They streaked over the base depositing a line of firebombs in their wake. I could hear the timbers at the bottom of my tower snapping as the incendiary devices ripped through the support posts. I tried to quickly scramble for lower ground and cover in the hopes of not being burned or buried alive.
There were fires and destruction at every turn and soon enough the foreign troops had forced their way inside. I was dazed and my ears were ringing due to the loud noise of the exploding bombs. A firefight had ensued and I my commanding officer tackled me as the faint sound of bullets ricocheted off the debris where I had previously stood. He pulled me in close and yelled in my ear.
"Go find reinforcements, I'll cover you." I looked at him in utter disbelief. I was a Marine. We didn't run from a fight. He slapped me hard across the face.
"Go!" He leveled his gun and took out two soldiers in blue as they attempted to overtake us, and I did as I was told. I crept through the rubble of the shattered back wall and made my way into the cover of the Kenyan savanna. My CO was right. Someone had to survive. Someone had to tell the U.S. about this new threat. As I slipped away into obscurity I could hear the invaders calling for the surrender of my fellow Marines. I resisted the urge to turn and fight. I didn’t know whether Hidalgo and Hollow Point were KIA, POWs, or if they had escaped like me. I honestly could not dwell upon that right now. I needed to stay focused on the task at hand. I made my way north, knowing full well that a communications outpost was located roughly five miles from base camp. There I could radio for help. There I could find the reinforcements needed to rescue my brothers.
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