BeachHead: Special Missions – Part One: Mandatory Leave
Part One – Mandatory Leave
Beachhead hated vacations. He hated the word. He hated the concept. And most of all, he hated people telling him that he needed one.
His LES (Leave and Earnings Statement) showed enough accumulated leave to make the administrative staff uncomfortable. Requests to actually use any of it were practically nonexistent. When he wasn't deployed, Beachhead was training. When he wasn't training, he was maintaining equipment, running ranges, studying intelligence reports, or finding some other productive way to avoid what normal people called relaxation.
Hawk had finally had enough.
Beachhead entered the command office to find Duke already there, leaning against the wall next to Hawk's desk. That was the first warning.
"Sit down," Hawk said.
"I'll stand."
"Of course you will."
Duke folded his arms. "Beach, when was the last time you took leave?"
Beachhead thought for a moment.
"Exactly," Duke said.
"I'm fine."
"Nobody said you weren't," Hawk replied. "But you've accumulated enough leave that Administration has started sending me reminders about it. Apparently they think I can make you use it."
"They're wrong."
Hawk looked across the desk at him, his expression intensifying, and then stated, "Thirty days."
For the first time, Beachhead's expression changed.
"No."
"That wasn't a question."
"Thirty days is ridiculous."
Duke grinned. "Most people would consider getting paid for a month while nobody shoots at them a pretty good deal."
"Most people aren't me."
"Thank God for small favors."
Beachhead ignored him.
"I'll take seven."
"Thirty," Hawk repeated.
"Ten."
"Thirty."
"Fourteen."
Hawk glanced toward Duke.
Duke shrugged. "It's probably the best you're getting without tranquilizing him."
Hawk leaned back, not wanting to be beaten in the haggling. "Fifteen days. But there are conditions."
Beachhead's eyes narrowed.
"You're going somewhere," Hawk continued. "Not back home. Not camping fifteen miles from the Pit. And you're not spending two weeks at some tactical shooting school pretending it's recreation. You're going to your quarters and pretending to be a civilian."
"I wasn't-"
"You were thinking about it."
Beachhead said nothing.
Duke pushed away from the wall.
"We had Intelligence pull current Cobra activity, suspected activity, proxy operations and every geopolitical hotspot likely to turn ugly over the next month. Pick somewhere that isn't on any of those lists."
Beachhead stared at them, and then at the lists.
"You two put entirely too much work into this."
"That's because we know you," Duke said.
Hawk slid a folder across the desk.
"Fifteen days. No missions. No training exercises. No hunting Cobra. Find somewhere quiet and go pretend to be a civilian."
Beachhead grimaced at the comment and picked up the folder.
"Anything else?"
"Yes," Hawk said. "Try enjoying yourself."
Beachhead gave him a look that suggested Hawk had finally crossed the line into unreasonable demands.
* * *
Two days later, Beachhead returned with an answer.
Buenos Aires.
It caught both men by surprise.
Beachhead explained that for years he'd wanted to see a major soccer match in Argentina, specifically at La Bombonera in Buenos Aires. He had simply never found a good enough reason to go.
Apparently being ordered to take a vacation finally qualified.
The Joe administrative section handled the arrangements before Beachhead could change his mind. Transportation was pieced together using whatever could get him south without drawing attention: a MAC flight as far as Panama, followed by a privately chartered civilian aircraft into Argentina, which he very specifically requested.
Fifteen days. Buenos Aires. No Cobra activity. No missions. No excuses. Exactly what Hawk had ordered.
* * *
He wore civilian clothes, and the man who stepped onto Argentine soil didn't look much like the Beachhead most Joe operatives knew.
The green balaclava was gone. Reddish-brown hair, normally hidden beneath it, was cut into a short military-style mohawk. Several days without shaving had left rough scruff across his face. The same G-Shock watch had survived more operations than anyone cared to count.
Over one shoulder hung an ordinary gray JanSport backpack. Beachhead looked, at least by his standards, civilian.
There was one piece of Joe equipment he had made sure not to leave behind. Clipped discreetly to his belt was his Joe-issued personal transponder. The compact unit could identify and locate a Joe operative through the team's satellite network from virtually anywhere on Earth. It was emergency insurance—the sort of device nobody expected to need until something went very wrong. Hawk had insisted on that.
What Hawk didn't know about was the other bag.
Beachhead had checked a nondescript gear bag through with the rest of his luggage. He had gone through considerable trouble to ensure its contents traveled securely and attracted no unnecessary attention.
Inside was his green balaclava, his body armor with its magazines and pouches fully loaded, a drop-leg holster carrying his customized sidearm, and a compact Colt 9mm carbine, its straight magazine giving away the pistol-caliber chambering, disassembled to help avoid unnecessary scrutiny.
It was not luggage intended for a sightseeing tour.
Beachhead had followed Hawk's order. He had traveled thousands of miles from the nearest known Cobra operation. He had chosen a country with no current Joe mission and no intelligence indicating an imminent threat.
But Beachhead believed in preparation with the same conviction other men believed in religion. Fifteen days was a long time. And a lot could happen in fifteen days.
By the time he reached his accommodations in Buenos Aires, Beachhead did something he almost never did. After unpacking and showering, he put on some fresh clothes, slung the gray backpack over one shoulder and headed out into the city, leaving his gear in his room.
He of course had a blade and a sap hidden on his person, but otherwise there was no briefing, no objective and no extraction plan.
Beachhead was finally on vacation, and in two days he'd be attending River Plate vs. Velez.
