Ain't War Hell?
By: Maximillian von Fischgeist
Chapter Twelve
Briefing
"Alright, people, settle down," called Duke over the din of several conversations. "Let's get
professional." A wave of quiet started at the front of the room and washed its way back (where
sat Lowlight, always tending to sit at the back of any room) until all attentions were set on the
speaker. All members of G.I. Joe sat in attendance to this hastily-called briefing.
______________________________________________________
Continued in Part Thirteen!
Duke began. "Recent discoveries have given us reason to believe that Dr. Remick Odem is still
alive. We had believed that we succeeded in removing him from Cobra custody" - odd choice of
words, Lowlight thought; the higher-ups must have been agitated that he and Scarlett had gone for
straight-out assassination instead of recovery - "but new information has refuted that."
Lowlight was relieved that Duke didn't connect his name with either the mission (even though
everyone knew, by now, all about it - he had never had to work so hard to avoid offered hands to
shake; that the mission had turned out a failure might give Lowlight the breathing room he was
used to) and the "new information," as the circumstances of his having come upon it could invite
embarrassment. Drinking alone with a seductive Cobra agent? No, that was not something to
advertise.
"What's the big deal about this doctor guy?" piped up Steeler, who (also a bad kid at the back of
the class) sat a few seats over from Lowlight. The hard-talking, blue-collar-class tank driver
leaned over to Clutch beside him. "Government's probably pissed 'cause he invented the cure for
politics or something."
The few snickers at Steeler's joke fell silent as Duke answered with a smile. "That's a good
question, and saves me the trouble of having to find a clean transition to the next part of this
meeting." There were some laughs, and Lowlight was amused to see Steeler cross his arms in
indignation at having been one-upped. "I'll turn the floor over to Airtight. He'll explain the
importance of Dr. Odem's research."
As Duke stepped aside, Airtight rose from a chair at the front of the room and moved to the
center of attention. He wore casual army fatigues, but couldn't resist throwing oddness into his
appearance with a yellow scarf that hung limply from his shoulders. His brown hair reached wildly
in all directions, and though he appeared as if he'd existed the past couple days on a steady diet of
nothing but coffee, he retained his usual energy. "I'll get right down to it," he announced. "If Cobra
has access to Odem's formulas, things could be pretty bleak for us. His theory is called controlled
famine. At its most innocent, it could be useful for a real estate shark. At its worst, I believe it's
nothing less than a fundamental stage in the toppling of a government."
Lowlight, like everyone else in the room, was drawn in by this statement. He assumed Odem must
be important, but was interested in learning finally just how important.
Airtight scratched his forehead and went on. He spoke quickly and excitedly. "The process of
controlled famine uses two chemical agents. One's a poison and the other is an antidote. The
poison neutralizes plants, apparently killing them, but they don't really die. What the poison actually
does is replace the plant's normal processes of production with a chemical substitute that
effectively re-programs the plant to store its energies while it seems to wither and die. When the
antidote is introduced, this chemical effect is reversed, and the plant is rapidly revived and, within
only a few hours, is back to full productive capabilities. While appearing to kill the plant, the
poison is actually preserving it and keeping it ready to produce. How long the plant can stay,
quote unquote, dead under the poison's influence before the introduction of the antidote is not
known, as we do not have access to Odem's notes and formulas."
"Okay, Airtight," scoffed Steeler. "So what's the punchline?" Airtight was well known for his
elaborate practical jokes.
"I wish there was a punchline," Airtight answered, looking suddenly very serious. "I'll give you an
example how this could be used. Say I'm in Northern California and I've got access to this poison
and antidote. I'm looking to get my foot in the door to the winemaking business, and I'd like to
start up with the smallest amount of capital possible. I find the vineyard I want, one that turns a
good profit, use my poison, and" - he slapped his right fist into the palm of his left hand - "BAM!
Overnight, this guy suddenly has acres and acres of dead grapes. He tries for a week to nurse his
precious vines back to life, but they're good as gone. He can try to tear it all out and start fresh,
but the season's almost done and there's no time to start over and no way to make the money
necessary to re-plant. So, I graciously come forward, with a generous offer of about half, maybe I
can get away with a third, of what the vineyard's worth. He has to take it. I move in Monday, save
my inherited vines with my antidote, and on Tuesday, I'm rubbing my hands together, surveying my
suddenly-healthy crop of wine grapes."
Airtight stopped a minute and took a drink of water. "All this talk of wine makes me thirsty," he
quipped. There were a few chuckles. Airtight continued. "Okay, now, let me give you the example
of what I think Cobra has in mind. The agricultural exports of the United States feed about
one-sixth of the non-American world. That's not all that important. It draws in less than five
percent of our GNP. What is important is that, agriculturally, we are pretty much independent,
providing almost all of our own food, without reliance on the rest of the world. What if, suddenly,
farming in the Midwest collapsed? I mean totally collapsed. No wheat, no corn, no rice. Worse,
let's say even the grazing lands for beef and dairy cows are decimated. Throw in a lapse of
production in cotton and tobacco. If handled in an organized manner, which Cobra is capable of,
the poisoning of every vital crop in the United States could be carried out in a matter of days. We
wouldn't survive long on what we have stockpiled, and suddenly, we're forced to spend ridiculous
amounts of money on importing the most basic crops. Couple this chaos with a military strike, and
the U.S. is in quite the spot. And maybe Cobra's goal is even simpler than that. The billions of
dollars we could spend on importing food might be less attractive than the slightly more reasonable
ransom Cobra might ask for."
Duke, still standing off to the side, spoke up. "We could try to stop it by stepping up security
around the country, effectively imposing martial law in every area that contains a staple crop." He
shook his head. "However, not only is that difficult for numerous reasons, but here's the bigger
problem: If Cobra can't have the U.S., what's to stop them from implementing this scheme
somewhere else? We can't run around protecting the entire world's agricultural industries, and the
last thing we want is to start a worldwide panic."
"You don't leave us any options, Duke," noted the always-calm Lady Jaye. "What do you propose
we do?"
Airtight took his seat and listened with the rest of them. "You're right, we have very few options. It
has been four days since Cobra successfully moved Odem to an unknown location. We must
assume that they've had time to get his formulas and possibly produce them. I don't think they will
have had time, however, to properly test the poison and antidote. That gives us a little time, but I
don't know how much." Duke held up his right hand, thumb and index finger extended. "We have
two small advantages. First, Cobra doesn't know that we know that Odem's still alive. They
probably are not in a desperate hurry." The index finger dropped, leaving only the thumb. His eyes
briefly met Lowlight's, and the hand gesture suddenly struck Lowlight as a personal signal:
Thumbs up, soldier. The glance broke off and Duke continued. "Second, we suspect Odem is
being held somewhere near or in New York City, which, if true, is helpful."
"So we're back to square one," Lady Jaye observed. "Recover Odem."
Duke nodded. "Correct. Our job is now to ferret out Cobra's possible locations in New York.
Discreetly, of course. Assignments will be made tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred hours. Those of
you not on duty tonight might want to rest up. Tomorrow, things get tough. Dismissed."
The group stood and milled about, several conversations blending into one confused symphony of
disharmonious sound. Lowlight remained in his seat, waiting for the room to clear before he exited.
Duke approached and Lowlight stood up, but Duke walked by without any acknowledgment.
Following Duke was Snake Eyes, who did stop. He was, as always, covered in black. The
masked face silently regarded Lowlight a moment. Then Snake Eyes took Lowlight's right hand in
his and squeezed it. Lowlight felt something sharp in his palm and as Snake Eyes released his grip,
Lowlight saw that he'd been passed an object. The tip of an arrow. One of Scarlett's. Lowlight
looked back up. Snake Eyes gave him a sharp nod and then turned and headed for the door.
Lowlight had heard that Scarlett was recovering (as promised, Lifeline kept him informed, ignoring
Lowlight's indifference) and had started receiving visitors. The message Snake Eyes had delivered
was obvious enough: See Scarlett. He dropped the small arrow tip into his shirt pocket and made
his way out of the room. But he didn't head for the hospital. His job concerning Scarlett was done.
He had no further obligation to her.
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