My Dinner With Falcon

I got to the steakhouse on Bragg Blvd in Fayetteville and found Lt. Falcone already sitting at a table and finishing off a beer. He had a few, and I could tell he was fuming. I was beginning to realize that the only way to make this evening bearable, would be to ask Falcon a few questions. Asking questions always relaxes me.

"The life of a G.I.Joe is tough," Falcon mutters. "It's not as easy as some people seem to think. I don't get a lot of respect from the Joe fans, you know? They think I am just some sort of rip-off of Flint. Clearly, I am not. Flint is a Special Forces Warrant Officer, a helicopter pilot, and a Rhodes Scholar. I, on the other hand, am clearly a Special Forces lieutenant and a counter terrorist specialist."

"I know," I say, during my first beer. "You got a bit of a raw deal, there."

"I doesn't help that Hasbro made us look similar and gave us both shotguns. How do I establish my character when we look alike?

"Ya gotta admit, though, I do look real sharp in my BDU's and beret. What kind of self-respecting Green Beret wears a black beret anyway? And look how it's all kicked up the side of his head. Heh, now I'm getting a little mean."

"Well..." I trail off. I start thinking about his stint in the comics. "You know, Larry Hama created you, he wrote your filecard and you did get some good bits in the Marvel comic."

"You're right," He conceded. "I did lead the infiltration team on Cobra Island during their civil war.

"And I looked good doing it, too. Look at me taking point after jumping out of the Mamba. I led like a Special Forces officer would lead, even when Hawk gave me an order that could easily had my team walking right into our deaths. I sucked it up and drove on."
"You know, speaking of Hawk," I injected. "I recall hearing that originally, you were going to be Hawk's son."

"Yeah, Falcon, Hawk. It made sense," he rubbed his chin. "That's not how it ended up though. The comics and my filecard make no connection and the movie..." He trailed off and balled up his fists. He looked to be getting angrier; like he wanted to punch or shoot something.

"The movie was not good for you. The writers made you Duke's half-brother as well as a pretty big jerk, didn't they?"

He was really angry then, but he didn't let his emotions get to him. He was going to be a Special Forces operator -- A quiet professional -- during our dinner.

"They gave me Don Johnson's voice, which I don't mind so much," he explained. "But like you said, they made me Duke's half-brother and they made us butt heads throughout the movie.

"Man, they sure made me look like a Class-A jerk, too. Sure, I am an officer and Duke is an NCO, but no lieutenant is going to start trouble with the First Sergeant, especially one with Duke's credentials. Not any smart one, anyway."

He took another pull from his bottle of beer and almost yelled. "Cripes, they made me bring a date on guard duty! Guard duty in a top secret installation that is holding one of America's greatest enemies! Argh, no soldier would do that. Ever."

"And Cobra-La?" I asked.

His stare bored straight through me. "Himalayan snake men? Don't even get me started."

"I guess that you can treat the whole movie like it was just a bad dream," I suggested. "I am sure that a lot of G.I.Joe fans do that already."

Falcon's eyes lit up. "A dream? Yeah, that's a great idea, that's what I'm gonna do. Hey, it worked for Patrick Duffy, right?"

"That's right," I answered. Falcon looked a lot happier and as the bill came, we paid for our drinks and dinner. He knew that I had to get home to my wife Patricia.

Glad that I was able to help out a squared-away soldier like that, I hurried home. When I finally came in, Patricia was home from work. I told her everything about my dinner with Falcon.