According to this story, the real reason the White House authorized the Air Force One/F-16 flyby of New York was to provide President Obama an opportunity to apologize. In a related story, the White House ordered the Pentagon to release the detainee photos so President Obama could stand in front of the cameras this week and tell the world, once again, America is sorry.

An unnamed source states, “There just aren’t enough U.S. atrocities and crimes to keep us apologizing for the next four years. We’re getting desperate.” In a recent secret White House staff meeting, experts mulled possible future apologies: U.S. treatment of Native Americans, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, treatment of prisoners of war in all previous wars, any war America actually won, dry skin, Chicago Cubs (any year), 1980's "Heaven's Gate", Carrot Top,  Devo, Family Guy, the Al Gore/Tipper Gore kiss (shudder), mullets, the Mustang II, the Pinto, the Pacer, the Gremlin, Janet Reno actually dancing, Janet Napalotano looking too much like Janet Reno, the 1980-81 season of Saturday Night Live, gray hair, disco, Happy Days after Fonzie jumped the shark, and the entire 1970s.  

The White House would not publicly comment on this story but did state they are actively seeking ideas from the general public. Please send your apology ideas* to:

In the last installment, after G.I. Joe leaves Government Man the airport to go tell his story to the American People, he finds himself trapped in a cab driven by none other than his terrorist nemisis, Abdul, whom he captured years ago in Afghanistan.

We join Joe as he rides in the back of the cab with the Taxi Driver Abdul,

G.I. JOE: What do you plan to do with me, Abdul?

TAXI DRIVER: (laughs) I’ll drive you to the office of the Daily News, of course! Do not fear me, Joe. I am a simple taxi driver trying to make a living, that is all.

G.I. JOE: Forgive me if I don’t believe you. 

TAXI DRIVER: There is nothing to forgive, Joe. You are an infidel, I expect nothing less.  Tell me, why do you wish to go to the Daily News? Are they writing a story on you?

G.I. JOE: It’s my business, not yours.

TAXI DRIVER: Have it your way. I am just curious. You know, the Daily News did a story on the Taliban before you captured me. They sent a young woman reporter. She wore a burka for her interviews and was very respectful. She never called us terrorists, but used the proper term ‘insurgent.’  She wrote about your soldiers, too, about the many innocent civilians the Americans had killed. (his eyes narrow in the rear view mirror as he looks back at Joe).

Joe looks out the window expressionlessly and in silence. "Closed” signs cover many windows. Most gas stations are shuttered and, those still open sell gas at over 5 dollars a gallon. Joe doesn’t understand what’s happened to America since he’s been gone.  Not another word is spoken until, as promised, they arrive at the offices of the media  giant The Daily News.   

TAXI DRIVER: We are here. That will be 25 dollars.

Joe pulls out his wallet and hands over a twenty and ten dollar bill.

G.I. JOE: Keep the change.

TAXI DRIVER: Thank you. You are most generous for an infidel dog. Would you like me to wait for you?

G.I. JOE: Get lost. (turns and walks to the revolving door)

TAXI DRIVER: (laughs) Impossible, infidel! I have a GPS! Ha ha!

As the cab pulls away, Joe looks up and down the street, half expecting an ambush. It doesn’t feel like home, but more like a third world country, like he’s still overseas conducting a covert op. It’s all wrong.

Joe steps into the lobby and asks the security guard to see a reporter. Over thirty minutes later a plain-looking young woman in jeans approaches.

WOMAN REPORTER: Are you…G.I. Joe?  

G.I. JOE: (gets up and extends his hand) Yes, Ma’am. Formerly G.I. Joe, now just ‘Joe’.

WOMAN REPORTER: (doesn’t extend her hand) I see. What can I do for you?

G.I. JOE: (lowers his hand, confused by her curtness) I have information your paper might want.

WOMAN REPORTER: Don’t tell me, it’s about your exploits in Iraq and Afghanistan, right? I bet you’re trying to sell a book or something. I’m sorry, but we don’t give free publicity to self-glorifying veterans trying to make a buck. Peddle it to Fox or the Military Channel.

G.I. JOE: (laughs) It’s nothing like that. It isn’t really even about me or the war. It’s bigger than that. Please, just give me some of your time. Can we talk in your office?

WOMAN REPORTER: Her eyebrow perks up. She looks Joe up and down, rolls her eyes and motions for him to come with her. You’ve got five minutes.

They enter an elevator and emerge on the 15^th floor. As they walk thought the giant space Joe observes dozens of empty cubicles. Here and there a bored reporter quietly types on a keyboard or idly surfs the internet. 

G.I. JOE: This place is almost deserted. Where are all your reporters?  

WOMAN REPORTER: (disgusted) We’re completely converting to a online publication in about a month. No one is buying papers anymore, haven’t you heard? Where have you been?

G.I. JOE: Deployed.

WOMAN REPORTER: Sure, whatever. Anyway, we’ve been staying afloat due to generous investors but we can’t stop the inevitable.

G.I. JOE: What kind of investors?

WOMAN REPORTER:  Concerned and enlightened people from Mexico and Europe. We even received a bailout from the government.

G.I. JOE: (Shocked) You’re receiving foreign funds and government backing?

WOMAN REPORTER: (Impatient and condescending) Investment, Mr. Joe. I’m sure you don’t understand such things..

G.I. JOE: (coldly) No, I’m sure I don’t. (whispers under his breath) I call it state-controlled media.  

She motions for Joe to sit down by her cubicle desk. He scans the numerous journalism awards decorating her wall among photos of her with prominent political figures, mostly eastern liberal Democrats and Republicans. Below her diploma from WellesleyCollege is a picture of her in a burka (her face was exposed) surrounded by smiling Taliban fighters. Below that is a Pulitzer Prize for journalism for a column entitled, “The Other Border Crisis: Life and Death in the Hindu Kush.” He recognizes a younger Abdul standing in the background.  His heart sinks in his chest. Other journalism awards dot the wall for columns on the environment and social causes.  

She opens a drawer and pulls out a single sheet of paper. On it is a checklist with the title: TEMPLATE FOR APPROVED STORIES REGARDING THE US MILITARY.

WOMAN REPORTER: Now, Mr. Joe, tell me which of these categories applies to your story:…Is this regarding gays in the military?

 G.I. JOE: No.

WOMAN REPORTER:…abuse or torture of prisoners?

G.I. JOE: No.

WOMAN REPORTER:…outrageous Pentagon spending?

G.I. JOE: No. 

WOMAN REPORTER:…friendly fire?

G.I. JOE: No.

WOMAN REPORTER:…soldiers speaking out against the war? 

G.I. JOE: No, absolutely not, can I please... 

WOMAN REPORTER:…injustices to soldiers inflicted by a republican administration?

G.I. JOE: (getting irritated) Lady, just let me…

WOMAN REPORTER:…how much soldiers approve of the current administration? 

G.I. JOE: (raising his voice) No! It’s nothing like that. If you give me a chance I’ll explain.  

WOMAN REPORTER: (she drops her pencil, leans back and exhales) Okay, what’s this all about.  

Joe briefly details the incident with Government Man at the airport. While be speaks she examines her pencil and looks at her watch. When he finishes she takes a deep breath and puts the sheet of paper back in her desk.  

WOMAN REPORTER: That is a very interesting tale, Mr. Joe, but I’m afraid our readers wouldn’t be interested. It’s not news.

G.I. JOE: Not news? I’m bring you proof elements of our government are in collusion with foreign powers to undermine the sovereignty and integrity of the United States and you say it’s not news?

WOMAN REPORTER: Do you really have proof? If not, it’s only your word.

G.I. JOE: I can get proof, but isn’t that what you are supposed to do as an “investigative journalist?”

WOMAN REPORTER: Even if you do have some type of “proof” (she raises her hands into quotation marks) what you probably saw was legitimate lobbying and campaign contributions. This is still a free country, Mr. Joe, regardless of what some of your kind think.

G.I. JOE: I see, and who are “my kind?” (he doesn’t raise his hands into quotation marks).

WOMAN REPORTER: Alright, enough of the charade. We’re not going to write a story about this, unless it’s about how paranoid you right-wing reactionary nut jobs are.

G.I. JOE: Why do you assume I’m a right-wing nut job?

WOMAN REPORTER: Please, don’t insult my intelligence. You were in the military, right? You all come from backwoods red states, clinging to you guns and religion. Its one thing to join the military because of poverty, but you people stay in. You enjoy it! 

 G.I. JOE: Ever heard of patriotism?

WOMAN REPORTER: Patriotism is the code word your kind uses to justify racism, imperialism and oppression.   Face it, Joe, you just hate who’s running the government right now. Your kind are dangerous. You’re the militias, the Klan, the Minutemen…all homegrown terrorists if you ask me.

G.I. JOE: I got it; you hate me and my kind. Message received. But don’t you care about corruption in our government?

WOMAN REPORTER: (leans back and crosses her arms smugly) I don’t see corruption. I see a disgruntled soldier sticking his nose in matters well above his pay grade.

G.I. JOE: (gets up to leave) This is going nowhere. I’m sorry you feel this way. I’m also sorry you are the gate keeper to the national media. Before I leave, just one quick question. If I’m a terrorist, who are they? (points to the picture of her and the Taliban).

WOMAN REPORTER: (lifts her chin defiantly) They are the real patriots, Joe, true freedom fighters. They stand against those like you in places like Afghanistan, Cuba, Venezuela, and Columbia.

 G.I. JOE: (smiles) Wow, you a poor, confused soul. I know most of these freedom fighters and I remember you. You came into area of operations expecting the US military shuttle you from one end of Afghanistan to another. And we did, all in hopes you might write a half-way objective piece on our operations.  You didn’t. Did you know these ‘freedom fighters’ planned to ambush you a few days later and hold you for ransom? Our intelligence discovered the plot and killed or captured most of the killers in this picture. They wanted you for as another Daniel Pearl, but only after you printed your glowing story about them. I bet you didn’t know that, did you?

WOMAN REPORTER: (ashen) You’re lying.

 G.I. JOE: If you don’t believe me call the Handy Dandy Cab Company and ask for Abdul. (points to Abdul’s picture) He’ll be glad to tell you why they accommodated you only because you would unknowingly lead them to large groups of US soldiers. You were bait, a useful idiot. In fact, it was Abdul who revealed the whole plot, thanks to a little water boarding. Isn’t that ironic, you owe your life, and a Pulitzer, to water boarding. Print that in your dying newspaper or save it for the internet, I don’t care.

Joe turns to leave without looking back. He finds himself back on the street. Abdul’s cab is nowhere in sight.

G.I. JOE: First the government and now the media. (he sighs) That leaves the people.

Joe puts on his Oakley sunglasses, shoves his hands in his pockets and sets out down the deserted street to find America.

To Be Continued…

I was there tonight in Atlanta. I arrived at the state capitol shortly before 7pm and stood surrounded by thousands. Here are a few quick observations:

1. Normal, average, Americans - Most looked like middle-class suburbanites. Like me, I don't think most have ever been to a protest before. Most were in 30s or older. Many were senior citizens. While most were white, many were black. I was surprised to see one black man (in his thirties perhaps) holding a picture of Sarah Palin. I saw about as many women as men. Some brought their children.

2. Numbers - The massive crowd stretched completely around the west side of the capital building, down MLK street, down Washington Street, to Capital and Mitchell Streets. I watched on a Jumbotron set up on the corner of MLK as I couldn't see the actual stage. There was barely room to breath.

3. Respectful - I heard no foul language. While there were many signs mocking Obama and Congress, but none were mean. Some were downright funny (like “Obama is not my Momma” and “Are you drinking the tea or the Kool-Aid?’)

4. Frustration and anger – Like me, these are people who don't anger easily and are very busy with jobs and lives. It took a lot of frustration and anger to get them into the streets. Interestingly, I think the most damning speeches of the night were reserved for the Republicans who helped get us into this situation. A few Republican state reps made mention of this several times.

5. Energy - The crowd was fired up. They are serious and aren't going away. They are not going back to sleep. Apathy is dead.

6. The Constitution - Every time a speaker hit on the themes of spending and taxation  the crowd roared, but accountability was the number one theme of the night. They passed out pocket copies of the Constitution and urged everyone to read it. The speakers kept returning to the theme of accountability and the crowd couldn’t get enough.

6. The Left....left - I saw no counter-protesters - If they were there, they kept their mouth shut. I don’t think they knew what to do or how to take us. Eventually they will, but not this night. Tonight, the Silent Majority was silent no more. Tonight, we roared and the Left shook.

7. Media - I saw one TV camera though I did see additional coverage when I got back to the hotel room. What I did see appeared fair.

In the last installment, G.I. Joe is unexpectedly called home from overseas by Government Man, who he finds waiting for him at the airport, disheveled and hung over from years of non-stop partying on the tax-payers dime. Government Man tells Joe he isn’t going back into combat, he’s being mustered out, and his retirement has been spent on other programs. In the deserted airport Joe learns Government Man is corrupt and is on the payroll of America’s worst adversaries. At the end of the last episode we left a furious G.I. Joe, a bloody copy of the US Constitution in his hands, looming over the cowering Government Man.

 Joe throws the Constitution on top of the whimpering bureaucrat.

G.I. JOE: Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve read that document, though I doubt you have. No, I’m going out there (points to the world beyond the airport). I’m going to spread the word about you and what you’ve done. Don’t fear me, little man. Fear them, the American people.

Joe turns and heads for the door. Government Man sits up and smiles a sly, wicked smile. His eyes narrow as he calls out after Joe.

GOVERNMENT MAN: They won’t listen to you, Joe.

Joe turns to look at Government Man, now sitting up and looking cocky.

GOVERNMENT MAN: You’re wasting your time.

G.I. JOE: I have complete faith in the American people. They’re what make us great. They’ll rise up and vote things straight. I’ll carry my message to the papers, the internet, television, and talk radio. In the light of day, you’ll be rejected.

GOVERNMENT MAN: You have been gone a long time, haven’t you Joe? Okay, have it your way. (Motions to the door) Go out there, Joe. (forms his hands in quotes) ‘Spread the word’ about me and my kind. When you come to your senses, come find me. I’ll be in Washington D.C., comfortably in power. In the end, you’ll come back to me on your knees. You’re one of us, Joe. Last I checked, the government signs your paycheck. You’re part of the machine. Out there, you’re a freak.

G.I. JOE: You’re wrong.

Joe turns away, but feels uneasy. It’s the same feeling he gets when he’d stepping into combat right after learning the intelligence is wrong. He feels naked. 

He steps out into the sunlight. The loading zone in front of the terminal is almost vacant. Trash blows across the dirty concrete. A single taxi waits by the curb. Joe walks up and taps on the window. The back door unlocks. Joe opens it and throws his duffle bag across the seat and hops in. 

G.I. JOE: Take me to the offices of the Daily News, please.

TAXI DRIVER: (in a heavy middle-east accent) Of course, but first I must ask a few questions.

G.I. JOE: uh….like what?

TAXI DRIVER: Are you carrying any pork products or alcohol?

G.I. JOE: That’s none of your business, mister.

TAXI DRIVER: Oh, but it is. The state and federal courts have ruled I can enforce Sharia Law within the confines of my cab. They have also ruled if those around me do not respect this, they are guilty of hate speech. So, my friend, I can ask you this question and many others. I must also know if you are Jewish or have a Bible in your possession. I can deny you a ride for any of this, or if you have a dog, or are a woman not wearing the proper Islamic garb. (the taxi driver turns and smiles like a shark) I have the law on my side…Joe.

G.I. JOE: Abdul. (Joe slowly moves his hand toward his concealed handgun). I captured you two years ago in Afghanistan. What are you doing here?

TAXI DRIVER: Working, of course! (he points to a taxi license on the dash board with his face and real name on it). I was released from Guantanamo earlier this year, given a visa and a job right here in America. What a country!

G.I. JOE: (anger wells as he struggles to control himself) I should have killed you when I had the chance.

TAXI DRIVER: (face becomes expressionless, eyes cold) Yes, you should have. My friends and I, we like America now…and I have many, many friends here, Joe. We are legion. Some you know, some you don’t, but we all represent the Religion of Peace. (the man quickly smiles again and waves his hand dismissively) Bahh! Enough idle chat. Business is business. Since you are an old ‘friend’, I will extend you Arab hospitality and forgo the usual questions. I will have you at the Daily News in no time. We can catch up on old times on the way.

He hacks his meter and quickly pulls way from the curve before Joe can bolt from the cab. 

To Be Continued…

By Tom Infield, Inquirer Staff Writer

CHARLES TOWN, W.Va. - World War I took place so long ago - in a lost world of cavalry horses and biplanes - that it's a little startling to meet Frank Buckles in the flesh.

The last known U.S. military veteran of World War I, Buckles turns 108 today.

On Tuesday, as a winter storm moved in from the west, he sat in a nice blue blazer in a warm corner of his day room, surrounded by history books. Outside, white wisps blew across the pale stubble on the 330-acre cattle farm where he settled quietly in 1954 after what already had been a life's worth of adventure in not one but two wars and as a commercial seafarer. Beyond lay the river town of Harpers Ferry and the Civil War battlefield at Antietam.

Buckles said he had always known he would grow quite old. His father lived to be 97. He had a sister who was 104. Other relatives on his mother's side lived to be 100.

The national World War I veterans group, of which he is the commander and sole member, used to publish a newsletter. Each issue counted down the number of old doughboys still around. As the number got smaller and smaller, "I realized I'd be one of the last," he said, "but I never thought I'd be the last."

He grinned slowly and added, "Of course, if it has to be somebody, it might as well be me."

On Nov. 11, the 90th anniversary of the armistice that ended World War I, the secretary of the Department of Veterans Affairs recognized Buckles as "our last living link" to that war. Buckles met President George W. Bush at the White House last year and was feted at the Pentagon.

He seems to have enjoyed the attention, but he isn't eager to talk about the sadness and melancholy that must come with being the last of 4,734,991 American military personnel during the war, in 1917 and 1918.

"Being the last is sort of a negative thing because it means all your buddies have gone before you, so he doesn't dwell on that," said Muriel Sue Kerr of Mount Vernon, Va., the longtime director of Buckles' veterans group and the granddaughter of a World War I veteran.

Until he was in his 70s, Buckles each month smoked a pound of pipe tobacco and a box of cigars that he ordered from a shop in San Francisco.

He drove a car and a farm tractor until he was 102.

He's still in good health - "for a man my age," as he put it. A couple of years ago, his only child, Susannah, 53, moved in with him. His son-in-law built two new rooms on the ground floor of his 250-year-old house so he doesn't have to climb stairs anymore.

As he sat in his favorite chair, his shaggy hair combed across his scalp, an eagle-head cane leaning against the wall, Buckles had to concentrate hard to hear the questions in an interview. His answers came with pauses to catch his breath.

He enjoyed telling the old, old stories - the funny ones, mostly. Like the time he tried to teach his father how to drive a Model T Ford on the Oklahoma farm where he grew up. On the way back to the house after a spin, his father forgot himself and yelled, "Whoa!" The car crashed through the gate.

If anyone could be said to embody the history of America, Buckles might be it.

He can remember talking to his grandmother, born in 1817. His grandmother, in turn, could remember talking to her grandfather, who had been in the Revolutionary War. The first Buckles came from England to Philadelphia in 1702 and married into a Quaker family in Bucks County. The clan moved to the upper Potomac River region in 1732, the year of George Washington's birth.

Frank Woodruff Buckles was born Feb. 1, 1901. When World War I broke out in Europe in 1914, he was 13. He was still just 16 in 1917 when the United States entered the war against Germany, on the side of Britain and France.

He tried to join the Marines, but was rejected as too young. He tried the Navy, then the Army. He lied that he was unable to produce his birth certificate, and the Army let him in.

In December 1917, he sailed for Europe aboard the ocean liner Carpathia, converted into a troop ship. The Carpathia had rescued survivors of the Titanic 5 1/2 years earlier.

After landing in England, Buckles worked as a military driver. He had to finagle his way to France. He never saw combat - "not close," he said - but he was at least in the war theater. He was a corporal when he got home.

Having seen Paris, he couldn't be kept down on the farm. He moved to New York City, where he worked for a bank. In another brush with history, he attended the Sunday Bible class at Fifth Avenue Baptist Church led by John D. Rockefeller Jr., heir to the Standard Oil fortune.

Banking was boring for him, so he decided to go to sea. He spent the 1920s and '30s sailing three oceans as a ship's officer. He hit ports up and down both coasts of South America, and visited the town of Vilcabamba in Ecuador's "valley of longevity," where people were said to live to be 110 or even 115. "I saw that I could live to be 100," he said.

In 1940, he boarded a ship bound from San Francisco to the Philippines. He was in Manila when the Japanese attacked there a few hours after the raid on Pearl Harbor. When the Japanese invaded, he was among Western civilians taken prisoner.

He was held for 3 1/2 years at the Santo Tomas and Los Baños internment camps. He wouldn't talk much about that time, except to say, "There was no mercy as far as the Japanese were concerned." He once saw three men, British and Australian, nearly beaten to death.

Food became scarce as the Japanese began to lose the war. At Los Baños, on the campus of an agricultural university, the prisoners found a scale. Buckles discovered that he had lost almost a third of his 140 pounds. "When I got down to 100 pounds," he said, "I quit weighing."

Buckles still has the chipped metal cup from which he ate his beans and rice.

On Feb. 23, 1945, six months before the end of World War II, U.S. and Philippine forces liberated the Los Baños camp.

Buckles, who had led daily fitness exercises in the camp, was almost the only one of 2,100 survivors who didn't go directly to a hospital when they landed back in San Francisco, he said. Instead, he checked into a hotel.

He discovered that while he had been gone, his paychecks from his shipping company had been piling up at the Crocker Bank.

"I was starving, but I had money in the bank," he said.

"The average man who got paid off, I can imagine what he did," he said. "He bought a new automobile or used that money right off."

But Buckles let the money ride. He kept it invested with the bank. Come a January day nine years later - "it was snowing like this," he said - he visited the Charles Town farm and was able to buy it.

Until not long ago, he said, few people in the area knew he was a World War I veteran. He had no reason to mention it.

But as veterans dwindled to a few, he started to attract interest from journalists, history buffs and autograph-seekers. He now even has a Web site, www.frankbuckles.org.

In September 2006, portrait photographer David DeJonge of Grand Rapids, Mich., set out to photograph all of the remaining World War I veterans. He had 15 names on his list. By the time he got started, four men had died. Others faded away as his work progressed.

Last March, nine DeJonge portraits, including one of Buckles, were hung in a corridor of the Pentagon.

With Buckles beside him, Defense Secretary Robert M. Gates said: "The First World War is not well understood or remembered in the United States. There is no big memorial on the National Mall. Hollywood has not turned its gaze in this direction for decades. Yet few events have so markedly shaped the world we live in."

Having experienced two wars up close, Buckles watched from afar as the United States fought in Korea and Vietnam.

He now watches as his country makes war in Iraq and Afghanistan - mystifying realms of satellite-guided bombs and unmanned aerial vehicles that not even Jules Verne or H.G. Wells could have conjured in the books Buckles read as a boy.

Speaking of Iraq, he commented: "We shouldn't have got into that damned war."

But he hastened to add that his opinion didn't matter.

"Why do I get the authority to speak for anybody?" he said. "I can't do that."

In my blogs " Civilian National Security Force" a made several predictions about the new administrations plans for defense. Several have already started to emerge as detailed in "Civilian National Security Force Revisted". Now, two more predictions from those blogs are starting to emerge as reality: 

8. The defense budget, including supplementals, will drop from about $800 to $400 billion over four years. That money will be used to pay for “New-New Deal” programs and the CNSF.

9. There will be a freeze on big-ticket military acquisition programs across the board, with legislative exceptions for those impacting traditionally strong unions sectors

This story from today's Defense News:

...the Obama White House is backing the acquisition of more C-17 transports, UAVs, and small warships and prepositioning vessels...the Air Force said it did not need additional C-17s, forcing prime contractor Boeing to end production in 2010. Congress has kept the program alive by annually inserting funds in the defense spending bills.

Sources said the new administration will move far more quickly to shrink defense spending..."Obama is faced with a situation that will require him to find big savings on discretionary spending. If he doesn't, he can kiss his domestic agenda goodbye," said Loren Thompson of the Arlington, Va.-based Lexington Institute.

Thompson said recent Congressional Budget Office assessments show existing defense plans are unaffordable, and that likely will make necessary cuts to readiness and acquisition accounts.

He added that with a growing fiscal meltdown adding pressure on available federal dollars, it is doubtful the administration will be able to carry out plans to add about 90,000 new soldiers and marines.

I predicted the defense budget would be raided like a piggy bank to pay for the domestic agenda, except for key pork projects in key congressional districts. Six days into the new adminstration and the wheels are already turning.

Its 2010 and G.I. Joe has returned from fighting America’s enemies in Afghanistan and Iraq. His mission is unfinished and he doesn’t know why he’s been summoned home. Fresh off the airplane, he finds himself in an empty airport. No welcoming committee meets him. In a corner of the vacant airport sits Government Man, disheveled and asleep, holding a hand-printed placard like a limo driver. On it are the words “American Soldier.”

G.I. Joe walks up to him. His boots, fresh with the dust of war, echo ghostlike across the deserted concourse. He moves to wake the man up but steps back. The man reeks of stale alcohol, his face is unshaven and his hair un-kept. Government Man’s tie is half loosened and his shirt stained with beer and wine. G.I. Joe, though gaunt and tired from a decade of combat, is clean shaven and professional. He shakes his head with disgust and nudges Government Man.

G.I. JOE: Hey, buddy, wake up. Wake up!

GOVERNMENT MAN: Uh…what? Where am I?

G.I. JOE: You’re at the airport. I assume by your sign you’re here to give me a lift back to base.

Government man turns the sign around and eyes it though confused, bloodshot eyes. After a few seconds awareness dawns on him.

GOVERNMENT MAN: ohhhh…right. That’s right.

G.I. JOE: Maybe you can tell me why I was called back? There’s still lots of work to do back there in Iraq and Afghanistan.

GOVERNMENT MAN: (runs his hands through his hair and tries not to make eye contact with the soldier) Yea, about that…

Government Man tries to get up and almost falls forward. G.I. Joe catches him and prevents him from falling on his face.

G.I. JOE: Slow down there, cowboy! Are you okay, man? You look like you had a pretty good time last night.

GOVERNMENT MAN: (gains his balance and laughs) You have no idea! Man, I was at the best party, I swear. Chicks, booze, it seemed to last forever.

G.I. JOE: Sounds great. Where was it?

GOVERNMENT MAN: (smiling and animated) It was everywhere, brother! Coast-to-coast and glorious! Non-stop, man, non-stop! And it was all free! A bunch of guys from Wall Street paid for it all. All I had to do was vote their way on a couple of bills and they kept the money flowing.

G.I. JOE: (smiles sheepishly, almost embarrassed) Uh, sounds great. Funny, I didn’t hear about it but then again I’ve been gone for almost nine years. Maybe I’ll check it out later when my work is done, but I really need to get back to the war zone. So, can you tell me why I’m here?

GOVERNMENT MAN: Uh…well, you’re not going back.

G.I. JOE: (confused) What do you mean ‘you’re not going back?’ The job isn’t finished. We’re making real progress in Iraq and the Taliban and Al Qaeda is still making trouble in Afghanistan.

GOVERNMENT MAN: Well, ya see, I sorta spent all our money on the party.

G.I. JOE: You what??!!

GOVERNMENT MAN: It’s not my fault! I swear! Wall Street Man said he’d take care of everything. I trusted him. I mean, that guy can seriously party. When I woke up this morning I was broke and he was gone. He double crossed me, dude! I was screwed over.

G.I. Joe walks around the waiting area, shaking his head in disbelief.

GOVERNMENT MAN: So you see, Joe, there isn’t any money to keep you in the fight. I had to call you home. Sorry, dude. I think you did a great job, though!

G.I. Joe sets his jaw, narrows his eyes and grabs his ruck sack off the floor. He marches past Government Man toward the door.

G.I. JOE: Get me back to base! If I’m not over there to stop them, those bastards will be here in no time. We have to prepare now for fresh attacks on our homeland.

G.I. Joe reached the door only to realize Government Man isn’t following him. He turns to see Government Man standing where he left him, fidgeting and wringing his hands. He marches back and puts his face inches from Government Man’s trembling face. His next words, measured and controlled, barely mask his rage.

G.I. JOE: What aren’t you telling me?

GOVERNMENT MAN: I’m broke…we’re broke. Dead broke. I…I…uhh…

G.I. JOE: (quietly) Spit…it…out.

GOVERNMENT MAN: (hurried) I gotta let you go! (closes his eyes and prays he doesn’t get hit)

G.I. Joe, silent, stands in disbelief.

GOVERNMENT MAN: I’m sorry! I’m really, really sorry! I had no choice! What little money I had left has to go toward buying votes…I mean medical supplies for all those aging Baby Boomers. Please understand, I hold you in the highest esteem and I’ve tried to support you in the past, but tough times call for tough decisions.

G.I. Joe sits down and rests his chin on his hands.

G.I. JOE: Yea, you’re a real leader. So, who’s going to defend the nation?

GOVERNMENT MAN: It’s all cool. I made some deals with the UN and our allies say they’re going to be there for us whenever we need them. Uhmm…a lot of them were at the same party I was, though. But they promised they’ll do what they can!

G.I. JOE: God help us.

GOVERNMENT MAN: God? Oh, sure, right, God. Okay, well then, it was good talking to you. I hope everything turns out okay. I’ll be leaving now, okay?

Government Man slinks past where G.I. Joe is sitting.

G.I. JOE: (calls after him) Where is everyone? This airport should be packed.

Government Man stops, hesitates, and turns around.

GOVERNMENT MAN: Everyone is sorta somewhere else.

G.I. JOE: I can see that.Where? Home?

GOVERNMENT MAN: Oh…perhaps. Some of them might still have homes, I guess.

G.I. JOE: (angry) You guess?! What the he*l is going on?!

GOVERNMENT MAN: No need to yell! They’re probably out looking for jobs… or food. This time of day, my guess is most are looking for a place to sleep.

G.I. JOE: Dear Lord, what have you done?! I know National Guardsman expecting to come home to their old jobs.

GOVERNMENT MAN: I’m sure some of them still have their old jobs. There’s a chance, anyway. A 75% chance, easy. That is unless they worked in the finance, real estate, services, manufacturing, telecommunication, computer, information technology, medical services,…uhh, I’ll stop there. Look, times are tough, what can I say?

G.I. Joe shakes with rage and stares straight ahead. He gets up, grabs his gear and starts for the door again.

G.I. JOE: I’m going to walk to base. There is no way I’m riding with you. I’ll turn in my gear, collect my pension, and start over. I’m also going to pray, pray hard for our nation.

GOVERNMENT MAN: Pray? That’s a great idea. Hey, look, about that pension…

 Joe whirls around.

G.I. JOE: What about my pension? Are you going to seriously stand here and tell me you blew my pension, too?!

GOVERNMENT MAN: No! Well, not entirely. I had to cut it, but only temporarily! I swear, I’ll pay you just as soon as I can!

G.I. Joe sits down again and puts his head in his hands.

G.I. JOE: This is a bad dream.

GOVERNMENT MAN: I know this is hard to take. I understand. Look, Joe, I’ve got a few quarters. You sit here and I’m going to get you something cold to drink. Just relax, breath, and I’ll be right back.

G.I. Joe says nothing as Government Man slinks away. Lost in thought Joe suddenly realizes almost 20 minutes have passed and Government Man hasn’t returned.

G.I. JOE: (mumbles)Little weasel probably ran off. That figures.

Joe hears whispers and murmurs floating down the hallway from the baggage area. He’s heard whispers like this before, in the dark places of the world. It’s the familiar hiss of conspiracy. He gets up and silently makes his way from shadow to shadow until he finds the source. He spies Government Man and two others. One is Chinese, dressed in an Armani suit with a communist lapel pin. The other is an Arab, dressed in the expensive robes of a Sunni oil sheik. They are handing over vast amounts of cash to Government Man. It looks like a back alley drug deal.

GOVERNMENT MAN: (in low hushed tones) That will cover Wall Street Man’s bar tab, for now anyway. Let’s get the party started!

CHINESE MAN: And this gives me controlling interest and open markets, correct?

GOVERNMENT MAN: Yea, yea. Sure.

ARAB MAN: And no drilling or nuclear plants, right?

GOVERNMENT MAN: (puts on a deep and sincere expression, shakes his head solemnly) “We can’t drill ourselves out of this crisis.” Does that sound right?

ARAB MAN: Perfect! (laughs softly). And you have G.I. Joe under control, correct?

GOVERNMENT MAN: Easy, no problems. He’ll be out of the way soon enough. Those military guys are too stupid to understand anything except brute force. Just slap them on the back and say ‘I support the troops’ and they’ll do what you tell them.

CHINESE MAN: Good, then we’ll keep in touch.

They all shake hands.

GOVERNMENT MAN: (winks) Who loves you baby! (motions with his hand like a phone and mouths ‘call me’)

Chinese Man and Arab Man slip into the shadows, wiping their hands off on their clothes. No one notices a silent shadow slip back down the concourse. With a spring in his step Government Man makes his way back to where he left G.I. Joe.

GOVERNMENT MAN: Hey, Joe, here’s…(suddenly remembers he was supposed to get Joe a cold drink)…hey, you know, the machine was all out of soda. All they had was that nasty diet stuff and I didn’t think a big, tough guy like you drank that diet crap. Any way, let me drop you off at the base, it’s the least I can do…(Government Man trails off)

G.I. Joe is sitting where Government Man left him. He’s holding an ancient parchment in his calloused, scarred hand, and silently reading it.

GOVERNMENT MAN: Whatcha got there, Joe?

G.I. JOE: This? Oh, it’s a little thing called the Constitution. I always keep it with me, folded in my right breast pocket over my heart.

GOVERNMENT MAN: (looking nervous) Wow, that’s great, Joe. Well, look, I gotta go now. So if you want to walk back to base, that’s great…

G.I. JOE: (interrupts) You know, I’ve been carrying this since I can remember. I wept on it at the Battle of First Bull Run. I carried it in the Battle of San Juan Hill and in the Ardennes. During the Battle of the Bulge I burned letters from home to keep warm before I’d burn this. I held it and read it on cold nights in Korea and hot days in Vietnam. It’s stained black with sludge from the oil fires of Kuwait and Iraq. And each time it gets stained red with my own blood.

I once showed it to a captured Taliban warlord. He said mortal men couldn’t be expected to honor a mere piece of paper. He said we were fools. I told him he was wrong. I said America had over two hundred years of proof he was wrong. The old jackal laughed and said 5000 years of experience proved he was right.

G.I Joe stands up and walks toward Government Man, steel in his eye. Government Man slowly backs away, looking behind him for an escape route, afraid.  Joe holds up the Constitution, its pages torn, singed, blacked, and covered with dried blood. The words “We the People…” are still clearly visible.

G.I. JOE: So, tell me, who was right? Was it me or the old warlord? What were you doing down the hall?

GOVERNMENT MAN: (nervous) You don’t understand. What you saw…it isn’t what it looks like!

G.I. JOE: Oh, I understand. I’ve seen it before, many times in every third world country I’ve fought. It happens where the rule of men supersedes the rule of law. It’s what happens when little men betray those who’ve they’ve been entrusted to protect. It’s what happens when men prey on their fellow countrymen.

G.I. Joe continues to steadily advance on Government Man, holding the Constitution ahead of him.

GOVERNMENT MAN: (points accusingly) Alright, I’ve had enough of this. You are WAY out of line, mister. You need to stand-down! This is above your pay grade!

G.I. JOE: (coldly, with justice in his eyes and a clear voice which rings though the abandoned terminal) I, G.I Joe, do solemnly swear I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States…

GOVERNMENT MAN: Joe, put down the Constitution! You’re not qualified to interpret it. I’m a lawyer, I know best. For God’s sake, PUT DOWN THE CONSTITUTION!

Government Man stumbles and trips. He falls backwards over waiting room chairs.

G.I. JOE: …against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same…

GOVERNMENT MAN: (pleading) What do you want? Power? I can give you that! I have friends, powerful friends! WHAT DO YOU WANT??!!!

G.I. Joe advances, unrelenting, holding the Constitution up like a cross against a vampire. He continues the incantation.

G.I. JOE:… and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice….

GOVERNMENT MAN: (blubbering in a fetal position on the floor) STOP IT! You can’t do this! Leave me alone!

G.I. JOE:…SO…

GOVERNMENT MAN: I’m a member of the ruling class!

 G.I. JOE:…HELP…

GOVERNMENT MAN: I’m one of the elites!

G.I. JOE:…ME…

GOVERNMENT MAN: I’m entitled! No!!!!!!!

G.I. JOE:…GOD.