The street was bare, the houses dark and cars parked, nestled in their driveways and garages. Dawn was coming slowly, the sun a dim light bulb shining through an opaque curtain of gray clouds, being slowly pulled as if by string. A soft light bathed the pavement road leading to Fort Wadsworth, but the roads were silent, as well they should be at this early hour. Sawhorses barricaded off the entrance to the Chaplain’s Assistants Quarters and a chain link fence had been erected, surrounding the perimeter of the whole base. A chain closed the front gate, although telltale signs showed that it had been opened recently. The scattered buildings among the fort were boarded and quiet; a forgotten reminder of Defense Department budget cuts and the times of war slowly slipping from American consciousness. One building in the fort was a hub of activity this early Saturday morning, numerous green jeeps and personnel carriers haphazardly parked around the front entrance to the Motor Pool. A low light shined from the windows, no longer boarded, but with shades pulled down snug to the windowsill. It wasn’t an unusual sight, and even at this early hour would not be considered an odd occurrence, especially at a military installation, albeit a closed one. The inside of the main Motor Pool garage area had been converted into a makeshift meeting hall about a week earlier, and for the second time in less than seven days, was being used as such. Several buildings made up the Motor Pool, as was necessary to pull of the deception of the innocent looking Fort Wadsworth, which had been, for years, the top secret headquarters of the GI Joe team. The ground was still broken and uneven behind the garage, and surrounded by the small stucco buildings. Underneath that makeshift crater had been the GI Joe underground base, code-named The Pit. A Cobra attack had exposed the fort for what it was and driven the Joe team from their headquarters. They then became a nomadic unit for several years, until setting up another base in the desert of Utah. The attack had been a costly one, injuring several Joes and killing two members of Washington top brass, Admiral Dyson and General Ryan. A battle long ago, but not forgotten by Hawk as he strolled slowly across the little mounds of dirt and grass, his ankles turning slightly on the uneven ground. His eyes were little slits on his face, thick black circles prominent against the light, pale shade of his skin. His slightly graying blond hair was tussled and unkempt, and his dark green uniform rumpled and a little messy. He lowered himself into a crouch, scooping up a hard chunk of soil from the ground. The General remembered back to that fateful battle, one that he and General Hollingsworth had barely escaped with their lives. His face was worn, beaten and tired. He almost looked to have aged a year in one night. He dropped the pile of dirt and grass and stood slowly, scanning the all too familiar landscape.

"General?" the voice behind him was unmistakable, even when shrouded by lack of sleep and concern.

Hawk spoke without turning. "Yes, Duke?" his eyes were somewhat glistened over as he stood there in the quiet early morning, the events of the night, and even the events of the past decade finally taking their toll.

"Everyone’s accounted for. They’re waiting for you, sir."

Hawk looked down at his hand, a small rock left in it from the pile of soil. "When will it end, Duke?" Hawk asked rhetorically.

"End, sir?"

"This ridiculous conflict. For the past fifteen years."

"It doesn’t end, sir. It’s a soldier’s life."

Hawk slowly tossed the rock in his open hand, then caught it again. "I mean Cobra, Duke. I thought it was finally over. Everyone did. And then…then…this." He motioned to the large American flag, which still swung from the tall white pole. It was lowered to half-mast, slowly rippling in the cool morning breeze. No other sound was audible except for the nearly silent whipping of the thick cloth in the wind. The morning was dead quiet.

"Don’t beat yourself up, sir. It’s not your fault."

"We hit them, they hit us. They hit us then we hit back. It goes on forever!" he caught the stone on its way down, and wrapped his fist tightly around it, his hand trembling slightly.

"General—"

"No more!" he shouted loudly in the early morning fog. His arm whipped out and he hurled the rock like a fastball pitcher. It smashed through an unboarded window on the nearest building, the glass shattering inward and falling with a light tinkling on the hard floors inside. Duke stepped back, but remained silent. "This is it, Duke. Whatever happens, it’s got to end." Hawk turned and glared straight into Duke’s eyes. Duke noticed that his eyes shined wet even in the dim light of dawn. Hawk swiftly regained his composure when he saw Duke’s look of mild concern. "Come on, First Sergeant. We’ve got an assault to coordinate."

Duke smiled slightly. "Yes, sir."

Inside the garage/meeting area, men wandered about restlessly, waiting for General Hawk and talking excitedly amongst themselves.

"Gung-Ho, my main man? How’s my favorite jarhead doin’?" Roadblock approached his equally large and equally bald comrade, and extended his hand. Gung-Ho smiled widely and wrapped his hand around the darker skinned hand of his fellow Joe.

"Roadblock! Any idea what’s shaking?" he asked jerking his head quickly towards the empty podium. They didn’t have much time for small talk. They had been training together for the past week, and had all pretty much caught up in that time.

"Probably something to do with last night. Pentagon brass has gotta be catchin’ flack." Gung-Ho nodded as a dark hared man approached a black bushy moustache just above his upper lip.

"Bazooka, how’s it going?" Roadblock asked.

"I’m good, Roadblock. How much sleep did YOU get last night?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. His familiar red and blue football jersey was somewhat wrinkled.

"’Bout as much as anybody in here. Any word about what this little meeting is for?" Roadblock ran a dark hand over the layered green shirt he wore, neatly tucked into his dark blue pants. He tugged nervously at the brown leather straps that ran over his shoulder. Everyone was fidgeting.

"Alpine thinks Cobra was involved with that whole thing last night. Me and Zap, though…we don’t think they’d do anything that high profile."

"Hey, you guys," Dial Tone asked eagerly as he approached the small group of Joes. He wore his usual black beret and jacket. Straps of grenades cris-crossed over his chest and the strange silver mechanisms were still evident throughout his uniform. His moustache was trimmed slightly, but still there, and was still jet-black. "Did you hear anything about the new guys?" he continued. He gestured over at the two men standing pretty much by themselves. A young man in a red, quilted shirt with machinery etched into the fabric was standing by himself about two feet back from the podium. He clutched a large, silver helmet in one hand, and looked around the room uncomfortably. About ten feet away, a much older man stood a black cap firmly over his head. He wore gray urban camouflage with a black flak jacket. He stood facing Shockwave and Low-Light, both dressed in their battle gear and they were talking friendly.

"Yeah," replied Gung-Ho. Today he wore his torn green camouflaged shirt and gray khakis. A thick cloth headband wrapped around his bald scalp. "Kid’s name is Blackout. Electronics expert. He’s a regular child prodigy, from what I hear. Smart as a whip, but untested on the battlefield. He’s got all sorts of nifty gadgets that would make geeks like you and Airtight jealous!"

Dial Tone glared, but couldn’t help but chuckle. "What about the other guy?" he asked. "He looks familiar."

Gung-Ho nodded. "Name’s Kevlar. Ex-Team Leader for S.W.A.T. Team One out of Los Angeles. Pretty famous for his team’s performance."

"Hmmm…" Roadblock muttered. "Not sure I like the idea of youngbloods being tested in the field. We’ll have to keep our eyes out."

"They wouldn’t be here if they couldn’t hack it," Bazooka said, remembering his training mission as a Joe. The B.A.T.s and Dr. Mindbender’s plant spores had pretty much ended the training. He was there with Airtight, Lady Jaye, Crankcase and Heavy Duty. Bazooka’s face suddenly turned deadly serious, thinking about his fallen comrades. Him and Airtight were the only ones left out of that group. He still had tough times dealing with it.

"What’s the matter with you, ‘Zooka?" Alpine asked, saddling up next to his long time buddy. He wrapped a large, dark arm around his friend’s shoulders and looked him in the eye from behind the wire frame goggles he wore. His green and black hat was dipped low over his eyes, but his constant smile, which turned up the edges of his moustache, almost brightened up the room.

"Just thinkin’ about our buddies. You know. The ones who couldn’t be here." His eyes lowered again and the mood in the small group shifted. A sudden murmur going through the crowd shook them out of their momentary funk and they turned to face to podium. Hawk was followed by Duke and approached the wooden stand, microphone standing proudly on top like a single, large birthday candle.

"A TEN-HUT!" Duke shouted and the whole room suddenly molded into a solid mass of soldiers, each one stock-still and standing straight.

"At ease," Hawk said quickly, glancing down at the podium. He struggled to contain himself. There was a blank white screen behind him and an old Army issue slide projector stood against the far wall. "Gentlemen, I will get right to the point. I’m sure you all know why you are here." He spoke with an unusually muffled voice, dulled by sadness and by lack of sleep. He and Duke were but a few of the many that had had a sleepless night the previous night. A very long, sleepless night. "At…" his voice cracked slightly. "Ahem…at approximately twenty-one ten last night, as I’m sure you all know, The President of the United States was assassinated in front of the entire country on live TV." He stopped speaking briefly and placed his fist to his mouth, then coughed quietly. The audience was still and quiet. "Damage control went strongly into effect at that point, but was unable to stop the reports from spreading. The world is quite aware that it happened, and it looks like it was an inside job. What the world is not aware of, however, is that the job was organized and pulled off by Cobra." He let the last sentence sink in and allowed the murmurs to resonate through the crowd before slowing and quieting to a trickle. "Mainframe, hit the lights, please." Hawk nodded to the back of the room and seconds later, it was plunged into darkness.

"Directly following the assassination, this was found on The President’s…on The President’s body." Hawk still had a hard time forming the words. The slide projector hummed to life and the first photo flashed onto the white screen. It was an evidence picture, that much was obvious. Words were scrawled in red across the white paper. The red was not ink. It appeared to be blood. The words written on it were simple ones but conveyed a deadly meaning.

Underneath the short phrase, still written in blood, a sloppy Cobra symbol was drawn. It was messy, but the message was clear.

"Those of you who have been out of the loop for the past five years will be a little confused by this message," Hawk said simply. "But any of you who were in the Intelligence or Special Forces divisions will recognize this handiwork." Many of the men in the room mumbled questioningly, obviously confused by the statement. A handful of the men in the room, Falcon, Mainframe, Duke, Ripcord, and a few others stood still; their faces locked in a pensive gaze. "Whisper is an international terrorist and assassin for hire. This is the calling card he leaves after every hit. Mostly thought of as a legend, but now, is being taken deadly serious. If Cobra has enlisted the aid of the mysterious Whisper, then we have a fight on our hands." A scattering of hands shot up into the air. Hawk glanced at the first one he saw. "Yes, Bullhorn?"

"I thought this was an inside job, sir?"

Hawk cleared his throat and prepared to continue. "So it would appear. After the incident last night, four agents disappeared. All agents directly involved with The President’s protection that night. Two of them stand out. Agent Rooks and Agent Tolliver." The screen flashed to photos again and the agents’ faces glared out from the screen. The photo on the left was the old, grizzled visage of Team Leader Rooks. The one on the right was a young, striking blond. Her face innocent, yet stern. Young yet inexplicably seasoned. "Agent Rooks was the leader of the squad charged with protecting The President. Directly after the incident he flooded the East Wing with agents, immediately pulling every one of them from their designated positions and rerouting them to pursue the attacker." Hawk tapped the man’s face with his thin, metal pointer. "Only problem was, there was no attacker in the East Wing. He was running through the West Wing, on exactly the opposite side of the building. We had two men undercover, Chuckles and Law. They pursued the assailant into the parking garage and out into Main Street." Hawk paused momentarily. "We’re not exactly sure what happened from there, but both men are in critical condition at the Medical Center in a neighboring town. They are currently unavailable for questioning." Hawk lowered his head and cleared his throat again. "Chuckles has several broken ribs, a fractured ankle, cheekbone, jaw, and skull. His shoulder and right hip are dislocated, and he is not out of the woods. Law also has many broken or bruised ribs, a nasty concussion and second degree burns over a lot of his body. He is still unconscious and the prognosis is…" There was an audible pause in his speech, but Hawk forced himself to finish the sentence. "…not good." His head lowered slightly, then raised again when a soft cough caught his attention.

"Beachhead?" he asked, pointing to the man in the black vest and camouflaged pants who stood about twelve feet away, his arm extended.

"What are they going to do about those agents?" he asked.

"Well…the agents have already been…taken care of." Hawk’s eyes were stern and serious. "All four missing agents were found in their respective apartments with self-inflicted gunshot wounds to the head." The crowd practically erupted into hushed speech and frantic whispers.

"So they whacked The President, then themselves?" asked Hit & Run, confusion settling in on his face.

"No. The wounds were all about five days old. It would appear that the agents were eliminated, then a certain group of persons ‘borrowed’ their identities to pull of the mission. We believe Agent Tolliver is the killer, which conflicts with all known reports that Whisper is a man. She was the first one reported missing. So either Whisper enlisted in her aid for the killing, or she is in fact Whisper herself."

"So, what’s the plan, General?" asked Wild Bill in his distinctive Texan twang. He ran a finger across the wide brim of his cowboy hat.

"The GI Joe Team is going into full active duty as of now. Everyone is being given clearance to Level Six of the Pentagon where we will establish a momentary base of operations until a more permanent solution can be found. Other than that, we have to take a wait and see attitude."

"Do we know where Cobra is stationed?" Torpedo asked, his wide, Hawaiian features looking concerned.

"Negative. We sent a S.E.A.L. Team to investigate Cobra Island, but…we have heard nothing yet. However they do not report to me, so it is possible that I am just out of the loop." He finished the sentence in a low, grim voice. "But we are maintaining constant satellite surveillance and have, so far turned up nothing. Unfortunately, without solid evidence, no way is the D.O.D. going to greenlight an invasion force on an uninhabited island."

"W…with all due respect, sir?" a light voice echoed from the front of the audience. Hawk looked down at the young Asian man.

"Yes, Blackout?" he asked.

"If I could look at those satellite photos, that would be good. I have an imaging program that I came up with that rivals even those in Washington. I might be able to find something."

"No problem, son. Washington’s Pentagon is our Pentagon once we arrive there. Cobra seems to be taken a lot more seriously, now that they’ve done this. Any other questions?" he asked again. There were none. "All right, next stop is MacGuire Air Force Base. There’s a C-130 waiting to transport us to the Capital. Everyone board up in the APCs outside and we’ll meet at MacGuire!"

"YES, SIR!" was the unanimous, eager reply.

The blue/green ocean water churned and chopped on the surface of the Gulf of Mexico. The sun was peeking out over the pink clouds of early morning, and cast a luminescent orange haze over the thrashing waves. Just under the surface a maroon streak zipped through the rough waters like an arrow through whipped cream, barely even fazed by the liquid substance around it. It was a thin, narrow vehicle, very reminiscent of the Cobra Stellar Stiletto, the organizations experimental rocket. Cobra’s finances were not what they once were, so missions in space were out of the equation and most of the Stilettos were sold off for profit. Cobra Commander kept a few of them around and converted them into the new prototype Cobra MAKO. It was a small submersible vehicle, capable of holding two passengers and moving at incredible speeds throughout the ocean. It was modified to carry two sea to sea torpedoes as well as a group of four sea to air cruise missiles. Small twin cannons were set into the metal skin on either side of the sharp nose cone. It hurtled through the greenish liquid, unhindered and unimpeded by the crashing waves and the wild wind that came along with the month of March. Firefly manned the vehicle very carefully, making sure not to let even the slightest bit of it break the surface. It was daylight and the satellites had a perfect view of the island and its surrounding territory. He had no intention of blowing Cobra’s plan before it even got off the ground. Behind him Whisper was wedged into the rear seat, a small compartment barely large enough to fit even her small frame. The MAKO was primarily designed for a single pilot, but the second passenger could fit if necessary. It was not a comfortable ride, however.

"Hang on, Whisper," Firefly said his voice hushed and intense. They were the first words he had spoken the entire trip from the Eastern Seaboard. With a subtle twist of his wrists, the slick red vehicle hit a steep decline and plummeted deep into the ocean. Underwater was remarkably similar to outer space in many ways, one of which was the serious change in air pressure outside of the vehicle. The Stiletto had already been designed to compensate, so it’s shift in function to an underwater sub was not a long stretch. The underneath of Cobra Island soon came into view, a large jagged chunk of land mass extending down towards the ocean floor, further than either of them could see. It was quiet and serene down here. The only noise the swift howl of the MAKO piercing through the water. Fish darted in every direction to make a path, and Whisper even thought she saw a shark a few different times during the long trek. It could have been a lot longer, though. It helped that the MAKO was an incredibly aerodynamic and quick little vehicle. It was astonishingly simple to control as well, as this was the first time Firefly had piloted one. The learning curve was practically a flat line, but it was one of those things that were easy to learn, yet very hard to master. Hurtling in a straight line towards an established destination was one thing, controlling it in the middle of a firefight, dodging torpedoes and returning fire…Firefly figured that was something else entirely. Just ahead, the rocky underbelly of the large island grew closer and closer. Whisper’s eyes focused and refocused, trying to see what they were going to do. They appeared to be heading for a ragged wall of underwater rock. The Stiletto plowed onward through the ocean water, the liquid splitting around the speedy watercraft. Whisper’s hands clutched tight to the side of her seat as the island grew nearer still and Firefly showed no sign of stopping.

"Firefly?" she asked, somewhat nervously.

"Quiet. I have to be heading for just the right quadrant." Whisper fought the urge to close her eyes, as the dark mass of land was now only feet away. Just as the MAKO seemed like it was going to strike the rock and explode into pieces, burying its hapless passengers in an underwater grave, the rock face split open and the modified rocket zipped through the momentary open gap. The thick doors concealed by rock slammed shut behind them as they cruised onward, now in a narrow tunnel at a slight incline. It was obvious that this tunnel was constructed especially for this vehicle and that the driver could not be just anyone. Luckily, Firefly’s piloting over the night had sharpened his skills and he maintained a direct, straight heading, keeping the sub evenly spaced between the two smooth walls. The passage continued upwards at a slight angle, keeping fairly straight with no sudden turns. Suddenly, light bathed into the cockpit, a bright, artificially yellow light, which temporarily blinded the passengers. It didn’t matter, though as the thin red ship blasted through the surface of the calm ocean water, threatened to become airborne, then halted by the grip of the liquid it had tried to escape from. It appeared to pause in midair, and then plunged downward, striking the motionless water with a loud bang and huge splash. As the MAKO wobbled to a still position, the reinforced canopy flipped open with a click and the two operatives stepped out. Whisper recognized the place now. It was a branch of the motor pool, a large underground cavern that housed Cobra’s water vehicles. The cave seemed to spread for miles, Moray Hydrofoils, single manned Hydrosleds, and Piranhas dotting the landscape. Rows of florescent lights ran across the rocky ceiling of the cave, held together by thick titanium plates. They were in a still pool of water, obviously the entrance point for the MAKO, as there were two others parked on a dock, about twenty feet away. A metal platform slowly extended as if by magic from the metal floor, which acted as the docks for Cobra’s water arsenal. Once the floor started, there was a large, round room, computer banks and charts plastered against the far wall. A lone, winding staircase led up to the upper level, and a large cavernous passage ran from deep inside the island to the ocean outside. Whisper figured a secret door very similar to the one she had just witnessed must lead out to the Gulf. On the metal floor, Cobra Commander stood in his regal dress uniform, this one black instead of blue. A gold braid ran over his chest on this uniform, matching the colors of the tasseled shoulder pads, which sat on his broad shoulders. The Cobra symbol on this uniform was silver rather than red. This seemed to be an important occasion. The ever-present Snakebite flanked the Commander, and the two Immortals flanked him. Crimson Guard members stood at rigid attention, the Supreme squad leaders heading their respective groups. Tele-Vipers and Techno-Vipers manned the monitors and computer screens behind the collected officers and gray suited Eel underwater specialists scurried about, checking various equipment. Three of them bobbed up out of the water surrounding the sub, staring out from behind plexi-glass goggles. The tips of their spear guns jutted from the water ever so slightly, a mere precaution in case those entering were not friendly. The platform stopped extending with a solid clunk, mere feet from the edge of the MAKO. Several Eels collected on the ramp as the two emerged from the small cockpit. A new Cobra water trooper, code-named: Tigershark joined the Eels on the ramp. Tigershark was the MAKO operator and expert underwater combatant. There were five Tigersharks, one for each MAKO, and each one had to survive Eel training as well as Lamprey and Secto-Viper training. It was argued that the Tigersharks were the most highly skilled Cobra water operatives, yet piloted the most simple of Cobra watercraft. However, the MAKO was only simple on the exterior. To become an expert on the narrow underwater sub, your reflexes had to be incredible, your shooting skill amazing and your understanding of underwater physics like no others. The craft was fast and fussy. Anyone could drive it, but only the most highly trained operatives could use it in battle. The underwater troops quickly swarmed over the vehicle, Tigershark skillfully vaulting into the driver’s seat, flipping switches and adjusting toggles. The Eels combed the surface of it for any unwelcome devices or flaws with the design. Firefly walked confidently along the metal platform, which rested just on top of the smooth water’s surface. Whisper followed close behind, now in her full battle gear, blue and black fatigues and her black facemask. A strand of dark hair fell from underneath the mask and brushed over the smooth features of her pale face. She brushed it annoyingly aside and noticed for the first time that there was a dark red carpet leading from the edge of the docks to the far wall. She glanced into the crowd and quickly picked out Dr. Mindbender, Overlord, and Scrap Iron. Wild Weasel stood at attention on the Commander’s other side. The Cobra hierarchy was all here. Whisper had to fight the urge to blush. As soon as the two Cobras set foot on the metal dock, Cobra Commander’s voice boomed loud and large.

"Today begins a new dawn for the Cobra organization!" He threw his arms majestically into the air, his crimson cape flowing back over his shoulders and swaying lightly behind his back. The tassels on his shoulder pads shook almost comically. "Great Firefly! Whisper! They return from a mission most successful!" the crowd of officers roared their approval, a great burst of confident applause and shouts of congratulations. Whisper was immediately uncomfortable. She was raised in the shadows, and trained to stay there. Is this presentation really necessary? She wondered to herself, but kept her thoughts quiet. Cobra Commander turned to the officers, quickly joined by Firefly, who stood confidently next to him and Whisper, who shrunk down almost behind him, trying desperately to be out of sight. "My officers! You are the driving force behind Cobra! Without you, we would not exist. I promise the fruits of victory will be shared with all when the time comes! Your names will adorn the great monument to Cobra…a towering symbol devoted to this day. The first day of our rule!" His arms pumped and with every pump, burst of cheers echoed in the cave. His eyes were wild with passionate ambition behind the flowing black hood, his body chemistry animated and excited. Whisper could already see this enthusiasm rubbing off on the officers as they cheered and raised their arms in triumph. She was glad to be such an important part of the new rule. But had Destro succeeded? That was the important part. If Destro had succeeded, then the world indeed did belong to Cobra.