CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

The Plan Revealed!

 

 

 

 

The signal had gone out, and the reaction was swift to say the least.  Four doors down from the War Room sat the briefing center.  It was a room of decent, but not large size, with the capacity to hold approximately one hundred people.  Only a handful of hours had passed since the signal was sent out over pagers, securely fastened to every Joe currently on the roster.  In fact, all of the Joes, save two, had been gathered here for over an hour, merely waiting for Agent Wilkens so the briefing could begin.  The room was customizable, depending on the crowd or the mission parameters, and for this particular briefing, it was bare bones all the way.  Chairs were lined up in five rows, with ten chairs per row.  Each row was straight and even, a veritable arrow of metal folding chairs, one after another in the large quiver of the briefing room.  Not all the chairs were occupied, but most were, and the men chattered nervously amongst themselves, waiting for Agent Wilkens, who had apparently decided to be fashionably late to this little get together.  Hawk figured it gave him a warped sense of authority to have everyone waiting for him, but unfortunately, time was probably not on their side, and General Hawk could think of many more opportune times and ways for the Agent to demonstrate his supposed authority.  Hawk paced slowly in front of the crowd, Stalker, Duke and Falcon milling around nearby.  Stalker had arrived just after the signal had been sent, and filled Hawk in on the specifics of the action in Nevada, of which he remembered few.  Stalker could now remember with clarity the major occurrences of the past thirty-six hours, and that was the important part.  After what seemed like an eternity, Agent Wilkens walked through the metal door, and let it slide swiftly shut behind him with a low hiss.  There were still four Joes not present.  Law and Chuckles were still in the hospital and Hawk knew where the other two were, and what they were working on was most important.  Wilkens walked up to the General and gestured towards him.

“Are we going to get this rolling, General?” he asked.  “Time is of the essence.” Wilkens seemed to take great pleasure in this little barb and smirked as he took his place behind the man in the leather bomber jacket and camouflage pants.  Hawk glared at the Agent from the corner of his eye and stepped into the light shining at the front of the room.  There was no podium or stage, it was a plain flat floor and the wall behind him was covered in various maps.  The Joes noticed with nervous anticipation that most of the maps covered the Gulf of Mexico and surrounding areas.

“All right, Gentlemen,” Hawk said clearly, his voice booming across the open air.  It reverberated slightly off of the walls and Hawk figured it was due to the serious sound proofing that this room was no doubt equipped with.  “I apologize for keeping you waiting, and I’m sorry if I ruined anyone’s evening,” he smirked and cast an eye towards Clutch, whose loud complaints had captured everyone’s attention earlier in the night.  Clutch grinned back and shrugged nonchalantly. 

“As I’m sure you all know,” the General continued, eager to get this meeting rolling, “that I wouldn’t call you all together here if it wasn’t important.  There have been some important changes in the past twenty-four hours, and we want to make everyone aware of what is going down and when.”  Curious speech and wondering gestures flowed through the crowd at the ambiguous statement, but Hawk didn’t wait for the talking to die down.  “Stalker has just redlined over here from Nevada to fill us all in, so he has the floor.” The General stepped to one side, and Stalker stepped up in front of the crowd.  His arm was wrapped in bandages and slung through a white cloth sling, hanging at his side.  He wore his camouflage uniform and beret, and still looked intimidating in spite of the so-called handicap.

“Listen up, troops!” he barked, his all too familiar voice ringing comfortably in the Joes’ ears.  “At about eighteen fifteen Pacific Time on Friday night, the base where I was stationed in the Nevada desert was raided by—“

Across the room, the metal door hissed open, breaking the surrounding silence, and throwing Stalker slightly off track.  He glared at the door as Mainframe and Blackout walked through it, desperate looks on their faces.  Mainframe cleared his throat uncomfortably, his eyes darting around.  The Joes all turned and looked, and Stalker halted his speech.

“Sorry to interrupt Stalker,” he started,  “but we have some…important news.”  His face was contorted into a worried grimace, his mouth twitching just slightly.  Stalker did not like the look on his face or the sound of his voice.

“All right, Mainframe.  I know what Hawk had you working on.  You say it’s important, it must be.  It’s all yours,” Stalker said gracefully, and stepped away from the center of attention.  Mainframe and Blackout stood before the group, their faces unchanged.  Mainframe appeared more stoic and composed, but Blackout was sweating, and almost visibly shaken.  This had something to do with the news they were delivering, but had more to do with the fact that he was standing at the center of attention.

“That was fast,” Hawk said to Mainframe, his brow furrowing.

“ Doesn’t take long when you know what to look for,” Mainframe replied simply.  “Do you want to say anything?” he asked Blackout, who peered out into the crowd with quiet dread.

“N…no, thank you.  Go ahead,” he sputtered, and walked away.  A few scattered chuckles escaped the crowd of Joes, but Blackout couldn’t hear them.

Mainframe gathered his thoughts, not entirely sure where to begin.  His eyes were puffy with black bags underneath them, his dark hair tossed and messy.  He wore his familiar gray uniform, but it was rumpled and wrinkled, and no one even knew where his helmet was.  He scratched his head slowly and finally decided to begin. 

“I apologize in advance if I rush through this, but I am very afraid that time is our enemy.  If we don’t act soon, then I fear it may be too late to do anything at all.” Mainframe lowered his head, thinking of the best way to proceed with his news.  “I guess I’ll start from the beginning.”  He cleared his throat again, and glared down at the ruffled sheets of paper clutched in his tight black-gloved fists.  “Within the past week, there have been exactly twelve robberies or thefts from various military installations throughout North America.  Up until thirty-six hours ago, they were very low- key and were only even noticed after an inspector did his regular weekly inventory.  In each one, a small inconsequential item was taken. Nothing of any importance, and nothing to take note of.  A small contraption here, a random device there…little things that wouldn’t be noticed.  Even when the inspector registered the item as missing it was done with a shrug of the shoulders and little concern or worry.”  Mainframe stopped for a second and cleared his throat nervously for the third time, looking out over the crowd.  Every eye was fixed on him.  “Well, that all changed Friday night, as Stalker was about to tell you.  On Friday, there was an all out attack and raid on a military base in Nevada and a number of experimental prototypes were stolen.  This certain raid drew a red flag from General Hawk, and he asked me and Blackout to research it, and we have, which is what brings us here today.”  He stopped again and looked out to the crowd, this time more for effect than anything else.  “Throughout our research and study over the past five hours we have deduced that all of these robberies and thefts were perpetrated by none other than Cobra.” A rippling of excited conversation flowed through the mass of Joes, each one looking curiously at another.  “Stalker was an eye witness in Nevada, and—“

“Wait a minute!” Agent Wilkens shouted.  “You’re blaming Cobra for everything now?  What, did they shoot JFK, too?” he scowled.  “Exactly when did they have time to raid these bases when they were planning the assassination of our president?”

“I will explain everything, Agent Wilkens,” Mainframe said somewhat sternly.  He rolled his eyes slightly as he turned back towards the crowd.  “About thirty-six hours ago, approximately twenty-one fifteen, Eastern Standard Time, an insanely well choreographed and executed series of events exploded throughout North America.” Mainframe pointed these facts out succinctly and to the point.  “Within fifteen minutes, six military installations were outright raided by masked terrorists, each time, the group successfully made off with some impressive military hardware.  No weapons, no explosives, but prototype machinery and fancy electronics.  Similar to the first six thefts, but on a larger scale.  These were raids that on a normal day w—“

“What does this have to do with the assassination of our president?” Wilkens demanded again, this time actually stepping up almost toe-to-toe with Mainframe.

“If you would have some patience, Agent Wilkens I will explain.” Mainframe was angered, and stepped closer to Wilkens, causing him to step back slightly.  He cocked his head, composed himself, then turned back facing forward.

“Now, as I was saying…these raids that occurred Friday night would have normally become immediate front page material, had there not been a more pressing matter to occupy the media’s thoughts that night.” He said it simply and left the sentence hanging in the air to soak into everyone’s active imaginations.  The Joes sat in stunned silence, all of a sudden realizing exactly what the computer expert was saying.  It was baffling…unbelievable; yet, made perfect sense.  Agent Wilkens was the only one who could express his doubt in words.

“What are you saying?” Wilkens again demanded.  “Do you actually think Cobra assassinated the most powerful man in the free world as a DISTRACTION?” he spat out the last word with spite and rage, his voice unbelieving.

“You’ve obviously never dealt with Cobra before, Agent,” Hawk said this time, backing his man, as he should.  “This is right up their alley.”

Wilkens stepped back, shaking his head.

“These events…these thefts…alone and isolated, they seem like nothing…alone, they are not newsworthy events, nothing to worry about.” Mainframe was continuing, attempting to shut out the angry Agent’s ranting.  “But once you string them together…once you put the pieces together and connect them…it paints a very disturbing picture.” He finished the sentence and placed his hands on his hips, the papers still squeezed tightly between his fingers.  “Blackout?  Your turn, kid,” Mainframe said, gesturing towards the young man.  Blackout’s heart raced, his sweat glands bubbling to the surface, but he quickly composed himself, just remembering what was at stake here.

“Thanks to the wonders of the Internet,” he started, taking a deep breath.  “We were able to pull these news stories from small backwoods papers and military communications.  We can only hope that we caught it in time.  Mainframe and myself were able to get a running inventory of the missing items and hopefully deduce Cobra’s reasoning behind the numerous thefts and all out raids.  Fortunately…or maybe unfortunately, we were successful, and are pretty sure what Cobra is up to.”  He glanced down at his shoes, drawing in a deep breath, his heart thrashing in his tight chest.

“Well, spit it out, kid!” shouted Roadblock from the front row.  He smirked as he said it, which eased Blackout’s nerves slightly.

Blackout smiled slightly, and lifted his head again, clearing his throat.  “Almost all of the components that were taken from these facilities are key ingredients in something we are all now familiar with.  The Frequency Wave Bomb, Code Name: SuperFreak.” That now said, he relaxed slightly as nervous chatter erupted through the room.

“Why make it when they can steal it?” Duke asked from the rear, echoing what was in the minds of many people in the room.

“Because, Sergeant,” Blackout continued, nodding respectively to Duke, “they are not merely duplicating the weapon, they are modifying it.”  He said it with an informative certainty…as if a professor explaining a theory to his students.

“Certainly Cobra doesn’t have the capabilities to do that!” Wilkens shouted, disbelief showing in his voice.

“Agent Wilkens,” Hawk said simply, “Two agents of Cobra successfully cloned and grew a human being almost a full decade before the greatest scientists in the world cloned a sheep.  If anyone can do it, Destro and Dr. Mindbender can.” This seemed to put Wilkens in his place and he shut his mouth obediently.

“When we first studied the data,” Blackout continued, “we were confused.  One part didn’t quite fit.  The prototype conductors taken from the base in Nevada stuck out like sore thumbs.  They didn’t belong.  Then, we dug deeper.” Blackout’s voice faded slightly and he cleared his throat again.

“You okay, kid?” Mainframe asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling.  He rubbed his hands on his red quilted shirt and lifted his eyes again.  “As I’m sure you all know, the human body is made up of countless cells and mitochondria, each one giving off certain energy.  The human body is not unlike a living generator, feeding off the energy in these cells and releasing it into the air.  Humans are also not unlike machines, each one with a specific wavelength or frequency to them.  Some people refer to these fields of energy as ‘auras’, but we take a more scientific approach.”  He stood like a teacher before a biology class, and instinctively remembered back to his days at MIT, which seemed so long ago.

“We certainly did not gather everyone here for a science lesson, soldier,” Agent Wilkens sneered.

“No.  Of course not.” Blackout cleared his throat again and continued.  “Every human has a unique wavelength or frequency of energy naturally given off by the body, but they are subtly unique.  At the core, however, every human gives off this same energy field, with very, very minute changes to differentiate between them.”  He noticed the Joes growing slightly bored and confused with the conversation.  Blackout decided it was probably time to wrap it up.  “Those prototype conductors, when combined and tweaked together with the rest of the Wave Bomb, creates a weapon capable of using those wavelengths…those frequency waves to break down the human body at a molecular level.” He finished the sentence with emphasis, but noticed with chagrin that many of the Joes still did not completely follow.  His thoughts wandered, suddenly realizing what frustration his instructors at MIT must have gone through teaching students who simply did not comprehend.  Well, students without a 220 IQ, such as he had.  “What this weapon is capable of,” he continued, “is the complete eradication of the human body.  No damage to the surrounding areas.  When this bomb hits, the human body simply ceases to exist…it evaporates completely, leaving nothing but a warm breeze.” He emphasized the ending again, this time more satisfied with the result.  More nervous chatter and more anxious looks in the eyes.

“So you’re saying,” Hawk said, stepping up close, “that if Cobra were to detonate this weapon in a populated area, that all human life would be vaporized?”

“Yes, sir.  Completely erased as if it never existed.  Leaving all vehicles, power plants, banks and weapons—“

“--ripe for the picking.” Hawk finished Blackout’s sentence for him, but made it no less comfortable.  “Why like this, though?  Chemical weapons would have a similar effect.”

“Right, but this gets rid of that nasty clean up…plus, there are ways to combat chemicals… this weapon would be darn near unstoppable.” Blackout drew another nervous breath as he broke the news to the Joes.

Agent Wilkens was irate.  “Well, exactly what are we supposed to do about this?” has asked, his face burning red.

“Well, there is some good news,” Blackout continued.  “This particular bomb is not capable of ICBM launch.  It must be dropped from a plane over the intended target.  This produces a good window of opportunity.”

“So, we send the whole damn Air Force in and smoke that island to the bottom of the sea!” Wilkens was shouting.  “Easy solution.”

“Not so easy, Agent Wilkens,” Hawk said, trying to calm the man down.  “An engagement of that size would attract attention from here to the Gulf of Mexico.  Cobra could launch a plane and get a bomb off well before our planes reach the island.  Even detonation on coastal North America would be a catastrophe so tragic that—“

“—combined with the President’s recent demise, could throw the country in enough turmoil to enable a strike force to come in.” Duke finished Hawk’s sentence.  “And, quite simply, take over.”  All eyes were deadly serious, and faces grim.

Wilkens threw up his hands.  “Ridiculous!  We have air bases along the southern coast.  It wouldn’t be—“ he was playing his role of devil’s advocate a little too well.

“And what if Cobra launches the plane south?” Hawk demanded.  “Towards South America?  There would still be thousands, maybe millions of casualties.  That’s not a chance we can take, Agent.”

Agent Wilkens finally took the hint and backed off.  “Then what do you propose, General Hawk?”

“I think you know.”  Hawk glared at the Agent, and if Wilkens knew what Hawk was referring to, he showed no signs of comprehension.  “This news requires immediate attention, but needs finesse,” Hawk continued.  “A small covert group of operatives…maybe forty troops.”  His eyes rose slightly, searching for understanding in the Agent’s face.  “You know, Wilkens…a daring, highly trained special missions force?  See what I’m getting at, Agent?” Hawk smiled slightly afterwards, satisfied that he got his point across.

“Very well, General.  You’ve made your point.  As of now GI Joe is in charge of this operation,” Wilkens conceded, already looking extremely unhappy about the decision.

General Hawk smiled with satisfaction.  “Good.  So this op is now under military control?” Hawk asked simply.

“Yes, General.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.  Wilkens, you’re dismissed.”  He brushed him off with a wave of his hand, and turned towards his troops.

“Excuse me?”

“This is under military control now, Agent.  That makes me the commanding officer.  You are dismissed, Agent.  Return to your quarters.” Hawk smiled a satisfied grin.

“You can’t do that!”

“I am doing it, Wilkens…will you go peacefully or do I have to call the MP’s?”

Wilkens scowled deeply, a thick crevasse drilling a horizontal line through his forehead.  “All right, General.  Have it your way.  But rest assured, the Secretary will hear of this.”

“Good…make sure not to leave anything out, Wilkens.” Hawk gestured towards the door and the Agent stormed out past the smirking gazes of the Joes.  The door hissed open, then closed and laughter echoed throughout the room.

“Nicely done, Hawk!” shouted Dial Tone who sat in the second row.  Whispering guffaws continued to rippled through until Hawk brought everything back into focus.

“All right, Joes.  Laugh time is over as of now.  From here on, things are serious.  Deadly serious.” His eyes narrowed to slits as he glared down at the men before him.  “Duke, Falcon and I have been preparing for this eventuality, and have already come up with our plan of attack.  Time is of the utmost importance, so things need to get rolling ASAP.” He paced slowly and seriously back and forth in front of the crowd.  “We have already sent the hardware requisitions up the chain of command, and should have all the necessary equipment in approximately six hours.  Everyone here has exactly that much time to grab some rack time and meet for transport to the airfield in Langley.  There will be one C-130 waiting for us, and it takes off in precisely six hours.  Mission specifics will be given out in transport.”  He stood rigid, all eyes focused directly on him.  Brigadier General Clayton Abernathy.  Commanding Officer of the most elite, highly trained Special Forces group in the known world.  His heart swelled with pride, but his stern glare gave nothing away.  The feeling was back in his blood now…and he welcomed it with open arms.  “Now, this mission is going to be the definition of hairy,” he continued, spinning on his heel and staring down at the troops.  His troops.  It’ll be on a volunteer only basis, since I know you all have other things you could be doing.” Hawk stopped and stared out to his men, his arms crossed over his chest.  “We may as well get this out of the way now.  Volunteers?”

Every single hand in the room immediately shot to the ceiling with no hesitation or thought.  Hawk smiled.  “That’s what I like to see, Joes.  If there ever was a job for GI Joe, this one is it.  I’m proud to have you men under my command, and I know you’re actions within the next twenty-four hours will only serve to make me prouder.  Let’s go, men…Yo Joe!”

“YO JOE!!!” the whole crowd responded with determined invigoration.  Almost as a whole, the group of Joes jumped to their feet and rushed out the door, making for their temporary quarters for some good rest time before the mission.  The crowd dispersed, leaving Hawk, Duke, and Falcon at the front of the room.  Leatherneck was still standing by the chairs, looking curious, and began walking towards them.  He was dressed in his camouflage BDU and Marine Corps hat, his black moustache trimmed tight under his nose.

“General Hawk, sir,” he said with great respect, saluting stiffly.

“What is it, Leatherneck?” Hawk asked, gesturing for Leatherneck to be at ease.

“Permission to speak candidly, sir,” he said, his eyes darting slightly.

“Of course,” Hawk replied, and glanced at Duke and Falcon.  “Meet me in the War Room, gentlemen.  You’re dismissed.”

“Sir.” Both men said nodding their heads, then saluted stiffly and left.

“Go ahead, Leatherneck,” Hawk said, pulling over a metal chair and sitting backwards in it.  Leatherneck copied the motion and sat facing his General.

“I was just curious, sir.  About Wet Suit.  Where is he?  I know he still goes on ops for the S.E.A.L.s…I was sure he’d be glad to back with the Joes.”

“Have you two been keeping in touch?” Hawk asked, trying to skirt the issue slightly.

“Yes, sir.  Off and on.  I haven’t spoken to him in quite a while now, though.  Figured I’d see him here.”

“Leatherneck, there’s something you should know,” Hawk said quietly.  Leatherneck’s face grew concerned.  He’d heard speeches like this before.

“Deal me in, Hawk.” He said with iron certainty.

“A little over a week ago, just as the team was getting rolling again, Wet Suit’s S.E.A.L. Team was sent to Cobra Island for recon.”

Leatherneck grew uneasy.  “One S.E.A.L. Team?  Against Cobra Island?”

“At the time, Cobra Island was thought to be uninhabited.  Obviously, intel was wrong again.”

“What happened, General?” Leatherneck asked eagerly.

“We lost communication with them shortly after the mission was a go.  We don’t know exactly what happened, but in light of certain events, our hopes are…not up.” He lowered his head slightly, almost apologetically.

“They just got written off?” Leatherneck asked angrily.

“Well, I circumvented the brass and sent in a covert man myself…the specifics of which I can’t divulge.  ‘Need to know’ and all that garbage.”

“One man?”

“Trust me, one was enough.”

“What did he find?”

“I don’t know.  He is suddenly not responding to my communications.  I think the Juggler’s suppressed him…won’t let him report to me.”

“I see,” Leatherneck said, lowering his head as well.

“I’m sorry, Leatherneck.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sir,” the Marine said sternly, and stood up, quickly recomposing himself.  “I make you a promise though, sir.”

“What is that, soldier?” Hawk asked, standing himself.

“One way or another, if Wet Suit is on that island…I’m bringing him home,” he said matter-of-factly, then stood, saluted, and turned and walked off leaving Hawk alone with his thoughts.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, troop,” Hawk replied, lowering his own salute.

 

 

The small corridor was dark, illuminated only be the small lamps adorning the walls, mostly for decoration, and not really useful in their purpose.  The broad shouldered man halted by the slick, silver metal door, out of place in the corridor, which looked normal in all other ways.

“Destro…Greed, Ambition and Ruthlessness,” he said simply, the voice monitor picking up the key phrase and voice pattern, then whipping the door open with a whisper.  Destro walked in, sighing heavily, glad just to be back in his quarters after the long night of working with Dr. Mindbender, a great task in and of itself.  He halted suddenly, surprised at the figure who was seated at the foot of his bed, one leg bent crooked, pulling a long, black boot on over her slender calf.

“Baroness?” he asked, surprised.  “Why aren’t you asleep?  It’s late,” he said, unzipping the form fitting leather jacket and hanging it neatly in the closet, making sure the tall, red collar was not being crumpled.

“I was coming to check on your progress, my dear Destro,” she said in her unmistakable accent, standing and arching her back.  She was fully dressed in her black leather outfit except for her gloves, which lay in a pile on the bed.  Her hair was slightly messy from sleep and she walked over to the dresser on her side of the bed, where a round mirror sat.

“Ach…done finally,” Destro exclaimed.  “If I’d had to spend one more minute with that bald headed ignoramus, I don’t know what I would’ve done.” He shook his head, still encased by the silver mask, which looked almost comical above his white tank top and leather pants.  He was removing his gloves and wristbands and set them on a small shelf in the small closet.  The Baroness chuckled and opened the top drawer, searching for her hairbrush.

“Are you going somewhere, my dear?” Destro asked, giving her a stern look.

“Yes…my nerves are…restless.  I think the big day has got everyone on edge.  I figured I’d go to the training center and get some target practice in.”

“Very well, dear.” Destro said, stretching. 

The Baroness continued to fish through the drawer, and suddenly swore quietly.

“What?” Destro asked, walking over to her.  The Baroness pulled out her hairbrush in one hand and a jumble of silver in the other that Destro couldn’t make out.

“Why do you still have these?” she asked stiffly and tossed the silver jumble at the large man.  His hand shot nimbly out and scooped the items from the air, and then he opened his fist and lowered his head.

“Baroness,” he said softly, “it’s not something I can explain.  A momento, I guess.  Something to remember—“

“Why do you need to remember?  It is old news, James,” she said angrily, plowing the brush through her thick dark hair.

“It’s an event I’m not proud of.  I need something to remember it by.”

“Keeping it as a trophy would be more appro—“

“Anastasia!” Destro shouted angrily.  The Baroness halted her brushing and glanced back, scowling under her glasses.

“I’m going to the firing range,” she said coldly and stood, brushing past her significant other.  Destro wrapped a firm hand around her shoulder.

“Please try to understand, Baroness,” he said kindly, but firmly.  She shook her head and left the room, the door slipping shut behind her.  Destro sighed again, looking at the silver jumbled in his open palm.  He sat on the bed, his head hanging.

“Am I still cut out for this?” he asked no one.  “Killing for a cause…to achieve a goal is one thing.  Senseless murder…” he stopped speaking and tossed the dog tags in his hand over to the dresser where they landed with a soft metal clunk.  “It was an accident…why do I feel this way?” he shouted to the open air, his voice lost to the outside world in the soundproofed walls.  He stood slowly, pressing the releases on his mask, then dropped it onto the bed.  He scooped up the halves and leaned over the bed, hooking them onto the mannequin head that sat on the dresser on the other side.  He ran a hand over his freshly shaven head and took a lingering look at the dog tags, the name face up and emblazoned in his self-conscious.  Hart-Burnett, Alison R; 853-71-6749; U.S. Army. 

“Lady Jaye,” he said in a whisper, “I am sorry.” He lay down on the soft bed, over the covers, his leather pants still on and let sleep wrap him in its warm embrace.

 

 

The six hours flew like seconds to all concerned and the Joes soon found themselves boarding a single C-130 Hercules and airborne.  They had boarded the plane dressed in simple camouflage BDU’s so as not to attract attention, but as soon as the plane took to the air, they began peeling off the outer layers of uniform and revealing their own personal battle togs underneath.  The cargo hold of the C-130 was bristling with nervous energy and anticipation as the Joes were embarking on their first mission together in over half a decade.  The C-130 was not a quiet plane, the low rumbling of powerful engines and the muffled rush of air as its rounded nose pushed through the lower atmosphere permeated the cargo hold, but it did not cover the frantic chatter of the soldiers inside.  The familiar groups all stood clustered together, remembering old times, planning strategies…declaring what they were personally going to do to Cobra Commander once they got there.  Roadblock, Gung Ho, Leatherneck, Zap, Airtight, Alpine and Bazooka stood in one cluster, milling over their weapons and putting the finishing touches on their uniforms.  Roadblock lifted his fifty caliber with seeming effortlessness and looked it over carefully.

“How ya doing, baby?” he asked, running a dark hand, covered by tight green gloves, over its metal surface.

“Good grief, Roadblock,” Gung Ho chortled, rolling his eyes underneath the green cloth wound over his forehead.  “If you cared about your fellow Joes as much as you did for that dang gun, we’d have all the cover fire we needed!” his strong, gruff voice broke the tension well, just grazed with his trademark Cajun drawl.

“Don’t you worry, you bald jarhead!” Roadblock joked.  “Me ‘n Betsy here will give you all the cover you need!” he grinned under his goatee and swung the gun around much like a smaller man would swing around a water pistol.  His massive frame made the surrounding Joes look almost like children, and all of them approached the six-foot mark.

“Yeah, and whatever he can’t do with the .50, we’ll take care of with some well placed LAW and HEAT, my man!” Zap said confidently, his voice thick with his accent.  He motioned to himself and Bazooka, who stood next to him, his arms crossed over his red football jersey.  His helmet was on slightly crooked and a confident grin shone under his thick black moustache.

“And sure as heck, if anyone’s firing on ‘Zooka, I’ll be taking them down!” Alpine said smartly, cocking his small submachine gun, and wrapping a coil of rope over his right shoulder.

“Hey…the Marines are here!  The rest of you boys can just go home!” Leatherneck shouted with a smile, patting Gung Ho on the shoulder.

“Yeah!  Less of you sorry losers we have to carry home!” Gung Ho laughed out loud and the rest of the group joined in.

“Don’t worry, Gung Ho, you won’t have to carry me,” Airtight said happily, walking up to the burly Marine.  “I don’t plan on getting shot.”

Gung Ho shook his head humorously.  “I’ll tell ya, Airtight!  The past six years hasn’t dulled your geekness any!” he guffawed loudly and the rest of the group did the same.  Airtight smirked.

“See if you say that when the Cobra’s are dropping mustard gas on us!” he smiled and patted the thick green helmet with built in gas mask that he was wearing.  A few feet away, Shockwave, Low Light and Kevlar stood glancing over at the jovial group.

“They always this rowdy?” Kevlar asked, smiling slightly.

“Before a mission, yup,” Low Light replied.  “Once things go down, though…joke’s over.” His voice became a gruff whisper as he said that, his eyes turning serious.  He was wearing his brown uniform with dark gray vest and pants.  His black helmet sat firmly on his head, but the night vision visor was aimed at the ceiling, and his face was open, his hair dyed black and his thick beard blending with the blotches of camouflage face paint already applied.  No one had known the destination yet, so everyone came ready to go.

“Nervous, Kage?” Shockwave asked Kevlar, using his real name to ease tension a little.

“Little bit.  Kind of out of my element here, aren’t I?”

“You volunteered, man,” Shockwave laughed.  “That’ll teach you, huh?” They shared the laugh, but were both uneasy on the inside.  It had been a while since this group was in full on combat, and they had trained vigorously over the past week, but the ultimate test was coming soon.  Another group was anxiously talking amongst themselves near the edge of the cargo bay.  Hit & Run, Repeater, Bullhorn, Outback, and Spearhead stood nervously, not conversing freely like their comrades.

“Anybody seen Beachhead?” Hit & Run asked the men surrounding him.  Each one shook their head.

“Lot of people I don’t see here,” Repeater replied.  “Duke, Falcon, Stalker…Ace.  Lots of guys.”

Hit & Run shrugged his shoulders and was about to speak again when a voice much louder than his broke up his conversation.

“Ten- HUT!” the voice shouted and the men all spun.  Roadblock had done the shouting and Hawk was now standing in front of his men in a darker leather jacket and an intricate jungle pattern on his camouflage pants.  A green helmet covered his blonde hair, goggles strapped to them, now lifted above his eyes.  His face was cold, mean, and deadly serious.

“Good morning, men…and woman,” he said, shooting a glance at Cover Girl who had joined them at the last minute, leaving her post as head armorer at Fort Bradley.  She wore her brown jacket and tan pants, her brown hair cropped neatly at her shoulders.  Her face was as attractive as ever, though it seemed harder now that action was imminent.  “I’m sure that most of you probably don’t know why you’re here or where exactly we are going, but it should come as no surprise.  We are landing dead center in a nest of Cobras and bringing some big sticks to poke ‘em with!” he shouted triumphantly and was met with a chorus of confident cheers.  “I’m sure a lot of you are also wondering where all the equipment is.” He gestured at the cargo bay, which was empty save for the Joes currently inside.  “Well, all of these questions should be answered very soon.  An air strike has been deemed too dangerous to attempt due to Cobra’s mysterious early warning system that is state of the art and currently hidden from view.  For that reason, we must attack from the water and the land in a series of small strikes leading up to the all out assault on Cobra Central Command itself.”  Hawk made all of his points with emphasis, his eyes stern and solid.  “By the way, as of this morning, Cobra has officially made itself known, gentlemen!  Just before we took off, our radar spotted ASP emplacements all along the north shore of the island and other Cobra vehicles beginning to assemble on the island.  They are no longer playing dead!” His arms were crossed and his eyes narrow.  “We must be prepared for a full out retaliation once we hit the beach, which we will be doing at approximately eighteen hundred hours this evening.”  He signaled over to Mainframe, who picked up an easel with a map securely fastened to it and moved it over next to the General.  The map was of the coast of Texas, a wide expansion of gulf water, and in the southeast quadrant, Cobra Island itself.  Hawk pulled out a small metal pointer, and extended it with a quick motion.  “As soon as we are able, we will be rendezvousing with the U.S.S. Flagg at this location,” he snapped the pointer to a spot in the gulf slightly off the coast of Texas.  “Cutter, Torpedo, Topside and Admiral Keel Haul left early and will be there shortly, waiting.  Equipment should be arriving there as I speak.  We will be broken up into different teams for different purposes and will hopefully outsmart the snakes and overrun them with minimal difficulty.”  The large plane shuddered slightly, but Hawk remained balanced, his voice still shouting.  “The first group will be group Charlie, the water group.  It will consist of Torpedo and Topside and two Devilfish fast attack watercraft.  They will be the initial assault and their purpose is to knock off the dozen ASP emplacements on the north shore.  If they fail, the mission fails, because if the ASPs are intact, they will chew up any approaching craft before they can do any damage.”  He pointed this out with a final certainty, tapping his pointed against the map.  “Group Beta will be the attack and armor group.  Gung Ho will be piloting a water based Landing Craft Tank similar to the one we used for the attack on Cobra Island during the Cobra Civil War.  It is a large, wide boat designed for carrying personnel and equipment over large expanses of water.  On the LCT, there will be a Mauler, Wolverine, AWE Striker, and RAM Motorcycle.  Bazooka will be operating the Mauler, Clutch the Striker, Cover Girl the Wolverine, and the RAM will be there as backup for running interference or rescue missions.  Along with the vehicles, Spearhead, Alpine, Zap, Outback, Bullhorn, Repeater, Lifeline, Airtight, and Hit & Run will be there as foot soldiers.”  Hawk signaled to each trooper as he said their name and each one nodded in understanding.  “You guys will be the initial attack team.  You will hit first and hit hard and pave the way for Group Alpha, the main assault force.  Cutter will bring them in aboard the Whale.  The group will be led by me and include Roadblock, Leatherneck, Low Light, Dial Tone, Blackout, Shockwave and Kevlar.  We will follow the wedge that Group Beta pounds through the forces and will march straight through to Cobra Command.” Hawk finished speaking, but there was no chatter, no nervous speech…nothing but empty air hanging in the cargo bay.  “One more thing, troops,” he said simply.  “There are two more groups without which, this operation would not be possible.” Hawk folded up the pointer and placed his hands on his hips.  “Group Delta is going to be known as the Strike Force, gentlemen.  While we are slamming Cobra from the front with armor and shelling, a small group of Joes is going to sneak in the back way, through the swamp.  They will have no air cover, no fire support, and nothing between them and the bullets except determination and raw guts.  These boys are the sneakiest, the nastiest and the downright dirtiest, and they are depending on us to hold our own out there.  Their job is to go in the back way and take out Cobra’s early warning system, which will allow the last group to make their air assault.  Group Zeta should be arriving on the Flagg shortly before we do.  They will be the boys pulling our fat out of the fire.  Wild Bill and Airborne in Tomahawks, Slipstream in the Conquest X-30, with Ace and Ghostrider in Skystrikers.”  All eyes bore down on the General, the heads nodding slightly as he spoke.  “These boys are also depending on us to keep the landing zone clear and to keep the air as plane free as possible.  I cannot express enough, the importance of our mission out there.  We are responsible for everyone’s backs, including our own.  Anyone that can’t handle pressure in here?” He asked loudly, his eyes scanning his crew.  Not a single muscle moved, no arms, no fingers, not even an eyelid.  “That’s what I thought.  Anyone who isn’t ready can step out now.” He flashed a finger to the cargo door, which trembled slightly under the pressure of the wind resistance just outside.  “All right, troops, who are we?” he shouted.

“JOES, SIR!!!”

“What do we do?”

“KICK BUTT AND TAKE NAMES, SIR!!!”

“Operation: Mongoose is up and running!  Yo Joe!”

“YO JOE!!!”