CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

The Beginning of the End

 

 

 

 

 

It was indeed the training center, although it took a few glances for Viper Satchel to recognize it.  He glanced around in almost amazement through his one-way mirrored facemask, his eyes widening into almost white circular pools in which a small black raft floated aimlessly.  Facial expressions were hidden well underneath the blue and silver helmet, but his body language was quite easily translated.

“Satchel…what’s the deal?” asked Viper Rhames.  “What, you never been to a rally before?” he slapped his comrade hard on the blue sleeved shoulder and shook Satchel from his daze.

“Sure I have, Mitch…but this…man, this is something special!” his eyes were wide in awe struck wonder, soaking in the pomp and circumstance that surrounded the young man.  The training center was familiar to every Viper and Trooper on Cobra Island, but over the past few hours it had been pretty much torn down and rebuilt in preparation for the upcoming speech.  “What did they do with all the equipment?” he asked, noticing the absence of targets, mats on the floors and exercise machines.

“Dunno, Satchel.  Maybe they transferred it somewhere else?  You know, where they sent the vehicles and tanks and stuff.”

“Man, they never tell us Vipers nothin’!” Satchel griped, but his face was still locked in wonderment.  The training room was a large, cavernous room, with impossibly high ceilings and a catwalk around the top of it, leading to an elevator.  All training equipment and exercise gear was gone, which opened the room up tremendously.  Red velvet flags saturated the empty ceiling now, arcing down and across in an awesome display of power and regal color.  The flags were a deep, dark red with scorching, sharp silver Cobra emblems grinning their toothy grin from the slick surface of the expensive cloth.  A dark blue curtain had been rigged over a make shift stage which sat on the far end of the room, almost directly under the entrance from the main hall.  These curtains were as deep blue as the flags were red and the red symbol on them matched the silver for its luminescence.  The collection of troops was staggering to say the least, practically an army of every type of Viper imaginable.  Standing in rigid formation at the front of the crowd was a group of Crimson Guards, the highest ranking, and therefore the first ones in line.  Behind them were smatterings of other Vipers, Alley-Vipers in orange and blue, yellow and black, and dark blue and gray.  Frag Vipers and HEAT Vipers were mixed in, the tan and yellow blending in well with the red in front of them, and the many shades of Alley Viper next to them.  Aero Vipers were next in line, standing proud in their dark gray and black suits, dark bandannas wrapped tightly around the top halves of their faces.  Unlike the other Vipers present, none of them wore their helmets, as the thickness of the air in the room made wearing them uncomfortable.  Night Vipers and Phantom Vipers were a mixed bag in the next bunch of standing figures, each one fully armed and equipped.  The Night Vipers all had night vision goggles turned up, pointing at the ceiling to allow for better vision.  Many more Vipers stood mixed in with the crowd, Techno Vipers, Cyber Vipers, Track Vipers, and the like.  The formation spread out like a strangely colored quilt, all different uniforms somewhat meshing together into one cohesive unit, jumbling around independently of the other parts.

“Is this all the troops we have, Rhames?” Satchel asked, glancing around.  “Seems like there should be more.” 

“Yeah, there’s more than this, kid…probably on some missions somewhere.  Wherever they are, there’s a good reason for it.  The Commander ain’t no fool.”

“I wasn’t insinuating that!” the younger Viper snapped hastily.  He didn’t want to be overheard talking bad about Cobra Commander.  That was almost the same as signing your own death warrant.  “Man, I wish I could get a promotion,” he continued, cranking his neck to see past the barrages of Vipers, Eels, Crimson Guards and the like in front of him.  “Only guys behind us are the ‘Leaky Suit Brigade’,” he chuckled jerking his head back.  A cluster of Toxo Vipers stood there patiently, helmets off and eyes glaring out from under their masks.

“Not far enough behind us if you ask me!” Rhames replied, laughing quietly.  His chuckling stopped immediately when the loudspeakers crackled to life.  The instantly recognizable tune of ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ blasted from them, greatly startling a number of men in the audience.  The booming horns and raging drums flooded the room and bombarded the senses of all present in the large former training area.  Slowly the blue curtains eased open and the Cobra High Command began their approach.  Wild Weasel led the way, his deep red uniform on and tucked very neatly in every appropriate place.  His flight helmet was on as well, and none of the troopers in the room could ever even remember him not wearing it.  Scrap Iron exited the curtains after him, crossing over to stage right, immediately following the expert pilot.  Zartan was the next to come out, dressed in his familiar chest plate and dark brown pants.  He was an intimidating figure, his cowl flowing menacingly down around his jawbone, and his white irises piercing from under the black make up.  Overlord came out following Zartan, his gold helmet shined to the point of perfection.  The monocle was squeezed tightly in his right eye and his gold and red tunic, black pants and neatly shined boots emanated power and wealth.  The first four men lined up in neat formation on stage right at a slight angle, to allow them all to see their leaders entrance.  Dr. Mindbender was the next to appear, his bald head almost shining underneath the powerful lights.  The cybernetic attachment on his eye clashed with the rest of his attire which appeared quite melodramatic and even a touch medieval.  He wore two silver straps down the front of his bare chest, which strained over the metallic pacemaker component that had been installed there to regulate his fluctuating heartbeats.  His body was handling its rejuvenation fairly well, but needed constant cyber-monitoring to remain fully functional.  The electronic components were removable, but needed to be on often so that he could survive without them from time to time.  He wore his same old purple pants and black boots with the purple trim and his long, velvet black cape spiraled around his slender frame like a king’s royal robe.  The Baroness followed behind the evil scientist, the Vipers all trying hard not to let their eyes linger on her curved frame for too long.  Clad as always in black leather, she walked with the grace befitting her name and took her place next to the bald man just in time to see her confidant Destro emerge.  He wore his fancy outfit today, black leather like the other, but with raised gold shoulder pads and many more gold adornments.  A gold sword and sheath bounced against his thick thigh as he walked, his red cape slipping down from one shoulder and dancing along the surface of the stage just behind him.  His metal mask was gold today in honor of the ceremony, but was otherwise designed identically.  The classical music continued to explode from the speakers set strategically around the large room, all others now in place and eagerly watching the entrance from behind the curtain.  With a yank, the blue curtains flew open dramatically, revealing the man all came to see, flanked as always by his trusty Immortals, toting AK-47s.  His uniform was dark black, the color of midnight, neatly pressed and trimmed to fit him perfectly.  In its design, it was almost just like his more common blue uniform, but the darker color made it more regal.  A thin silver braid rolled over his shoulder and wrapped back around, just touching the silver trim on flap of his uniform that fastened it together.  His belt was jet-black leather with a sterling silver buckle and a deep red Cobra emblem etched into it.  The pants matched the jacket and led down to spit shined almost shiny boots, which stood proudly and majestically upon the wooden parquet stage.  A large red Cobra symbol grimaced from his broad chest just under where a blood red cape was attached by two silver snakehead clasps.  The cape was a long, thick velvet material, and collected in a pool of cloth just behind his feet.  He stood before his men, proud and royal, the living, breathing symbol of what these hundreds of men fought for; what they were willing to die for.  The applause was deafening.  Cobra Commander lifted his arms, his long leather gloved hands clenched into tight fists, the applause roaring to a fever pitch until he spread his fingers and motioned slightly downward and the noise eased on command.

“Greetings, future leaders of the free world!” he shouted triumphantly and the crowd noise exploded once again.  A small microphone was clasped tightly to the lapel of his uniform and broadcast his voice all over the make shift arena.  “Greetings, beloved followers…beloved friends…beloved BROTHERS!” he shouted happily, which reflected in earnest from the crowd.  The noise died down once again and Cobra Commander composed himself.  “Two decades we have spent…two decades spent chipping away.  Pushing and pushing, only to be pushed farther backwards.  Well, Cobra will be pushed no more!  Starting today, Cobra pushes BACK!” he emphasized the sentence with a dramatic thrust of his hand into the air.  Applause once again roared to life.  “Over the past years, Cobra has bided its time.  Waiting for the right moment to lash out…to strike down the putrid capitalist state that works so hard to keep the working man down!  Brothers, I cannot think of a better time to strike than now.  The United States is reeling.  Thanks to brothers Zartan, Firefly and Fred CXV Cobra has struck down their leader.  The heart of the country!” as he finished the sentence, his eyes roamed until he picked up his daughter, crouched in the shadows off to the side of the stage.  He had tried valiantly to get her in the public eye, to take some credit, but to no avail.  He was slightly worried that his constant protection of her…keeping her secluded and away from danger had now had a lasting effect on his beloved Whisper.  But she still did what she did with skill and precision, and that was all that really mattered.  “Of course, they will be looking for retribution.  Earlier today, Cobra officially made itself known to the general public of the world!  Those watching CNN this afternoon saw a battalion of HISS Tanks, Stingers and ASPS setting up guard posts across the shores of our great nation.  This will, without a doubt, rise the ire of our enemies, and force them into action.” The Commander was now calmer and stood at a wooden podium, his hands firmly pressed against its polished surface.  A red velvet sash was draped over the front, a silver Cobra symbol glaring from it.  The crowd was riveted to his every word, but showed some apprehension when their Commander admitted to a possible attack by the U.S. Military.  Viper Satchel cast a worried look to the veteran next to him.

“We’re going to be attacked?” he asked nervously.

Rhames shrugged his shoulder.  “Par for the course, Junior…didn’t they tell you that when you joined up?”

“W—well, I never thought we’d be in full scale battle.”

“Not willing to die for the cause, Satchel?  If you’re not, you don’t belong here, kid.” Rhames said, a slight edge coming to his voice.

“Of course I am!” he shouted defensively.  He turned and continued to listen.

“Now, my brothers…do not be bothered by this news.  The Cobra force is much more advanced than the standard military equipment.  Besides, we have the heart!  We have the cause!” his voice rose, soon joined by a chorus of hundreds.  “We have the WILL and the MEANS, my brothers!” both of his hands shot into the air, bringing the crowd to a fever pitch.  He lowered his hands and became serious once again.  “Now, some of you will be lost.  Possibly many of you.” His voice was quieter now, but still stern and clear.  “That is an unfortunate side effect of combat.  But to die for the cause of Cobra is better than a thousand unfulfilled lifetimes!  Those who make the greatest sacrifice shall adorn the monument to your achievements!  The monument erected in Washington, D.C., after America is OURS!” His voice became suddenly lost in the overwhelming ocean of applause and shouts of glory.  “The Americans fight because they have to…they are paid to.  It is their job.  We fight because it is our born destiny!  It is what we were created for, what we were born for!  We fight because we wish to fight and the strength and power of our will is greater than any bomb or bullets they can throw at us!  One of us may fall, but ten others will take his place and fight MORE and HARDER to avenge his fallen brother.  We are all powerful, my legions!  All strong and unbeatable!” The voices rose to a shrill screech and the applause rocked the former training room.

“Commander!” the voice was loud and strong, coming from above and behind the hooded dictator.  Up on the catwalk, coming down from the entrance.  The applause jerked to a halt, stunned and shocked silence melting through the crowd.

Cobra Commander’s head thrust around angrily, his eyes slitted. “Who dares interrupt me?” Cobra Commander asked under his breath, making sure the microphone didn’t pick up his complaint.  He glared up at the walkway, but calmed a bit when he saw Snakebite standing there, large and menacing, his shotgun gripped firmly in his right hand.  The voice was metallic, but fierce and frantic.

“Something requires your immediate attention,” he said, then turned and walked out.  Cobra Commander scowled under his hood.

“Destro,” he barked, pointing a finger at the gold masked man.  “Come with me, let’s see what this is all about.  Baroness, dismiss the meeting and send everyone to their posts!”

“Yes, Commander,” the Baroness replied, and plucked the microphone from Cobra Commander’s fingers.

“Man, how does that Snakebite guy rate?” Rhames harped.  “Any of us talked to Cobra Commander like that, we’d be worm food.”

“I think even The Commander’s a little scared of that walking freak show,” Satchel said cautiously. 

The Baroness’ voice roared angrily over the loudspeakers as Destro and Cobra Commander stepped into the elevator.

“How did you like my speech, Destro?” The Commander asked, beaming under his hood.

“Fine, Commander.  But I see you left the part out about us leaving for our hidden fortress in South America while these men die saving a useless island.”

Cobra Commander cocked his head, regarding his second in command with distress.  “Useless island, Destro?  Hogwash!  We still have many uses for Cobra Island, or I would not have invested all of that time and money into it.  I just think we need to make ourselves a little…less visible for a while.”

“Agreed.”

“Has the main group of vehicles been transported by cargo submarine yet?”

“Yes, Commander.  We have about one quarter of our full armament on the island.  There are close to a thousand men already stationed in the Amazon base as well.  Everything is proceeding as planned.”

“Excellent.” The elevator door hissed open and the two men walked out, across the catwalk and over to the entrance door.  “I hope whatever this little problem is doesn’t throw a monkey wrench into our plans.”

“We shall see, Commander.” The door slid shut behind them, leaving the crowd under verbal attack by The Baroness.

Minutes later they entered the main Command Center, the large round room plastered with radar screens, computer and television monitors, the Commander’s throne, and a few dozen assorted Vipers maintaining everything.  Two Crimson Guard Immortals immediately picked up their flank, somewhat surprised that their two fellow Immortals hadn’t followed.  Snakebite stood hunched over the largest bank of radar screens, located on the left side of the room.  A Tele Viper sat at a chair in front of the screen, punching keys and reconfiguring readings.  Two Techno Vipers flanked Snakebite, watching over the radar readings and studying the results.  Destro and Cobra Commander stormed over to the monitor.

“What is the meaning of this, Snakebite?” The Commander asked angrily.  “You interrupted the rally.”

“I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t important, sir,” Snakebite growled in his typical metallic twinge.   He pointed a metal, segmented finger at the screen in front of him.  Destro walked over to it, his face curious under the mask.

“What are they?” he asked quickly, leaning down.

“What are what, Destro?” Cobra Commander asked, glaring down at the screen.

Destro drew in a breath and tried not to sound annoyed.  “These little green dots, Commander.” He pointed to two tiny green blobs on the screen as they slid along towards the island.

“Well, what are they?” he asked.

“Tele-Viper?” Destro asked the blue clad communications trooper sitting at the monitor.

“Well, they are moving very fast and at a deliberate pace.  Too fast and deliberate to be water life.  The filters should cancel them out anyway, but sometimes…”

“I don’t want to hear what it’s not, Tele-Viper.  I want to hear what it is.” Destro kneeled down and typed some information into the keyboard in front of the screen.  “Hmm…too small to be conventional military gear.  Most likely some rich man’s kids strayed too far from the yacht.” He stood and grumbled.

“That’s it?” Cobra Commander asked, irritated.  “Are you sure?”

“Would you rather we launch a full scale aquatic assault on a hundred foot skimmer?” Destro asked, his annoyance matching his commander’s.  “We could swarm out there with Morays and splatter spoiled brat all over the gulf, how about that?”

“No need to get testy, Destro,” Cobra Commander demanded.

“Hold up, sirs,” Tele-Viper said suddenly.  “We just lost radar in the southwest quadrant.”

Stunned silence floated over the small group of men.  Destro’s eyes widened slightly under his silver helmet. 

“What?” Cobra Commander shouted.

“Calm down, Commander,” Destro said, placing a reassuring hand on his leader’s shoulder.  “We have technological difficulties all the time.  Probably some lava rock shifted loose inside the volcano.  Just blocking the signal.  Happens very often, Cobra Commander.” Destro studied the screen carefully.  “Tele-Viper, get a crew of Techno and Cyber Vipers to the radar dish ASAP.  Let’s make sure this is a fluke.”

Cobra Commander huffed loudly.  “I don’t like this, Destro!”

“Commander, you yourself said that it would most likely take the military at least thirty-six hours to coordinate a well planned assault.  We have plenty of time.  Don’t let a few coincidences rattle you, it does no good for troop morale.”

“You are correct, Destro.  Keep watch on things out here, I’m going to my quarters.”

“Very well.” Destro said, then waited for Cobra Commander to disappear down the hallway.  “Tele-Viper,” he said softly.  “Let’s increase security on that southwestern coast, hm?  And tell those ASP gunners to keep a sharp eye out.”

“Are you uneasy, sir?”

“No…just cautious.  I’m going to check the rest of the systems.  Notify me the moment something of significance happens.”

“As you command.”

Destro strolled off across the room, leaving the Tele Viper alone with the strange readings on the radar.

 

 

The water was usually calm at this time of day, but the two speeding watercrafts broke the serenity with loud exuberance.  The small orange speedboats blasted over the usually smooth surface of the water, ripping a jagged path through the gulf, and spraying white, foamy wake in all directions from under the hulls.  The bows of both small boats were slightly upturned from wind resistance and the slapping of angry waves against the front of them.  Such was the speed of these two crafts that they bounced over the water, skipping like large metal stones moving at incredible velocities.  The world was peaceful and quiet this far out in the Gulf of Mexico, and besides the roaring engines of The Devilfish, it was quite unnaturally calm.  The man in the lead boat was clad in a black and gray wetsuit clinging tightly to his muscular frame with a latex hood pulled up over his head, but leaving his face uncovered.  He was of Hawaiian decent, his somewhat dark skin and wide features prominent against the plain colors of his wet suit.  Wind and water smashed against his exposed face, but he loved it, relished in it even, and could think of nothing better to be doing than hurtling over the glassy surface at breakneck speed.  A small headset wrapped around his head underneath the hood, a tiny microphone extending down over his mouth.  Communication from mouth to ear would be difficult and almost inaudible over the roaring of the engines and the gulf water, so it was necessary to communicate by headset, even though the two boats were only feet apart.  The second boat whipped over the water close behind the lead with a serious looking man manning the controls.  He wore an off white helmet and had blonde hair and full beard.  An orange life vest was strapped over his slender chest with the word ‘NAVY’ proudly scribed there.  He wore a blue short-sleeved shirt underneath and off white drawstring pants.  A white portable rocket launcher sat next to him on one side with a small submachine gun on the other.  A similar headset was strapped over his head, the microphone in the same position as the leader’s.

“Topside to Torpedo…communications check, do you read?” the bearded man asked, his voice barking into the microphone.

“This is Torpedo, back at you, Topside.  Crystal clear!”

“I am reading about one hundred klicks to the designated strike point.  Does that jive with you?” Topside asked, tapping a finger against his portable radar screen in front of him.

“Affirmative, Topside.  Any idea if we’ve been spotted?”

“Negative.  I’m hoping we’re too small and quick, and may just slip under the radar, confused with ocean clutter.”

“We’ll know soon enough.” Torpedo adjusted the controls a little bit to optimize the angle of their path.  The entire success of this mission depended on them, and that was some serious pressure.  Luckily, Torpedo thrived in pressure situations, and was looking forward to clearing the path for his Joe buddies.  He looked down at his legs extended in the deep canopy of The Devilfish.  His spear gun lay just to his right, next to an MP5 equipped with a silencer and TAC light.  Just to his left there were his gray flippers, diving mask and oxygen tank.  A sudden voice in his ear brought him out of his momentary daze.

“I’ve got contact, Torpedo.  Twenty klicks and closing fast.”

Torpedo looked at his radar screen and made some minor adjustments.  A green blip appeared suddenly, moving at a steady pace, heading straight for them.  He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was definitely larger than their Devilfish.

“Full stop, Topside.” The two Devilfish halted quickly and bobbed restlessly on the rippling surface of the ocean water.  The wake quickly died down and left them sitting on the calm blue and green surface, with barely a sound in the air.  Topside coasted next to Torpedo and turned off his mike.

“What do we have, ‘Pedo?” he asked.

“Something bigger than us and coming from Cobra Island.  Do we really need to know anything else?”

“Guess not.  What do we do?”

“Improvise.  You have your diving gear with you?”

“Of course…in the storage compartment.”

“Good.  Let’s suit up and get wet, we don’t have much time.”

 

 

“Status, Tele Viper?” Destro asked, strolling back over to the radar console.

“I sent a Moray to investigate like you asked, Destro.  Just one, nothing threatening.  He’s not there yet, but we should have an update within the hour.”

“Good.  Any ideas what we’re dealing with here?”

“No…wait a minute!” he said suddenly, leaning in closer to the screen.

“What?” Destro asked.

“The blips…they just disappeared.”

“Really?  Hmmm…this just confirms that there’s nothing to worry about out there.”

“How so?”

“Well, any type of military craft would still leave a heat signature even after the engine was shut off.  They have more powerful engines, which require a longer cool down process.  These must just be some random speedboats.  Stopped to go fishing or something.”

“Are you certain?” Tele Viper turned and asked.  “This is getting strange.”

“Have the Moray continue with its mission.  That will tell us for sure.  How are the Techno Vipers doing in the volcano?”

“No word yet.  That quadrant is still black, though.”

“Very well.  Keep me up to date, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

 

 

 

The hydrofoil buzzed through the water, its smooth gray underbelly even and foils closed.  Water splashed and sprayed in a wide arc as it hummed through the clear water, tearing apart the serenity much like the Devilfish had done earlier.  A small crew manned it, with one Lamprey at the controls and a single gray and red clad Eel sitting in the gun turret on top of the red canopy.  It was a sleek, arrow like machine, cutting through water and air both with almost scalpel like precision.  Wind swept around its pointed bow, as it sliced cleanly through the smooth water and hurtled towards its destination.  The Lamprey wore his silver bodysuit and blue life vest with a matching round helmet.  His large blue goggles peered down at the miniature radar built into the console, and a blue-gloved finger tapped it impatiently.

“Lost the signal!” he shouted up to the Eel.  The man in the turret placed a hand firmly against the canopy and vaulted from it like a well-trained gymnast.  He landed in a skillful crouch a few feet below and walked towards the driver.  His gray helmet fit snug on his head, and he already wore his diving mask firmly over his mouth and nose.  The thick gray wet suit matched the color of his helmet, except for the black forearms and the dark crimson stripe that ran down his chest, showing off a startling silver Cobra symbol proudly against it.

“Do you remember the heading, Lamprey Nineteen?” he asked, plucking up a spear gun that rested on the side of the cockpit.

“Of course.  We will be there in moments.  Take the copilot’s chair.  I don’t think we’ll need the gun turret for anything.”

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

“We’re more than a match for anyone out here!  We’re Eels, we rule the water!” he shouted and rose a triumphant hand.  The Eel shouted in agreement and slapped his hand.

“Hold up a second,” the Lamprey said, staring out over the gulf.  “We got something out there.” He walked over to a storage compartment inside the cockpit and pulled out a pair of binoculars.  There was still a decent amount of sunlight, but evening was approaching and dusk would be arriving shortly.

“Should I man the turret?” The Eel asked, somewhat nervously.

“Negative,” Lamprey said, placing the goggles over his blue built in visor.  “There are two of them out there.  But they’re capsized by the looks of it.”

“Sunk?”

“No, the hulls are light enough to float.  But the water would mask the readings.”

“Are they military?” the Eel asked, lifting his spear gun.

“They don’t match anything I’m familiar with.  Too small…although, we’re still too far away to make an accurate judgement.” Lamprey dropped the goggles from his face and scratched his helmeted scalp.  “Eel, take the controls and bring us in quick, but steady.  Bring us around from the northeast.”

“You got it,” Eel four seventy-two replied and moved to the pilot’s seat.  “Good thing I’m in that Lamprey training group!” The Hydrofoil picked up speed slightly and altered its heading to bring it around.

“Good.  If there is anyone out there, I’d rather come in at an angle, instead of straight on.  Less chance of ambush.”

“Understood, Nineteen.”  As The Moray turned, it shot a foamy arc from its port side, and then a quick burst of speed launched it forward, leaving a trench-like wake dug into the wet surface of the water.  It traveled a good distance, then cut to port and shot a similar wake the other direction, then once again hurtled forward.

“Good.  Keep this heading, Four Seventy-Two,” Lamprey said calmly, the binoculars back up to his face.  “Okay, we have two capsized watercraft.  Gray hulls…look like small motor boats.” Lamprey squinted into the goggles.  “Bring it closer, and reduce speed.  The waves and turbulence are wrecking my field of vision.”

“All right,” The Eel replied and toned the thrust down, bringing the engine down to a dull roar.  Lamprey gripped the binoculars that hung around his neck as The Moray coasted in, now mere meters from the overturned boats.  He lifted them to his face and gasped.

“What?” asked the Eel.

The goggles dropped to the floor of the cockpit as Lamprey whirled towards his comrade.  “Get on the radio now!  These boats have torpedoes!” a frantic finger jabbed towards the boats, which clearly had two long cylindrical torpedoes mounted flush to the hulls, surrounded by the hulls themselves so as to be invisible from far away.

“Now, now…” said a voice behind them.  “That would kind of negate the whole ‘covert’ part of this covert operation.”

The Lamprey spun, inhaling sharply just as the man in the black and gray wet suit vaulted smoothly over the edge of the Hydrofoil, dripping with gulf water.

The Lamprey swore loudly and quickly unstrapped the semi automatic pistol that was clutched by the blue leather holster on his right thigh.

“Dumb move!” shouted Torpedo and whipped around his spear gun and fired just as his flippered feet smacked wetly against the floor of the cockpit.  The silver and blue clad Hydrofoil pilot grunted as the thin arrow punched into his chest and jutted angrily out the other side.  He dropped to his knees and fell face first, the pistol clattering along the floorboards unfired.

“Blast!” shouted The Eel and was quickly to his feet, his own spear gun clenched tightly in his fist.  He let an arrow fly, but Torpedo spun away and it smacked sharply against the metal edge of the hydrofoil and was tossed carelessly into the water.  The Eel snarled angrily, and pulled a long, sharp knife from a holster strapped to his well-muscled thigh.

“Looks like we do this the hard way…always liked it up close and personal, anyway!” his brow furrowed into a series of miniature canyons criss-crossing on his forehead.  Torpedo could only imagine his teeth bared slightly underneath the mouthpiece.  The Joe grinned under his own mouthpiece and kicked off the soaking wet flippers one by one, approaching the Cobra Frogman carefully.  His empty spear gun dropped to the floor with a clank as he shuffled closer, keeping his feet in motion, and taking care not to tangle himself up.  The Eel charged, shouting, and jabbed the blade in a wild, but skillful arc, barely missing as the Joe S.E.A.L. stepped back and slapped his hand aside.  Torpedo responded with a powerful roundhouse kick to the midsection of the Cobra, who grunted and stumbled slightly.

“You’re messin’ with the wrong kanaka boy, snake-face!” Torpedo growled, shifting his stance slightly.  The Eel shouted and charged again, the knife making a straight stab towards the Navy man.  Torpedo juked and brought his hands together, trapping the Eel’s wrist, and then he turned on his hip and shifted, tossing the Cobra into the air.  The Eel hit the ground, rolled, then jumped back to his feet and hurled himself, slamming the Joe headlong in the midsection.  The momentum threw them both back into the opposite edge of the canopy, the metal surface digging hard into Torpedo’s spine.  He brought up his right knee and pounded it into the kidneys of his foe, who did not relinquish his grip.  The gray clad forearm pressed tightly against Torpedo’s throat, and he struggled to draw a breath.  Their eyes were mere inches apart and the Eel squinted, boring deep into the S.E.A.L., an angry, defiant glare of triumph, but quickly gave way to strange confusion and uncertainty.  The grip loosened, the forearm pulled away, and the Eel stumbled slightly, then slumped to the ground, a red pool swiftly collecting around him.  Topside stood behind him in a black wet suit similar to Torpedo’s, his own knife drawn and dark with blood.  His latex hood was pulled down and his blonde bearded face showed, smiling with satisfaction.

“I was enjoying the show, Torpedo,” he said, smirking, “but we are on a time table here.” He walked past and sat down at the co-pilot’s control.  Torpedo was hunched over and coughing up a storm.  He pulled the facemask off and stood slowly, still hacking.

“I…had him…right where…I…*coff!*…wanted him.” He stumbled forward and dropped himself into the pilot’s seat.

“Sure you did.  Now, shall we get this rolling?”

“Yeah…this crate have a tow cable?”

“Sure does.”

“All right, let’s get those ‘Fish upright, then it’s go time.”

“You’re the boss.”

Torpedo stood and walked to the rear of the boat, Topside close behind.

“Oh, and Topside?” Torpedo asked, halting briefly, but keeping his face forward.

“Yeah?”

“You best forget that you saw an Eel kicking my rear end, got it?”

“Got ya, ‘Pedo,” Topside said, grinning.

 

 

 

“Tele Viper?” Destro asked, strolling back over.

“No change…The Moray had contact, and is now heading back to the island.”

“Radio contact?”

“None so far.”

“Initiate it.”

“Yes, sir.” The Tele Viper flipped a switch to the open channel.  “This is home base to Nineteen.  Home base to Nineteen, please respond.” He pressed another button for direct feed to his helmet.

“This is Nineteen, Home Base,” the voice said quickly, almost drowning in static.  “Go ahead.”

“We’re having trouble reading, Nineteen.  What’s your status?” Tele-Viper cast Destro an uncertain look.

Static was all that responded, with almost inaudible snatches of conversation.

“What’s going on?” Destro was visibly irritated and stepped closer to the screen.  The Tele-Viper punched a few buttons and frowned.

“Well, there is a storm front moving in, Destro.  Sometimes the atmospheric disturbance can disrupt our long-range communications.”

“What about the filtering system I installed?”

“It’s running, sir.  I’m not sure what to say.”

“Hmm.” Destro seemed uncertain and stood back up.  “I’m not comfortable with this, but we shouldn’t get the men riled up for nothing.  Still just the Moray on the screen, right?”

“Yes, sir.  But that quadrant is still blacked out.”

“And you’re sure it’s not jammed?”

“If it is, it’s a kind I’ve never seen before.  It reads like a technological disturbance.  No interference.”

Destro looked at the master radar.  “You’re right.  It’s just garbled, not completely blacked.  See if you can jury rig something from this end, and get those Techno and Cyber-Vipers moving.”

“They’re at the site already, Destro.  No problems discovered yet.”

“Very well.  Tell those North shore ASP gunners to keep an eye out for anything strange.”

“As you wish.”

Destro crossed his large arms and glared at the computer banks through his steel mask.

 

 

The first Flak-Viper nodded and switched over his channel.  “ASP Gunner One to remaining gunners Two through Twelve.  Respond.” He sat nearly upright in the Assault System Pod, Cobra’s frontal defense against sea faring intruders.  It was an amazing little weapon, especially considering it had been invented and produced in 1984 by M.A.R.S.  The apparatus sat on a three-pronged base with wheels folded up underneath the moveable one-man pod.  The pod itself could be moved 360 degrees around and from sitting fully vertical to lying parallel to the rocky ground it sat on.  There were twin cannons, one attached to each side of the pod, which were also moveable from facing flat towards the front, or straight up in the air.  All of this combined together to make an extremely potent anti-aircraft or anti ground weapon, fully mobile and fully armed.  The three legs could also fold up and have the wheels fold down so the weapon could be transported and even used while mobile.  Right now the dozen ASPs were all sitting straight up to allow the gunners full views of the sprawling ocean in front of them.  Guns were all directed out at the most main point of invasion, just waiting for targets to approach.  Flak-Vipers were the Cobra anti-aircraft specialists and as such were perfectly suited for ASP duty.  Each one was clad in gray and green with a rather thick and appropriately named flak jacket on and a green helmet with slick black visors.  The visors enabled the troops to have limited night vision as well as mini HUD’s to better track their targets.  Flak-Viper One’s chest was empty, since he had not yet fired at any enemy aircraft, but he longed to have yellow planes stitched across it soon, proudly showing how many he had shot down.  The canopy was clear so as to avoid reflections of the setting sun, and the air was cool, but his uniform was thick enough to shield him.  The eleven other Flak-Vipers quickly responded to the squad leader and informed him that they were all present and had no problems yet.

“I just got the word from the inside.  There may have been a possible incident in the gulf at the following coordinates.” He tapped a few keys at the small monitor attached to the inside of the canopy.  The ASPs were all linked and the coordinates instantly appeared in everyone’s cockpit.  “Gunners Two and Three, you along with me are the front line and in direct path of an invasion.  As such, we must be on our toes.”

“Yes, sir,” the reply came from both large men.

Flak-Viper One adjusted the screen in front of him and a small blip suddenly flickered into view.  It had just crossed their limited radar horizon and was fully exposed.  He hadn’t been prepared for it to happen so soon.  The Tele-Viper hadn’t told him exactly how close to shore the incident was.  I’ll have words with Six-Niner when we get inside, that’s for sure!  He thought to himself.

“All right, boys,” he said calmly.  “We have contact.  Keep your eyes peeled, and if it even smells like U.S. Navy, smoke it!”

The responses were quick and certain.  Flak-Viper One smiled.  He was almost hoping they were U.S. Military.  He practically ached to get those kill marks etched on his tunic.  His large hands wrapped slowly around the C-shaped twin controls that maneuvered the ASP in its various directions, his fingers tightening around the triggers.

“C’mon, boys,” he whispered to himself, “Gimme something to shoot at.”

 

 

“Land Ho!” Topside shouted from the gun turret, pointing towards the hazy mass of Cobra Island, which loomed on the horizon in front of them.

Torpedo shook his head in response.

“Hey, cut me some slack!  I always wanted to say that.” Topside lowered himself down to the cockpit floor.  He was once again in his orange life vest and white pants, his white helmet firmly set on his blonde head and plucked his machine gun and rocket launcher from the floor.  The launcher was quickly slung over his shoulder and the small rifle was clutched tightly in his right hand.

“Put the stuff in the ‘Fish, Topside.  We’ve got to be ready just in time.”

“Understood, Torpedo,” the tough Navy man replied and walked towards the stern of the Moray, perfectly balanced even as the ship bounced roughly over the gulf water.  The two Devilfish hummed along the top of the water, dragged by a pair of lines made from steel cable.  They were drenched and water sprayed from them, but other than that, they were in fine shape.  Torpedo closely monitored the radar screen as the island grew closer and closer and Topside soon joined him after he tossed the weapons in the seats of the orange boats behind them.

“All right, Topside,” Torpedo said sternly.  “We’ve gotta make this nice and loud.  Our boys are depending on it.  We want all eyes on us.”

“Yeah, I know.  I’m pretending I have a huge bull’s-eye on my chest.”

“You do.”

“Are you trying to make this easier?  Because you’re not.”

The Moray sped up as the land rushed towards them, water spraying up in wide arcs across the bow and over the canopy as the Moray zipped over the surface of the water, bouncing through small waves and blasting ripples into oblivion. 

“It’s not supposed to be easy, Topside.  That’s why we get the big bucks.  Hang on, it’s about to get rough.” Torpedo reached out and flipped a switch, activating the two torpedoes tightly attached to each side of the red, spear-like watercraft.

 

 

“Flak-Viper Two to One…come in!” the radio crackled to life inside the cockpit of the first ASP.

“This is One.  Go ahead,” the Flak-Viper responded, irritation floating over his stern features.

“We’ve got positive identification.  The craft has been cleared as a Moray Hydrofoil.” Numbers Two and Three were on a small part of the north shore that jutted out into the gulf, giving them the first look and the first encounter.

Flak-Viper One cursed under his breath.  He had been hoping for something to shoot at.  No luck, unfortunately.  “Have you made radio contact yet?”

“Negative, sir.  They won’t respond.  HQ says there may be atmospheric disturbance.”

“All right.  Keep trying to get them on the horn.  And by all means, keep the guns pointed at them.  We still don’t know if they’re friendly.”

“Understo—hold on.  Sir?”

“Yeah?” One asked, his spirits lifting slightly.  Maybe there was hope for this yet.

“They seem to be towing something.  Two small craft.  They’re still far out, and I can’t confirm, even with the binoculars.”

“Probably just what was out there.  Whatever it was, they found it and are returning it to the island.  I don’t see anything unusual with that.”

“Okay.  We are still maintaining target lock.  The nine ASPs down the north and east coast of the island have also been notified.”

“Good.  We are a solid formation, but tightly packed.  The defense of the whole island depends on us, Two.”

“Yes, sir.  We will make the Commander proud!”

One smiled and reached over to shut down the communications system.

“Flak-Viper One!  We have splashes!  Repeat, torpedoes have been launched!” Two’s voice was frantic over the radio.

Flak-Viper One’s head drew back visibly.  “What?  Say again, Two!”

“The Moray has launched torpedoes, sir!  On a direct heading for this peninsula.”

“You have firing orders, Two and Three!  Subject has initiated hostilities!  The north shore is now a free fire zone!” A pair of muffled explosions echoed through the dim, clear air of the shore.  It was crisp with the coming storm and the sound carried well.  Flak-Viper One found that he was now much less enthusiastic about a coming firefight.

 

 

“Fish away!” Torpedo shouted loudly as the underwater missiles plunged into the gulf water with large splashes.  They ignited immediately and shot forwards, two slender dark shadows under the blue water, rushing towards the island’s small peninsula, which stuck out in front of the Moray.  Topside jumped up, grabbed the red metal beam that straddled the cockpit, the pulled himself up into the turret.  He dumped himself into the bucket seat and wrapped his eager hands around the thick handles and triggers.

“No disrespect, sir, but exactly what are torpedoes going to do against land targets?”

“Pure distraction, Topside.  Watch and learn,” Torpedo said confidently, picking up even more speed.  His index fingers roamed the controls in front of him and easily found long rectangular firing mechanisms.  Just ahead, the torpedoes slammed into the rocky beach and detonated loudly, throwing a veritable wall of thick gulf water and explosion of small rocks into the air.  The hurling debris completely blocked the ASPs from view and Torpedo guessed was playing havoc with their targeting systems as well.  He glanced down at the radar as the Moray approached the land swiftly.  He easily picked out the thermal readings behind the wall of water, which was now sprinkling down around the island, showering the ASPs with water and chunks of land.  Before their visibility cleared up, Torpedo hauled back on the mechanisms set underneath the chock his hands had been clutched around.  The two main cannons on each side of the bow roared with life, huge orange flame bursting from them like a horde of bright insects finally freed from a prison and let loose into the air.  Smoke followed the yellow/orange flash as the large shells whipped through the air, trails of gray following close behind.  The first shell plowed into ASP number two blasting it apart into countless blue shards of shrapnel.  The gunner was completely obliterated under the punishing blast, and the shrapnel shower tore through the ASP just next to it, shredding the gunner of that one, who sat unprotected underneath a glassless canopy.  The second shell exploded just in front of ASP number three, sending a wide geyser of rocks and soil into the air, and clumsily flipped the gun-pod over onto its left side.  The land was now rushing ever closer, and some water and dirt was actually sprinkling down on the two Joes as Torpedo jerked the controls to the port side, his muscular arms straining under the struggle.  The hydrofoil lurched left, actually scraping the peninsula and sending dirt and rocks flying over the slowly burning hulks of ASP, which lay in rubble on the shore.  Another wall of water was thrown from the boat’s wake and doused some of the flames, before running over the rocky shore and joining its family back in the gulf.

“Ready with that turret, Topside?” Torpedo asked, nailing the throttle down as far as it would go.

“Affirmative!” Topside shouted, flexing his fingers on the triggers.  The wind slammed through his flesh and hair, and his stomach lurched as the Moray accelerated all the way.   He could already see three more ASPs on the shoreline as they approached, now parallel to the edge of the island.  Loud, solid gun blasts echoed through the air as columns of gulf erupted into the air behind them.  Small clouds of smoke whisped from the barrels of the gun-pods that sat before them.

“First volley missed!” Torpedo shouted triumphantly.  “We should be inside their range before they can correct trajectory!”

“I’m ready!”  The ASPs were now close and Topside could see the gunners inside quite clearly.  We didn’t want to see them too clearly, especially with what he was about to do.  As they drew close to the first one, Topside yanked back on the triggers, the twin cannons leaping to life, struggling to break free from the very mounts that held them in place.  The guns made a vicious CHAKK CHAKK CHAKK noise as they lunged around in Topside’s tight grasp.  Shall casings flung clumsily through the sea air and splashed into the surrounding water amidst small puffs of gun smoke.  Topside walked the orange tracers into the canopy of the first ASP, ripping through metal, flak jacket and flesh equally.  The second ASP quickly came parallel and the Flak-Viper struggled to get out of the canopy as the tracers ripped it apart as well.  This time, a stray round must have hit something important as the gun-pod exploded loudly, splitting apart and crumbling to the ground even as blue shards erupted into the air.  The third ASP’s canopy was thrown open, and a Flak-Viper kneeled inside, his large rifle clutched firmly in his hands in a final act of defiance.  He blasted off two shots, which punched into the metal beam over the cockpit, and actually tore through it pretty nicely.  Topside’s eyes grew wide.  That’s some hand cannon!  He thought as he adjusted aim for the smaller target.  Makes this at least a little more justified.  The gun exploded in another barrage under his clammy hands, the barrels changing slowly into red cylinders, overheating with the constant flow of large bore hot lead.  The Flak-Viper was thrown into a clumsy backwards somersault and hit the rocky terrain roughly, face first.  Topside spun around quickly in the turret and riddled the vacant ASP with gunfire, leaving it a peppered, smoking ruin.  He swiftly swiveled the turret back around to front and glared at the island alongside of them.  It dipped in slightly, and then jutted out again.  There were three ASPs on the inlet, swiveling around to face the threat, and three more ASPs on the peninsula ahead, also adjusting aim.

“This is gonna be close!” shouted Torpedo as his hand reached over to another switch, his eyes narrowing in focus on the radar screen.  The second group of three ASPs was locked in the crosshairs, their thermal readings throbbing slowly.  The Joe S.E.A.L. quickly threw the switch and a door rose quickly from the bow of the ship, revealing a rack of four missiles underneath.  With a continuation of the motion, Torpedo slapped down four switches just above the first one and the slender, yellow tubes roared from the rack with a blast of orange and red flame and four plumes of smoke, following the deadly weapons into the air.  Not waiting to confirm the hit, Torpedo once again sent the Moray into a tight turn to port, just before crossing in front of the inlet, into the ASPs line of fire.  Water sprayed from underneath as the boat cut a trench in the gulf and hurtled back out to sea.  Topside swung the turret around and roared off sporadic gunfire towards the inlet, smiling slightly as he saw the four rockets strike the peninsula where they had been aimed.  The three ASPs disappeared underneath the cloud of thick gray smoke and thunderous explosion of yellow.  Blue shrapnel arced high into the air and showered into the water, leaving an indiscriminate pile of smoldering blue rubble where the gun-pods once stood. 

“Nice shot, ‘Pedo!” he shouted just as plumes of water were thrown into the air around them.  The echoes of ASP fire coasted over the land as more large fountains erupted in their vicinity.

“Don’t congratulate me until the mission’s done, Topside!  Three ASPs don’t mean squat if there’s still some left to kill our boys before they hit land.” The Moray dodged and weaved frantically as more ASP gunfire showered down around them.  The columns of water soon were exploding just behind them as the Moray circled back around.

“I think we’re just out of range.  Get in the ‘Fish, Topside.  I’ve got to wedge something into the throttle.”

“How many did we nail?”

Torpedo did quick calculations in his head as he searched the cockpit.  “Eight total.  Four left.”

“There were only three on that inlet, right?” Topside asked.  Torpedo lifted his head.

“Yeah.” his face became concerned.

“We missed one.  Tell you what, I’ll hit the inlet if you want to go searching.”

Torpedo found a large wrench and finagled with it until it was wedged into the throttle and the Moray was hurtling back towards the island.  Explosions rocked the gulf near them again.  The ASPs were having difficulty getting a lock on the fast moving watercraft.

“No time to form another plan, Topside.  Let’s do it!  Just be careful.”

“Always.” Topside said and threw himself onto one of the Devilfish, hitting the metal bow roughly, but remaining on his feet.  Torpedo was much more graceful, and landed in a crouch, clutching for life on the grates over the engine on the bow of the small, orange boat.  The two craft bounced over the rough water, made only worse by the falling shells.  Topside rolled onto his back, holding tight, and with a swift kick, knocked the large metal hook free that was securely attached to the grate.  He barely remained on the Devilfish as it dipped deeply forward, shocked by the halted momentum.  Torpedo repeated the motion, and then they quickly slid into the seats and gunned forward, trying to catch up to the Moray, which was drawing nearer to the inlet in front of them.  The Joe S.E.A.L. made a quick hand signal to Topside, who responded with a nod and continued forward as his partner veered sharply off to the starboard, spraying water as he adjusted his trajectory.

 

 

“Flak-Viper One to Two or Three!  Respond!” the large squad leader shouted frantically into his communicator, which was clutched tightly in one hand.  “Four?  Six?  Anyone?” he asked again.  No one answered.  The raging gun battle could be heard in the distance, but it was impossible to tell who was winning.  It could be that his fellow Flak-Vipers simply couldn’t hear him over the gunfire.  He went back to the radar screen and quickly saw that two smaller blips had pulled away from the Moray, one changing course and heading towards him.  Had the others noticed this?  He wasn’t sure, but he was taking no chances.  He wrapped his hand around the lever and grimaced.

“Come and get me, Americans!”

 

 

“What?” Destro shouted, more loudly than he had meant to.

“A gunfight, sir.  That’s what it appears to be.” The Tele-Viper cleared his throat nervously.  Cobra Commander had been known to execute the bringer of bad news, but he was pretty sure Destro was more clear headed.  Pretty sure, but not positive.

“Bring the HISS tanks forward to the north shore!  Have a squad of Eels ready and tell the Cobra Air Force to stand by!”  As you command, sir.  What about the southwest—“

“Unimportant!  The threat is in the north.  Reroute them, Tele-Viper!”

“As you command, Destro.”

Destro stood back again, his face enraged under the mask.  Enraged, but curious.  He could think of no one brave or stupid enough to plan this kind of stunt.  Well, almost no one.  His face changed slightly as an uncertain revelation blew threw his mind like a cool breeze of clarity.

 

 

The Moray hurtled forward, carving through the water, heading straight for the inlet and the three ASPs.

“Gunner Nine to Gunner Seven, create a crossfire.  The hydrofoil is not changing course, we should be able to catch it.”

“Confirmed, Nine.  Proceed.”

The two ASPs swiveled quickly, their barrels pointing at a slightly inward angle, aiming slightly out to sea.  The Moray plunged forward and they opened fire, all six barrels pounding into the red Cobra watercraft.  A raging explosion tore through the area of gulf spraying blue/green water, gray hull and red shrapnel in all directions.  A small tower of flame shot into the air, and quickly ignited the oil floating on the water, leaving a thin veil of fire whipping in the cool, breezy air.

“Yeah!” shouted number Nine.  “Target eliminated!”

“Get One on the horn.  Let him—“ Number Eight stopped in mid sentence as an orange streak burst through the flame in front of him.  The Devilfish struck a chunk of hull and launched into the air, ribbons of orange and yellow dragged behind it as it leapt through the fire, almost ten feet above the water.  Topside was half standing in the cockpit, his hand wrapped securely around the controls, his eyes two narrow slits under the white helmet.  In his free hand, a portable rocket launcher was gripped, held firm over his left shoulder, a small yellow knob sticking out the front of it.  The missile blasted from the launcher with a belch of smoke and tail of solid orange flame.  Just as the Devilfish slammed to the surface of the water, sending Topside jerking wildly, the missile struck the middle ASP and blew it into nothingness, leaving the three legs and a jagged shard on top of it, concealed by smoke and fire.  Topside dropped the rocket launcher into the cockpit next to him, grabbed the wheel with both hands and turned harshly, bringing the Devilfish into a tight left turn just before it hit land.  It spun into a fishtail, then the engines gunned back to life and it lurched out of the inlet, back towards open sea.  Topside swerved skillfully around the wall of flame and disappeared behind it, leaving the ASP pilots wondering.  He pulled a one eighty after roaring past the fire and hurtled forward again, trying to stick close to the right edge of the firewall, which had quickly died down to a small strip of flickering flames, behind which Topside was quickly becoming visible.  ASP Number Nine roared off a pair of shots, which exploded just behind the Devilfish as it weaved gracefully through the water.  Topside primed the launcher, then quickly let all four of his small gray missiles fly, not wanting to chance a miss.  The tiny cylinders blasted from their individual racks, and jets quickly roared to life, throwing the small missiles forward like deadly, explosive darts.  The Devilfish swerved quickly to starboard as the missiles peppered the ninth ASP and reduced it to smoldering junk, throwing shrapnel and blue chunks in all directions.  Topside glared into the eyes of the Flak-Viper manning the last remaining ASP on the inlet.  He quickly approached the land, and could almost make out the man as he stared at him.  Topside was too close for the ASP to fire on, yet the soldier remained in his seat, almost daring the Joe to fire on him.  The Navy man didn’t hesitate and opened up with the bow mounted twin cannons.  More shell casings flew into the air as orange sparks vomited noisily from the barrels of the 20mm cannons.  The canopy was riddled with the barrage of gunfire and the Flak-Viper jerked spasmodically inside, unprotected by the metal frame surrounding him.  Topside grimaced, happy that his part of the mission was complete, but not altogether comfortable with gunning down a man trapped in a metal tub, useless at such close range.  He spun around the Devilfish quickly and headed back out to sea, skittering by the flames still flickering on the oil slicked water.  Flak-Viper Seven pulled his eyes open by sheer willpower, his blood soaked chest heaving rapidly.  Out in the gulf, Topside swerved slightly, coming back around to finish off the ASP, unaware.  He approached, gaining speed and quite suddenly, the ASP opened fire.  Topside’s eyes grew wide as the shell drilled into the front of the approaching boat, and ripped it to metal shreds, forcing the bow into the water.  The Devilfish halted too suddenly and spun forward, throwing Topside like a rag doll from the cockpit and into the murky water.  With a crash the orange boat flipped over into the oil slick, broke apart and burst into flame, the explosion rocking the small inlet, although Flak-Viper Seven could no longer hear it.

 

 

It did not take Torpedo long to find the remaining ASP on the far west side of the north shore, but he was surprised that he was not fired upon and once he drew closer, he could clearly see that the cockpit was empty.  He coasted the Devilfish into shore, and vaulted swiftly out, into a small crouch, his silenced MP5 out and at the ready.  He reached into a pouch on the chest of his special wet suit, right next to a small red grenade that hung there as well.  The shaped charge came out smoothly and he placed it in the cockpit, aimed to take out the control panels surrounding it.  Just as he finished and began to stand, the roaring gunshot forced him to the ground.  The large bore slug ripped through the metal frame cockpit like a hot knife through butter as Torpedo spun around on his rear end, raising his machine gun.  The Flak-Viper emerged from tall grass just ahead, an extremely large rifle cradled in equally large arms.  The weapon was almost as long as the soldier was tall, and had a large round barrel just above a large, very sharp looking bayonet. 

“Man, would I love to see what this thing can do to the human body,” Flak-Viper hissed, bringing the rifle up.  “But I’m sure I’d get more brownie points by bringing in a prisoner.  Someone to be interrogated, you know?”

“Might as well shoot me, snake.  All the words you’ll get out of my mouth is kiss my—“

“That’s enough!” Flak-Viper One screamed, pointing the gun.  Torpedo smiled, already convinced that this little battle was his.  This boy was unstable.  Easy pickings.

“What do you need that gun for, anyway?  You’re a big boy,” Torpedo said, standing.  His MP5 remained on the ground.  “Almost as big as me,” he said tapping himself on the chest.

“I’m bigger than you,” Flak-Viper snarled.

“Come on over, and let’s see,” Torpedo said.  Flak-Viper was about five feet away, gun aimed and at the ready.

“What, do you think I’m stupid?” he asked, lowering the weapon and gesturing to himself.  Torpedo moved quickly, but not in the direction Flak-Viper anticipated.  He rolled back over the nose of the ASP and landed in a crouch behind it, lowering his head as the rifle boomed loudly, tearing through the metal pod as if it was tissue paper.  Torpedo rolled to his left, plucked the grenade from his chest and tossed as another shot rang out.  The grenade exploded loudly off to Flak-Viper’s left and he laughed.

“Not even close!” Flak-Viper shouted triumphantly.  Torpedo leapt to his feet and ran like mad, trying to angle himself to be covered by the ASP.  Flak-Viper charged forward, growling.  The Joe S.E.A.L. threw himself in a wild dive, and hit the shallow water, sliding quickly underneath.  He zipped through the water as gunfire roared over his head, and brought himself up into the seat of the Devilfish, keeping his head low.  A bullet hummed just over him, but he found the gun controls and opened up on the beach, pounding the rocky shore with deadly lead.  The Flak-Viper frowned and ran towards the ASP.

“Two can play at that game!” he shouted and threw himself into the cockpit.  “My guns are bigger than yours!”

Torpedo grimaced out, realizing that his guns only pointed straight forward.  Flak-Viper sat back and grabbed the levers, then halted.

“What the—“ he asked craning his neck back to see what was in his seat.  The shaped charge went off with a muffled boom, Torpedo lowering his head to avoid sight of the carnage.  When he did look up, he noticed with satisfaction that the gun-pod was torn to shreds and burning.  He gunned the engine and spun the ‘Fish around, heading back out to the gulf to give Topside some backup.  The shooting had stopped, and he had hoped it was good news, although there had been no sign of his partner yet. 

Within minutes, the S.E.A.L. was approaching the inlet and the roaring, oil fueled fire made him nervous immediately.  He saw floating gray and red shards of metal, some of them suspended in the thick dark pool of oil, and little isolated fingers of flame covered most of the area.  Then he saw the Devilfish.  It was in pieces and on fire, mingled in with the Moray chunks and looked completely torn apart.  He lowered his head, noticing at the same time, that all ASPs had been neutralized.  The wreck of the Devilfish was very severe, though, and very, very final.

“Good work, Topside,” he said quietly and saluted the orange and gray wreck.

“’Pedo?” a hoarse voice called from the S.E.A.L.s right.  He spun quickly.  Topside lay in the shallow water at the shore; his bearded head lifted slightly, his whole body covered with seawater, seaweed and minor burns.  Torpedo brought the ‘Fish around and coasted into the inlet where Topside lay, looking worse for wear.  He extended his hand.

“Thought we lost you,” he said with little emotion.

“Nah.  I’m harder to kill than that,” he said, his voice sounding rough.

“You all right?” Torpedo asked.

“Lost my dang helmet,” he said angrily, rubbing his head through his soaked blonde hair.  A nasty gash ran down the length of his arm, matched by a smaller one on his forehead.  Each one was bleeding freely, but not seriously.  “Other than that, I’m good.”

Torpedo couldn’t help but break his serious demeanor and smirk a little.  “Well, climb on, tough guy,” he said dragging his partner onto the Devilfish.  “We did it.  It’s all up to the big boys now,” he said, gazing off into the horizon.  The orange and pink sun was sinking below the horizon almost like the Gulf of Mexico was swallowing it.  Above it, dark clouds were collecting together and joining into a chunky, bulbous mass. 

 

The storm was coming, in more ways than one.