Dusk was setting in half a world away over a scene of barely organized chaos. The light gray sky was normally peaceful this time of day, but two helicopters, one news and one police, buzzed the area repeatedly like two very stubborn extremely noisy flies.

"At approximately four p.m. today, the small group of men were sighted unloading questionable merchandise at Warehouse Number 43, which you see right behind me." The news reporter gestured backwards from the camera as the cameraman tried to zoom in as much as possible over the scattered yellow barricades and the hustling police officers. He focused on a large, nondescript brown brick building with numerous windows, though most were boarded. There were two floors, and each floor appeared to have six windows facing the crowded area that was once the parking lot. "They were approached by two uniform police officers, who were apparently shot and killed. They managed to make a call for backup before being fired upon."

"For crying out loud," huffed Lieutenant Faria as he flipped off the portable television and settled back in the seat of the van. "As usual, the flippin’ press knows more than we do." He stood, turned and faced the small crowd of men that sat with him in the cramped quarters of the back of the armored van. It was parked in a separate lot a hundred yards away to keep attention from them and to keep the terrorists and the press guessing. The group was small, six men, including Faria, but was by far the ace S.W.A.T. Team in the northeast. Their success to fatality rate was incredibly good, used as a marker for other S.W.A.T. Teams to try and emulate. Their team was small for a reason, they were the best of the best, and not just anybody could handle what they had to handle on an almost daily basis.

"All right, LT…what’s the plan of action?" Gallows asked. Gallows was the ‘door kicker’ for Team One. First one in, last one out. Faria had been the ‘door kicker’ for more operations than he could remember, but his job as Team Leader made that position impossible. Still, on almost every operation he was the second one in, and usually let Gallows leave the scene before he did.

"Basic enough. Infiltrate and eliminate. This is not a hostage situation and we have dead officers on our hands. These men have already proven that they mean business and they take no prisoners. Today, men, we are going to fight fire with fire."

"Do we have any clues what was in those crates they were loading?" This question came from Jameson, the S.W.A.T. Team’s explosive expert and heavy machine gunner. It was a smart question and one asked by the right person. If Jameson was going to be chucking grenades and blasting off 7.62 millimeter "hardballs" he needed to know what not to aim for.

"Unfortunately, Jameson, we do not. Aim smart, try to stay away from mysterious looking crates, and I would say grenades are a no go for this op." Faria scoped out his men and could almost taste the tension settling in. "Now before we make a solid plan, we have a gentleman here who is going to educate us on what we may be dealing with here. This is Lieutenant Frank Kage from the L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T. Team division." The man sitting on the long seat just behind Faria stood and nodded to the other men. Just being a member of the L.A.P.D. was enough to garner respect from these men, seeing as how the Los Angeles Police Department was the birthplace of Special Weapons And Tactics, code named S.W.A.T.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I am here in an advisory capacity only to help you figure a good plan of action for these terrorists you are going to be dealing with. Do not be mistaken, these men are trained killers, pure and simple."

"So are we, sir," remarked Lexington, one of the gunners. He smiled slightly.

"This is no joke, trooper!" Kage’s eyes scowled inward, his brow furrowing and his lips parting. "You do not know who you’re dealing with in there. I do."

The men shifted nervously in their seats, but kept their attention focused directly on Kage. "My team dealt with these particular operatives about three weeks ago. Like you, we knew what we were doing. Like you, we were the best of the best. I am now the only member of L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T. Team One left alive." He stared at the men letting this tidbit of information settle in to their brains. Since that fateful op, Frank Kage had not been in action once. The loss of one member of a S.W.A.T. Team can be devastating to the team. The loss of the whole team…well, Franklin Kage had not slept a full night’s sleep since that day. When he saw the news report originating from Hartford, Connecticut, he immediately went to the scene. He had fortunately been in New York teaching a class on Urban Warfare, so the trip was not a long one. "Do not underestimate these men. They will kill you as soon as look at you. They are skilled, they are dangerous, and they are ruthless. They do not care about their own well being, only their cause."

"What is their cause?" asked MacBride. He was the sniper of Team One, and arguably the best in the world. Faria and he had served together in a previous assignment, and when their old team disbanded, both were transferred to the Washington D.C. S.W.A.T. unit. A short time later, they helped form a roving, regional S.W.A.T. Team for the northeast area of the country designed to be available to those areas that needed more help than their own police department could handle.

"I wish I knew. Our raid in Los Angeles was ineffective for two reasons. We lost many men, and the bastards got away with whatever they were loading. No evidence, no crime."

Faria turned away from the blueprints he was reading and looked at Kage. "What advice do you have for us, Frank?"

"Hit them hard and fast. Don’t give them time to react. You have to have a ruthlessness to match theirs. This is kill or be killed, Lieutenant Faria. Please remember that."

"All right, this is the plan of action, gentlemen." Faria pulled up the blueprints and tacked them to a bulletin board fastened to the wall of the van. Just under the prints was a map of the surrounding buildings. "MacBride, you’re stationed here." Faria tapped a pointer at the roof of Warehouse Number 45, just across the street from the target. "I want full thermal scans and image intensified reports of who is who and who is where a full hour before he hit them. That means now, MacBride, go!"

Cooper MacBride saluted hastily, and grabbed his thick gun case as he slipped out the back door of the van. Even with the slightest bit of sunlight, MacBride was nearly invisible in his urban camouflage and black kevlar vest. Of course, Cooper MacBride had a knack for making himself invisible, which’s what had made him so useful as a sniper for the Gi Joe team.

"All right. Gallows, you, me and Rogers will hit the front door. You use the ram, I’ll be right behind you, and Rogers will cover us. Jameson, you and Lexington have the back entrance. The bottom floor is a wide, opened area with eight pillars to hold the second floor up." Faria pointed to eight little red spots on the blueprints. "These will be our only available cover, so remember where they are! We will coordinate the attack so that Jameson and Lexington blow the back door first to draw a diversion. Then the both of you throw some flash bangs, hopefully to disorient any nearby hostiles. As soon as we hear the bangs, Gallows, you’re taking us in. I don’t care how thick that front door is, you have to take it down in one shot."

Gallows nodded and patted the handheld battering ram draped across his legs.

"Now, there’s a good chance they may be setting up an aircraft to come and pick up the stuff from the roof. That is exactly what we want them to do. If we can drive them to the second floor and the roof, then MacBride can pick his targets and we have them cornered. So, Lieutenant Kage, I need you to put a call in to pull all aircraft from the immediate vicinity. They may have heavy artillery, and if they want the airways cleared, they may do it themselves. Now, in the rear corners here and here," Faria once again used the pointer to illustrate, "we have two staircases which flank a freight elevator. For obvious reasons, we don’t take the elevator, but keep in mind that the stairways may be heavily guarded. It will be close quarter combat at its worst. Luckily, we’ll have MacBride and his prototype thermal scope in constant radio contact to feed us info about hostile locations." Jason Faria stood and set down the pointer. He crossed his arms over his blue kevlar vest. His fatigues were somewhat different from the other members with faded blue under his blue vest, and darker blue and yellow camouflage patterns on them. He had two pistols in holsters, one strapped to each thigh, and the boots he wore were still the same metal plated ones he wore as a door kicker for GI Joe. His blue cap was turned backwards over his tussled black hair, and he quickly removed it. "Are we ready, Team One?" he asked, pulling a knitted mask from his back pocket.

"Yes, Sir!" came the unanimous reply.

Jason Faria pulled the blue knitted mask over his head, just leaving his eyes and bridge of his nose in plain view, then pulled the cap back on, right side around. Now he felt like he was home again.

"Then let’s gear up and move out!"

"I need a sitrep, MacBride," Faria whispered into the walkie-talkie built into his knitted face- mask. "Give me locations and info, we’re almost ready to hit ‘em." Faria was running in a low crouch approaching the front of the building. Gallows was close on his heels with Rogers pulling up the rear. They were sticking close to the wall of Warehouse Number 43, and were in the shadows. As far as they could tell, the news reporters hadn’t even seen them, and they were only a hundred feet away. Faria hoped the men in the building were equally blind.

"I’ve got thermal readings…four hostiles on the bottom floor, they seem to be patrolling. All windows on the bottom floor are boarded, so no chance of being spotted. The top floor has six hostiles. One at each of the three unboarded windows, one at the top of each stairway and one more, who looks to be crouched and inspecting the merchandise." MacBride pulled his face away from the large round scope planted on the top of his .50 Caliber Baretta sniper rifle. The gun was simply huge, almost the length of the man lying behind it. Normally Cooper MacBride preferred smaller, bolt action single shot rifles, but this was a potentially more dangerous situation and required a weapon that could penetrate brick walls if needed. The weapon rested on a thick bipod, and the prototype scope followed the barrel almost to the end. MacBride twisted a small dial on the side of the scope; slightly adjusting the focus of the thermal imaging device which he had helped design. He hoped that eventually all police departments would have them standard issue. It would help save lots of lives, but at the moment it was just too cost prohibitive. He moved his knitted capped head just to the left, and lowered his infrared goggles over his eyes. With one hand he slowly stroked his thick black beard as he adjusted the magnification. He saw the first group, named Alpha Team approaching the front door. He went back to the thermal scope on the rifle, and quickly located Beta Team setting up by the rear of the building.

"Almost go time," he said in a harsh whisper and centered his sniper rifle on the second floor in a central location in case he needed to pick targets. Down at the building Faria slowed to a halt by the metal windowless front door. He lifted his hand in a signal to stop, and the two other members of Alpha Team obliged. Gallows slowly crouch-walked past the team leader and positioned himself to take down the door. Faria checked his watch, then lifted his Heckler and Koch Model MP-5 fixed stock submachine gun into firing position. Rogers took the cue and did the same. Gallows ran a hand over his Mauser automatic shotgun, just to verify that it was easily accessible. Faria held up his hand, showing five fingers, as all three men listened intently for their cue. He slowly began closing his fist, one finger at a time. Four. Three. The muffled bang could be heard barely through the metal door. Team Beta had blasted in. Faria heard MacBride’s frantic voice in his earpiece.

"Team Beta is moving, repeat Team Beta is moving! Four hostiles have moved to engage!"

Faria held up two fingers, then lowered to one, then clenched and shook his fist. That was the cue. Gallows charged forward reeling the ram back, then plunging it forward as hard as his chiseled arms could muster. The metal door buckled and crashed inward, with Gallows leaping in first. He dropped the ram, and lifted the Mauser into firing position. Faria and Rogers followed immediately after, lowering their heads to avoid getting the brunt of a flash bang. The bangs quickly went off, leaving the four targets stumbling and firing randomly at no one in particular. Faria took a quick assessment of the situation. Four men dressed in blue and black fatigues with large assault rifles. Each man wore a blue combat helmet and had a black bandana wrapped around the lower part of their face. They looked disturbingly familiar to Faria, but he had no time to worry about it. He quickly lifted his MP-5 until a head completely filled the circular sight mounted on the barrel of the firearm. Barely even thinking, he hauled back on the trigger, feeling the weapon buck wildly in his hand. Superior skill kept the weapon trained even as it struggled against his grip. The target jerked wildly and fell in a heap. The silencer muffled much of the noise, resulting in a quiet multitude of whispers echoing from the gun. At the rear of the building, Jameson charged forward, lifting his silenced M-16 assault rifle. He was used to something heavier, but time was more important than power for this particular op. The gun rattled off a barrage of gunfire, Jameson carefully walking the path of death towards the two closest men. One went down under a hail of 5.56 millimeter, but the other one turned to try and escape, only found himself face to face with Gallows, who appeared quite intimidating in his black ski mask. He let loose with the Mauser, blasting a plume of smoke from the barrel. The weapon kicked violently, but still struck it’s target in the upper chest and lower face, sending him flying and stumbling backwards. The last man was the most disoriented, spinning clumsily and firing haphazardly. Rogers and Lexington caught him in a vicious crossfire and took him down with extreme prejudice.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear"

"Clear!" The five men barked their signal to show that their respective targets had been neutralized, and also that they were clear and unharmed. The whole assault had lasted about twenty seconds. Faria resorted back to hand signals to assign Lexington and Gallows to one stairway while he and Rogers would take the other. Jameson hung back as backup to make sure no more hostiles were hiding on the bottom floor. A thin wooden door opened into the stairwell on each side of the freight elevator. The stairwells were nightmares of close quarter combat. There was a thin shaft leading to the second floor, and the stairs wound up in a V shape with no cover, not even a railing. The shaft led to another door at the second floor, which would definitely have people waiting. The silenced weapons had hidden the S.W.A.T. Team from the second floor, but the explosives to enter the building and the flash bangs had definitely alerted them to their presence.

"Sniper-One to Leader-One…advise do not climb the stairs, repeat do not climb the stairs. There are now two men at each stairwell, aiming directly down. Advise you to let me take care of them." MacBride’s short whisper emanated from the earpiece.

"Leader-One to Sniper-One, acknowledge. Make it quick."

"Affirmative." MacBride adjusted the scope slightly and brought the weapon to bear on the right staircase. Because they had reinforced the defense at the stairs, it left the windows unguarded, and there was a clean line of fire through them. MacBride could blast through the brick wall if he wanted, but the impact would throw the bullets trajectory way off, and he wanted a straight shot. He had to be quick.

"Sniper-One to Leader-One…give me ten, then rush the right stairway. All of you."

"Acknowledged." Faria motioned the men to converge on the right stairway, Gallows leading the way, with Rogers and Faria flanking him. Jameson and Lexington hung back as cover.

I’ve got ten seconds, thought MacBride as he zeroed in on the door to the right stairwell. He placed the crosshairs between the two soldiers and got a good look at them for the first time. The resemblance was uncanny, but now was not the time to jump to any conclusions. His finger hovered stock still over the trigger as every muscle in his body slowed to a halt. He became one with the concrete roof and merely an extension of his weapon. With a swift jerk he moved the rifle quickly right and squeezed off a shot, sending a loud reverberating KER-ACK! through the air. Before even checking to see if he’d hit the first target he swiveled left, quickly centered, and before the other terrorist could react, he pounded a .50 slug through his head, almost obliterating it with a single shot. He now scanned back over and saw that his first shot had been successful as well. The bullets had passed through the windows like a hot knife through butter and there were now only four men left. MacBride switched back over to thermal, and pulled the magnification back to scan the entire second floor. The four men were scrambling for cover as Alpha and Beta Team charged through the door of the right stairway firing well aimed shots. There was a quiet whisper in the air suddenly, and MacBride had to look away from the scope to check the area. He’d become so enthralled with taking out the two targets; he hadn’t heard the noise until now. He rolled over onto his back, squinting in the darkness, and pulled his goggles up off of his eyes. The wind was picking up, little tornadoes spinning dirt and pebbles into the air in a circular motion. A small, black helicopter roared from seemingly out of nowhere over the roof of Warehouse Number 45 where MacBride was lying. It whipped up a vicious wind and just as it passed his prone body it spun and blasted the area with a bright spotlight. MacBride cursed as the ‘copter hovered shakily in the air, weaving slowly back and forth, the light blasting into his eyes. Suddenly, the front mounted cannon rattled off a barrage of twenty-millimeter gunfire. He jumped to his feet and swiftly dove behind an air duct that jutted from the roof of the warehouse. Bullets clanged and banged off of the metal surface, and MacBride had to keep his head down to avoid losing it. He looked around the duct when the firing stopped and saw that the helicopter was now continuing towards the roof of the other warehouse. It was a jet black, small helicopter with dark gray propellers. A single man piloted it in an uncovered canopy. The design was quite unmistakable, although it could have been bought at an open weapons sale that terrorists sometimes participate in to fund the cause. Suddenly three more single man helicopters roared past him towards the other one, and they slowly began to settle down onto the rooftop. These new models seemed to have some limited stealth capabilities, which bothered MacBride. A hack terrorist front could never afford such modifications. Who are we dealing with here? Sniper-One ran back to his position at the rooftop, and cursed under his breath. The fifty caliber was smashed and broken on the roof, apparently battered by errant gunfire. Or was it? Maybe that was the target all along, to prevent MacBride from giving cover fire to Team One. He slipped off his backpack and pulled the flap open, then pulled out a modified Uzi submachine gun. A long silencer extended from the barrel and an equally large thermal scope protruded form the top of the magazine. He cocked it quickly and scowled. "A good sniper always has a back up." He crouched down on one knee and leveled the weapon at the four helicopters.

Inside the building, there was a stalemate. Team One was stuck in the doorway coming out from the stairwell as the four remaining attackers had set up a line of defense concentrated on that area. There were piles of wooden crates scattered throughout the second floor that the terrorists were using for cover. Unfortunately for Team One the nearest stack of crates was fifty feet away over open area. Not an option.

"Where’s Sniper-One?" Gallows asked nervously, wondering why these hostiles weren’t getting picked off one by one. They heard a scraping on the roof above, which seemed to answer their question.

"Sounds like something’s landing up there," Faria pointed out, then quickly ducked behind the side of the doorway as a path of lead chewed up the wall next to him. One of the terrorists broke off his attack and ran to the far corner. Faria squinted at him as he climbed a stack of crates, then planted something on the ceiling.

"What the hell?" Faria wondered, until a shattering blast cleared it up for him. The ceiling flew apart into chunks of concrete and plaster, revealing a gaping hole staring out into the night sky. A hook and cable descended through the hole and down towards the floor.

"Shoot! We can see what they’re up to, but we can’t do a darn thing about it!" Gallows pounded his fist into the wall. "If we move, we’re toast!"

"Some of those crates look heavy. I have a feeling it will take more than one guy to load them onto those cables. Maybe if they thin their force enough, we’ll be able to shoot through."

MacBride squinted through the sight at the helicopter hovering above the hastily made hole in the roof. A cable was dropping, evidently to pick up whatever was in the crates in that warehouse. He centered the scope on the head of the pilot, just under the helmet and above the mask, right between the eyes. Before he could pull the trigger, another ‘copter swept up and spun around, then launched a ski mounted thin red missile at the hapless sniper. MacBride’s eyes grew wide as the rocket hurtled through the air towards him. He hurled himself clumsily over the sharp edge of the roof, toppling forward into nothingness. His stomach thrust itself into his throat as he began to plummet, his arms flailing wildly, as if trying to grab onto invisible handholds. The thin missile streaked closer, and MacBride could almost see the little blast of orange flame shooting from the back of it. Everything was moving in slow motion as he seemed suspended in open air, then began the fall. His hopes rose as he spotted a metal fire escaped about ten feet own, mounted to the side of the warehouse. He twisted surprisingly gracefully, desperately aiming for the safety of the metal stairway. Sniper-One’s adjustment was unfortunately a little off, and instead of landing on the fire escape, he struck the metal railing ribs first. Pain ripped through his side as he hit the metal banister, then somersaulted awkwardly forward and landed on the first level with a dull thud. A thundering boom echoed above him as the missile struck the roof and sent debris showering into the air. MacBride could only curl into a ball as pieces of rock and concrete dumped down on top of him, and buried him in the rubble.

A second man finally ran to assist the first, and Faria thought that the moment had come. There were only two men defending now, and each one only carried a small machine gun instead of the large assault rifles carried by some of the others. Two crates had been removed and apparently flown off, but there was now another cable dropping. Faria had a feeling it was now or never.

"Jameson, get up here with the M-16! I want you to rush the hostile to the right while Roger and Lexington engage the one on the left. Me and Gallows will drive up the middle and try to take out whatever is lifting those crates out of here. Acknowledge?"

"Yes, sir!" the four men shouted their reply, and the plan was in action. Jameson charged from the doorway, firing a blast of gunfire from his M-16 as he ran. The terrorist seemed surprised and faltered a little bit, then went down under the fierce gunfire. The defender on the left shifted his aim to try and take out Jameson, but Rogers and Lexington were on him in a flash and quick bursts from their MP-5’s took care of him. Gallows and Faria charged down the middle of the room, quickly gaining on the two men now loading the last crate. Gallows fired his Mauser and one of the unsuspecting terrorists shouted and fell face first. The second one looked and saw the oncoming team members. He sucked in a breath and lifted his weapon.

"I will be remembered by the legions of followers! Hail the power of C—" a burst of fire from Faria’s machine gun cut off his noble speech and dropped him to the floor. The crate was slowly going up towards the opening in the roof and into the night sky. Faria quickly leapt to the stack of crates just under the hole and scrambled up them, making it to the ceiling in no time. He crawled through the hole and was up on the roof just as the last helicopter began to pull away. He lifted his weapon and pulled the trigger hard, peppering the small aircraft with deadly lead. A lucky shot shattered the tail rotor, and the ‘copter began to spin. The pilot looked around nervously as the helicopter descended beyond his control. The engine sputtered as fuel leaked from the bullet holes and the aircraft spun wildly.

"Bail out, you dumb fool!" Faria screamed at the pilot. The helicopter was only about ten feet from the roof, so a jump would not have been fatal.

"I will serve my leader well! You will not get any information from me!" with a shout, the pilot threw himself from the cockpit, but not towards the roof. He leapt over the edge of the warehouse and disappeared down into the night sky. Small screams could be heard from the parking lot as he apparently landed amidst news reporters and onlookers. The helicopter sputtered one last time and slammed down onto the roof, metal tearing and concrete crunching. Faria had been joined by the rest of Team One, and they charged towards the ‘copter.

"Get that crate free before the fuel ignites! Go go go!"

The five men grabbed the crate and yanked it free of the cable, then pulled it to the hole in the roof, and dumped it back in. They quickly followed just as a spark ignited the gas tank and the small helicopter went up in a brilliant orange cloud.

Faria began barking orders to his men. "Rogers, Lexington, go across the street and see if you can find MacBride! Jameson, check this crate for booby traps, and Gallows, you cover the rest of the warehouse and make sure all hostiles are neutralized."

"Yes, sir!" came the simultaneous cry.

MacBride was found and treated for superficial wounds soon later. Jameson and Faria pried open the crate and what was inside confirmed Faria’s suspicions, although Jameson had no idea what he was so worked up over. Just to make certain, Faria thoroughly scanned the lid of the crate. He soon found what he feared he would. There was a small plaque on the inside corner of the crate with four simple letters, but a very dangerous meaning. M.A.R.S.