CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

Organized Chaos

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dark night had swallowed him whole and he felt as if he was whipping down its dark, cool throat, rushing towards its churning belly, waiting to feed on him, chop away at him, and dissolve him in a thrashing, violent fury.  He could hear no sounds save for the wind whipping in his helmet-covered ears, and felt nothing but the same wind beating him about his bare face and exposed forearms.  His bright white eyes squinted in the darkness, adjusting to the lack of light, and trying to accommodate him as best as possible.  Sudden jolts and ruts had made the journey thus far somewhat challenging, but it was far less than he had handled before.  Far, far less than what he was about to jump into.  The light infantryman was surprisingly calm and collected; he had surprised himself actually, when he volunteered for this mission, deemed by General Hawk himself as “suicidal”.  Hit & Run was eager to please, eager to do his part for the better good, and was shocked to find that he wasn’t all that frightened.  Just the fact that he was riding on the back of the RAM at breakneck speed towards the towering Cobra Citadel with no cover, no armor and no backup was a testament to his courage and defiance.  Or his stupidity, the young camouflaged man was not sure which.  With heavy thumps, the duffle bag slung over his shoulder whomped against his arched back with each bump and rut the RAM jostled over.  He had shut off the lit readouts on the dashboard and had shut off the headlights themselves, trying to make this approach a covert as possible.  The sooner they started firing at him, the better chance they had of hitting him.  That was a chance Hit & Run was not willing to take.  Suicidal, sure, but the longer he could last, the more spotters he could plant for the fighter jocks.  If they’re even coming.  His mind barked angrily.  That part of the plan hadn’t really come to him yet.  He could plant all the spotters he wanted, go down in a blaze of glory, but if the planes didn’t launch, it didn’t mean squat.  He forced the negative energy from his mind as he mentally made a tally of the equipment in his duffle bag, which continued to bounce along his back like a hyperactive child.  There were several grenades packed near the top of the bag for easy access; his grappling hook, of course, not that he imagined needing it where he was going.  The rest of it was a parachute pack and other assorted goodies that had seemed essential at the time of packing, but now seemed like just so much dead weight.  Swerving the bike sharply to the left to avoid what looked like a rather large rock in front of him, the young Joe passed a green colored hand over his right side until it slid over the leather pouch, bulging with the infrared spotters.  He wanted to make sure he didn’t lose these, although if he did, maybe that would give him a reason to turn back.  No!  His overactive mind shouted, for the moment blocking out the whipping winds that roared past his head.  He pushed negativity from his brain yet again and tensed as the RAM hopped over a jutting rock.  With a low grunt, he let his legs slack for a moment, so they could buckle when he landed and reduce the stress on his knees.  If he had to dump the RAM for any reason, he wanted to be sure he could run like heck when he did.  The engine whined briefly as the bike became airborne for a split second, then coughed and roared again when it landed, bounding softly over the soil.  After checking the pouch for its contents, the light infantryman ran his hand over his chest, relaxing when it touched the cold, safe steel of his best friend at the moment, the AR-15 he had carried religiously for a number of years now.  There were dozens of clips strapped inside the duffel bag as well as a bunch in the harness he wore criss crossing his green and black camouflaged chest.  He squinted his eyes through the light red goggles that were pulled firmly over his face.  The landscape ahead was littered with the headlights of the Cobra army, some arranged in an insanely well organized fashion, while others seemed to roam, just coasting along, looking for a target.  Well, they were about to find it. All seemed in order, there was nothing left to do but ride and pray.

 

 

 

Destro glared out into the dark night, his ears perked and listening, although hearing nothing unusual.  His muscles twitched anxiously and a thin bead of sweat slowly formed on his forehead, threatening to roll down over his face.  The silence was all consuming, it seemed to swallow the very night whole, even as Destro sat there in the large double barreled gun turret of HISS One, staring off into the darkness.  There had been that single flash of lightning…a low rumble of thunder…but nothing since, however the masked man could almost feel the moisture lingering in the air, ready to break loose.

“Sir?” came a low voice from down below.  Destro turned and looked.

“Yes?” he asked, focusing his eyes on the small group of gray and red Eels that approached.  They wore their full gear, minus the facemasks and flippers, and held automatic weapons instead of spear guns.  There were five of them, the one in front doing the talking.

“We’ve swept the sewer system sir, but it’s clear.”

Destro squinted down at the lead Eel and cocked his head.  “Who are you?” he asked simply.

“Eel Nine, sir,” he said strongly and proudly.

“Where is Eel One?” Destro asked.  “I assigned him to your squad personally.”

Eel Nine looked somewhat uncertain, but replied quickly.  “He was taken out, sir…in the ambush.  Cobra Commander himself delegated the authority to me, sir.”

Destro sighed, exasperated.  “Very well.  You can do me this favor, Eel Nine.  I need a reconnaissance team to get a lay out of our approach,” he said, motioning to the long, downward slope of the hill that ran into the valley.  “I think we may need to place some roving guards there.”

“Sir?  We’re Eels, sir.  Isn’t that out of our element?” he asked.

“You were Vipers once, Nine.  I’m sure you’ll adapt.  Get to it!” he jabbed a finger towards the hill, already disliking Eel Nine immensely.  Eel One had been the most capable Undertow under Destro’s command in the Iron Grenadiers.  A simple ambush wouldn’t have taken him down.  He scowled at the water troops as they ran off towards the hill at a quick jog, gray wet suits and all.  Another low, deep rumble echoed throughout the valley.  Destro looked to the sky and immediately saw the thunderclouds moving in.  It was going to get very wet very soon.

 

 

 

Hit & Run half stood on the slender green bike as it hopped over the rocks and roots embedded in the soft ground.  The motor continued its high pitch and deep rumble as it bounced into the air, then landed with a thump.  Moonlight glared off of the Joe’s helmet, as he tore forward through the night, glad that even the slightest sliver of moon was now visible, making the ride at least a little more bearable.  The man-produced lights up ahead were growing slightly larger and more in number as the light infantryman drew closer, the roar of the RAM’s engine now almost deafening to his adrenaline-heightened senses.  They must hear me by now!  His mind barked as he wrapped his right hand against the soothing metal of his machine gun. 

 

 

 

“This is Flak Viper Forty-Seven to Sixty…respond Sixty,” the large, thick Viper mumbled into his small communications device.  He sat in the ASP, which stood straight up, glancing out towards the large down slope that approached the valley.

“This is Sixty, Forty-Seven.  Go ahead.”

Flak Viper Forty-Seven squinted through his thin black visor mounted in his dark green helmet, his face twisting with curiosity.  He was in the lead ASP, closest to the base of the hill, with three more spread out to his right and two more scattered a little ways to his left.  There was no reading on the radar in front of him, but a strange glob floated across the HUD built into his night vision helmet.

“I’ve got a possible contact here, Sixty.  A heat source moving in at incredible speed.  I can also hear an engine…just a single one, not too loud, but definitely there.”

There was a pause.  “I’ve got nothing, Forty-Seven.  Check your scanners.”

“Will do, Sixty,” he replied and glanced down to do some adjustments.  The engine noise continued to grow in pitch and volume, but Flak Viper twisted one last dial, and then lifted his head to make the call.  His breath sucked deep in his lungs and his eyes widened, as the engine noise was now a low roar, and hurtling right at him.  Nothing my ass!  His mind barked.  That’s a man and a motorcycle and what the heck is in his hand oh no it’s a gren—“

 

 

 

Hit & Run lowered himself close to the bike, pinning the AR-15 between him and the seat with his elbow while he rifled through his thick duffel bag.  The night zoomed past him as his speed grew to amazing proportions, the bike shaking even while roaring across smooth ground.  He finally wrapped an eager hand around the small round object as the first ASP was now coming too swiftly into view.  With a skillful twist of the thumb, the pin slid free and dropped, whipping backwards by the force of the winds surrounding the zooming motorcycle.  With a lurch, the front tire struck a rock and sent the bike swerving just as Hit & Run saw a Flak Viper lift his head and glare out in shock and wonderment.  The light infantryman leaned to his right as the RAM zipped within inches of the gun pod, close enough that the camouflaged Joe merely tossed the grenade through the open canopy as he zoomed past.  The other ASPs were also pointing towards the hill, so he was clear of them, but immediately saw three machine gun nests strewn out about the ground some meters ahead.  His engine was revving and screaming now, and he knew he’s been heard, as he could see the SAW Vipers scrambling for their M60’s desperately, with wide, shocked glares out from under smooth, round helmets.  There was a sharp BLAM and sound of rending metal as the grenade detonated aggressively inside the Assault Systems Pod, tearing the canopy off and tossing it aside in a torn, jagged shred.  Immediately, the two halogen search lamps spun around from monitoring the perimeter and honed in on him, as he became a green/black blur, hurtling over the smooth terrain of the valley.  His heart jumped up into his throat, his stomach twisting in knots.  He was in it now, and in it thick.  Nowhere to go, but straight forward.  So focused was the Joe on his targets ahead, that he didn’t even hear the first volley of shots from the massive watchtowers at each front corner of the Citadel.  They must have been large bore, most likely fifty caliber, as they pounded large holes into the muddy ground and spewed great fountains of dirt into the night air.  But the shots struck well behind him as he roared forward, clutching onto the RAM for dear life.  He still kept the AR-15 pinned to the seat as he lowered himself close to the bike, barely avoiding a barrage of shots flying from the M60s just ahead.  He could see the sparks flying from the large weapons, huge blooms of yellow/white, throwing the mounted rifles around like they were rag dolls.  The SAW Vipers held fast and directed the fire the best they could, but the motorcycle was bearing down on them way too fast for them to get a good bead on it.  With a swift twist, the light infantryman adjusted the direction of the bike even as another small volley of fifty caliber rained down on him from above.  He brought the cycle into a slight turn and leaned to his left, dropping the RAM low to the ground, his shoulder almost rubbing against the wet mud.  He let the AR-15 slide down the angled seat and slip smoothly into his waiting left hand, then moved it around in one fluid motion and opened fire on the sandbagged machine gun nest directly in front of him.  The AR jumped wildly in his left hand, unused to being fired single handedly, but so accustomed was the Joe to his small assault rifle that he kept it aimed and kept it firm, overcoming the amazing kickback by the sheer force of his will.  With insane balance, he kept the bike almost horizontal to the ground as heavy machine gun fire roared above him and his own weapon unloaded as well, the barking gunshots blending together into one violent, forceful symphony of death.  With sudden lurches, the SAW Vipers in the sandbag ahead of the Joe were thrown from the volley of his small, but deadly weapon, and he threw his weight the other way, righting the bike in one smooth motion and keeping it on a straight track.  He had taken out the middle gun nest and now hurled towards it, gunfire zipping by him from all directions.  He could almost feel the searing heat of the paths of bullets as they roared at him from the sides and poured down on him from the watchtowers up above.  Hit & Run swung the duffel bag around so it was in front of him as he bore down on the sandbags, and he squeezed his legs together, spreading open the cloth, unzipped cover.  With incredible skill, the camouflaged man perched his elbows on the handlebars, holding them steady, and let his rifle swing at his side.  He plunged both hands into the duffel bag and plucked out two baseball sized grenades, dark green and with the rough texture Hit & Run was used to.  He thumbed the pins from them quickly, then placed his hands back on the handlebars, steering with his wrists, as his fists clenched the explosives.  The front tire slammed into the sandbag and Hit & Run barely held on with his tightly clenched knees as the RAM bounced and soared into the cool night air.  Breath rushed from his lungs as he held on with his knees and swiftly cast his arms out to his sides, the small round objects falling from them like puffs of smoke at a magic show.  As soon as his hands released he whipped them back to handlebars to steady the bike as it crashed to the hard ground.  Almost as if on cue, as soon as the tires smacked into the tightly packed dirt of the valley floor, the two gun nests shuddered and blasted apart from the force of the grenades.  Hit & Run roared forward as flame and smoke licked at his uniform and blasted sand bags rained down on his hunched, low riding form.  SAW Vipers were tossed casually from the nests like discarded toys, their purple and black uniforms covered with a dull gray smoke and yellow flame.  Hit & Run relaxed just slightly even as another group of high caliber rounds pounded the dirt where he had landed, spitting tiny rocks and chunks of earth into the air.  As the RAM swerved, corrected, then hurtled forward again, the green Joe elbowed the pouch at his side, spilling a number of the spotters out onto the ground, where they blended in with the scattered debris from the machine gun nests.

 

 

 

 

“What the blazes is going on out there?” Destro shouted, standing straight upright inside the gun turret.  He pulled a pair of binoculars from his hip pouch and planted them firmly against his eyes, glaring out from behind the glimmering silver mask.  Another deep rumble of thunder roared in the heavens as he squinted out at the motorcycle tearing past the smoking machine gun nests, thin streams of ground flying into the air as the bullets whizzed towards him.  “Blast!” he shouted and lowered the goggles.  He brought his arm up to his helmet and shouted into the miniature broadband communicator attached to his wristband.  “All Vipers converge to sector…” he stopped for a moment and ran his fingers over some hidden switches in his helmet.  A bright, but small LCD screen emerged in the air and he traced the path with his leather-covered finger.  “—Sector 12-18…bring this insolent fool down!”  He snarled in anger at the brazenness of the man, riding straight into Cobra territory on a motorcycle!  Well, Cobra would teach him the folly of underestimating them, he was certain of that.

 

 

 

“We’re the closest team, Eel Nine!” the Cobra Frogman shouted, clicking off the transmitter.

“All right, everyone gear up!  He must be heading right for us.”  Eel Nine unstrapped his automatic weapon and checked the clip to make sure it was full.

“Sir?  Weren’t we supposed to move to the slope?  Advanced recon?” another one of Eel asked, looking at his squad leader curiously.

“Are you defying my orders?” Nine shouted angrily, lifting his weapon.  “I can arrange it so you will nev—“ suddenly, the engine roared in volume, shaking him from his threatening remark.  He spun, lifting the weapon, but the bike was already on top of them.  The Eels scattered, their eyes growing wide as Nine stumbled, lifting his weapon—

 

 

THD-THUD!!  Hit & Run bounced on the seat as the RAM pounded over the hapless Eel caught in his path just as he came around the bend.  The long, flat valley was slightly round as it made its way around the tree line towards the airfield.  The light infantryman winced slightly as he rolled over the shocked Eel with a series of rocking thuds, but quickly forgot about it as gunfire blasted from behind him.  He squinted ahead and spotted the long, sprawling airstrip, but glanced back over his right shoulder at the large group of HISS Tanks quite a ways away, in the opposite direction.  Suddenly another group of Cobras burst from the trees to his left, Night Vipers he thought, but couldn’t be sure as all he saw were dark green and black blurs as he hit the brakes and dropped low, spinning the bike around in a one eighty.  Bullets drilled into the ground around him, spraying dust, dirt and small chunks of rock up into his face as he hugged the ground, the bike whipping around in a tight right controlled spin.  As the RAM finished its fishtail and righted itself, the Joe grasped his AR-15 and swung it around to his right as the bike spun as well.  The RAM jolted to a halt, trembling slightly and sitting still upright on the ground, its powerful engine rumbling and groaning underneath its rider.  He dropped one foot, holding the bike steady and lifted the machine gun towards the trees where the Night Vipers crawled, weapons in hand.  With a quick twist, the throttle screamed, the back tire thrashing into a wild, blurring spin as Hit & Run glared at the snakes, who were moving in swiftly.  The lead Night Viper lifted his automatic to his shoulder and Hit & Run drew up his foot and hauled back on the trigger at the same time.  The RAM plunged forward as his AR-15 exploded to life, throwing bright flashes and sparks across the dark night air.  With a shout, the lead Night Viper stumbled back as the rest of his team dove for cover back into the trees, scrambling to get tree trunks between them and the assault rifle.  The bike roared onward, back towards the Citadel, Hit & Run chiding himself for his dedication to the job at hand.

 

 

 

The two slitted eyes glared out from behind the dark black and gray camouflaged mask, piercing the night, and following the green blurs every move.  He moved with the skill and savvy of a lifetime motor cross racer…finally someone worthy for her to take down.  Someone with a driving skill that could actually match her own.  She sneered underneath the cloth mask and glared at the Joe as he spun around in a flying cloud of loose dirt and actually headed back towards the Cobra army.

“Brave soul,” Vypra hissed, her gloved fingers twitching on the black leather clad steering wheel in front of her.  “Outracing you will be the most fun I’ve had in ages.”  She poked her head out of the door to her Stinger, a specially modified “Rattler” class, adorned with dark patches of camouflage to match her uniform.  “Scrap Iron!” she shouted at the man who sat perched on the back of the jeep, fiddling with the quartet of large red missiles attached to the launcher on back.

“What is it Vypra?” he demanded in his hoarse, rasping whisper.

“Hang on tight!”

“What?  No, this is our post—“ He could actually hear her foot stomp down on the accelerator from outside the compact vehicle and desperately clutched onto the launcher as the dark jeep rushed forward, digging deep trenches in the wet ground under the trees.  It almost jumped, then its back wheels locked, skidding across the hard ground, spewing up dirt.  The wheels caught and sent it flying forwards, Scrap Iron finally getting his grip on one of the bars on back.  He planted his hand firmly on his helmet to keep it from flying off as the jeep spun forward, heading towards the flying two wheeled blur.

 

 

Hit & Run flashed a quick glance over his shoulder as he zipped forward and saw the jeep bearing down on him, it’s halogen headlights glaring towards him like a pair of angry eyes.

“Uh oh,” he said nervously, glancing down at his side, towards the overfilled leather pouch.  I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but I gotta ditch these things and fast!  He lifted his head back to face where he was going and saw the group of HISS tanks looming ahead, still standing in formation.  He focused his energy on the group of tanks ahead, trying desperately to ignore the threat charging from behind.  But suddenly, the threat wasn’t just from behind.  Out of the corner of his right eye he spotted another group of headlights closing fast.  They didn’t look like Stingers, they were too small, but there were a few of them, and they were making a beeline for him.  With a sharp growl another flare of light erupted from the darkness to his left, but it wasn’t a pair of headlights, it was the flash of a cannon.  Hit & Run braked quickly and swerved as the orange and gray plume zipped just to his left and blasted a nice sized crater in the ground not two yards away.  More gunfire chattered from his right, smaller, automatic fire barking from the group of headlights.  The sparks shot from just above the lights themselves, like they were mounted—of course!  Ferrets!  He shouted, and as if on cue one of the familiar blue four wheelers roared through the air to his left, and he slammed on the brakes, spinning the bike around.  With a thud, the four large, cushy wheels buckled as it struck the ground and it roared by, its long, orange mounted cannon smoking from the expended round.  More gunfire blasted from his right as he lurched forward again, headlights suddenly bearing down on him from all directions, even above.  Hit & Run pressed himself low to the bike as he zipped forward, and reached into his large duffel bag.  As he swerved in and out of gunfire and rolling ATV’s he collected all of the grenades together near the top of the bag.  There were four left, which wasn’t nearly enough to take out the group of snakes he was suddenly in the middle of.  The HISSes loomed ahead of him, stoic, rock solid monsters, refusing to move to acknowledge the existence of this lesser being.  The Joe slipped the duffel bag off of his shoulder and let it slide until his fist wrapped around it, holding it just above the ground as it whipped below the roaring RAM.  He could almost feel the Ferret swerving in behind him, trying to get a clear shot, and he hauled back on the brake on the handlebar and whipped the RAM around, cocking his arm back.  With a twist of his wrist, the bike lurched back forward towards the Ferret and the Joe closed the distance before he could get a shot off.  As he neared the ATV, Hit & Run unleashed with a swift sidearm and hurled the duffle bag, trying to get rid of the excess weight that might slow him down.  The bag hit the driver of the Ferret, a Motor Viper, high in the chest and he shouted, toppling over backwards off of the speeding vehicle.  He somersaulted clumsily and violently, striking the ground with mindless velocity, twisting and thrashing with his excessive momentum from being on the Ferret.  Finally he flopped face first on the hard dirt in a crumpled heap.  With a strange growl, the Ferret continued its forward journey and Hit & Run glanced back just as another four-wheeler collided head first with the driver-less ATV.  A small, but violent yellow flash exploded from the impact, sending the Ferret and the driver flipping end over end, landing in a pile of flesh, cloth, metal and flame.  Hit & Run turned back around, pumping his arm, but the jubilation did not last long.  The “Rattler” class Stinger hurtled straight towards him on a collision course just as two more Ferrets dropped in behind, holding their fire for fear of striking the jeep.  Whoever was in the jeep had no similar compunctions and stuck their arm out the door, a micro-Uzi clutched in their hand.  It shook briskly as it fired with an amazingly rapid cyclic rate, but Hit & Run lunged to the left, and then swerved back to the right, deftly avoiding the path of the bullets.  Unfortunately, the Ferret’s behind him were too and they closed in, narrowing his options.  As if that wasn’t enough, with a sudden swiftness, the rolling, dirt-colored clouds moved in overhead, shielding the moon.  Almost immediately, thick clumps of rain began to fall, smacking against the hard dirt and splattering against the Joe as he tore through the ground towards the twin headlights, which would not veer off.  Hit & Run adjusted the pouch at his side slightly, and then returned both hands to the handlebars, letting his rifle swing freely from its strap.  Just seconds had passed from the first rolling clouds, and suddenly rain was pouring down in vicious, angry sheets, attacking the very surface of the earth and peppering the exposed men on the wheeled vehicles.  The headlights were now mere feet apart, and the Joe made his move.  He leaped up on the bike and drove himself down, creating a sudden jolt.  The spring suspension drew in together, then popped apart and Hit & Run wrenched up at the same time, pulling the front end of the RAM right off the ground.  He drew in a sharp breath as the speeding jeep slammed into the motorcycle as its momentum carried it forward and over in a clumsy, flopping jump.  When the bike hit the roof of the jeep, it dipped down suddenly, caught by the reverse momentum.  With a grinding shriek, the axle twisted and gnarled, tossing the RAM to one side and the camouflaged Joe riding it to the other.  Suddenly, as the following Ferrets collided with the Stinger, a thundering crunch and scraping threw the jeep into a clumsy roll itself, mangling with the four-wheelers and exploding apart in a sharp, bright yellow light.  Black debris and hunks of metal flew all over the valley, striking the HISS Tanks and scattering all over the surface of the ground, already growing muddy from the abusive rain.  Hit & Run’s stomach lurched in his body, as he seemed to float endlessly in the air, his AR-15 slapping against his chest as he did.  He struck the unforgiving ground with his right shoulder and rolled none too gracefully to a stop, groaning.  The Joe lifted his head slowly and stared at the flaming wreck, astonished that two figures were slowly strolling towards him.  Scrap Iron he recognized, who had removed his pistol and was stomping towards him, feverishly dusting off his uniform.  Another figure behind him climbed to her feet slowly, but with purpose, and scooped up the micro Uzi that had fallen near her.  She wore an elaborately camouflaged black and gray uniform with a mask covering her entire head except for her eyes.

“Stupid Joe,” Scrap Iron muttered, lifting his weapon.  “I knew your luck had to run out some—“

“Incoming!” the shout was loud, but still almost lost in the torrential down pouring of rain.  Still, Scrap Iron heard it clearly enough and spun around, hitting the ground at the same time, not believing what he was seeing.  A group of yellow/orange streaks whistled through the air, cutting through like it was nothing, spiraling in between each other, smoke trails twisting and turning and mingling together.  The first two struck the left watchtower in a brilliant white flash of light, throwing splinters and shards in all directions, over the valley.  A pair of screaming figures were tossed from their perches and shouted as they dropped the several feet, to crumpled heaps on the ground.  Another group of three plowed into the second watchtower with similar results; scorching wood, blinding flash, smoke and destruction.

“Yes!” Hit & Run shouted, unable to help himself as the familiar outline of the Whale roared down the steep slope, weapons blazing.

 

 

 

“Two volleys, two hits!” Cutter shouted triumphantly from the command post of the hovercraft.  Hawk stood firm and stern next to him as Roadblock hustled to refill the missile launchers.

“You figure the air strike’s not coming?” Roadblock asked above the din of the gunfire and the pouring rain.

“We can’t wait any longer!” Hawk shouted as a cluster of small arms fire slammed into the metal wall shielding the command center.  He ducked down as another round whizzed over his head.  “Bazooka!  Topside!  Suppress that fire!” he shouted to the two men in the gun turrets.

“Yes, SIR!” they both shouted eagerly and spun the turrets, quickly tracking down the teams of Vipers firing on them.  The barrels roared and thrashed, and the return fire halted.  Roadblock slid the last gray missile into place and turned to his commanding officer.

“Sir?  You want me to stay here, or ground pound with our boys?” he gestured down at Zap, Repeater, Bullhorn and Shockwave who ran full bore next to the Whale, their weapons poised and ready.  Lifeline was inside the hold with the injured and whatever Joes weren’t in the Whale or the Wolverine were hoofing it.

“Not yet, no!  We’re almost in ASP range, which is when it’s going to get really hairy.”

“Yes, sir!” Roadblock shouted, wondering how in the heck it could get much more hairy.

 

 

 

“No!” Destro shouted, raising his fist.  “Where were those blasted Eels?  They were supposed to warn us of this exact eventuality!”  Another short volley of missiles streaked through the air and exploded deep into the valley, obliterating the machine gun nests that had already been taken out by Hit & Run.  He lifted the communicator to his mouth as the rain actually increased in velocity, blasting down on top of him and his HISS squadron.  “ASPs!  We have armed insurgents coming down the slope!  It is a free fire zone, fire for effect.  Leave nothing standing!” he screamed, then switched frequencies.  “Stinger squadron, this is Destro.  Form up on my HISS team and prepare for intruders.  On my order, once you are in position, prepare to launch all batteries!” Destro’s voice was loud and dominant, his face twisted into a glare of sudden…beaming happiness.  The blood of combat roared through the man’s veins…it was a feeling he had long ago lost the feel for, but now; in the midst of it all, his heart craved it, yearned for it…wanted it above all else.  In this moment, James McCullen Destro; the Destro that he knew from long ago…Destro, the evil weapons dealer, was back.  “Baroness!” he shouted into the cockpit radio.

“Yes, my love?” she replied.  She almost instantly could tell that a change had gone over her man. 

“We’re pressing the HISS Squadron forward.  As long as I breathe, these men will not get near the Citadel!”

“As you command, Destro,” she said, a smile brushing over her smooth features.  With quick, succinctly ordered instructions, the HISSes began changing their formation.

 

 

 

“COVER!!!” Cutter shouted as loud and as hard as he could as the yellow and orange streaks pounded through the air in wide arcs.  They dropped down towards the Joes like fire from the heavens, and Gung Ho immediately got uncomfortable flashbacks.  He pressed himself up alongside the Wolverine as it moved slowly forward, its missile launchers trying to compensate for the new trajectory.

“Gung Ho!” Cover Girl shouted from the open cockpit, dropping herself down inside as the ground erupted into blasts of flame all around her.  “The Whale and Wolverine are going to veer off to draw their fire!  Hawk needs you, Zap, Repeater and Roadblock to move in and take out the pods!” she shouted loudly over the thunderous echoes, which had now eased slightly as the ASPs reloaded.

“You got it!” he shouted as the armored missile-tank altered its course and veered towards the left.  Zap, Repeater and Roadblock dashed across the open area, keeping low.  “Hawk fill you in?” The Marine asked and they all nodded affirmative.  “Okay, there are five of them, and they should be reloaded by now.  Let’s move out smartly.  Zap, you’ve got the LAW, so you take out the far pod.  I’ll frag the next one with my M203, you two,” he said, pointing to Roadblock and Repeater, “move in and wipe out the gunners on the other three.  Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” they all shouted and they were off and running.

 

 

Hit & Run stumbled to his feet and tripped up slightly, but soon was walking shakily towards the airfield.  He had no idea what he was looking for, but the gunfire was slamming in the other direction, so he figured this was the way to go.  But he didn’t get far.

“That’s far enough!” the voice was stern, yet soft.  Angry and thin, but not aggressive.  And, in Hit & Run’s opinion, actually kind of cute.  He turned and looked at Vypra through the green/black camouflage painted on his face.  The thrashing rain had washed quite a bit of it away, and it ran down over his face in streamy, dirty green rivers, meshing in with the color of his uniform.  His helmet was off and who knows where, but his trusty AR-15 still hung at his side, slowly swinging back and forth. 

“You got me,” he said simply, thinking that he may be able to charm his way out of this one.

“We got you,” another voice echoed and Scrap Iron emerged from the shadows behind her, his pistol trained on the Joe’s chest.  Hit & Run’s hopes went up in smoke, although the low rumble in the sky, kept them from falling completely.  He glanced back at the airstrip, which was only meters away, then looked back, listening for the thunder.  There was a storm coming, that was for sure.

 

 

 

“They’re branching off!  Compensate!  Compensate!” Flak Viper Sixty shouted at the other ASP gunners as he spun and roared off a pair of shots at the two Joe vehicles, which had branched off for some reason.  Both shots went wide and he cursed, and then began the reloading sequence.  He suddenly noticed movement from the corner of his eye and whipped his head around as the shadows snaked over the wet surface of the valley, framed by the pouring rain.  There was a quick yellow flash; another streak and an ASP blew apart some distance away, showering the area with blue debris.  Sixty swore under his breath and slipped from the canopy, his large rifle in hand.  There was a soft WHUMP and then another ASP fell victim to these mysterious attackers.  He dropped to one knee, squinted and spotted a man weaving through the valley, a grenade launcher clutched in his grasp.  He wore a bandanna on his head and a green vest with a bare chest.  There was a large, green tattoo on there, which looked close to a bull’s-eye for the Flak Viper.  He raised the rifle and sighted, then pulled back on the trigger.

“No you don’t!” shouted Roadblock from a few yards away.  He opened up with his Browning fifty caliber and slammed a barrage of heavy fire down on Sixty.  He stumbled under the attack, his weapon discharging loudly in the cool night.  The bullets tore into his thickly padded body and he stumbled back under the forceful impact, but the layers upon layers of composite body armor was enough to stop even these huge rounds.  Another blast of heavy machine gun ripped apart the night from behind him and he spun just in time to see another man plastering the last two ASPs with a large weapon strapped to his hip.  He turned towards the large black man, sweat brimming at his brow.

“You’re out of choices, my small friend,” Roadblock sneered, cracking his knuckles.  The Browning was slung across his backpack, and he only had his hands to fight.  Sixty had dropped his rifle, and was still feet away from it.

“You’ll never take me alive!” he shouted and charged Roadblock, thrashing angrily.  The big man stumbled as the Flak Viper ran into him, but did not budge.

“See?  That’s why they call me Roadblock.  Nothing gets past me.” He drove a hard fist into Sixty’s gut, doubling him over, and then brought another large hand down into a vicious strike at the back of his neck, just under the helmet.  In a tenth of a second the fight was over, but the war was still raging.  Quite suddenly, the Vipers must have realized they were there, and the night opened up in a bright barrage of small arms fire, tearing through the valley.

“Roadblock!  Repeater!” the shout was loud and clear, but from many yards away.  The two Joes sprang to their feet and charged across the empty valley, gunfire plowing away at the hard ground behind them.  Fountains of dirt and mud sprayed up on their heels as they ran, their feet splashing through the muddy water that had already collected from the twenty minutes of rainfall.  Zap was crouched down next to a crumpled mass that was not moving, and Roadblock’s heart sank.  They were huddled behind the wreckage of a jagged ASP and the bullets whistled and zinged from the metal surface.  Roadblock looked at Gung Ho as he laid there, his face contorted, his eyes open.

“Gung Ho, buddy!” Roadblock shouted at the Joe, who merely remained motionless.  There was a large, torn chunk ripped away from his right side, enough to barely expose his ribs.  Red flowed freely from the wound and mixed into the mud water, turning it into a nasty, crimson soup.

“What happened?” Repeater asked.

“I think it was that Flak Viper that Roadblock took out.  He got one shot off with that huge rifle.”

Gung Ho coughed, but his eyes were glassy and his skin was already turning slightly pale.

“This is bad,” Roadblock muttered, mostly to himself.  “Zap, get him upright, man,” he said, pulling off his dark green knitted shirt.  He wore a green tank top underneath, which proudly showed of his many rippling muscles.

“Roadblock, are you nuts?  It’s freezing out here!” Zap shouted.

“I’ll live.  Unless we get some kind of tourniquet around that, he won’t.”  Roadblock began fashioning a makeshift bandage and tourniquet when a low, loud thunder rumbled through the valley.  The same sound Hit & Run had heard, almost half a mile away.  The Joe looked to the heavens, worry creasing his brow.

“Dang,” he said.  “We gotta make this quick.”

 

 

The Whale whizzed a mere foot above the valley’s surface, coasting like a big rubber raft floating on a calm pond.  The ASPs had ceased their bombardment, and the night had once again become at least somewhat quiet, with the exception of the constant rumbling thunder echoing throughout the lower gray clouds.

“Plan, Hawk?” Cutter asked easing the hovercraft over by the tree line into a straight path towards the flat of the valley ahead.

“Cobra’s front line of defense has been taken out, so we’re clear to go in,” he said; squinting down towards the large, empty space before the Citadel.

“You don’t look so sure,” Cutter said, glancing towards the General.

“Well…” Hawk was interrupted by a sudden series of blinding lights flashing from the trees as they glided down the slope.  Milliseconds afterwards the rapid thunder of machine gun fire roared from the jungle, orange tracers arcing tightly from the thick brush.

“Down!” shouted Cutter and jumped towards Hawk, knocking him to the floor of the command center.  Tracers ripped through the cockpit, spraying glass and sparks in wide scattering bunches.

“No wonder it was so quiet down there!  Destro must have rerouted the ground troops to the trees to take us out unsuspecting!” Hawk shouted down on his hands and knees as bullets whipped around overhead.  “Cutter, turn this crate to starboard and bring us around!” the General pulled out his Colt handgun from his hip holster and spun around, sitting down on his rear end, his knees bent and feet planted.  He pulled off four quick shots, the old, but still kicking pistol rocking in his grip.  Tiny shell casings ejected from the pistol, tinging off of the metal cockpit and rolling on the floor amongst the glass fragments.  The Whale kept its forward pace.

“Cutter!” Hawk shouted again, finally turning, then drew in a breath.  The hovercraft pilot was hunched over in the far corner of the cockpit, his head down and baseball cap lying on the floor between his splayed legs.  His left shoulder and chest were soaked with deep crimson, and his breath came in uneven rasps.  Hawk lunged up and over to the steering console in one swift leap, just as sparks flew and exploded on the floor where he had just been sitting.  With a graceful skid, the General slid in behind the controls, keeping his head low as still more gunfire tore just over his head and ripped even more of the canopy apart it tiny, metallic flakes.  Hawk glanced up over the shattered windshield and saw Bazooka and Topside whipping their turrets around frantically, spraying heavy return fire into the woods.  The barrels rocked, thrashed and thundered, the long slender ends glowing a white hot, almost translucent as scores of shell casings arced high into the air.  Sparks whacked against the thick metal hide of the large beast, and danced along the top surface, but the two Joes held their ground, slamming the tree line with fifty caliber.  Hawk shuffled over to the missile controls next to the navigation system, but his hopes dropped as he saw the bullet holes and ragged chunks chipped out of the expensive, elaborate console.  The firing system was completely shot away, and the only way for them to slam real heavy fire power into the trees was to swivel the Whale and attack with the main cannons.  As he fumbled with the navigation, he glanced out of the cockpit once again and saw the Wolverine whipping speedily down the steep slope, towards the flat valley.  The bullets merely pounded off of the thick hide, and Cover Girl was taking the fight straight to Destro, now that the ASPs were nothing more than smoldering piles of shrapnel.  Hawk saw that nothing stood between her and the Citadel but a large group of HISS Tanks and a small smattering of foot soldiers.  Struggling with the tough decision, he pulled away from the steering controls and instead moved over to the throttle, and scooped up the radio, which sat right next to the large lever.  He hoped the radio wasn’t out too as he pressed down the talk button and shouted into it.

“General Hawk to all foot soldiers!  Converge on the tree line and take out their firepower!  The Whale is going in, I repeat the Whale is going in!”  He dropped the radio and it smacked against the console, then swung loosely on it’s coiled cord.  The General wrapped both hands around the throttle, hoping he was using the right controls.  He’d been on the Whale enough times to see how it was operated, but Cutter was the expert, and he had no idea how fast this thing could go.  With a grunt, he wrenched the large lever swiftly upward, satisfied with the low rumbling growl that emanated from the rapidly whirling turbines just behind him.  There was a sudden lurch and the Whale roared forward, Bazooka and Topside swiveling back in their turrets to get some last shots in as it sped on down the hill.

 

 

 

The Whale roared past the three men as they double timed it back up the hill, running low to the ground to avoid the streams of red and orange tracer that sprayed in arcing lines from the trees.

“Go go go!” Shockwave shouted, lifting his silenced Uzi and blasting away at the tree line ahead.  Kevlar broke away from behind him and moved in gracefully, his own assault rifle barking loudly in the cold, wet night.  Rain slammed down all around them, their combat boots splashing in the shallow puddles that had already collected in the wet soil.

“Did I hear that right?” Shockwave turned and asked Dial Tone who crouched just behind them, his automatic weapon up and ready as well.

“Yeah…the Whale’s going in, and we’re taking out the tree line!” the communications officer dropped low as tracers zipped towards them, then lifted his gray rifle and pounded off some return fire.  Kevlar dropped back somewhat and joined his two teammates, still firing his Heckler & Koch into the thick forest ahead.

“Where’s Leatherneck’s team?” he asked over the pouring rain and thundering gunfire.

“They were our fire support.  They were supposed to hang back and give the Whale rear cover…they’re probably a ways back!”  Shockwave squinted, spotting a yellow and purple blur moving in the dark forest.  With a soft curse he lifted his weapon, zeroed on it and pumped of a quick barrage.  The yellow shadow spun and fell back under cover of the trees.  “Keep your eyes open, boys, we’ve got HEAT Vipers out there!” he shouted, plucking a grenade off of his deep blue flack vest.  He took two leaping hops, then whipped his arm forward, sending the small baseball sized object flipping end over end through the air.  Just after release, he dropped stomach-first to the soaked mud as tracers tore through the air where he was standing.

“Fire in the hole!” he heard the shout from many yards away before the muffled blast shook the forest, throwing branches and wooden splinters out into the empty path.  If it had taken out anyone, Shockwave wasn’t convinced.  Gunfire erupted in even more rapid velocity, driving all three men to their stomachs on the ground.  Wet mud and earth spat from the ground as bullets pounded down around them, getting a little close for their comfort.  Shockwave reached to his belt and plucked off a set of night vision goggles, pressing them tightly to his eyes, but could not make out much.  The freezing rain and cold sea breeze severely dampened the heat sensing effects and the night vision didn’t do much against the trees and thrashing water all around.  Suddenly, a small group of three Vipers emerged from the woods, one of them carrying a very large weapon, an M60 by the looks of it.  Another one hefted a large tripod on his back, and slammed it down into the dirt, inaudible against the raging storm.

Shockwave turned his head and shouted.  “They’re setting up a hog at the edge of the trees!  Concentrate your fire on my mark!”  He whipped his Uzi around and emptied the clip in a wild, frantic barrage, pounding the trees where he had seen the three Vipers.  Kevlar crouch-walked up next to him, his arms bucking wildly as the HK barked in his tight grip.  Dial Tone half stood and shuffled to the side while doing the same.  A muffled thump echoed in the night to their left and the blue masked SWAT trooper whipped his head around, just barely seeing a faint gray smoke trail arcing through the air, heading right for the trees.  He smiled under his mask as the forest erupted in a muffled orange explosion, followed by alerted shouts and more frantic fire.

“Boys, I think our backup is here!” he shouted, pointing over to their left.  Sure enough, Leatherneck led the way, roaring with his M-16/203 grenade launcher combination.  He jacked the pump fiercely back to load another frag into the chamber, then lifted the weapon slightly and fired again, sending his arm thrashing violently back.  Before the grenade hit, he righted the rifle, jamming the butt into his shoulder and squeezed the trigger, spraying the trees with 5.56-millimeter hardball.  A distinctive loud KRAKK echoed through the air, just behind the small group and to their right.  Shockwave smiled, instantly recognizing the sound of Low Light’s powerful automatic.  Alpine and Clutch emerged from the dark night just behind Leatherneck, their small automatics chattering wildly, spraying even more sparks into the rain soaked night.  Last but not least, Airtight pulled up the rear, clutching his large, elaborate device, which served as an analyzer/vacuum, a gas weapon, and a nine-millimeter rifle.  He held the long, thick black weapon to his shoulder a blasted away, flinging smoking gas grenades into the trees.  Leatherneck dropped to his knees next to Shockwave, his large rifle still thrashing in his grasp.

“Where the heck does Hawk think he’s going?” he demanded, just before thumping another grenade round into the trees.  The reinforcements had been effective thus far; Shockwave noticed the gunfire dropping considerably since they had arrived.

“He’s got a clear path to the HISS Tanks,” Shockwave pointed out, pointing his finger down the slope towards the valley, which was still partially illuminated by twin halogen lamps on the Citadel.  But then he halted and lifted his head to the sky, his ears perking.  The constant rumbling thunder had suddenly grown in volume and in pitch.  And it wasn’t stopping.  It was a constant, deep growl, not sporadic.  He smiled for a brief second, but then looked down and spotted the Wolverine and the Whale suddenly engaged in a pitched battle in the valley.

“Oh no,” he said softly and looked at Leatherneck, who was obviously thinking the same thing.

 

 

 

Hawk rocked fiercely to one side as the Whale hit the flat of the valley and bounced slightly before lunging forward again.  The General eased off the throttle slightly, to bring the hovercraft a little more under control, his narrow eyes focusing intently on the group of HISS tanks just ahead, their turrets finally swiveling to engage.  The Wolverine was just ahead, and had spun into a skidding stop when the barrage finally roared across the valley.  But Hawk looked closely at the HISS squad, and none of them had fired.  Curious, he looked around just in time to see a half dozen large, red rockets searing through the air and whispering over the wet ground tailed by orange/gray flame and rolling smoke trails.  Stingers!  His mind barked as he brought the Whale to a shuddering halt.  A hidden squad of the Cobra Jeeps!  The rockets roared through the valley and slammed headlong into the thin green armored Wolverine, resulting in a sudden white flash and yellow explosion, tossing the powerful vehicle end over end amidst sprinkling Army green shrapnel and trails of gray smoke.  Cover Girl lay stomach first in the wet ground, the Wolverine teetering and flaming a few yards behind her.  Hawk moved over to the controls, his eyes searching and hands clutching for whatever he could find to spin him around and take cover.

“I…I’ll get it….” A voice muttered from behind him.  The General spun around as Cutter stood shakily, reaching for the controls.

“Cutter!  You’re in no shape—“

“With all due respect, sir, I could drive this crate dead and buried better than you can alive and kicking.”

Hawk smirked, backing away slightly, but the smirk didn’t last long as another rocket barrage erupted from the other side of the valley.  Bazooka and Topside swiveled from concentrating their fire on the first group, to trying to take out the second group as the rockets hummed in closer.  Cutter slammed the throttle forward and spun the Whale around, sending Hawk stumbling.  It jumped to a violent start and skidded over the wet ground, zipping towards the trees.  But they were caught.  The first group circled back in front of the hovercraft and unleashed the last of their red missiles, sending four red streaks whipping through the rainy, dark air.

“Crud!” Cutter shouted, bringing the Whale into a controlled spin.  “Bail!  Now!” he shouted at the turret drivers, who happily obliged, hauling themselves from their round prisons and scrambling over the surface of the Whale.

“Hawk…get out, we’re out of ti—“ his voice was interrupted by the thunderous slam of missiles striking the Whale broadside in a brilliant bright splash.  The hovercraft launched into the air and flipped over on its roof in a violent crunch and tearing of metal.  The rubber bottom tore apart under the explosion, spraying shredded black all over the valley floor among the sparks and green metal chunks.  With an uncertain shake, the hovercraft rolled back and forth on it’s crushed, mangled roof, the metal twisting and rending under it’s own weight, with orange flames fluttering from the bottom of the large vehicle.  Hawk pushed himself up to his knees, his hands almost sinking into the soft, muddy surface of the Earth.  Rain still pounded down around him as he turned and spotted Cutter lying prone underneath the Whale.  He half crawled forward on hands and knees, feeling a slick wetness rolling through his short blonde hair and over his face, but he felt no pain.

“C’mon, Cutter,” he said, extending his hand.

“The c—captain…m…must go down with his sh…ship,” the Coast Guard man mumbled with a struggled groan, the joking, sarcastic tone just barely audible.

“Shut up, Cutter and let’s go,” the General said with a light twinge of humor and wrapped his hand around Cutter’s bare, bloodied arm.  They limped from the wreckage as the flames roared higher, viciously battling the torrential downpour for control of the blaze.  Hawk lifted his head as the shuddering, violent roar of thunder threatened to rip the heavens down and send them crashing to the Earth.  It wasn’t a normal clap, it was rolling, growling, shaking sound that Hawk could almost feel in his bones.  He whipped his head around and saw the cover of trees many meters away, seeming like miles and miles.  It did indeed seem like they were certainly out of time.