CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

 

Scores To Settle

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Destro could not believe it.  Even as his mind was denying and trying to explain rational reasons for why this simply was not happening, his body was tensing and prepared for the coming shock.  His eyes were wide in disbelief as the cannons roared around him, but the white plane had slipped right through their fire; and dropped nothing.  His hopes soared for one brief moment thinking that they may have done something; that somehow they had squeezed a victory out of the crazed, impossibly unlucky chain of events that were the last hour of time.  But then came the green plane.  Like a bolt of olive drab lightning it streaked from the trees, it’s engines roaring a deafening, shuddering thunder, but no thunder compared to what was echoing around the Cobra second in command at this moment.  His whole world; whole universe was flying debris, chunks of earth, roars of blinding flame, and a choking gray/black cloud of thick smoke, washing over everything as it rippled slowly outwards from the point of contact.  Destro’s eyes widened even more as the cylinders tumbled through the air, falling lightly.  His hopes rose again as they spun and fell, but they were coasting towards the trees; they were falling off their mark.  It had indeed seemed like the torrential, typhoon-like rains and the gale force winds had worked in the favor of Cobra; Mother Nature herself intervening on their behalf.  But again, halfway through the bombs’ decent they suddenly shifted, scattered and became little homing projectiles shooting straight for certain spots on the ground; in the valley, in the midst of the Cobra Army’s formation.

How?  Destro’s always-rational mind demanded.  They must be smart bombs, but where are their spotters?  Again he tried to will away the events based on his calm, rational denial of them, but now he could no longer deny it.  Now the evidence was roaring high into the dark, night sky while gray/black nothing shot straight at him, followed closely by a bright wave of rolling flame.  Suddenly, quite suddenly Destro wasn’t so sure about his policy of holding his ground, and defending the Citadel with his life.  He closed his eyes and winced as a rush of smoke washed over him, making him gag and cough, making his once wide open eyes sting and water.  He stared down at the ground, seeing the Baroness crawling for cover as the same thick cloud washed over her as well.  Suddenly, the HISS was airborne, pushed along by a powerful, but invisible force, and it hovered there for a second and then went slamming to the ground, throwing Destro from its turret like a cowboy thrown from his rodeo horse.  He hit the ground just next to his beloved Baroness and they rolled together as the large black tank pounded into the ground just behind them and rested still, small puffs of smoke and scattering of black debris falling around them.

“Stay close to the ground, beloved!” Destro shouted above the thunderous roar, which had quite completely blocked out the sound of the raging storm that had been in the heavens above.  They hugged the wet earth as the wall of flame and bursts of forceful light crashed against the HISS, knocking it into a violent shudder, but keeping it on its side.  The two Cobras huddled behind it, as the explosions blasted around them, flames roaring just over them roaring just over them and to each side, narrowly blocked by the fallen tank.  Debris clanged against its thick metal hide and shredded island pelted the two as the say there, their heads lowered and their muscles tensed.  Just as it seemed the noise was letting up, another sharp BANG would echo followed by more flame and flying debris.  Destro and his love sat amidst the inferno, quite certain that this was their last hour on earth.

 

 

“Lower your hands, you moron!” the shout came from the shadowed figures, and Ace had to think twice before complying.  The shadow melted away and the figure came into half view, still obscured by the thick clouds above, although the raging explosions about a mile away were casting an ambient glow over the entire airstrip.  Ace smiled when the face was finally exposed.

“Stalker!  What are you doing out here?  Aren’t you supposed to be inside?” he pointed to the Citadel, his face confused.

“Well, we came out here to tell Hawk’s team that the radar was down.”  He looked over at the valley, which was still roaring with the flames of Hades itself.  “I guess you got the point, though, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Ace replied ducking slightly as the Conquest screamed overhead, then banked and hit the runway with a sharp squeal and screeching halt.  The rest of the group approached behind Stalker, some of them looking fearfully solemn.  The red haired pilot walked over to Duke first, who still leaned on Claymore for support, his face a puffy mess, but with an even worse expression.

“What’s the matter, Top?” Ace asked, walking over to the limping Sergeant.

“I think General Hawk’s team was still in the valley, flyboy.  When the bombs hit.”  His face was ashen and cold dead serious.  Ace lowered his head and sighed deeply.

“No.”  It was all he could think to say, more of a plea to some higher power than an expression of disbelief.

“Another thing, son,” Duke said softly, putting a hand on the pilot’s shoulder.  “You lost one bud.  One of the ‘Striker’s got hit…he crashed and burned, no eject.”  He pointed to the ragged mountain just behind the Citadel, way off in the distance.  Ace could only imagine the white debris of a destroyed Skystriker there; it was far too far away for him to see anything.  Slipstream approached from behind, hearing the little speech.

“Two?” he asked moving into the small group, looking at the mountain.  “Two bought the farm?…Two…two?…for crying out loud, I can’t even remember the guys damn name!” he shouted, disgusted with himself.

“Jeffries, Jonas S.  Colonel.  112-30-7140, Code Name: Ghostrider,” Ace said solemnly looking towards the mountain.  He snapped off a stiff salute, and lowered it, clearing his voice.  “Don’t worry, Slipstream,” Ace said, slapping the man on the shoulder.  “He’d have been offended if you had remembered his name.”  He turned towards Duke, his face stern and mean.  “All right, Top, what’s the plan?  I may be a flyboy, but I can ground pound and shoot with the best of them.  I aim to get me some payback.”

Duke grinned and held up a calming hand.  “Relax for just a second, Ace.  I think our first objective is to find out if our boys are still in the valley.  From there on, we’ll play it by ear.”

Ace nodded a surface nod, while inside he yearned for something to shoot at.

 

 

 

“Hello?”  Its own echo, but nothing else greeted the small voice.  “Anyone alive in there?”  The voice would have been loud and roaring, but through the steel of the hold, it was quite muffled and almost inaudible.  Two quick raps clanged through the hold and Hawk sat straight up, almost knocking his head on the hold ceiling.  Or was it the floor?  Or the wall?  The General couldn’t tell, he just knew his muscles were screaming and his ears were ringing.  The last thing he remembered was shoving everyone inside the Whale, and then the Earth itself opened up and sprayed fire over the valley, sending the hovercraft rolling clumsily along.  His ears still hummed softly from the punishing roars of dropping bombs, but he could ear a little bit, and definitely heard that rapid pounding on the side of the craft.  He had no idea how long he’d been out, but there were no more slamming explosions, just a low growl of roaring, crackling flame.

“Hello?” this time the voice was much louder and he whirled around, seeing a round dark head peering inside the opening of the hold that Blackout had burnt through.  His vision cleared and focused through a red haze and finally saw Airtight as he slowly crawled through the tight opening, which was now almost flush with the ground.  Hawk finally realized that the Whale was upside-down.

“Airtight?” he mumbled, his voice choking slightly from the cloud of smoke that still hung in the air.  Around the General, more bodies stirred slightly as if waking from a deep slumber.

The green helmeted head turned from the opening and shouted up the slope.  “They’re okay!  C’mon, let’s get them out of there!”

Hawk’s hearing cleared a little more and he could still hear the crashing of the rain on the ground outside, and a stream of dirty water ran into the Whale, collecting just below him.  In seconds they were inside, reaching and pulling and grabbing and freeing, Hawk’s head still in a minor daze.

 

 

 

Roadblock’s face lit up in a smile when he spotted the men milling around and moving next to the capsized hovercraft.  The big man could only fill in the blanks in his memory, but he remembered almost getting creamed by a falling Mamba, and then he woke up, surrounded by his fallen teammates, the valley awash in flame and smoke.  He picked up the pace as much as he could with Zap and Gung Ho draped over his large, broad shoulders.  Behind him Repeater jogged slowly, with Cover Girl draped over his.

“I think they’re all right, man!” Roadblock shouted, craning his neck back to yell to his teammate.  Repeater said nothing, just continuing on behind him.

 

 

 

“I see movement, Duke!” Hit & Run shouted, dropping the binoculars from his eyes and shouting excitedly to the men limping slowly behind him.

Duke smiled through his swollen, beaten face, his shoulder suddenly starting to throb in agony.  The pain had subsided somewhat while the mission was on, the adrenaline keeping him going, but now…he saw that everything seemed to be coming together, and once again a searing white arrow seemed to be drilling through his collarbone, and melting burning acid throughout his chest.  He groaned, coughed haggardly and stumbled, Claymore bending over quickly to keep him upright.  Behind him Falcon carried Muskrat who still hadn’t regained consciousness and Rotor Viper, Recondo, Stalker and Wet Suit followed near behind, looking serious, but inwardly relieved at the same time.  Moments later, they joined their comrades, each small group filling the other in on the details of the numerous past hours.

 

 

 

“No!  No no no!”  Cobra Commander screamed angrily, his fist waving in the air.  He sat up from his desk with a raging shove, knocking his red chair over and spilling a snake-mug full of pencils onto the floor.  “This is intolerable!  What happened to our radar?  What happened to our Mambas?  What happened to the plan????”  His eyes were raging and bulging, each man in the large room, backing down slightly except for the two Immortals who stood their ground at his flank.  “You there, who are you?” he demanded, thrusting a black gloved finger at the young Viper before him.

“Viper Satchel, sir!” he replied happily.

Cobra Commander looked enraged.  “Not your name, idiot!  What number are you?”

“Viper Eight-Three Seven,” he stammered nervously.

“Very good, Eight-Three-Seven…I want to you set up a strong hold on the bottom level of this Citadel!  Sandbags, heavy machine guns, all the Vipers you can gather together, understood?”

“Y—yes, sir,” Satchel replied, sweat building at his brow, underneath the silver faceplate.

“Well get to it!” Cobra Commander spun, waving an irritated hand and Satchel lowered his head apologetically and swept out the door, the other two Vipers close behind.

“He put you in charge, kid?” the large, dark skinned Viper asked beside him.

“I don’t know why Rhames…but he did.  And I’m going to make him glad he did!” he shouted confidently.  “My name will be on the monument in Washington, D.C. where my parents can see it and be proud of their only son.”

Rhames smiled beneath his mirrored mask.  “All right, kid.  Lead ahead.”

 

 

 

Moments had passed, the team finally reunited, discussing battle plans and strategies.  Lifeline hovered over the row of wounded a few yards behind the group of Joes.  He checked out Duke, Muskrat, Gung Ho, Zap, Cover Girl, Outback, Spearhead, Bazooka, Topside, Cutter, and Clutch with a doctor’s diligence and attention to detail.  He dressed their wounds, administered painkillers and wrapped everything up in tight, smooth bandages, making sure all were comfortable under the limited shelter of a hastily constructed shelter from trees and thin slabs of scrap metal strewn all over the ground.  Some distance away, Scrap Iron and Vypra stood firm and uncomfortable under the careful watch of Joe guards.  The rain still slammed down around them all.  Over by the group, Leatherneck’s eyes lit up when he saw Wet Suit approached and gave him a firm, solid handshake.

“Once again, the Jarhead’s gotta bail you out, Frogman!” he shouted gruffly, but happily, Wet Suit returning the expression.

“Claymore, how are you doing?” Leatherneck asked, turning to the man in camouflage.  Dial Tone joined the two men and slapped Claymore on the shoulder, grinning.

“Good to see you again, buddy,” he said, Claymore looking kind of embarrassed by the attention.

“For crying out loud!” came a voice from over under the ragged shelter.  The men looked over and Duke was propped up on his elbows witnessing the whole thing.  “I’m I the only one who doesn’t know this guy?” he waved a hand towards Claymore and shook his head.

“Sorry, Duke,” Dial Tone replied chuckling.  “We were on a special mission together in—“

“Yeah, let me guess…in Brazil, right?”

“Yup.”  Leatherneck replied, nodding.  Duke shrugged and lay back down, adjusting the large white bandage wrapped around half of his chest and shoulder.

“So, Stalker,” Hawk said, drawing closer to the Ranger and letting the other Joes converse among themselves.  “How did you guys get out of the prison?”

Stalker shook his head almost as if he didn’t believe it, even though he had seen it himself.  “Believe it or not, you can thank Flint for that,” he said gesturing back behind him.

Hawk’s eyes sprang open in surprise as he looked back where Stalker was signaling.  “Only person I see there is that Rotor Viper you were telling me about.”

Stalker whirled around, and sure enough, Flint had somehow vanished in the confusion.  Stalker shook his bloodied head and coughed suddenly.

“Hey, maybe Lifeline should take a look at you,” Hawk said, almost sternly.

“I’m fi—“ Stalker started to say, but Hawk interrupted.

“Consider it an order, troop.”

Stalker sighed.  “Yes, sir,” he said and turned to walk towards the medic, trying desperately to hide the slight limp in his walk.

“All right, Joes, gather around!” Hawk shouted, waving everyone into a small circle.  As Lifeline tended to the Army Ranger, Stalker kept a close eye, and his rifle, trained on the Cobra prisoners so that the small group guarding them could hear Hawk’s words of encouragement.

  “We scored a major victory here already, but the fight is far from over, understood?”  As he spoke, his eyes roamed over the wasteland that was once the valley.  Every HISS tank and Stinger that had been inside was a crumpled, smoking ruin and Cobra Blue colored bodies littered the landscape.  Gray suited Stinger Drivers and red suited Track Vipers mingled among them, either sprawled in the dirt, or slumped over in the cockpit or driver’s seat.  It was carnage, plain and simple, and as many times as Hawk saw it, it still put a knot in his stomach and a heavy weight on his conscience.

“Rotor Viper?” Hawk asked, signaling to the blue suited man in the crowd.  He stepped forward somewhat uneasily, but received no harsh looks or mean comments.

“Yes, sir?” he asked softly,

“Stalker has told me of your services, son.  First of all, thank you.  When we return from this operation, I hope you will think to enlist in the armed services.  It would be my pleasure to have you serve on this team some day.”

“T..thank you, sir.”  It was obviously not the reaction he had been expecting.

“But for now, your knowledge as a Cobra agent will prove invaluable.  You have been briefed on the weapon, Code Name: SuperFreak, yes?” he asked.

Mike, the Rotor Viper nodded.  “Yes, sir.  Stalker told me all about it on our way out of the complex, sir.”

“Good.  I need you to tell me where I would find such an item inside the complex, troop.”

“My first guess would be Mindbender’s lab, sir.  He and Destro do most of their work down there.”

 “Good.  That will be the first team’s target.  Volunteers?”

Wet Suit immediately stepped forward, his face mean and cold as ever.  “Me, sir.”

“Wet Suit, are you sure your up to it, troop?”

“Sir, with all due respect, a bunch of Mindbender’s little guinea pigs took out my whole S.E.A.L. squad.  I want to get me some payback, sir.”

“Good enough, troop.  You’re the squad leader for this little expedition.  Rotor Viper, I want you to go with him, to show him the quickest way to get there.  Can you handle that?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Good.  Airtight, you’ll be going with them.  If the device is there, I need someone with some science savvy down there to tinker with it.”

“Yes, sir,” Airtight replied quickly and joined the other two.  Wet Suit nodded to him, running a hand over the two MP5’s still strapped to his broad shoulders.

“Dismissed, troops,” Hawk nodded to the three men, who snapped off salutes and ran off into the dark night, Rotor Viper leading the way, his AK-47 held out in front of him.

“All right.  Now for the fun stuff,” Hawk said, but his face looked far from fun.  “We’re going to strike at the heart of this snake, troops.  Our target is there, learn it and love it.”  He pointed a firm finger back, straight towards the large, looming concrete Citadel.  The large carved Cobra emblem seemed to mock them from underneath the rectangular window above.  “If I know Cobra Commander, he is reforming whatever is left of his troops into a blockade at the Citadel, with him sitting pretty at the top.  It is my understanding that the strike team swept the whole complex, and that is the only place he could have retreated to.”

The Joes all kept their eyes locked on their leader, all standing at stone solid attention.

“The rest of us will have to move quickly…hit them hard and fast, before they know what to do.”

“Um, sir?” a sheepish voice called from the crowd.  It was Dial Tone.

“What is it, troop?” Hawk asked.

“Ripcord’s on the horn sir, he wants to talk to the group.”

“Put him through,” Hawk said.  There was a crackle and soon Ripcord’s voice broadcast from the large speaker on the back of Dial Tone’s backpack.

“Joes!  We finally got to a radio!  Everyone keep an eye to the sky, you have serious aircraft moving in!”

The Joes glanced around, trying to suppress amused chuckles.

“Too late for that, ‘Cord!” Ace shouted at the radio.  “They came, we saw and we kicked their tails!”

“Ace?” Ripcord asked, his voice crackling through the speaker.  “All right, the flyboys made it!” he shouted to someone else on his end, who shouted happily.  Hit & Run smiled at the sound of Beachhead’s voice.  “Hey, Ace!  I hope you crammed a sidewinder up Wild Weasel’s exhaust for me!”

“Wild Weasel?” Ace asked, drawing closer to the radio.

“Yeah!  He took of in a Rattler like a bat outta hell!  You didn’t see him?”

Ace’s eyes grew wide as he looked over at Hawk.

“He wasn’t in the air?” Hawk asked solemnly.

“No, sir.  There were only Mambas, General, I’m sure of it.”

“Then he’s---“

“---Got the device!” shouted Ace, already breaking into a full run, back towards the airfield.  Slipstream broke off from the group and dashed after him, arms and legs pumping fast.  Hawk lowered his head.

“They launched it…they really did it,” he whispered softly, but his look of concern almost immediately hardened to a cold, mean glare.  “Men.  As of now, this is war, understand me?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Whether or not the weapon hits our country, we must take Cobra down.  We must take Cobra Commander out tonight.  He is the heart and blood of this evil empire, if we cut him out, the empire will die, plain and simple.  I hope no one is feeling squeamish, because there is only one objective as far as I am concerned.  Cobra Commander himself.”

“YES, SIR!”  If anyone was squeamish, they hid it well, shouting with an unbridled enthusiasm.

“This is the breakdown.  Lifeline and the wounded stay here.  Those who can stand will guard the prisoners.  I want to hear no arguments and no refusals, Joes, do you hear me?”

“SIR!”

“Repeater, Claymore, Torpedo, and Bullhorn, you stay with the wounded.  Form a perimeter guard, make sure there are no loose snakes running around with vengeance in their minds, got it?”

“Yes, sir!” the four men tried to sound enthusiastic, but everyone could tell they were disappointed.

“Everyone else converge on me, we’re going in, got it?” he walked away, towards the Citadel, the men on his heels, swiftly scooping up their weapons and following Hawk, who was barking orders even as he walked.  “Low Light, you’re our night spotter and sniper, set up camp in the valley and back us up!”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Alpine, Hit & Run, Recondo, and Falcon, you are the attack squad!  I want you four to charge ahead, guns blazing and clear us an entrance!  Once we enter the Citadel, Alpine and Hit & Run will cover the outside while Recondo and Falcon hang back and cover our flank!”

“Yes, sir!”

“The rest of you are with me in the strike force.  Roadblock, you’re our heavy gunner, Leatherneck, Shockwave, and Kevlar you’re the foot troops!  Dial Tone and Blackout you are communications and technology.  If there’s any way to diffuse this thing, if it is indeed still in the Commander’s office, it is up to you.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Let’s do this!  Yo JOE!!!”

“YO JOE!!!”

 

 

 

Wet Suit dropped into the large chamber below, landing in a low, graceful crouch, one of his MP5’s raised and trained on the dim hallway.

“Clear!” he shouted in a harsh whisper.  Behind him Airtight dropped down, stumbling slightly but regaining his balance.  Rotor Viper hit the floor next and rolled to his feet.  Wet Suit recognized it as the main hallway they had been in mere hours ago, the Vipers still strewn about the floor and bullet holes still littered the walls.

“That was a heck of a lot easier than getting out,” he muttered, shuffling forward.  Rotor Viper nodded. 

“Well, it’s a lot easier to drop ten feet than to jump ten feet.” He said bringing his AK up into firing position.

Airtight glanced down at his readings, which showed little.

“Hallway’s down there,” the Rotor Viper pointed towards a branching hall, across from where they had exited from the prison.  The complex was strangely silent, like a huge, cavernous tomb, the echoes of gunfire long since faded and the shouts of troops lost in the smooth walls.  Wet Suit nodded, shuffling forward slowly, inching around the bend.  The hallway was clear, and he waved his buddies forward.  They joined him swiftly and they entered the branching hall, hearts throbbing in their throats.  The hallway was short and opened into an enormous facility, a huge, looming mountain of a room, the catwalk they ended up on wrapping around one corner and leading to an elevator at the end of the concrete walkway with the metal railing.  Wet Suit glanced down at the room, and looked around, noting the wooden stage and curtain rigging, the podium and the low hanging velvet flags emblazoned with the toothy grin he’d come to loathe.

“I thought this was a training room,” he muttered to the Rotor Viper as they walked along the catwalk.

“It was.  Looks like there was some kind of rally,” Mike replied, squinting down into the room.  “Doesn’t surprise me.”  Airtight looked throughout the room and checked his readings again, but found nothing mysterious.  Minutes later they were at the elevator and inside, Rotor Viper quickly scanning over the console.  With a light press he shoved in the button marked ‘L’ and the elevator slowly descended.

“All right, what’s the plan, Wet Suit?” Airtight asked, loading a clip into the nine-millimeter weapon built into his “Sniffer”.

“I’ll let you know when the shooting starts,” Wet Suit said, only half joking as the elevator door swung slowly open, the Navy S.E.A.L. drawing in a deep, disturbed breath.  There they were, standing over by the monitors, oblivious to their presence.  Two of them only, but two more than Wet Suit expected to see, they were obviously concentrating on the read outs in front of them.  Wet Suit swung himself back in the elevator, letting the door ease, but not slam closed.  He flipped the stop switch and was breathing hard.  He was now certain that throughout his whole life he would never forget the uniform…the evil, grating voice…and the slick silence that seemed to follow them.  The Shadow Vipers would undoubtedly haunt his dreams for life.  But he would not back down.  There had only been two of them, he wasn’t sure where the others were, but he had seen the whole lab from the elevator.  The long, narrow clear passage on the left of the looming glass, human sized test tubes, which took up most of the rest of the room.  There were a couple of feet of blank space between the elevator and the machinery and he had spotted a circuit breaker off to the left, behind another set of tall, sophisticated looking computer banks.  Again, his mind told him there were only two, and their helmets were off, blood-red facemasks pulled tightly over their heads.  In a small way, he was happy the helmets were off, those deep red eyes, and evil rasping breathy voices cancelled out for at least a moment.

“Wet Suit?” the low voice forced his head to spin.  He hadn’t noticed but he was sweating profusely and his side suddenly throbbed with a dull ache.  Airtight leaned in close to check out his comrade.  “You okay, buddy?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, just honky dory,” Wet Suit replied evenly, his eyes darting towards the elevator door.  “All right, boys, listen up, because I only want to say this once.  These boys are fast and deadly, a very dangerous combination.  Their suits are stealth capable, but only against electronic detection, although they do emit this strange “field of silence” meaning we can’t hear them do jack.”  He spoke with calm seriousness, looking each man in the eyes.  “Right now they’re not wearing their helmets, which can work to our advantage.  We’ll show them what stealth is really all about.”  His glare was turning narrow and mean as he looked Airtight right in the eyes.  “Airtight, I want you go left as soon as the door opens and go straight to the circuit breaker.  Don’t wait for my order, as soon as you get there, cut the lights.”

“Got it,” Airtight said, nodding.

“With their helmets, these boys can see in the dark better than I can see at high noon, so we’ve got to move fast so they don’t have a chance to put them on.”

The other two men nodded.

“Now, Mike, you’re my cover man.  I want you to hold ground in the elevator, using it as cover.  Once the power is cut, the elevator won’t run, so you’ll be safe here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir.  I’m going straight in and to the right, using the machinery as cover.  When the power is cut, I’m going in hard and fast.”

The other men’s eyes confirmed their understanding.

“All right.  On three, I pop the doors, and we’re on.”  Wet Suit lifted one of his MP5’s, leaving the other one dangling while his finger probed for the button.  “One.”  His muscles tensed, his face narrowed, his eyes squinting tightly closed.  “Two.”  His eyes eased open slightly and his fingers drummed nervously against the handle and trigger of the automatic.  “THREE!” His finger pounded the button, the door slid open and they went into action.  Wet Suit dropped low and raised both automatics simultaneously, charging forward with the power and grace of an Olympic athlete.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the yellow-garbed Joe break out and dash the other way.  The Shadow Vipers whirled with the sound of their boots slamming against the lab floor, and their eyes grew wide behind the smooth red masks.  Wet Suit grinned happily at their shock, pleased to be returning the favor.  Unaware that he was shouting, the Navy S.E.A.L. hauled down on both triggers of the H & K’s his arms thrashing while the guns jumped in his hands, spraying sparks and smoke down the narrow empty passage between the large tubes and the monitoring devices.  The lead Shadow Viper broke off and dove to his left while the second one took the full brunt of twin Heckler & Koch submachine guns, thrashing and stumbling like a seizing drunkard.  He fell, but shot out a single arm, catching himself on the elaborate computer banks behind him, and remained standing.  With a grunt he swung his large weapon hanging by his side up and around, his face twisting in a look of rage.  The S.E.A.L. dropped and rolled as the huge barrel exploded in a wild, blinding fury, his arm holding it stock still and walking the large bore path of deadly lead along the back wall.  Large, jagged chunks of wall blasted apart under the assault, showering Wet Suit with sparks and debris as he scrambled for cover.  Three solid shots slammed into the console he finally found refuge behind, rocking the whole monitor on its foundation and pounding massive holes in the metal and computer components.  Wet Suit had forgotten exactly how powerful their personal arsenal was.  And then the lights were out, and the lab was plunged into darkness.  The gunfire stopped suddenly as black swallowed the room whole, shutting out all sources of light.  Wet Suit shuddered slightly as he sat there crouched behind the console, his head mere inches below the top of the computer, which was already sparking slightly from the Shadow Viper’s roaring gunfire.  The gun which was as powerful as rifle as he had ever seen, and yet made no noise whatsoever despite the huge gluts of flame and sparks which blasted from the barrel.  It was an unnerving experience as was sitting here with them in pitch-blackness.  But the Shadow Vipers were obviously equally unnerved as their shooting had instantly halted, the men obviously searching for a way to solve this new problem.

“What’s the matter, boys?” Wet Suit couldn’t help but shout.  “Your untrained eyes not used to the dark?”  He was answered by a thundering strobe of quick flashes, and the scream and slam of large bullets striking the walls around him.  “Technology doesn’t mean crap without the basic training behind it, Snakes!” he whipped back around the computers, crouching low and roared off a quick series of flashing shots, which did make noise, even with the slender black silencers screwed on.  As if taking the cue, another barrage of quick flashes and chopping thunder erupted from the elevator, Rotor Viper’s unsilenced AK-47 barking loudly.  Sparks spun from the computer banks behind the pair of Cobra’s, illuminating their little corner of the room, and sending them scattering.  Glass sprayed from the popped monitors, but strangely, made no sound when it landed at the feet of the black clad Cobra’s.  Wet Suit figured he would never get used to that.  Return fire sprayed quickly and abruptly, slamming into the elevator car and tearing up the metal console that Wet Suit crouched low behind, his head ducking down to avoid the whipping shrapnel and bright sparks.  He blinked his eyes somewhat, happy to realize that his vision was adjusting to the darkness.  Was theirs?  For some reason, the Joe didn’t think so.  Wet Suit decided that it was time to end this little battle and ran his hand over the web belt wrapped tightly around his waist.  Within seconds, the eager, roaming hand closed around the small green grenade, feeling like a cold drink of water after weeks in the desert.  Wet Suit eased his head up and over the bank of computer and froze, his blurry vision picking up a disturbing scene.  The lead Shadow Viper approached the bank of computers on the other side of the room slowly, but methodically, reaching out with his free hand, groping for the counter.  Yes, his eyes were definitely still unaccustomed to the darkness, but in another few inches, that would change.  His helmet laid there, the dim eyes staring out at the S.E.A.L. as if the helmet itself was alive.  With a deep breath, Wet Suit bounded straight up right, tossing the pin to the hard floor, cocked his arm and whipped it forward like a fastball pitcher.  He was greeted with swift fire, and he dropped to the floor, covering his head.

“Fire in the hole!!” he screamed as a warning to his teammates.  The grenade struck the wall with a low clunk and then fell silent, which was good news to the Joe, meaning it must have fallen close to the Shadow Vipers.  A blinding flash burst suddenly from the center of the room, throwing fragmentation and shrapnel in a wide arc.  It made no noise, but was just as destructive, tearing through metal, glass, flesh and bone with equal ferocity and devastation.  The light faded almost as quickly as it had bloomed, releasing a belch of gray smoke and smashing debris into the surrounding walls.  Wet Suit cheered to himself, standing up in a low crouch, still behind the monitor.  The bright flash left a lasting soft light floating through the lab and he could see relatively clearly as he came around the computer bank and stopped abruptly, looking at the destruction with a warped satisfaction.  There was a twisted, crumpled heap on the floor, which had been almost human once, but he didn’t feel even an ounce of regret as he shuffled forward to further investigate the destruction.

“That was for Team One, scumbags,” he whispered as he walked, but then stopped cold.  He had whispered.  Spoken.  He knew he had. 

But no sound had come out.

No sound…no sound?  How can—

 

Realization settled in like a quick punch and the S.E.A.L. whipped around, facing up towards the ceiling, not hearing anything, not seeing anything, but sensing something looming above him in the darkness.  The blood red pair of deep dark eyes glared down on him like a predator, boring deep, deep into his soul.  His heart pounded in his tight chest as he lifted his machine gun, but the person…no, the creature was far too fast.  Wet Suit couldn’t think of the Shadow Viper as human…it was an inhuman machine.  A thing born and bred simply to kill.  His breath flew from his tightly closed lips as the massive weight slammed into him in a full-on body tackle, throwing him roughly to the floor, and landing on top of him.  How?  Wet Suit’s mind struggled.  He got his helmet on and jumped to the top of a test tube?  Just in the time it took me to throw a grenade?  No one…nothing is that fast!  But it had been, and now it was on him, pinning his back to the smooth laboratory floor.  His massive, black leather forearm pressed tightly against the S.E.A.L.’s throat as his other hand flipped a switch on his metal, circular belt.  Suddenly, sound filtered immediately in, and the first thing he heard was the throaty, rasping breath of his attacker coming down on him, warm and wet, and nauseatingly sour.  The pressure increased, and Wet Suit’s breath wouldn’t come, his eyes wide and searching for a way out.  His fingers groped and searched, but the weapons weren’t anywhere near his reaching grasp.  Struggling for voice, his vision was already clouding over as the blood red eyes glared down at him without emotion, without pity.

M…Mike…Rotor Viper…Airtight…som…someone… his mind formed the words that his mouth couldn’t speak, not just yet.

“Well, well,” the echoing, gravelly voice rasped from behind the cold black helmet.  “Hmmm, I wonder if your head will pop like the other one did.”  The helmeted head cocked slightly to one side inquisitively.  His voice was low and choking, yet had a high wheezing twang to it.  The sound of complete insanity.

  “You know…the one I shot in the head.  Popped like a pimple, his head did.”  The laugh was a dead sound.  An emotionless chuckle…laughing because it thought it was supposed to, not because there was any emotion.  But whatever emotion was lacking in the large black clad man surged through Wet Suit’s body, the adrenaline screaming through the fibers in his arms.  He drew in a deep breath and twisted, releasing the pressing arm just enough to shout.

“Airtight!  Hit the lights!”

His air was caught off again instantly as the Snake shifted and pressed back down on him, anger flaring in his eyes behind the red, illuminated lenses.  Like a sign from above, the florescent lights in thee even rows across the ceiling all ignited at once in an almost forceful SNAP!  The Shadow Viper winced as if in physical pain, his hands shooting to the large red eyes on his helmet.

“AARRRGHHHHH!” he screamed, clutching at his face. “My eyes!”  Wet Suit bent his knees tight to his chin, and then thrust out, sending the large man soaring backwards.  He stumbled back, hands waving, the sudden bright light far more than blinding to one mentally in tune with such a sensitive night vision helmet.  He stumbled back, catching himself with one hand against the computer terminals just under the large test tubes behind him, his chest heaving rapidly, his hands groping.  Wet Suit stood quickly, scooping up his MP5 and moved in.  With a forceful, angry swipe, he brought the automatic crashing against the Shadow Viper’s thickly helmeted head.  The head whipped violently to the side, throwing the black helmet across the still smoke filled room until it rolled to a halt at the base of the computer terminals against the back wall.  The Navy S.E.A.L. stopped his arm in full extension, then whipped it back the other way, slamming the Shadow Viper in the right temple with the heavy metal weapon, sending him sprawling.  The Shadow Viper half stumbled and fell to his knees, his arms reaching until they finally closed around Wet Suit’s other MP5, completely by luck.  A malevolent grin spread over the masked man’s face as he whipped around, the MP5 barking loudly, with his silenced field no longer on.  Wet Suit slid smoothly to one side, lifting his own automatic, his eyes narrowed into slits, piercing at the kneeling Cobra.

“This is for Tracker, you sick son of a b—“ his sentence was interrupted by the roar of his own machine gun, slightly silenced by the thin tube, but after so much use, the silencer was less than effective at this point.  But that did not matter.  Sparks shot from the barrel in gasping spurts, flying through the air and meshing with the sparks dancing over the body armor of the Shadow Viper.  He shook and thrashed wildly under the assault until a bullet plowed head long into his forehead.  With a violent shudder, his eyes shot open, the white films quivering, his faded pupils desperately trying to focus.  A low grunt and growl trembled deep in his throat, trying to form some last defiant word…a final curse on the Navy S.E.A.L.  His mouth moved underneath the red cloth mask, but no sound came out, when finally his eyes rolled and he pitched slightly, then slammed back first on the smooth laboratory floor and lay still, his blinded, white pupils staring aimlessly to the ceiling.  Wet Suit picked himself up off the floor, groaning slightly and breathing in ragged gasps.

“Wet Suit!” Airtight shouted, running over to the S.E.A.L.  “You gonna make it?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, man…I---oh, man.”

Airtight spun around as he heard the Navy man’s expression and saw what he saw.  Inside the elevator, the young man was sprawled, head to one side, the whole elevator sprayed in a light crimson.

“Mike!” Airtight bolted for the elevator and kneeled down next to the Rotor Viper, placing his hand at the man’s throat, pleading for some kind of reaction.  There was none, and Wet Suit had known that there wouldn’t be the moment he saw the body.  He chided himself for thinking bad about the boy for not giving him the cover he needed.

“C’mon, Airtight, man,” Wet Suit said, gripping his shoulder.  “I know it sucks, but we got work to do, buddy.”

Airtight hung his head low, glaring at the blank expression on the former Cobra’s face.  “Yeah, I know, Wet Suit.  Let’s get to it, huh?” he stood slowly and walked back into the lab, Wet Suit right on his heels.

 

 

 

The sleek white jet streaked through the dark night, its engines roaring a white hot flame, it’s pointed wings tucked tightly to its slender white frame.  It roared with an agile quickness, dropping to wave top level, skimming, and then climbing once again.  Right behind it, another plane followed, close behind but dropped back into formation.  When the lead plane dipped, the rear one climbed and vice versa.  They were sweeping…scanning as much ground as possible in as little time as possible.  And the man watching them knew exactly what they were looking for.  It was his job to make sure they didn’t find it.

“Air Snake One to Air Snake Four, respond.”

“This is Four…go ahead, A.V.A.C. One.”

The silver helmeted pilot twisted his head to get a better glance out of the side of his narrow, sleek canopy, which matched the svelte curved surface of the rest of the small plane he flew.  He skimmed just at wave level and in their blind spot where he could see them, but they couldn’t see him.  Besides, it wasn’t him they were looking for.  With any luck they had their radar tuned for the Rattler.  His tiny single engine could just sneak right in and swat them.

“I have them in sight.  I am progressing to phase two.”

“Excellent.  I have your position, One.”

“Good converge on my coordinates, and then we attack!”

“They won’t even know what hit them.”

AVAC One sneered behind his fancy angular chrome helmet with built in oxygen mask and flight goggles.  He turned his attention back forward, guiding the deep red Firebat into assault position.