“And the snake is drowned and

As I look in his eyes,

My fear begins to fade

Recalling all of those times”

                             

                                      -“H.”  Tool, 1996

 

 

“Man was born to love-

Though often he has sought

Like Icarus, to fly too high.

And far too lonely than he ought

To kiss the sun of east and west

And hold the world at his behest-

 

To hold the terrible power

To whom only gods are blessed-

But me, I am just a man”

                                                                 

                                                              -“Just A Man” Faith No More, 1995

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

 

Just A Man

 

 

 

 

 

The Citadel loomed before them like an ancient tribal legend…a stone god residing over his kingdom, looking down on his followers and demanding sacrifice to his alter.  The large, singular bay window eye glared down upon its land, at one point teaming with life, teaming with his followers, willing to fight, willing to kill, and willing to die simply because he willed it.  But now, the land was cold and barren.  The iron steeds were shattered and burned to the ground, the men controlling them laying along with them, blood mixing with oil and driven into the Earth by the powerful large bullets of rainfall.  The path to the Citadel was clear, a nicely arranged bombing pattern had knocked aside many of the wrecked tanks and had tossed the soldiers haphazardly away, leaving a strange, winding path through the scrap and carnage, drawing the seekers to what they were looking for.  Smoke still scoured the air and clung to every molecule and atom, tossed with the breeze, flooding the men’s nostrils and squiggling down their throats.  But the men paid no mind.  They were hard men; that much was obvious only by their walk.  They strode with a determined purpose; a singular goal, now easily within their reach, and yet still so hard to grasp.  They had the eyes of a lion in the Serengeti; narrow and piercing, searching for their prey, focusing on the hunt, but yet still wary of all that surrounded them.  As they walked determined through the valley, smoke spiraled up behind them, obscuring them, mystifying them, so that they almost became wraiths in the night…invisible ghosts who strike, and kill, then disappear as though they were never there.  The evidence of these wraiths was prominent.  Scattered all over the valley…through the trail to the south of the volcano.  Along the north shore and southwest.  Even on the beach.  The casual tossed remains of the refuge of human life, necessary dues for the evil presence on the island.  A white/yellow tear of lightning scorched through the air, splitting the night into two halves, and then faded, leaving only a slightly luminescent afterglow.  The shattering clap of thunder slammed against the island a split second from the lightning’s fade, which still cast an eerie glow over the weary soldiers, marching single file towards the Citadel.  They walked straight and even, not hiding or crawling; not sneaking or spying.  Straight towards the Citadel they marched single file, assault rifles and other pleasantries dangling from tightly clenched fists, salty clear rainwater running down their arms and over their larger than life bodies.  The General had decided the time for hiding and sneaking was over.  They were coming for the heart of the beast, and they wanted everyone to know it and be afraid.  The hard work was done, but there was still a job ahead, and these men wanted to complete it at any cost.  It was a confrontation decades in the making and finally coming to a head…finally nearing a resolution.  One way or another.  General Hawk led the morbid procession, his eyes cold and hard, and his walk determined and solid.  His helmet was gone, he was not sure where, and a deep red swipe ran across his forehead, now clotted and hard.  His light blonde hair was matted and tussled, and his face a stern, angry glare.  Roadblock and Leatherneck flanked him, faces just as solemn, just as serious.  The large heavy machine gunner held his familiar fifty caliber Browning in his right hand, his dark skin covering bulging muscles barely held in check by the thin cotton green tank top he wore.  A long strand of ammunition was slung over his shoulder and banged lightly against his large leg as it pumped with every muscled step.  Leatherneck wore his green boonie hat still and his camouflage fatigues were caked a dirty brownish color, which was slowly being washed away by the rain.  All others fell in line behind the first three, letting them make the first impression…letting them be the intimidators, a craft these three men were absolute experts in.  General Hawk, a long time Brigadier General, who still fought alongside his troops; Leatherneck a lifetime Marine and hard nosed Drill Instructor for not only Marines, but for the GI Joe team as well.  And of course Roadblock.  A six and a half foot tall monster of a man, whose mere appearance without a huge machine gun would cause any normal man panic.  Throw in the hog almost as long as Roadblock is tall, and any snake would be having second thoughts before the first shot was fired.  But Hawk had found out early in this operation that these weren’t just any snakes.  Times had changed since Cobra’s dawn, and finally, Cobra was changing with them.  Becoming more determined, more nasty, more ruthless, to compete in a more ruthless world.  It had worked for them thus far, too.  The plans had gone of without a hitch, with merely a smattering of good luck tossed the Joes’ way for them to run with.  General Hawk wondered how long their luck would last.  For some of them, it was already over.  Ghostrider and Tracker were dead; Outback and Spearhead hang on by threads.  For all he knew, Chuckles and Law were still in their respective comas.  Who knew when they would be out, or if.  It had been an unbelievable streak of bad luck that had started this escapade off, and now an unbelievable streak of good luck was helping them resolve it.  Or so the General hoped.  The Citadel was four stories tall and once you got inside, there was nowhere to go but up.  Each floor had it’s own purpose, it’s own design.  But Hawk knew the Commander was on the top floor, and he didn’t intend to stop until he got there.  It was quite impossible to tell what might be standing between him and his arch nemesis of almost two decades, but right there and then General Clayton Abernathy decided that whatever it was, he would get by.  Even if he was the only one left, riddled with bullets, blood streaking the floor behind him, he would crawl up the last flight of stairs and with his dying breath he would take Cobra Commander to hell with him.  For some reason, that was how the blonde haired General had always envisioned it.  He never pictured a world with just one of them in it.  Even over the past half decade, when the Commander was thought dead, Hawk still believed he was out there.  He knew even as he was called into the Secretary of Defense’s office what he was being called in there for.  Hawk knew deep down that after tonight, there would only be one man left standing, or perhaps neither.  Honestly, the General wasn’t too afraid to go down in a hail of bullets as long as Cobra Commander went with him.  There’s usually a healthy respect between rivals; a fun kind of competition, and that was what it had been in a way, at first.  But respect only goes so far.  Competition is no longer fun when millions of lives are at stake.  Cobra was growing too big too fast, and had come far too close this time to be allowed another chance.  Hawk made up his mind…even if Cobra Commander dropped to his knees, begging and pleading for his life, the General would shoot him down and not have a second thought.  Of course, the General realized that the Commander would never do that, which was somewhat of a rationalization to him.  But still…it had to end, and it had to end tonight.

“COVER!!!”  The General snapped back to the real world in a sudden flash, unaware that he had even been drifting.  Falcon’s voice was sharp and loud in his ear, and the rough hand shoving him to the ground was no gentler.  Hawk landed on one knee, his .45 popping up into his hand almost by reflex, the other hand sliding the chamber quickly back to load the bullets.  Tracer fire lit up the dark, wet night, streaking towards them like thousands of ticked off lightning bugs and he hit the mud in the nick of time as they zipped over their heads slamming against HISS wreckage and chunks of earth tossed up in craters by the bomb strike.  Falcon shifted forward, pumping his shotgun.

“Let us handle this, General.  It’s our job to get you boys inside!”  He shuffled forward, letting off a couple shots, cranking the pump back in between each rocking blast.  Hit & Run ran up to them in a low crouch, his AR-15 chattering loudly, bucking in his grip.  The Joes had scattered when the shooting started, abandoning the path and scrambling behind the jagged metal remains of HISS tanks and Stingers.

“What do we have?” Falcon asked the light infantryman, dropping back down behind cover and pounding another shell into his weapon.

“Low Light says there’s six SAW Vipers in a sandbag nest just outside the front door.  Three heavy weapons, most likely 60’s and possibly foot soldiers in waiting.”

As if to answer the question another barrage of gunfire tore across the valley, this one sounding much lighter and quicker.  Two loud, sharp KRAKKs responded from a few yards back.  Low Light was in position.  Hawk edged out from behind the HISS and looked out ahead.  About ten feet down the path Roadblock and Leatherneck huddled behind a mangled Stinger and Leatherneck was loading grenade rounds into his 203.  Hawk looked over across the path and saw Alpine and Dial Tone also crouched behind torn up armor plating.  Hit & Run lifted a walkie-talkie to his ear and nodded.

“Low Light says there were two Night Vipers flanking the nest.  Emphasis on the word ‘were’.  According to his instruments, there’s no other cover fire out there.”

“Any advice, sir?” Hit & Run asked, ejecting a spent clip from his AR-15 and drawing another one out of a pouch on his uniform.

Hawk glanced around and grinned lightly.  “Yeah.  Let them do their job,” he said, motioning towards the other side of the path.  Recondo, Shockwave and Kevlar crouch-walked at an angle to the path, swiftly ducking behind the jagged armor and scrapped vehicles.  Recondo looked at them and nodded, then flashed five fingers, and Hawk took the hint.

“All right boys.  We’re drawing fire for five seconds starting now!” He whipped his body around the cover and squeezed off a tight group of shots towards the gun nest, and Falcon and Hit & Run followed suit.  Low Light knocked away with his large sniper rifle, and within seconds return fire sprayed back at them.  Hawk glanced over, and the three Joes were in motion.  Recondo dashed across the path, his shotgun blaring and the SAW Vipers spun to track him.  Leatherneck dropped out from behind his cover and roared off a frag, then whipped back behind as the grenade went off with a brisk BLAM, sending the SAW Vipers ducking for cover.  Recondo slid to a halt behind another chunk of armor across the path as the SAW Vipers stood to return fire.  Suddenly Shockwave and Kevlar were on them from the right, moving in like lightning and blasting with their MP5’s.  They trapped them in the confines of the nest and got them in a vicious crossfire, cutting through them in seconds under a brutal hail of lead. 

“Clear!” shouted Shockwave, his automatic pointed down at the splayed bodies.

“Clear!” replied Kevlar, pointing his weapon in the same fashion.  Smoke drifted from the barrels and mingled with the gray cloud spiraling up from the warm bodies in the gun nest.

“The old misdirection ploy…good idea, Shockwave,” Roadblock nodded, patting his old buddy on the shoulder.

“Actually, ‘Block, it was Kevlar’s idea,” he nodded towards the older man and Roadblock turned towards him. 

“Good one.  Keep up the good work, green blood.” He extended a hand and a smile, and Kevlar returned them both.

“I hope you guys are done being friendly,” Leatherneck said with a hiss as he approached.  “Because things are about to go down, and we need some mean, angry SOB’s on our team!  Got it?”

“Lighten up, Jarhead,” Roadblock joked, chuckling, but Kevlar stood stock still, taking the advice to heart.  They were at the Citadel finally, and stood by the main door, a large wooden entrance leading to the main level.  Hawk had been in this building before quite some years ago, but the mission was etched into his mind and so was the layout.  He only hoped it hadn’t changed.  For some reason the first floor was considered the basement, and was where a lot of the necessities were stored in various wooden crates and supply closets.  It was a large, open room, but wooden crates and support beams made for numerous cover spots and the closets would make good hiding spaces.  He figured they would branch off at that point, leaving the attack team to defend while they climbed the rest of the way.    On this floor, the stairway was on the left wall, about halfway down, behind a thick metal door.  The second floor was called the main floor and it was a wide-open room, used mostly for gathering troops for battle and equipping them.  There was little cover and it was a straight shot over to the staircase in the back left corner.  Hawk closed his eyes, picturing the place as he passed through before, searching for Destro and the Baroness…the third floor came into view now, a command center of a sort.  Back then, there had been numerous computer consoles, maps and communications devices.  The General wasn’t sure if that stuff was still there, but if it were, that floor would be a challenge as well, with all the extra items to hide behind.  On that floor, the staircase was across the room, in the right back corner.  Which brought them to the fourth floor.  The stairway led to a straight, narrow hallway carpeted in deep red and adorned with various decorations and pictures.  There was no cover here and the hallway took a sharp right turn before opening up into Cobra Commander’s personal office with desk, bookshelves, and who knows what else.  For whatever reason, the General knew Cobra Commander was there.  He could feel it.  They had him cornered, and had to hit him hard and fast.  But the only thing that bothered Hawk was basically part of common knowledge, but applied to this situation a little more perfectly than he liked.  When a king cobra is cornered, that’s when it strikes.

 

 

 

The white jet continued its trek through the wet air of the Gulf of Mexico in earnest search for the needle in the haystack.  He had followed what he determined to be the quickest routes to a launch spot that would do the most damage, but his radar screen had remained blank the whole time.  There was no glimmer, no spark, and no sign of any kind of existence of any other planes within a two hundred mile radius.  Doubt curled a tight knot in the Joe’s gut as he wondered if Wild Weasel had simply gone south instead and could be in the midst of dropping the bomb right here and now.  But he knew Wild Weasel.  After so many years of conflict, he was quite sure he knew how his mind worked and as if by instinct alone he had been led on this path, but to no avail.  He was nearing the coast of the United States, but with no signal to latch on to…nothing to look for, it seemed that the search was impossible.  Yet he kept on.

 

 

 

Everyone gathered around the General as he beckoned them to come in close and quick.  Even as they finished circling around their commander, he pointed his finger at two men and spoke quickly.

“Hit & Run, Alpine.  You two are our outside men.  I want you two standing guard out here to make sure no eager snakes get too close.  Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” came the unanimous reply.  The two Joes were none too happy about the assignment, but decided now was not the time for arguments.

“Low Light?” Hawk said softly.  A few seconds passed, then the night fighter crouch walked over to the huddled group, lifting his infrared visor off of his bearded face.  “The floor is yours.”

“Thank you, sir,” Low Light said, then turned to face the other men in the group.  As far as rank went, Low Light didn’t possess any above most of the other Joes surrounded there.  But as the Joe team usually operated, the person with the most skill or talent in a particular field would serve as field commander if that particular field were important to the mission.  Well, no one was better than Low Light when it came to night operations, so they all listened eagerly as he moved in, eyes focused on the group.

“All right, gentlemen,” he said in his trademark gravelly hiss.  “I took an assessment of the situation with my visor and this is what we’re dealing with here.”  He plucked a shard of metal from a destroyed vehicle off of the ground and considered sketching in the dirt with it.  However, the rain still slammed down into the earth and was churning everything together into an indistinct bulbous mush, so he decided that little project would be futile.  “Well, I guess we’ll do this by visualization.  Directly after the door, we’ve got a pair of troops standing a couple meters to the right.  This is the welcome squad.  From what I can tell, they are most likely expecting us to blow open the front door and go in shooting.  The door is made from an old, but very thick aluminum/steel composite.  It will, of course, be locked, and by blowing it, we will announce our presence to the entire Citadel.”  He glanced up, looking at all the other Joes as they glared down at him.  “We also have a group in the rear of the basement, they look to be a group of four with heavy machine guns.  I figure they’re guarding the back from a surprise attack, but can also be used as reserves should the strike come from the front.  There are no other groups beyond those two, but approximately a dozen troops are scattered about the room in haphazard fashion.  I say troops, because we really don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”  He checked for understanding in the other Joes eyes and got it.  “I’m ruling out HEAT Vipers and Frag Vipers because of the tight quarters.  I’m sure Incinerators will not be there as well for the same reason.  What we most likely have is Vipers and possibly SAW Vipers providing the heavy fire.  We are going to have to hit them hard and fast, but that is what we do best, right?”  The Joes nodded.  “Now the main floor, or second floor is a little more heavily fortified, but that shouldn’t be a big deal considering the staircase to the next floor is along the same wall, merely a few yards down.  There are what seem to be two blockades set up there, two sandbag barriers with M-60’s manned by most likely SAW Vipers.  I have a feeling they’re just going to wait for you to show and pepper the whole wall with large bore ammo.”  His eyes were stern and serious, and the other Joes nodded with each sentiment.  “Now for the third floor.  This will be a fun one.  Computer banks run along the back wall and there are also scattered mainframes throughout the room itself.  There seems to be a huge map table and I spotted three goons behind that, plus other troops scattered in the room, either behind the mainframes or merely patrolling.  But here’s the fun part.  The staircase is across the room here, and you must go through the troops to get there.”  Low Light lifted his eyes and looked straight at Leatherneck, knowing that he was going to be on the strike team and that he had to know what to expect.  “As soon as you come out into the room, there will be minimal cover behind the computers along the back wall.  Besides that, you have to make your own.”  He finished speaking and set down the shard that he was holding, letting it land with a small splat in the muddy earth.

“What about the fourth floor?” Roadblock asked, cocking his head.

“You’re on your own there, Roadblock.  There’s some kind of shielding in the walls, my thermals couldn’t penetrate.  I have no idea what to expect up there.”

“Great,” Leatherneck replied, wrapping his bare hand around the M-16/M203 that lay at his feet.  Low Light nodded to General Hawk who thanked him and returned to the focus of attention.

“Gentlemen.  Here is the plan.  I’m going to say this once and only once, so listen well and follow my orders to a ‘T’, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” came the quiet, but enthusiastic reply.

“Good.  We are going to need any advantage we can get here.  Blackout?”

“Y..yes, sir?” Blackout asked, shuffling in closer.

“I need you to cut the latches on that metal door.  But I need it done in a way that will remain invisible to the men inside.  Is it possible?”

Blackout pulled the torch from his leg and cocked his head, thinking slightly.  “I’ll give it a shot, General.”

“Good. Go do that.”

Blackout nodded and broke away from the group.

“All right, Joes.  This is the nitty gritty.  Everything has boiled down to this point, and some men have given their lives so that we can put an end to Cobra here and now.  I plan to do just that.”

“Yes, sir,” was the unanimous reply.

“Shockwave.  As usual, you are the “door kicker”.  As soon as Blackout is done with the door, I want you leading the charge.  You need to take out that door in one solid shot so that we can go in fast and take them down.  Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.  Leatherneck, I want you in immediately afterwards.  Bloop one frag and only one frag on the group of heavy gunners near the back.  I want you to conserve your grenades for use on the third floor if they are needed.  If you miss with the first frag, we’ll go from there.”

“Sir.”

“Falcon, Recondo and Low Light, you guys will be going in next to give us support fire.  As you give us cover, Kevlar, Dial Tone, Blackout, myself and Roadblock will go in in that order.  Kevlar, you pop that metal door on the left wall and we file in, Leatherneck and Shockwave pulling in behind us with Roadblock giving us cover.  If the attack team finishes its job,” he continued, looking at Lieutenant Falcon, who nodded in return.  “Then you boys follow us up, making sure our tails are clear.  Understood?”

“Understood, sir!”

Hawk looked at his watch, and then glanced over at the door.  Blackout was hunched over, his torch glowing lightly, but no sparks shot out and there was no loud telltale hiss of melting metal.  The kid was a pro.  “Let’s do this, boys,” he said with a nod, and the group broke their tight huddle, darting towards the large, thick metal door.  They lined up in their order, weapons pulled up tight to their chest as Blackout made one last pass down the side of the door with his torch.  He hitched it back to his leg and ducked away, unslinging his M-16.  Shockwave released his MP5, letting it sway against his body from the leather strap and unhooked twin automatic pistols from the two dark blue holsters on his light blue thighs.  Behind the dark blue knit mask, his eyes narrowed and got downright mean.  He held the two pistols up, taking a deep breath in, steadying his nerves.  He glanced over at Kevlar and winked.

“I’m going to bust this party John Woo style,” he said softly, skillfully twirling the pistols, and then steadying them against his chest.  He lowered into a crouch as the rest of the team gathered around.

“Your count, General,” Shockwave said, with a respectful nod.  Hawk nodded back and held up his hand.

Five.

Hawk tensed his muscles from his forehead down to his toes, and even his fingers tightened hard around the .45 in his wet fist.  The rain pounded down around him, drowning out all other noise and the world suddenly shifted its focus to him and his men.

Four.

He looked around at his team, a finer collection of troops he had never seen.  The world seemed to swirl and slowly shift into slow motion as it always did when combat was near. 

Three.

He drew in a deep, long breath and crouched his knees slowly as he held up three fingers.  All eyes rested on his hand and his mind fiercely tried to push away the doubtful, reflex clogging nags of uncertainty.  The time had come again after so many years.  He wasn’t sure it ever would again, but here it was.

Two.

A group of men.  His men…their lives in his hands.  He was their leader, their commander, but more importantly to him, he was their peer.  Standing next to them at the precipice and staring down into it, preparing to lunge headlong into death.

One.

Finally as the single finger held up into the air Hawk could feel clarity of focus coming down into his whirling psyche.  A solid, positive goal, one that they were going to reach tonight, regardless of what happened in the next few minutes.  The goal was so close…closer than it had been in as long as the Joe commander could remember.  He could taste it.  It tasted supple like ripe, delicious fruit.

GO!

Hawk’s fist pumped dramatically and instantaneously, Shockwave stormed into action, leading the charge.  The GI Joe SWAT specialist drew in a deep, almost wary breath as he charged forward, his left shoulder thrusting out into a bone and muscle battering ram.  So many things could go wrong in this next instant.  The door could hold; the Cobras could be waiting, weapons aimed, just asking for a target.  The door could be booby-trapped and explode as soon as he touched it, ending this attack before it even began.  With a dull thud his shoulder slammed into the broad, metal door and his heart skipped, fearing that it wouldn’t open.  But it did.  With an uncertain shudder, the metal door slammed inward, its hinges and latches cut clean with a revolutionary torch carried by a teenager.

Thanks , kid! Shockwave’s mind barked out as he threw his body into the room, his eyes narrow, but scanning all the while.  As soon as he dropped through the door, he knew the plan had worked, and the Cobras were surprised.  There were two of them a couple meters away, as Low Light had said, standing in front of an unmarked wooden crate.  They almost jumped as the dark blue blur slammed into the basement with a thump and metallic clang.  Before Shockwave could even will himself to do it, his twin pistols barked to life, flashing bright yellow blooms of sparks, rocking the large weapons in his grip.  Shell casings spun in slow motion through the air, spinning just by his snarling face, covered by the thick mask, some even bouncing off of his head and rolling on the ground.  The acrid smell of gun smoke already flooded the Joe’s nostrils, as he seemed to float through the air, the weapons slamming.  Before he could even think to draw his weapon, the first man, a Viper, Shockwave noticed, caught three quick rounds in the upper chest and was thrown roughly backwards, striking the wooden crate.  As he tumbled backwards over it, arms and legs flailing, the Joe shifted aim and squeezed off another barrage, sending the second Viper lurching and stumbling to the floor.  As Shockwave’s extended shoulder struck the cement floor and he started a smooth sideways somersault, he heard the boots pound in behind him and the dull WHUMP of the 203.  Even as he rolled up into a low crouch, return fire already scattering deadly lead just above his head, he heard the thin low whistle of the small round object spinning through the air.  Shockwave lifted the pistols, plowing off another large barrage until the triggers clicked on empty chambers.  Everything still moved in slow motion, rifles jerking with the violent kickback, shell casings hanging in mid air, deadly orange streams of gunfire almost visible with the heightened senses of close combat.  Shockwave shot his arms apart, sending the pistols scattering in opposite directions and he whipped up his MP5 even before the other firearms struck the hard floor.  The machine gun roared through its silencer as the SWAT man stood up from his crouch, shuffling swiftly to his left.  Leatherneck’s M-16 roared in his ear as he and the Marine forced themselves in closer, spraying deadly fire over the whole room.  A light smack of grenade against concrete emanated from the far wall and was followed almost directly by a sharp BLAM, sudden flash and belch of smoke.  Muffled shouts rose from the direction of the blast, and fire stopped for a split second, allowing them to shuffle further inward.  Falcon and Recondo slipped through the door next, their shotguns pounding clouds of gray into the already smoke filled basement.  Low Light followed right behind, his sniper rifle exchanged for a silenced Uzi with an elaborate starlight scope attached to the top.  Gunfire plastered the large room, taking down unsuspecting troops, and forcing the others to hug for cover.  The Cobras converged on the far right wall, where a collection of crates offered them a considerable amount of cover from the Joe’s gunfire.  Kevlar shot into the room in a swift run, his weapon swinging back and forth, but finding no targets.  Dial Tone followed, immediately sprinting to the left wall, which had been cleared of troops by a few quick sweeps from Leatherneck’s M-16.  Blackout dashed in next, his M-16 clutched like a lifeline, and his chrome helmet covered head ducking frantically.  Hawk was next, running in a diagonal jog, his pistol faced out into the room where Cobras blasted fire towards the running Joes.

“Cover, we need cover!” Hawk shouted, ducking quickly and returning fire with his pistol.  Roadblock swung into the room, raising his hefty machine gun.”

“Somebody ask for cover?” he shouted over the deafening din of the battle and slammed down on the trigger of his Browning.  A huge orange circle of flame sprouted from the large barrel, tiny yellow spurts escaping from the ventilation holes scattered along the side.  Long, slender brass casings flew from the weapon like the bullets themselves, and rolled to the floor with a low tinkling.  Tracers lit up the basement as Roadblock roared the huge weapon back and forth over the large room, reducing the large crates to so many splinters and sending the Vipers scattering.

“Go!” Hawk shouted to Kevlar who had taken cover and he leapt to his feet, darting towards the metal door in the left wall marked “Stairway”.  Dial Tone, Blackout, and Hawk fell in behind, waving on Shockwave and Leatherneck who backpedaled towards the door, still slamming off a healthy dose of return fire.  They slipped by Roadblock who shook mightily as his weapon thrashed in his hands.  The fact that he could hold such a weapon in his hands and fire it was a testament to the amazing strength of the man that even his huge size didn’t do justice to.  As soon as Kevlar approached the door, Roadblock ceased fire and darted after them, leaving Falcon, Recondo and Low Light to mop up.  Kevlar pressed his back to the windowless door, pressing his ear against it, but could not hear anything.  Hawk gave the motion and Kevlar stepped back, drew his knee into his chest and shoved forward, slamming the thick heel of his combat boot into the handle of the door.  With a swift jerk, the door spun open and Kevlar could only tense before machine gun fire slammed repeatedly into his broad chest from inside.  The new recruit stifled a shout as he was thrown roughly backwards by the unseen assailants firing assault rifles from inside.

“Man down!  Man down!”  Shouted Dial Tone, whipping back around from the open doorway.  Hawk pushed by Blackout, approaching the door, his pistol raised and ready, Leatherneck hot on his heels.  The Joe General threw his arm around the door and yanked the trigger multiple times in rapid succession, his arm jerking with the kickback.  Leatherneck slid in next to the General, slamming a clip into his large rifle, then drew a breath and whipped around into the open door, snarling.  He spotted the attackers, who were shocked by his brazenness, and pulled the trigger all the way to the handle, spraying the stairwell with deadly lead.  Hawk heard a muffled grunt below all the zips and whines of ricocheting bullets, and Leatherneck threw himself into a spin, rolling around to the other side as more gunfire sprayed from the door.  Hawk glanced uncertainly at the Marine.

“Seigie!” Leatherneck shouted, ejecting his clip and removing another from his belt.  Hawk nodded and sighed, shaking his head slightly.  One thing they hadn’t quite banked on.  Seigies.  Also known as C.G.s or Crimson Guards, Cobra Commander’s elite personal army.  Rarely wasted on the battlefield, they’re used to infiltrate human society and attack from within, but are ridiculously well trained and adapted in case battle becomes necessary.  Hawk only hoped that there were no Crimson Guard Immortals to deal with.  The Seigies were bad enough, but throw in thick metal battle armor, a master in martial arts and an absolute willingness to die for Cobra Commander and you had an evil, unstoppable soldier.  Of course, so much training and devotion is necessary that not many cadets make it to that level, but the few that do are a force to be reckoned with.  Hawk lowered his pistol, his mind thinking.  He looked down at Kevlar who lay sprawled on the floor, bullet holes stitched across his dark chest.  He wore a ballistic vest; almost the thickest you can find but such an attack with a powerful enough weapon can cause internal injuries far worse than a bullet wound.  Hawk glanced at his watch and decided that there was no more time to waste.  He dropped to one knee and spun around low, his pistol up and ready.  The Crimson Guard stood waiting, his own rifle perched in his shoulder, a long, narrow bayonet jutting out from under the barrel.  He was dressed, as the name indicated, in a deep crimson, adorned with silver medals and decorations for their service.  His mask/helmet combination was the same red with a black facemask and narrow silver visor to see through.  Hawk had barely a time to notice his uniform as the rifle quickly opened up, zipping just over the General’s head, who ducked away.  The Seigie recognized his target immediately and moved in, thinking how great the reward for killing the GI Joe leader would be.  As he stepped forward, Leatherneck whipped around and mowed him down in a swift, vicious burst of gunfire.  Even as the shot was echoing away, more gunfire roared from in the room.  The Joes glanced back worriedly, but Hawk shouted them into action.

“They can handle themselves!  Shockwave, check on Kevlar and we’ve got to go up now!”

Shockwave ran over to his comrade and kneeled down, checking the bullet holes.  None of them looked to have pierced, but the man was not moving and showed no signs of waking up.  The masked man turned to Hawk and shook his head.

“He’s out!”

Hawk grimaced as Roadblock pushed past him and followed the others into the stairway.  “Go tell the other Joes they have a wounded man to watch out for.  Then join us pronto, got it?”

“Yes, sir!” Shockwave shouted and darted over to the other group, still firing sporadically into the large, square room.  Hawk turned and dashed back into the stairwell even as random gunfire streaked towards him and pounded against the wall.  The team was already sprinting headlong up the stairs at a full run and before Hawk was even halfway up, Leatherneck had burst through the door on the next level, his rifle shouting angrily.  The SAW Vipers responded quickly, their M-60’s opening up with brilliant yellow flashes, jostling wildly on the tripods fastening them to the floor.  The SAW Vipers snarled under their purple helmets, their bodies jerking as the weapons fired.  Leatherneck dropped and rolled to his left just as the doorway was peppered with heavy machine gun fire, tearing chunks out of the walls and blasting splinters from the wooden doorframe.

“Stay down!” Leatherneck shouted into the stairwell as he came up into a crouch, his hand slamming back on the 203’s pump.  With swift, calculated spins, the Cobra heavy machine gunners pivoted behind the sandbagged nest, adjusting aim, trying to pin the camouflaged Joe down.  The Marine dropped to his stomach as a barrage tore down at him, ripping apart the wall behind him.  He glanced over to his left and saw the door in the back corner, right along the same wall, but wondered how in the world he would get to it.  More gunfire suddenly erupted from the stairwell, Leatherneck recognizing the familiar chatter of an M-16 and another small machine gun.  One of the SAW Vipers spun back towards the door, only to catch a series of shots in the chest, sending him thrashing wildly.  He wore insanely thick composite body armor, but the impact still tossed him backwards like a catapult, sending him stumbling over the back of the nest and falling in a heap on the floor.  Around Leatherneck, the assault lightened up a little as the machine gun nest adjusted aim again, trying to hold the reinforcements in the stairwell.  The Marine shot to his feet, shuffling sideways as gunfire pounded back towards him, and yanked the trigger of his ‘203, sending a small green baseball streaking through the air, trailed by a light gray twirl of smoke.  It arced widely, just passing under the tall ceiling of the main room, and then began its smooth descent, bearing down straight at the machine gun nest.

“Fire in the---“ shouted one of the SAW Vipers, but the warning was too late as the frag plowed into the front sandbagged wall and erupted in a blinding white flash and thunderous explosion.  The sandbags tore like tissue paper and split apart, throwing the tan grains into the air and creating a strange noxious cloud of dirt.  The flash tore up and back, literally ripping through the SAW Vipers and throwing them backwards among the shredded sandbags and their sprinkling contents.  Even as the echo of the blast was still fading, Leatherneck hit the door to the stairwell and opened fire inside the tight passageway, but there was no one there.

“Clear!” he screamed back to the rest of the team who was already pouring out of the stairs and into the room; shuffling along the side wall, back to the corner and to the next level.

 

 

 

“Hear that?” the large, dark skinned Viper asked, cocking his head towards the door on the other side of the room.

“Y..yeah,” replied the smaller Viper next to him, hugging his long gray assault rifle close.

“They’re coming, Satchel.  You ready, kid?” He looked down at the younger man, whose face was invisible behind the silver mask, but whose nervous, twitching movements betrayed his fear.

“I’ll be ready, Rhames,” Satchel said softly.  “I won’t let the Commander down.”

The large Viper nodded, then glanced around the large room.  Computer banks stretched along the back wall from where the stairway opened up into the third floor.  They rounded the corner and drew halfway up the wall the two Vipers stood near, and then stopped.  A huge, elaborate monitor and controls stood next, not against the wall, but about twenty feet out from it, closer to the middle of the room, surrounded by numerous mainframes and consoles, all connected to it by thick, dark electrical wires.  Rhames glanced back at the other stairway in the upper left corner behind him, completely opposite from the other door.  Four large men guarded the door, their deep red uniforms immediately instilling fear and respect into the lowly Vipers who stood guard with them.  There were four other Vipers crouching behind the consoles and assorted technological apparatus inside the room and three other Crimson Guards.  Two standing next to the monitor and a third with his back pressed up against the far wall, his weapon trained on the entrance to the room.  Rhames was confident that they had the room secured and the Cobra Commander would reward them well for their braveness in guarding his safety. 

This is my shot, Rhames thought to himself.  My ticket out of the Viper Corps.  He imagined himself in an Eel uniform…Snow Serpent…Crimson Guard.  The last image brought a big smile to his wide, dark face under the mask.  He tensed up, ready for action.

 

 

 

Ace banked the white jet around into a lumbering, but smooth right turn, glancing down at his fuel gauge, knowing he wasn’t going to like what he saw.  He wasn’t on empty, or even close, but if he was going to have enough gas to get back to Cobra Island, he had to find that Rattler and he had to find it soon.  The radar screen still stood blank, like an expressionless face staring back at him from the console.  He adjusted radar, heat sensors and even the sonar, but got no readings.  Nothing at all.  It didn’t make sense, but there it was…according to his screen, the sky was empty with no threats anywhere.  Unfortunately, the screen was wrong.  Dead wrong.  But at the moment, there was nothing the pilot could do but keep flying, and keep looking out his canopy window, trying to see through the driving rains.

 

 

 

“Anything Wet Suit?” Airtight asked, craning his neck back and staring at the Navy S.E.A.L. as he tore through the random clutter on the desks, searching for any clues.

“No,” he replied sourly, glancing over at Airtight whose fingers were tapping swiftly on the keyboard in front of him.  “Isn’t that usually Mainframe’s gig?” Wet Suit asked, nodded towards the hostile environment trooper.     

“Yes it is, but he had to stay on the Flagg to coordinate our assault and be a liaison to the Department of Defense.”

“Lucky him.”

“Besides, to be a scientist nowadays, you have to have more than just a passing knowledge of computers.  Personally, I am quite adept at—“

Wet Suit rolled his eyes as the yellow suited man kept talking, but turned his head when he suddenly stopped.

“Hold the phone.”  Airtight said softly, his eyes growing wide.  His round, green helmet lay on a charred console next to him, and he ran a hand through his thinning brown hair.

“What’s up?” Wet Suit asked, strolling over to the other man.

“We’ve got something here, Wet Suit!  Get me the phone now!”

 

 

 

With swift forcefulness, Leatherneck kicked down the metal door and emerged slowly into the room as it erupted in gunfire.  He stopped short as a tearing swath of lead roared towards him from the near wall, sending sparks flying from the metal door.  The Marine swiftly jerked back behind the door as the bullets shredded the ground where he had been crouching.  He glanced back at the other Joes bunched up behind him, eager and ready.

“This is going to be no fun at all,” Leatherneck snarled as more sparks danced along the edge of the door.  The sparks suddenly stopped and Leatherneck moved swiftly, figuring the attacker was reloading.  He was right and he jumped from the stairwell, his rifle set firmly in his shoulder and roared off a barrage of heavy fire, throwing the Crimson Guard into a clumsily backward spin until he fell in a heap on the floor.  The Joe ducked swiftly as bullets peppered the wall and computer consoles just to his left, which he ducked behind, sparks flying over his green and tan uniform.  He had glanced out quickly and seen the room, scattered with the computer equipment and a large, elaborate monitor screen, with the Vipers and Crimson Guards kneeling behind them and firing at them.  Gunfire sprayed from almost every direction, chewing up the computer banks and throwing concrete floor chunks into the air.  Leatherneck turned to the others, who were still pinned in the stairwell and shook his head.  With a deep intake of air, the Marine spun around the console and slammed off a single grenade round into the center of the room, satisfied as it struck the monitor, banked off and hit the ground with a sharp blast, shredding two mainframes and throwing the two men hiding behind them to the floor.  They were both Vipers and lay on the floor motionless, their weapons lying a couple feet away.  Fire poured towards the Joe and he whipped back around, crouching low behind the computer, which was quickly being whittled away by gunfire.

“Two down!” he shouted, but it was of little consolation.  From his quick glance, he could clearly see that there were still four Seigies at least, probably more.  There were also numerous Vipers left including two who huddled behind the large monitor, and were almost completely untouchable.  Constant gunfire and red tracers slammed down at the doorway and computer blanks, keeping Leatherneck pinned where he was and keeping the other Joes trapped in the hallway.  It seemed that they had run out of options.

 

Near the back of the group of Joes pinned in the stairwell, Dial Tone’s elaborate computerized comm.-pack hummed softly, signaling an incoming message.  He glanced back at it as a few stray rounds tore into the hallway, splintering the wall and showering him with tiny shards.  He lowered his automatic for a second and hit the switch on his backpack.

“Go,” he said simply, the microphone already extended to his mouth.  The radio crackled and a frantic voice burst into his ear.

“Dial Tone!  This is Airtight!”

“Listen…Airtight, we’re a little busy at the moment,” he replied, a slightly annoyed look flashing over his mustached face.  He ducked his beret-covered head down as the zip and whine of a ricochet sent a chunk of wall spinning just above him.

“Dial Tone, this is important,” the voice shouted in his earpiece.  “Listen carefully.  The Shadow Viper project was just a field test!  A living, breathing petri dish to—“

“Woah, woah woah!” replied Dial Tone, obviously confused.  “Shadow what project?  Field test?  What are you talking about?”

Down in the laboratory, Airtight flashed Wet Suit a look of concerned annoyance.  “Wet Suit!  You didn’t tell them about the Shadow Vipers?”

Wet Suit glared back at the yellow-garbed hostile environment expert.  “Well, excuse me if I didn’t have time to debrief them while I was trying to avoid getting killed!”

Airtight sighed and leaned back to the receiver.  “Dial Tone, can I just piggy back your signal to Ace in the Skystriker?  Trust me, this is pertinent information!”

“Yeah, Airtight.  Just give me a second…” The line went temporarily dead as Dial Tone prepared for connection.  Airtight’s face was contorted a frantic look of desperation.  Time was running out.

 

 

 

“Rhames, we have them pinned down!” shouted Viper Satchel, lowering his rifle briefly and slamming another clip in it.

“We do, kid.  The Commander will be pleased.”  Rhames did the same, then lifted the weapon again and fired it quickly.

“Move in!” a voice shouted from their right.  One of the Crimson Guards had broken off from the pack of four guarding the door.  He stared at the Vipers and pointed towards the stairwell.  “We have the intruders pinned down…move in for the kill!” He shouted loudly enough for all Vipers to hear and they all stood and slowly began to shuffle forward, their rifles thrashing and blasting wildly.  Two Seigies flanked the Viper group and the three by the door slowly moved along the other wall, their own assault rifles blazing.

“Can’t we just order them to give up?” Satchel asked as he moved forward.  Rhames cast a nasty look to him behind his faceplate.

“Hush, kid!  You don’t question the order of a Crimson Guard, got it?”

“Y..yeah…got it.” Satchel replied, quite obviously distressed.  The weapons continued to bark and Leatherneck tried to inch his was back towards the stairs.

“They’re moving in!” he shouted, looking back at the Joes, crammed into the tight stairwell.

“We hold our ground!” Hawk shouted from the group in a solid, confident voice.  The group marched forward, their gunfire smashing apart the small corner and getting only closer by the second.

 

 

 

Ace’s heart was like a hundred pound dumbbell in his chest, beating rapidly, yet hanging heavily.  Wild Weasel had either already dropped the bomb, or was just about to.  He could be fifty feet away and the Joe pilot wouldn’t even know it.  An overwhelming feeling of failure and a deep dread soaked through the pilot’s uniform and seemed to attach to his muscles themselves.  A part of his mind was concerned about Slipstream as well, but his life was inconsequential compared to the scores of life threatened by the lone Cobra Rattler.  His radio crackled to life and Ace fought the urge to jump.  He reached over and switched it on, playing the voice in his helmet.

“Striker One here,” he said simply.

“Ace?  This is Airtight!” the voice replied.  Ace grinned at the squeaky franticness of it.

“Got something for me, buddy?” he asked, his grin quickly fading, and not really thinking that Airtight had anything of use to him.

“Yeah, I got something for you, Ace.  Please listen carefully, okay?  This is very, very important.”

Ace’s eyes narrowed to a curious slit as he heard the voice in the radio.  “I’m listening.  What is it?”

“Wet Suit and I are in the Cobra laboratory inside the complex.  I’ve been going through Mindbender’s files, and I found something crucial to stopping this threat.”

“All right.  You’ve got my full attention.”

“Good.  Apparently, after the Python Patrol experiments, Mindbender continued tinkering around, trying to find the perfect stealth device…one that could render someone or something completely undetectable.”

“Go on,” Ace said, adjusting some readings and guiding the Skystriker into a low right bank.

“They tested a new theory out on a group of soldiers here on Cobra Island called Shadow Vipers.  Wet Suit had a run in with them and can first hand vouch for the successfulness of this new experiment.”

Ace’s eyes wandered over to his instruments as he brought the X-14 back into a straight path.

“Well, apparently, Mindbender refined this process and has duplicated it full scale.”

“I’m lost.  What does this have to do with—?”

“The Rattler, Ace.  Mindbender fused the Rattler and the device that it’s carrying with this process.”

“So it’s completely undetectable by radar?” Ace’s eyes grew wide as he realized what Airtight was saying.

“According to Wet Suit, it can’t be seen by any electronic devices whatsoever.”

“Well, sorry, man, but that does nothing for me.  I’ve got hundreds of miles of water out here, I can’t possibly go over every foot by eye.”

“That’s the thing, Ace.  I think I’ve got a way to see this.”

“Well, fill me in, Airtight.  Time is of the essence.”

“If I remember correctly, you have the new sonar installed in your aircraft, right?”

“Check,” Ace replied, glancing down at the panel.

“Does it have a filtering device?”

“Sure.  To filter out commercial airlines, ambient noise…human population.  What of it?”

“I want you to switch on every filter and turn them up to max.”

Ace stared crookedly at the voice in his radio.  “What?”

“Every one, Ace.  Turn them all up as far as they can go.”

“That makes no sense…it will filter out all sound.  The thing will be searching for…”

“…Absolute silence.  Exactly.  Please, Ace, it would take too long to explain.  Please just do it!”

Ace noticed the urgency in the Joe’s voice and shrugged his shoulders.  “You’re the expert.  Here goes.”  Ace flipped the switches and slid a series of small dials all the way to the right.  The sonar screen warbled slightly, then faded, cleared up and displayed…nothing. 

Ace sighed, his face looking exasperated.  “Airtight, man.  I’ve got nothing.”  He banked slowly to the right as back on the island, Airtight leaned back in his chair; time itself crashing in on him.

 

 

The Vipers inched ever closer, the gunfire roaring.  With shattering aggression, the paths of fire narrowed, zooming in on the stairwell and the lone Joe that crouched not five feet away. Leatherneck huddled in close to the console, bringing his legs up into his chest, trying to make himself invisible.  Sparks slammed off of the hard floor, now only mere feet away.  His eyes pressed tightly closed as they neared, and didn’t see the far wall as it shuddered violently.  Milliseconds later he felt the whole room shake and pried his eyes open just in time to see the far wall turn a brilliant white for the fleetest of moments before it came blasting in with hurricane like force.  The Joe couldn’t believe it even as the muffled explosion tore through the large, open room and huge jagged concrete slabs were thrown through the air by thick rolling clouds of smoke.  The Cobras whirled around suddenly, spinning their weapons towards this unexpected new threat.  Two Vipers were knocked to the ground by the force of the mysterious blast, but all others turned to face the source.  The large uneven torn hole in the wall glared back at them like a single expressionless eye, revealing the thrashing rains and wild winds from outside.  The wind slammed down on the wall and threw leaves and debris inside the room with huge, circular gusts, twirling the smoke around into tiny miniature tornadoes.  All they could see was the wet darkness of night beyond the hole in the wall until suddenly a lone figure hurtled down and away, then halted its progress and swung swiftly forward hurtling through the large hole.  He was dressed in tan and light blue, his skin a dark flesh, a thin green helmet pulled tightly over his head.  Even as he seemed to hover motionless in the air he was unfastening the large assault rifle strapped to his chest, his face snarling and mean.  With a swift jerk of his hand he fell free from the steel zip line and dropped a foot to the floor, his weapon opening fire with amazing ferocity even as he landed in a deep crouch on the balls of his feet with the grace of a gymnast.  The quick barrage sent two Vipers tumbling, one flying back from his feet and rolling awkwardly, the other spun clumsily and dropped to the floor, his helmet bouncing off and rolling free.

“Take him out!” shouted one of them Crimson Guards, when suddenly the ‘him’ became ‘them’.  A green/black streak came down and around in a tight arc and landed in similar fashion, his AR-15 bucking in his hand.  A brown and black blur zipped down just after, his landing a little less graceful, but still smooth, and his small automatic chattered like gossip hounds at the hairdresser.

“That’s our chance!” Hawk shouted with authority.  “Go go go!”

Leatherneck jumped from his crouch, his rifle shouting angrily, the other Joes falling in close behind, pouring from the stairwell, and closing in with vicious swiftness.

 

Satchel couldn’t understand what was happening even as the debris from the wall rained down at him with frightening speed.  They’d been on the verge of victory, for what it was worth.  But now…now the room itself was caving in and a man was flying through the hole and shooting fast.  Satchel scrambled as bullets sprayed through the air, not caring who they hit or hurt, and as he glanced to the side, he saw Rhames catch a burst and go spinning down, his helmet rolling off.

“Rhames!” he shouted and ran over to his old friend, looking down into his wide, angry face.  He ducked low as more men poured into the room and more gunfire zipped through the air.  “Rhames!  Hold on…you’re gonna be okay…”

“Shut up, kid,” Rhames said roughly, his chest heaving rapidly.  Blood starting collecting on his chest, seeping through the flack jacket he wore.  The assault rifle was swift and powerful. 

“I’m…dying, kid.  Right here right now.”

“B..but…the Commander said…”

“Said what, kid?” Rhames coughed as Satchel lifted his head for a second and looked around, making sure the bullets were flying far enough away.

“You’re name,” Satchel finally replied, grinning widely.  “You’re name will be on the monument.”

Rhames stifled a chuckle, shaking his head with a cough.  “Kid…there…ain’t gonna be…no monument.  Get out, kid.  Get out while you still…” he shuddered quickly, and then his chest stopped moving.

“No!” the Viper shouted, throwing his weapon to the ground.  He stood, his arms flailing.  “No!  Please!  No more violence!  I surrender!” he shouted, stumbling around aimlessly.  The Joes looked curious, but continued firing, their shots straying away from the frantic Viper.

“Foolish child!” a voice barked from behind the young man.  Satchel turned and saw a Crimson Guard standing there, his weapon drawn.  “Cobra doesn’t surrender!” his rifle exploded loudly, and Satchel’s chest stung suddenly like the combined sting of a million angry hornets.  He stumbled slowly back, his mind confused, his eyes wandering.  Then he fell with a dull thud next to his old, dead friend.

“Now that’s cold!” shouted Roadblock and stepped in, his Browning growling.  The Crimson Guard grunted and was tossed back effortlessly, then skidded to a stop on the floor.  His finger jumped off the trigger as his eyes scanned, but saw only lingering smoke and bullet holes.

“Clear!” Roadblock shouted from his side.

“Clear!” replied Leatherneck, over against the far wall.

“Clear!” this one was Hit & Run, crouched over near the gaping hole in the wall where he had swung in.

“Clear!” Hawk gave the final signal, walking in to the center of the room in firing position, swiveling skillfully on his heels.  The Joes lowered their weapons and Hawk walked over to the three new comers, a smile spreading over his face.  A wild wind blew drops of rain into the room, spattering the Joes with their wetness.

“Glad you could make it, Airborne,” Hawk said, smirking.  The Native American helicopter assault trooper nodded and saluted stiffly.  Hawk returned it.

“We would have been here sooner, sir.  The weather was not cooperative.” He motioned towards the hole in the wall and a large brown shape slowly began to descend in behind it.  The Tomahawk jostled slowly outside of the building, its propellers whipping up the fierce, gale force winds.  From the cockpit, Lift Ticket and Wild Bill shot the thumbs up from their seats.

“You two!” Hawk shouted to Hit & Run and Alpine who had closely followed Airborne in the assault.  “I thought I had you two on watch?” he asked, looking stern.  “Care to explain yourselves?”

“We disobeyed orders, sir,” Hit & Run said simply and the General had to stifle a chuckle.  He admired the kid’s tact that was for sure.

“Well, sir,” Alpine continued, looking slightly nervous.  “The attack team finished off the goons in the basement and came back out just as the Tomahawk showed up.  They took the watch, and we took a ride, sir.  Low Light was very helpful in pinpointing your location.”

Hawk smiled.  “Works for me, boys.” He turned and faced the other Joes as they stood before him, backs straight and weapons at the ready.  The General cast a look towards the door in the corner, and then looked back at them.  “Are we ready?” he demanded, focusing on the men, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, sir!” they shouted, raising their weapons.

“You three, head back down and give our boys backup if they need it.” He pointed to the three newcomers and they reluctantly agreed.  “Sorry, men, but we have to keep numbers trim.  We don’t know how much room for maneuvering there is up there and we don’t want to be tripping over each other.”

“Or shooting each other,” piped in Roadblock with a laugh.

“Joke time’s over, boys,” Hawk said sternly and the men nodded their agreement.  “Let’s finish this!  Yo Joe!”

“Yo Joe!”

 

 

 

“Shoot!” shouted Airtight, slamming his fist on the console in front of him.  He had been so sure.  So convinced that he had the solution.  But he had been wrong and now time was really running out.  “What did I mi—“

“Airtight!” a sudden shout echoed from the radio receiver and Airtight almost jumped.  It was an excited shout that was for sure.

“Go ahead,” he said uncertainly into the communicator, slipping the headphones over his uncovered head.

“Airtight, you’re a damn genius, kid!”

Airtight smiled.  It sounded a lot like Ace.  “I…I am?”

“I just got a blip at the edge of my screen.  A weird, swirling blob of absolute silence sliding in towards the coast of the United States!  My burners are fired and I’m moving in!”

Airtight jumped from his seat, the headphones yanking from his head and smacking into the console.  “Wet Suit!  We did it!  Ace found the—“

The voice echoed in the earphones again, this time sounding a lot less jovial.  Airtight stopped the celebrating and sat, pulling the phones back over his ears.  “Ace?  Please repeat,” he said urgently.

“Good God, Airtight…he did it.  He actually did it.”

“W…what?” Airtight stammered, his voice choking in his throat.

“The bomb has been launched.  Repeat, the bomb has been launched.”

 

 

 

The General let Roadblock go first as he swung open the door at the top of the stairs, but was greeted by complete silence.  The hallway was dim, if not dark, its plush red carpeting an alarming antithesis to the bunker-like rooms on the previous floors.  Ornate gold lamps adorned the wood paneled walls, set every four feet on down the hall.  The ceiling must have been higher than he thought, as the walls seemed to stretch above into shadow, disappearing from view almost as designed that way.  Roadblock led the way, with Hawk, Blackout and Leatherneck following.  Dial Tone and Shockwave pulled up the rear, the blue-garbed S.W.A.T. specialist swiveling his automatic back and forth behind the group as they continued on.  About thirty feet ahead, the hall pitched ninety degrees to the right, which was their destination.  It was so close, the General could almost taste it, could feel it watering on his tongue, longing for a resolution to this life long conflict.  Roadblock was about ten feet ahead now, his large Browning sticking out in front of him and passing from one wall to the other, in a calculated, careful arch.  The twin red blurs shot from the ceiling like a cannon, hurtling to the plush carpet, then landed in skilled, swift crouches, one behind the big man and one just in front.  Hawk stumbled back, his eyes popping open as the two men sprang from what seemed like nowhere and surrounded the heavy gunner.  The General only had to get a quick glimpse and recognized them instantly, their intimidating image scarred into his brain.  Immortals.

“You.  Stop where you are,” the first Immortal growled, his voice rasping through his black and silver faceplate.  He pointed a large black AK-47 at the small group of Joes while his partner did the same to Roadblock.  The big man either didn’t see the second man or didn’t care as he showed no hesitation and swung his huge weapon like a fifty caliber baseball bat, slamming it into the second Immortal’s chest where it impacted with a short, sharp CLANG!  Crimson Guard Immortals wore a deeper, darker red than their lower ranked cousins and were adorned with an elaborate metal chest piece for gunfire protection.  The Browning’s thick barrel smacked against the chest plate, sending the Immortal stumbling back just from the shock.  The large man shifted on his feet, swinging the heavy machine gun and let it roar with sudden, abrupt ferocity, the blasting sparks slamming into the Immortal at point blank range.  He flew back from the force of the shot, metal shards and blood red scraps flying through the air, and fell to the carpeted floor, lying still.  The first Immortal swung with the sound, raising his AK-47, but Hawk acted fast, lunging forward, tackling the dark red man around the waist.  The Immortal stumbled forward slightly, but spun swiftly, slamming the general in the face with his rifle, knocking him back.  He hauled down on the trigger and the Joes scattered as best they could.  Shockwave lunged forward in desperation, but caught the brunt of the gunfire in the lower chest and right arm.  He flopped clumsily in mid air and landed with an awkward thump, his right arm flailing under his shredded blue uniform.  Leatherneck came up quick from his duck and pounded the butt of his rifle into the CGI’s ribs, stumbling him slightly.  In one smooth movement, the Marine jerked up, catching him under the chin with the upstroke, and knocking his helmet slightly askew.  Leatherneck moved in for another strike, but the Immortal was set and drilled a knee into his gut, then clutched the back of his uniform and drove him mercilessly into one of the paneled walls.  Wooden shards broke free and sprinkled to the ground as Leatherneck fell, his face contorted, his head matted to his dark hair underneath.  Blackout launched himself next, throwing himself through the air before he even really realized what he was doing, but the CGI saw him coming and adjusted himself, easily catching the young man and tossing him roughly to the carpeted floor.  As he did this, Hawk moved in and swept his leg around, catching it behind the Immortal’s dark red calf.  It struck hard and as he fell, Hawk was on top of him, his pistol drawn.  He drove the barrel of the pistol into the Crimson Guard’s chest, right at the sternum, in between the metal plates and yanked on the trigger four quick times.  The gun jerked and the shots rang loud in the silent hall, then the CGI lay still with the General hovering over him panting heavily.  His face was twisted into an angry growl, sweat and blood running over the smooth flesh under his blond hair.  He drew the weapon back as deep crimson soaked the red torso of the CGI and looked up at the almost stunned faces looking down on him and stood quickly, composing himself.

“Sorry, troops,” he quickly commented.  “We are running out of time for finesse.  Cobra Commander’s private office is straight up ahead, and I mean to get us there.” He scanned the hall and frowned when he saw Shockwave lying on the floor, clutching his injured arm.  His vest was littered with bullet holes, but there seemed to be no serious injuries aside from the wounded limb.

“Can you walk?” Hawk asked, reaching down towards the SWAT Team member.

“Y…yeah.  But go on ahead.  I’ll b…be all right.” He reached into a pouch with his good hand and pulled out a bandage wrapped in plastic.  “I’ll hang back, don’t worry, all right?  I’ll make sure our exit is clear.”

Hawk grinned down at the fallen man and nodded.  “Very good.  The rest of you.  Let’s move out!”  He led the way, flanked by Roadblock and Leatherneck, with Blackout slowly lumbering next beside Dial Tone.  They crossed the last twenty feet like men possessed, and were finally at their destination.

 

 

 

“C’mon, baby!” Ace shouted, the throttle driven down all the way.  The afterburners screamed as the white jet zoomed through the dark night air, the strange warbling blobs drawing nearer on his sonar screen.  The bomb had been launched, but only seconds ago.  At that point Ace discovered that it wasn’t really a bomb per se.  It didn’t drop, after all, Wild Weasel was still over the Gulf of Mexico.  Instead it launched forward, towards an indicated target, but Ace had no idea where the target was or how long it would take the bomb to get there.  He only hoped he could catch it.  Suddenly, the larger of the two blobs broke away and turned, closing in on the Skystriker, but Ace tried to ignore it.

“You probably think you’re sneaking up on me, Weasel,” he said softly.  “But I just have bigger fish to fry.” 

Still the blob drew even closer.

“C’mon!” Ace shouted with desperation at his white jet, and suddenly the night was on fire.

 

 

 

Hawk ignored his teammates warnings and marched up to the solid oak paneled door first, he pistol clutched tightly to his chest.  With a thundering kick, he blasted the wood door inwards, and charged in after it, his weapon drawn and ready, Leatherneck and Roadblock flanking him.  He almost halted in surprise when he entered the chamber.  Directly ahead, sitting calmly in his desk a few feet in front of the wide bay window sat Cobra Commander himself, his elbows on the wooden desk, and his fingers laced under his chin.  A small young girl stood next to him, dressed in deep blue and black with a mask pulled tight over her face.

“Well, well, General,” he said surprisingly calmly.  “We’ve been waiting.” He made a soft gesture and from three places, motion suddenly appeared.  In the near corners against the wall with the door, a CGI sprung from each side, AK-47’s at the ready.  At the same time, the young girl crouched lowly, and then flew forward with amazing strength and grace, a flash of silver streaking from her back.  The Joes scattered as she came down on them, a sword drawn and thrashing.  Hawk ducked and rolled, feeling the weight of the girl pass just over him and land in the center of the crowd.  Her sword lashed out and Hawk heard a sudden, pained yelp, then saw Dial Tone stumble to the ground, clutching his chest.  His machine gun thudded softly on the carpet as it dropped along with him.  Leatherneck went immediately for the Crimson Guard on the left as Blackout moved in, his M-16 drawn and ready.  On the right, Roadblock charged forward, wielding his M2 like a battle staff.  Hawk swiveled quickly and shot his .45 with fierce accuracy, striking one of the CGI’s in the knee.  He shouted and stumbled, and Roadblock was on him, slamming the back of his head into the thick wooden bookshelf behind him.  The shelves splintered apart and the man dropped, thick novels dropping down on him from above.  On the other side of the room, Leatherneck pinned the other CGI against the wall, his rifle pressed tightly against the man’s throat, his AK-47 pushed away.  Hawk charged to his feet as the girl shifted and leaped at him, cold hard death in her eyes.  Roadblock threw his massive frame through the air and intercepted the young girl with a vicious tackle, threatening to crush her under his huge bulk.  She adapted amazingly well and rolled on her back, tossing the large man with little effort on to the floor.  She spun and jumped smoothly to her feet as Roadblock moved in.  Leatherneck dropped the still Immortal and turned as well, moving towards the young girl who stood in a powerful defensive stance, her sword drawn and at a sharp angle, reflecting the lights glistening from the ceiling.

“Freeze little girl!” Hawk shouted briskly and angrily and the masked girl spun, drawing a deep breath.  Blackout and Hawk had Cobra Commander from the desk and at gunpoint.  Hawk glanced over to her, an angry look crossing his face.  “Leatherneck and Roadblock, grab her and hold her!”

She made a motion to resist, but squinted at her father, who stood proud despite being held at the end of a weapon.  With a shrug she dropped the sword and the two men grabbed each arm tight, forcing her into immobility.  Hawk glanced back at Dial Tone.

“You okay?” he asked loudly, but there was no answer.  “Blackout,” he said, turning to the other Joe.  “Go check on him.”

“Yes, sir,” Blackout replied, lowered his weapon and started to turn.  Cobra Commander was fast and determined, quickly moving in.  Suddenly, the young man’s M-16 was shot to the soft floor and he was grabbed by a fierce choke hold, drawn in close to the Commander, the cold hard steel of a pistol barrel pressed tightly to his temple.  His helmet sat slightly askew and the Commander jerked the kid, dropping the metal and chrome to the floor, revealing the boy’s surprised and frightened face.

“Well…” Cobra Commander said softly, glee almost bursting in his voice.  “Who’s in control now?”

 

 

 

Gunfire roared impossibly silent, blinding flashes clouding the Joe pilot’s well-trained eyes.  The Rattler was closing in, its twenty-millimeter gatling gun, settled just under the nose of the plane, roaring with a sudden brightness but a strange absence of sound.  The Skystriker’s canopy shattered under the smashing impact of the scores of bullets, Ace wincing uncontrollably as they whipped through the cockpit and out into the night.  His facemask was still pulled on tight and his breathing was regulated, so the atmosphere was of no bother to him.  He brought the plane into a steep dive, but stayed in his track, keeping his eyes focused on the sonar screen.  With a deep breath, he forced himself to continue onward, not to be sidetracked by the attacking A-10.  There was only one purpose here, and even if it cost him his life, he had to complete the mission.  The white jet jolted severely as a blast echoed from the right wing.  Ace cast a glance outside his canopy as the deep blue plane, almost invisible in the dark night, bore down on him, its cannon blaring.

“C’mon, honey…hold it together…” the jet lurched again, and Ace knew that he had to do something, and he had to do something now.  The strange blob on the radar skimmed in closer and closer to the coast of the United States and Ace knew that once there, even if it was off target, the blast could be devastating.  With a quick dance of his buttons, he accessed the onboard computer on the X-14, a relatively new addition to it.  As more gunfire pounded down on him from behind, he tapped briskly on the keyboard, frantically glancing at his instruments.

Sparrow reconfigured, the computer screen flashed and he grinned.  It was a long shot, but it was this or nothing.  He flipped the small hatch off of the missile launch switch and closed his eyes.  His thumb slammed down on the switch and he banked suddenly away as another barrage of fire skimmed his tail.  The final Sparrow missile popped from its hold and roared off into the night.

“Bird away,” he said quietly.  “It’s up to you now.”  He banked the plane around and roared towards the Rattler, his own guns firing.

 

 

 

“General!  So glad you could make it, old friend,” Cobra Commander said, grinning widely underneath his flowing, regal hood.

“I’m no friend of yours,” Hawk replied grimly, his pistol still raised and hovering just feet away from the Commander’s face.

“As long as I have this boy by the throat, you’ll be my best friend, won’t you, Hawk?”  He squeezed and shook Blackout slightly, who coughed, but remained standing.

“Don’t count on it.”  The General’s face was stern and serious.

Cobra Commander’s eyes narrowed.  “This isn’t a joke, General.  This child’s life is in your hands.”  A dull crunch of thunder and amazingly bright fork of lightning seared through the room from outside.

“And this child’s life is in your hands,” Hawk replied, gesturing towards the girl, but keeping his handgun pointed at the Commander.

“Why should I care about her?  She is a subordinate, nothing more.”

“All right.  Leatherneck, take her out,” he said seriously.  The Marine nodded and drew up his rifle with his free hand.

Cobra Commander merely laughed.  “Bluffing never was your strong suit, General.  Please, just release the girl and depart.  This battle is over.”

“No.  It is not over.”

“General Hawk, whatever has gotten into you?” he cocked his head comically, but his pistol remained still at Blackout’s head.  The Joe squirmed and wrenched, but the Commander held firm.

“That’s the problem, Commander.  This battle.  These battles.  They’re never over.  They won’t be over until one of us is dead.”

“Oh?  Are you volunteering?” Cobra Commander chuckled, but Hawk’s face remained stoic.

“You’d best take this more seriously, Commander.  The joke is no longer funny.”  His pistol was firm and still, hovering in front of Cobra Commander’s covered face.

“Why bother with the macho, Hawk?  I’ve won, don’t you see?  The bomb has been launched, or didn’t you know?” his body jostled slightly as he spoke, but the choke stayed locked in.

“Yes, I am aware,” Hawk muttered as he scanned the room, finally noticing that it was devoid of any kind of mechanical device.

“Are you also aware that there is no way to stop it?  It’s invisible, Hawk.  Invisible.  Like a ghost, it will strike and vanish like it never existed.”  Another streak of lightning hissed just outside the bay window.  Thunder shook the room. 

“Quite like its victims, actually.”  The Commander seemed to find this endlessly funny, his shoulders shaking with laughter.  Blackout struggled a little more, but the Commander held fast.

“Be that as it may.  There is nothing we can do about it now.  We can only keep it from happening again.”

Cobra Commander seemed physically taken aback.  “Goodness!  What happened to your staunch heroism, General?  Are you prepared to kill in cold blood?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”  Like the heavy weapon clutched in his tight fist, his gaze was cold and hard.

Cobra Commander studied his enemy quizzically.  “You have confounded me, General.  Your recent bout of cold bloodedness impresses even me.  Wouldn’t be looking for a job, would you?”

Hawk didn’t reply, only kept the pistol aimed where it was.  Suddenly, the radio strapped to Dial Tone’s back crackled with static.  The communications officer lay still, but the radio burst to excited life.

“Dial Tone!  This is Striker One!  Repeat, this is Striker One!  SuperFreak has been splashed, repeat, SuperFreak has been splashed!  The bomb is dead in the water and Wild Weasel is high tailing it home.  I am running low on fuel, and am returning to the Flagg.  Striker One out.”

Cobra Commander’s eyes grew wide under the hood.  Almost as wide as Hawk’s grin.  All at once, his face seemed to cave in on itself, confident egoism collapsing into dark, glaring rage.  His hand trembled, the weapon shaking in his grip.

“Oh, did you hear that, Commander?” Hawk asked, feeling an indescribable rush of freedom and relief course through every vain in his body.  “It would seem your plan has gone up in smoke.”

“No!  NO!” he screamed, the muscles in his neck bulging through even the baggy cloth of his uniform.  “It’s not possible!  We planned for everything!”

“You didn’t plan for us.  For me.” Hawk’s glare retained its hard, steel edge.

The Commander smiled wildly again, throwing his head back and laughing.  “Foolish, foolish man!” his voice crackled with a sudden frantic insanity.  Hawk grew uneasy, locking a nervous glance with the young fellow Joe.  “You’d really try to kill me?  Kill me?”

Hawk remained in his shooter’s stance.  “Wouldn’t even think twice.”

“You can’t kill me!  You are in my world here, my kingdom!  This is my island.  I rule here, not you!”

His voice barked loudly, the cloth hood swaying under his chin.  Small droplets of spittle ejected through the pores in the cloth and sprinkled onto the carpet.

“Kill me indeed!  Look at me!  LOOK!  I am no meager man here!  The lifeblood of the Cobra organization runs through my veins!  I am Cobra!  Cobra is me!  As long as it exists, I live!”

“Metaphorically, maybe, Commander…but the physical…I plan to end that tonight.”

“Idiot!” Cobra Commander screamed, his voice growing in pitch and desperation.  He thrashed wildly, jerking Blackout like a lifeless doll, his arms flailing loose at his sides.  “Don’t you see?  You can’t kill me, I am GOD here!”

Hawk’s glare narrowed to a pair of tight, dark slits.  He cast an eye to Blackout who nodded softly, hoping the Commander wouldn’t notice.

“No, Commander,” Hawk said simply, his finger sliding from the trigger guard to the trigger itself.  “You’re not immortal.  You are no god.”

Blackout shifted, lowering his right arm slowly and easily.  His fingers closed around it and he breathed a small sigh of relief and nervous anticipation.

“You may think you are.  Your followers may think you are.  But deep inside, Cobra Commander.  Deep inside, at your core, you’re no better than me.”

“Liar!” Cobra Commander screamed, his finger tensing on the trigger of the pistol.  Blackout moved swiftly, lifting his right arm quick and straight, and then flipped the switch, hoping beyond hope.  The thin blue flame shot from the torch like a white-hot dagger, igniting with a soft hiss and crackle.  Cobra Commander jumped back as the flame licked at the edge of his swaying hood and suddenly caught with a low, swift WOOSH!

“AGH!” he screamed, back pedaling quickly, the pistol dropping from his loose fingers, his hood now awash in an orange/yellow glow.  Flame shot towards the ceiling, engulfing his whole head, blue cloth ripping away and fluttering in the air, rain pounding down on the window behind, the acrid stench of burning cloth and flesh permeated the air.  He stumbled back, arms flailing, and his eyes wide behind the swiftly dissolving blue cloth of his hood.

“FATHER!” screamed the young girl, desperately pulling on her captors.

“You…you can’t do this!” Cobra Commander pleaded, stumbling around, his head now a roaring flame.  His voice was mere whispers and gasps underneath the inferno.  “Y…you can’t!  I am a GOD HERE!”

“No, Commander.” General Hawk said softly, but firmly.  This insane explosion of false godhood from the man had washed any hesitation away in dark blue.

  “You are just a man.”  Hawk’s pistol roared with a deafening burst as a streak of lightning arced through the night sky behind the flaming figure of Cobra Commander.  Thunder crackled throughout the sky as he stumbled back, Hawk’s pistol shouting again.  Shell casings spurted from the barrel one by one as he hauled on the trigger, the Commander thrashing wildly under the attack.

“Do you hear me, Commander?” Hawk demanded, stepping closer, his pistol roaring in his ears.  “You.  Are.  Just.  A.  MAN!”  Each word was punctuated with a loud gunshot, Hawk shouting, almost as if trying to convince himself of the same thing.  With a final powerful blast, blue cloth tore away from the Commander’s royal tunic, chased by a thin trail of smoke spiraling upwards.  Cobra Commander shot violently backwards, his back striking the window just as another fork of lightning punctuated the impact.  The glass starred with thin spider web cracks spreading out from behind the Commander as he struck in tune with a low slam of thunder from the raging storm.  His frantic screaming had given way to a rasping, choking gasp.  Hawk wasn’t sure, but it almost sounded like a grating, sandpaper laugh.  Finally, the window shattered under the weight and he toppled over backwards, tumbling out into the empty, wet, dark night amidst the pelting rain and a final, almost deafening clap of thunder.

“FATHER!” the young girl screamed again, and suddenly she was loose.  She dashed across the room with marathon speed, hit the desk and leaped like a gold medal gymnast.  In a blue/black streak she was gone out the window, just behind her father, leaving only the echoing of the gunfire, the tinkling of falling glass, and the soft pitter-patter of the rainfall behind.

 

 

 

The sun rose slowly, pulled up from its cloudy slumber by the bright day of morning, casting its pinkish orange glow over the rippling gulf water.  General Hawk stood on the rocky surface of the island, glancing out over the choppy surf, his pistol lodged back in his holster and his arms crossed pensively.  Duke hobbled up next to him and joined his commanding officer in the pensive gaze.

“Any sign?” Hawk asked, still staring out into the light gray morning sky.

“No, sir.  You don’t think he survived, do you?”

Hawk didn’t answer.  He cast a look back at the Tomahawk helicopter, which hovered over the valley below.  Lower down, Lifeline hovered over a body on a stretcher, as he prepared to load it into the helicopter.

“How’s Flint by the way?” Hawk asked softly, and Duke shook his head.

“Lucky.  But not by much.  Lift Ticket was chasing a hydrofoil after picking up Slipstream in the drink.  The Moray got away, but they happened to see Flint face down in the mud.  They grabbed him, but it’s still touch and go.”

“Recommendation?”

“If he heals, and he wants to, the team could use him, sir.”

“Agreed.”

The silence descended on the two men.  Partners by choice and by design.  They stood quietly, gazing over the gulf from the rocky peak.

“Do you regret it, sir?” Duke asked, glancing over to the General.

“What?  Shooting him?”  Hawk stopped for a moment and let the silence speak for itself.  The clouds had broken and the sunlight was warm and inviting.  “No.  He forced me to it.  I’d do it again.”

“Good.”

Once again, the silence was the loudest thing in the small world of Cobra Island.  The seriously wounded had all been flown to the U.S.S. Flagg.  The Joes had swept the island and mopped up any resistance left over, of which there was little.  The prisoners were flown to the Flagg’s brig for questioning and to be held until they could be picked up by the military.  Duke glanced up into the pinkish sky as it spread over the island, embracing it with fluffy cloud arms.

“Peaceful, huh?”

Hawk glanced at the first sergeant and nodded.  “Yeah, peaceful it is.  But at what cost, Sergeant?  Two Joes…a team of Navy S.E.A.L.s…countless young men who just happened to be fighting for the wrong side.  The President of our country?  Yeah, it is peaceful, Duke.  But this time, I think the price of peace was far too high.”

As if in agreement, the sun rose sharply, casting its warm glow over the two men who stood there in solemn silence watching the crashing surf.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE END