Always Faithful

G.I. Joe Headquarters

P.I.T. III, Utah

May, 1996

Jarhead stood near one of the Quonset huts that formed part of the aboveground portion of the Joes’ home base. The distant sound of the Tomahawk’s rotors was getting closer. Hawk, General Flagg and Duke were standing nearer to the landing zone. Whilst Hawk was the commanding officer, Flagg was his new Executive Officer. Flagg’s father had once been CO of the Joes, alongside the near-legendary General ‘Iron Butt’ Austin. Flagg was one of two new staff officers added to the Joes since the unit had been reformed.

As he awaited the arrival of the Tomahawk, Jarhead’s attention wandered back to his own history with the Joes.

Jarhead had volunteered for Joe selection in 1989, after learning, much to his disgust, that only four US Marines were serving with the Joes. After completing selection, he and some of the other successful candidates had instead been assigned to a secret joint GI Joe-CIA programme called ‘Steel Brigade’. That was a five-year assignment as an undercover operative in a non-friendly nation to set up and maintain safe houses and equipment caches that could be used by the Joes or other Special Operations Forces in a given country. The Steel Brigade troopers were promised a position in the main Joe unit once their assignments were complete.

Four years into his assignment, Jarhead had nearly quit when DOD bureaucrats and misguided Generals had conspired to shut down the Joes, claiming Cobra was no longer a credible threat. Jarhead’s cell leader had persuaded him to stay. That had proved to be a lucky break for the Marine as the following year, his cell had been tasked to assist in locating the headquarters of the Red Shadows, a European terrorist organisation which had perpetrated the worse terrorist attack in American history with an assault on Washington DC. The GI Joe team had been reactivated by Presidential decree. When the Shadows’ base had been assaulted, Jarhead had been part of the multinational assault team. He and his fellow Brigade troopers had since been promoted to the main Joe force.

Instead of being one of six Marines in the Joes, he was one of five. Whilst Leatherneck, Gung-Ho and Mainframe had returned and two new Marines joined – Jarhead and the marksman Hollow-point – the infamous drill instructor Sergeant Slaughter had opted to remain at the USMC training depot at Parris Island to see out the rest of his hitch before retiring from the Marines.

Now, though, the US Marines were about to get their biggest boost yet in the Joes.

The Tomahawk helicopter descended smoothly to land amid a cloud of sand before its engines whined down. The dust cloud settled and eight new Joes stepped from the helicopter.

Jarhead moved closer to watch as Hawk greeted them.

The first man was a Black man who looked like he should be playing defence for the Vikings, Jarhead thought.

“Technical Sergeant Guardian Angel, sir,” he introduced himself. “Pararescue.”

Hawk returned his salute. “Welcome to the Joes, Tech Sergeant. Pararescue is role we’ve sadly not filled before.”

Guardian Angel smiled, “Glad to rectify that for you, sir.”

The pararescueman moved aside, to show the next man in line, a white man in similar green camo. Unlike Guardian Angel, though, his beret was scarlet rather than maroon.

“Senior Airman Steel Rain, sir. Forward Air Control and Combat Air Control.”

Again, Hawk returned the salute. “Welcome to the Joes. Congratulations to both of you; you’re the first enlisted Air Force personnel we’ve had in the Joes.”

“Thank you, sir,” Guardian Angel said.

“Who’s been doing your forward air control, then?” Steel Rain asked.

Jarhead noticed Duke cough and look away, seeming embarrassed.

“Uh, no one,” Hawk replied.

Steel Rain grinned. “Well, then I can guaren-goddamn-tee your air support’s effectiveness is going to go through the roof with me on board, sir.”

“That’s why we recruited you, Airman,” General Flagg put in.

Steel Rain stepped aside. Next up was the first of the new US Marines, Jarhead saw. A burly white guy who looked no-nonsense, wearing a drill instructor’s campaign hat over his close-cropped black hair.

“Sir, Master Gunnery Sergeant Devil Dog, reporting as ordered, sir.”

“At ease, Master Guns,” Hawk said as he returned Devil Dog’s salute. “Kindly introduce General Flagg and Sergeant-Major Duke to your team.”

“Sir, yessir,” Devil Dog replied, barely shifting his stance to ‘at ease’. “As well as myself as Raider team leader, my team includes Gunnery Sergeant Buccaneer, our machine-gunner.”

Buccaneer was another white guy, with brown hair. He looked like he worked out, but was nowhere near as burly as Guardian Angel or Devil Dog.

“Gunnery Sergeant Bullseye, our designated marksman.”

Bullseye was a slimmer, more athletic looking Black guy who saluted so slowly it was like watching a glacier move. He was the only one of the new Joes with a weapon, his rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Lance Corporal Long Wave, our signaller.”

Long Wave was Hispanic, with close-cropped black hair. Unlike everyone else, he carried his kitbag. On his back, he wore what was clearly a radio pack.

“Lance Corporal,” Duke cut in, “Why are you carrying your radio? We have all your gear here.”

“Sir, my radio is not standard issue, sir.” Long Wave set down his kitbag and removed the radio pack. “Sir, I am not just a signaller, I specialise in Radio Recon, which is tactical signals intelligence and electronic warfare. My gear is modified to suit my job, sir.”

Duke nodded, “Fair enough.”

“Lance Corporal Landmine,” Devil Dog went on, “Raider demolitions and EOD.”

Landmine was another white guy, with brown hair and a air of cynicism about him.

“And finally, but not least, Petty Officer First Aid, our Corpsman.”

First Aid was the only one not wearing Marine camouflage uniform, instead he wore tan fatigues and his blonde hair was slightly longer than the Marines. Jarhead figured this was unsurprising since he was a US Navy NCO rather than a Marine. The US Marines relied on Navy medics, rather than having their own. Which was something of an oddity, it had to be admitted, Jarhead thought.

“Welcome to the Joes,” Hawk said to all of them, “Our new amphibious recon unit, the Marine Raiders.”

Hawk led the Joes toward the Quonset hut with the entrance to the underground portion of the P.I.T. III complex. As they passed Jarhead, he snapped to attention and saluted. Hawk, Flagg and Duke returned the salute, but Jarhead held it for Devil Dog. The Raider leader stopped.

“So, who’s this?” he asked, taking in Jarhead’s Marine issue fatigues and the Eagle, globe and anchor emblem on his cap.

“Sir, Sergeant Jarhead, Force Recon Marine, sir,” Jarhead answered.

Devil Dog looked over to Hawk, who’d stopped and looked around. “You already got a Recon Marine here?” he asked. “How come he ain’t in my team?”

Hawk turned around properly to address Devil Dog. “We have a few other Marines, here. I recruited you and worked with you to put the Raiders together to be a coherent, semi-independent group. Jarhead’s already spent time with the Joes, like the others. We might look at putting the others with you on ops as necessary, but for now, your Raiders team operates alone.”

Devil Dog shrugged, an unusual response. He looked back to Jarhead.

“So, how come you’re out here, son?” he asked.

“Sir, I came to welcome our new Marines and to celebrate the USMC finally reaching double figures on the Joe roster, sir.”

“Ten Marines?” asked Bullseye. “Is that all?”

“Yes, gunny,” Jarhead answered. “Myself, you five, plus four others. Leatherneck and Gung-Ho, two riflemen. They’re both Master Sergeants. Sergeant Mainframe is a computers specialist and Staff Sergeant Hollow-point, a sniper.”

Steel Rain pushed past the Marines. “So how many Air Force guys we got?”

Jarhead threw a look at Hawk before replying, “With you and the tech sergeant: seven.”

“Seven?” Steel Rain asked, incredulously. “You got five flyboys in this outfit plus us two?”

Hawk nodded. “We did have more. We lost one pilot in Benzheen a few years back. Another was killed during the Red Shadows War. Our three astronauts were all Air Force, but they’re busy with NASA and didn’t return to the Joes. We’ve added one new pilot since the reformation; Freestyle, our first female pilot.”

Steel Rain and Guardian Angel exchanged incredulous glances. “Damn, I thought the Joes had loads of fly-boys.”

“We had Navy aviators flying Skystrikers for us from the aircraft carrier USS Flagg,” Duke put in, “But since she was transferred to the Navy, we don’t have access to them. Those pilots were never on our roster, anyway.”

“How many Navy personnel you got?” First Aid put in.

“You make twelve,” Duke replied. “Six SEALs, one UDT specialist, a deep-sea diver, a Swick and two Naval assault specialists. The only Naval Joe we’ve lost is Admiral Keel-Haul, the CO of our carrier. He retired. The rest of the crew were never on the roster. We’ve added three new SEALs and the UDT specialist. Shipwreck, our sailor, retrained as a Swick during the year off.”

“What’s a Swick?” Guardian Angel asked.

“SWCC crewman,” Duke replied, “Special Warfare Combatant Craft. Basically fast, heavily armed boats designed to operate in rivers and shallow coastal waters to deliver SEALs or other commandos to their drop off points or to extract them from a hostile area.”

“If we’re done lallygagging,” Hawk said. “I’d like to brief the Raiders for their first mission. Jarhead, make yourself useful and show the newbies to their bunks.”

“Sir, yessir!” Jarhead barked.

Hawk led the way into the Quonset hut, heading down the hidden staircase to the underground portion of the base.

In a conference room, Hawk introduced the Raiders to Colonel Courage, the team’s operations officer.

“Colonel, kindly brief the Raiders in on the current global situation the Joes are facing.”

“Yes, General.” Colonel Courage was a Black full-bird colonel dressed in a neatly pressed Army service uniform, all his buttons shiny and his boots gleaming.

Colonel Courage explained how Cobra had been defeated by Action Force in Europe in 1994, forcing the survivors to relocate to Cobra Island, how the main threat over the last year had been the Cobra splinter group known as The Coil; how the Coil had been attempting to acquire nuclear and chemical weapons, only to be thwarted by both the Oktober Guard and Action Force. The colonel went on to explain how the Coil had kidnapped an American weapons designer, who was rescued by the Joes and how in recent months the Coil had taken hostage EU defence ministers in Sweden and Russian diplomats in Armenia.

He then explained that Cobra had been quiet except for hijacking an oil platform late the previous year.

Hawk stepped up to take up the briefing.

“This is where you come in. I don’t trust Cobra. They’ve been too quiet for too long. We expected them to spend time licking their wounds and rebuilding after the kicking they took in Europe, but not this long. You’re being sent into Cobra Island for a covert recon, see what you can find out. You insert via boat and will extract via same. If anything goes wrong, we might have to try pulling you out by air. Your rules of engagement are to only fire if fired upon. This is a black op, if you can get in and out without being seen all the better. Long Wave, you’re especially going to be trying to crack Cobra’s encryption on their communications and listen in on them,” Hawk explained.

“Sir, why us?” Devil Dog asked. “You’ve got SEALs and Army Special Forces guys, why not use them?”

Hawk smiled, “I thought you Marines would be itching to prove how hot you are? It’s for two reasons, really. One: this mission is projected to last for several days, if not over a week. You’re going to have to sneak around across the island to investigate the airfield, the Cobra city and other facilities. That’s all going to take time. Time I don’t want us to be without either the SEALs or the Green Berets. Two: in the event this mission goes south, I want the SEALs and the Green Berets available to pull you out.”

Landmine smirked, “Nice to know we rate the best to save our butts.”

“But what you’re saying is, we’re expendable, right, sir?” Buccaneer asked.

“Son, no one is expendable, not in the Joes, not while I’m in command,” Hawk replied forcefully.

The Marines exchanged glances.

“You fly out tomorrow morning to Eglin Air Force Base in Florida. You’ll link up with your naval support to carry out a series of practice insertions before you deploy,” Hawk went on. “That is all, dismissed.”

The Raiders stood, saluted and filed out.

Three days later

Thirty-five miles off the west coast of Cobra Island

The Killer WHALE hovercraft was barely making steerage speed as Cutter throttled the engines back. He glanced at Topside, next to him in the control station. “Lower the ramp and raise the hatch.”

“Aye, sir,” replied the naval assault specialist.

The bow of the hovercraft split apart, a ramp lowering over the floatation skirt. Cutter hit the intercom switch.

“Raider team, clear to deploy.”

Seconds later, the six Raiders and Shipwreck could be seen jumping off the ramp into their Zodiac rubber dinghy before Shipwreck fired up the quiet engine and the small black boat sped away from the Killer WHALE. Topside closed the hatch and the ramp as Cutter pushed the throttles up.

“Think they’re gonna be okay?” Topside asked.

Cutter shrugged. “Let’s see what happens in a couple hours when Shipwreck’s due back.”

The Raiders had hunkered down in the dinghy, just as Shipwreck had told them in the rehearsals. It minimised their cross-section as they sped toward the island and gave the SWCC a clearer view.

Shipwreck himself was wearing two-tone grey coveralls and a lightweight helmet. A light enhancing night-vision monocle was clipped to it to allow him to see better in the darkness.

The veteran sailor had to admit; being a SWCC was definitely better than being a boring-ass machinist’s mate. Much more action to be had zipping about in a small boat. Although, he admitted to himself, he’d rather be doing this insertion with a WHALE than this overgrown bath toy.

The dinghy reached the coast of Cobra Island around an hour later. Shipwreck cut the engine, allowing the boat to drift in on the tide. The Raiders scrambled out and headed up the beach as Shipwreck turned the boat around to paddle it back out to sea.

The Raiders moved on through the darkness, Devil Dog leading the way. Buccaneer and Bullseye were close behind, followed by First Aid and Long Wave with Landmine bringing up the rear. They were soon picking their way through the marshes that dominated the western coast of Cobra Island.

In the distance, dark buildings could be seen looming over the marshes, black shadows against the stars.

Devil Dog called the team to a halt. “Looks like we want to head over to those buildings,” he whispered. “They look important.”

“No kidding, Master Guns,” Buccaneer whispered back. “The general did say they wanted us to scope out Cobra’s facilities.”

Devil Dog glared at the machine-gunner. “Button it, Gunny,” he growled back in his Delaware accent. “Long Wave, see if you can find their tactical frequencies and let us know if they’ve got sentry patrols or anything out.”

“You got it, Master Guns.”

The team moved off once more.

After they reached a large mound, they paused once more. “Radio is picking up sentry checks between roving patrols around the buildings,” Long Wave reported. “They seem to check in once they reach certain points.”

“May I make an observation, Master Gunnery Sergeant?” Buccaneer asked, sounding very formal despite his Louisiana accent.

Devil Dog glowered at him for a moment, “Go ahead.”

“I’d like to point out, they appear to be draining the marshes, Master Guns. I’ve seen this done in the bayous back home. Don’t happen much any more, but I’ve seen it. I studied the maps of the Island the Joes provided between our exercises. We should be in the middle of the marshes still.”

Devil Dog gave him a long look before turning away. “Yeah, I studied the maps too, Buccaneer. I know what you mean.”

Landmine looked confused. “Excuse the dumbass New Yorker here, but what are you saying?”

“They’ve drained the coastal marshes, in this area,” Buccaneer said. “Means more dry land for them to build on, even if it risks flooding. They may have dug drainage ditches or put in defence walls, but it doesn’t seem likely. They weren’t visible on the satellite photos.”

“It’s a major undertaking,” First Aid put in. “A lot of civil engineering. It’s been done other places ‘sides Louisiana, Buccaneer.”

“Means they’re planning on doing a lot of building,” Devil Dog added. “Someone make a note of it. That’s a prime piece of intel.”

“If we’re in what should be a marsh,” Bullseye suddenly spoke up, “What’s this we’re leaning in the shadow of?”

Devil Dog and Buccaneer exchanged glances. “Probably a pile of excavated earth from the foundations of the buildings,” Devil Dog answered. “Must be old since it’s got grass growing on it.”

The Raider leader looked around the mound. “Let’s get moving, I wanna recon those buildings and bug out back this way before first light. We’re gonna need to find a decent laying-up point until nightfall.”

The Raiders moved out, picking their way carefully across the open ground toward the buildings. The team waited in the long grass for a sentry to pass before moving into the shadows of one of the buildings. Landmine moved around to the side of the building as the others waited in the shadows at the back. Landmine crept to the front of the building, briefly checking his watch. It was still a couple of hours before dawn and the place was still shrouded in darkness. Moving quietly and carefully, the demolitions specialist picked his way to a small side door and eased it open. The building was dark, so he slipped inside and pulled the door shut. He then flicked on the small light attached to his assault rifle. The building was clearly a factory, assembling tracked vehicles. He moved around, careful to keep the light aimed low, finally spotting a near-complete chassis. A HISS tank chassis. Landmine frowned to himself before looking around. He spotted an office and trotted across to the door. It was unlocked and he slid in the door. Blueprints were pinned on the wall, labelled ‘HI Speed Sentry Mk. III’. Landmine pulled out the compact camera he’d been issued like the other Raiders, and took four photos, making sure he got a complete view and several close-ups. He took several more photos out on the factory floor before jogging back to the side door.

Outside he returned to the rest of the team and relayed what he’d found.

“HISS mark 3?” Devil Dog asked. “That’s new. We better check out these other buildings fast.”

A swift check of three of the other buildings revealed they were being used to assemble Stinger jeeps, FANG helicopters and the FANG II tilt-rotors. Another building held what Devil Dog recognised as ‘Septic Tank’ versions of the HISS mark I being disassembled and refitted as Mk. III HISS tanks. The Septic Tank was a variant of the venerable HISS with its usual dual 90mm gun turret replaced with a large toxic sludge spraying cannon. GI Joe had intelligence from a Cobra defector that the Septic Tanks had proved unreliable and swiftly mothballed, replaced by conventionally armed HISS II tanks and the later Rage and Paralyzer tanks. Clearly, Cobra were refitting the Septic Tanks to make use of the existing vehicles.

After taking photos of the factories interiors, the team withdrew back into the drained marshes, as the sun began to come up. Hiding out on the edge of the drained land, they eat cold rations and then settled down to sleep, with Buccaneer on first watch.

Dusk, that evening

As the sun set, the team ate their rations before they headed out. Long Wave had managed to crack some of Cobra’s encryptions and found that the sentries were operating in pairs. Devil Dog planned to grab two sentries and use the uniforms so that two of the Raiders could infiltrate the city. In the mean time, they were going to move closer to the city.

The squad picked its way across the marshland; carefully avoiding the roads Cobra had built to connect the new industrial area to the existing city.

As they reached a small group of trees and bushes, the team went to ground, waiting for their moment. A lone sentry suddenly appeared, walking toward them. He stopped a few feet away and the team could hear him unzip his trousers and begin to relieve himself. Devil Dog smirked, pulled out his Ka-bar combat knife and moved around to silently approach the lone Viper from behind. Devil Dog heard the man sigh, then zip his trousers. The Master Gunnery Sergeant struck, springing forward to stab the knife into the Viper’s neck.

Seconds later, Devil Dog dragged the dead Viper to the team’s position.

“Okay, who’s going in?” Buccaneer asked. “Only, I can tell right now, that uniform ain’t gonna fit me.”

Landmine and First Aid worked quickly to remove the Viper’s body armour, helmet and shirt. Landmine held it up to himself. “Too small for me.”

Buccaneer took it and held it up. “Too big for me.”

Bullseye took it. “Nope,” he simply said before holding it toward Long Wave.

“No, I want him to stay here,” Devil Dog said. First Aid took the shirt. He quickly shrugged off his own olive-drab shirt and pulled on the Viper’s.

“Fits.” He smirked at the others, before stripping off his other gear to pull on the Cobra trooper’s black trousers and body armour vest, the red gloves and knee-length black boots. Finally, he pulled on the blue helmet and fixed its silver mirrored faceplate into place. Devil Dog handed him the dead Viper’s MARS AR9 assault rifle. First Aid immediately went through a swift weapons check, before cradling the rifle.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“Perfect,” Devil Dog said.

Long Wave unhooked the small Cobra radio set from First Aid’s belt before fiddling with it. He handed it back.

“Select channel 3 to connect to us. Channel one and two are Cobra settings. I’d keep the chatter to a minimum, though.” He turned back to his own radio gear and began fiddling with the settings.

Devil Dog looked First Aid over. “I know you’re a medic, Fred,” he said, using First Aid’s real name. “But you’re doing good. I know you can keep up with Marines; you did it in Panama. You can do this. Just get in, wander around and observe everything. Then get out.”

First Aid nodded then turned and headed back toward the factories.

First Aid walked around a corner and nearly collided with a Viper with a gold-tinted faceplate.

“Kowalski! Where you been?” asked the Viper, a squad leader, First Aid realised. “I already sent O’Malley home. Get outta here! Go on!”

First Aid didn’t bother to reply, he simply jogged off in the direction of the Cobra city, thinking ‘That was close’.

Once in the city, First Aid simply wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, taking in the place. Cobra troops of various types were wandering around like people in any normal city. HEAT-Vipers, SAW-Vipers, Tele-Vipers, Frag-Vipers and occasional Motor-Vipers passed him by, as well as numerous Vipers and blue-shirted Troopers and Officers. He passed a group of four Techno-Vipers working on repairing an electrical sub-station, whilst a pair of Tele-Vipers worked on a telephone cable. He also took note of several Cobras standing outside a bar, drinking from cans. They all wore non-descript green coveralls with a black Cobra logo on the left breast. He finally passed close enough to overhear their conversation: they were Snow Serpents out of their Arctic uniforms, discussing a lucky escape from Alaska when they’d clashed with the Joes.

As he wandered around, First Aid noticed a building that a lot of Cobras were going in and out of. Mostly they were Techno-Vipers, but some were HISS Drivers, Motor-Vipers or W.O.R.M.S., the operators of the Maggot artillery vehicle. First Aid walked in that direction, entering the building behind a pair of Techno-Vipers. The two engineers were deep in conversation about a malfunctioning piece of equipment and didn’t notice him following them. He saw a row of elevators in front of them, along with Vipers checking names off on a clipboard.

The building was single storey, yet had lifts and nothing else inside. First Aid frowned behind his mask. This bore checking out, but he wasn’t sure how to get past the guards at the desk.

As he got near, one spotted him.

“Kowalski, what are you doing here?” he asked. The Viper sat at the desk looked up, then tapped the speaker with his pen.

“Are you the replacement for Martinez?” the speaker suddenly asked.

First Aid nodded, not trusting himself to speak since he had no idea what Kowalski sounded like.

“Poor bastard,” the speaker went on, “Can’t believe he broke his leg like that.”

First Aid simply nodded again.

He quickly hurried into the elevator car before the Viper could say anything else and the doors slid shut.

The elevator car descended, which confused First Aid, until he realised that they must be dropping into some kind of underground bunker.

The doors slid open and First Aid headed out behind the Techno-Vipers and a Tele-Viper.

Trying not to stare too much, First Aid looked around, taking in the scene before him. This was no bunker, it was instead a large assembly-line manufacturing Maggot mobile artillery pieces, STUN assault vehicles and Ferret all-terrain ‘quad bikes’. First Aid began wandering through the plant, largely ignored as he took in the work being done by the Techno-Vipers, with some of the vehicle drivers helping out. He wondered why HISS drivers had been down here, before he saw that a few of them were working on a modified group of the tanks with surface-to-air missiles mounted in place of the usual gun turret.

First Aid quickly found another exit and headed up in the lift and got outside quickly. He’d come out near a retail area of the city, selling civilian clothes, food and other items. Trying not to laugh at the idea of ‘Shop-Vipers’ as he thought of them, First Aid hurried away through the crowds into a public restroom. Fortunately, the place was empty. He quickly switched frequencies on his radio and reported back to Devil Dog.

Once Devil Dog had got him to repeat his story a second time, the Raider leader told him to get back to the team’s laying-up point.

First Aid made his way back out of the city in the increasing gloom of the night. As he got near to the Raiders laying up point, he was met by Buccaneer.

“We’ve already moved out,” the machine-gunner told the medic. “Come with me.”

The pair moved across the edges of the drained wetlands to the forest on the northwest side of the island. Devil Dog met them and escorted them to the team’s laying up point near the Cobra Island docks. Landmine had set about making sure it was clear of any booby-traps before Long-Wave had set up his communications gear and Bullseye had set up his rifle to keep watch on the nearby road.

As the team settled in, Devil Dog got First Aid to change back to his olive-drab uniform before debriefing him on what he’d seen, checking against the notes he’d taken as First Aid had reported in.

“Okay, Raiders, we’ll rest up here for the night and then tomorrow we’ll move in to do a close recon of the docks. We might send First Aid in to have a closer look if we need to,” Devil Dog said. “Get some MREs down you and we’ll bed down after that.”

MREs were rations, or ‘Meals Ready to Eat’ in Pentagon terms. It’d been said that the name was three lies for the price of one or that the name really stood for ‘Meals Rejected by Ethiopians’, owing to their taste.

The other Raiders groaned at that order, but pulled out the food anyway. They all knew, even if the food tasted awful, it was energy for them to keep going through the forced marches across the island that lay ahead.

As the Raiders were eating they suddenly heard the sound of a vehicle driving nearby. The team hastily set aside their MREs and grabbed their weapons. Bullseye used his low-light scope to scan the road.

“No sign of traffic,” he reported.

“That’s cuz it’s behind us,” Landmine reported, urgently.

The Raiders span around in time to see what looked like a Stinger jeep drive past, towing a triple-mounted missile launcher. The jeep wasn’t armed with the usual Stinger’s missiles, but a twin gun system.

“That looks like a goddamn VAMP,” Long Wave commented.

“It’s a knock off,” Buccaneer replied. “I saw that vehicle in a report on Operation Cheetah, the war in Central Africa between Cobra and Action Force. It’s called an MSV. Don’t ask me what that stands for. AF thinks MARS ripped off the designs of the MMS and the VAMP and created them.”

The MSV began to disappear from view. Landmine stood up. “I’m going to follow it,” he said before running off.

Devil Dog started to open his mouth to shout after him, before stopping himself. Not a good idea to yell and let everyone know they were here, he reminded himself.

The team settled back down, waiting with bated breath for Landmine to return. After half an hour, he did.

“The MSV parked up about a half mile from here,” he said as he sat down. “A Flak-Viper was driving, with a Tele-Viper on the radio. I managed to get close enough to hear them. They reported into to the Terrordrome, reporting their position as ‘launch point 3’. Seemed as though the Terrordrome staff are coordinating a lot of these MSVs. It must be the command post for their air defences. They must move around between pre-surveyed launch positions to keep from being spotted on satellite.”

Devil Dog nodded at the news, “Makes sense. Make it harder for anyone to get an aircraft in the same way twice.”

“I also managed to get close enough to plant a Semtex demo charge on the missile trailer,” Landmine added. “I can blow it up any time.”

“What good’s that gonna do?” asked Buccaneer.

“It’s one less to worry about, and we could do it with more of them if we run into them. Just in case…”

“Fair point, I guess.”

“We can always plant more if we get close enough to the missile-systems,” Landmine added.

Devil Dog nodded thoughtfully.

Near dawn, the next morning

Shortly before sunrise, the Raiders began to move out. They crept through the long grass toward the Cobra Island docks. Moving silently, they reached small hill near the docks. There was enough foliage growing on the hill to conceal them as they crawled to the crest.

Bullseye pulled out his sniper rifle, fixing a hood to the scope before setting the rifle in position and beginning the process of zeroing the scope in and adjusting it. The hood would prevent the sun reflecting on the lens. Buccaneer positioned the MARS MG5 light machine-gun further away, ready to provide heavy fire. Landmine took up a position watching the team's rear. Devil Dog, Long Wave and First Aid positioned themselves behind the crest of the hill, before the Master Gunnery Sergeant moved up to lie next to Bullseye, pulling out a pair of shrouded binoculars.

As Devil Dog looked around, he realised he needed someone to take notes. Long Wave was busy trying to crack Cobra encryptions again, so he looked back and gave a low whistle, making First Aid look around. Devil Dog jerked his head and the corpsman crawled up next to him.

“Pull my notebook and pencil out of my left pocket and get ready to take notes,” Devil Dog whispered to him. First Aid nodded and did so.

Devil Dog began to relay his observations. Eels and Secto-Vipers were working on some equipment next to a workshop. Techno-Vipers were working with other Cobras to build several Water Moccasins, Morays and Piranhas. Hydro-Sleds, manned by Eels, were zipping around the harbour area. As the team watched, it was clear the Cobras were rebuilding their naval forces, even if only with the light fast boats they had before. There was no sign of BUGGs, Hammerheads or Sea Rays, however. Clearly, Cobra had abandoned the amphibious wheeled BUGG and Hammerhead vehicles and the 'winged' submarine Sea Rays. As Devil Dog muttered his comments to First Aid, he could see Vipers patrolling the harbour area, whilst a group of Lampreys came out of another building to inspect a pair of completed Hydrofoils that some Techno-Vipers were finishing painting. Suddenly, a man strode out of the largest building toward the Lampreys, who snapped to attention. The man stood next to the Moray pilots and conversed with them before turning his attention to a Water Moccasin moored nearby. The man walked toward it, an Eel following him.

“Looks like we've got a positive ID on this character now,” Devil Dog commented. “It's Copperhead, the notoriously mysterious merc Cobra hired years back. He rarely showed up when the Joes had battles with Cobra naval forces and there was some talk he was a myth. The more logical supposition was he was training the Lampreys corps or the Eels to use the hydrofoils and speedboats to the best effect.”

Copperhead climbed on to the Water Moccasin’s hull and crouched next to the control cockpit. He was about to get in when someone shouted to him. He turned around as a Sea Slug, one of operators of the Sea Rays when they were used, came running out of the same building Copperhead had been in. The Sea Slug spoke to Copperhead who then headed into the building.

“Wonder what that was all about,” Bullseye commented.

“No way we can know. Let’s keep an eye on those Vipers who seem to be patrolling the docks,” Devil Dog said. “If they’ve somehow detected us, they’ll react fast.”

Copperhead came back out of the building, giving orders, before climbing aboard the Water Moccasin, the Sea Slug close behind him. The boat’s large fan propeller roared into life, a Secto-Viper cast off the boat’s mooring line and it quickly sped away from the dock. The boat sped out of the bay, before turning west, as three Hydro-sleds turned to join it.

“Yeah, that’s not at all worrying,” Bullseye muttered.

The Raiders continued to watch the docks for several more hours, until Copperhead and his escorts returned. After he’d climbed back onto the docks, a STUN roared up the road and he climbed into the forward gun pod, before it turned and raced back along the road, heading south.

The sun soon set and Devil Dog ordered First Aid into the captured Viper uniform. The Corpsman then made his way carefully down to the docks, taking out his camera to snap photos as he snuck around. He found a warehouse that had the BUGG and Hammerhead vehicles inside, clearly in storage.

First Aid quickly headed back to the rest of the Joes after photographing the amphibious vehicles. The team then moved out, heading east across the island toward the Terrordrome. They carefully crossed the paved road from the docks before making their way through the forest toward the foot of the island’s large volcano and the Terrordrome.

As the Raiders looked up at the massive circular building, they couldn’t fail to notice the change made to the old launch base. A large long-range radar dish sat in the centre of the Terrordrome’s roof, slowly rotating as it swept the sky.

As the team found a hiding place amongst the rocks at the foot of the volcano, Long Wave began to get to work with his equipment.

“Master Guns,” he whispered to Devil Dog. “I have news you’re not going to like.”

The Master Gunnery Sergeant slide closer to the signaller, “What is it, Lance Corporal?”

“That radar matches signals in my book for the Russian-made P-70 ‘Long Track’ radar system from the SA-8 ‘Gecko’ surface-to-air missile system. If I had to guess, I’d say some ex-Soviet republic sold Cobra the radar system for hard currency.”

“Damn,” Devil Dog muttered. “You think they’ve got a Gecko battery on the island?”

Long Wave shrugged, “No idea, but they’ve certainly got the early-warning radar from one. The fact they’ve positioned it here, on a high point on the island, means it’s going to have a longer-range than one lower down. This represents a major advantage for the Cobra air defence systems.”

Devil Dog nodded and rubbed his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, my detection gear is showing a lot of narrow-band VLF radio signals. It’s coming from the Terrordrome and being broadcast across the island. I wasn’t looking for it before, but it seems like they’re using the Terrordrome as the centre of the air-defence network, with the VLF units broadcasting to the MSVs or other units in the field.”

“Good to know. Good work,” Devil Dog said.

The team rested up and ate some more MREs before heading south, toward the island’s airfield.

The sun was starting to rise as they neared the airfield. They’d dodged four MSVs and three ASP anti-air batteries on the way. They hunkered down in the trees at the edge of the airfield before going to sleep with Bullseye on watch.

Over the day, as the Raiders took turns at standing watch and sleeping, they noted the departure of several Cobra aircraft and their later returns. Over the day, eight Firebats mounted four patrols, flying in pairs. A dozen FANGs lifted off across the day, the small single-seat helicopters buzzing across the island’s interior in pairs. The Raiders also took note of FANG II tilt-rotors being serviced on the ‘apron’ area near the hangars. As the sun set, a group of four Trouble Bubble flight pods took off, their engines roaring as they lifted off, searchlights sweeping across the ground.

“I want a closer look at the airfield,” Devil Dog said. “Or at least someone to get eyes-on. We need better intel of what air capability they’ve got.”

First Aid looked around at that comment. He sighed. “Better get the Viper gear on then,” he complained.

The other Raiders grinned.

Once First Aid had changed into the Viper uniform, he made his way across the open grass around the airfield toward the nearest hangars. The hangars had doors open at both ends, revealing the aircraft within. First Aid pulled out the camera Devil Dog had given him and snapped a couple of photos, the lights inside the hangar helped make sure the flash wouldn’t go off and spook any of the guards. The hangar held two Firebats that, as First Aid watched, were lowered into the ground. He looked around before moving closer. The Vipers on guard weren’t paying attention, so he got to the edge of the pit the planes were disappearing down. Before anyone could spot him, First Aid hurried out of the hangar and into the next one. He managed to duck between the two Firebats inside and hide next to the landing gear.

Moments later, the ground under him shook and the elevator began lowering the Firebats into the ground.

As First Aid crouched in the shadow of the fighter jet, he watched the underground facility come into view. The cavern beneath the hangars held several elevators for the six hangars at the airfield. The cave-like structure stretched out in front of him, housing more Firebats, Rattlers, Trouble Bubbles, FANGs, Mamba helicopters, FANG II tilt-rotors, transport helicopters, a lone Night Raven recon plane, a pair of Condor bombers, a single Hurricane attack jet and several sleek looking delta-winged fighters that seemed to be in various stages of construction.

Vents leading upwards could be seen in the cavern roof, clearly allowing air in. A cadre of Techno-Vipers was working on the black jets, whilst others were working on the other aircraft. Small golf-cart style vehicles sped around the aircraft, carrying equipment or towing trailers with missiles or ammo boxes on them. Various Cobra air corps members were standing at their aircraft with the mechanics, or conversing with each other. Heli-Vipers were attending the FANGs helicopters, whilst the tan-suited Gyro-Vipers were clustered around their Mambas. A Strato-Viper was berating the ground crew working on the Night Raven. Two green and grey-clad Aero-Vipers were closely watching the crew at work on one of the Condors. Red-and-silver clad AVACs were working with the crews on the Firebats, or inspecting their fighters.

First Aid was busy snapping away as the elevator platform continued to descend. He frowned at the black-and-red clad figures attending to the Trouble Bubbles. He struggled to remember his briefings, but they appeared to be members of the Air Devils, a small group of hang-glider pilots once encountered by the Joes. Clearly, they’d been reassigned to new craft. Standing near the FANG II group were purple and orange clad troops, wearing black masks. They appeared to be Night Vulture troops, another glider cadre.

First Aid was so busy snapping photos of a pilot standing next to the Hurricane in a grey flight-suit with black and red trim, he almost didn’t notice the platform jerking to a halt. He glanced around just in time to see a Techno-Viper backing a cart toward one of the Firebats on the platform. First Aid shoved the camera back into his pocket and slipped away from the fighter jet and dodged across the platform to the rear of the cave.

He managed to stay in the shadows, trying not to draw attention as he made his way toward the black delta-winged jets. He’d not seen anything like them before, and the fact that they seemed to be being built right there indicated they were indeed new aircraft. First Aid began snapping photos as he crouched behind a power cart before moving to the darker corner of the cavern to snap photos of the rear of the closest jet.

First Aid was moving quickly and quietly through the hangar toward another elevator when a Viper spotted him.

“Hey! What are you up to?” he demanded.

“Nothing, just need to get to the head,” First Aid replied.

The Viper stepped toward him. “Let me see your ID,” he demanded.

Cursing in his head, First Aid went to root in a pocket, saying, “Uh, sure wait a second. It’s here somewhere.”

Once the Viper was close enough, he lashed out with a kick to the Viper’s stomach, and then another to the head as the Cobra gunman doubled over.

First Aid ran toward the elevator even as someone behind him yelled, “Hey! Stop that guy!”

First Aid dodged into the elevator car past a startled Techno-Viper and hit the button to send it up to the surface.

As the elevator emerged in the hangar minutes later, First Aid looked around to see Vipers running toward him. He swore again and simply turned and ran.

Now on the other side of the airfield, First Aid ran across the runways, heading toward the Raiders’ observation post. He clicked open his radio, making sure it was on the correct frequency.

“Raiders, I’ve been made, say again, I’ve been made. Get ready to bug out soonest!” he managed to call into the headset even as he cleared the southern runway and sprinted toward the longer northern one.

Alarms began to sound as First Aid passed the control tower between the runways and ran across the tarmac of the north runway. A searchlight snapped to life on the runway, but swept past him, aimed nearer to the hangars on the north of the airfield.

As he cleared the runway, he turned to look back. Vipers were running around, reacting to the alarms, but none were heading his way yet.

Moving more slowly as he tried to get his breath back, First Aid headed toward the trees beyond the airfield.

In the tree line, he was met by Landmine. The demolitions specialist led him through the trees to the team’s fallback position. Moments later, the pair met the other Raiders.

“Sounds like our mission is a bust,” Long Wave said, as First Aid and Landmine entered the clearing near a fallen tree. “Mambas are being scrambled to search for intruders. The Trouble Bubbles are also being recalled to sweep the forest near the airfield.”

Devil Dog swore to himself. “Contact HQ,” he ordered, “Get us an extraction, ASAP.”

Long Wave nodded and switched frequencies as Devil Dog turned his attention to First Aid who was pulling off the Cobra uniform.

“What happened, Fred?” he asked, using First Aid’s real name.

The corpsman explained what had happened as he went on changing.

A helicopter thundered overhead as he finished explaining.

Devil Dog looked up as the Mamba disappeared north. “We better get the hell out of here,” he said.

Long Wave was packing his radio gear back up as the team leader made his pronouncement. “HQ has acknowledged the request for extraction,” he reported. “We’re to escape and evade and await contact for details. Dial-Tone seemed to think this would need more than just Shipwreck coming and picking us up.”

Devil Dog frowned at that.

“Let’s move out,” he growled.

The PIT III, Utah

The same time

Hawk stood in the command centre considering the situation.

“Get the four Storm Eagles ready for take off,” he ordered. “I want two configured for close-air support and the others carrying air-to-air missiles. Get two Tomahawks on deck as well. Call the SEALs. I want them in one of the helos. Get Med-Alert, Stretcher and Lifeline in the second bird.”

“Yes sir,” Dial-Tone responded.

Behind Hawk, Guardian Angel turned toward him. “Sir, I volunteer to go on the extraction mission.”

Hawk looked at him. “Another medic-trained person would be a good idea,” he agreed.

“Sir, you misunderstand,” Guardian Angel said. “I volunteer to go and parachute in. Have the SEALs establish an LZ; I’ll go in, find the Raiders and lead them to the LZ. We can’t risk the choppers by broadcasting to the team where we’re going to pick them up. Cobra could crack our codes.”

Hawk considered that, “Fair point. Do it.” He paused. “Get Steel Rain up too. I want him with the SEALs to coordinate air support.”

Mainframe nodded, he picked up a phone as Dial-Tone continued to relay messages to the other Joes.

Skystriker entered the command centre moments later, followed by Ace.

Hawk saw them and returned their salutes. “Ace, I want you to lead the fighter support for the extraction.”

“Yes, sir. With your permission, we’d like to make a change.”

Hawk raised his eyebrows, “What?”

“I’ll take Freestyle as my wingman for air superiority,” Ace said. “She hasn’t got much time-in-type on the Storm Eagle. Dogfight and …” Ace paused, “Whatsisname, the stealth pilot, they’re both better qualified to fly ground attack missions. Skystriker would like permission to take the Tiger Rat along, with jammer pods to fuzz Cobra’s radar and radios.”

“Sir, the Rat can also be loaded with munitions to provide some air support as well,” Skystriker added.

“Approved,” Hawk said. “The Tiger Rat can orbit over Cobra Island and jam them, I only want that bird risked if the Storm Eagles run out of weapons or are out of position to hit a target when needed. Otherwise, fine.”

The general turned to the communications station. “Contact SOCOM about an MC-130 to refuel the Tomahawks as well,” Hawk said, “Then get on to Air Force for tanker support for the jets over the Gulf.”

“Sir, another question?” Skystriker asked. “Is Cutter’s WHALE still in the area?”

Hawk frowned before looking at the map nearby. “Yes, he’s still with the Iwo Jima in the Gulf, pending the team’s planned extraction.”

“Sir, might I suggest we get him on station for SAR support in case one of our birds goes down?”

Hawk nodded, “Good point.” He issued the orders to Dial-Tone as Torpedo, Wild Bill and Lift Ticket entered.

Hawk turned his attention to Torpedo first. “I want you to assemble the SEALs and prepare to fly out to Cobra Island to secure an LZ for extraction of the Raiders. Guardian Angel will be parachuting on to the island to locate and guide the Raiders to the LZ.”

“All of the SEALs?” Torpedo asked.

“All of them,” Hawk confirmed. “You’re also taking Steel Rain for combat air control.”

“Sir.”

Hawk turned to the pilots. “I want one of you flying a Tomahawk to insert and extract the SEALs. The other flies the Tomahawk to carry medics and retrieve the Raiders.”

Wild Bill nodded, “I’ll take Major Altitude as my co-pilot and ferry the SEALs. With your permission, General, I’ll take Roadblock and Rock’n’Roll as door gunners.”

“Fine.”

“Sir, I’ll take Updraft as my co-pilot, with Repeater and Heavy Duty on door guns,” Lift Ticket added. “Can I make a suggestion?”

Hawk shrugged, “Everyone else is.”

“Let’s take Windmill in a Skystorm, as an escort for the Tomahawks,” Lift Ticket said. “The Skystorm is more capable than a Locust for a long-range mission like this and it would give us another close-air support asset.”

Hawk nodded, “Very well. Time to get the aircraft ready?”

“The ground crews are already prepping them. Maverick missiles on the two close-air Storm Eagles and Sidewinders on the air-superiority birds,” Ace said.

“The Tomahawks are being loaded with long-range drop-tanks,” Wild Bill added.

“Get them started on the Skystorm and Tiger Rat too,” Hawk ordered. “As soon as the birds are loaded and fuelled, get airborne. We’ll coordinate with Air Force and SOCOM for tanker support. If they won’t commit to that, you’ll have to refuel at a shore base before heading out to the island, or we’ll see what the Navy will do to help.”

Cobra Island

A short time later

The Raiders were skulking in the shadows of the island’s central volcano. They’d escaped through the forests to the volcano and were now hidden on its lower slopes as FANGs and Trouble Bubbles swept across the island hunting them.

Long Wave’s radio set beeped. He switched it over to the GI Joe frequency and listened before giving a terse acknowledgement and putting the handset down.

“HQ reports a rescue team took off a few minutes ago. Guardian Angel will be parachuting on to the island to link up with us and guide us to an LZ. They say to expect some fireworks,” the signaller informed the others.

Devil Dog considered that for a moment, then said, “We’ll stay here for the time being. No sense in risking being spotted. We’ll worry about moving out once we know where he’s landed.”

Two hours later

Approaching Cobra Island

Skystriker had activated his jamming pods as soon as the air task force got within forty miles of Cobra Island, jamming all radar frequencies and most of the radio frequencies. Ace and Freestyle had taken the high patrol position above the helicopters, the altitude allowing them to dive on any aircraft coming off Cobra Island. Dogfight and his wingman, who no one ever remembered the name of, were at lower altitude ready to dash in and attack targets as needed. The Tiger Rat was a few hundred feet above Ace and Freestyle, with the helicopters at medium altitude, ready to speed in for the rescue.

Freestyle activated her radio. “Lead, this is Two. I have multiple bandits taking off from the island on my FLIR view. Fast-movers. Looks like we may get some company.”

FLIR was Forward Looking Infra-Red, a camera in the Storm Eagle’s nose that could see targets from the heat they generated.

“''Two, Lead, copy that. Stand by with your missiles. We’ll engage once we’re sure they’re coming our way''.”

It took only a few seconds to realise the Cobra fighters were coming their way as they turned north-west and sped toward the Joes’ aircraft.

Ace took the lead, diving into attack the jets, arming his AIM-9 Sidewinder infrared guided missiles.

Freestyle hung back and above Ace, covering him as he launched his first missiles, quickly destroying two Firebats, before launching another pair at the trailing Firebats.

The fighters sped across the coast of Cobra Island, attracting anti-aircraft fire from ASP batteries, but the jets swept by too fast for the gunners to hit them. They quickly climbed back to higher altitude and headed back out to sea.

At Cobra’s command centre, Destro was briefing Cobra Commander.

“Hunter teams are searching the forest between the volcano and the Terrordrome,” he explained. “We’ve seen no sign of the intruders other than what we found near the airfield. They clearly managed to traverse the forest without disturbing much. FANG helicopters and FANG II tilt-rotors are patrolling the marshes and the forests on the east coast. Trouble Bubbles and Mambas have been searching the western side of the Island.”

Cobra Commander frowned behind his mirrored faceplate. “What about the jamming?”

“A flight of four Firebats has been scrambled to investigate. We believe an electronic warfare plane is off the coast, probably supporting a rescue package,” Destro answered as an officer walked in.

“Sir, Night-Viper sentries on the roof report seeing four explosions in the sky west of the island. They also say two fighters passed over the island, drawing triple-A from some ASP units,” the officer reported.

Destro hung his head. “No doubt that was our Firebat flight.”

“Deploy more teams to sweep the island,” Cobra Commander ordered, “I want these intruders found. Try to determine what area they’re going to use as an LZ and then put a team nearby to ambush them when they land!”

Destro nodded and left the room.

The Tomahawks swept around the north end of the island, preparing to come in toward the beach they’d selected for the extraction point. The Skystorm stuck close to them, Windmill covering the larger transports.

Anti-aircraft fire lashed out toward them from a nearby ASP battery. Windmill turned the Skystorm away from the Tomahawks as they continued on to the beach. The pilot armed his nose-mounted guns and liberally sprayed the area with shells. An explosion followed quickly as the ASP battery exploded.

The Tomahawks dropped toward the shore, as they got closer toward the landing zone. Wild Bill was flying the lead Tomahawk carrying the SEALs and Steel Rain. Roadblock was manning the left-side gun, scanning back and forth across the nighttime sea with his night-vision goggles. Suddenly, something moving caught his eye.

“Contact left!” he bellowed into his intercom headset. “Fast-moving boat on the water!”

Major Altitude looked to the left, scanning the sea with his own night-vision monocular sight. “I see it, looks like a Moccasin boat!” he called out to Wild Bill.

“Incoming!” Roadblock bellowed seconds later, as the Moccasin’s gun turret began spraying rounds toward the helicopter, the tracers looking like lasers in a sci-fi movie.

Wild Bill dropped the helicopter lower and jinked right and then back left. Roadblock opened fire with his minigun, blazing out two ten-second bursts of 7.62mm ammo in return.

“My gun,” Major Altitude called, taking control of the Tomahawk’s 20mm chain gun turret. Wild Bill acknowledged the call, before sliding the helicopter around toward the boat, both narrowing the target for the gunner and increasing the ease with which Major Altitude could aim.

The turret swivelled to follow the co-pilot’s helmet-mounted sight and he laid the pipper on the Moccasin before firing the large turret’s gun.

Tracers flashed across the sky, before the 20mm shells slammed into the boat and shredded it. The fan-driven boat didn’t even have a chance to explode before it was chopped apart and sank.

Wild Bill steered the Tomahawk back toward Cobra Island and quickly dropped to the sandy beach. The SEALs leaped out, followed by Steel Rain, before dropping to one knee as the Tomahawk climbed back up and away.

“Fan out,” Torpedo ordered. “Overlapping fields of fire, cover the tree line and make sure you’ve got cover! Move it, SEALs!”

The others swiftly moved to comply, as Torpedo turned to Steel Rain.

“Find your own position to give us air support if we need it,” he ordered. “We need to be sure we can hold this beach.”

The forward air controller nodded before heading toward a small rock point over looking the beach, which would also give him a view over the approaches to the beach.

Lift Ticket had flown the second Tomahawk further inland, before hovering over a clearing. Instead of parachuting on to the island, Guardian Angel simply fast-roped down the helicopter’s own rescue winch. Once on the ground, he jogged off, clearing away from the helicopter as it pivoted around and headed back out to sea.

Guardian Angel pulled out his radio as he made his way through the trees at a steady pace and made two short calls on his radio, trying to raise the Raider team.

“Raider team, this is Guardian Angel, do you copy? I say again, Raider Team, this is Guardian Angel do you copy?”

There was a crackle of static and then he heard Long Wave’s voice. “Guardian Angel, this is Raider Four, I read you five-by-five, over.”

“Raider, Angel. I am on the ground on Cobra Island. Air support is overhead to suppress the locals and evac. I’m on route to grid square m-19 using the delta mapping protocol. Say again, grid square m-19 using delta protocol. RV with me there if able.”

''“Raider team copies all, Angel. M-19 on the delta protocol. We’re oscar mike, out.”''

The delta mapping protocol was something the Joe team had recently devised, a security procedure whereby a map square’s labels were shifted by either three, four, five or six positions depending on whether they used alpha, beta, gamma or delta protocols. Grid square m-19 was in fact the square marked on the map as h-13.

Guardian Angel suddenly heard a helicopter overhead. He quickly clipped his radio handset back on his web-gear and scurried for cover.

Ace and Freestyle had taken note of the two Mamba helicopters heading toward Guardian Angel.

“Two, Lead, we’ve got two Mambas headed for where the Tomahawk dropped off Angel. Let’s get down there, fast.”

“Roger, Lead, I have a visual.”

“You’ve got the lead, Two, I’ll cover you.”

Ace pulled back his throttle, allowing Freestyle’s Storm Eagle to speed past him, taking the leading position.

Freestyle took the lead, turning toward the two low-flying Mambas. She just hoped shooting them down wouldn’t drop a burning wreck on Guardian Angel’s head.

“Two has a lock, fox two, fox two.”

The first Sidewinder dropped from the fighter’s internal bay and sped away, quickly accelerating to its maximum speed. The Mamba threw out flares and juked to the right, but Freestyle had made sure to use her helmet-mounted sight, keeping the missile locked onto the Mamba as she watched its evasive moves. The missile blew the left tail boom off the helicopter, the force of the explosion shoving it down and to the right, where it clipped a tree and span around crashing into more trees before exploding.

“Splash one Mamba,” Freestyle reported. “Bandit two locked on. Fox two, fox two.”

The second Mamba had radically reduced speed and was turning around to where the other had crashed, which made it easy for the missile to scream in and detonate near the hot engines and blow off both rotor masts. The burning wreck plummeted straight down into the forest before exploding as fuel and weapons detonated.

“''Two, Lead, we have more aircraft inbound. Four FANGs and four Trouble Bubbles. I’ll take the flight pods. FANGs are inbound bearing 1-7-6.”''

“Copy, Ace. Engaging.”

Freestyle switched to her fighter’s 20mm M61A2 Vulcan gun. There was no sense in wasting Sidewinders to take down the small single-seat FANG helicopters. It’d be akin to using a shotgun to kill a fly.

The sleek fighter streaked into the gun’s range of around three miles, but Freestyle closed into a mile from the FANGs to increase her chances of a kill. She lined up her first target.

“Two is engaging, guns, guns, guns.”

The M61A2 roared as she fired a 40-round burst. The armour-piercing rounds easily shredded the FANG’s engine and sent it plummeting into the forest. As the other three helicopters split up, Freestyle targeted a second and fired another burst, sawing off the tail boom. The FANG immediately went into a spin and crashed.

Freestyle slid into a left-bank turn, sliding on to the tail of the third FANG, the pilot made the mistake of pulling into a hard right turn, lining up perfectly in her pipper. Another burst, another kill.

On the ground, the Raiders had seen one of the Mambas slam into the forest nearby as they ran through the forest. Now as the third crashed somewhere off to their left, Long Wave couldn’t help cursing.

“It’s raining bloody helicopters! What the HELL is going on up there?!”

“The wing-wipers are saving our asses,” Landmine yelled back. “Or at least making sure someone’s around to save our asses!”

“Shut up and keep running,” Devil Dog barked.

At the Cobra command centre, Destro and Cobra Commander listened as a Night-Viper reported on the loss of the aircraft.

“We saw the fighters overhead,” the Night-Viper said. “Two of them, sleek stealthy looking things. Shot down the Mambas with missiles, then engaged the FANGs and Trouble Bubbles with cannon fire.”

“And no ASPs or missile sites engaged them?” Destro asked.

“No, sir,” replied the Night-Viper. “My guess is the gunners were worried about hitting our guys.” He shrugged. “Once the aircraft were down, the fighters punched their afterburners and sped back out to the coast and then disappeared. We’ve heard other aircraft, but they’re obviously too high up for us to see with our NVGs.”

“You’re dismissed,” Cobra Commander said. The Night-Viper nodded respectfully, before leaving.

“Destro, send out a massive hunting party. HISS tanks, STUNs, Stingers, the works. I want those Joes FOUND and I want them DEAD!” Cobra Commander barked.

“At once, Commander,” Destro replied. He studied a map of Cobra Island before speaking again. “I doubt they’re attempting an extraction by sea. The heavy use of fighters and a Tomahawk suggests an extraction by air. Other than the airfield, the docks or the city, that leaves somewhere on the coast for an LZ.”

Cobra Commander looked at him exasperatedly, but the expression was wasted behind his facemask.

“Deploy ground forces to the northern coast!” Destro ordered two Officers. “I want a large group of at least a dozen HISS tanks, four Stingers and six STUNs deployed immediately!”

As Skystriker orbited over the island, he was watching the ground with his fighter’s onboard infrared TV camera.

“Tiger One to Eagle Three. I have visual on a mass Cobra force departing the city, headed north on the docks road. It looks like they might be headed toward the LZ. Suggest you get over there and engage them.”

“Eagle Three copies, Tiger," Dogfight replied.

The two ground-attack armed Storm Eagles sped toward the island, out of their holding pattern.

As they lined up on the Cobra armoured column, they opened their missile bay doors and then launched their AGM-65 Maverick missiles.

Dogfight fired first, his missile hitting and destroying a HISS tank at the tail of the column. The second struck a STUN in the middle of the column, not only obliterating the light assault vehicle, but also the Stinger jeep in front of it as well as damaging another HISS.

Ghost Rider’s Mavericks obliterated another STUN and a second HISS tank.

The two Storm Eagles pulled away from their attack run, before circling back. The surviving vehicles were trying to get away from the site of the attack, one of the HISS tanks firing its guns wildly across the sky to ward off the fighters.

“Four, this is Three,” Dogfight radioed. “The Stingers are trying to get SAM locks on me. We’re out of this fight with our Mavericks gone. Do not attempt a strafing run.”

“Four,” came the terse reply.

Unfortunately, the size of the Maverick missile had precluded the Storm Eagles carrying more than two in their internal weapon bays, and their wing hard-points had been taken up by fuel tanks that had been dropped off over the sea hours earlier.

The Raiders arrived at grid square H-13 shortly after Guardian Angel; they were able to locate each other with short-range radio calls. Finally linked up, the team headed north toward the landing zone. Cobra forces were pursuing them through the forests that covered much of the island’s interior.

Occasionally, the Cobra troops got a bead on the Joes and fired off a brief burst from a weapon, only to hit nothing but bushes or trees. The Joes didn’t even bothering to return fire, since it would only serve to highlight their position.

“''Angel, this is Steel Rain, how copy? Angel, this is Steel Rain, do you copy?”'' came a radio call over the team’s frequency. Huddling together near a large tree, Guardian Angel took the call.

“Steel Rain, Angel, I copy. You are five by five, over.” Five by five meant the same as ‘loud and clear’.

“''Angel, be advised we have a large armoured force mobile on the northwest approach to the LZ. We have no fighter cover to strike the convoy. Hostile force was hit but is now continuing approach. You need to hold fast until we are able to coordinate air support to neutralise enemy armour. What’s your status, over?”''

“Raiders are in the green, we have enemy forces in pursuit, unknown distance away from us. Estimate we are twenty minutes from the LZ. Will attempt to discourage pursuit and evade until you call again.”

“''Solid copy, Angel. Out.”''

“Well, that’s a hell of a thing, ain’t it?” Devil Dog said. “What do we do now, mister smart-ass PJ?”

“I suggest we hold fast here, hope Cobra doesn’t spot us and if they do, we engage them until we can pull out. If they don’t and they pass us right by, we can sneak on to the LZ behind them.” Guardian Angel didn’t look any happier than Devil Dog.

The Master Gunnery Sergeant considered the suggestion. “Very well, Buccaneer, get your gun set up. First Aid, give him support. Bullseye, set up your rifle. Long Wave, you’re his spotter. Everyone else, pick a tree and get ready to start shooting if they fire.”

The Raiders waited a tense fifteen minutes before Night-Vipers began to materialise out of the darkness, their heads swivelling back and forth as they tried to spot the Raiders. Behind them came SAW-Vipers and HEAT-Vipers with their heavy weapons at the ready. Cobra troopers and Vipers behind them had their rifles held ready.

One Night-Viper suddenly raised his rifle and opened fire toward Landmine. His bullets hitting the tree with a loud ‘thwock’ noise.

Three more Night-Vipers opened fire, causing the EOD Marine to try to burrow into the soil as bullets slapped into the tree trunk.

“Bullseye, Buccaneer, let ‘em have it!” Devil Dog bellowed before firing a grenade from the launcher attached to his rifle.

The grenade took out two of the Night-Vipers. Buccaneer opened fire with a ten-round burst that hit two HEAT-Vipers in quick succession and dropped the anti-tank troopers to the ground. A single round from his sniper rifle signalled Bullseye’s opening gambit, hitting a SAW-Viper square in the visor.

The rest of the Raiders began firing either single shots or three-round bursts, trying to conserve ammo, but also make sure their shots counted. Guardian Angel hit a HEAT-Viper in the leg, setting off one of the rockets strapped to him. The explosion not only killed the luckless Cobra, but also took out three Vipers near him.

Bullseye was living up to his name, hitting every Cobra he aimed at with a single round to the head, as Long Wave kept up a commentary.

“SAW-Viper, fifteen metres, negligible wind, green light. Target down. HEAT-Viper, sixteen metres, left two degrees; wind still nil, green light. Target down. Viper twelve metres, right six degrees, green light. Target down.”

Devil Dog popped off another grenade, before laying down short bursts at several Night-Vipers trying to flank the team.

Buccaneer fired off another ten round burst, dropping a pair of Troopers as they rushed forward. “Barrel’s getting warm, there, First Aid. Got the mitt handy?”

“Ready with the spare, Buccaneer,” the corpsman replied. “Just say you’re ready to swap.”

Buccaneer fired off another burst. “Give it another few,” he replied.

Overhead, Windmill whipped the Skystorm across the sky toward Cobra Island.

“Steel Rain, I finally have visual on ground targets. I see five STUNs, ten HISS tanks and three Stingers heading east from the paved road. Am I clear to engage?” the pilot radioed.

“You’re cleared in hot,” came the reply.

Windmill muttered “Good” to himself before locking on the two Hellfire anti-tank missiles he planned to use on his first pass.

“Skystorm One, missiles away,” he reported.

Both AGM114 missiles screamed through the air and struck HISS tanks, obliterating both, as well as two STUNs following them.

Windmill immediately armed the second pair of Hellfires on the quad-mount and targeted the Stinger jeeps, which were already raising and rotating their missile racks.

Windmill fired first, the Stingers rippled off four of their own SAMs as the anti-tank missiles sped toward them. One SAM detonated near one of the Hellfires, its proximity sensor trigged by the other missile. The other three SAMs hurtled toward the Skystorm, even as Windmill tried to evade them, firing flares, but he was constrained by the need to keep his laser designator on the Stinger, to guide the surviving Hellfire.

The anti-tank missile shredded the light jeep, leaving nothing but scrap metal in its wake. The SAMs, not fooled by the flares, homed in and detonated near the Skystorm. One blew off the left rudder. The second was set off by the resulting explosion, whilst the third damaged the helicopter’s tail.

Windmill cursed to himself and steered the Skystorm back out to sea.

“Mayday, mayday, Skystorm One is hit. Repeat, Skystorm One is hit, I’m going down!”

The heavily damaged helicopter managed to struggle half a mile out to sea, trailing smoke and fire before Windmill triggered the eject sequence, which blew off the rotor hub and then fired him out of the cockpit.

Steel Rain was trying to raise the Tomahawks as Cutter’s voice cut in.

“''Whale One is inbound to downed pilot. We’ll pick him up, Steel Rain. You guys worry about getting the Raiders out''.”

“Roger that, Whale One. Thanks a lot.”

Steel Rain swore under his breath as he looked at the advancing Cobra vehicles. Two Stingers were still in the mix with six missiles between them.

“Tomahawk flight, this is Steel Rain, we still have to active Stingers in addition to HISS tanks inbound toward the LZ. How’s your fuel state?”

“Tomahawk One has ten minutes to Joker.” Joker fuel state was the amount of fuel an aircraft had at which they need to bug out to get to either a refuelling aircraft or an airfield and have some spare fuel in case of problems. ‘Bingo’ fuel meant the amount needed to get to a friendly base.

“Tomahawk Two is eight minutes to Joker.”

Suddenly, Skystriker’s voice cut in on the radio. ''“Tiger One has ordnance for a bomb run on Cobra armour. Stand by.”''

Steel Rain frowned. “Tiger One, weapons check. What payload have you got?”

“Tiger One has two Mark 82s on board.”

Steel Rain knew what that meant: a pair of 500lb free-fall ‘dumb’ bombs.

“Roger, Tiger One. Gimme an east-west pass over the north shore, call targets when you have visual. Targets can be ID’d via large fire from burning vehicles.”

“''Rolling in, stand by. Roger, visual targets. Call weapons free.”''

“Weapons free, Tiger One, cleared in hot.”

The anti-tank jet thundered across the landing zone, before dropping both Mark 82 bombs. It immediately leaped a few feet higher in the air from the combined weight it had released. Then Skystriker put the modified plane into a climb. Both bombs detonated precisely ten feet above the ground and obliterated several of the Cobra vehicles. Most of the others were flipped over and crushed.

“Raiders, fall back to LZ. Tomahawks inbound.”

“''Raiders are heavily engaged. Be advised we are moving to LZ with Cobras in pursuit,” ''Guardian Angel replied.

More Vipers seemed to come into range every time a Raider cut one down, Devil Dog thought.

“How are we going to disengage?” he asked the PJ next to him.

“Got any smoke or stun grenades?” Guardian Angel asked.

“Sure, but we’re in a wood at night. That ain’t gonna do much.”

“It’ll buy us enough time to disengage and start running,” Guardian Angel answered.

Devil Dog conceded the point.

“Flash-bangs at the ready, Marines,” he called. Before pulling a pair from his own pouches.

“Flash out!” he hollered, throwing both together.

Ear-splitting bangs and blinding flashes of light followed. The other Raiders threw their own flash-bangs, creating a series of flashes and roars to disorientate the Cobras and confuse them. The Night-Vipers were the worst affected since their image intensifiers amplified the effects of the flashes of light.

“Smoke out!” Devil Dog called next, throwing down two concealing smoke grenades, which immediately began spewing thick grey smoke.

Buccaneer and Long Wave threw out more smoke grenades and then the Raiders began falling back.

Landmine, Devil Dog noticed, was slapping 1lb blocks of C4 on some of the trees he ran past. The Master Gunnery Sergeant caught up to him as he put another block on a tree.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Discouraging pursuit and causing enemy casualties, Master Guns,” he replied. “More commonly known as blowing stuff up.”

Landmine pulled a triggering device from his gear and smirked at Devil Dog who got the message and started running again.

Once Landmine was sure everyone was ahead of him and the Cobras were in the kill zone, he hit the trigger device and the C4 blocks detonated, blowing apart the trees, sending them crashing down and sending a hurricane of splinters through the air. Screams quickly followed.

The Raider couldn’t help the evil smile on his face as he turned and headed after the others. That’d slow them down, he thought to himself.

Steel Rain called the two Tomahawks on his radio and cleared them to come in to land at the LZ. The Raiders sprinted out of the tree line moments later.

Lifeline, Stretcher and Med-Alert jumped off Tomahawk Two and waved the Raiders over to them.

“Anyone hurt?” Lifeline hollered over the thunder of the rotors.

“Negative, doc!” Devil Dog hollered back, “We’re fine!”

“Get on board then, we need to get out fast.”

Devil Dog nodded and waved the Raiders aboard. Guardian Angel and Med-Alert covered the Raiders climbing aboard, watching the tree line. The SEALs and Steel Rain jogged to Tomahawk One and began scrambling aboard.

Several Cobra Vipers emerged from the trees as the last Joes scrambled on to the helicopters. Med-Alert didn’t hesitate to open fire with the MP5 sub-machine gun he carried as a personal defence weapon, dropping a Viper. Guardian Angel also returned fire with his M4. Then both Repeater and Rock’n’Roll opened fire with the door guns, the two 7.62mm miniguns sweeping across the beach as the helicopters lifted clear and then turned north to escape.

As the helicopters cleared the coast, Cutter radioed to report that Windmill had been picked up and was okay, if a bit bruised.

The PIT III, Utah

Hours later

Hawk and Flagg had debriefed the Raiders on what they’d discovered on Cobra Island, whilst they waited for the photos to be developed. After dismissing them, the two generals had then debriefed Guardian Angel and the SEALs before calling in the pilots.

The pilots all took seats and Hawk began questioning them about the mission. It was mostly straightforward until Dogfight reported launching his missiles at the Cobra convoy before having to leave the area.

Skystriker put his hand up, like a kid in school.

“Something you wish to add, Colonel?” Hawk asked.

“Sir, if I might interrupt the narrative flow of the mission, I do have a point to make.”

Hawk glanced at Flagg, who shrugged. “By all means, Skystriker.”

“Sir, I believe this mission and in particular this part of it, highlights a major deficiency in the Joes capabilities at this time. We do not have enough proper ground-attack aircraft. The Storm Eagles simply aren’t able to carry enough ordnance. They were designed for dogfighting, and can only carry limited bombs. We need more than just the Tiger Rat and Night Boomer for ground attack missions,” Skystriker said.

“I agree completely,” Hawk replied. He looked around, making eye contact with all five fighter pilots; Ace, Freestyle, Skystriker, Dogfight and that darn stealth pilot no one remembered the codename of. “The fact is; the rest of the military’s commanders hate us. They always have. Even with the Jugglers mostly gone, the prejudice is still there. The Joes take money out of the budget that the regular forces would rather they had. Even Special Ops Command hate us, because we’re doing what should, by rights, be their jobs and we’re competing to recruit the best guys or we’re stealing their best. This has lead to us getting the sticky end of the stick since we were reinstated. Those Tomahawks that were used today. They’re Action Force Tomahawks we got in part-exchange for them getting new MH-60 Black Hawks.”

Major Altitude exchanged looks with Wild Bill, who looked unsurprised, and Lift-Ticket who did.

“That’s right, guys, we’re using stuff that was sold on to our international allies when we were shut down. See, most of our gear was either scrapped, like the Thunderclap artillery vehicle, the Maulers, the Raider, that damn General vehicle we never used or the Battle Wagon, or stuff was sold on to Action Force, the Canadians or the Action Commandos. Stuff like the Tomahawks, the Wolverines, the Strikers and the last few Silver Mirages. The rest, like our aircraft carrier and her fighters, the last of the Dragonflies and several of our other fighters went to the regular military.”

Hawk knew Ace and the other jet pilots knew about that. They’d flown Storm Eagles for the Air Force during the time the Joes were closed down. Likewise, Windmill and Wild Bill had been part of a test unit evaluating the Skystorm for the Army.

“With our reinstatement,” Hawk went on, “I was able to get the Storm Eagles, the Tiger Rat and the two Skystorms back. But the Air Force was clinging to the six Ghost Strikers. They’re due to be returned to us within a few weeks. I had to go to the President himself to get them. We’re also due to receive six A-10 anti-tank jets. The intention is, you keep four at operational status, ready to fly and two as spares. We’ve got another pair of pilots coming in soon too.”

Ace leaned forward. “Sir, if I may join in?”

“Go ahead, Major.”

“We need more pilots. I know we’ve added Freestyle, and we’ve got Barrel Roll and Bombstrike coming as you said but they’re not enough.” Ace looked at the others apologetically, “Frankly, sir, these guys are all more suited to ground-attack missions. It’s what they’re all used to and trained for, whether it’s in the Phantom X-19, the Mudfighter or the Tiger Rat. Bombstrike’s another case when she’s an A-10 pilot.”

“She?” asked Dogfight.

“Yeah, it’s another woman, problem with that?” Freestyle asked.

Dogfight rubbed his top lip where he’d shaved off his moustache and then shook his head. “Nope.”

“Me and Barrel Roll are the only guys trained to fly air-to-air. Sure we need attack planes, like the A-10s or a multi-role fighter like the X-16s, but air-to-air trained pilots will help too,” Ace concluded.

“Agreed,” Hawk said. “Start looking for some. Maybe try the Marine and Navy aviation units, rather than Air Force. Taking the Ghost Strikers and Warthogs already had the Secretary of the Air Force chewing my butt, give SecNav an excuse.”

Major Altitude spoke up. “Sir, on the subject of airframes and crews, I think it’s fair to say, we need more helicopters and more crews as well. The six Tomahawks are fine for transport, but we’re now down to a half dozen Locusts which have limited range and firepower and one Skystorm which was already seen as a risky bird.”

Hawk smiled, “I have good news for you on that front. We’re getting six brand new AH-64 Apaches. Dedicated ground attack capability, high firepower load and longer range.”

“Crews are still needed, sir,” Altitude said.

“Agreed. You’ll have to help Wild Bill and Lift-Ticket find them. I want you to find crews for both the Apaches and Tomahawks. We need two pilots in a chopper all the time. I did read your report last month, Major.” Hawk looked at the four pilots. Windmill was still recovering from his injuries, but Lift-Ticket, Wild Bill, Altitude and Updraft were all there and nodding.

“Pick your poison, gentlemen, transports or attack birds and then start recruiting more help.”

“Transports for me,” Lift-Ticket said.

“Attack birds for me,” Bill replied, followed by Updraft saying “Me too.”

“I’ll join the Tomahawks, then,” Altitude said. Hawk smirked, the major had originally been recruited to fly the compact ‘Battle Copter’, an experimental one-man light-weight helicopter which had ultimately proved to be of limited utility and not much safety for someone strapped to it.

“Fine. I want at least three air dominance fighter pilots recruited and at least two transport and three attack helo pilots recruited. That’ll give us two transport crews and three attack crews. Which will be a start. I suggest you helo pilots try recruiting from the Navy and Marines too. Let me get me butt chewed off from the same direction.”

Hawk checked his notes. “Very well, let’s finish this off.”

They went back to discussing the mission. As he listened, Hawk knew though, that the intelligence the Raiders had gathered was the important thing here, despite the Joes need for more air power, Cobra’s building of factories to make more vehicles and aircraft would soon come to something more than just them defending the island, he was sure.