Cobra Soldier Fan Ficition Give it a Glance

[BlueRook]

I am no-one, and I don’t care. I am one of a number, and I don’t care. I have no friends. I don’t know my squad mates; I have no real possessions besides my gun and gear, and I don’t care. I am disposable and I don’t care.
I used to have a family, a wife and a kid, a house and a car but they were not really mine. We lived in Springfield, but it was a company town. Nothing there was as it seemed. I’ve been around the world what amounts to twice but not to places you’d vacation. I’ve been shot three times but those aren’t the worst of my scars.
I’m a soldier, considered the lowest of the low by my own organization. The only difference between my enemies and my organization is who stands at the end of my sights. I am loyal though, mostly because I hate the hypocrisy of the enemy, GI Joe. I follow my Commander for the chaos it keeps me interested.
What my childhood was like is unimportant. What my parents were like is unimportant, they really didn’t shape me. School was just killing time. I never had an attachment to possessions, until I had a gun. This I knew would change my life and if possible give it purpose. I don’t know how many people I’ve shot or killed; I don’t stay to find out. I have shot at soldiers, civilians, men, women, and children. I once shot a guy’s cat just to get his attention. I do the assignment and I live, many don’t.
I have always liked the term Storm Trooper, but this is not Star Wars. I’ve seen some of the elites in this organization, Vipers they call them. Jungle Vipers, Range Vipers, Data Vipers, Alley Vipers….. I’ve even heard rumors of Zombie Vipers. I once ‘volunteered’ and participated in some experiment performed by someone called Dr. Mindbender. The experiments were bizarre. I saw some really strange things. Things I can’t even begin to explain. Things that changed me. Now I make sure to stay below notice. I’m a good soldier and I’ll keep it at that.
Sometimes I get the feeling that I serve chaos just as much as I serve the Commander. I’ve been to Somalia, Uzbekistan, Afghanistan, both Koreas, Argentina, Egypt, Libya, Syria, Bangkok, hell even the Antarctic. I served my role, performed my duties and returned alive. I never knew any cause other than the Commander’s will. I never cared. I never cared what effect I left, what machinations I helped set into motion, what happened to the people or societies in my wake. I even remained loyal when power struggles ripped the organization apart. We had our own civil war in the midst of our actions worldwide.
When the lines were drawn and sides were chosen I stayed loyal to the Commander. I did not side with some new nut job wearing a snake helmet; I ignored the power play of the Commander’s own son. I did not fall prey to the animosity started with the mercenaries, the weapons suppliers, the Baroness, the GI Joe spies or countless other plots. I have always supported the Commander. All I can think is now what. What am I going to do now? Am I a pariah among my own legions? Who shall I support now that the Commander is dead? It’s not the first time he’s been reported dead, but this time it seems real. We are no longer creating the chaos, now chaos is running our show. The confusion is growing and this is the only life I know. Just me and my gun, just me and my gun, and now I’m starting to care.

[Trooper618]

I like this, is there going to be more?

[GrimReaper957]

Man, that was a great read. Planning to make more?

[Weezus]

yeah that was pretty good.

[BlueRook]

Thanks for responding. I really am inspired by the HISS Tank community. I have some more in progress right now and hope to post later today. I hav esome ideas for both back story and future installments. This was m first attempt to see if anyone besides myself would be interested. Please check back...the story continues.

[BlueRook]

I hate guard duty, especially tower detail. It gives me too much time to think. There is too much changing all at once, and no one knows which assignment details to follow. If you follow one set of orders over another will you be labeled as loyal or supporting one of the upstart leaders?
This is one of the reasons I started putting my thoughts on paper. I need to sort out where I stand. I need to set down what I am going to do, and follow through. My Commander is dead, so now what?
Tonight is hot and muggy and the bugs are biting. My uniform is sticking like a wet second skin. It’s as dark as a well and I feel like I’m sinking. There is an ominous feel around the compound, like the unknown potential for the crushing end to everything. While everything’s quiet I drift into my own thoughts.
It makes me think of the day I was recruited. I was eighteen and in a holding tank in some podunk town. I was pulled over in a speed trap by some cocky sheriff and I guess I didn’t display the right amount of respect. I mouthed off and got yanked from the car. I resisted, got cuffed and stuffed in the cruiser. Sherriff Andy searched my car and finds my gun, some knives, and more ammo than I can easily explain. Of course it wasn’t registered and loaded so I got to wait in the jail until the judge could see me.
I got separated for not playing nice with the other guys in the cell. There were a couple of drunken bikers talking trash. One got in my face calling me a bitch and saying I’d make a nice girlfriend. He pushed me into a wall, I bounced off and cold cocked him. As he fell back I pounced, I knocked him unconscious and kicked several of his teeth out. His friend charged me as I stood up. He must have had a hundred pounds on me; he grabbed me by the throat and pinned me to the wall. The other inmates started yelling and cheering. This caught the guards’ attention. As my vision got fuzzy around the edges I stuck my thumb in his eye. Before the guards could get into the cell and break us up I popped the eyeball like a grape. As the guards pulled up apart the gore and blood was flowing down his face. Later that night I was sitting up staring at the wall when a guard approached my cell. Real quiet he gets my attention and asks what I think I’m going to do. Confused I just stare at him. How the hell should I know? I’ll take my sentence, do my time and move on. Then he asks if I’m any good with a gun. I tell him of course I am; it’s just people I don’t get along with.
So then he makes some comment about knowing a lot of good soldiers like that. I figure he’s making fun at my expense. I tell him to get stuffed. He doesn’t though. He tells me about his soldiering days, the weapons he handled, and the places he’s been. I don’t know why I paid attention, but I had nothing else to do and no other place to go. I was caught up in the stories when he paused and says that if I join up with this organization called Cobra, he can get me out of jail.
At first I think he’s messing with me and I figured I’d go along and see where the joke is going. He got real serious and tells me this is not a joke. This is THE decision that will determine the rest of my life. If I sign up there is no walking away. The only way out is in a body bag. But the rewards for a man like me could be great. I’d be trained to use weapons I’ve never even heard of, and even get to try experimental weapons that the United Nations have banned. I could travel all over the globe and act with impunity. He said the Cobra warriors made any nation’s armed services look like Girl Scouts.
I knew I had nothing to lose. Where else was my life going? This was an opportunity I would not get anywhere else. I already knew that the only things in my life I could trust were me and my gun. I told him to get me out of this cell and I would be a soldier, a force to be reckoned with. He smiled, pulled out his keys, and quietly said “Hail Cobra!”

[Trooper618]

keep it coming.

[BlueRook]

Shit, Shit, Shit. I just spotted the Patrol officer and he caught me day-dreaming.
“What are you doing trooper?”
“Night watch guard duty,” I reply with as little inflection as possible. I hope he moves on, but I know he likes to show his authority.
“You’re guarding my men! You’re watching my outpost!” he screams in my face, “You better keep it right and tight soldier. There had better be nothing on your mind more important than me and my men, or I’ll make sure the last thing through your brain is my bullet.”
“Yes sir. Hail Cobra.” Prick. I let it slide for two reasons. One is that with his attitude he’s more likely to die with a bullet in his back than from an enemy to his front. The other is that in this army there is a lot of anonymity. We all wear face masks or full helmets. As troopers we are interchangeable with each other; our only worth is in our actions. To get a name in this outfit is to draw attention to yourself and show that you have special skills.
Storm Shadow, Firefly, Major Bludd, Destro, Baroness, Zartan, and Dr. Mindbender, these are people who stand out in their field. They make Cobra stronger, more deadly, and more effective; the rest of us are the cogs that grease the wheels with our blood.
If I stay out of my officer’s notice, he’ll forget me; I’ll be just another nameless mask to order around. Hell, who knows how any of us will end up while the infighting gets more intense.
I remember another name: Big Boa. He trains the new recruits. More accurately, he breaks the newbie’s body and soul. Then he sees who can resist, who can heal from the ‘training’. Scary man, the toughest I have ever met. Nobody ever forgot the beat downs this man gave. He was the front line of initiation into Cobra and he showed that the power of will and desire could be even stronger than the power of tactics. I never saw him with any weapon besides his fists. Command made him wear boxing gloves because he broke too many recruits’ bones. The saying goes, “He has a voice like a bullhorn, fists the size of frozen turkeys, and the disposition of a bear with a headache”. He too wore a full helmet, but I think that was just to stop retribution if he was recognized outside base.
That was the Cobra I joined. That was the Organization I saw potential in. I survived training and felt like this was the type of cause I would live or die for. Now nearly a decade later, I am dealing with glory hungry nobodies looking to climb the ranks over the bloody backs of their own troops. Their only special talents are deception and disloyalty. As they rise through the Organization they weaken the infrastructure.
I watch the officer walk away when he suddenly about-faces and quick strides right back up in my face.
“One more thing, maggot: you just earned night tower duty for another month. I’ll be watching you. One more slip up, and I hand you over to Mindbender. I don’t need screw ups like you bringing the heat down on me. Maybe Mindbender can make you into an effective soldier.”
Damn prick just has to push it. Involuntarily my hand curls into a fist, my muscles tighten but I restrain myself. I grit my teeth and say “Yes sir. Hail Cobra.” I don’t say anything else; Dr. Mindbender is someone I never want to meet again. I could definitely take him down now and deal with the consequences or I could bide my time and get him later. In the field many things can happen, things that are hard to prove. No-one is safe.
This is Cobra.

[Neuspeaq]

Yup. Just subscribed. HAD TO. The fix wouldnt let me walk away...

[devilfish60]

I dig it keep it coming!!!

[BlueRook]

There is an unusual hush in the barracks, but I can still hear the conversation between a few of the other troopers. Even with the current unrest and unease, there are still fools willing to draw attention to themselves. Three or four of them are sitting or standing around some other loudmouth bragging about his kills.
I am tired. I am still on night watch and these guys are killing time before their day starts. All I want to do is get some rack time before things get too busy in the compound to really rest. I try to tune him out. I stare at the underside of the bunk above me. My eyes trace and retrace the cross-beams. I try to get my thoughts to settle, but the stupidity of the conversation keeps drawing me back.
I try to stay out of it, but suddenly without real thought I loudly say, “Bullshit. Pure bullshit.” I look directly at the speaker and say coldly “Shut-up. There is no way some crap-tard like you could even see the enemy with your head so far up your own ass.” And just like that I’m up and standing among the group.
The loudmouth also stands, refusing to be shamed without putting up a fight. He shoves me in the chest with both arms, “What the hell you want, old man? Are you looking for a beating?” As he says this he visibly tightens and prepares for a retaliatory shove. His mistake. I drive my stiffened fingers straight into his throat. He chokes back any other comments, gargles and gasps for air through his pinched windpipe. Not completely beaten, he raises his fists as if to box. Another mistake. I grab his right wrist with my right hand; I wrench it in toward his chest and collapse on it with my right forearm. This pins his arm and drives my elbow into his upper chest, just below his wounded throat. At the same time I quickly place my right leg behind his right leg. Already off balance, out of breath, and partially pinned I force him backward into the bunks and down to the floor. His eyes make big moronic O’s of surprise. I can see him begin to realize just how compromised his position is.
I hear movement behind me. His friends have started to react. Two of them surge forward. The other two step back. One trooper kicks tentatively at my chest, and the other tries to position himself behind me. I slap the foot away, rise to a crouch and spin to face both. The one who kicked at me lands a solid left hook to my jaw and I see stars. Out of the pure reflex built from years of Cobra fight training I spin with the blow and grab the head of the friend to my rear. Using the momentum of the spin I drive his head into the metal bedpost. He crumples to his knees, out of the fight. I drive a solid side kick at the one who hit me. He blocks it but it drives him back and creates a little space between us. Now we face each other and I have a second to assess the situation. Talker is down. Friend number two is out of the fight. Friend three and four just watch. That just leaves friend number one.
I can tell he is the best fighter of the three. His stance is solid but still fluid enough to react and maintain balance; his hands are held up for defense but not too tightly balled, and his eyes are focused but not narrowed. I feint forward and he throws a punch with his left. I sweep that to the inside with my left while reaching in with my right. I step to his side and draw in my right arm like a scythe. I catch him in a choke hold and start to dig in. I bring my left arm up to the other side of his head, grab it with my right hand and work my elbow under his chin.
Once his air is cut off he starts to sag. I realize that I don’t want to kill him. I don’t even want to kill his loudmouth friend. If I fight them, I create enemies of them. If I kill them I get noticed. If I kill them for a stupid reason I can’t be trusted. Distrust makes me a liability to my team. In the field a lot of things can happen.
I release the man in my arms. He slowly falls to the floor, gasping. Without a word I walk over to my bunk and flop down. Everyone stares at me. I stare at the cross-beams. The fight lasted a matter of minutes and was over as quickly as it started. The confusion is apparent, but no-one wants to question me. They all pick themselves up and head out for duty. Within a few moments it’s like nothing even happened.
I don’t know why I did it. I’m tired. I’m pissed about night watch. I’m shaking from adrenaline. I’m confused about my own loyalties. I haven’t been in the field for more than a month. I am a coiled spring of aggression just waiting to go off. I need a target.
I know I’ve screwed up. In twenty four hours I have brought attention to myself twice, first with the patrol officer and now with troopers in barracks. I really need to watch my back. When everyone wears a mask you don’t always know who you’re serving with. Is the person next to me another trooper or an informant for Command? Friend or foe?
I need to get my head straight.

[Nictus]

Don't stop now!

[fhersanke]

There is an unusual hush in the barracks, but I can still hear the conversation between a few of the other troopers. Even with the current unrest and unease, there are still fools willing to draw attention to themselves. Three or four of them are sitting or standing around some other loudmouth bragging about his kills.
I am tired. I am still on night watch and these guys are killing time before their day starts. All I want to do is get some rack time before things get too busy in the compound to really rest. I try to tune him out. I stare at the underside of the bunk above me. My eyes trace and retrace the cross-beams. I try to get my thoughts to settle, but the stupidity of the conversation keeps drawing me back.
I try to stay out of it, but suddenly without real thought I loudly say, “Bullshit. Pure bullshit.” I look directly at the speaker and say coldly “Shut-up. There is no way some crap-tard like you could even see the enemy with your head so far up your own ass.” And just like that I’m up and standing among the group.
The loudmouth also stands, refusing to be shamed without putting up a fight. He shoves me in the chest with both arms, “What the hell you want, old man? Are you looking for a beating?” As he says this he visibly tightens and prepares for a retaliatory shove. His mistake. I drive my stiffened fingers straight into his throat. He chokes back any other comments, gargles and gasps for air through his pinched windpipe. Not completely beaten, he raises his fists as if to box. Another mistake. I grab his right wrist with my right hand; I wrench it in toward his chest and collapse on it with my right forearm. This pins his arm and drives my elbow into his upper chest, just below his wounded throat. At the same time I quickly place my right leg behind his right leg. Already off balance, out of breath, and partially pinned I force him backward into the bunks and down to the floor. His eyes make big moronic O’s of surprise. I can see him begin to realize just how compromised his position is.
I hear movement behind me. His friends have started to react. Two of them surge forward. The other two step back. One trooper kicks tentatively at my chest, and the other tries to position himself behind me. I slap the foot away, rise to a crouch and spin to face both. The one who kicked at me lands a solid left hook to my jaw and I see stars. Out of the pure reflex built from years of Cobra fight training I spin with the blow and grab the head of the friend to my rear. Using the momentum of the spin I drive his head into the metal bedpost. He crumples to his knees, out of the fight. I drive a solid side kick at the one who hit me. He blocks it but it drives him back and creates a little space between us. Now we face each other and I have a second to assess the situation. Talker is down. Friend number two is out of the fight. Friend three and four just watch. That just leaves friend number one.
I can tell he is the best fighter of the three. His stance is solid but still fluid enough to react and maintain balance; his hands are held up for defense but not too tightly balled, and his eyes are focused but not narrowed. I feint forward and he throws a punch with his left. I sweep that to the inside with my left while reaching in with my right. I step to his side and draw in my right arm like a scythe. I catch him in a choke hold and start to dig in. I bring my left arm up to the other side of his head, grab it with my right hand and work my elbow under his chin.
Once his air is cut off he starts to sag. I realize that I don’t want to kill him. I don’t even want to kill his loudmouth friend. If I fight them, I create enemies of them. If I kill them I get noticed. If I kill them for a stupid reason I can’t be trusted. Distrust makes me a liability to my team. In the field a lot of things can happen.
I release the man in my arms. He slowly falls to the floor, gasping. Without a word I walk over to my bunk and flop down. Everyone stares at me. I stare at the cross-beams. The fight lasted a matter of minutes and was over as quickly as it started. The confusion is apparent, but no-one wants to question me. They all pick themselves up and head out for duty. Within a few moments it’s like nothing even happened.
I don’t know why I did it. I’m tired. I’m pissed about night watch. I’m shaking from adrenaline. I’m confused about my own loyalties. I haven’t been in the field for more than a month. I am a coiled spring of aggression just waiting to go off. I need a target.
I know I’ve screwed up. In twenty four hours I have brought attention to myself twice, first with the patrol officer and now with troopers in barracks. I really need to watch my back. When everyone wears a mask you don’t always know who you’re serving with. Is the person next to me another trooper or an informant for Command? Friend or foe?
I need to get my head straight.




funny u just describes my office at work

[Tanksmasher]

Nice read.

[BlueRook]

I cleaned my rifle today.
I know that its care and condition will save my life. I disassembled it. I carefully laid its parts on the bed before I cleaned and oiled them. I thought about how this rifle is more than the sum of its parts. It is an instrument. Just as I am more than the sum of my parts. And I too am an instrument.
I am an instrument of Cobra.
We both kill on command. We protect, instill fear, and cease hostilities against us. As I look out for my weapon it too looks out for me. We are not as effective without each other. When we have clear intent, when we are focused, we remove all obstacles before us.
Religiously I reassembled my AK47. It is one of the most lethal weapons in the hands of man. This rifle is rugged, accurate and extremely reliable. I trained with many different rifles, but this is the weapon I return to. I locked, loaded and secured my weapon before reporting for drills.
I knew there was something different about today as soon as I reported. While doing warm up laps around the interior of the compound I saw many other troopers cleaning for inspection. There was an almost visible tension to the air. I could see couriers running from command structure to command structure. Even the patrol officers were almost running consult with one another.
Then I saw why. Scrap-Iron was here. He is the deadly and inventive weapons master for Cobra. When Cobra Commander was still alive, Scrap-Iron was a trusted aide. I know he freelanced for other weapon companies such as M.A.R.S., run by Destro. The fact that he was here meant something must be happening, something important.
I detoured so that I could get closer. I could only hear pieces, but I could tell he was bawling out the compound commanders. He said something about keeping the sensors clean, and the need to maintain constant upkeep on delivery systems. As I ran past I thought about the importance of what I heard.
Sensors could mean several things, but since it was Scrap-Iron talking it had to be either the sensors for the Anti-Armor Missile Systems or the sensors for the heat-seeking automated turrets, or the heat seeking missiles. Compound that with the delivery systems, and he had to be talking about the missile defenses. If he was here to review defenses then Command was expecting trouble.
My mind was running faster than I was. This wasn’t the first time I had seen Scrap-Iron. I saw him several times when I lived in Springfield. Even then he was usually at the epicenter of events. He was an imposing figure with a scar on his face and rarely said more than the minimum. The only other time I saw him say more than a few words to anyone, he was discussing weapon systems and kill ratios. I once tried to talk about him to my “wife” but she told me that there were some things I should never talk about. With Cobra it is rarely good to talk about people. It is rarely good to be talked about. I could tell she knew more and that she wasn’t going to say anything else on the subject. She and I were assigned together, but she had served Cobra for much longer than I had.
Twice I made deliveries to Scrap-Iron and neither time did he even acknowledge my presence. The last time I saw him was during the Battle of Springfield when GI Joe had invaded the town. Springfield was all Cobra, from Mayor to garbage disposal, from business men to repair men; we were all Cobra.
When it was time for me to report for night guard tower duty, I grabbed my rifle and went with a newfound purpose. If Scrap-Iron was here then I would see action soon.
Hail Cobra.

[Neuspeaq]

I would say that it's a pleasure reading your work, but that would be a blatant lie. To be more accurate, would be to say that 'reading' your work is more like enjoying the beginnings of an EPIC movie, and I'm sitting on the edge of my seat!

[sbartek1974]

To be more accurate, would be to say that 'reading' your work is more like enjoying the beginnings of an EPIC movie, and I'm sitting on the edge of my seat!

Took the words right out of my mouth.

Fell off my seat twice cause I was too far over the edge reading this stuff. Really awesome.

[Nictus]

I both love and hate that I have no backstory on the Main character...and you really need to not stop before the "good part" I have found myself more than once saying out loud " and theeeen?" and right before that I think "wtf? He stopped"

Which means this is good...but seriously stop stopping :P

[BlueRook]

I report to my post, put on my headset, check my field of fire, targeting markers, and start to settle in for another night of observation. Immediately the sound of gunfire starts, coming from the north. It’s already dark and I can see the incoming tracers and the spotlights from the compound begin to concentrate on the forest edge.
I hear reports over my headset, confused reports and sightings. Command quickly creates order and directs the towers. The compound pulls together rapidly, perhaps even more rapidly because of Scrap-Iron’s review. We are prepared to reply in kind. The attackers increase their probes and spread around the compound looking for weak points.
I am in a blackout tower. I man my emplaced .50 caliber but unfortunately nothing is in my field of fire. I need this fight but I must wait to fire. As the incoming tracers slowly march toward my position I clutch my weapon and lightly place my fingers on the trigger buttons. I know that as soon as I fire my muzzle flashes will mark my stationary position. The attackers creep into my line of sight and the automated turrets in the tower to my left open up with a wall of lead.
I hear the vip vip of incoming rounds seeking a target. Finally I too can unleash hell. I lay a satisfying stream of fire into the troops approaching my position. That reveals my position and incoming fire becomes a steady probe trying and failing to stop my fury. I pick out targets by backtracking the tracers, magnesium tipped rounds that burn as they leave the barrel of the guns. After my initial rush I need to regain control. I must start to feather the button. I can’t overheat the barrel or I’ll be done for. I breathe in time with my steady pulses: press, release, and aim over and over.
The forces keep coming and coming and the reports over the com channel state that the entire compound is surrounded. This attack is turning into a siege. I continue to fire into the attackers, and I hear Command issue the order to release the B.A.T.S. These android troopers are force multipliers; not only will they bolster our numbers, but they will fight long after they’ve been damaged. They will not stop until completely destroyed.
I sneer and anticipate the enemy’s reaction to such a fearsome foe.
Something’s wrong. The troopers are not engaging. The B.A.T.S. don’t know who to target. Panic explodes over the com channel. The enemies have been identified, and they are Cobra. The attackers are able to stride past because they are wearing our uniforms. The tower defenses fall to the onslaught. The compound is breached. Chaos truly erupts.
We are Cobra; we are instruments of terror and destruction. We are masked soldiers; we are an army whose individual identities are unimportant to the strength of the whole. Together we make world nations tremble with fear. Now we are attacked by those dressed as we are, who fight with similar tactics, who understand the power of a faceless identity; we begin to fall into disorder. How can we fight ourselves and survive? Second guess your target and you die; hesitate and even your squad member might question which side you’re on. What will it take to keep this organization whole? Who will be strong enough to bring the pieces back together? I need Cobra and Cobra needs me. The only thing I know for certain is those outside the compound are enemies, so I continue to mow down any who stand on the wrong side of my weapon.
Command finally issues understandable issue orders, assigning fall back positions and choke points to stop the intruders before they can shoot us in the back. Containment is now the pressing priority. The elites are called away from the fortifications to defend the inner structures. I am left to defend my arc. I own the 45 degree arc to my front, where all who enter will die. I must trust my fellow soldiers to not allow the invaders to approach my rear.
There is no time for counting kills. I count and recount my remaining ammo belts. How large is this force? How many troops can they throw at us before the losses make their goal unattainable? The fighting inside the compound grows fiercer. The chatter over the com is growing more desperate. I think about leaving my post, but I know that would be suicide. In the chaos I’m just as likely to get shot by my own side. I feel the exhilaration of the fight, but confusion over its outcome.
It is said that humanity’s natural impulses can be boiled down to fight or flight. I fight. As long as there is a target in my sights I shoot. Finally, I hear the first reports of good news. The attackers were spread too thin, and expended most of their force in the probes to breach. Had they concentrated their numbers, and been able to more aggressively exploit the confusion inside the compound they would have been unstoppable. For now, the breach has been defended, and the attacking forces have been terminated or forced to retreat. Word on the com is that Stingers and Hiss Tanks have rallied and sealed the compound. We are in such dense woods that no airpower was brought to bear on us and our Fangs were able to dominate outside the walls.
I have no more targets; the forces are either dead or have retreated out of range. I report my status over my headset and hear others reporting the same from all around the base. Rounding up survivors and scouting the perimeter takes hours. Tensions are high. Accusations are made. Was this an inside job? Were we betrayed by someone in the compound? Who lead Cobra forces against us?
Enemy survivors are the unluckiest of all. They lost, and will be interrogated. I don’t feel bad for them. They would have done better to die fighting. They are the enemy; but in all likelihood they know nothing more than the orders they were given. They will die slowly revealing all they know and it will amount to nothing.
We survived this battle. We will repair our defenses. We will find out who commanded the attack against us. We will have vengeance. The civil war has arrived.
Cobra is dead, Long live Cobra.

[BlueRook]

And now the bad news, I'm going out of town for a few days. I'll continue to write, bu the next post will be a couple of days. Please stay tuned there is more to come. Thanks for reading.

[Nictus]

And now the bad news, I'm going out of town for a few days. I'll continue to write, bu the next post will be a couple of days. Please stay tuned there is more to come. Thanks for reading.

*cough* a couple of days means TWO...you see " couple " is a quantifier, where's the story, where's the rest...WTF happens now? i swear to god if this is a "seaons cliffhanger" i will hunt you down "out of town" and make you write at gunpoint...continue the story. no choices no options no ultimatums. just sit down, put your fingers on the keyboard and don't stop till they bleed...got it? am i clear? is there any question as to your assignment?

although this is my fault i suppose, i said to "not stop at the good part" i guess this would be rather difficult to do since it's all good...so i'll amend my original request to simply "do not stop."

hopefully this is understandable...and by all of the above i mean

this rocks...it still rocks...and keeping it up like this it will keep rocking. i have this character in my verse...he's "viper seven seven romeo"

[DARKWIND]

A damn good read, waiting for more. . . .

[Neuspeaq]

For Anyone who HAsn't found this Awesomeness yet,
BUMP.

[BlueRook]

It’s been weeks since I last had a chance to put my thoughts in order. I’m finally off rotation for night guard duty. While things are quiet I need to document what’s happening. If nothing else, these records will show I have been a loyal Cobra trooper. The irony is that if these writings are found I will be dead before someone reads enough to find out I’m not doing anything subversive. I haven’t heard much about the source of the attack, but I know that we are totally without support. More men and materials will not be coming. With Cobra divided, the factions controlling the resources are worried about their own ambitions, not common soldiers.
In the days and nights following the attack, the compound reacted like a kicked open anthill. Every able-bodied soldier worked with a frantic pace to repair the fortifications. The repairs went on twenty four hours a day. Even when I was lucky enough to get sack time and tired enough to pass out the racket made it hard to sleep. In the barracks, we could hear the screams of the prisoners. The sounds they made were inhuman. I told myself that they were the enemy and they got what they deserved.
For the first couple of weeks the only people interrogated were the ones captured in the attack. All the prisoners questioned eventually gave up something, but who knows if what they said was actually worth anything. Or true. All I know is that afterward Command decided to make sure about our own loyalties. Two men out of every squad were taken for questioning. Most never came back. The purges took much needed manpower away from the repair effort. We worked harder and tried not to be noticed. I don’t have friends. I will not mourn their passing. But…I know each soldier we lose leaves us with another empty spot on the line.
In training, I learned that a secondary weapon in any surprise attack is the doubt or fear created to demoralize the target. This is only made worse by soldiers gossiping and guessing about whatever Command isn’t telling. In the barracks there are whispers about which Cobra faction directed the attack on us and why. Two of Hedman’s personal guards were captured, but there’s no sign of Hedman himself. The logical connection is Major Bludd. Soldiers are wondering if he’s involved.
I’m wondering about the utility of the base and the dwindling number of soldiers. .
All the talk is crap. Point me in a direction and I will kill the enemy. I know who I am. I am the fodder put in to slow the advancing armies. My blood is spilled to gum the machinery of the opposing military. Many men in the barracks speak as if they have the ability to choose whom they support. They are fools. We can die following our orders or we can die as traitors.
The barracks has gone oddly quiet.
I see a bright flash of light and feel the crack of pain in the back of my head. As the world goes black I hear a rough, gloating voice behind me saying, “I’ll teach the prick to lay hands on me. No one chokes me and lives.”

[BlueRook]

I wake up to throbbing pain in my head. As my vision starts to clear I see the shiny underside of a surgical lamp. I try to move my hands to clear my eyes. They are strapped down. So are my legs, my torso, and my head. All I can move is my eyes and tongue.
Oh, shit. I’m in the surgical ward. This is Dr. Mindbender’s territory. This is worse than being dead.
I struggle to get free. I try to pull, to kick, even to wiggle, but I can’t. Panic sets in and I can’t breathe. I force myself to I stop fighting the restraints and assess my situation. Calling out for help is useless. I test each restraint. I can’t move my head. I can’t move my legs. The only weak point in the restraints is my right hand. I frantically pull on that binding over and over and it begins to loosen. Something comes free of my arm and I hear it bounce off the bed frame and land on the floor. I feel better, if a little groggy from drugs and adrenaline. As I try to make a plan I hear the squeaking of sneakers on polished floors and I freeze. My struggles have attracted attention.
An orderly enters the room with a smile I don’t trust, and says, “Hmm… I see you’re finally awake. You’re awfully popular around here. A lot us have taken odds on you. I put money on severe brain damage. I bet it would be so bad that it would be years of therapy before you were anything but an infant mentally. Don’t bother trying to talk. Your jaw is wired shut. Just blink twice for yes and three times for no.”
He bends over to retrieve whatever had fallen out of my arm. “Can you understand me? Just blink.” I do nothing. Until I figure out what I am going to do and how to get the hell out I will give away nothing. My lack of response seems to make the orderly happy. He calls out to someone out of my field of vision, “Hey Zoe, he’s awake and not responsive. I’m still in!”
From outside the room I hear a husky woman’s voice, “Damn it! I’m out. Why’d the alarms go off?”
“One of the leads fell off. The adhesive must have come loose.” Then he lowers his voice conspiratorially and says, “Not that it matters one way or another. Dr. Mindbender has been monitoring your case very closely. You were probably better off in the coma.” He looks at me carefully. I stare straight ahead and give no response. He slaps the sensor back on, and leaves the room, giggling.
I just lay there for a while and tried to remember to breathe carefully and slowly. I need to get out of here. I can’t let be one of Dr. Mindbender’s. Quietly and cautiously I continue to try to free my right hand. My mind starts to wander and I start to remember how I got into this bed. I was attacked in my bunk. One or more of the other troopers blindsided me. Judging from where it hurts my head was not the only thing injured. I can feel the bandages in several places around my midsection. My jaw is wired shut, my head is bandaged, and I can feel the pinch of a catheter.
Someone is going to pay dearly for doing this to me. I am going to get out. I will kill everyone responsible for putting me in this bed. Their first mistake was trying to kill me. Their second was quitting before the job was done. Their final mistake is not realizing that I will exact my vengeance. I will make sure they are truly and completely dead.

[Neuspeaq]

!!!!!YYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!!!! I Knew you wouldn't give up on this, Y-E-S!!!

[W.O. leroy]

Very cool story mate, I'm hanging to read the next part.

[Nictus]

you're worse than a drug dealer giving free samples...

[niknak96]

More please

[Nictus]

More please

he's a stingy lil bastard ;) he needs to be calling out sick from work and locking himself in a room with just his laptop internet connection and redbull...but nooooo this dude's got a life and responsibility and excuses about why he cant just sit and write for days at a time...typical bs i've heard time and time before


i'm kidding...no one's ever given me those excuses...but if they did that's what i'd say LMAO

good writing by the way in case you didn't know

[BlueRook]

I can’t tell what time it is. I can’t tell how much time has passed. There are no windows, only the constant maddening flicker of florescent lights. The only way I can even guess at the amount of time that passes is the number of times nurses and orderlies come into the room. I listen. I listen to how many doors I can hear opening. I listen to the nurses and orderlies talking. I listen to the sounds of footsteps fading in the hallway. These things give me information I can use to escape.
I count four nurses, and two orderlies. There are no doctors besides Dr. Mindbender. The nurses are more concerned with the equipment than me. Every time they’ve come into my room they barely glance at me and quickly check the readouts on the machines. I hate the orderlies. They amuse themselves gloating over my incapacitated body. Steve likes to pinch me to see if I react. When he was caught, all that the on-duty nurse said was, “We’ve talked about this, and you’re screwing up the reports. Quit messing with the patient.” Steve is the asshole who was there when I woke up. He still taunts me with the betting pool. Thinking about how I will deal with Steve when I get out helps keep me sane.
Last time Steve was here he sat on my chest. It burned like hell. Four of the stitches in my chest popped open. I could feel my ribs grinding against each other. That was the first time I almost reacted to Steve’s constant petty torture. Mike, the other orderly, likes to try to get a reaction by telling me what he thinks Dr. Mindbender has in store for me. He makes up stories about what will happen to my body. He watches and he giggles. He told me that Dr. Mindbender has found a way to make the dead rise. Now even zombies are recruited into the Cobra forces. I forced myself not to punch him in the face.
When I’m alone I keep working on the restraint binding my right hand. I can almost free my hand. I’m very close. I work through the pain. I will crush Steve’s throat and steal his I.D. badge, which should get me out of the ward. After that, maybe I’ll take a nurse hostage and have her lead me out. I make a list in my head of who is going to suffer. I will get revenge. There will be blood.
My anger boils, but I must not react. It’s too soon; I can’t let them know how close I am to getting loose. I know I still need time to heal. If they know I can function the experiments will begin. Each time Steve messes with me I break out in a cold sweat as I lock down my reaction to the pain. I know I’m weakened but my rage fuels my strength. I want to kill Steve first. Slowly.
Dr. Mindbender made his first visit after the sixth nurse rotation. He came into my room, pulled off my covers and checked the bandages around my mid-section. He didn’t look at my face as I struggled to keep breathing and not react. He scares the hell out of me. He began to speak into a recording device.
“Patient: surname Rook. Puncture right upper abdomen, pierced liver, no signs of sepsis. Contusions from blunt object both right and left lower abdomen. Internal hemorrhaging stopped, swelling is reduced. Incisions from removal of right kidney still red with some seepage, although patients color shows no sign of jaundice. Much bruising and swelling around neck and shoulders. Severe head trauma, two skull fractures, one in the occipital bone, the other along the coronal suture. Left eye orbit crushed at the supraorbital foramen; will require further repair. Jaw shattered at the nasal spine, the mandible fractured at the left side ramus, and at the mental protuberance. Number of teeth lost or shattered, further review necessary after removal of wire. Patient awake from the coma, still shows no signs of cognitive awareness.” I stared at the ceiling tiles. I am shocked.
They took my fucking kidney. Dr. Mindbender took out my kidney. I will never be a whole person again. Something will always be missing. In that moment I feel a piece of my humanity break. I taste blood; I’ve clenched my teeth as I struggle not to show any sign of what I just heard. I see red. I will make them all pay.
What the hell happened in the barracks? I faintly remember hearing the voices of the troopers I fought with recently. Those bastards will pay for this. I’ve lost an organ, how fucked up is that? I must really be on heavy meds. I certainly feel like I got the shit kicked out of me; but skull fractures and a missing kidney? Those shits really did try to kill me. I will rip off their balls with my bare hands and shove them into their own mouths. I will grind their faces under the heel of my boots, and stomp their skulls until their brains leak out in a soupy liquid. Nothing will stop me. I will be a force of nature, vengeance personified.
Now I know I’m going to be here a while. I choke back the tears of anger and hate, and swallow the bile in my mouth. I focus on staring at the ceiling tiles. I hear Dr. Mindbender call out to the nurse, giving her a list of instructions. He is cold and clinical as he describes what she needs to do. With no thought to the person in the bed, he lists the injuries and what he wants them to administer. To him I am just a sack of parts; fix whatever possible and replace anything else.
I need to get free before any experiments begin. How long can I keep this up? How long until I am healed enough to escape? What then?

[W.O. leroy]

Sweet brother, can't wait till the next one.

[Nictus]

I woke up to read this...ok back to bed awesome...I'll read it again with coffee :)

[Neuspeaq]

Nicely done!!! I felt like Beatrix Kiddo for a sec there!!! I'm Dyin' to know if 'The Good Doctor' made any quick 'adjustments' to Rook, while he was under... I Love it when talented writers breath LIFE into the Joe universe I so cherished in my youth, (and still do, to this day!!!) Awesome reading sir :) !!

[BlueRook]

Thank you for the comments and support, it makes me try even harder to give something worth while to read. And they make me laugh.

[BlueRook]

“Well, look at that! You’re back with us. Zoe! Zoe! Get in here! He’s awake!”
Shit. I had wanted to keep the staff in the hospital fooled for long enough to give me a better than even chance at escape. I screwed up. I woke up while a nurse was changing the bandages. As she ripped off the old bandage near my kidney I flinched and grunted. I knew I was screwed as soon as I made the sound. The look of surprise and excitement on her face told me I had blown it.
There was a rush of activity as she finished bandaging. She kept yelling for Nurse Zoe, who must have been in charge because it was she who told me the extent of my injuries.
“Your jaw is wired shut and will be for at least two more weeks, so just shut up and listen. You’ve been in a coma for a little more than a month, but don’t worry; Dr. Mindbender is taking very good care of you. You’ve been a good challenge for him. He operated on your skull and did some work on your eye. You had several fractures and he had to make sure that no bone splinters were left in your brain—very tricky. Soon you’ll be even better than you were before you got here. Blink twice if understand.”
Sick and knowing I could no longer fake it I blinked twice.
“You are a very lucky young man. Dr. Mindbender has taken a serious interest in you. But…I’ll let him tell you about that. How is your pain? Do you need extra pain medication? I’ll set you up with a drip you can control. Here is the button and the medication will enter through your IV. Do you understand?”
Two blinks. I can already tell communicating like this was really going to suck. I want to go back before they started talking to me. She fussed some more over my dressings and the monitors, and then left. She told me that Dr. Mindbender would stop in as he heard the news.
I could hear her laughter and excited talking in the hall. She was enjoying being the one to spread the news. The frantic way she spoke let me know that my awakening was going to be the main event on the floor, if not the entire hospital. I hate being the center of attention. Nothing good ever happens when Cobra officials pay too much attention to me. I heard Steve complaining about the survival pool. Thankfully the bets were still on about how much brain function I was going to recover. At least I still have a chance to fool them; they don’t yet realize that my brain is working fine. I have to totally recalculate my plans. I have to make my move before they realize how much I have already recovered. .
I’m screwed. I have to figure out how to escape while the staff pays attention to me. I have to figure out how to escape before Dr. Mindbender really starts to pay attention to me. I know I need to figure out a new plan, fast, but I’m so tired. I’m tired of being angry and I’m tired of being scared. I just need a break, just one damn break. I up the pain medication and float back to sleep, thinking about the first time I ran into Dr. Mindbender.
In Springfield, before he changed, he was my orthodontist. It all seemed to make sense then. We lived in the company town and he was our orthodontist. I never really had good teeth or even cared, but new recruits were encouraged to use all resources to get into to top physical condition before going into the field. Once in combat it would be impossible to know if the opportunity would ever be there again. Dr. Mindbender convinced everyone that good oral hygiene was just as important as the other aspects of a person’s physical conditioning.
It’s hard to believe that back then Dr. Mindbender wanted to stop pain. He was constantly trying to find new and better ways prevent his patients from suffering. I went to him for braces, wisdom tooth extraction, and to get the tracking implant required for every Cobra trooper. In the beginning, I really liked him. He was kind, concerned, and naturally talkative. I began to trust him.
Slowly, he changed. He was still talkative, but his conversations got to be more and more like interrogations. He started to care less about his patients and more about his work. Rumors started about his experimenting on troopers without their consent. It became common but unspoken knowledge that his patients could end up with surveillance equipment installed in their mouths. Microphones that would allow Televipers to monitor conversations were implanted. There were other rumors about him implanting devices in other parts of soldier’s bodies, including behavior controlling devices that. Eventually, he stopped working for the town and moved to more private facilities.
Once I asked my Springfield “wife,” an intelligence officer, about Dr. Mindbender. She became unusually quiet, and coldly explicit. She told me that if I ever repeated what she said that she would deny it and then kill me herself. She said that he scared her, that the plans he’d been presenting to Cobra command were becoming more and more about turning soldiers into cyborgs. He was experimenting on people who never agreed to try out his strange technological advances, people that he saw on the street and had brought into the lab. She told me she was more frightened by the reports of his successes than his extremely high failure rate. I’ll never forget the look she gave me as she continued talking in that low, cold voice. She told me I should never put myself in a room alone with Dr. Mindbender and that I should keep a low profile. Even when someone survived the experiments, they never again could go back to who they used to be. The changes were dramatic, both psychologically and physically. They became more than men and less than human; they became Vipers.
I drift off to sleep as the pain meds really start to kick in. I dream of robots with human brains, of men impossibly disfigured by large metallic implants. I dream of horrors that could no longer be called human.

[Trooper618]

Damn good stuff

[Nictus]

OMFG! how many times dude how many fucking times are you going to build shit up and then click "post quick reply" ? honestly no SERIOUSLY how many times are you gonna do it...10 20 100 times? if so...good...make it 500 more a 1000. Shit it pisses me off but that just means it's good stuff...damn good stuff to quote trooper618.

After reading this I very much want to scream in your face "fuck you" but i'm not sure how you'd take it...though in person i don't think i'd think about the possible response you'd have...i wouldn't care though. But since you're there and i'm here i'll just explain it...i don't mean disrespect by it, it's just the intense reaction to not knowing "what happens next" so it's a positive remark :P

[Neuspeaq]

Bump!!!

[Neuspeaq]

BUMP... Oh, and Start Fuckin' writin' again!!! DAMN!!!

[Diles46]

outstanding!

[Flint071]

You've got something very good here.

The stream of consciousness from a soldiers point-of-view is rarely used effectively in fan-ficiton and all too often writers want to embark on broad-scoped epic stories they hope to capture in three paragraphs.

Keep it up - I've enjoyed the read thus far.

[Neuspeaq]

Bump bump bump