|01-02-2010, 02:24 AM||#181|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
The Atoll pt 1
Waverunner slowed the Devilfish down, he was getting too much air off the waves. Really having too much fun. The moon reflected off the water, the Devilfish and the landing craft it was following running without lights. But the landing craft still gave off waves and it was those that Waverunner was gunning the small attack boat and jumping, landing with a splash. Not that loud he hoped. In his days as a Combatant Craft Crewman with the US Navy, he’d never had the opportunity to pilot craft like the Devilfish. One seaters, the Devilfish was really just a hull and two powerful outboard motors, the rest of the craft being the weapons systems. Fast and maneuverable, the Devilfish made a perfect escort and small attack craft.
Another hit for Trakker Industries, Waverunner thought, pulling his Devilfish alongside the WHALE. He slowed to match the speed of the larger hovercraft. He bumped the Devilfish against the side of the hovercraft and had to pull the Devilfish in closer, the bumping off threatening to push the two craft apart. Two lines snaked down from the larger and higher WHALE. Balancing on the shifting hull underneath him Waverunner quickly tied the lines to the hooks on the Devilfish and used one of them to haul himself up the side of the WHALE. Strong arms above grabbed and pulled him up the rest of the way.
Hard to make out in the dark, Waverunner saw Mariner on his left and Hammerhead on his right. The two SEaLs helping haul him to the side of the WHALE. Waverunner heard the engines cut off, the hovercraft bobbing quietly in the water of the Indian Ocean, a black spot in the black night. Following the other two, they made their way carefully along the top of the WHALE, Mariner almost falling into one of the two machine gun turrets. Lights appeared as Hammerhead lifted the hatch and waited as first Mariner and then Waverunner climbed down the ladder and into the hold. Hammerhead followed and closed the latch behind him.
The WHALE’s hold wasn’t very big. The hovercraft was designed for the front to open, top and bottom, to allow the passengers to spill out onto land. They wouldn’t be exiting that way tonight. The front window was covered over, so the light from inside the hold wouldn’t escape. Pile of gear and what looked to be a couple of inflatable landing rafts, were piled in the front. Waverunner saw Shipwreck, another of the Joe teams SWCCs, heading up the tight hallway to the driver’s compartment. The insertion team crowded around a crate in the middle of the hold, the light centered over it, looking at the map and going over final instructions. Waverunner joined them.
The insertion team consisted of the team leader Torpedo, Wet-Suit, Waverunner, Leatherneck, Windtalker and Rampart. A good mix of SEaLs and Marines, Waverunner thought turning his attention to Torpedo and the mission briefing.
“Seas all clear?,” Torpedo asked turning to him.
“Aye aye skipper,” Waverunner said smiling. “Nice and calm and empty, just the way we like it.”
“Good,” Torpedo replied turning back to the map. “This lovely little rock is Atoll #12. We just named it. Like it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Number twelve is home to what we think is a research lab for our old Cobra buddies.”
“Ain’t big,” Leatherneck grunted. “Not much room for a laboratory.”
“No it’s not,” Torpedo acknowledge. “Makes the boys in Command think it’s chemical.”
“Thought I saw Airtight and his boys on the Ledger,” Rampart said.
“Right,” Torpedo said. “We go in, take a look around, neutralize if possible. Hope we don’t get covered in chemicals. CBR comes in behind..”
“Once it’s safe,” Wet-Suit joked.
“Once it’s safe and does their job.” Torpedo said, not breaking stride, ignoring the joke. “We’re the eyes, not the bite. We do it quietly, go loud as a last resort or we think we can handle it. Assault team is mobilizing at The Platform and will head out if we give the word that it’s too hot to handle.”
“Platform’s four hours from here,” Waverunner mentioned.
“Right,” Torpedo said pointing at a spot on the map. “So let’s hope it’s not to hot to handle. Whale stops 1 mile from shore. We take the rafts and land here and here. Shipwreck, Mariner and Hammerhead are our extraction. If we can’t get out by raft, they come and get us by hovercraft. Satellite shows a complex of buildings here and here.” Torpedo said giving details and marking locations on the map.
Waverunner piloted his landing raft, with his two passengers and their gear, into the shore as quickly and quietly as possible. Which with the engines on the modified rafts was fairly easy. All three of the team, Waverunner, Wet-Suit and Rampart, all wore black wetsuits, the rest of their gear stored in waterproof bags in the bottom of the raft.
The raft bumped over the waves and slid quietly and smoothly onto the shore of Atoll #12. Waverunner quickly shut off the outboard motor and unhooked it, pulling the blades out of the water. Rampart got out and with Wet-Suits help pulled the craft further out of the water. Waverunner grabbed the entrenching shovel and made for the treeline. He searched quickly and found a good spot, easy to find in the dark, but not to unique to draw attention. He started digging the hole as the others broke the raft down.
Ten minutes later they had the raft buried, had changed out of the wet-suits and into their work clothes, and had buried the suits in another hole. Assault rifles ready they headed towards the east to meet up with the other three. All three had lights equipped on their silenced rifles, but none turned them on, the moon providing just enough light.
They quickly moved down the beach, keeping to the trees, trying to avoid leaving footprints in the sand. The other half of the team should have landed two hundred feet to the east. They should be getting there soon, if they had been able to land where planned. Waverunner didn’t think he had brought the raft in no more than twenty feet or so off target. Wet-Suit was in the lead, Rampart with the SAW in the rear.
Noise. Just ahead. Not much. Barely heard.
Wet-Suit held up his hand to call a stop. He pointed at Waverunner and Rampart, indicated wait. Then pointed at himself and then his eyes. Taking a look.
Slowly, weapon at the ready, Wet-Suit crept forward. He walked further, stopped and then turned to the others flashing the thumbs up. They advanced and saw Leatherneck staring at them, weapon pointed their way, quickly lowered. Torpedo and Windtalker were finishing up burying their wet suits. Standing up, brushing dirt off his camoflauged pants, Torpedo looked around. Satisfied that their landing area was as clean as it was going to get, he grabbed his weapon, nodded at the others and pointed towards the forest.
Leatherneck nodded and headed off, taking point. Waverunner followed with Windtalker and Rampart right behind him. Torpedo followed. Wet-Suit was the last into the forest, the dark forest hiding their presence.
|01-02-2010, 02:28 AM||#182|
FEED ME MORE!
Join Date: Apr 2009
Location: Korugar, Space Sector 1417
wow, killing off a character already troy? but at the same time in a for the greater good sacrifice was truly great writing
I <3 LJ, Chari, Phoenix, Sweetness, and the Skittles Queen Lady D
owner of page 9301 of GI Joe, Monkeytown
RIP Dark Songstress, Gyre-Viper, samantha
Queen Charijoe's #1 Fan/champion Rising_Phoenix2's lackey TofuNinja's genin Sole Owner of Tali's Lab Total Forum Game kills:18
|01-02-2010, 02:31 AM||#183|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
The problem with having so many different episodes (I can't really think of a good word to use for these) going at the same time is that alot of time (real world) could be between parts and people would forget what happened in the other parts.
I like doing it this way, cause I definately want to convey the feeling that the Joes are constantly on the move and the go and that there are multiple missions going at the same time.
|01-02-2010, 02:37 AM||#184|
Join Date: Feb 2008
Location: Litchfield, ME
Wow, that's quite an ending, Troynos! Very surprising, though. Keep it up!
|01-02-2010, 04:31 AM||#185|
Join Date: Jul 2008
I'm paying more attention to the little details you are throwing in now Troy, and I must say I'm impressed with teh care your taking to reference he disparate joe media.
For some reason trakker industries in particular cracked me up. Don't know why.
|01-02-2010, 11:33 AM||#186|
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Back in the US of A! (NoVA)
NIce Troy. Great Stuff all around. Poor Foghorn! I think I shed a tear when Lifeline tells him that the mission comes first basically. I'd be interested to here more about Foghorn, but it will slow the stories down.
Windtalker a Marine?
|01-02-2010, 02:06 PM||#187|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
Yeah, I made Windtalker a Marine. Thinking of converting someone else from that story into a Marine as well, check the Filecards thread. Need input from the experts first.
|01-02-2010, 05:45 PM||#188|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
The Fourth Gift pt 2
Location: Approaching Georgian Airspace flying under the registration of the Omega Group
Flint stood in the cockpit of the modified transcontinental 747. The pilot, Ace, and co-pilot, Bombardier, did what pilots do, fiddled with instruments. Flint, a trained helicopter pilot, knew that flying wasn’t as easy as it looked but sometimes these fighter jocks made it seem a lot more complex then it was, he thought.
“Twenty minutes out,” Ace reported.
“Right,” Flint replied. “I’ll tell the General. Let us know when you transmit the code and get within sight of the airfield.”
“Yo,” Ace said flashing the thumbs up and going back to fiddling.
Flint turned and left the cockpit, closing the door behind him. He crossed thru the next compartment, the door on the right and what would have been the flight crews area on the left, it was now modified to store the units gear, gun lockers lined both sides of the area. The next compartment, what would have been first class and coach had been gutted and modified to a smaller lounge area and sleeping rooms in the back. The stair that led down to the storage compartments was against the wall.
Beats flying over the Atlantic in the back of a C-130, he thought, although he still did a lot of that as well. Flying the General has it’s perks.
Sitting in the lounge, watching a movie, was the mission team. Not really a mission team, thought Flint, since this wasn’t a true mission, but more of the assets that the General required. Skidmark and Mutt, along with his dog Junkyard, from the Unit’s Protective Services, sat in a couple of bolted down swiveling recliner chairs, watching the movie. Flint didn’t recognize it. The team’s computer whiz, Mainframe, sat at the kitchenette counter against the far wall, his laptop open in front of him.
“Twenty minutes,” he told the team as he walked thru the lounge area.
“Come on Junk,” Mutt said getting up and heading for the stairs. “Time for a walk.”
The dog gave a short bark and followed.
Flint just shook his head, not wanting to know how a dog went for a ‘walk’ on an airplane. He opened the door to the sleeping quarters and walked down the hall and knocked on the door at the end.
“Enter,” Colton’s voice came thru.
Flint opened the door and walked into the small office space. Really just large enough for a desk and a couple of chairs, with a computer screen on the wall near the door. Colton was sitting behind the desk, Norseman in one of the chairs. Flint took the other.
“Ace says we’re twenty minutes out sir,” Flint reported.
“Very good,” Colton said and looked at Flint. “Still not happy about this?”
“Not at all sir,” Flint replied. “Flying into a nest of unknowns on the word of the President? No offense to the president, the idea behind his gift is a good one. Lord knows we could use the help from other parts of the world. I’m just not sure how much we can trust these people.”
“I’ve met the leaders,” Norseman said. “Trent and Brekov. Them I trust.”
“I understand and share your concerns Flint,” Colton said. “But it’s a chance we have to take. If we can get help from homegrown assets in Europe… Well it’s well worth the risk. Besides, that’s why I brought you along,” Colton said smiling. “You’re the most mistrustful of all my field commanders and you’re also spot on with your hunches. If anyone can spot potential trouble and react to it in time, it’s you.”
“Thank you sir,” Flint said. “Just hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want to return home if you get hurt.”
“Flagg wouldn’t be that hard on you,” Colton said still smiling.
“It’s not Flagg I’d be worried about,” Flint said, all serious. “It’s your wife.”
Colton lost the smile, thinking about what Jane’s reaction would be.
“That’s true,” he said the smile returning. “I don’t want to return home if I get hurt. I ever tell you men about the time I got shot on a routine recon and…”
Flint didn’t like the looks of the airfield. A couple of hangers, the control tower and not much else. In the middle of no where. The plane had landed, lights had turned on to allow the descent and then the lights had shut off, leaving the plane in the middle of the runway in darkness. He had opened the door, lowered the stairs and only allowed himself and Mutt off the plane. Mutt was leading Junkyard around the plane, letting the dog sniff around, see if he could pick anything up.
Then, lights, coming from the east and heading across the tarmac, the direction he was facing, where he had been told they would approach from. Two vehicles, headlights about truck height. They weren’t lined up, letting Flint and the plane’s occupants get a look at them, letting them know that it was only the two vehicles.
“Mutt,” Flint called out. “Incoming.”
He heard a low bark in acknowledgment. Junkyard or Mutt? Sometimes it was hard to tell. The other joined Flint at the fort of the ramp. Skidmark appeared at the door, Norseman could be seen behind him, both had weapons ready. Flint and Mutt kept their weapons lowered.
The vehicles headed straight at the plane and then turned, coming to a stop about thirty feet away with the drivers sides exposed to the plane. Black Humvees. Two men got out, one from each plane. One dressed in brown with a brown beret, the other in black with a greenish colored beret. Too bad we didn’t have one of the Combat Controllers on board, Flint thought, with their maroon beret.
The two men advanced, keeping the doors of the humvees open, letting the people on the plane get a look inside as best as possible. Both were unarmed. They got within ten feet and stopped.
“Lejtenant Gorkij,” the one in black said, who had gotten out of the lead vehicle. “That is Sergeant Day.” The man spoke fluent English with a heavy Russian accent.
“Hullo gents,” the man known as Day said cheerily.
“Flint and Mutt,” Flint replied pointing to himself and Mutt. Junkyard just sat there, panting. That was a good sign, Flint thought. “Russian and British?”
“Da,” Gorkij replied. “Ranks?”
“Let’s just say I’m over you,” Flint replied grinning. “Fair enough?”
“Da,” Gorkij answered nodding his head. Day just kept smiling.
“Right,” Flint said looking up and into the airplane. “Skidmark,” he called.
Skidmark walked down, weapon at his side, and started towards the two humvees. Mutt tugged the leash and Junkyard got up and the two followed Skidmark.
“You two just wait here well we check out the humvees.”
A couple of minutes of uncomfortable staring at eachother, really measuring eachother up and mentally determining who would win in a fight, Skidmark crawled out from under the second humvee and flashed the thumbs up.
“Right,” Flint said turning and looking up the hatch again. “Norse, bring ‘em out.”
Norseman came out of the plane a minute later, closely followed by General Colton and Mainframe. When he reached them, the Gorkij and Day saluted him.
“Gentlemen,” Colton said returning the salute. “Shall we be off?”
Colton and Mainframe reached the second humvee and went to get in. Norseman walked around the other side and got into the passenger side. Day started for the humvee but Flint stopped him.
“Nope,” he said pointing towards the lead humvee. “You’re in there with Gorkij and me.”
Day, still smiling, shrugged and walked towards the lead humvee. Gorkij remained next to Flint.
“Mutt,” Flint called and waited until the other got close. “You’re staying with the plane.”
“Orders are protect the General,” Mutt replied in a growl.
“Yeah,” Flint said. “And I’m ordering you to stay and guard the plane so the General has a ride home.”
“I’m taking this up with Guardian when we get back,” Mutt muttered walking towards the plane.
“You do that,” Flint replied heading towards the humvee, with Gorkij alongside. He could have swore he heard Mutt growling.
In the lead jeep, Flint sat in the back with Gorkij. Day was driving.
“You must be a joy at parties,” Day said jokingly. “Real friendly gent.”
“Not here to make friends,” Flint replied and sighed. “Sorry, on edge. Getting news that we have some European allies is great but you’re not vetted. No offense.”
“Vetted,” Gorkij asked, not familiar with the American term.
“Checked out,” Day answered knowing the term. “Means that they’ve giving us a look and think we’re good to go.”
“Ah,” Gorkij replied. “Is understandable.”
“It’s an hour to Oktober,” Day said. “We’re all military blokes here. What do you gents think of that new AK that’s being shown around?”
|01-02-2010, 07:48 PM||#189|
Join Date: Oct 2008
Nice. I like how you spotlighted the SEALs in the previous story.
|01-03-2010, 02:58 AM||#190|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
Bananas And Bullets pt 3
The view from up on the cliff was spectacular, but the people on the edge, lying down to limit their profile to anyone looking up, weren’t there to appreciate the view. It was a view that most of the people, at least the ones standing up further from the edge had seen before. Instead of the view, they were looking down into the valley with high powered imagers and binoculars.
The valley wasn’t large, most of it having been cleared out and converted into a banana plantation. Buildings lined one end, close to a road that winded down into the shallow valley. Storehouses and processing. At least one of them had to be a barracks. Considered the way the guards kept the workers, the conditions they were in, probably only one of the buildings served as the dormitory for all the workers that currently lined the fields, gathering bananas. Armed guards patrolled the grounds. A large group was gathered at the southern end of the field, near where the trees started again. Jeeps and a large piece of machinery could be seen.
“What do you make of that thing,” one of the two men that were looking into the valley asked.
The thing was long and about as wide as a truck. It was on tank treads, with what looked like a single operators station at the end. The front had a plow and what looked like two long arms with large saw blades attached. Men, locals in their mismatched fatigues and assorted rifles, moved around the machine, some as guards and others doing maintenance.
“Not quite sure,” the other replied. “Looks old, like it’s been in the jungle awhile. I’d hazard a guess that it’s a tree cutter of some kind.”
“Look alive Recondo,” the first man said. “We got blueshirts. Coming from the north road.”
Recondo adjusted his view and looked to the north. Dust coming down the road. Two canvas transport trucks, open top car in the front. Very old. He zoomed in on the car. Blueshirts. Driver and two passengers. Not trying to hide their presence, but then who would be expecting them in the depths of the Sierra Gordan jungles? The last passenger, trying futilely to keep the dust out of his face, wasn’t wearing the standard Cobra issue blueshirt uniform, he was dressed casually. Brownish hair, fair features.
“Brawler,” Recondo said. “Check the passenger of the car.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” he replied. “This op just got a lot more interesting. That is one of the Twins.”
The two men watched as the small convoy cut around the banana trees, not caring about the dust they were kicking up, causing guards and workers to cough. Knowing the Twins, Brawler thought, he’s doing it on purpose. Must be pissed off, so he’s taking it out on them. The car pulled up to a stop near the machine and the Twin, which one it was they had no clue from this distance, wouldn’t have known standing next to him either, walked around the machine. The two trucks stopped and Cobra Troopers, blueshirts, got out and formed up under the direction of one of them.
“Scope out the guy giving orders,” Recondo said to Brawler, who had the imager.
“Getting a shot now,” was the reply.
Brawler zoomed in on the man giving orders. He was dressed as the others, except had his sleeves rolled up and had two bandoliers filled with shotgun shells over his chest.
“Looks like we got a Boomslang sighting,” Brawler said. “I’m counting 40 blueshirts.”
“We got action coming from the buildings,” Recondo said watching a man running hurriedly from one of the buildings, gathering a small group of guards as he went.
The two men watched as the man, they assumed was the plantation foreman, came running up to the twin. The man stopped and started yelling, they couldn’t hear what was being said, but they could see that the foreman was angry. Very angry.
“Recondo,” Brawler said getting the other man’s attention. “Check the treeline at the top of the valley.”
Recondo looking to see what Brawler meant. It was hard to see, but there was movement in the trees. He adjusted the binoculars, trying to get a better view. Too dense. Couldn’t make it out.
“Oh hell..” Brawler said.
Turning back to the valley Recondo saw what had gotten his teammate’s attention. The blueshirt officer, Boomslang, was directing the men to spread out. The plantation foreman, oblivious, was still yelling at the twin. The foreman’s guards were looking around nervously. Finally, the twin had had enough.
The shot echoed off the cliff face.
The foreman dropped. Dead.
Before his guards could react, the twin had shot two of them dead and the blueshirts opened fire with their modified AKs. The small group of guards were dead in seconds. The blueshirts turned their attention to the rest of the guards and workers. They opened fire. From the treeline, more Cobra troopers, wearing green and brown jungle camouflage, walked to the edge and opened fire into the valley below.
“God almighty,” Brawler swore.
Recondo just remained silent, both men watching the carnage below.
He focused in on the twin, who after killing the guards, was making his way back to the car. The driver of the car rushed over and handed him a radio. Putting it to his ear, Recondo watched him turn and look up at the cliff. Not directly at where Recondo and Brawler were, but close enough.
“We’ve been made,” Recondo said tapping Brawler on the shoulder and getting up just high enough to move back from the edge before he stood up fully, Brawler following. “Time to go.”
The two of them entered the trees near the cliff’s edge, joining the rest of their unit. Pathfinder was leaning against a tree, the three natives, Tucaros, sat on their hunches. All of them reacted to the hurried return of Recondo and Brawler. Gathering all their gear the small group headed deeper into the woods, leaving the sounds of the continuing carnage, screams of the dying, and the repeating gunfire, behind them.
Tomax sat in the car, brushing away the hundreds of annoying insects that infested this place. The sounds of the dying were less now, almost all dead. I wonder if this is what the North American Banana Monopoly had in mind when they hired us, he thought to himself. What a waste. He’d have to hire some new workers to man the fields when they were done. If that stupid foreman had not pushed the issue, they could have done this much easier, and kept the workers, or at least most of them, alive. Finding new help would be a chore. He reached down into the cooler at his feet and pulled out a bottle of very expensive spring water. He took some quick gulps, clearing his parched throat.
Damn jungles, he cursed to himself. He cursed again as he saw Boomslang approaching, the comm officer in tow. Why couldn’t this buffoon had gotten in the way of some stray bullets?
“Tomax,” Boomslang said getting close to the car and eyeing the water bottle. “Report from the searchers,” he said referencing the squad that Tomax had sent to scout out the cliff top.
During the start of the cleansing, one of the Jungle Troopers had spotted an odd reflection at the top of the cliff behind the plantation. Taking a look with some binoculars, the trooper had seen two men spying on the plantation. Tomax had immediately sent a squad up to that location.
“And,” Tomax prompted.
“They didn’t see any sign of the watchers but did find what they thought was an area where others had waited. No more than 6 or so.”
Tomax thought for a minute. Some NABM men watching the movements of their new allies? No, most likely not. Some other party. An unknown. Tomax hated unknown elements.
“Set up a perimeter,” Tomax ordered. “I want watchers on that cliff top. Send trackers into the woods, follow where those men went.”
“Right,” Boomslang said in a tone that indicated he wasn’t being told anything he already didn’t know. “Anything else?”
“No,” Tomax replied. “Driver, take me to the buildings. I want some shade.”
The driver started off and Tomax threw the empty water bottle at the feet of Boomslang.
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