Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. of G.I. Joe are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: This story takes place shortly before the events of The Invaders in the Cartoon continuity.

Darkness. Thick, inky darkness. It threatened to overtake everything in its wake. Well… almost everything.

Low-Light flipped the switch on his radio. "Target's in sight, Recondo. You in position?"

"Affirmative," a voice came back.

A short distance to his right, Beach Head came online. "You men prepare to move when I give the signal. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," they answered in unison.

Deep in the heart of the Mexican jungle, mysterious sightings from local authorities had gotten G.I. Joe's attention. Beach Head, Recondo and Low-Light were sent to check them out. All of their investigating led them to an ancient temple near the Rio Brave crawling with snakes of a different kind.

Low-Light focused his night goggles on the large communications disk fixed on top of the temple. A proud smirk creased his features. He had exactly the right weapon to take that sucker out. Lowering his pack, he started digging.

"What the…" he frowned. Frantically he searched again. "Where is it?"

"Alright, Low-Light…" came Beach Head's voice. "Now!"

Immediately he jerked up. "Wait!"

Uh-oh. His fellow Joes weren't the only ones who heard that. Two Crimson Guards turned and started firing in his direction. Fortunately, his teammates returned the gunfire.

Low-Light dodged a shot skimming close to his ankle. "Great… gotta think fast." A smaller pistol at the bottom of his pack caught his eye. 'If I can just make the shot…'

Beach Head loaded another laser cartridge into his firearm. "Now would be a good time, Low-Light!"

"I'm hurrying! I'm hurrying!" Raising the pistol to eye level, he focused on his target.

"Low-Light…"

"Got it!"

Red light shot across the damp sky. Striking one of the guard's weapons, they could only watch as it flew backwards just as he depressed the trigger. A blue laser smashed into the disk above, illuminating the night with the explosion.

Major Bludd slunk out from behind some rigging near the base of the temple. "Cobra, retreat! Now!"

The men didn't hesitate. The Joes chased them with laser fire, watching them escape in their choppers.

Beach Head turned to his men. "Well done, boys. Although you didn't have to wait so long to take that shot, Low-Light."

"It's not my fault!" he growled. "My Black Razor's gone. Besides, I made the shot, didn't I?"

"You sure did!" Recondo winked.

The men moved in to survey the base for anything valuable they could take back to Headquarters. But Low-Light couldn't help wonder what happened to his prized weapon.

"Funny," he said casually. "I know I packed it before we left. And I know I didn't take it out at all the whole time."

Recondo flipped through some communications printouts. Then he bolted upright. "Hey! I just remembered something. Back at the base, I saw a Private checking the gear in the helicopter before we left."

Low-Light looked up at him. "Yeah… I remember him. He was loading supplies with a few other Greenshirts… I wonder…"

The trip back to America was only a few hours. But for a man separated from his beloved firearm, it was pure agony.

Gently the helicopter landed on the tarmac; courtesy of Wild Bill. Low-Light grabbed his duffel bag and headed for the hatch. Sure enough, the Private in question was waiting there; ready to unload the vehicle with the others.

"Alright, Private, what's going on?" snarled Low-Light.

"Excuse me, Sir?" The youth didn't get a chance to answer as the Sergeant's hands gripped him by the collar.

"Don't excuse me, Kid! Why did you take my Black Razor out of my pack?"

"I… I was ordered to…"

"Who gave the order?" he growled, holding the boy up in the air.

"Co… Cor..."

"Low-Light! Put him down!"

The sharpshooter turned; Beach Head's green balaclava looming behind him. Then he looked at the boy again and dropped him to the ground. Frozen in fear, he didn't budge when Low-Light moved close to his face. "Who gave the order?"

Silently he pulled a written order from his pocket. Reading it over, a Corporal E. H. Baxter was scrawled along the bottom. Low-Light looked down at the Private again. "Where's this 'Baxter'?"

At first he didn't say anything; merely pointing towards the stream of offices near the tarmac. "In the main Admin Office, I think!"

Beach Head approached him. "Cool it, Low-Light. Ain't no sense makin' a fool of yourself over a gun." He seemed to ignore him, and the Southerner watched him head off towards the offices.

Several assistants and aides were working in the Administration Office right then. None of them were known for their speed or agility, but they sure jumped to their feet when Low-Light slammed the door open. Quickly he stomped towards the nearest desk – the blonde lieutenant before him shaking like a leaf.

"Alright," he barked. "Where's Corporal Baxter?"

"You bellowed?"

Low-Light turned. She looked like another aide, but had way more decorations on her brown Army jacket. She must have come out of the office door just behind him on his left. Her blondish brown hair was pulled back in a bun, and she had way too much make-up on to be within regulation in his opinion. He would have snickered if he weren't so shocked.

"You're Baxter?" he snapped.

She saluted him. "Bonjour."

"…Huh?"

"Hola; Guten tag; Buon giorno," she continued. "All ways you could have introduced yourself without shouting at these poor ladies." Then she extended her hand and smiled. "The codename's Milady, by the way. What can I do for you, Soldier?"

Low-Light took a step forward. "You gave an order to have my personal property removed from my bag for an important mission."

At first she seemed confused. "Ah, yes. The Black Razor," she remembered.

"I needed that weapon! We would have been fried if I hadn't come up with a way to save us! What gave you the gall to take it without my permission?"

Milady locked her hands on her hips. "The Black Razor is considered an illegal weapon in Mexico; something I'm not sure you were aware of Mr…"

"Low-Light."

"Thank-you. Anyways, my job is to make sure you soldiers get clearance into the countries you flit around to, and to keep an international crisis from starting every time you blow up something you shouldn't." She walked over to a filing cabinet and leaned on it. "If you had been caught with that thing by the Mexican authorities, there would be no way I could get G.I. Joe back in again – even if Cobra was blowing the place apart."

He could hear her talking, but it was all just a bunch of noise. "Are you serious, lady?"

"Mi-lady," she corrected. "Believe me – it's a full time job keeping the peace back here while you fight for it out there. Besides, you obviously got the job done without the Black Razor, and it's been returned to your commanding officer."

"Listen, lady!" he shouted. The sharpshooter was ready to lose it, and he jabbed a finger towards her chest. "I outrank you, and don't think I won't report you for interfering with an important assignment!"

Her eyes narrowed. Silently she stepped forward and stared him down until they were almost nose-to-nose. "Sergeant, you may outrank me out there, but in here, you are in my world. If you have an issue, take it up with your superiors. But I do not want to see you terrorize these officers again. Do you understand?"

He was about to answer when Beach Head walked in. "Low-Light, I thought I told you to lay off! Excuse us, ladies."

At once Beach Head grabbed the blonde soldier by the arm and dragged him out of the office. But not before Low-Light uttered something under his breath.

"Lousy Office Joe…"

Office Joe. It was an expression she hated almost as much as the word Cobra; harmless in itself, but derogatory and cruel.

It was a nasty term someone came up with to describe those who served the Joes off the battlefield. What it implied was that you were not quite good enough to really be a member of G.I. Joe, and you were there just because somebody had to file papers; or mop the floor; or serve food to the ravenous soldiers.

One of the aides in the back with short black hair licked her finger and made a mark in the air with it. "That's one for the Office Joes."

The other women cheered with excitement, but quickly froze when Milady turned their way. Immediately they sat down and continued working – all except one.

"That was some show you put on, Milady," said the red-haired woman. She had about the same number of decorations as she did, and didn't seem intimidated by the other officer.

Milady let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Vixen." Then they walked over to the coffee pot on a nearby desk. "Do you think I was too harsh?"

"Nah." Vixen sucked back some of the coffee she just poured. "It's about time somebody showed that jerk that we actually do something important around here."

Milady poured her own cup but didn't drink it right away. "Still… maybe I could have handled that differently."

"Humph. I wouldn't worry about it," Vixen assured her. "Besides, what's the likelihood you're ever going to see that Low-Life again?"

Outside, the mood was just as tense. At first neither of them said anything. Finally Beach Head broke the silence. "Low-Light, I'm disappointed in you. Where were you raised – in a barn? That ain't no way to talk to those ladies."

"Lay off, Beach Head. Don't you realize what that Office Joe did? She could have gotten us killed!"

The drill sergeant stopped him in his tracks. Low-Light knew him well enough to know he was perturbed. "Maybe, but Milady's a good officer. All of them are. They're here because they're the best at what they do, and we need people like them – whether you like it or not."

Low-Light wouldn't answer. Fortunately, Duke pulled up in a jeep beside them right at the perfect moment.

"Low-Light," he ordered, "General Hawk wants to see you in the Intelligence Room."

"Yes, Sir!" the soldier replied. Beach Head watched him run towards the Intelligence Room – an undeniable eagerness in his gait.

Down in the Intelligence Room, Hawk was studying a giant map screen along the back wall. His fingers traced a mysterious trail along the expanse. He was so focused, he didn't even hear anyone move behind him.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"Aw, Low-Light. Come in." At once the soldier obeyed. "I see you got my orders."

"Yes, General," he saluted. "What's going on?"

Hawk looked down at the clipboard in his hand and approached the desk between them. "I know you just got back from Mexico, but I wanted to ask you something."

"Of course. Anything."

"I need you for a special mission, Low-Light."

Well, that got him excited. He practically forgot the incident at the Admin Office at the sound of that. "Don't worry, General. I'm your man. Just point me at those crazies and I'll…"

"Hold on a minute, Soldier," the commander laughed. "This mission is going to take more than guns and fists. You're going to need an expert communicator with you."

He puffed his chest confidently and put his fists on his hips. "No problem. I'll get Dialtone and we'll get this mission licked in no time."

"I appreciate the offer, Low-Light, but Dialtone's not going on this mission. I've ordered another expert to join us." He pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch. "She should be here any minute."

"…She?"

High heels clicked behind him. "Milady reporting as ordered, General Hawk."

"Aww, great," the sharpshooter muttered, shaking his head in his hand.

Moving beside him, Milady was just as surprised. Hawk raised an eyebrow. "I take it you two know each other?"

They glared at one another. "We've met," the woman finally answered.

"Good," Hawk replied. "I've called you two here because I have a very special mission I need you to work on. You both know who Peter Norvalev is, right?"

"Of course," she asserted. "He's the General Secretary of the Soviet Union."

Low-Light huffed under his breath. "Well, looks like we got a real brain surgeon here."

General Hawk ignored the comment. "Norvalev is trying to make strides towards democracy, but let's just say that not every comrade is too happy about it."

Milady arched an eyebrow of her own. "What kind of comrades are we talking about, General?"

"Mostly weapons dealers. Some of them are former high level Soviet officials, though, and we think they might be working with Cobra." Rummaging through a drawer, he handed her a manila folder. "Cameras on one of our subs caught these images at a port near Kaliningrad. We think these are some of Cobra's connections."

Milady opened the folder and started examining the pictures. Handing them off to Low-Light, she gasped at one near the middle of the pack.

"Is something wrong, Milady?" asked the General.

At once her face shot up. "Sir, I'm afraid I must decline the mission."

Low-Light glanced at her out of the corner of his goggles. "What's the matter? Scared you're going to break a nail?"

"Hardly," she glared at him. Then she turned to their superior. "Sir, I feel there are other Joes much more suited for this mission than I am. Take Lady Jaye for example. She is an expert at espionage."

Hawk stared at her; as firm as ever. "I beg to differ, Milady." The two watched him walk over to the map screen. "The Soviet Union is one area where we Joes don't have the advantage. Any hint of a threat, and the Russians will declare war." He turned and faced them again. "This mission requires the utmost secrecy and care. That's why I chose you two; Low-Light because he's the best sharpshooter we've got, and is our most covert operative; you because you are the closest thing we have to a diplomat, and can get the two of you out of the country in one piece if something goes wrong."

Low-Light could tell she was starting to accept the idea, but she still seemed doubtful. "So what do you say, sister? Are you up for it – or just chicken?"

"That's enough, Low-Light," Hawk warned.

"It's alright, Sir," she added. "If you think we're the best, then I know we're the best. Count me in."

The General smiled. "Glad to hear it." He motioned for them to join him at the electronic map. His finger marked a specific spot. "We'll drop you off along the coast near Kaliningrad. It's the closest we can get you in without starting World War III."

"There's just one problem, Sir."

"Great," Low-Light groaned. "Now what?"

Again she ignored his rudeness. "Though Russian is the main language spoken throughout the country, each region has its own language and people group." Moving to a control panel, Milady entered data into the device. Multiple colors burst forth; the map becoming something like a patchwork quilt. "I don't even know half these languages, let alone Russian."

Hawk smirked. "I already thought of that…"

To be continued…