(Author's Note: This takes place in my GI Joe universe. The stories are sometimes based on my scenarios for them, sometimes from the explanations I came up with for the times that certain figures were lost, and some parts from my imagination as I write this.h I came of age for them during the early 90's, so some of my characters may not be the more popular ones from the 80's, and they may be different from your ideas of what the characters should be like. My first three GI Joes were Duke, Zap, and Gung-Ho, so it's only proper for the story to start with them).
CHAPTER ONE: The Return
The year was 1992. For a time, it appeared as if things were better in the world. The Soviet Union had collapsed, the Cold War was over, and Cobra had been all but unheard of for nearly a year. It appeared as if they had finally been shut down. With the end of the Cold War came new budget cuts, and the GI Joe team was disbanded.
Just the moment that they had been waiting for.
(Cobra Island)
"What news is it that you have for me now?" asked the masked man, drapped in blue, with a slight hissing to the 's's
The other man approached. His appearance was bizarre, to say the least. A tall man, he dressed in fine clothing, but wore a metal mask to hide his face.
"Only good things now, Commander," he said, a Scottish lilt to his voice. "One of my agents inside the US government has confirmed what we have suspected. GI Joe is disbanded."
Through the mask's eyeholes, a look of joy could be seen.
"Very good, Destro, this is very good news indeed . . . Begin contacting our operatives. I believe it is time that we let the world know that Cobra is still very much alive."
(Khazakstan)
The night was dark now, it was the small hours of the morning. The missile facility was heavily guarded, and patrolmen walked the night. Silently, unknown the guards, a man fell to the ground behind them. Then another, and another. Slowly, the unsheathed their swords, and before they knew what had hit them, several of theguards were dead. Still, no one knew what was going on.
Into the facility the three men ran, undetected by the guard systems. One of them planted a small explosive charge at the door, and they backed up before it detonated. Before the smoke had a chance to clear, they charged into the building, finding the guards who had been nearby thoroughly confused. They didn't stand a chance.
Along the corridors they raced, until they found the room they had been looking for. Outside it, two guards stood, brandishing their weapons. One of them shouted something in Russian.
The man in white looked at his companions, and one removed two throwing stars from his strap. As the guards prepared to fire on the intruders, the blades of steel caught them in the neck.
And into the room the three men charged.
(Washington, DC)
In a corridor in the Pentagon, three men were lead in silence down a hallway to a briefing room. To the left walked a man of average height and build, with dark hair and a moustache. His hair was longer than it had been the last time the men had met, and he had the look of a man who had been cooped up for too long. To the right walked a shorter man, stocky and bald, with a bushy brown mustache. He walked with the walk of a man who had seen more than he'd wanted to, and looked uncomfortable in the crisp Marine unifrom he was wearing. In the middle of them walked the tallest of the three, over six feet, with blond hair and blue eyes. He had a stoic look to him, not showing anything other than the little his eyes would give away, and that was a bit of curiosity. But to the men standing next to him, they gave away much more. He was curious, yes, but also nervous and very frustrated.
They reached the room that they were being led to, and the door opened to reveal a conference room, with a long table in the middle and a projection screen off to one side. There were no windows, and all the light came from the generic lights overhead.
At the table sat two men. One had brown hair, and wore a brown officer's uniform of the Russian military, and a blue cap with a red star still on it. The other, older, was an American, a general, who rose when the three men stepped into the room.
"Sergeants, its good to see you," he said, with a faint smile on his face. "Take a seat wherever you like. It's just the five of us today."
The blond man stepped up to the general. "General, why -- " he began, but was cut off by the bald man.
"Why is there a Russian in the Pentagon, General?" he asked, in Cajun tones, as softly as he could. The Russian glanced up.
"The times have changed, LaFitte, the times have changed. Cold War's over. They're our allies now," said the general, but the bald man scowled and took his seat next to the other moustached man. "And we'll get to why you're here in good time, Sergeant Hauser. I didn't just call you hear to chat and reminsice about the old times." The blond man moved to his seat, alone from the others, alone with his thoughts.
The Russian, he looked familiar . . . he knew him from before. He had been a lieutenant back then, hadn't he?
His thoughts were interupted by the general.
"Men, I called you here today because of some troubling events that have occured in the last few days. Cobra, as it turns out was not gone --"
"You dumb suits actually thought they were?" shouted the bald man.
"I will ask you to restrain yourself, Sergeant," said the general calmly, before continuing. "We have received information that they broke into a missile facility in Khazakstan and are in the process of removing a wahead to Cobra Island. Unfortunately, they know that we know, and are unwilling to transport it by air, or, for that matter, any other means. From what we can tell, they've holed up in a bunker in Siberia."
The bald man was furious. "And you let him in here? These Ruskies -- "
"These 'Ruskies' are helping us recover the stolen warhead." He gestured to the Russian officer. "This is Colonel Krimov of the Russian army. You will be working with him in this operation. The rest of what you need will be found in the files which you will be presented with upon leaving this room. They are not to be revealed to anyone. Are there any questions?"
The man with the dark hair spoke up, looking happy, actually. "Are you reforming the G--"
"No!" the general said sharply. "It is just you four, and that is it." He looked around. "If there are no more questions, then, you are dismissed." As they stood to leave, he said, "And this meeting did not take place."
CHAPTER ONE: The Return
The year was 1992. For a time, it appeared as if things were better in the world. The Soviet Union had collapsed, the Cold War was over, and Cobra had been all but unheard of for nearly a year. It appeared as if they had finally been shut down. With the end of the Cold War came new budget cuts, and the GI Joe team was disbanded.
Just the moment that they had been waiting for.
(Cobra Island)
"What news is it that you have for me now?" asked the masked man, drapped in blue, with a slight hissing to the 's's
The other man approached. His appearance was bizarre, to say the least. A tall man, he dressed in fine clothing, but wore a metal mask to hide his face.
"Only good things now, Commander," he said, a Scottish lilt to his voice. "One of my agents inside the US government has confirmed what we have suspected. GI Joe is disbanded."
Through the mask's eyeholes, a look of joy could be seen.
"Very good, Destro, this is very good news indeed . . . Begin contacting our operatives. I believe it is time that we let the world know that Cobra is still very much alive."
(Khazakstan)
The night was dark now, it was the small hours of the morning. The missile facility was heavily guarded, and patrolmen walked the night. Silently, unknown the guards, a man fell to the ground behind them. Then another, and another. Slowly, the unsheathed their swords, and before they knew what had hit them, several of theguards were dead. Still, no one knew what was going on.
Into the facility the three men ran, undetected by the guard systems. One of them planted a small explosive charge at the door, and they backed up before it detonated. Before the smoke had a chance to clear, they charged into the building, finding the guards who had been nearby thoroughly confused. They didn't stand a chance.
Along the corridors they raced, until they found the room they had been looking for. Outside it, two guards stood, brandishing their weapons. One of them shouted something in Russian.
The man in white looked at his companions, and one removed two throwing stars from his strap. As the guards prepared to fire on the intruders, the blades of steel caught them in the neck.
And into the room the three men charged.
(Washington, DC)
In a corridor in the Pentagon, three men were lead in silence down a hallway to a briefing room. To the left walked a man of average height and build, with dark hair and a moustache. His hair was longer than it had been the last time the men had met, and he had the look of a man who had been cooped up for too long. To the right walked a shorter man, stocky and bald, with a bushy brown mustache. He walked with the walk of a man who had seen more than he'd wanted to, and looked uncomfortable in the crisp Marine unifrom he was wearing. In the middle of them walked the tallest of the three, over six feet, with blond hair and blue eyes. He had a stoic look to him, not showing anything other than the little his eyes would give away, and that was a bit of curiosity. But to the men standing next to him, they gave away much more. He was curious, yes, but also nervous and very frustrated.
They reached the room that they were being led to, and the door opened to reveal a conference room, with a long table in the middle and a projection screen off to one side. There were no windows, and all the light came from the generic lights overhead.
At the table sat two men. One had brown hair, and wore a brown officer's uniform of the Russian military, and a blue cap with a red star still on it. The other, older, was an American, a general, who rose when the three men stepped into the room.
"Sergeants, its good to see you," he said, with a faint smile on his face. "Take a seat wherever you like. It's just the five of us today."
The blond man stepped up to the general. "General, why -- " he began, but was cut off by the bald man.
"Why is there a Russian in the Pentagon, General?" he asked, in Cajun tones, as softly as he could. The Russian glanced up.
"The times have changed, LaFitte, the times have changed. Cold War's over. They're our allies now," said the general, but the bald man scowled and took his seat next to the other moustached man. "And we'll get to why you're here in good time, Sergeant Hauser. I didn't just call you hear to chat and reminsice about the old times." The blond man moved to his seat, alone from the others, alone with his thoughts.
The Russian, he looked familiar . . . he knew him from before. He had been a lieutenant back then, hadn't he?
His thoughts were interupted by the general.
"Men, I called you here today because of some troubling events that have occured in the last few days. Cobra, as it turns out was not gone --"
"You dumb suits actually thought they were?" shouted the bald man.
"I will ask you to restrain yourself, Sergeant," said the general calmly, before continuing. "We have received information that they broke into a missile facility in Khazakstan and are in the process of removing a wahead to Cobra Island. Unfortunately, they know that we know, and are unwilling to transport it by air, or, for that matter, any other means. From what we can tell, they've holed up in a bunker in Siberia."
The bald man was furious. "And you let him in here? These Ruskies -- "
"These 'Ruskies' are helping us recover the stolen warhead." He gestured to the Russian officer. "This is Colonel Krimov of the Russian army. You will be working with him in this operation. The rest of what you need will be found in the files which you will be presented with upon leaving this room. They are not to be revealed to anyone. Are there any questions?"
The man with the dark hair spoke up, looking happy, actually. "Are you reforming the G--"
"No!" the general said sharply. "It is just you four, and that is it." He looked around. "If there are no more questions, then, you are dismissed." As they stood to leave, he said, "And this meeting did not take place."