*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to
Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I
STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no
intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.
*This is a rough glossary for words and phrases uttered in this chapter:
Gaelic annsachd = beloved
French "J'y crois pas" = I don't believe this "Merde" = Shit
*To those who nominated Warbirds for the Coltons...thank you. Wow^_^
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James McCullen XXIV, Masked Laird of the Scottish Clan Destro, Head of the Military Armament Research Syndicate, and consort to the Baroness Anastasia DeCobray, looked around the underground hanger beneath the ancient Borovian fort...and sighed.
He did not want to be there.
"Destro!"
He turned, instantly attentive to the exquisite beauty standing in the doorway of his private jet. "Destro," she repeated, admonition thick in her voice. "You would leave me to walk down these stairs unattended?" She tossed her long raven tresses over her shoulder and glared at him over her wire-frame glasses. "I THOUGHT I traveled with a gentleman!"
The polished beryllium mask fitted over Destro's face, a creation of family tradition and cutting edge technology, flexed with the muscles of his face in a grimace. He unfurled a courtly hand to her. "Forgive me, my dear Baroness," he said, the Scottish burr of his voice low and deep. "I was lost in thought."
A charmingly petulant expression crossed the Baroness' face as she lightly laid her hand on his. "And what," she demanded, descending the short flight of stairs to stand beside him, "could possibly be so absorbing as to make you forget your manners, darling?"
He brought her hand to his metal encased lips. "I was thinking that this abrupt summons of Cobra Commander's had better truly be important."
"Definitely," she snapped, her accent made all the sharper from her displeasure. "We are not his lackeys, pathetically awaiting the pleasures of his whims," she sniffed.
"I quite agree." He gently pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. "I would much rather be at home..." His eyes hungrily traced the curves of her skin tight black leather suit. "...awaiting the pleasures of your whims, annsachd."
She looked away with surprising demureness. "James," she murmured, a smile softening her face.
He hesitated a beat. "Will you not go home and wait for me, Anastasia," he whispered. "You, at least, should be spared from the madness that is Cobra Commander." He looked deeply, gravely into her eyes. "Alexander is MY son. He is MY responsibility." He stroked her porcelain features. "You do not have to share this burden---"
The Baroness jerked her hand from his and stomped a high-heeled boot hard onto the stony ground. "How many times must we discuss this, darling," she demanded, her voice spiked with pique. "Alexander may not be MY son," she said with a mixture of bitterness and relief, "but you are my love, and the love of the Baroness Anastasia DeCobray is not a trivial force! Since you will not allow me to kill the whelp as he deserves, I must settle for seeing this...'debt of honor' you feel you owe the Commander paid off as quickly as possible." She smoothed one hand over the burnished mask, trailing her fingers over a polished cheek. "I want you all to myself again as soon as possible."
Destro caught her hand and nuzzled her palm. "As do I." He kissed her hand one last time and sighed, lightly warming her skin with his regret. "I suppose we should get this over with then," he said, wrapping her hand around his left biceps. He drew a deep bracing breath. "Perhaps the Commander will spare us his ravings and get straight to the point."
A sardonic smile quirked her lips. "Wistful thinking, darling."
"Yes," he exhaled gloomily. "I know."
He made a curt motion and four Grenadiers instantly bracketed the couple, marching down the corridors with parade smart steps. They swept through the torch-lit stone halls, up winding stairs and yet more halls, guided to their destination by Vipers snapping to attention as they approached.
The aristocratic pair eventually came before a set of thick oak doors, heavily carved with a motif of entwining cobras. Two Vipers standing before the doors straightened and clicked their heels deferentially before grabbing the thick serpentine iron rings that served as door handles.
The Baroness abruptly threw her hand up. "Wait."
The Vipers and the Grenadiers froze.
Destro cocked his head and looked at her curiously. "Anastasia?"
"Shush, darling," she whispered softly. "Listen."
In the silence, the deep voices of men echoed stridently from beyond the doors. Their exact words could not be discerned, but there was no mistaking their tones.
Angry.
Interrogative.
And in the case of one man, terrified.
The Baroness turned to her consort with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "This may be an amusing gathering after all."
A smirk quivered on his metal lips. "Indeed. Let us see, my dear." He motioned to the Vipers, who quickly pulled the doors apart.
In the small windowless room before an unlit fireplace, unaware of the newly arrived couple, two men towered above a cowering man seated in a leather armchair. Equally unaware in a similar armchair was a fourth man who sat directly across from the third, silent and glowering intensely at the poor man.
The third man tugged at his long black mustache and pulled at the high collar of his purple coat. "---t-told you," he stuttered, dabbing the sweat beads from his baldpate with the snowy white linen tablecloth. "I-I don't know anything about your precious Crimson Guards---"
"But, dear Doctor Mindbender, you DO know something," a strikingly handsome man interjected, his voice silky with threat. He threw a deceptively casual arm over the doctor's chair and leaned over him. "Come, come---"
"---don't deny it," another man finished, an exact mirror of the other in face and posture, save for a deep scar running down his right cheek.
Mindbender shrank deeper into his chair. "Xamot," he said in a wheedling tone. He turned to the unscarred twin. "Tomax, truly, I do not know where your Guardsmen are, I don't know what happened to them, I know NOTHING---"
"Tut tut." Tomax placed a finger to Mindbender's white lips. "Let us see how you can know nothing."
Xamot ticked off a finger. "We allowed the Dreadnoks to lease the services of one of our jets and flight crew."
"They make a stop in Scotland---"
"---dropping Zandar off---"
"---whom you claimed to have just operated on before your journey here---"
"---and then said jet and crew---"
"---simply disappeared---"
"---making you our only link to our vastly overdue Guardsmen," Xamot finished with an all-too white smile.
"So where did they go after dropping the dear boy off," Tomax asked, plucking the doctor's monocle from his eye.
"I-I don't know," Mindbender said, reaching up for his eyepiece. "I---"
Tomax tossed the monocle to his brother, who deftly caught it. "Then where WERE they," Xamot asked.
"What were they up to?"
"And where," Xamot asked, tapping the top of Mindbender's head with the glass circle, "are the Crimson Guardsmen assigned to this fort?"
"They did not greet their Commanders, namely my brother and myself, upon our arrival here," Tomax whispered in Mindbender's ear. "Disturbing---"
"---a further inconvenience---"
"---a troublesome mystery---"
Mindbender frantically turned to the fourth man, silent thus far. "Major Bludd---"
Fast as a whip crack, the one eyed mercenary jumped out of his seat and hauled Mindbender up by the lapels. "I've been coolin' me 'eels for an 'our now," Bludd growled, shaking the poor man as he squeaked in terror. "I'm meetin' a big client early tomorrow on a beach in Nice---a TOPLESS beach in Nice!" He jerked the terrified doctor closer until they were virtually nose to nose. "If this is a waste of me time, I wants t'know about it so's I can leave. NOW."
"As do we all," Destro said loudly, boldly striding forward.
Four heads whipped around with an audible snap.
"Destro! Baroness," Mindbender squealed with sharp relief. "THERE, you savages! If you want to know what this is all about, ask THEM!"
The four Grenadiers immediately leveled their rifles, closing defensively around their laird and lady. "By all means," Destro dared with velvet menace. "Ask."
There was a brief, tense moment when the four men barely breathed, much less moved.
Then, with a fluid grace oddly synchronized and faintly sarcastic, the twins sketched mirrored bows, carefully keeping their eyes on Destro's armed guards. "Destro," Tomax acknowledged calmly. "Dear Baroness."
"So good of you to make it," Xamot said easily.
Major Bludd shoved Mindbender back hard into his seat. "'Bout bloody time," he snarled, taking a step forward. "Why th'ell are---"
The loud ratchet of four rifles bolting back in warning stopped him short.
Bludd immediately backpedaled, raising his hands. "Hey! Easy on there, mate," he said placatingly. He jumped a little as he backed into the mantle. "No need t'be so touchy."
"Then watch your tongue, Major, or I will remove it from your head," Destro snapped, assisting the Baroness into Bludd's vacated chair. "We have a lady present."
"Ah. Yes." Bludd cleared his throat loudly and gave the Baroness a perfunctory bow. "So sorry, m'lady."
"Yes. I'm sure," she purred cryptically.
"Er, yes," the Major mumbled, smoothing his hands over his battle armor. "Destro. Now that th'pleasantries are out of th'way---"
The twins smothered a bark of laughter.
"---care t'tell us why th'Commader gathered us 'ere?"
Destro snorted. "I have no idea. That paranoid fool has not deigned confide in us. But..." He turned a thoughtful gaze on the Crimson Twins. "The Baroness and I could not help but overhear the questions you put to our dear Doctor Mindbender...you are missing a jet and flight crew, correct?"
All mirth dropped from the twins' faces. "You have them," they chorused flatly.
"I have the jet, yes," Destro acknowledged gravely.
"And the crew," Tomax prompted.
"Dead," the Baroness stated blandly, tugging her gloves from her hands.
The twins each raised an eyebrow. "That was hardly courteous of you," Xamot said with deceptive mildness.
Destro stiffened. "We were not the ones who killed them."
The Baroness smiled with deceptive tolerance as she explained. "It seems that the auto-pilot had been programmed to land at the Silent Castle. The crew was already dead when we found them."
"If I did not recognize the jet as one of yours, I would have shot it out of the sky. But..." Destro paused with an ironic smile. "...out of courtesy to you both, I refrained."
"Why did you not contact us sooner," Tomax demanded.
"There was a dinner invitation pinned to the pilot," Destro said. "I thought I would wait to ask the two of you about it in person."
The brothers turned to each other wearily. "The personnel roster will have to be reshuffled," Xamot sighed.
"How tiresome," Tomax said with a shake of his head.
"Remind me to never lease---"
"---personnel to the Dreadnoks---"
"---ever again," they both said tightly. Xamot turned to Destro and nodded stiffly. "I believe the Dreadnok's security deposit will be sufficient to recompense you for your troubles."
"Perhaps," Destro mused. "Or perhaps I will simply keep the jet."
"That is hardly equitable," Tomax protested.
"I did give your men proper burials," Destro pointed out.
"That is hardly our concern," Xamot countered.
"Perhaps things like that should be," Destro said testily. "Then your Crimson Guards might actually show up for duty!"
Tomax scowled. "Now see here---"
The Baroness whipped out the riding crop resting at her belt and slammed it against the arm of her chair. "'Security deposits,' 'equitable compensations...' Oh, darlings, such talks of business can surely wait!" She rose gracefully from her seat, flexing the riding crop between her hands. "At the moment, we have more immediate and more interesting concerns." She sidled behind Dr. Mindbender, who had tried to sink as deep into his chair as possible. "Right now," she purred, tapping the tip of her crop playfully over the doctor's sweating bald top, "we should all ask Dr. Mindbender what he knows, since it's now obvious that the Dreadnoks are quite involved in this summons."
"Quite right, my dear." Destro crossed his arms. "Doctor?"
"I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!!" Mindbender threw himself from his chair and scrambled against the fireplace. "Zartan didn't tell me anything! He only paid me to care for his brother---"
"Why," the Baroness pressed, swaying slowly towards him. "What was wrong with dear Zandar?"
"He-he had been shot," Mindbender panted. "In the knee. The procedure was quite---"
She silenced him with a touch of her riding crop to his lips. "What kind of a bullet was it?" She tapped his cheek with the tip of the crop. "Speak up, darling."
"A .45," he told her quickly.
"Full metal jacket?"
He nodded jerkily. "Yes! Yes, yes! It penetrated the kneecap cleanly but shattered the femur as it traveled further up his thigh. It finally lodged itself into the pelvic bone---the extraction was quite difficult, but nothing compared to realigning the bone fragments of the femur for proper healing---"
"What's so bloomin' intrestin' 'bout Zandar's ruddy leg," Bludd grumbled.
"Major," the Baroness chuckled, tapping him under the chin with the tip of her crop. "If you were to divert your attention from increasing your bank account or composing those lovely poems of yours, you would find the contents of Zandar's leg as fascinating as I."
Bludd gently pushed aside the riding crop and leaned towards her with a fixed smile. "My dear, of course as a woman you would feel some compassion- --"
A heavy metal gauntlet clamped down on the back of Bludd's neck and jerked him back, hard.
"Do not speak so condescendingly to the Baroness," Destro hissed in Bludd's very pale face. "Her mind is far more discerning than yours." He threw the Major face first onto the ground and placed a booted foot at the base of his head. "What kind of work does Zandar do?"
"What? Who cares---ACK! SPYSPY," Bludd yelped as Destro's boot grounded against his skull. "'E's a bloomin' spy!"
"Competent?"
"Gahk, YES," Bludd gasped. "A bloody master of disguise!"
"Tell me, my good Major. Who commonly uses .45 FMJ bullets," Destro asked.
"All sorts of---ARGH! Americans?"
"More specific," Destro prompted.
"...military," Bludd hazarded desperately.
"And which division of the American military is astute enough to spot and shoot Zandar in disguise?"
"...I---ACK! GI JOE!"
"Excellent," Destro boomed, removing his boot from the Major. "So you see, gentlemen, dear Baroness, we are here because those idiot Dreadnoks have attracted the attentions of GI Joe!"
"Oh, bravo, Destro," an echoing voice hissed throughout the vaulted room. "The others have been bickering for well over an hour without drawing the right conclusions."
Everyone's eyes darted about, trying to find the source of that all-too- familiar voice. "Cobra Commander," Destro roared. "We did not come here to play these infantile games!"
"This is NOT infantile," the harsh disembodied voice screeched. Then, abruptly, the voice laughed gleefully. "And a game is only in play if no one has won!"
Destro closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
The Commander was in one THOSE moods.
"Cobra Commander," Destro grounded out in a strained, barely patient voice. "Would you PLEASE grace us with your presence?"
"Well...Since you ask so nicely..."
Dr. Mindbender yelped as the mantle he had pressed his back against slowly rose with a thunderous grinding.
"A secret door," the twins mused.
"Always so bloomin' melodramatic," Bludd coughed, massaging his neck and throat.
Once more, Destro offered his arm to the Baroness. "Shall we, my dear?"
"If we must," she sighed, again wrapping her arm about his.
Escorted by the Iron Grenadiers, the aristocratic couple strode into the castle's Great Hall, a windowless room writhing with borders of gilded baroque opulence that hazarded on the grotesque. Destro felt his lip curl back as he sourly noted the ghastly murals, an affectation that Cobra Commander had become fond of over the years. They showed him rallying against oppressive governments, stirring up the masses, personally leading Vipers in battle---corner to corner, wall to wall Cobra Commander, his face and figure splashed over every space allowed on the high vaulted cathedral ceiling and the walls. The dramatic posturing of each of them could easily have been dismissed as a ludicrous parody of high art except...
...except the eyes, eerily life like, seemed to actually LOOK at him. The candlelight and crystal refractions cast by the central chandelier seemed to fill the multiple eyes with the same suspicious, murderous gleam, staring down at them intently, knowingly...
...
"What have I gotten us into," Destro murmured.
"What we have all gotten into," a voice hissed.
At the head of a long banquet ladened with crystal stemware and fine translucent china, a man in a crisp uniform of royal blue with elaborate gold braidings dripping from each shoulder sat in a gilded throne-like chair.
Over his head, he wore a cloth hood of royal blue embroidered with the blood-red head of a hooded cobra on his forehead. Only his eyes were exposed...
...the same suspicious, murderous eyes reflected in the murals.
"What we have all gotten into," the man repeated, raising a hand sheathed in soft black suede. "Power," he hissed, clenching his fist tight.
"Cobra Commander," Destro greeted warily, neutrally.
"My friends!" The Commander rose and spread his arms wide. "Welcome! I am pleased to see that you could join me on this momentous occasion! Be seated. Refreshments shall be served, the last of our guests shall soon arrive, and then...then we shall feast together!"
Destro held onto his gorge by sheer strength of will. "We did not come here to eat with you---"
A streak of white glimpsed from the corner of his eye was all the warning Destro had. He spun---
"DESTRO," the Baroness screamed, yanking her pistol free.
There was a flash of metal and the high ringing sound of steel striking steel ringing three, four, five times in rapid succession.
A carved chunk from the Baroness' pistol arched through the air and landed between Tomax and Xamot's feet.
The twins sprang back into the petrified Mindbender. Major Bludd's hand flew to the butt of his own sidearm.
The Iron Grenadiers sank to their knees and toppled to the floor, their helmeted heads bouncing a short ways before rolling to a stop at the blood- splattered white boots of their killer.
"Bloody 'ell," the one-eyed man whispered.
Crouching before Destro, silent and still as a tightly coiled snake, was Stormshadow...holding the razor edge of his outstretched sword to the pale, pale flesh of the Baroness' throat.
The Scottish laird's fists clenched.
The Baroness inhaled sharply as the blade indented her skin.
"You were saying, Destro," the Commander asked politely.
Brutally forcing the helpless rage from his voice, Destro calmly replied, "I was saying, Cobra Commander, that since you insist, we shall of course dine with you."
The hooded man raised a languid hand and snapped his fingers.
In one smooth motion the ninja lifted the blade from the Baroness, twirled the blood from his naked blade and sheathed it. He stalked past Destro and took his place just behind his master.
"I am pleased," the Commander said silkily. He gestured to the chair to his immediate left. "Sit. All of you, sit!"
Once again, Destro unfurled a courtly hand to the Baroness. Raising her chin and proudly refusing to wipe the blood from her neck, the Baroness holstered the remains of her pistol and took Destro's hand.
Only he knew how much her hand shook.
He gripped her hand tighter in wordless comfort before pulling a seat out for her.
"Ah ah," the Cobra Leader chided Dr. Mindbender and Major Bludd as they reached for chairs. "Not the two seats to my right. They are reserved for the honored few who have pleased me." He swept the table with a gaze of sudden frost. "As you all have not."
The High Command froze, breathless.
"But no matter," the Commander continued cheerfully, reaching for an empty crystal flute. "Tonight, we wipe your collective incompetence from the slate and begin anew! LILIAN," he screeched. "LILIAN! Champagne for our guests!"
The High Command took their seats warily as the empty-eyed girl scuttled into the Great Hall. The Commander snatched the bottle of Dom Perignon from her hands and, with a twist and a crude *POP!* the cork shot off in an eruption of bubbles. He threw his head back and laughed wildly, thrusting the overflowing bottle back into Lilian's hands. "Raise your glasses, my friends," he crowed as the girl poured an indecent amount of the bubbling liquid into the crystal flutes. "For you all have been given an unprecedented chance to prove yourselves truly worthy of being a part of Cobra's New World Order...or," he added, leveling his chilling gaze on Destro, "a chance to be revealed as expendable. Undesirable." The suspicious, murderous eyes narrowed. "Chaff."
Destro felt the Baroness' hand tighten on his knee.
Cobra Commander rose to his feet and lifted his champagne high over his head. Hastily, the rest of the High Command followed suit. "I propose a toast," the Commander said. "A toast first to our friends, Zartan and his family, for their...outstanding initiative in America." He paused, looking intently around the table. Puzzlement etched every face that stared back. "They haven't heard yet! Too delicious," he cackled softly. He raised his voice. "And another toast, to our 'esteemed' enemies, GI Joe!"
Major Bludd's head snapped around. "WHAT?"
"YES! To GI Joe!" Cobra Commander jabbed his crystal higher into the air, reveling in the spill of the golden liquid over his hand. "To Flint! May he never awaken from his coma!"
The High Command immediately roused. Even the Baroness' carefully composed features cracked enough to show interest.
"To Duke," he cried, swiftly clinking his crystal against Destro's. "May the memory of his dearly departed soul rot as his body now rots!"
"Commander," Destro hissed. "What---"
The doors to the Great Hall crashed against the wall.
A smirking Zartan and Zaranna strolled into the Hall followed by the missing squad of Crimson Guards, who gingerly but firmly wrestled into the room a man dressed in the white shirt and drawstring pants of a Cobra prisoner.
The twins inhaled sharply, preparing to blast their prodigal men with their displeasure...until they got a good look at the barefoot prisoner.
His whole garb was made from brushed silk, including the swaths that tightly bound his crooked right arm to his chest and the gag that turned his shouts of outrage into senseless muffled noise. The chains that trailed from the shackle of his left wrist to the chains that bound his ankles together were thick, heavy, and gilded the same pale gold as his hair.
"J'y crois pas," Tomax whispered, the Guardsmen forgotten.
"Merde," Xamot spat.
"My friends," Cobra Commander shouted in harsh, ringing tones. "Raise your glass especially high for our most honored guest tonight! TO HAWK! FORMER GENERAL OF GI JOE! Once called the Tomahawk, now called Benedict Arnold! Welcome MR.Abernathy to our table, my friends, by drinking to his health and the possibilities he brings to our cause! Mr.Abernathy," the Commander called out, unfazed by the deadly rage that burned in Hawk's eyes. "We of Cobra salute you!" He moved his hood aside just enough to raise the champagne flute to his lips and down the sparkling wine in three gulps.
The High Command was too stunned to even move.
"Please, Mr.Abernathy," the Cobra Leader said with malicious pleasure. "Have a seat." He gestured to the heavy, roughly made wooden armchair bolted at the foot of the table.
"Oy," Zaranna snapped to the Guardsmen. "Steer clear of that mess on th'floor! Took a right long time t'gets our guest prettied up and I don't want 'im mussed." Her hard beryl eyes glinted. "Yet."
Zartan's eyebrow rose at the decapitated remains. "Was there a problem, Commander," he asked as the Guardsmen stuffed their struggling burden into the offered chair and lashed him down tight.
"Of course not, Zartan. Tomax. Xamot," the Commander purred. "Was there a problem?"
The twins started out of their shock and quickly glanced at Stormshadow, who fingered the hilt of his sword meaningfully.
"Of course not," Xamot said smoothly, his true feelings only betrayed by the twitching of his scarred cheek.
"No problems at all," Tomax agreed. "Perhaps once the Guardsmen finish making Gen---er, MR.Abernathy comfortable, they should...clean up?"
"An excellent suggestion," Cobra Commander boomed. "The cooks labored especially hard to create this feast. It would be such a pity to ruin it with the smell of spoiled meat. Don't you think so, Mr.Abernathy," he asked, gesturing to Zartan for the gag to be removed from Hawk.
As soon as the silk had been unwrapped from his head, Hawk spat on the tablecloth and growled, "No one's stripped me of my stars yet, you gutless-- -mrph!"
"Now now," the Commander chided as Zartan reapplied the gag to Hawk. "Is that anyway to talk to your host? Your former counter-part? And perhaps," he added slyly, "your future employer?"
Crystal flutes slipped from numb fingers as jaws dropped. Destro's head snapped completely around. "WHAT?!"
Even Zartan's grip on Hawk's gag slipped. Already pale from blood loss and trembling from the exertion of his struggles, Hawk's wide dark eyes seemed to pop from his skull. "Mother and country," he whispered. He pulled his whitened lips back in a sneer. "I knew you were insane---"
"And you are not stupid," the Commander retorted to everyone's surprise. "Think," he pressed, taking advantaged of Hawk's flat-footed silence. "True, no one has stripped you of your stars yet, but how long do you think it'll be before your precious bits of tin are taken from you? And what will you have after they are gone? A country grateful for services past rendered? HA! You have been formally charged with treason and therefore condemned in the fickle public eye! 'Mother and country,' you swear by," he said mockingly. "YOU HAVE NO COUNTRY! It has disowned you in all but letter, Mr.Abernathy, your career destroyed, and your beloved Joes taken from you and placed under the Jugglers' collective thumbs! Despite their saber rattling against all terrorist organizations, the Jugglers undoubtedly are in the process of dismantling GI Joe. No doubt they are redistributing your Joes to eager flunkies as we speak. The Jugglers have always dismissed me as a 'minimal threat.'" He set his crystal flute down with a loud thunk! "But you never did."
The silence between the Commander and Hawk was thick enough to spread on toast.
"Zartan," the Commander finally said. "Free Mr.Abernathy's left arm."
Zartan started. "Is that...wise, Commander---"
"ARE YOU QUESTIONING ME?"
Zartan blinked and merely shrugged. He nodded to his sister, who held a gun to Hawk's head as her brother unwound the gilded chain from Hawk's limb.
"What are you playing at, Commander," Hawk demanded, rotating his freed arm from wrist to shoulder, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"I have a sumptuous feast prepared in your honor," the Commander said innocently. "It would be a pity if you were unable to partake in it."
Hawk glared at the Commander.
The Commander simply waited.
Very slowly, Hawk pulled the folded napkin from the large plate in front of him and, with a practiced side-flick of his wrist, snapped it open under the table and draped it over his lap.
"LILIAN," the Commander screeched in triumph. "Tell the Kitchen-Vipers to bring out the food!"
"Nice etiquette," Zaranna commented with a smirk. "Not an officer no more but still ever the gent'lman?"
Hawk ignored her. "I make no concessions for this," he told the Commander tightly.
"Perhaps not yet," the Commander chuckled. "But by dessert, who knows," he added, eyeing Destro through narrowed eyes. "Perhaps by then, my dear Mr.Abernathy, I and every troop under me will be able to call you 'General Tomahawk' once more!"
As a very angry Zanya came through the servant doors holding a tray of Waldorf Salads, Destro felt the Baroness slip her hand into his and squeezed hard.
She had told him that her love was not a trivial force.
He only prayed it was enough to help them survive past dessert.
*This is a rough glossary for words and phrases uttered in this chapter:
Gaelic annsachd = beloved
French "J'y crois pas" = I don't believe this "Merde" = Shit
*To those who nominated Warbirds for the Coltons...thank you. Wow^_^
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James McCullen XXIV, Masked Laird of the Scottish Clan Destro, Head of the Military Armament Research Syndicate, and consort to the Baroness Anastasia DeCobray, looked around the underground hanger beneath the ancient Borovian fort...and sighed.
He did not want to be there.
"Destro!"
He turned, instantly attentive to the exquisite beauty standing in the doorway of his private jet. "Destro," she repeated, admonition thick in her voice. "You would leave me to walk down these stairs unattended?" She tossed her long raven tresses over her shoulder and glared at him over her wire-frame glasses. "I THOUGHT I traveled with a gentleman!"
The polished beryllium mask fitted over Destro's face, a creation of family tradition and cutting edge technology, flexed with the muscles of his face in a grimace. He unfurled a courtly hand to her. "Forgive me, my dear Baroness," he said, the Scottish burr of his voice low and deep. "I was lost in thought."
A charmingly petulant expression crossed the Baroness' face as she lightly laid her hand on his. "And what," she demanded, descending the short flight of stairs to stand beside him, "could possibly be so absorbing as to make you forget your manners, darling?"
He brought her hand to his metal encased lips. "I was thinking that this abrupt summons of Cobra Commander's had better truly be important."
"Definitely," she snapped, her accent made all the sharper from her displeasure. "We are not his lackeys, pathetically awaiting the pleasures of his whims," she sniffed.
"I quite agree." He gently pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. "I would much rather be at home..." His eyes hungrily traced the curves of her skin tight black leather suit. "...awaiting the pleasures of your whims, annsachd."
She looked away with surprising demureness. "James," she murmured, a smile softening her face.
He hesitated a beat. "Will you not go home and wait for me, Anastasia," he whispered. "You, at least, should be spared from the madness that is Cobra Commander." He looked deeply, gravely into her eyes. "Alexander is MY son. He is MY responsibility." He stroked her porcelain features. "You do not have to share this burden---"
The Baroness jerked her hand from his and stomped a high-heeled boot hard onto the stony ground. "How many times must we discuss this, darling," she demanded, her voice spiked with pique. "Alexander may not be MY son," she said with a mixture of bitterness and relief, "but you are my love, and the love of the Baroness Anastasia DeCobray is not a trivial force! Since you will not allow me to kill the whelp as he deserves, I must settle for seeing this...'debt of honor' you feel you owe the Commander paid off as quickly as possible." She smoothed one hand over the burnished mask, trailing her fingers over a polished cheek. "I want you all to myself again as soon as possible."
Destro caught her hand and nuzzled her palm. "As do I." He kissed her hand one last time and sighed, lightly warming her skin with his regret. "I suppose we should get this over with then," he said, wrapping her hand around his left biceps. He drew a deep bracing breath. "Perhaps the Commander will spare us his ravings and get straight to the point."
A sardonic smile quirked her lips. "Wistful thinking, darling."
"Yes," he exhaled gloomily. "I know."
He made a curt motion and four Grenadiers instantly bracketed the couple, marching down the corridors with parade smart steps. They swept through the torch-lit stone halls, up winding stairs and yet more halls, guided to their destination by Vipers snapping to attention as they approached.
The aristocratic pair eventually came before a set of thick oak doors, heavily carved with a motif of entwining cobras. Two Vipers standing before the doors straightened and clicked their heels deferentially before grabbing the thick serpentine iron rings that served as door handles.
The Baroness abruptly threw her hand up. "Wait."
The Vipers and the Grenadiers froze.
Destro cocked his head and looked at her curiously. "Anastasia?"
"Shush, darling," she whispered softly. "Listen."
In the silence, the deep voices of men echoed stridently from beyond the doors. Their exact words could not be discerned, but there was no mistaking their tones.
Angry.
Interrogative.
And in the case of one man, terrified.
The Baroness turned to her consort with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "This may be an amusing gathering after all."
A smirk quivered on his metal lips. "Indeed. Let us see, my dear." He motioned to the Vipers, who quickly pulled the doors apart.
In the small windowless room before an unlit fireplace, unaware of the newly arrived couple, two men towered above a cowering man seated in a leather armchair. Equally unaware in a similar armchair was a fourth man who sat directly across from the third, silent and glowering intensely at the poor man.
The third man tugged at his long black mustache and pulled at the high collar of his purple coat. "---t-told you," he stuttered, dabbing the sweat beads from his baldpate with the snowy white linen tablecloth. "I-I don't know anything about your precious Crimson Guards---"
"But, dear Doctor Mindbender, you DO know something," a strikingly handsome man interjected, his voice silky with threat. He threw a deceptively casual arm over the doctor's chair and leaned over him. "Come, come---"
"---don't deny it," another man finished, an exact mirror of the other in face and posture, save for a deep scar running down his right cheek.
Mindbender shrank deeper into his chair. "Xamot," he said in a wheedling tone. He turned to the unscarred twin. "Tomax, truly, I do not know where your Guardsmen are, I don't know what happened to them, I know NOTHING---"
"Tut tut." Tomax placed a finger to Mindbender's white lips. "Let us see how you can know nothing."
Xamot ticked off a finger. "We allowed the Dreadnoks to lease the services of one of our jets and flight crew."
"They make a stop in Scotland---"
"---dropping Zandar off---"
"---whom you claimed to have just operated on before your journey here---"
"---and then said jet and crew---"
"---simply disappeared---"
"---making you our only link to our vastly overdue Guardsmen," Xamot finished with an all-too white smile.
"So where did they go after dropping the dear boy off," Tomax asked, plucking the doctor's monocle from his eye.
"I-I don't know," Mindbender said, reaching up for his eyepiece. "I---"
Tomax tossed the monocle to his brother, who deftly caught it. "Then where WERE they," Xamot asked.
"What were they up to?"
"And where," Xamot asked, tapping the top of Mindbender's head with the glass circle, "are the Crimson Guardsmen assigned to this fort?"
"They did not greet their Commanders, namely my brother and myself, upon our arrival here," Tomax whispered in Mindbender's ear. "Disturbing---"
"---a further inconvenience---"
"---a troublesome mystery---"
Mindbender frantically turned to the fourth man, silent thus far. "Major Bludd---"
Fast as a whip crack, the one eyed mercenary jumped out of his seat and hauled Mindbender up by the lapels. "I've been coolin' me 'eels for an 'our now," Bludd growled, shaking the poor man as he squeaked in terror. "I'm meetin' a big client early tomorrow on a beach in Nice---a TOPLESS beach in Nice!" He jerked the terrified doctor closer until they were virtually nose to nose. "If this is a waste of me time, I wants t'know about it so's I can leave. NOW."
"As do we all," Destro said loudly, boldly striding forward.
Four heads whipped around with an audible snap.
"Destro! Baroness," Mindbender squealed with sharp relief. "THERE, you savages! If you want to know what this is all about, ask THEM!"
The four Grenadiers immediately leveled their rifles, closing defensively around their laird and lady. "By all means," Destro dared with velvet menace. "Ask."
There was a brief, tense moment when the four men barely breathed, much less moved.
Then, with a fluid grace oddly synchronized and faintly sarcastic, the twins sketched mirrored bows, carefully keeping their eyes on Destro's armed guards. "Destro," Tomax acknowledged calmly. "Dear Baroness."
"So good of you to make it," Xamot said easily.
Major Bludd shoved Mindbender back hard into his seat. "'Bout bloody time," he snarled, taking a step forward. "Why th'ell are---"
The loud ratchet of four rifles bolting back in warning stopped him short.
Bludd immediately backpedaled, raising his hands. "Hey! Easy on there, mate," he said placatingly. He jumped a little as he backed into the mantle. "No need t'be so touchy."
"Then watch your tongue, Major, or I will remove it from your head," Destro snapped, assisting the Baroness into Bludd's vacated chair. "We have a lady present."
"Ah. Yes." Bludd cleared his throat loudly and gave the Baroness a perfunctory bow. "So sorry, m'lady."
"Yes. I'm sure," she purred cryptically.
"Er, yes," the Major mumbled, smoothing his hands over his battle armor. "Destro. Now that th'pleasantries are out of th'way---"
The twins smothered a bark of laughter.
"---care t'tell us why th'Commader gathered us 'ere?"
Destro snorted. "I have no idea. That paranoid fool has not deigned confide in us. But..." He turned a thoughtful gaze on the Crimson Twins. "The Baroness and I could not help but overhear the questions you put to our dear Doctor Mindbender...you are missing a jet and flight crew, correct?"
All mirth dropped from the twins' faces. "You have them," they chorused flatly.
"I have the jet, yes," Destro acknowledged gravely.
"And the crew," Tomax prompted.
"Dead," the Baroness stated blandly, tugging her gloves from her hands.
The twins each raised an eyebrow. "That was hardly courteous of you," Xamot said with deceptive mildness.
Destro stiffened. "We were not the ones who killed them."
The Baroness smiled with deceptive tolerance as she explained. "It seems that the auto-pilot had been programmed to land at the Silent Castle. The crew was already dead when we found them."
"If I did not recognize the jet as one of yours, I would have shot it out of the sky. But..." Destro paused with an ironic smile. "...out of courtesy to you both, I refrained."
"Why did you not contact us sooner," Tomax demanded.
"There was a dinner invitation pinned to the pilot," Destro said. "I thought I would wait to ask the two of you about it in person."
The brothers turned to each other wearily. "The personnel roster will have to be reshuffled," Xamot sighed.
"How tiresome," Tomax said with a shake of his head.
"Remind me to never lease---"
"---personnel to the Dreadnoks---"
"---ever again," they both said tightly. Xamot turned to Destro and nodded stiffly. "I believe the Dreadnok's security deposit will be sufficient to recompense you for your troubles."
"Perhaps," Destro mused. "Or perhaps I will simply keep the jet."
"That is hardly equitable," Tomax protested.
"I did give your men proper burials," Destro pointed out.
"That is hardly our concern," Xamot countered.
"Perhaps things like that should be," Destro said testily. "Then your Crimson Guards might actually show up for duty!"
Tomax scowled. "Now see here---"
The Baroness whipped out the riding crop resting at her belt and slammed it against the arm of her chair. "'Security deposits,' 'equitable compensations...' Oh, darlings, such talks of business can surely wait!" She rose gracefully from her seat, flexing the riding crop between her hands. "At the moment, we have more immediate and more interesting concerns." She sidled behind Dr. Mindbender, who had tried to sink as deep into his chair as possible. "Right now," she purred, tapping the tip of her crop playfully over the doctor's sweating bald top, "we should all ask Dr. Mindbender what he knows, since it's now obvious that the Dreadnoks are quite involved in this summons."
"Quite right, my dear." Destro crossed his arms. "Doctor?"
"I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!!" Mindbender threw himself from his chair and scrambled against the fireplace. "Zartan didn't tell me anything! He only paid me to care for his brother---"
"Why," the Baroness pressed, swaying slowly towards him. "What was wrong with dear Zandar?"
"He-he had been shot," Mindbender panted. "In the knee. The procedure was quite---"
She silenced him with a touch of her riding crop to his lips. "What kind of a bullet was it?" She tapped his cheek with the tip of the crop. "Speak up, darling."
"A .45," he told her quickly.
"Full metal jacket?"
He nodded jerkily. "Yes! Yes, yes! It penetrated the kneecap cleanly but shattered the femur as it traveled further up his thigh. It finally lodged itself into the pelvic bone---the extraction was quite difficult, but nothing compared to realigning the bone fragments of the femur for proper healing---"
"What's so bloomin' intrestin' 'bout Zandar's ruddy leg," Bludd grumbled.
"Major," the Baroness chuckled, tapping him under the chin with the tip of her crop. "If you were to divert your attention from increasing your bank account or composing those lovely poems of yours, you would find the contents of Zandar's leg as fascinating as I."
Bludd gently pushed aside the riding crop and leaned towards her with a fixed smile. "My dear, of course as a woman you would feel some compassion- --"
A heavy metal gauntlet clamped down on the back of Bludd's neck and jerked him back, hard.
"Do not speak so condescendingly to the Baroness," Destro hissed in Bludd's very pale face. "Her mind is far more discerning than yours." He threw the Major face first onto the ground and placed a booted foot at the base of his head. "What kind of work does Zandar do?"
"What? Who cares---ACK! SPYSPY," Bludd yelped as Destro's boot grounded against his skull. "'E's a bloomin' spy!"
"Competent?"
"Gahk, YES," Bludd gasped. "A bloody master of disguise!"
"Tell me, my good Major. Who commonly uses .45 FMJ bullets," Destro asked.
"All sorts of---ARGH! Americans?"
"More specific," Destro prompted.
"...military," Bludd hazarded desperately.
"And which division of the American military is astute enough to spot and shoot Zandar in disguise?"
"...I---ACK! GI JOE!"
"Excellent," Destro boomed, removing his boot from the Major. "So you see, gentlemen, dear Baroness, we are here because those idiot Dreadnoks have attracted the attentions of GI Joe!"
"Oh, bravo, Destro," an echoing voice hissed throughout the vaulted room. "The others have been bickering for well over an hour without drawing the right conclusions."
Everyone's eyes darted about, trying to find the source of that all-too- familiar voice. "Cobra Commander," Destro roared. "We did not come here to play these infantile games!"
"This is NOT infantile," the harsh disembodied voice screeched. Then, abruptly, the voice laughed gleefully. "And a game is only in play if no one has won!"
Destro closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
The Commander was in one THOSE moods.
"Cobra Commander," Destro grounded out in a strained, barely patient voice. "Would you PLEASE grace us with your presence?"
"Well...Since you ask so nicely..."
Dr. Mindbender yelped as the mantle he had pressed his back against slowly rose with a thunderous grinding.
"A secret door," the twins mused.
"Always so bloomin' melodramatic," Bludd coughed, massaging his neck and throat.
Once more, Destro offered his arm to the Baroness. "Shall we, my dear?"
"If we must," she sighed, again wrapping her arm about his.
Escorted by the Iron Grenadiers, the aristocratic couple strode into the castle's Great Hall, a windowless room writhing with borders of gilded baroque opulence that hazarded on the grotesque. Destro felt his lip curl back as he sourly noted the ghastly murals, an affectation that Cobra Commander had become fond of over the years. They showed him rallying against oppressive governments, stirring up the masses, personally leading Vipers in battle---corner to corner, wall to wall Cobra Commander, his face and figure splashed over every space allowed on the high vaulted cathedral ceiling and the walls. The dramatic posturing of each of them could easily have been dismissed as a ludicrous parody of high art except...
...except the eyes, eerily life like, seemed to actually LOOK at him. The candlelight and crystal refractions cast by the central chandelier seemed to fill the multiple eyes with the same suspicious, murderous gleam, staring down at them intently, knowingly...
...
"What have I gotten us into," Destro murmured.
"What we have all gotten into," a voice hissed.
At the head of a long banquet ladened with crystal stemware and fine translucent china, a man in a crisp uniform of royal blue with elaborate gold braidings dripping from each shoulder sat in a gilded throne-like chair.
Over his head, he wore a cloth hood of royal blue embroidered with the blood-red head of a hooded cobra on his forehead. Only his eyes were exposed...
...the same suspicious, murderous eyes reflected in the murals.
"What we have all gotten into," the man repeated, raising a hand sheathed in soft black suede. "Power," he hissed, clenching his fist tight.
"Cobra Commander," Destro greeted warily, neutrally.
"My friends!" The Commander rose and spread his arms wide. "Welcome! I am pleased to see that you could join me on this momentous occasion! Be seated. Refreshments shall be served, the last of our guests shall soon arrive, and then...then we shall feast together!"
Destro held onto his gorge by sheer strength of will. "We did not come here to eat with you---"
A streak of white glimpsed from the corner of his eye was all the warning Destro had. He spun---
"DESTRO," the Baroness screamed, yanking her pistol free.
There was a flash of metal and the high ringing sound of steel striking steel ringing three, four, five times in rapid succession.
A carved chunk from the Baroness' pistol arched through the air and landed between Tomax and Xamot's feet.
The twins sprang back into the petrified Mindbender. Major Bludd's hand flew to the butt of his own sidearm.
The Iron Grenadiers sank to their knees and toppled to the floor, their helmeted heads bouncing a short ways before rolling to a stop at the blood- splattered white boots of their killer.
"Bloody 'ell," the one-eyed man whispered.
Crouching before Destro, silent and still as a tightly coiled snake, was Stormshadow...holding the razor edge of his outstretched sword to the pale, pale flesh of the Baroness' throat.
The Scottish laird's fists clenched.
The Baroness inhaled sharply as the blade indented her skin.
"You were saying, Destro," the Commander asked politely.
Brutally forcing the helpless rage from his voice, Destro calmly replied, "I was saying, Cobra Commander, that since you insist, we shall of course dine with you."
The hooded man raised a languid hand and snapped his fingers.
In one smooth motion the ninja lifted the blade from the Baroness, twirled the blood from his naked blade and sheathed it. He stalked past Destro and took his place just behind his master.
"I am pleased," the Commander said silkily. He gestured to the chair to his immediate left. "Sit. All of you, sit!"
Once again, Destro unfurled a courtly hand to the Baroness. Raising her chin and proudly refusing to wipe the blood from her neck, the Baroness holstered the remains of her pistol and took Destro's hand.
Only he knew how much her hand shook.
He gripped her hand tighter in wordless comfort before pulling a seat out for her.
"Ah ah," the Cobra Leader chided Dr. Mindbender and Major Bludd as they reached for chairs. "Not the two seats to my right. They are reserved for the honored few who have pleased me." He swept the table with a gaze of sudden frost. "As you all have not."
The High Command froze, breathless.
"But no matter," the Commander continued cheerfully, reaching for an empty crystal flute. "Tonight, we wipe your collective incompetence from the slate and begin anew! LILIAN," he screeched. "LILIAN! Champagne for our guests!"
The High Command took their seats warily as the empty-eyed girl scuttled into the Great Hall. The Commander snatched the bottle of Dom Perignon from her hands and, with a twist and a crude *POP!* the cork shot off in an eruption of bubbles. He threw his head back and laughed wildly, thrusting the overflowing bottle back into Lilian's hands. "Raise your glasses, my friends," he crowed as the girl poured an indecent amount of the bubbling liquid into the crystal flutes. "For you all have been given an unprecedented chance to prove yourselves truly worthy of being a part of Cobra's New World Order...or," he added, leveling his chilling gaze on Destro, "a chance to be revealed as expendable. Undesirable." The suspicious, murderous eyes narrowed. "Chaff."
Destro felt the Baroness' hand tighten on his knee.
Cobra Commander rose to his feet and lifted his champagne high over his head. Hastily, the rest of the High Command followed suit. "I propose a toast," the Commander said. "A toast first to our friends, Zartan and his family, for their...outstanding initiative in America." He paused, looking intently around the table. Puzzlement etched every face that stared back. "They haven't heard yet! Too delicious," he cackled softly. He raised his voice. "And another toast, to our 'esteemed' enemies, GI Joe!"
Major Bludd's head snapped around. "WHAT?"
"YES! To GI Joe!" Cobra Commander jabbed his crystal higher into the air, reveling in the spill of the golden liquid over his hand. "To Flint! May he never awaken from his coma!"
The High Command immediately roused. Even the Baroness' carefully composed features cracked enough to show interest.
"To Duke," he cried, swiftly clinking his crystal against Destro's. "May the memory of his dearly departed soul rot as his body now rots!"
"Commander," Destro hissed. "What---"
The doors to the Great Hall crashed against the wall.
A smirking Zartan and Zaranna strolled into the Hall followed by the missing squad of Crimson Guards, who gingerly but firmly wrestled into the room a man dressed in the white shirt and drawstring pants of a Cobra prisoner.
The twins inhaled sharply, preparing to blast their prodigal men with their displeasure...until they got a good look at the barefoot prisoner.
His whole garb was made from brushed silk, including the swaths that tightly bound his crooked right arm to his chest and the gag that turned his shouts of outrage into senseless muffled noise. The chains that trailed from the shackle of his left wrist to the chains that bound his ankles together were thick, heavy, and gilded the same pale gold as his hair.
"J'y crois pas," Tomax whispered, the Guardsmen forgotten.
"Merde," Xamot spat.
"My friends," Cobra Commander shouted in harsh, ringing tones. "Raise your glass especially high for our most honored guest tonight! TO HAWK! FORMER GENERAL OF GI JOE! Once called the Tomahawk, now called Benedict Arnold! Welcome MR.Abernathy to our table, my friends, by drinking to his health and the possibilities he brings to our cause! Mr.Abernathy," the Commander called out, unfazed by the deadly rage that burned in Hawk's eyes. "We of Cobra salute you!" He moved his hood aside just enough to raise the champagne flute to his lips and down the sparkling wine in three gulps.
The High Command was too stunned to even move.
"Please, Mr.Abernathy," the Cobra Leader said with malicious pleasure. "Have a seat." He gestured to the heavy, roughly made wooden armchair bolted at the foot of the table.
"Oy," Zaranna snapped to the Guardsmen. "Steer clear of that mess on th'floor! Took a right long time t'gets our guest prettied up and I don't want 'im mussed." Her hard beryl eyes glinted. "Yet."
Zartan's eyebrow rose at the decapitated remains. "Was there a problem, Commander," he asked as the Guardsmen stuffed their struggling burden into the offered chair and lashed him down tight.
"Of course not, Zartan. Tomax. Xamot," the Commander purred. "Was there a problem?"
The twins started out of their shock and quickly glanced at Stormshadow, who fingered the hilt of his sword meaningfully.
"Of course not," Xamot said smoothly, his true feelings only betrayed by the twitching of his scarred cheek.
"No problems at all," Tomax agreed. "Perhaps once the Guardsmen finish making Gen---er, MR.Abernathy comfortable, they should...clean up?"
"An excellent suggestion," Cobra Commander boomed. "The cooks labored especially hard to create this feast. It would be such a pity to ruin it with the smell of spoiled meat. Don't you think so, Mr.Abernathy," he asked, gesturing to Zartan for the gag to be removed from Hawk.
As soon as the silk had been unwrapped from his head, Hawk spat on the tablecloth and growled, "No one's stripped me of my stars yet, you gutless-- -mrph!"
"Now now," the Commander chided as Zartan reapplied the gag to Hawk. "Is that anyway to talk to your host? Your former counter-part? And perhaps," he added slyly, "your future employer?"
Crystal flutes slipped from numb fingers as jaws dropped. Destro's head snapped completely around. "WHAT?!"
Even Zartan's grip on Hawk's gag slipped. Already pale from blood loss and trembling from the exertion of his struggles, Hawk's wide dark eyes seemed to pop from his skull. "Mother and country," he whispered. He pulled his whitened lips back in a sneer. "I knew you were insane---"
"And you are not stupid," the Commander retorted to everyone's surprise. "Think," he pressed, taking advantaged of Hawk's flat-footed silence. "True, no one has stripped you of your stars yet, but how long do you think it'll be before your precious bits of tin are taken from you? And what will you have after they are gone? A country grateful for services past rendered? HA! You have been formally charged with treason and therefore condemned in the fickle public eye! 'Mother and country,' you swear by," he said mockingly. "YOU HAVE NO COUNTRY! It has disowned you in all but letter, Mr.Abernathy, your career destroyed, and your beloved Joes taken from you and placed under the Jugglers' collective thumbs! Despite their saber rattling against all terrorist organizations, the Jugglers undoubtedly are in the process of dismantling GI Joe. No doubt they are redistributing your Joes to eager flunkies as we speak. The Jugglers have always dismissed me as a 'minimal threat.'" He set his crystal flute down with a loud thunk! "But you never did."
The silence between the Commander and Hawk was thick enough to spread on toast.
"Zartan," the Commander finally said. "Free Mr.Abernathy's left arm."
Zartan started. "Is that...wise, Commander---"
"ARE YOU QUESTIONING ME?"
Zartan blinked and merely shrugged. He nodded to his sister, who held a gun to Hawk's head as her brother unwound the gilded chain from Hawk's limb.
"What are you playing at, Commander," Hawk demanded, rotating his freed arm from wrist to shoulder, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"I have a sumptuous feast prepared in your honor," the Commander said innocently. "It would be a pity if you were unable to partake in it."
Hawk glared at the Commander.
The Commander simply waited.
Very slowly, Hawk pulled the folded napkin from the large plate in front of him and, with a practiced side-flick of his wrist, snapped it open under the table and draped it over his lap.
"LILIAN," the Commander screeched in triumph. "Tell the Kitchen-Vipers to bring out the food!"
"Nice etiquette," Zaranna commented with a smirk. "Not an officer no more but still ever the gent'lman?"
Hawk ignored her. "I make no concessions for this," he told the Commander tightly.
"Perhaps not yet," the Commander chuckled. "But by dessert, who knows," he added, eyeing Destro through narrowed eyes. "Perhaps by then, my dear Mr.Abernathy, I and every troop under me will be able to call you 'General Tomahawk' once more!"
As a very angry Zanya came through the servant doors holding a tray of Waldorf Salads, Destro felt the Baroness slip her hand into his and squeezed hard.
She had told him that her love was not a trivial force.
He only prayed it was enough to help them survive past dessert.
