Disclaimer: G.I. Joe (and Ranma 1/2) do not belong to me. Only in my dreams...
Timeline:
G.I. Joe is around five months before the events in G.I. Joe the Movie. It has been a year and a half ever since the episodes of Arise Serpentor Arise took place.
Ranma ½ is three weeks after Ranma's battle with Saffron.
The year is 1987
Credits: Much thanks to my pre-readers Hpackrat, Kevin, Spornoc, Dragon Dagger, and James for helping a LOT. Without them, finishing this chapter would've been next to impossible.
Thanks a million!
Quick Note: For further information on all the Joe members mentioned here, see the Joe Reference Sheet I've posted along this chapter.
" " conversation
' ' thoughts
Japanese
1,2,... Footnotes and comments
The warrior with short, black hair sat in the middle of his dojo, meditating. Wearing a medium gray gi, he was completely motionless, save for his slow breathing. A simply constructed, yet very serviceable katana lay across his lap. He was alone, cut off from society by the closed doors, and was well used to the fact; he'd done this many times in the past.
Suddenly, in a blur of motion, he grabbed the katana and rolled to his left, barely avoiding a trio of shuriken that thudded into the spot he'd just vacated. He came up on one knee, holding out in his left hand the katana, still in its sheath, before him. Wary and alert from the unexpected attack, he waited for the assassin to reveal himself. He was not disappointed.
The closed entrance to the dojo was smashed inward in a scattering of wood and paper. Displaying an impressive level of stealth, a group of black clad, tight fitting suited, masked men swarmed silently into the dojo. The man saw that they, like him, were armed with katanas. Upon seeing their method of dress and their choice of weapons, the warrior easily came to the one unmistakable conclusion.
Ninjas. Sent by who, he didn't know, but he wasn't going to waste time by trying to find out. The warrior's eyes narrowed and he rose to his feet, preparing himself for the inevitable assault. He raised his right arm, grasped the hilt, and slowly pulled his katana out of its scabbard. Ready to fight, and die if necessary, as a true warrior should, he dropped the scabbard, wrapped his left hand around the hilt, and brought the katana up vertically before his eyes. Calmly regarding the odds against him, he spoke but one word.
"Hajime."
He darted forward, lowering his katana into a slashing position, and attacked, all within a blink of an eye. The ninjas hesitated for a split second, taken completely by surprise that their target, a single man, would be so reckless as to initiate an attack first against a numerically superior foe. They paid for that as three of their number slumped to the ground, never to see another sunrise.
Pausing for a moment, the man altered his stance and charged ahead to attack again. It was then the fight began in earnest. However, the ninjas were prepared this time and met his charge with naked steel. The warrior didn't falter in the slightest, though; his blade was a shining blur as it slashed, cut, and deflected, weaving an impenetrable flashing shield all around him.
The ring of steel on steel, the groans of the dead and the dying, the gasps of the wounded; all these contaminated the atmosphere of just what was seconds ago, a peaceful and quiet dojo.
He killed the first who came within reach, his katana splitting the ninja's skull even as the ninja's own blade lifted to strike. Instinctively sidestepping a thrust from behind, the warrior's blinding speed saved his life three times in a single second, his katana knocking aside the strikes easily. His eyes glowed without mercy, his arms and body tireless, his entire soul the perfect weapon.
His katana darted past a blade that tried to block, and sheathed six inches of its point in a black garbed midsection. As it slid out of the dead ninja, the warrior quickly snatched up the katana which its previously living owner had dropped. Now, with dual blades, he became a virtual whirlwind of edged death. Every limb was always in motion, and every movement was efficient, nothing was wasted at all.
Superior speed, skill, and reflexes all belonged to the man. They kept him alive in countless situations in the past, as they did now. The advantage that his mysterious opponents held was that they were many and their numbers seemed endless. In fact, for every ninja he killed, two more rushed through the door to take their dead brethren's place. But despite that, he knew he could not give up, could not back down, because an assassin group such as this always never took prisoners.
But the one single thing that truly made the difference was that the warrior had fully entered into zanshen, the state of no mind. He had achieved an awareness at the level suggestive of a complete sixth sense; the total involvement in an environment that which zanshen practitioners aimed for. He was fully aware of everything taking place around him. His eyes caught every action, his ears heard every sound, and his feet felt every vibration transmitted to him through the dojo floor. All this information was absorbed and acted upon instantly. His self consciousness was subordinated unto his concentration; his mind moved freely and responded to each attack immediately, bypassing the thought and directly moving on to the action.
He went into a spiraling dance, his katanas whipping all around him, his footwork keeping him free from being boxed in, his acute senses watching his back for any attacks from that direction. Of his weapons, his left hand guided the parries, while the right hand orchestrated the attacks and counterattacks. Then both of them would switch tasks back and forth whenever the situation called for it.
At least eleven bodies lay on the wooden floor, and yet they still came, reinforcements arriving in greater numbers then before. It seemed hopeless, but the warrior still fought on, inwardly vowing to continue on until his last breath of life……..
Somewhere very far from where the battle was taking place, two men watched the events play out on a monitor, both with differing expressions. One of them, taller than his companion, remarked impatiently, "Why is the process taking so long?"
The other one, a bald-headed man wearing eyeglasses, said in an exasperated tone, "Because I am not using the full output of what the machine is capable of." Before his companion could ask the obvious question, he explained further. "I fear that the using the machine at full power has a good chance, possibly ninety percent, of turning him into a mindless vegetable." He smirked knowingly and said, "I know that is one result that you sincerely do not wish to happen."
The taller man just shook his head angrily and muttered, "It's still going too slow. Inform me if there any progress is made." He stomped towards the doorway and exited the room. The bald headed man gave an amused chuckle and continued watching the battle.
"I must say that he possesses extremely strong willpower. At this rate, it might take a week, possibly more, before he succumbs….."
A G.I. Joe/Ranma ½ Crossover
Crossing the Line
By Darksoar
Chapter Two, Part One:
Training Day
It was an hour after midnight in a small, unimportant town in southern Texas.
The sniper was waiting for the rest of his team to get into position. He was a tall burly man, dressed in a dark gray jacket and matching pants, with knee high black boots. An even length of yellow hair ran out from the edges of a black cap, and he wore black rimmed dark red goggles. A one-piece communicative headset fit snugly around his cap.
His code-name for this mission was Dark Sight, and he was in his element. On the rooftop of a ten-story apartment, his sniper rifle on a stand before him, he was kneeling in the darkened shadow of the upraised entryway of the roof access stairs. With his current position, and his own dark clothes, he was practically invisible.
Even for such a late time, the streets were strangely empty, with nary a soul to be seen. It was also almost dead quiet near his position, though he could hear the faint music of Michael Jackson's Thriller playing half a block away. He'd picked this particular building for a simple reason. It provided a good, unobstructed view of the old, abandoned warehouse which he was keeping an eye on and its immediate surroundings.
Also, it stood at a tall enough height to help him avoid being seen from street level.
Having arrived over an hour ago, Dark Sight had situated himself comfortably enough, yet had the good sense not to grow careless while waiting for the predetermined time to check in with Alpha Team. He was too well trained to let his attention drift during the period of non-activity; at the moment, he was slowly sweeping the warehouse. To compensate for the blackness of the night, a night sight adapter was connected to the scope of his sniper rifle. Later that night, perhaps in the next half-hour or so, his superiors had informed him that there was going to be a drug purchase.
The mission of Alpha Team, which consisted of him, GunnyBear, Wildfish, and Weapons Cook, was to raid the warehouse which was the predetermined meeting place. Casualties were allowed and expected, but at all costs they had to at least take the pickup man alive. Extreme caution was, of course, advised.
The night sight adapter worked by amplifying any source of available reflected light, in this case moonlight, and allowed Dark Sight to view his surroundings clearly. At the moment, he was methodically checking every nook and cranny within twenty-five feet of the warehouse large enough to hide a man. So far, he'd counted ten men outside of the building, all bristling with AK-47s and handguns strapped on either hip. Now he had to find out how many were inside, and in able to do that, he had to change scope adapters.
With the ease that was born from many hours of practice, he worked quickly and efficiently in complete darkness, gently disconnecting the night sight and stowing it away in its pouch on his left leg. Then, opening a second pouch right next to it, he carefully slipped out another tube-shaped lens device and fastened it to the scope, twisting until it was firmly tightened and secure. Nodding in satisfaction, the sniper brought his eye to look through the scope again.
What he saw made him smile faintly. It seemed that the walls weren't insulated enough to stop infrared technology from penetrating them and allowing him to see how many drug smugglers were inside. He mentally took note of the number and then double-checked it. After doing reconfirming the number of guards outside, the sniper quickly went over his actions to check and see if he'd missed anything. That was unlikely but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Dark Sight had already gone through the proper preparations of cleaning his rifle and checking his ammo and gear. Using a laser rangefinder to determine the average target range, he used that information to apply the necessary adjustments to the rifle. A few minutes later, he had come to the conclusion that he would need to target at least six inches above the actual target to allow for trajectory drop.
The conditions that night worked in his favor. The illumination provided by the moon was just right; meaning to say that it wasn't bright enough to enable the naked eye to see him, but it was enough for him to see anyone else using the night sight adapter. He was an old hand at this, with about fifteen years of experience, and his exceptional talent had been sharpened by the passage of time and by constant practice.
He was as ready as he would ever be.
Checking the time again, he noted that it was ten minutes before he was scheduled to check in with his three other teammates and supply them with the intel he had gathered. After doing that, he would wait again until they reached their checkpoints and confirm their positions with him. Then it would be simply a matter of patiently waiting for the person responsible for delivering the money to show up.
At the moment, the rest of Alpha Team was behind a car auto shop directly south of Dark Sight's position. The three men stood in a line pressed against the wall. Each carried a black, army standard sized backpack, wore black and dark gray military fatigues, carried a standard M-16 rifle in their hands and had pistols strapped to their waists. In addition, they also wore a headset similar to what the sniper had and a set of night vision glasses hanging around their necks.
"Are you finished yet?" whispered the man in the middle of the line, a tall, burly man with black hair and a mustache. He spoke in a low gravelly voice and was glancing around, his nerves tight..
"Keep your voice down. I'm still calibrating it. You've been asking me that question almost every minute. Even for a block-headed Marine, you're supposed to be more disciplined than this. Now shut up and don't distract me, GunnyBear." The man in the front, a curly red-brown haired man, was concentrating on making some adjustments to a device in his hands. Though shorter and leaner then his both of his teammates, hidden under the fatigues, he, as well as the two other men, possessed a hard muscled body that spoke of rigorous training.
"Sure thing, Wildfish," returned GunnyBear, amused, with the beginnings of a smirk on his weathered face.
The third and last member of their team, a large, bald African American with a mustache, who was also the biggest out of the trio, spoke in a tight, controlled voice that sounded annoyed. He began to feel exasperated; banter such as this between these two was a favorite past time when they were in each other's company, but now it was threatening to increase the difficulty of their mission. "Keep the volume down a bit, you two; we'll be found out if you sound like a zoo." 1
GunnyBear gave him a sarcastic look but heeded the advice. "Roger that, Weapons Cook," he muttered. He frowned in disgust. "'GunnyBear', what the hell. I'm going to kill whoever came up with that damned ridiculous code-name," he grimly promised in a low, ominous sounding tone of voice.
Wildfish didn't offer any comment as he was focused on finishing the proper adjustments on the one piece of military equipment whose value was incalculable on this particular mission; night vision binoculars. Standard military issue, state of the art tech, its function was similar to the night sight adapter that Dark Sight had employed, but it had the advantage of superior range and clarity. It also retained the same function as a normal set of binoculars.
Although Wildfish didn't say anything, years of serving with him allowed GunnyBear to guess with fair enough accuracy what the smaller man was thinking. His teammate probably wanted to say something along the lines of GunnyBear's code-name coincidentally sounding like his favorite TV show. How in the world did Wildfish discover that particular secret of his was something GunnyBear really wanted to find out.
At the same time, long familiarity with the burly Marine allowed Wildfish to suspect that GunnyBear was currently trying to puzzle out exactly how in the world did that particular secret become known to him. He didn't exactly smile, but his lips twitched upward and then resumed as a straight line. Next time, GunnyBear had better make sure he locked his door before drinking beer and watching TV at the same time.
If the guys back at HQ ever found out that GunnyBear enjoyed watching a cartoon which featured talking bears drinking juice and bouncing around on their asses, they'd never allow him to forget it. 2
Silence reigned for the next couple of minutes. During that period of time, Wildfish finally completed the necessary calibrations. Cautiously edging around the corner, he started a slow and precise reconnoiter. Weapons Cook and GunnyBear patiently waited for him and kept alert to any sign of potential trouble.
A few minutes passed by in complete silence, then a voice quietly came to life within all of the three men's headsets. "Alpha Team, this is Dark Sight. Do you read me, over?"
"Dark Sight, this is GunnyBear. I'm reading you. What is your report, over?"
"The Wolves are alive in the Den, I repeat, the Wolves are alive in the Den. Over."
"Roger that, Dark Sight. Acknowledged, the Wolves are alive in the Den. Transmit gathered intel on Wolves, do you copy? Over."
The voice paused for a moment, then said, "Acknowledged. Six on ground with AK-47s; Four on the roof armed with same; infrared detects three more in the building, most probably the top dogs. Over." Still scanning, Wildfish replied, "Dark Sight, Wildfish. I concur with the number outside. I count ten, that is T-E-N, standing guard."
The sniper's voice said, "Wildfish, Dark Sight. Confirmed, ten guards out. Repeating, three hot bodies in."
Wildfish eased back from the corner and quietly conferred with his team and Dark Sight for a few minutes. It was decided that when the pickup man would show up, which was probably in the next half hour, Alpha Team would wait until he would enter the building. Then, on a signal from Dark Sight (after he received confirmation from everyone that they were all set), all of them would open fire simultaneously at preselected targets. Wildfish and Weapons Cook would stage an assault from both sides while Gunny Bear would attack from behind. When all of the guards were down, they would deal with the remainder inside by the strategic application of tear gas.
Of course, all the members of Alpha Team understood that once the first shot was fired, the men in the building would definitely stay inside the warehouse and return fire from the relative shelter inside. Thus, it would fall to GunnyBear to throw in the tear gas as soon as possible. Once that happened, Alpha Team would wait for the gas to take effect and then burst in. It was a mission, and so they would accomplish it. Each member was well equipped, extensively trained, and confident in their skills and experience. It would help that they would have the advantage of surprise and would be able to fire the first shots.
And now, three minutes before they started moving out, they took this opportunity to exchange a few whispered words.
Shifting his grip on the standard M-16 he was holding, GunnyBear gave it a disdainful look. "Wish I had my M203 40mm grenade launcher attached to this piece of junk," he muttered.
Weapons Cook agreed with him. He shook his head, showing disapproval of his own inadequate weapon. "I hear ya, loud and clear. This li'l heap won't kill no deer. My mah-deuce is big and strong; this little stick is just plain wrong."
Wildfish spared a glance at them, shaking his head almost pityingly. "You two are pathetic. You depend too much on a single armament, and such over specializing is never a good idea. I, on the other hand, am extremely proficient with a wide variety of weapons." The way the last sentence was said indicated that it wasn't a boast; he was just stating a fact.
GunnyBear shot him one of his most sarcastic glares and briefly contemplated slugging Wildfish in the ribs while he wasn't looking. A second later, he reconsidered and shrugged off the temptation. He settled for snorting gently in reply and whispering, "Extremely proficient my ass. It's too bad that you don't share a bonding love like Weapons Cook and I do."
Wildfish caught the perturbed, bothered look on the African American's face and choked back the impulse to roar in laughter. He smirked. "Oh, I didn't know the two of you were... close like THAT."
Weapons Cook butted in, speaking with a slightly annoyed, though controlled tone of voice. "Shuddup, don't go actin' like some fool. Or else I'm gonna be losing my cool."
GunnyBear looked confused for a moment then reviewed back on his earlier sentence. His eyes widened in sudden dismay and he suppressed an urge to slap his forehead in self-disgust. A burst of anger sprung up and ignited his temper; however he was forced it down somehow, knowing that the mission came first. Perhaps he would get a chance to get some payback later...
Shrugging his shoulders and ignoring Wildfish's smirk, he glanced down at his watch. At seeing the current time, his entire demeanor instantly transformed, becoming serious and professional in a split second. Turning towards his teammates, GunnyBear made a zipping gesture across his lips and raised the night vision goggles to put them on. Both of his teammates immediately understood and followed suit. The burly man made a fist and swung it in a small circle above his head. Alpha Team, sans sniper, broke away from the auto shop and spread out in three different directions, heading towards their respective checkpoints.
Fifteen minutes later:
Like a statue, Dark Sight was motionless. The only sign of life at all from him was his steady, slow breathing. From his spot he was continuously sweeping the warehouse, making sure that no additional guards arrived or any other surprises made themselves known. Despite all that time waiting, he possessed almost inhuman patience and discipline, as was required for a sniper.
A voice crackled gently into his ear. "Wildfish at checkpoint."
Dark Sight replied, "Acknowledged. Select target and follow."
"Roger that." A pause, then, "Acquired Target Number 1, right side of door."
"Acknowledged."
Only a few seconds passed and then a low voice reported in. "Weapons Cook at checkpoint."
Alpha Team's sniper grinned faintly. He suspected that Weapons Cook had to fight the urge to report in using a rhyme. "Acknowledged. Select target and follow."
"Acquired Target Number 2, left side of door."
The sniper thought to himself, 'That's good. We have to take down the ones closest to the door so the others won't be in a rush to dash inside for cover. There's a decent chance that they will spread out and make easier targets. In any case, that makes three targets accounted for, including mine on the rooftop. In order to ensure that the rest of the team, I have to be at my fastest and knock those three down so they won't be able to provide cover from higher ground.'
A minute passed, then two, yet there was no communications from the last remaining Alpha Team member. But the sniper had expected that; it made sense that it would take GunnyBear more time and caution to circle around towards the rear of the warehouse. As he patiently waited, his ears caught the sound of a car nearby. He looked down and to the right, keeping his gaze on the road expectantly. Sure enough, a blue car drove past the apartment, heading straight towards the warehouse. It stopped about fifteen feet from the entrance and the engine was killed. The door on the driver's side opened and a man wearing a suit got out, carrying a briefcase.
Dark Sight would've bet his life on the odds of that being the deliveryman.
Two of the guards went to meet him. After sharing a few words, one of them escorted the new arrival inside the warehouse while the other one resumed his post.
'The stage is set, the players are ready. He'd better report in soon...'
GunnyBear was fiercely tempted to curse out loud. He had to settle for doing it silently though. 'Damn those two good for nothing asses for doing such a sloppy reconnaissance. I'm gonna knock their blocks off when I get the chance!' Trust them to give him the hard part. Completing the mission took priority over everything else however, so he was forced to shelve his anger and focus on the task at hand. At the moment, he was in an alleyway directly north of the warehouse, hiding behind a garbage bin between two buildings. It had taken him a considerable amount of time and stealth to get there. About twenty feet in front of him was the rear of the warehouse and his objective. There was only a slight problem though.
There were three more guards posted there, and they were all spread out. It was highly unlikely, even with his skill and training, he would be able to get them all before they raised an alarm or returned fire and killed him, either of which was most definitely not an option. GunnyBear clenched his teeth angrily and crouched down against the wall, trying to think of what to do. He was aware that he had to do something soon; the pickup would soon arrive and he had to be in position when it did.
His brow furrowed in thought; it would make his job much more easier if he could use the full automatic firing mode. But as tempting as that idea was, he discarded it as foolhardy. In order to do that, he would have to take off the silencer. He would be able to take out all three before they could alert the others, but then again, the sound of his rifle firing would serve as a most effective alarm. And as it stood, he and his teammates were outnumbered, so they needed to grab every possible advantage, which meant whatever plan he thought of, stealth had to be considered as a primary factor. Unfortunately, it was a hindrance in regards to his current predicament; with single shot, at best he could get one before the others got under cover, raised the alarm, and began to try and pinpoint his location, which wouldn't be that difficult and also wouldn't take that long. When that happened, he would be screwed because they would return fire, keeping him pinned down, and eventually get him sooner or later.
No, it was obvious that a better plan was needed. He had to do something to distract them, or to make them bunch up together in a group, but what could he do?
At that moment luck decided to smile upon him.
GunnyBear suddenly heard a sound of movement. He stifled the reflexive urge to poke gun out from behind his cover and fire away. Cool logic washed over him and he then realized that whatever it had been, the sound was not that of a foot scuffling against pavement or anything like that. He immediately relaxed after a moment's consideration. It wasn't any of the henchmen walking in his direction, he realized, but rather some sort of small creature, most likely a stray cat searching for food in the trash bin. Nothing to be worried about, in any case. The Alpha Team member let out a slow breath as relief crashed down upon him, he hadn't realized how tensed up he was. Then his eyes widened as an idea dawned upon him. He went over it and decided that, lacking any other feasible options, he might as well give it a shot.
The henchmen patrolling the area were startled by a sound coming from the alleyway directly in front of them. They immediately responded; one flicked on his flashlight, trained it on the area, and motioned for the other two to check it out, who wordlessly agreed. They raised their AK-47s and started advancing carefully. All of them were on the edge, and were more than a little trigger-happy. Then came another noise, similar to the first, and as they got closer, it sounded like something or someone bumping against made out of metal. That made their anxiety leap to roof-level and they just barely refrained from pulling the trigger.
The flashlight holder frowned in confusion as he played the beam all over the alleyway, he could see nothing at all. In fact, the only place that he hadn't checked was... It seemed that his fellow guards had the same idea as he did. They instantly focused their attention at the one possible hiding place available in such a tight and narrow space.
Behind the trash bin.
However, before they could take a step forward, there came a lazy meowing sound. All three of the men looked at each other in a dumbfounded manner, blinked once in eerie synchronization, and looked back at the area near the trashbin. With perfect timing, out into range of the flashlight's beam walked a black and white, scrawny cat. Apparently unafraid of the light nor of the nearby presence of three hulking humans, it looked up at them once, meowed again, and leisurely padded past them out of the alley.
Said three hulking humans stood there for two seconds and then started chuckling. Ribbing each other about being freaked out by nothing, they turned around and began walking back to their stations. Feeling more relaxed, they let themselves grow a tad bit more careless than they should had.
BIG mistake on their part.
Back on the rooftop, Dark Sight was thinking to check with GunnyBear. It had already been almost a minute and a half since the deliveryman had arrived; it wouldn't be long before he took his leave. Once that happened, the mission would then be officially considered a failure, something that wouldn't be approved by the higher-ups in charge. He decided to wait for thirty seconds more then he would contact the Marine.
However, it turned out to be unnecessary. A few moments later, the sniper heard the familiar gravelly voice break into his headset. "GunnyBear at checkpoint; pardon the delay. Encountered some trouble back here, but nothing I couldn't handle."
Dark Sight replied, "Acknowledged. Select target and follow."
"Acquired Target three, near the car."
"Acknowledged." And then, "All right, track your designated targets and await my command to fire." He had to give credit to GunnyBear; he was disciplined to refrain from accusing and blaming him and Wildfish on the airwaves for not doing a 'better job' on reconnaissance. That in itself gave Dark Sight credible suspicion that his teammate would rant and rave about it later in private. He'd have to deal with that later, and knowing the propensity of GunnyBear's temper, he was afraid that the Marine might soon be causing a headache in the not so far future. But enough of that, now he had to focus on the present situation.
After receiving three affirmatives, Dark Sight nodded to himself in satisfaction; the mission could properly be
gin. A faint smile of what might have been eager anticipation showed itself briefly, and then he seemed to switch his entire body language, becoming cold and hardened, ready for business. "Show time," he muttered into the headset, looking through the eyepiece; he swung slightly to the left, tracking his first target, squeezed the trigger--.
The raid itself was short, quick, and completely one-sided.
The first four guards, one on the roof and three below, were downed roughly at the same time. In the single second that it took for the others to fully realize that they were under sudden attack, another roof guard had succumbed to the precise and quick shooting of Dark Sight. As the rest threw themselves flat on the ground and frantically rolled towards what little cover was available, Alpha Team shifted their positions to gain better angles on new targets.
The surviving drug henchmen managed to inform their bosses inside the warehouse that they were being ambushed. Due to the fact that Alpha Team were using silencers, night vision, and had the advantage of firing the first shots, any of the guards who either tried to run to get behind the neighboring buildings for cover or get inside the warehouse joined were easily picked off. Even though the guards on the roof threw themselves flat, Dark Sight had them in his sights before they could get behind any sort of cover.
One henchman managed to make it to the side of the warehouse. With his concentration on weaving erratically to the right and left during his run in an attempt to avoid getting shot, he never noticed GunnyBear until it was too late. He clutched at his chest and fell on his back, joining the demise of three other henchmen who were near a particular alleyway. Grinning and bending under window height to avoid being shot by the drug smugglers inside, the burly Marine carefully made his way to the front and staged a successful sneak attack on two guards who were hiding behind the deliveryman's car. Ignoring their angry glares as they slid to the ground, he shrugged nonchalantly and looked around for any survivors.
A quick check revealed that they'd gotten all of them. Wildfish and Weapons Cook had cautiously emerged from wherever they'd hiding, taking cover behind the car. With handsignals and gestures, they conferred with their teammate, who was in a crouch against the left side of the warehouse. They knew without a doubt that the leaders of this bunch were ready to shoot anyone who tried to enter. Thus, the idea of kicking down the door and bursting in with guns blazing was immediately discarded on the grounds of being 'tactically unsound'. Attempting to shoot at them through the windows was crossed out as well; they'd be closely watched as well, accompanied by itchy trigger fingers. However there was a much easier way to accomplish the mission.
While the other two men covered him, GunnyBear crouch-walked to the nearest window, which happened to be right behind him. Working rapidly, he laid his M-16 on the ground beside him, swept off his backpack, placed it down, and opened it up. He reached inside with both hands and brought out a pair of knock out gas grenades. Without hesitating, he proceeded to throw them, one at a time and as hard as he could, at the window. As soon as second grenade smashed through the glass, GunnyBear was already digging into his backpack for two more. Once those made the flight into the building and he was already supplying his hands with a third set, an authoritative voice called out from inside, "Okay, that's enough! We surrender!"
Grinning smugly, he grabbed his equipment and stood up. He repeated the message for the rest of Alpha Team's sake then headed towards the warehouse front. Giving a thumbs up to Weapons Cook and Wildfish, he went and opened the door, standing back for a brief moment to allow the gas to vent out. When he judged the visibility inside was good enough to see by, the Marine promptly walked in, not affected by the remaining gas at all.
Four figures, all of who were fully conscious and apparently suffering no ill effects from the gas, stood at the back of the building holding various types of guns. GunnyBear casually threw a mock salute towards the man who had ordered the surrender, smirking victoriously.
"Sorry Flint, you lose."
Dressed in black slacks, gray polo, and missing his favorite beret, Flint smiled ruefully. "I guess I do," he admitted, "Nicely played, GunnyBear, or should I say, Leatherneck?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a radio, flicking it on. "All personnel, Flint here. Simulation Smuggler-Raid is at an end. Drill finished."
Sighs of complaints arose everywhere as the 'dead' drug henchmen got up from where they had been 'killed'. They'd been wearing T-shirts that were splattered with red paint circles where they'd been shot by Alpha Team. All the rifles and handguns of the participants had been modified to shoot paint; so when a person was 'shot', except for a temporary sting, it didn't hurt. The sting was to inform whomever it was that they'd been shot, and so had to act accordingly, e.g. falling down 'dead'.
Some of them turned to Roadblock and Wetsuit AKA Weapons Cook and Wildfish respectively, complimenting them on a raid very well executed. Dusty, Iceberg, and Airborne had been the rear guards who had been distracted and then shot from behind by Leatherneck. Wild Bill, Blow Torch, Clutch, and Frost Bite had posed as the guards on the roof while Lift Ticket, Sci-Fi, Crank-Case, Barbecue, Recondo, and Rip Cord played the guards in front.
Back inside the warehouse, a red-bearded man (who played as one of the four men) with a northern accent turned Leatherneck. "Hey GunnyBear, couldn't you have watched where you were throwing those canisters? You nearly hit me on the head with them!"
The recipient of that question glared in reply. "Hey, you're lucky that the 'tear gas' is only ordorless and harmless gas. Now that the drill's over Snow Job, quit calling me that 'GunnyBear' crap. It's Leatherneck, now and forever. When I find out who came up with that ridiculous codename, I'm gonna have a few words with him."
"Even if it's General Hawk or Duke?" teased Airtight, the Joe's resident C.B.R. 3 specialist, who had played as the deliveryman. Leatherneck turned his glare on him, which turned out to be so menacing that Airtight gulped and took a step back. "Hey, take it easy old-timer, we wouldn't want you to suffer from a heart attack due to poor anger management, now wouldn't we?"
In a flash of motion, Leatherneck grabbed the smaller man by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, shaking him like a rag doll. "Have some respect for your elders, you punk!" he roared. Snow Job and Zap, an anti-tank weaponry specialist who also played as a third drug leader, reacted quickly and grabbed onto the arms of the hot-tempered Marine and tried to pull the two of them apart. Not an easy feat considering Leatherneck was built like a bull and possessed more strength than either of them.
"What did you call me, you pipsqueaking two-bit joker! Say that again, I dare you!" 4
"Sergeant Metzger, cease and desist! That's an order, mister!" When his words produced no immediate results, Flint felt a minor headache coming into existence. Being familiar with Leatherneck's bullheaded relentlessness, he knew that it would be a while until he calmed down.
At that moment, a distraction of sorts arrived; Low Light (Dark Sight) and Wetsuit walked in to see what was happening. Upon seeing Leatherneck's actions, the sniper just grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, choosing to be an observer. Wetsuit just shook his head in mock dismay; out of all the Joes, he was probably the most familiar with his friend's temper. He stepped forward to give the others a hand in restraining the enraged Marine.
Leatherneck caught a glimpse of the Navy Seal approaching. Turning his head fully in Wet Suit's direction, he saw Low Light as well. He suddenly remembered the trouble he had encountered because of the sloppy recon (in his opinion) done by those two and his anger suddenly found a more viable target. Releasing his grasp on a relieved Airtight, he growled at Wet Suit. Now was a perfect time for some payback!
Wet Suit recognized the look in his eyes and had one second to murmur "Ah crap," before Leatherneck broke free of Snow Job and Zap with a sudden burst of strength and charged right at him. The sounds of a struggle followed very soon after that and it got the attention of some of the other Joes standing outside the warehouse. Upon entering, they saw the two men rolling over and over the floor, grappling and wrestling with each other.
Airtight said to no one in particular, "With a temper like that, it's no surprise how he ever became a drill sergeant." Everyone within earshot of that comment nodded in agreement. Needless to say, it took a while to separate the two combatants and in the process, Flint's headache took the opportunity to grow a little more intense.
G.I. Joe Headquarters "The Pit"
Main Gymnasium,
The next day
9:00 am:
Any other day, the court would be filled with a bunch of Joes engaged in a rousing game of basketball. Today was an exception; in accordance with the new training regime designed by the combined efforts of Sgt. Slaughter, Flint, and Beach Head as per Hawk's orders, multiple intensive sessions of hand to hand combat were being held simultaneously. The general himself was observing onsite with Beach Head.
"How are the hand to hand combat sessions been going?" Hawk winced in sympathy as he saw Snake Eyes, who was in charge of said combat sessions, use a judo move to throw a hapless TripWire over his shoulder and down onto the thankfully cushioned mattress.
Beach Head flipped through the various progress reports and began speaking. "Snake and Slaughter have pretty much gott'n dis part of training under wraps, Gen'ral. Not a bad start, considerin' it's only been a week ever since ya gave Flint 'd order ta revise our trainin' program. He's managed ta drag Stalkuh, Quick Kick, and that cold guhtt'd fish Torpaydo into it as supervisors. Ah'll bet that once Skahlett gets back from her leave, they'll put her ta work as soon as poss'ble. Those of 'd men who ahn't out on those trainin' misshans are here doin' their level best ta beat each uther down. Based on these," tapping his finger on the progress reports, "They're performin' at ah decent 'nuff level." He paused, then said, "Word from Flint just came in this mornin'. He's got Luthuhneck helpin' him settin' up sev'ral war games and specific situation sim'lations for his group ta run. Seems that they've just finished 'd first one just last night and he reports that based on 'd results, they'll be focusin' on increasin' d' efficiency of doing recon and teamwork." 5
"I see. Send a message reminding to give those men an intense workout, and then some. Push them to their limits," Hawk said, looking around him and studying how the separate sessions were going. Beach Head waited patiently, knowing that the he wasn't finished talking yet. The Ranger occupied his time by following the general's lead and also began watching the various Joes as they trained.
Finally, the general said, "By the way, regarding Scarlett, any news from her?" The Joe in question was on leave for a month. She was in Japan, looking up some of her old senseis and also wanted to expand her knowledge of the martial arts. It had been two weeks ever since she'd left, but Hawk wanted to keep tabs on his Joes, on leave or not. With Cobra still at large out there somewhere, a hostage situation wasn't completely out of the question.
Beach Head replied, "Dial Town informed me dat yestheday Ms. O' Hana called up an' left a fax for her fav'rit' Joe, Snake. She told Dial Town she wuz jus' bein' a reg'lur tourist and also said ta inform ev'ryone dat she'd bring back pi'churs." At that, Hawk smiled and returned to watching the training sessions.
In the far corner, Gung Ho and Bazooka were wrestling, each trying to pin the other to the ground. Alpine, who was a good friend of Bazooka, was alternating between shouting encouragement and dreading the moment when it was to be his turn.
Next to them in a miniature boxing ring, Rock 'n Roll and Footloose were wearing protective gloves and were shuffling in circles, throwing jabs and straights, trying to knock each other down. All though both had similar training, Rock 'n Roll had more experience, was also bigger, stronger and soon had the younger man on the ropes.
Quick Kick was in the process of teaching Slip Stream the basics of Karate. Only the incredibly fast reflexes of the Air Force lieutenant enabled him to dodge and block most of the attacks. Although Quick Kick was going easy on him, Beach Head witnessed Slip Stream misjudge his opponent's recovery speed and receive a roundhouse kick to the chest for his troubles. He shook his head and continued on with the inspection.
On a practice matt in the center of the room, a cursing and in the process of being totally humiliated Shipwreck was currently being tossed around like a ragdoll. His cockiness and self-confidence were the only things that he could blame for placing him in such a situation. How could he've known that Lady Jaye turned out to proficient in Judo? If he had known, he definitely would've snuck away to train with someone else. Now the sailor regretted it because he knew that by the next morning, he would have bruises in places he had no idea he had. The Joe's head honcho and the Ranger were hard pressed not to laugh at the spectacle.
On a similar note, the H.A.V.O.C. 6 driver Robert M. Blais, otherwise known as Cross Country, was doing his best in trying to pit his unarmed fighting skill against the unmovable mountain known as Sgt. Slaughter. As far as Cross Country was concerned, it was completely a waste of time because at the moment, the Joe's biggest, strongest drill instructor had his head under a massive armpit in a secure hold and was shouting questions along the lines of what was he going to do now and he was going to 'die' in the next minute unless he got free. Blais was now yelling that he had enough and that the sergeant could let him go now. Of course he was ignored and Slaughter was maniacally laughing his ass off.
Hawk managed not to smile at the sight; it seemed that Slaughter was in a good mood today. He turned to Beach Head, who was jotting down something in his notes, and said, "Wayne," using his real name, "I'll be in my office going over those reports which you've already compiled. Continue on with your observations."
Beach Head saluted and handed his commanding officer the finished progress reports. "Ya got it, Gen'ral."
"Carry on." Hawk nodded back and walked off, heading to wards the exit, steadfastly ignoring the various volumes of pain being emitted around him. He exited the gymnasium and started heading to his office. About halfway there however, a sudden thought caused him to change his destination. The inspection of the training program was finished; he could now check up on other part of the operation that he'd placed Duke in charge of.
After walking one flight of stairs up, he came to a room which had a sign labeled, "Communications". Opening the door, he stepped in and was greeted by the sight of technicians busily working at various computer consoles and radio and telecommunications equipment. One or two happened to look in his direction, saluted him briefly, and went right back to work. The others were too absorbed in what they were doing to notice that General Hawk was in the room.
A satisfied smile appeared on his weathered face; their reaction (or lack of it) didn't bother him at all; it just more proof that they were very dedicated to their jobs and weren't slacking off. He preferred it that way. They got a lot more work done by focusing on it and by not having to stand up, salute, and wait for him to give them the command 'As you were'. Proper military etiquette was nice and all, but Clayton Abernathy was a battlefield commander, and was at his best leading his men into combat by being at the front. In his opinion, efficiency and dedication counted for more than practicing proper military etiquette.
Mainframe caught sight of him and called out, "General Hawk, I've got something that you might be interested in." The G.I. Joe top commander headed on over to the senior computer specialist's station. "Okay, show me what you got." He looked around and only saw a busy Breaker, but no Dial Tone.
Seeing where Hawk was looking, Mainframe replied, "Oh, he went to get something to eat at the cafeteria." He directed Hawk's attention to his console. "Check this out, General," he said, his fingers flying swiftly over the cumbersome keyboard while he explained. His computer monitor began displaying lists of names, all in green, changing as he typed.
"Due to Cobra's habit of using undercover agents to do a good portion of their dirty work, I created a program and implemented all the possible names that their agents have used in the past, or at least the ones we found out, along with their height, weight, hair color, eye color, blood type, etc..., all of which could be disguised or falsified, but it's a starting point, at least. I know the odds of Cobra agents using the same identity more than once is pretty nil; but I figure it couldn't hurt. The basic premise of the program was to check against the passenger listing of any airliner, cruiseship, or any other sort of travelling that requires a ticket all around the world. Of course, I had to input several Priority One NATO codes so the program could access them automatically ..." he trailed off, pressing the TAB key, and using the numeric keypad to navigate through a series of menus and submenus.
"Anyways, here we are. I made the program so it would loop infinitely, meaning that it automatically checks those listings every thirty minutes and updates them if necessary. I've even made it so it'll alert me when it finds something; that way I won't have to bother with it. I figure that it's a long shot," he shrugged, "but who knows? We might get lucky. My boys have been doing their best; Breaker, Dial Tone, and their boys been trying to pick up the radio frequencies that we found out in the past are commonly used by Cobra. I've also requested Slip Stream, due to his hacking of computers back in his high school years, to give me a hand whenever he's not too badly bruised up by Quick Kick." He smirked at that, then continued, "Despite all that, it's like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of an ocean, but much harder, because those danged snakes are purposely lying low somewhere. But we'll be doing our best to smoke 'em out, you can bet on that sir."
Hawk nodded approvingly at his positive attitude. Like Mainframe said, it was a long shot, but better safe than sorry. He patted him on the shoulder and said, "Good job, Blaine. Keep at it, and tell Dial Tone the same. Let Duke and me know when you come up with something you think is worth paying attention to. Carry on."
International Airport of Narita, Japan
Same day (relatively)
2:30 pm
Ms. Yoko Ichikawa? So, you're here on vacation?
The immigration officer smiled at the young woman who stood in front of his cubicle. She didn't return the smile, settling for nodding coolly. The airport official assumed that she was probably tired due to the long flight originating from LAX in California. In that case, he could easily understand her reluctance to wastefully expend more energy than needed. Stamping her passport in the necessary places, he closed it and handed it back to her. Enjoy your stay, Ichikawa-san.
Domo, she said, placing her passport in her backpack and then started pushing her cart which contained one single piece of luggage, a gray suitcase, towards the pair of electronic doors that led to the Arrivals Lounge.
At five feet five inches tall, Yoko Ichikawa was a second generation Japanese who'd spent most of her life in San Francisco, California. With short, black hair tied back in a braid, brown eyes, and possessing an athletic, exercise toned body, she was very independent by nature, and came across as a cool tempered, calm person. Yoko had just graduated from Bryn Mawr with a B.A. in Marketing and Finance; now, she had travelled to Japan on an invitation from her grandfather (on her mom's side), who said over the phone that he needed to tell her something very important about their family's history.
Since she was in Japan, after honoring her grandfather's invitation, and if she had time she would go see her aunt Tomoko, her mom's younger sister. Yoko would have to call her later and see if she could spend a few days at her house in Juuban.
Stepping through the opened doors, Yoko directed her cart to one side, so as to not impede the path of anyone else behind her, and stopped for a moment. She studied the Arrivals Lounge, looking for her grandfather, who should be somewhere waiting in the crowd. The entire area was full of mostly Japanese people, but she spotted a few Europeans standing out like islands in an ocean. In the middle of the Lounge were two rows of orange hardened plastic seats which were all occupied. At the far right, against the wall, were about two dozen pay phones while on the left were several booths for various car and apartment rentals, tour groups, refreshments, and others.
After searching for a minute, her eyes finally caught a glimpse of her grandfather, a handsome, white-haired man in his late sixties who was very fit for his age, making his way towards the front of the crowd. Upon seeing his granddaughter, he smiled warmly and waved to her. She smiled back and pushed her cart in his direction. Upon reaching him, she halted the cart and called out Grandfather, giving him a loving hug, which he returned.
Yoji Arashikage released her and took a good look at her. Yoko had certainly changed since the last time he had seen her. From the way she walked and by that hug they had shared, it let him know that she had not been lax in keeping up her training, not in the least. She was a little taller, her hair shorter, and her face showed all the signs of a mature woman in full bloom that had only been hinted at four years ago. Quiet self-confidence was also present, which could be attributed to her impressive mastery of the martial arts. 7
For her part, Yoko was looking her beloved grandfather over as well. Save for a few more lines and wrinkles on his weathered face, he looked exactly the same as she remembered. Despite his age, she could tell that he kept up his personal training in the Art and secretly hoped that he would show her some of the various styles and forms he'd learned in his lifetime. His eyes were bright and quick, to match his sharp intellect and wit, which hadn't dwindled in the slightest despite his advancing years. In fact, in the past twenty years, Yoji Arashikage had probably slowed down only by the smallest percentage. Yoko attributed that to an extremely healthy lifestyle and constant exercising, but she was certain there was something else to it. Whatever it was she didn't know. Maybe her grandfather would let her on in his secret; she knew that when she reached his age, the idea of being as spry as him was definitely very appealing.
And how is my favorite granddaughter doing? he asked with a twinkle in his eye. Yoko blushed a little at his endorsement of her; that was his standard line whenever they met with each other. It was his way of teasing her. However, when Yoji saw her reaction, he instantly knew what she was thinking. The older man smiled to himself; little did she know that he was being truthful. It generally wasn't a good idea for a grandfather to pay special attention to a specific grandchild, especially when there were others, but he couldn't help it.
Like him, some of his other grandchildren also studied martial arts, but Yoko was different, very different. She stood out from them like a wolf among sheep. The depth of her devotion to the martial arts far outstripped that of her cousins. While her cousins used it as a way to keep in shape or for basic self-defense, Yoko took it to the next level. At the tender age of twelve, she became fascinated by the philosophy behind the physical movements and techniques. It had taken her a couple of years, but by the time she had begun high school, she was well on her way to integrating the philosophy of the Art into her lifestyle. He'd learned all this from the occasional letter he'd received from his oldest daughter, her mother.
I've been doing okay, Grandfather. I just want to stretch my legs a bit after being cooped up in the plane. Her eyes brightened as an idea occurred to her. Do you think I could do some katas in your dojo? That's one thing I've been looking forward to.
Her grandfather laughed. He'd guessed that would be one of the first things she would ask. That sounds like a good idea. I'd love to see how much progress you've made since I saw you last. Although I hope you can wait though; it'll take at least half an hour to get to my house. Well, shall we take our leave of this crowd? I'm parked at lot 2-A; it's a short way from here. These old legs of mine can use the exercise.
Pecking him on the cheek affectionately, Yoko took hold of the cart's handle and replied, Lead the way, Grandfather.
End Chapter Two Part One
Author's Notes:
At long last, the next chapter is here! Hallelujah:D Seriously though, real life can be such a bch, chomping down on my writing time like that. Oh well.
Part two is in the works as you read this. Hopefully it'll be done sooner than this chapter was. I did the best job I could with the "smuggler raid". Please tell me if there are any improvements/suggestions that you guys may have in mind.
Thanks!
Footnotes
1 My rather pathetic attempt at emulating Roadblock's...peculiar way of speaking.
2 One guess on which TV show this is!
3 Stands for Chemical, Biological, and Radiological Warfare
4 His filecard says that he is indeed a practical joker
5 Pardon the mangling of Beach Head's speech
6 Stands for Heavy Artillery Vehicle Ordnance Carrier
7 Can anyone familiar with the old Marvel G.I. Joe comics guess who this new lady will be?