Chapter 2
On the Road Again
Dusty looked around the room; it was packed. There had to be almost twenty G.I. Joes standing in that little cubical the Army had set aside for the team to use as a meeting area. G.I. Joe operations had to stay fairly "low-key" in Iraq, so they weren't allowed any of the few luxuries that the normal Army troops were offered—such as a nice briefing room.
A point of interest was the new guy. He wore modern desert fatigues and a wide-brimmed hat. His complexion was dark-tan and he was topped with black hair. His youthful age was obvious—a set of sunglasses hung from his chest pocket.
There were troops in the room that Dusty hadn't seen in months. Zap. Heavy Metal. Thunder. Those guys were old friends who unfortunately saw little action. But here they were. Dusty made it a point to go talk to them after the briefing was over.
Taking a seat next to Low-Light, Dusty just nodded. He couldn't have picked a better spot to sit. The Joe sniper wasn't much for conversation, and Dusty didn't feel much like talking.
Flint and Admiral Keel-Haul entered the room, and everyone snapped to attention. "At ease, men." Ordered Flint. The two officers stood at the sides of a large plasma monitor and dimmed the room's lights.
A map of Iraq popped up onto the screen, and Flint pointed at it with a stick. "I'm sure you all know this place." A few Joes laughed. Dusty began to squirm. "G.I. Joe has been kept out of the war here so far, because our mission is to protect the world against Cobra. Up until now, Cobra has kept out of the "War on Terror" as well. It's one of the few things we can respect the Cobra Commander for."
"Excuse me, sir," interrupted Spearhead, "Until now?"
"Until now." Responded Keel-Haul.
"Cobra is getting interested in deadly terrorism?" asked a shocked Lady Jaye.
"We're not sure." Answered Flint. "Usually, their schemes have centered around making a lot of money or dominating small nations, but never flat-out massacre."
"So what are they doing in Iraq?" asked Rock'nRoll.
"Selling weapons." Replied Flint.
Everybody's faces were slapped with shock. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I wish I were, Scimitar." Flint was talking to the new guy!
"This may not be a full-fledged Cobra operation," began the Admiral, "So far we only have this to go on." A pixilated image of Major Bludd appeared on the screen, engaged in conversation with some people that fit the general appearance of a terrorist; they were holding Cobra-style SAW-rifles.
"This was taken near the Syrian border just twenty-five hours ago. Now, we all know that the Major has worked on his own before, so maybe Cobra has nothing to do with this; but these are Cobra weapons, so a grander scheme is possible." Stated Flint.
"I'll be damned." Said Tunnel Rat.
"So what is our mission?" asked Stalker.
"First and foremost: reconnaissance." Said Keel-Haul, "Get out there and find the Major. I want to know if it's just his greedy scheme or an entire Cobra operation."
"And second?" asked Spirit.
Flint caught this one. "Second, we catch the Major, whether this is his idea or not. We cannot let him get away, understand? We can't let this scum-ball get away."
"But if it's a Cobra operation," continued Keel-Haul, "Get back to Baghdad ASAP and prepare for a return to the FLAGG. We'll be going to war against Cobra."
The last statement brought a hush to the room, but the Joe's Warrant Officer didn't want it to sink in too long. "Okay, men, here's the plan: we're going out into the Syrian Desert by a convoy of Joe vehicles. We won't take any of the Army's desperately needed supplies."
Flint changed the image on the screen to a tighter map of the western half of Iraq. "We're heading into the town of Ar Rutbah, smack dab in the middle of the Desert. It's about an eight-hour drive, given there are no surprises. But this is the western half of the country, near the Syrian border, so I would expect resistance if I were you. We'll check the town out, but we can't be rude about it."
Taking a drink of water, he continued: "From there, we'll cross open desert for five miles until we reach the town of Ubaylah. Ubaylah is where the photos of Bludd were taken. We'l scour the town and leave no stone unturned"
"Why would he choose that little town?" inquired Stalker.
"We believe that the Major is running his weapons out of Syria, but taking them northeast via the highway through Ubaylah." Answered Keel-Haul.
"And my part in the mission?" asked the Stealth pilot.
Dusty jumped. He hadn't even noticed the pilot standing in the corner of the room. That guy…whatever his name was—no one could ever remember it—sure could hide.
"Your part…uh…pilot, is to provide air support in case Cobra flies in any surprises or tries any fancy escapes. Keep your distance, but not too far."
"Yes, sir."
With a serious look on his face, Flint looked deeply at his Joe teammates. "I want you guys to remember something: this is a war-zone. This isn't some tropical paradise or empty glacial expanse that we can do whatever we want in. People are out there to kill us. This is more than just a Joe-Cobra skirmish. Much more. Don't let your guard down for a second."
Flint paused to collect his thoughts. "I know you guys can do it. I'm sorry to break you in on such a rough run, Scimitar, but this mission matches your skills perfectly. Remember, men—and lady—you're G.I. Joes, the best damn soldiers in the world. Just don't get cocky about it, hear me?"
A swarm of "Yes, sirs" filled the room.
"All right," said the Joe Warrant Officer as he clapped his hands together, "I want the convoy moving in two hours. Good luck, guys. Yo Joe!"
"Yo Joe!"
As the Joes walked out of the room, Flint walked up to Dusty. "So, are you in?"
"Yeah, I'm in."
1.
It made no sense. How could it be? In all of his experience as a G.I. Joe soldier, Dusty had never had this experience before: His canteen wouldn't fit onto his backpack.
Something in the main pack was pushing out against the canteen's attachment strap area, making connection impossible. Therefore, Dusty would have to unload his entire pack of supplies and repack, just so he could load his second canteen. Great, just great.
The Joe desert trooper began unpacking his supplies and slapping them to his bed, slowly increasing the intensity with which he slammed them onto the spring mattress. Eventually he grabbed the canteen and threw it into the wall, screaming in anger. Hunched over in broken frustration, Dusty began cussing.
A brisk knock began rapping at his door, but quickly slowed down. "Oh, geese. I'm sorry. I'll, uh, come back some other time."
Sniffing in frustration, Dusty stood back up. "No. No, it's all right. I'm sorry about that." He looked over and was surprised to see Scimitar standing in the doorway. "I…I just needed to get rid of a little stress." Walking over to pick up his canteen, Dusty asked, "What do you need?"
Scimitar cleared his throat and said, "Flint wanted me to hook up with you for the trip over. Seeing how we're both desert troops and all. I just wanted to introduce myself, you see…uh…yeah."
Dusty could feel his cheeks burn red. "Well, didn't I make a great first impression?"
Scimitar took a step forward and offered his hand. Dusty wouldn't take it. "Hey, I read your report. If I went through what you went through, I'd be in worse shape. You're a real troop, man."
The Joe's original desert trooper turned back around and quickly stuffed his backpack. His canteen still wouldn't fit. "Look, let's just get out of here, all right?"
"All right. Sounds good."
Outside, once again in the blaring Middle-Eastern heat, stood the convoy of G.I. Joe vehicles. Dusty swung his backpack over his shoulder and carried his canteen in his hand as he walked past the row of powerful machines which covered many generations of the G.I. Joe history.
With the hood of the VAMP jeep popped up, Clutch was hunched over the radiator, cranking a wrench and cussing his head off. It was a surprise that the Joe team still used a vehicle twenty-five years old in design, but the aged features were only on the outside. Clutch kept it state-of-the-art on performance for two-point-five decades, and there was no way he would ever give it up. The VAMP was painted desert tan, but it still held its heavy machine guns, not the missile launchers typical of the VAMP mark II.
Behind the VAMP was the G.I. Joe Hammer. Not much different than a Hum-V, it could only brag about small missile launchers attached to the rear and rather awkward heavy machine-gun turrets added to the sides. Thankfully, the turrets were removed from this Hammer, leaving only the roof machine-gun turret and the missiles. Another difference unique to this Hammer—doors were added to the sides. This was obviously a protection maneuver against roadside bombings. All-in-all, the large jeep hardly looked like a Hammer anymore, save the excessive missile launchers in the rear.
Flint walked up to Dusty and Scimitar by the Hammer. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. All ready to go?"
"As ready as we can be." Said Dusty."
"Absolutely sir!" cheered Scimitar.
Flint smiled and shook his head. "Okay then. You two ride in the Hammer with me, Rock'n'Roll and Lady Jaye. Just toss your stuff in the back."
As Scimitar walked around to the rear, Dusty smiled at Flint. "So, if Lady Jaye is with us, I guess I can't call shotgun."
Flint grinned. "At ease, soldier."
The rear of the Hammer was pretty full, but Dusty managed to squeeze his backpack in. Unfortunately, after it was put in, there wasn't enough room even for a canteen. "Dammit!" growled the desert trooper.
Footloose and Hit & Run walked by the Hammer and stopped to talk to Dusty. "How are you doing?" asked Footloose.
"I…I'm okay. How are you? I thought your ribs were cracked, Hit & Run."
"Nah. I was just banged pretty hard. Hospital doctor saws I better avoid any more hits in the chest for a while, though." Hit & Run gave a tough-guy smile.
"Are you really okay, Dusty? I've been a little shook up." Confessed Footloose.
"Look, I said I'm fine." Seeing the negative effect of his comment, Dusty sighed. "We'll talk about this later, okay?" Footloose nodded consent, and he and Hit & Run walked down the convoy.
After throwing the water container onto the back seat, Dusty looked at the rest of the vehicles. Behind the Hammer sat the massive APC. It was the only normal-looking Joe vehicle large enough to haul a large group of Joes from one point to the next, although Dusty did not envy the heat the guys inside would have to endure.
"All right, guys, let's get going!" called out Flint. All of the Joes began climbing into their vehicles.
Curious about what was behind the APC, Dusty took a quick step to the side and looked down the row. Behind the troop transport sat a fuel truck, and behind that, at the tail of the convoy, was a Mauler. The Joe's sleek desert-colored tank carried an appearance not much different from an M1A1 Abrams tank. Despite the similarities, the Mauler was far from an exact copy of an Abrams, and even more expensive to build. It was an impressive machine to see in battle, but Dusty actually hoped that he wouldn't have to see it in action anytime soon.
"C'mon, Dusty! Get in!" ordered Lady Jaye.
Snapped back to attention, the Joe desert trooper swung the door open, hunched over and quickly crawled into the huge jeep. "Sorry about that. Just enjoyin' the view."
Flint grabbed the radio microphone and spoke, "All right, Joes, start 'em up, and roll out!"
The engines powered up into a near deafening roar. After a minute of warm-up, the VAMP began a crawl towards the front gates, which slowly creaked open. It was soon followed by the Hammer, the APC, the fuel truck and the Mauler.
The faces of the people standing along the roadways, staring at the convoy as it moved along, were difficult to interpret. Many of the children cheered, but the adults stared, with a stale look on their face. Were they supportive or mad? It was too difficult to call.
After a couple of miles, Dusty couldn't look out the window anymore.