Chapter 7

Wars on Wheels

Rattling like a fifty-year-old clothes-dryer, the war-torn Hammer jeep chased the fresh and scratch-free Stinger jeep across the gravelly sand of the Syrian Desert, aided only by the weak light of a waning moon.

"C'mon! Move, dammit!" cursed Spearhead. He was not a vehicle driver. He was an infantryman, born and bred. But fate has a nasty sense of humor, and today's stab at Spearhead was to get him so badly wounded that he had no other choice than to get stuck in the driver's seat of a shot-up Army jeep.

And yet, fate can show mercy, too. It was obvious that the driver of the Stinger jeep didn't know any more about the operation of his vehicle than Spearhead did of his. His movements were sloppy, with lots of skidding and swerving. And although the Stinger is armed with four very large, very nasty missiles on it, they driver hadn't attempted to use them yet.

But, the Stinger was in a lot better shape than the Hammer, so the Joe vehicle was having a hell of a time trying to keep up with it. Another kink: Spearhead was alone; there was no one else in the Hammer to man the .50-cal turret, so all he had was his supply of missiles, which were smaller and nowhere near as nasty as the Stinger's. Well, he did have two more of them.

The Stinger suddenly climbed up a small hill, then dropped down the other side.

"What the--?" Shifting down a gear and riding the brake, Spearhead coasted up to the top of the small hill. Looking to his right, he could see the rear lights of the Cobra jeep rumbling down a wide ditch; no, a dry riverbed; no, the Wadi Ubaylah!

Pressing the accelerator, and shifting up, Spearhead drove the Hammer down into the wadi and attempted to catch up to the Stinger; but it was a lost cause. With a shot-up engine that was working because of some grace of the gods, there was no way that he could match the Stinger's speed. The black jeep was almost two hundred yards away when it spun around and started charging back at the Joe Hum-V.

"Crap!" Attempting to aim the rear missiles launchers without the aid of a lighted targeting screen, Spearhead was thrown into a panic when two of the Stinger's giant red missiles hissed, then fired off of their tower and rocketed for the Hammer. Locked into a hard right turn with its gas pedal slammed down, the massive Joe jeep nearly half-piped it into the air out of the wadi as the red Cobra missiles blasted on by.

As his vehicle slapped back onto the ground, cracking its driveshaft, Spearhead's stomach took a hard hit from the steering wheel. The sleek black Cobra jeep slowly rolled out of the trench, confident of its potential victory. Once the driver saw the condition of the Hammer, with its wheels tilted to the left and front bumper licking the ground, he felt the battle was over; he was even cocky enough to turn the Stinger perpendicular to the Hammer and rotate the missile-tower ninety-degrees.

Despite his aching shoulder and potential inner-body damage, Spearhead scrambled himself off of the driver's seat and up into the .50-cal machine gun and unlocked the latch. Aiming for the Stinger's windows, he opened fire as fast as he could. The rapid fire began tearing up the Stinger's right side—but most importantly, it shattered the right window, and killed the driver before the missiles could be launched.

Crawling out of the Hammer, Spearhead grimaced in pain, then looked back at the town, which was now miles away. Frowning, he looked back at the Stinger, blew a puff of air up his face, then began walking over to the moderately damaged Cobra vehicle.

1.

The wheels of the APC shook the ground as it pulled up next to Flint and Tunnel Rat. Lady Jaye came running up to the side of the behemoth vehicle to take cover from the raging battle. Before she could begin talking, the transport's cannon thundered out a blast from its 50mm cannon across the field into the side of a burning storage shed.

"Flint!" called out Lady Jaye, "Dusty is down, and we've lost sight of Spearhead and the Hammer."

Tunnel Rat ran forward and opened fire with his 7.62mm at a Ferret 4-Wheeler racing past the APC.

"Any idea how many more of these guys are left?" asked Flint.

"Just a handful." Replied Lady Jaye, "Stalker is fighting closer to the cargo trucks. I have no idea where Low-Light is, but I don't think he's been taken out."

Flint shook his head. "Me neither. He's better than that." Adjusting his beret, G.I. Joe's Warrant Officer checked the ammo in his M-16, then grabbed Lady Jaye and kissed her.

After a couple seconds, she pushed him back, "C'mon, Flint, we don't have time for that."

"I just needed a little luck." As he smiled, Lady Jaye weakened, then he ran off.

Looking at Tunnel Rat, Lady Jaye warned, "Say anything, and I break you."

Saluting her, Tunnel Rat ran off.

2.

Leaning back from the night-vision scope, Heavy-Metal cursed and pulled down the black shift lever. Shaking and groaning its protest, the Mauler surrendered to its highest gear; a speed that hadn't been touched in over two years.

There was no choice. The HISS, which stood for HI-Speed-Sentry, was without a doubt faster than the G.I. Joe's sleek desert assault tank, and HISS-drivers loved to rub it in whenever they could. It had a sleek front end, elevated three feet off of the ground, which looked like a giant airplane canopy—it even had a large shatter-proof glass cover. The back-end was roughly eight feet wide at the base, and narrowed to about four feet at the top. The twin 90mm-turret-carrying contraption buzzed off across the rocky sand as the Mauler crushed the same stones that had been kicked into the air moments before.

Realizing there was little choice, Heavy Metal shifted the same stick down, a move that the quieter tone of the Mauler could be interpreted as a sign of thankfulness for. Activating the weapons system, the tank driver pressed the automatic weapons-loader. It was a system he didn't like, but on a team like the Joes, the luxury of a human cannon loader was a rarity. A special automated loading system was developed just for the Joe tanks, like the Mauler and the MOBAT, but Heavy Metal had never trusted it.

As the whirrs and hums of the system flooded the background, the Joe tank driver checked his night-vision scope. The HISS could still be seen far in the distance, but beginning a long right turn. Slowly rotating the Mauler to the right, Heavy Metal shifted the gear down and brought the tank to a stop.

The green light and buzz indicating that the automatic loading was finished came on, and was soon silenced by a slap of the Joe tank driver's hand. He couldn't take his eyes off of the HISS as it completed its right turn and began a drive back at the Mauler. It was far enough away that Heavy Metal was sure that he was out of range of its pitifully weak 90mm cannons, but it was shootin' time for the Mauler's 150mm.

"Now I got ya, asshole."

Passionately pressing the fire button, Heavy Metal shook as the Mauler blasted off its reduced flash 150mm shell off towards the HISS. With a projectile flying faster than the speed of sound and without a bright light to warn him, the Cobra—or terrorist—tank driver wouldn't even know that he was shot at until his precious little ride exploded.

And it did.

Rupturing in five directions, the HI-Speed-Sentry shattered into large pieces of burning scrap, exploding first from the 150mm shell, then again as the HISS' ammunition and fuel supply added to the destruction. It was a boom that could be heard over a hundred miles away.

Leaning back into his driver's seat, Heavy Metal blew a sigh of relief, then smiled. Patting the tank's inner wall, he shifted into first gear and revved the engine forward.

3.

An explosion reflected off of the side of the APC's right armor plating. Causing little more than a dent, a burn, a vibration, and a grinding of Thunder's molars, the 20mm shell was not much of a success; but for the driver of the Ferret, it was a lot of fun.

Racing the giant four-wheeler across the desert ground, the driver nearly rolled over while pulling a hard right turn, escaping from the 50mm cannon atop the Joe's big green troop-carrier.

Heavy machine-gun fire soon chased the terrorist and his crafty new machine, but he knew the American scum would never touch him. Driving towards his fellow fighters, a feeling of safety blanketed him. He knew that they would protect him as he circled around the burning wrecks of the eighteen-wheelers.

Meeting up with the only remaining Ferret on the battlefield, the driver waved to him, and received a nod of the other driver's head. The two fanatics accelerated their little blue vehicles around the storage sheds and came up on the left side of the APC. Squeezing the left trigger, the driver fired the 20mm cannon. The launch was quickly followed by a blast from the second Ferret's cannon. Two more fiery red blasts ricocheted off the side of the APC, this time, leaving a heavily warped piece of armor hanging at a tilt on the carrier's side.

With their arms raised, the terrorists cheered in victory; until the second Ferret driver shook from rapid bullet strikes and slipped off of the right side of his four-wheeler. Grabbing his Ferret's handlebars and flooring the accelerator, the terrorist stared back in horror as his brother-of-arms' vehicle rumbled across the ground, then abruptly stopped.

No longer able to contain his rage, the terrorist turned his Ferret back towards the APC, but this time didn't fire. This time, he was looking for G.I. Joes. After only moments, he found one, wearing a beret, crouched down on one leg in the middle of the field.

Switching the firing controls to the twin machine guns, which were guided by the handlebars, the terrorist shifted down a gear, hunched over and pulled the trigger. The shots were spewing sand twenty feet short of the Joe, so the terrorist turned the crank to raise the aim.

Ten feet short. Lights from the Joe's position indicated that the Joe had begun shooting back. Metallic clangs starting dancing across the front of the Ferret, but they weren't high enough to hit the terrorist. After turning the crank just a touch, the driver squeezed his hand again.

Rolling to the left to dodge the shots, the Joe narrowly avoided the bursts of sand. Pressing the pedal, the terrorist charged, making sure to lower the twin machine guns' aim ever so slightly.

Now lower to the ground, the bursts of light from the Joe were shorter, indicating more precise, aimed shots.

They worked.

As the puffs of dark sand raced across the gavel-strewn sand, bursts of a different kind spew from the head of the driver. Collapsing over the handlebars, causing a stiff jerk left, the body of the defeated terrorist sent the Ferret into a bouncing, crushing, and ear-stinging roll.

4.

Holding her hand down to Flint, Lady Jaye pulled her commanding officer—and potential main squeeze—off of the painful ground. "Nice shootin, Tex."

"That…that was scary." Flint wiped off his brow and slung his M-16 over his shoulder. "I'm gonna need a beer."

"No can do, boss." Lady Jaye leaned closer, "Although I heard Rock'n'Roll brought some whisky."

"That'll do just fine."

Stalker walked over to the pair of giggling Joes. "I'm pretty sure we've cleaned 'em all out. Low-Light and Tunnel Rat are doing a final check."

"Stinger coming in!" screamed out Tunnel Rat.

"What the hell?" snarled Flint as he pulled down his rifle. The group of Joes walked over to the approach vector of the jeep, when the vehicle stopped about one-hundred yards away.

"What the hell is it doing? Is it going to shoot us with its missiles?" asked Stalker.

Low-Light stared through his scope, then started laughing.

"What's so funny?" asked Lady Jaye, who was on the brink of laughter, induced by Low-Light's chuckles.

"It's Spearhead! The shmuck must have lost the Hammer and commandeered the Cobra jeep!" replied Low-Light.

With that, every one was laughing. Simply put, they all needed to laugh.

5.

After a few minutes, every Joe vehicle and soldier had returned to the area, and the soldiers were once again standing at the rear of the APC. Every one and every thing looked exhausted. It had been a tough battle, despite the terrorists' lack of experience with the weapons they had used. There was one missing factor, however.

"Major Bludd. We can't find him, and the terrorists deny his existence." Flint punched the back end of the transport and cussed.

As Tunnel Rat wrapped gauze around Dusty's blood-stained stomach, the desert trooper spoke up, "My bet is that he's heading for Syria." After a stop to flinch in pain, Dusty continued, "If he was here at all."

Stalker walked over to his wounded teammate. "Damn good guess. He's got a half-hour lead on us, but he shouldn't be there yet."

"We'd never catch him!" griped Spearhead from a seat inside the APC, "Not without the Hammer."

Flint jumped up into the transport, "Thunder, let's get on the radio. We're making a call to that guy who flies the Stealth fighter."

Before the warrant officer could take another step, everyone jumped at the cry of a very loud whistle. Looking back towards a small concrete house sitting at the edge of town, the Joes saw Low-Light jogging towards them, pulling his index fingers from his mouth.

"What the hell was that about?" barked Stalker.

"You guys'll never believe what I just found parked behind the market!"