Chapter Four
First Sights
1.
Everyone knew that speed was the highest priority. Spy satellites reported that an aircraft and watercraft had just departed from Cobra Island, heading towards Sammeston Island. What made Roadblock nervous was the fact that WHALE would have to skip its hook-up with the freighter G.I. Jane and get into the water creatively.
Cutter saw an opportunity to attempt something he had been urging to try for years: back the WHALE out of the C-130 while the flying monster took a low swoop above the water's surface, and drop the hovercraft into the sea.
It was a dangerous maneuver. Like the Joe's master chef, the amphibious craft was big and heavy. It couldn't have its propellers running during the drop, lest they get ripped off by the reverse air flow. But if timed right, the WHALE could skip across a few waves, kick on its fans and then lift up. It would be a rough ride for the guys inside, but there wasn't much choice. Cobra had a lead on them to the island, and the good guys couldn't afford to let it get any worse; it had to happen.
Roadblock knew that Cutter wouldn't trust many pilots to glide a C-130 above the waves, but Wild Bill was definitely at the top of that list. The Joe cowboy was better known for his helicopter skills, but he was just as good with a cargo plane, every Joe knew that.
Few Joes on the WHALE could see the C-130's rear ramp lay itself down, but they could all hear it. Roadblock stood in the starboard 1.75" twin anti-aircraft turret, and pushed himself up and over the side just enough to get a look out the back. Seeing waves of water shooting into the distance under the tail of the plane was mind-boggling.
"I'm not liking' this idea of droppin' boats. Let's think of another plan, and takin' votes!"
"Back inside, Roadblock!" ordered Cutter. He sounded nervous, too, but focused. "Get ready for the drop everybody. It's gonna be bumpy, so stay away from anything sharp."
A few calls of "Yes, sir!" and Aye, aye!" came back up to him.
"Wild Bill!" called the Coast Guard Officer, "Bring us to drop altitude!"
"Whooeee! You got it, Cutter! Thirty seconds!" responded the distinct Texan accent over the loudspeaker.
Drops of sweat began forming on Roadblock's brow. For this maneuver, he had to crouch underneath the rim of the turret, which had extra padding wrapped around its ring, but still seemed like the most dangerous place to be. Looking over, the big Joe could see Gung-Ho squished under the port turret, wiping sweat from beneath his hat. Good. At least I'm not the only guy freakin' out.
"Good luck, boys! Time to place yer bets!" called Wild Bill as the green lights flipped on.
Cutter unlocked the WHALE's propellers and steering vanes so that they would be in free-spin, and then unlocked the clamps along the sides of the hovercraft. The vehicle began to slide backwards down the ramp, gently scraping the plane's clean surface before it was weaned clear of the C-130.
The drop to the water only lasted a moment, but the armored craft splashed hard against the waves. As the free-spinning fans gave the illusion of powered motion, the hovercraft skipped across the wave-tops until the weight of the hovercraft's aft side began to tilt the bow upwards. As the chaotic slamming began to settle, Cutter stood up and flipped on the engine power, reversing the spin-direction of the groaning propellers, quickly lifting the craft up from the sea-surface, and providing control to its forward thrust.
The hard change of speed nearly threw Roadblock's on top of Leatherneck. If he hadn't been such a big, powerful thug, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself, although he did strain his back in the process. There was a lot of painful groaning inside the hold from the well-shaken passengers.
Despite the problems with speed changes and bouncing, Roadblock admitted that the maneuver worked. With some fine tuning, it could be used again in the future. The WHALE's recon bike and depth charges were tied down strong enough that they held their positions and were undamaged. Cutter took a few bumps as well, but all the hovercraft's systems still worked, and he determined that the pain was worth it.
"Wow! What a ride!" he cheered with pride, "That's one for the books! Everybody okay down there?" he asked over the flying-bridge command post.
"Despite the inch of vomit I'm standing in, it's just dandy in here!" sneered back Shipwreck.
"How are you guys doing?" Cutter asked Roadblock and Gung-Ho, who were now both standing in their turrets, and holding their lower backs.
"I don't think it's a good idea to have guys near the turrets when you do that maneuver." Groaned Roadblock.
"Noted. Sorry guys. I owe you both a beer." The fans sputtered with even greater life as the armored watercraft turned another twenty degrees southwest and the G.I. Joe Recon/Assault team roared off towards their goal.
2.
"What a dump!" At least Zarana didn't hide her feelings.
"This place suffered a hurricane, you know." Reminded Wild Weasel. Zartan's sister whipped around and glared at him with her haunting eyes.
"You just shut up and repair those fuel pumps. I'm well aware of what this pit has gone through!" With that, the skinny vixen marched off towards the shattered mansion, leaving Cobra's Ace Pilot to figure out how to refuel his Rattler with broken fuel pumps. He knew there would be trouble when he saw the condition of the helipad, and warned the Dreadnok Princess against landing—he had just enough fuel to make it back to Cobra Island—but not if they landed.
Of course she didn't listen—she was a Dreadnok.
Damn. There was nothing he could do with the tools he had. The pump motors were busted, and needed repair. Nothing to replace, but it would take some time to fix them. Looking around, Wild Weasel saw a sign of hope. On the northern edge of the landing pad was a concrete bunker, with a metal panel lying on the ground in front of it. The Ace Pilot walked over to the bunker, picked up the piece of tin and flipped it over. It read "Tool Shed."
Bingo.
After shooting the door lock off of the handle, Wild Weasel kicked the door in. Due to the lack of electric power, Weasel used his flashlight to look around. The bunker was a dream-come-true. It was more than just storage for tools—it also held replacement parts for the pumps. This was actually going to be easy.
Almost.
Thirty-five minutes later, Zarana walked down to the landing pad covered in jewelry with her pockets bulging and her mouth smothered in chocolate. "You get this bucket of yours fueled back up yet?"
Wild Weasel was tempted to ask her to check beneath the jet exhausts for him. "I'm working on the pumps right now."
"Well hurry up.. I told Zartan you wrecked 'em and he sounded pretty mad, but maybe he'll forgive you if you fix 'em." She started eating another piece of chocolate. Cobra's Ace Pilot started to panic but then he grew angry. "Anyways, he's almost here in the boat, so pick up the pace, will ya?" She then glared at him. "And stay out of the mansion! Everything in there belongs to the Dreadnoks, got it?"
Wild Weasel noticed a necklace slip off of Zarana's elbow and hit the ground. Surprisingly, she didn't notice. Probably because she was too busy chewing her cocoa-flavored cud.
"Got it."
"Good." Zartan's sister turned around and headed off towards the dock. "You stay here and gas up the plane. I'll wait for the hydrofoil."
"You do that." Whispered the enraged pilot. As soon as Zarana had disappeared from view, Wild Weasel picked up the gold and diamond necklace, and stuffed it into his flight suit's chest pocket.
3.
He wasn't cramped, but Torpedo had been laying on his stomach for over an hour, and he couldn't take it much longer. Nerve butterflies and anxiety were scaring away any possibility of sleep. He probably suffered the least of the Joes in the WHALE drop. His position in the recon sled launch tube was a tight fit, so he bounced around the least.
But his mind wouldn't stop bouncing.
How he wished he could reach down and unsheathe the knife that Snake-Eyes had given him, but there just wasn't enough room here in the tube.
Why had Snake-Eyes given him that knife? Was it a sign of friendship? Was the most mysterious of all teammates saying that they were buddies now? Nah. That couldn't be. Snake-Eyes only had two close friends: Scarlett and his wolf Timber. Well, he kind of hung out with Stalker sometimes. And occasionally General Hawk. But that was about it. There was no doubt if Storm Shadow got the chip off of his shoulder about, well, whatever it was that bothered him, Snake-Eyes would be a brother to him. But not Torpedo. Snake Eyes had only nodded at the Joe SEAL maybe twice in his whole life. It couldn't be a close friendship thing.
What about pity? Was G.I. Joe's super-commando saying "Good god, dude, you need all the help you can get, 'cause I don't think you can do it." Torpedo's knife was just general issue, so maybe Snake-Eyes saw a weapon's upgrade was all he had time to provide the SEAL? No…no. The Arashikage ninja had more honor and respect for his fellow Joes than that. If he had so little respect for Torpedo's ability he would have reported something to Duke or Hawk. Or even Cutter. Maybe it was pity for the quality of the knife, but not for Torpedo's abilities. Everyone knew Torpedo was the best swimmer on the team, and had done some light-scale commando work before. Snake-Eyes would know that.
Most likely it was a reward. Torpedo was finally assigned his first solo commando-style mission for the Joes, and as a sign of his support and approval, Snake-Eyes gave his friend a reward. The master commando rewarded the new commando a kind of "Way-To-Go!" style reward that he could use on the mission, not just look at on a shelf. Who wants a trophy, when you could slash your enemies with your reward? It was also a source of inspiration, and Torpedo would be damn sure to make his friend proud.
A red light turned on inside the recon sled launcher, waking Torpedo up from his train of thought. Cutter's voice called through an intercom.
"We're approaching the ten-mile mark! Get ready to launch!"
Transforming his mind into that of a Navy SEAL machine, Torpedo pulled down his goggles, grabbed the sled's controls and stared forward. The launch tube hatch swung open and heavy waves of sea water splashed into the shaft, back-dropped by an orange and blue sunset. Cutter's voice rang out the intercom again. "We're giving you your head-start. Good luck out there Torpedo!" With that, the green light lit up and the firing mechanism sprung, punching the recon sled out of the tube and skipping it across the waves.
Torpedo's body crouched up as the sled raced over the heavy ocean waters. Originally designed for coastal waters, the open waves of the Gulf of Mexico were a rough ride for the little boat. Also, the firing mechanism had its power tripled so the SEAL wouldn't have to swim quite so far. It made the launch a lot harder on the Joe's arms. After only a mile, the sled began to sway off, and so Torpedo dropped off the back and began pushing it, waving his legs with powerful determination, moving towards the little island resting on the horizon.
4.
Smooth jumping across the ocean waves was about the closest thing to peacefulness that Skellar could feel on his journey to the island. If those stupid Dreadnoks weren't laughing their heads off at vulgar jokes, they were wasting ammunition shooting at fish. Every time the Moray pilot complained to Zartan, he was told to remember his place.
Cobra Outpost Seven was growing larger in the distance, and Skellar relished the idea of being rid of these monkeys soon. Surprisingly, the guffawing idiots had been quiet for the last ten minutes. Apparently, they were enjoying their rations of grape soda and chocolate donuts. Gad.
As he checked his position on the GPS, the harassed Lamprey saw purple liquid trickle down his helmet's visor. "What the hell?" Jackal-like laughter began roaring from behind him. Skellar spun around to see Monkeywrench standing beneath the main turret, holding a dripping can of grape soda over Skellar's head.
"Blimey, mate! Looks like you've gone an' messed up yer nice uniform. What'll the Commander think?"
Skellar killed power and jumped out of his seat. As he prepared to swing a punch at his nemesis, he was yanked from behind and thrown back into the pilot's position. Zartan's chest was flickering red.
"Sir down and do your job, Lamprey." Growled the Dreadnok master.
"You tell 'em, Zartan." Cheered Monkeywrench. The cowled leader then smashed his minion's face with a swift punch.
"And you, you stupid twit, get up into the turret and leave the pilot alone."
"Ya broke me nose!" cried Monkeywrench.
Zartan's chest flashed red again, "Then get up into the turret before I break your neck!" The other Dreadnoks cringed with fear as their bloody teammate crawled up into the turret and their leader gave them a warning glare. Skellar started the hydrofoil back up and prayed that he would not be reprimanded as well.
There was no hope of that.
Zartan placed his head close to the Lamprey's ear, so that he could be quiet, but direct. "I respect your bravery, but don't ever do that again. Your life is on the line as of right now. If you ever do anything to anger me or my men again, you die."
"But Zartan, he--."
"Shh! I know what he did, and that's why his nose is going to have a kink to the right for the rest of his life." The sinister Dreadnok leader grabbed the pilot by the neck. "Attempt to apply your own justice ever again, and you are shark food, understand?"
Niles Skellar began to feel like a mouse, lost in a cage, searching for that one piece of cheese, except that the only piece of happiness he could find was full of rat poison. He had never been so angry and scared at the same time. Nevertheless, he was a stubborn man, and he wouldn't stop pondering ways to send this group of "Mad Max" stunt men to hell.
"Yes, Zartan, sir. I understand perfectly."