Chapter Seven
Return to Cobra Outpost Seven
1.
The descending VTOL jets once again blasted the landing pad clean of any and all debris. Originally designed to support small to medium-sized helicopters, the pad was reinforced so that it could launch Rattler fighter jets or Mamba assault helicopters.
But this was no comfort to Wild Weasel. The concrete square still looked small, and was hard to aim for. Little did Cobra's Ace Pilot realize that he was focusing on the least of his worries.
The Rattler's right thruster finally sputtered dead, and the jet's landing gear slammed to the ground. Cursing at the idea of having to perform heavy field repairs, Wild Weasel popped the cockpit hatch open and climbed out. Seeing the amount of abuse his Rattler had suffered from the SHARC was humiliating. I am getting back out there and killing them all!
Fortunately for Cobra's Ace Pilot, the right engine only took about fifteen minutes to return to usable condition—at least worthy of getting Wild Weasel back into the air and able to launch missiles. But first the Rattler needed fuel.
Cobra's Ace Pilot kneeled next to the gas tanks, unhooked clamps and started pulling hose. Unbeknownst to him, the pack of C-4 sat in deadly silence, awaiting the moment he pressed the "On" button. Normally such a simple jury-rig wouldn't get past this seasoned pilot, but he was in a rush. Zartan would be furious with him for his recent actions, but his rage against the Joes was stronger than any concern he had for Zartan.
As the frantic Rattler pilot ran back to the pump and reached for the controls, he would never know that he owed his life to the Dreadnok that swung a crowbar onto the back of his head.
2.
I don't have time for this, but man, I'd love to stick around and watch! From his point of view buried deep in a bundle of plant-life, Torpedo craved a soda pop and some popcorn. Viewing the chaos that called itself "Cobra" was quite a show. The Dreadnoks were morons, and watching them repeatedly bumble around the body of Cobra's number one pilot was pretty funny.
Still, the true chaos was in Torpedo's mind. The fact that Wild Weasel could have vaporized himself by flipping the "On" switch was eating the Joe SEAL's conscious alive. Torpedo had wanted to blow up the landing pad by remote, but was scared off by the Dreadnoks. Now that Wild Weasel was being dragged away from the fuel pumps, it was probably safe to blow it up, but he couldn't risk revealing his position quite yet. He had to move on, and pray that no one else got near those pumps.
When the Dreadnoks pulled out bundles of rope and began wrapping up Wild Weasel's unconscious body with hoses, the Joe SEAL felt some relief. Who else on this scrawny island would have need of using the Rattler? And if all the hose was gone, how could they use the pumps?
Torpedo crawled away giggling.
Apparently things weren't going that great for Cobra. The WHALE had survived the attacks from the Rattler and Moray, although all three of the vehicles were smoking wrecks. Now, the only Cobras left on the island were fighting amongst themselves. At least it left Torpedo unnoticed.
His number-one concern was the fact that the Moray was coming back to the island. If the baddies were heading home, then the SEAL had better get his act together and provide a few surprises. He had only tried some light sabotage so far, which had failed miserably. It might do some good to take a look at the dock.
Staying out of sight of the Dreadnoks roping up Wild Weasel, Torpedo raced down to the shoreline. Upon reaching the large concrete dock, he crawled into the water, staying close to the dock's southern side, out of the Moray's view. Using the rest of his C4 packets, Torpedo spread a line of explosives along the dock's length, connecting them all by wire.
Once back on shore, the new Joe commando ran his line of cable fifty yards into the forest, and took a secure position behind a tree. The Dreadnoks would reach the shore in a matter of minutes, and then, he would press the trigger connected to the wire. He was trying the exact same thing he tried at the landing pad, except that this time, it would be a lot safer, and this time, it was going to work.
Don't worry, Zartan, I'm not here to kill you.
3.
"'E's gonna kill us, Zartan!"
"Shut up, Ripper!" barked back the Dreadnok Leader. "But he had better find a way to keep this boat afloat, or I'm going to kill him!"
The stupidity of these Dreadnok goons rang so loudly in Skellar's ears that it hurt. "Almost a third of our hydrofoil has been blown away, but I've managed to get us a quarter-mile from the island, and you're still firing death-threats at me! You need a lesson in respect!" Zartan growled and splashed back down in his sinking seat.
"How much time do we have?"
The Moray was more below the waves than above it. The water had reached the edge of the craft, and had been filling it up for some time. Speed had been reduced to a crawl, and the engine was on the verge of collapse. It was only through Skellar's experience in boating fishing trolleys through storms that the Moray could stay level at all.
"We're going under in less than five minutes. I suggest throwing away anything heavy."
Zartan grunted. "All right, you heard him. Drop your gear and ammo. Get ready to jump in. We have a ways to swim."
"But, but Zartan, we don't knows 'ow ta swim." Whined Ripper.
"Well, here's a good chance for you to learn."
The sounds of the Dreadnoks whimpering and kissing their guns goodbye were music to Skellar's ears.
What hurt the most to Lamprey First Class Niles Skellar was the fact that he was about to lose his favorite thing in the world: his precious Moray. He had been working on it for almost a year now, ever since he was promoted from the Second Class Lamprey Gunnery Division and assigned his own hydrofoil. On that day, he swore that he would always take care of his Moray, make it the best-kept hydrofoil in the entire Cobra fleet, and never let anything happen to it. But the day that Monkeywrench walked up to him on that dock, he knew that his future was bleak. At least his Moray went down in battle, and did a heckuva-lotta damage to those damn Joes at the same time. And a Joe WHALE no less!
"Wake up, Lamprey! Let's go!" barked Zartan.
"Huh? Oh, aye, aye, sir." There he was, day-dreaming again. That was getting to be a problem.
The group of Cobras merely floated out into the ocean waters—no need to jump. Thankfully, it wasn't very cold southwest of Florida. Skellar, Zarana and Zartan began swimming towards Cobra Outpost Seven, but the Dreadnoks began some panic-stricken dog-paddling. Their hyper-active motions were keeping them up, but would exhaust them before they reached shore. Niles didn't mind at all.
Luckily for the Dreadnoks, the tide was with them, and so the swim to shore was a hair shorter. Skellar walked onto the shore, Zartan and Zarana crawled, and the Dreadnoks drug themselves across the sand, crying out vows of never returning to the water again, not even to take a bath. Niles doubted they ever took one of those, anyway.
"We need to get down to the dock and pick up our back-up gear." ordered Zartan as he stood up. "The Joes will undoubtedly be here soon, and we need to prepare a defense."
"Defense?" questioned Monkeywrench, "Defense with what, Zartan? We lost our boat, and our extra guns ain't enough to stop the Joes!"
The Dreadnok Leader sighed and spun around. "There are plenty of defenses spread about the island that we can defend ourselves with. Now get down to the dock and grab your weapons!" Zartan stomped off towards the dock, his emotion-responsive body armor sparkling in a mad dance of red.
How could things have gone so wrong? pondered the Lamprey Niles Skellar, But perhaps there was no way to win. If he had destroyed the Joes out there, a full force of blood-thirsty G.I. Joe reinforcements would have swarmed down upon that lone hydrofoil and vaporized it. It didn't seem likely that Zartan was going to get any help from Destro. By letting the WHALE live, he gave the screwy Dreadnoks a chance to return to shore and reset their defenses. It was the better choice by far, even if he had to give the Joes a second chance.
Then, he was woken up from his day-dreaming again.
Niles didn't notice the explosion until the sound of it struck him and nearly knocked him down. By the time he looked over the dock, chunks of concrete were hurtling through the air as the blast of fire speared up into the air and puffed into a cloud of dark smoke. Burning concrete came raining down around the shore and into the ocean, sending the nearby Dreadnoks shrieking in fear and scrambling for the trees. Zartan and Zarana stood their ground, staring in anger at the sight, only moving when a piece of concrete came too close to them. The dock collapsed into the water, crumbling to pieces as it fell.
Skellar was too far away to be in any danger from the explosion, and therefore just stood with a smile on his face. This was just what he wanted. Now, with the Dreadnoks distracted, he disappeared into the jungle.
"Zartan! Hey, Zartan!" called a voice running down from the landing pad.
"If you value your life, make it quick, Buzzer."
"I, uh, I just wanted to tell ya that we've got Wild Weasel strung up back near the 'elipad. 'E's out cold at the moment, but besides a hefty lump on 'is 'ead, 'e's all right."
The Dreadnok's Leader prepared to kill his idiot henchman, but then started rubbing his unshaven scruff. Damn. "Cut him down and bring him to me."
Buzzer couldn't stop blinking his eyes. "But Zartan, I thought we were supposed to--."
"I know what you were supposed to do! There has been a change in plans. Just make sure you cut Wild Weasel down before he wakes back up!"
"Well, okay, Zartan. You's the boss." Buzzer turned around and slowly hiked back up the hill towards the landing platform.
The Dreadnok Leader did actually find some good news. Upon reaching the dock, Zarana found a couple of supply crates that were not placed on the dock. One of them contained a few small weapons, the other Zartan's supplies. Regardless, how this little pathetically-armed batch of exhausted mercenaries could hold off a G.I. Joe invasion force was beyond comprehension.
4.
It was definitely one of the strangest sights that Roadblock had ever seen.
The SHARC's thrusters were blasting at full power as the amphibious aircraft held its position sixty yards in front of the WHALE. Chains linked between Deep-Six' and Cutter's vehicles were pulled almost the point of snapping as the SHARC towed the hovercraft as fast as it possibly could towards Sammeston Island. Shipwreck swore that this set-up of his would hold together, but nobody was betting on it.
With half-a-mile still to go, the team was getting a bit anxious. Everyone and everything was a bit beat-up. Cutter was barely able to stand up. Doc kept him laid flat on the WHALE for the moment, but when the time to strike came, he would have to man the hovercraft's controls. Leatherneck stayed below deck prepping the weapons while Shipwreck drove the boat. Roadblock and Gung-Ho sat in the turrets, keeping their eyes focused on the island ahead.
Well, almost.
Rations. There was nothing more disgusting in the world to G.I. Joe's master chef than field rations, but right now that was all he had. Roadblock and his fellow WHALE companions were using this time to get a light snack before the assault. Occasionally a wave would splash sea water onto the food, and improve the flavor. Granted, rations really were of decent quality nowadays, but it was just the name "rations" that made them despicable to the gourmet chef.
"How are you feeling, Roadblock? How's the back?" asked Doc as he fed Cutter some food.
"Better than these rations are. How they expect a man to live on this stuff…"
Doc smiled. "That stuff will do a lot more for you right now than filet mignon would."
"Yeah, but I could eat a lot more of the mignon."
G.I. Joe's oldest, most experienced doctor set down the food and adjusted his glasses. "Well, it looks like you're eating your share of rations, nevertheless." Roadblock frowned, but Doc smiled warmly. "Let me take a look at your back."
The chef's stomach grumbled as he turned around. "Guess I'm still cravin' a little real food."
"You're too picky."
"I ain't picky, I just got class."
Doc let out a short laugh and patted his friend's shoulder. "You've also got a pretty good back. You might want to avoid shooting that behemoth machine gun of yours on a slippery deck, though."
"No can do, Doc." Said Roadblock as he turned back around and pulled his shirt down. "There's a bunch o' slitherin' Cobras on that little island out there, and I intend to blast their scaly butts out into the sea."
"I could force you to stay in the turret." warned the Joe doctor.
"Then you'll never taste one of my filet mignons ever again."
Doc didn't say another word.
"Ahoy!" called out Shipwreck, "We're comin' up on the island! Take yer stations! Doc, can Cutter man the hovercraft?"
"I don't think--."
"Damn straight…I can!" stated the Joe's Coast Guardsman as he painfully raised himself up off the WHALE's deck.
"Cutter! You shouldn't--!"
"At ease, Doc. You guys need all the help you can get. I'm no good to you on the shore, but maybe, just maybe I can get you to it." Cutter coughed a couple of times and fell to one knee. "Now, if you will help me get back to the controls…we can get ready."
"Yes, sir." Doc lifted him up, and with Shipwreck's help, guided the officer to the damaged rear of the hovercraft. Once there, a call came in from Deep-Six.
"ETA thirty-seconds to the shoreline. I'm going to break the chains at that time, and you'll just drift in. Stopping is up to you."
There was an odd tone in his voice. Cutter responded to it. "You're going to…swing back around and strafe the beach for us, correct?"
"Negative. My job was to get you to the beach. Invasion is up to you. This is where we break company."
"What?" It was bad for Cutter to heat up, but it was happening. "You aren't going to help your team? Who do you think you are?"
"My orders are to protect you from aircraft assault. I've done more than required of me today already. Over and out."
With that, the SHARC dropped the cables, swerved north, dove into the water and disappeared from view.
"That son-of-a-bitch!" barked Gung-Ho. Cutter just stood in silence, too weak to continue an argument.
The WHALE bounced across the waves, straight for Sammeston Island.