Chapter 14

Game Over

1.

"No! Repeater!"

"Shut up, Salvo! Take his place on the fifty!"

"Look out!"

Strafing fire across the right side of the Tomahawk sent Salvo diving to the floor of the smoking helicopter. The Joe anti-tank specialist uncontrollably crashed atop the bleeding body of the latest .50-cal gunner, Repeater. He had just joined the list of injured behind Wet-Suit and Rock'n'Roll.

Even though no longer able to stand behind a turreted machine gun, the obnoxious SEAL Wet-Suit still spew harassments at the other Joes. His wounds were only light injuries to the legs; Salvo wished they were to his mouth…

"Get back up and start shooting that gun!"

"Will you zip-it, Wet-Suit? I'm doin' the best I can!" Salvo pushed himself back up, apologizing to Repeater, who was painfully holding his stomach. I ain't no air soldier. I shoot armor, not aluminum!

Resetting the fifty, Salvo attempted to aim as Lift-Ticket swerved the Tomahawk in a hard left turn, trying to dodge an on-coming pair of FANGs. That left them wide-open for the fifty—but it also left Salvo wide open for their front cannons.

Salvo knew that he wasn't paid to be afraid, he was paid to kick Cobra's butt. If he had to do it from some swoopin' chopper out in the middle of nowhere using a little machine gun while tryin' to keep his ham and cheese sandwich down, so be it.

"Yikes!" Salvo dropped to his knees and covered his head as a spray of bullets blasted through the Tomahawk.

"You chicken! Get back up there and start shooting again! Stand yer ground, man!"

"Shut up, Wet-Suit! Don't ever call me a chicken again!" Salvo wasn't sure if he wanted to shoot the Cobras or Wet-Suit.

"Stop dickin' around back there, guys!" barked Lift-Ticket. "I'm barely keeping this thing in the air, and there's a Rattler heading this way! You think these two FANGs are bad? Wait until that gets here!"

A Rattler? Wow! A tankbuster, like me! Waitaminit!

The gears of thought creaked thorough Salvo's hairless head. The burly Joe stumbled away from the .50-cal and made for the equipment lying in the back of the Tomahawk.

"Salvo! You dumb-ass! What do you think you're doing? The gun is over here! Get back over here!" screamed Wet-Suit. Even Lift-Ticket looked back to see what all the verbal-hassle was about.

What he saw dropped his jaw.

Salvo crawled back from the Tomahawk's rear carrying his ridiculously huge rocket-launcher.

Wet-Suit started laughing in hysteria. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm gonna use my rocket-launcher."

"But that thing isn't surface-to-air! They're anti-tank rockets!" All of his screaming, together with his wounds, were putting Wet-Suit on the edge of a pass-out.

"Yeah, but the Cobra's don't know that. Those jerks have been flying so close since the 20mm ran out of ammo that I don't need any heat-seekers."

Lift-Ticket was too crazy with flying to pay any more attention to Salvo. "Here they come again! Whatever you're gonna try, you better do it quick, because we're not going to last another attack!"

"Turn left!"

Following Salvo's request, Lift-Ticket swung the helicopter left, letting the other side take the bulk of the fire this time. When the 'Hawk's cargo section came into view of the Cobra assault choppers, the sight bugged out the eyes of the pilots.

Salvo fired two rockets at the first FANG, and the second rocket hit it, dead-on. As the little helicopter exploded, the pilot jumped into an eighty-foot dive. The second FANG saw the explosion, and turned away, making a break for the west. Salvo fired two rockets at it, but they missed.

"Great job, Salvo!" cheered Lift-Ticket. "The FANGs are gone."

Salvo set down his massive rocket launcher and sighed. "What about the Rattler?" As if to answer his question, heavy gattling fire began ripping up the front left corner of the Tomahawk.

"We're going down!" cried Lift-Ticket. "Get ready to--!"

But the pilot was cut off by a thunderous explosion. Salvo covered his face, and opened his eyes just in time to see a smokeball were the Rattler used to be—and a Conquest X-30 fly through it!

"What the hell?"

"Tomahawk One, can you hear me? This is Conquest Four." Salvo couldn't place the voice.

"Conquest Four, this is Tomahawk One, I'm receiving you." Replied Lift-Ticket, God bless you buddy! You just saved our butts!"

"Glad to hear it. Are you able to make it back to the Jane?"

"I…I think so, but barely."

"Roger. The sky should be clear if you avoid the island. Good luck, guys. I need to get back to the thick of it."

"Understood. Good luck yourself, uh…"

"Flash."

"Flash! Well, there's a surprise!"

"Se ya in a while, guys."

"Yo Joe!"

2.

Wild Weasel walked up onto the sandy shore and began to pull off his flight-suit. Swimming with the big heavy suit on was horrible, but at least he made it back unscathed. Stripping down to his undies was a little embarrassing, but he just couldn't wear that suit anymore.

As soon as he saw the Joe boat buzzing towards the WHALE, he knew that he had two choices: fight or flee. As much as he hated being a coward, fleeing came with the reward of Zartan getting his butt kicked by Snake-Eyes. That couldn't be passed up.

Looking back across the dark waters, Cobra's Ace Pilot could see the Dreadnoks splashing for their lives, desperately trying to get back to Cobra Outpost Seven. Finally, after almost three days of absolute misery, Wild Weasel smiled.

Until Zartan stepped out of the water.

"Wild Weasel! How did you get here before me?"

Frowning, he answered, "I swam, Zartan."

The Dreadnok Leader ran at the pilot, but his fatigue dropped him to the ground. With the glare of angry humiliation, Zartan growled and pointed, "You couldn't have beaten me, not with that flight suit on!"

"Who cares?" Cobra's Ace Pilot began walking for the brush, "Look, we survived the Joe attack. I'm sure we'll get out of here with another one of your brilliant plans."

"Raaargh!" Zarana tackled Wild Weasel from behind and began beating him as hard as she could.

3.

"That's enough, Zarana."

"But I'm just getting' started, brother!"

"I don't want him killed! That won't go over well with Cobra Commander."

"Alright, alright."

Zartan watched his panting sister weakly step up from Wild Weasel's battered, unconscious body, wipe her brow with bloody hands and walk over to her brother. Cobra's number one pilot may not die by Dreadnok hands, but that didn't mean he would be guaranteed to live.

"We'll leave him here to suffer and fend for himself. Now that Cobra has stopped bombing the island, we can move to the other side and try to signal a FANG or Rattler." Ordered Zartan.

"Okay. The Dreadnok's are just reachin' shore now. I'll make them carry Zandar."

A feeling of failure bit into Zartan's heart. The Joes hadn't received what they wanted, but neither had he. Here he was, stranded on the little island in the Gulf of Mexico that he had used as a safehouse a half-dozen times. All he was supposed to do was clean out the mansion of its wealth and wipe the computers. It shouldn't have been this hard.

But it wasn't the Joes that cost him this victory. It was that Lamprey First Class Niles Skellar. That stupid fly in the ointment ruined everything for both sides. Why was he such a pain? What had he wanted?

One thing was for certain, in the future, Zartan was going to make damn sure that he never worked with anyone who carried that much defiance in them again.

"Good. Our mission here is done."

4.

"How many left, Payload?"

"Six. The Condors have left the area, there are no Rattlers or Mambas left, I cannot locate any more Dominators, but six Night Ravens are still engaging us."

Wow. I never thought we would do this well. No offense, guys.

They were words of beauty to Slipstream's ears. Ripcord's Conquest was trailing smoke, but still doing okay, and Payload was the only fighter with any missiles left: just one.

"Damn!" cried Conquest Three.

"What's wrong, Ripcord?" asked Slipstream.

"I got behind a Raven, forgetting about the rear machine guns. I got hit pretty good. I'm smoking, bad."

"You're losing speed, Ripcord." Observed Payload. "Bogie moving up on your tail. Break right!"

Ripcord took Payload's advice and pulled into a high-G turn right that put the Night Raven directly in line of Payload's missile sights. The last Conquest X-30 missile rocketed free of its wing and smashed into the Night Raven, destroying the black and silver mammoth-of-the-sky.

"Payload, bogie pulling up on you! Dive left!" warned Slipstream, but it was too late. Since he was so involved with saving Ripcord, the Joe astronaut did not keep an eye on his own safety. A Raven swooped in behind him and fired two missiles.

Payload attempted to evade, but it was too late. His Conquest X-30 exploded, and the Joe pilot barely had enough time to eject.

"Damn!" cursed Slipstream as he worked to swing around the back of the Night Raven that had just shot Payload. Before he had even traversed half-a-mile, there was another explosion. Conquest Three had exploded!

"Ripcord! No!" The damage to his jet was finally overpowered. In less than a minute, the odds had dropped to five-to-one.

Slipstream had taken down five aircraft in this fight, but there was nothing more he could do. It was time to retreat. His fuel was dangerously low as it was. Biting his pride, he turned north, and punched it.

Two Night Ravens floated in behind him, and in only moments, they had missile locks. Keeping one hand on the stick and another on the eject lever, Slipstream prepared to move…but before he attempted the dodge, they broke off and flew west.

"What the--?"

"Slipstream, come in, this is Duke on the G.I. Jane."

"Duke! Do you know what's going on here? Two Night Ravens were just about to kill me, then they chickened out!"

"Yeah. The battle's over, Slipstream. Head back to Florida. I convinced the Head Snake to call back the rest of his air force. You won't have any more problems. Flash is already on his way home."

"Roger. Ripcord and Payload need rescue."

"Already on it."

"Thanks, Duke. Yo Joe!"

"Yo Joe."