15 minutes later… Sylia waited quietly as Priss walked in as usual out of uniform, only in ABU trousers and a sleeveless shirt that read 'Girls do it better and look better doing it,' Rolling her eyes, Sylia could also be assured that Priss' boots were not shined. "You're late." Sylia said tersely.
"Caught in traffic…"
"Save it!" Sylia rebuked, "We have work to do." Sylia began her briefing by opening the dossier on her desk. "What do you know of 'Strike First'?"
"Bunch of survivalist morons," Priss answered as she lit a cigarette, "who think the world's going to hell and really don't like the US government."
"Very good Priss," Sylia said, she was truly astonished at Priss whose knowledge of current events outside of pop culture was rather limited.
"There was a well written article in Penthouse."
"Charming." Sylia drily remarked as the idea of articles in an adult periodical would only not be a contradiction but antithetical to the concept. "Anyway, we're going in undercover to assess Cobra's involvement with the group."
"If Cobra ain't involve?"
"Knowing Cobra Commander he would get involved out of his own perverse amusement. But on the assumption Cobra's not involved; we'll back up the Feds as First Strike are a bunch of cub scouts with substantial firepower."
"Okay," Priss blew a cloud of smoke out her mouth, "Are we going in with our own names or we going in with that assumed identity bullshit."
"Our covers will be ordinary gullible Americans. Our names will be Caroline Winters and Cynthia Hanson…."
"Whoa…whoa…whoa…what?!" Priss sputtered cutting Sylia off. "You're losing it Boss; those are Cobra Commander's bitches."
"Yes, but Cobra would go through multiple intermediaries that Wingfield wouldn't deal with any one from Cobra's senior command." Sylia answered coolly. "I also doubt he knows of those two nor would the intermediaries. Besides I doubt that any transaction would take place at his compound."
"Ya' got a point there. What's are back up?"
"Dagger and Snake-Eyes will be on the outside providing observation and will perform night recon as well to assist in our investigation."
"Hey, Boss…"
"Hmm…"
"What about Extensive Enterprises? We both know those twin fucks got the money and resources to pull off an arms deal or two,"
Sylia had to think about Priss' question as it was possibility to consider. Extensive Enterprises in many dirty deals but neither the FBI nor SEC could build a case against them. GI Joe couldn't even keep Xamot and Tomax in custody as they were ordered to be released and charges dropped. "It's possible but even Xamot and Tomax would use intermediaries. In any case the discussion is moot. Pack your gear, we leave for Camp Victory."
The two Joes rode on an FBI jet to Kansas City; saved time and considering that they didn't need prying ears or eyes on the material that provided by the FBI and the CIA. "I don't know why I couldn't bring my guns." Priss complained as she read the dossiers of the core leadership of Strike First.
"I told you, Priss, our cover is to look like civilians." Sylia said while sipping her coffee. "Besides can you imagine the looks we would get on the bus ride if we came in our Hardsuits?"
"Yeah our cover would go to shit, but we would still rock the joint."
"Dagger and Snake-Eyes should nearly be in Montana by now," Sylia mentioned as she glanced at her watch.
"How do we get in touch with them when we need to?"
"We'll figure that out when necessary. First Strike requires surrender of all communication devices upon joining."
"Bummer! I can't play Candy Crush!"
"You don't play Candy Crush, Priss," Sylia sighed.
The two arrived at Camp Victory. The one thing that caught Sylia's eye were the guard towers and the razor wire; she could have mistaken the place for a prisoner of war camp.
"Get the lead out," barked the processing officer, "I want you unpacked and on the parade grounds in ten minutes."
"Hey Boss, I already went through Basic…" Whispered Priss.
"You're going through it again!"
"Commander Wingfield will address the new recruits at 1500 on the button!"
Off in the distance another charter bus pulled up to the front gate with more recruits along with women and children. "Hey, some even brought the tribe with them."
"Wingfield apparently encourages it," Sylia figured, survivalist militias were no different than cults as they employ control over the man, woman or both. "When you power over one's family, you have power over the one."
"Grab 'em by the balls." Priss smirked.
"Crude but succinct."
At 1500 hours the recruits stood at attention at the center of the compound before Commander Wingfield. This was an opportunity for the two Joes to observe their surroundings. Sylia noted the flood lights around the perimeter. "Rest," Wingfield ordered before going into his speech. "Fellow survivors! You have taken the first step towards insuring the continued existence of your families! I congratulate you… You may have felt that this first step - the relocation and cutting old ties - was difficult… Well, I can assure you, the second step – your training – will be far more difficult! It must be – to fully prepare you for…"
"Who the fuck does this dude thinks he is? The second coming of fuckin' Patton?!" Priss whispered.
"Shh…"
"That horrible third step the reality of survival after the total collapse of civilization! Your training commences at 0600 hours tomorrow!" Suddenly something caught his eye, a red eye brunette lighting up a cigarette in the ranks. "No smoking in ranks!" He ordered as he dashed up to her and slapped the woman with a hard back hand across the face.
"Okay, that's strike one." Priss growled.
"Priss" Sylia quietly warned, "We have a job to do, stay frosty." The last thing she wanted was Priss' temper getting the best of her and blowing their cover.
Yeah, this guy better watch his ass, 'cause this Wolf will bear her fangs!
"Captain Carruthers," Wingfield said pointing with his swagger stick, "will march you over to the Quartermaster shed – for field and uniform issue."
"Do you see that big building," Priss whispered, pointing with her head, "The one with the ventilation on the roof?"
"That's must be an ammo dump or armory. Big fans like that are used to vent fumes away from any high explosives that are stored there."
Once quick marched to Quartermaster to draw their gear and uniforms. "Look like we're both FNGs again. Bet ya' ten bucks chow's gonna suck!"
It was one of those times Sylia was glad she didn't Priss' bet. She had eaten bad food before even made her long for what she ate during her mission in Tselinoyarsk. She watched with amusement as Priss filed a complaint about the food only to get a response that: You'll eat the same food as Commander Wingfield.
"Son of a bitch is probably used ta' eating outta dumpsters." Priss muttered under her breath
Once after lunch and the barfing thereof, the two Knight Sabers walked the grounds as they had some free time, performing observation of the perimeter without drawing attention to themselves.
Much like lunch… dinner sucked. Priss quietly told Sylia next time she complains about the chow back at the base that Sylia should just punch her in the face.
At 2300 hours, the two looked around to see if there were any prying eyes and ears. "The entire is enclosed by hurricane fencing topped by some nasty razor wire. Reinforced guard towers at each corner, another at the main gate – and one more overlooking the fuckin' airstrip… a fuckin' airstrip!"
"Obviously more going on than just being a paramilitary nut group, proves some of the intel," Sylia surmised. "Did you pace the intervals between floodlight masts?"
"Si Jefe, one every fifty yards around the perimeter."
"Good. We'll recon tomorrow night. Now let's sack out."
Just as Sylia closed her eyes, the sounds of Priss grunting as she tossed and turned stirred her. The cots were uncomfortable to say the least but Sylia knew it was something different as well. "Trouble sleeping alone?"
"Yeah, it feels stranger without my girl snuggling up next to me."
"Among other things…" Sylia retorted, "Just go to sleep or I'll knock you out, got it!"
"Yeah, 'nite Jefe."