First of all, I want to extend my thanks to Karama9 and Ninja75 for your reviews. Karama, I am calling the machines nanites instead of nanomites. I had read a report, years ago on them, and the author used the term nanites and it always stuck with me. When I saw the movie and heard them say nanomites, I shook my head. Who's right? I have no idea. Just personal preference. Ninja, thanks for the support.
I forgot to put a disclaimer in the previous chapters, so… I'm not making any money from this. I own none of it. Good. We're done.
For those of you who are looking for some good Joe fics, I highly recommend both CrystalOfEllinon and TiamatV. Both have posted in the regular Joe area, and both are excellent writers. In fact, I will be borrowing small bits here and there from them. Nothing major, but there are a few points that stuck with me and I wish to include. If they read this, they'll recognize it.
Anyway, on to the next chapter. As always, thank you… and enjoy.
File Name – Hawk
Real Name – Abernathy, Clayton M.
Rank – O-8 (Major General, 2-star)
Primary MOS – Artillery
JOE Serial Number – 142-27-CM46
Birthplace – Denver, Colorado, United States of America
Qualifications – All NATO personal arms (Expert rating)
Original field commander and the man who assembled the GI JOE team, he was promoted to command GI JOE after the death of its first commanding officer, General Flagg. Graduate of West Point Military Academy with special honors. Promotions have been almost entirely for battlefield service. General Hawk inspires loyalty in the men and women under his command with his dedication to them and to their purpose. He considers GI JOE to be an entirely volunteer unit, and never asks of his troops what he himself would not be willing to do himself. This attitude has led, on more than one occasion, to the members of GI JOE following Hawk instead of the orders from their respective governments.
The aircraft was amazingly insulated against sound, considering there were four supersonic engines surrounding the fuselage. But inside it was quieter even than a commercial airliner.
The woman and the two unmasked men had stripped out of their black bodysuits, though they still wore dark colors. The woman and the masked man had then sat Weems down and were working on his leg. There was a deep gouge in it from a piece of flying debris that Conrad hadn't noticed earlier.
"Ow!" groaned Weems as the masked man stitched the wound closed.
"Are you telling me that hurts?" asked the woman with a challenging smile as she injected him with some painkillers, "I thought you Special Forces guys were supposed to be tough."
Weems flashed her his best smile. "Well we are, sweetheart. But that doesn't mean we don't have a sensitive side, too."
The masked man jabbed the needle into Weems' leg a little harder than necessary, drawing a small yelp from Conrad's friend. He then saw the woman smile affectionately at the masked man and shake her head.
Weems shook his head as the painkiller took effect almost immediately. "Wow, this is some primo stuff right here. Woo!"
"What kind of outfit is this anyway? It's not regular military, you're international," Hauser said at last. All four of them turned to him, but the masked man stepped to the side as he let the redhead finish his stitching of Wall's leg. The other two men had been standing apart, talking quietly to each other, but now they eyed Conrad.
"You're British," he said, looking at the black man who made Rocky Balboa look like a wimp. He looked at the smaller man. "Are you French?"
"Moroccan," he answered with a smile.
Conrad looked at the woman. "You sound like you have a southern accent. Georgia?"
She smiled and nodded. "Straight shootin', Duke."
"And where are you from?" asked the Moroccan absently. The viewscreen in front of his eye was scrolling through text that Conrad couldn't make out.
Weems laughed. "Hey man, you kidding? Duke wasn't born, he was government-issued."
"What about you?" Conrad asked, looking at the masked man.
The redhead looked at the masked man as well and grimaced slightly. "He doesn't speak," she said quietly.
"Why not?" asked Weems, his eyes rolling around the area.
"He doesn't say," replied the Moroccan with a grin as he unwrapped a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth.
"Yet you're all in the same unit," continued Conrad, "and one you can't even tell me the name of?"
The redhead smiled and shrugged. "They'd toss us out for telling."
"Duke, man" said Weems with a grin, "don't you get it yet? They're super-secret, Mission Impossible. This ship will self-destruct in thirty…"
"You're going after them, aren't you?" interrupted Conrad, "You're going after the ones who hit my convoy."
All except for the masked man glanced at each other, but the silence coming from them was rich with understanding.
"Then whoever you are and whatever unit this is, I want in," Conrad declared.
"That's not our call," asked the Moroccan, turning back to his viewscreen.
"I want in, too," insisted Weems, then he turned a suggestive grin towards the redhead. "That way we can spend some quality bunk time together."
The masked man's sword hovered an inch from Ripcord's throat even before Conrad heard the rasp from it being drawn. The man checked the angle of the blade, then slowly drew it up closer to inspect it. He reached over Weems to grab a rag, flicking it with an audible snap. Then he began cleaning the darkened blood off of it.
Weems gulped in understanding.
"Now where is this base we're heading to?" Conrad asked for must have been the third time.
"Look out the window," said the Moroccan.
Conrad looked out the window, but all he could see were endless dunes of sand. But… wait, were those the pyramids? They flew on for another few minutes past the pyramids, southwest, Conrad thought. Then the Howler slowed and hovered in place, then descended rapidly.
Conrad was thoroughly confused now. They were landing in the middle of the desert.
Where the hell are we?
The ground approached rapidly, then they sank below the surface.
An underground facility in the middle of the Sahara Desert. Wow, thought Conrad.
Finally, the craft slowed and settled down, and the four mystery people gathered their gear and stood near the door. The large black man was the first out the door, followed by the Moroccan, the woman and then the masked man. Conrad followed them out with Weems right behind them.
"Whoa," whispered Weems.
Conrad nodded silently, unable to stop staring around. They were in a massive hangar, with at least a dozen more Howlers like the one they'd arrived on sitting on the platforms. At least fifty mechanics and other personnel were scattered around. Standing in front of them was General Hawk.
"Welcome back, team. Damn fine job," he told them, patting the men on the shoulder and giving the woman a hug. A tall, gorgeous, svelte blond woman stood a few steps behind the general, who high-fived the black man and also greeted the redhead with a hug. "Well, Duke, Ripcord. I see you made it here in one piece. Welcome to the Pit. I've read a lot about the two of you in the last few hours. Follow me."
The two of them instantly fell in behind Hawk as he led them to an elevator platform where the rest of the team was already waiting. As soon as they were aboard Hawk nodded to the Moroccan and the platform began to descend.
"Okay, sir, look. I didn't 'steal' that Blackhawk, I was just borrowing it…" Weems began to explain, but shut up the moment Hawk actually looked at him.
"I've been the Army my whole life, and this is like no TacOp I've ever seen. Sir, what is this place?" asked Conrad.
Hawk smirked. "Well, officially I can't tell you, because technically GI JOE does not exist. But if we did, it would be comprised of the best soldiers from the best military units across the globe. The alpha dogs. We would have begun six years ago, with ten nations signing the initial charter, sharing personnel, expenses, and intelligence. Now we have twenty-three nations working together. When all others fail, we don't."
The lift passed down into the next level, which shockingly looked larger than the first level. A massive water tank, at least three football fields across and six or more long was the main area on one side of the platform, and to the other was a desert and an urban obstacle course.
As they passed, they noticed an attractive brunette slipping into an outfit that fit her like a glove, and as soon as it was fastened, everything except for her head seemed to vanish in thin air.
"What is that?" asked Conrad.
"Next generation camo-suit," explained the redhead, "microscopic cameras record what is directly in front of them and project it onto the liquid screen. You become effectively invisible."
"Oh, man," said Weems, awestruck, "I want one of those."
"The suit or the girl?" asked the Moroccan with a chuckle.
Weems shrugged.
"If you recall, Captain Hauser, we tried to recruit you about four years ago, but you turned us down," continued Hawk.
"I don't remember being asked to join any secret op unit," protested Conrad.
"It would have been after your operation in Thailand," explained Hawk, "a tall gentleman approached you after you tore up that bar while on leave?"
"Hey that's not fair," commented Weems in defense of his friend, "four years ago my boy had some issues. Hell, his issues had issues. And you'd have to be a bit more specific about which bar. My boy's torn up a lot of bars."
Hawk nodded. "Regardless. GI JOE recruits the best soldiers from every military branch in every participating nation, we equip them with state of the art weaponry and equipment, and provide them with the best training in the world."
They finally passed below the level with the water tank, which Conrad estimated was probably at least a hundred feet deep and then the platform came towards a third level. Most of this level was open, with ground vehicles of every kind imaginable. The platform finally came to stop on this level, and Hawk led the way, followed by Hauser and Weems, and the rest of the team.
Conrad and Weems noticed many of the people were walking about in the same armored bodysuits that the team had been wearing during the fight.
"That can't be comfortable, no body armor is that sleek," protested Conrad, "what's the trick?"
"Reactive liquid armor," answered the redhead, "several times better than Kevlar and less than half the weight."
"Who the hell can afford to pay for all this?" wondered Weems, his eyes constantly taking it all in.
The massive man gave him a single glance and said, smirking but with all the sincerity in the world, "Oprah."
Hawk led them to the end of the open chamber and down a corridor, then to the main control room. An upper ring of work stations ran along each side of the circular room, and a set of stairs led down to obviously the command area. Hawk and the others immediately stepped down the stairs, and Conrad noticed the masked man simply leap over the railing and down into the lower area.
"I suppose," continued Hawk, "that I should introduce you to the people that saved your life. Meet Heavy Duty, formerly of the British SAS, ordinance and heavy weapons."
The powerfully-built black man nodded once in greeting. Hawk then turned to indicate the smaller man who was already taking a position at one of the computer terminals.
"That's Breaker over there, came to us from the Moroccan Royal Guard, communication and electronics warfare," said Hawk, who then turned to the redhead and smiled. "This is Scarlett, she heads our intelligence operations. And that masked guy over there is Snake Eyes, the best damned silent commando on the face of the planet."
The masked commando nodded once.
"So who hit us out there?" asked Conrad to no one in particular.
The blond woman who'd come with them turned and gave him a look. "Currently unidentified," she told him with a Nordic accent.
"And how did that tramp in the leather get a jump jet like ours, Cov?" growled Heavy Duty.
The blond, Cover Girl, smiled at him. "If I knew that, don't you think that would've been the first thing I mentioned, HD?"
Scarlett leaned back into Snake Eyes' chest, even as he had his back against the wall of the stairs. "They've got financing, they've got weapons, and they've got the technological support. Plus they had the intel to know the exact route that the warheads were going to take, and even what vehicle they were going to be in. That reveals there's a hell of a lot of money that's been put behind them."
"Where would you have put the warheads?" asked Cover Girl.
"One of the Apache's," Scarlett answered immediately, "with standing orders to fly off and destroy the package if necessary. Keeping it in the most heavily armored vehicle was an open invitation to hit it with a mobile weapons platform like that Typhoon."
Conrad growled a little bit but Weems found himself nodding. It hurt his and his friend's pride, but he couldn't argue against sound reasoning.
"Well their capabilities are beyond anything out intel says is out there," commented Cover Girl.
"Which is the one and only reason why we got our asses kicked out there," insisted Weems.
Hawk then turned and faced Conrad directly as a technician handed him a sheet of paper. "Now that you've brought the warheads here to safety, the Joes will be able to take it from here. Your mission here is over, Captain. Breaker?"
"McCullen is standing by, General," he reported.
"We'll find her, and figure out exactly who her troops are before we take any further steps," Hawk said firmly. "Before we make a move, we'll make sure we know everything we can about her. After all, knowing is half the battle."
"And the other half?" asked Weems.
Hawk smirked, but turned to Breaker. With a nod from Hawk, Breaker activated the holographic interface. A moment later a full-size image of James McCullen materialized in the room, then stepped right through Weems.
"Jesus!" cried Weems.
"Good morning, Mr. McCullen," greeted Hawk.
"Morning, General Abernathy," said the weapons designer in his Scottish brogue, "Most of the men that I encounter in my line of work have a tendency to over-promise and under-deliver. You seem to be the opposite. I see that you were right when you told me your team was the best in the world. Maybe I should have listened to you when you advised I use your team to guard the warheads."
"My men did everything they could out there," protested Conrad hotly. "Whoever attacked us had weaponry far more advanced than what's available on the market. A lot of good men died last night!"
"But not you, Captain," said McCullen, with a slight rise of his eyebrow, "you failed to keep the warheads safe."
"That mission was classified above Top Secret, so clearly, someone sold us out," Hauser continued, grinding his teeth to keep himself from saying something more that he might regret.
"I spent ten years and thirteen billion euros developing those four warheads," McCullen said, seemingly looking down his nose at Hauser, "and your job was to protect them. I think it's time you accept that if not for General Abernathy, you would have failed. I think you need to turn things over to professionals, now."
Conrad bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from exploding in anger, and could feel Weems next to him tense up as well.
Who does that weasel think he is? A lot of good men died last night, thought Conrad. He took a step forward but Wallace grabbed his arm.
"That's not an entirely fair assessment," said Hawk, his defending of them startling both soldiers. "Captain Hauser followed his orders to the best of his ability."
"Apparently that wasn't enough, was it?" retorted McCullen, casting a dismissing glance at Conrad. "What are your coordinates, General? I'll request NATO send a full company of special ops soldiers to retrieve and deliver the warheads this time."
Hawk smirked. "My apologies, Mr. McCullen. But I can't tell you that. It's not that I don't trust you… it's just I don't trust anybody."
McCullen's smirk matched the general's. "Are you sure you're not a McCullen?"
"I don't talk smooth enough for that, sir," replied Hawk.
"Oh I think you do just fine, General," McCullen complimented. "Now, so that the blighters that did this don't track you down, you'll need to disable the tracking beacon implanted within the case."
"We already did that," commented Breaker.
"Good man," McCullen said with a nod. "Does that mean you'll be able to deliver the warheads to NATO on your own, General?"
"Mr. McCullen, with all due respect to you and to NATO, I don't think it would be wise to expose the warheads quite yet," Hawk explained, "I have no doubt that the people who attacked the convoy will make another attempt for them. They didn't get them the first time, and I have a feeling they won't be giving up. We need to neutralize the threat these people pose before I'll feel comfortable moving the weapons."
McCullen nodded a few times, his brow furrowing in thought. "Sound reasoning, General. I was going to try and argue it with you, but I don't think I'll be able to come up with a good enough reason. In that case, I assume you'll allow me to check the warheads to see if any have been damaged?"
Hawk turned to Conrad and nodded, indicating to the table. Grimacing, Conrad stepped over to the table and laid the case on top of it. Breaker stepped up next to him, hitting a few buttons on a wrist-computer. The viewscreen in front of his eye flashed green for a moment then turned black and white.
Breaker looked up and down, scanning each of the warheads himself. He pulled back a little bit and looked at Hawk. "My scan says they're all intact, General."
McCullen turned to Hawk with a serious look.
"What's the code?" he asked McCullen.
"Five-two-nine-four-four-oh," replied the weapons designer.
Breaker punched the code into the sensor screen beneath the handle, then stepped back as the case hissed and the locks snapped open. He pushed the lid up the rest of the way and then stepped aside as the holographic image of McCullen came up next to the case, running his fingers over each of the warheads. The Joes were silent for several moments, all of them watching McCullen.
"Thank you, General," he said, stepping back, "I am quite satisfied they are still in perfect condition. Please keep me informed of your progress."
As the hologram of James McCullen winked out, Scarlett turned briefly to regard Snake Eyes. The commando gave a slow nod. She knew him well enough to imagine his eyes narrowed in thought behind that visor, could almost see the gears turning as he went over the possibilities.
"That was… odd," she muttered.
"What was that?" asked Hawk.
Scarlett shook her head, only just realizing that she'd spoken aloud. Well, might as well get the rest of it out. "Sir, there was something… just… wrong with that conversation. Something about McCullen, I don't know, Hawk. Something about him made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something fishy is going on. Maybe it's nothing, I could just be jumpy from the mission."
Hawk's serious face never changed, as he walked up to stand directly in front of her. Unconsciously, Scarlett drew herself up a little straighter and taller.
"Do you believe that?" Hawk asked quietly.
She swallowed a few times. She wasn't sure, but… Snakes had seen it too, and he could read people as well as she was able to. Hawk would accept whatever answer she had, and take it seriously.
"No, sir," she answered finally, "it's not a mistake, and I'm not just being jumpy. There was something off about McCullen. I don't know what it is, but I don't think we can trust him."
"The computers say his beta-waves were all over the place," added Breaker, "up, down, and sideways. He was using something to block our sensors, that is certain."
"Looks like McCullen's working an angle he don't want us to know about, General," commented Heavy Duty.
Hawk nodded. "Cover Girl, make sure that briefcase remains sealed. I want it brought to my office under a four-man guard. I'll keep it in the safe in my office."
"Yes, sir," replied the blond woman.
"General," called Breaker, "we've finished uploading the video feeds from the attack."
"Let's see it."
The main screen brought up an image of the ruined Rhino, with soldiers hurrying about, blasts of energy decimating the vehicles. Conrad realized that it must have been a camera installed on the Howler, as the image jostled every few moments, growing larger and then shrinking. Then the skull-faced soldiers marching towards the soldiers.
"Hold it!" ordered Hawk, "Focus in on the woman."
Breaker's fingers danced on the console, and the tiny figure grew to fill the screen, showing a beautiful raven-haired woman in a form-fitting leather outfit.
Unnoticed behind the JOE team, Weems' eyes went wide and he leaned towards his best friend. "Dude, that looks like…"
"Shhh!" interrupted Conrad.
The rest of the Joes were staring intently at the woman on the screen. Hawk's eyes narrowed. "She was the one in charge, without a doubt. Find out who she is. How long, Breaker?"
The Moroccan shrugged. "Can't say for certain, General. Best guess, tomorrow or the next day. Facial recognition software will identify her. I'll start out with the US database of known criminals and terrorists, then expand to Interpol and other European agencies. Failing that, we'll have to go through the infinity scanner. That could take days, possibly even a few weeks. We'll find her, but even our supercomputers can only analyze the data so fast."
Hawk nodded. "All right, keep on it."
"Yes sir."
"Infinity scanner?" asked Conrad.
"We have access to any photograph on any server anywhere in the world," explained Hawk over his shoulder.
"At some point everyone gets photographed," continued Breaker, turning slightly to glance at them over his shoulder, "ATM machines, airports, the crowd shot at a football game… Facebook. We'll find her."
Hawk then turned to regard the two men behind him. His face turned into something of a frown as he looked between each one. Cover Girl appeared at his side and handed him a electronic tablet. Hawk glanced at it, then turned back to Hauser and Weems.
"Per new orders from NATO, I am now the official custodian of the warheads. Your mission is complete.
"Normally no one is ever brought to the Pit until after they've passed our qualification tests and already agreed to the conditions of this assignment," Hawk explained to them, "that way the team's existence remains a secret. Now since the two of you know about us already, there's not a hell of a lot I can do about that. However, I'll arrange transport to take the two of you back to your base. But if you ever breathe a word about GI JOE, then I guarantee you a very, very long stay in solitary confinement. Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly," answered Weems.
"We want in," replied Conrad simply.
Hawk stepped in a little closer. "Maybe you don't understand how this works. You don't ask to join GI JOE. You get asked, and you only get asked once. You turned us down."
"You scouted me four years ago, but I wasn't ready then," Conrad admitted, "I'm ready now. Let's have at it."
"I've lost men before too, Captain," said Hawk, "good men. But attempting to –"
"I know her," Conrad said quickly. He was very aware of the other Joes turning to regard him carefully.
"You know her," repeated Hawk, slowly, deliberately.
"You told us that knowing is half the battle. I know who she is. I know everything about her until four years ago," Conrad replied, pulling out an old, crinkled photo of himself and Ana. "The name she went by then was Ana Lewis. You let us on the team, and I'll tell you everything I know."
Hawk regarded him for a few moments, and Conrad had to fight the urge to squirm under that intense gaze. He could almost see the options being weighed in the General's mind; accept the offer, throw him out, have him shot, and a few others probably made it to the top five.
"Before we go any further," Hawk said slowly, and Conrad was very conscious of the eyes of the Joe team watching and evaluating him, "I need to know what I'm dealing with. A man looking to settle a score, or one who can put the mission before his feelings. Because the battlefield is the wrong place for the emotions I think you're dealing with. Can you kill her?"
Conrad swallowed. He'd been wondering the same thing. "If I had to."
"Chances are you will," said Hawk without a hint of remorse. "If you flinch, even for an instant… What I'm telling you is that unless you can kill her graveyard dead then you have no place on the JOE team."
"I can do it, sir."
"Then I'll make you a deal," said Hawk, "you tell us everything you know about this woman, and I'll give the two of you the chance to qualify for the JOE team. If you fail, you go home. If you succeed, you stay. But either way, you tell us everything you know. Do we have a deal?"
"Yes sir," answered both men in unison.
Hawk nodded, his mouth a thin line.
"Since you want in so badly, you'll be trained and evaluated by the best," he told them, "our senior warrant officer, Flint, will supervise your overall training, but your actual instructors will be Team Alpha. Until the time you either fail to qualify for the team or you return to a post outside of the JOE team, Conrad Hauser and Wallace Weems are dead. From now on, your names are Duke and Ripcord. Understood?"
"Yes sir!"
"Heavy Duty will supervise your weapons and equipment training. Breaker will work with you on the technologies available to GI JOE, and Scarlett will train you in hand-to-hand combat and supervise your marksmanship. Understood?"
"Yes sir!"
"Team Alpha," said Hawk, turning to regard the Joes, "they want to join the team. Make sure they work for it."
Duke and Ripcord suddenly felt very frightened at the delighted smiles on the faces of three Joes.