Story [G.I. Joe]: Heros and Terrorists (Updated 26/04/11)

01/26/2034 - Mercer

The Bronx, New York - Outside

Inspector James Gordon ducked back behind the wall of the warehouse as another burst of sub-machine gun fire peppered the brickwork. Right about now he'd have given anything to be his fictional namesake and flip on the bat signal, but sadly stuff like that never happened in real life. Instead, half a dozen members of the NYPD's SWAT team were lying dead in this back end of the Bronx, trying to stave off a gunfight between a bunch of weird dudes in reflective head gear and full combat tack, and another, seemingly identical man. What precisely was it about a full moon that brought out all the nutcases in this city?

He hoped that the spotters could get a bead on these guys sometime soon, he wasn't anxious to have to drag this out any longer than he had to. As it was, the commissioner had informed him he was seriously debating calling in the military to deal with these guys if they weren't in custody within five hours. That was, Gordon checked his watch, just over four hours ago. He shook his head and sighed, wondering if there was any point doing any more than bottling these guys up until someone with more firepower showed up. These lunatics seemed quite content to have barricaded themselves into two buildings on the other side of the street, and were hemmed in on all sides by police.

Corporal Henshaw had discovered that there was a weakness in their armor between the top edge of their vests, and bottom rim of their visors. Sharpshooters would be able to pick them off if they came out into the open, but it would be tricky for the rest of his men, as that small seam was only visible head-on, meaning they'd be exposed to fire themselves. Another sigh and a shake of his head. Ah well, what would be would be. Though he would certainly not turn down reinforcements if he could get them.

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The Bronx, New York - Inside South Building

The man known as Sergent Fang strode among his men. They represented what was left of Death's Head Squadron, one of the elite regiments under within Major Bludd's Viper Corps. Or at least it had been until that blasted Corporal had convinced half a dozen of his best men to return to the corrupt arms of the western regimes. Well, Corporal Stratton was the last one standing, and though it had cost Fang two thirds of his command, be intended to kill him too. No defections, no failures. The NYPD couldn't stop them leaving Stratton the only thing standing between them and extraction. Fang shook his head, his best man. He did wish he'd been allowed to bring a squad of Alley Vipers with him, but the Commander himself had ordered this mission to be kept quiet and use minimal resources. Almost Three years after Black Thursday, the Cobra Organization was becoming restless to show itself, just like a snake coiled to strike. Fang almost burst out laughing at the bad analogy, but held himself in check. It wouldn't do to unnerve the men now. Something was coming, everyone could feel it, and there was speculation it would be on the anniversary of Black Thursday itself. Fang found that utterly melodramatic, but if that was what pleased the commander, so be it; the constant snake motif was equally esoteric, and no one complained about that.

One of the men gestured him over to a side window facing the building where Stratton was laid up. Fang stood up and walked over, keeping the outside wall between himself and the police on the street. Overall, he wasn't worried about them, but a single lucky shot by one of the snipers that had recently appeared on the roofs surrounding their bolt hole could be very inconvenient. Two Strato-vipers were holding transport jets in high orbit, and Fang would have given anything for a bit of air support, but again, they had strict orders not to intervene until it was time for extraction.

He reached the man, Corporal Huaso, who silently pointed to the third window on the fourth floor. Fang slid his binocular lenses off the top of his helmet, allowing the goggles to mag

 

UN Special Task Force 1 Intelligence Report 01.100.001A
Prepared 0900h 04/15/2034
Contributing Officers: Action Man, Claymore, Scarlett, Surefire, Bullet Proof, Lifeline
Cobra Command


Cobra Commander
Supreme Commander of Cobra Terrorist Forces

No information was provided from our agent, Code Name: Chuckles in the intelligence packet we received 07/26/2033. We have pooled global intelligence sources for this report.

From Interpol's File:

World intelligence services agree that no information about the individual known as 'Cobra Commander' can be found for dates before 2025. During 2025, several small terrorist organizations were detected worldwide, all answering to an individual they referred to as 'the Commander'. Undercover agents inserted into the organizations were able to ascertain that these organizations were established as early as 2015 by an individual who was 'dissatisfied with capitalism, the abuses of big business, and corruption of the democratic system'. Our agents have been unable to determine the nationality and country or origin for this individual, but have ascertained that he currently has no permanent base of operation, instead moving between these terrorist cells. The prefix 'Cobra' has only been added on the basis of intelligence provided by UN Special Task Force 1.

Investigations launched in 2029 discovered similarly organized cells in the African continent that appeared to answer to the same commanding individual. However, in these locations he claims to be interested in 'liberating the African nations from the tyranny of the Northern minority' comparing his actions to those of Lincoln and Nelson Mandela.

Our analysts believe he tailors his platform to the concerns of dissatisfied individuals in the local environment and political situation where the cell is established. We have however been unable to ascertain his current goals.

Of note, no undercover agent has reported back after more than 8 days of service. It is currently unclear whether they are converted or executed. We presume the latter.

From CIA Communication:

Our intelligence service has no information on the individual known as 'Cobra Commander' other than a speculation he was involved in the terrorist attacks of Black Thursday.

*We believe that the Agency has more information that they are unwilling or unable to release - Surefire

From CSIS File:

*In addition to information similar to that provided by INTERPOL:

Recent evidence has connected the 'Cobra' organization to suspected terrorist attacks on the Sigma Six nuclear reactors in 2019. Although the explosions were never confirmed to be due to terrorism rather than malfunction, recent information from an operative captured from a 'Cobra' cell in Toronto indicate that that group may have been responsible. Further investigation is pending.

For further information on Sigma Six please contact Sgt. Archive.



Further Information and Analysis:
Action Man

Personal undercover activities in the late 2010s brought me into contact with the organizations described in INTERPOL's file. Although at the time, they seemed small and unconnected, they shared a similar philosophy and undercurrent. My investigations of the man now known as 'Cobra Commander' allowed me to discover several contradictory histories of the man's past. I assume that these were spread in order to disguise his true identity, although I believe that one of them is indeed his true history.

The most likely story begins with the bank foreclosing on his family's car dealership in the continental United States shortly after his father's death while the family was struggling to pay his medical bills from a prolonged hospital stay. His mother committed suicide leaving only the man who became the commander and his sister. It is currently unclear what became of his sister. The first 'Cobra' cells were formed in the early or mid 2010s (reports vary) either in the eastern or southern United States. From the first cells, both 'Cobra Commander' and all 'Cobra' acolytes wore some version of face masks to mask their identity.

T

 

04/18/2034 - Twilight

04/18/2034: 0600h - The Rock - Briefing Room

Rapid Fire dropped down into the seat next to Falcon, "any idea what's going on around here?"

"Got me," he replied, "but its got the brass antsy as all hell. Even Steel seems to be crapping his pants about something."

"Great. I thought Courage looked jumpy when I passed him earlier. Though I'm not really sure what makes me more nervous, that, or the people assembled for this briefing."

Falcon was tempted to agree, the assemblage was worrisome: Med Alert, Stretcher and Triage were chatting in the corner, an unusual sight to see all three medics in one place; Airtight and Sci-fi were no doubt debating the latest in modern warfare techniques; Blowtorch, Dart, Sparta and Antenna were clustered around the front; Barricade, Widescope and Shockwave lounged near the far right wall and Tarurus, Red Dog and Slaughter were arm wrestling near the back, watched carefully by an unusually large group of greenshirts. But perhaps most disturbing of all, Snake Eyes was off alone near the far left wall. He never attended briefings, even those rare times he was seen on the bases. Usually he showed up, did something and disappeared. Overall, Falcon definitely had to agree with Rap., this was not exactly an encouraging sign.

The door at the back of the auditorium banged open, with a disturbing series of heavy weapons operators, Heavy Duty, Harpoon, Freight and Hardball barrelling through with Wild Bill on their heals.

"Well that doesn't exactly make me feel any better," Falcon commented, quickly calculating the magnitude of firepower that had just walked into the room, "and that doesn't help either." The last referred to the briefing officer. Usually it was up to Sharpe or Courage to give the briefing, depending on the theater of operations, occasional Lifeline would give it for smaller operations, and once Ledger had been pressed into service, but it was General Colton who was currently walking onto stage from the other door

Even Slaughter and Red Dog quietened at his appearance, the room deathly quiet after the shuffling of a few chairs. Colton wasted no time.

"As you've no doubt seen in the news for the last eleven or so months, across southern Europe there have been thousands of claims of so-called vampire sightings, around the same time that a rash in unidentified deaths began. Sounded ridiculous to everyone outside of Hollywood, and a handful of people at Interpol who decided to investigate. Turns out that the sightings became more numerous the closer they were to Venice. Interviews on the ground showed similar correlations in Northern Africa and Turkey, showing the same convergence in intensity. Someone decided to point a military grade satellite at the area around Venice for a few nights, and they saw something. An unidentified flying object - and the second any of you mention aliens I will personally shoot you - between eight and nine feet in length with an approximately equal wingspan. The shape and aerodynamics roughly match those of a bat, so a bunch of scientists went to investigate the area where it landed. They disappeared.

Interpol thought it best not to mention that and cause public panic, and sent a team after them. They disappeared. So the Italian military sent a military force after them, followed by one from the European Union, followed by a special forces team from the US military. That team at least managed to get a communication out. Our offices picked it up, as did anyone else monitoring the frequency they were using, but the message was garbled beyond interpretation. All communication was cut thereafter. That was just three days ago.

No one else wants to go near the island, and that's why we're sending you men in. Your going to take a scenic trip down to Poveglia Island. Whatever is happening there, you go in and fix it."

And with that, Colton left, quickly being replaced at the podium by Courage.

"All right men, most of you have probably never heard of Poveglia Island, and I woudn't blame you. Its five kilometers south of Venice,

 

04/23/2034 - Physicals

Thursday

0920h - The Rock - Medical Floor

"All right Chain Fire, grab a seat with the others," Housecall said, checking her name off the list.

That was the last of this morning's batch, and the last one they were going to have time for before they shipped out. Thankfully it was a small one. She and Lifeline had been running through physical evaluations for the past two months trying to get all the Joes screened and prepped. News had come down that the team was deploying for its first full out action in two days and Colton wanted to be sure everyone was ready. Doc was racing to finish the Pit's complement, Bulkhead the navy's, and Space, Angel and Sideswipe were flying across the globe trying to get to every disparate Joe they could find. Pretty much every Joe that could be spared was already on their way to New York, with the last batch flying out of The Rock this afternoon.

As she headed through the doors into the flow rooms, on her way to Lifeline's office, she rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes. Six docs and one nurse was enough to handle up to around 2500 Joes by Western medical standards, but now First Brigade was over five hundred members, and another ten thousand were divided among Second through Fifth. That left them horribly understaffed, especially with various sized bases spread around the world, with at least a token force in each of the fifty nations that had provided staff for the force. Too bad she couldn't be earning frequent-flier miles on the trips she was making. The problem stemmed from the fact that Special Forces usually didn't keep doctors on hand, relying instead on general military medical services when necessary. But given the isolated nature of the Joe team, they didn't have that luxury and everything had to be handled in house. Combat medical training was well covered, but that was no replacement. One mission that went south, and they were going to lose a lot of lives. Poveglia was an excellent example of that. No fewer than 8 long-term care rooms were filled thanks to that.

To that end, Colton had put through requests in Washington, Ottawa and London, for any special-forces members who had received proper medical training. London had backed out, but Ottawa had come through with three, and Washington with five. They were supposed to arrive later today, and would take a massive load off her shoulders. Or at least she hoped. There was no guarantee they would actually be able to do their jobs. She's learned long ago that many of the best doctors jumped for civilian practice as soon as possible in order to get higher pay. She couldn't blame them, but if anywhere required the best people, it was the front lines.

Shaking her head as she shouldered through another pair of doors, she came to a stop outside Lifeline's office. Through the open door she could see the backs of two people standing in front of his desk, and in spite of herself she couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"I do appreciate your concern for your brother's unknown plight, but that information should never have reached your hands," Lifeline was commenting.

The blond woman, Bombstrike, it sounded like replied angrily, "you know EXACTLY how it reached our hands, and now you clam up about it!"

"I hate to say it sir," Barrel Roll cut in in support of his sister, "but I have to agree. We need to know what you know about the situation.

"All official reports have your brother presumed to be KIA. Though we cannot confirm that, its all I am authorized to say to you."

"Authorized? AUTHORIZED?! Since when have YOU cared about authorized!?!" Housecall would have stepped in, but she wouldn't have been a match for Bombstrike on her best day, and Barrel Roll had clamped a grip on her arm. For now, she stayed back, but was ready if needed.

"I cannot comment on what happened to your brother following his disappearance in the Middle East. All information regarding his whereabouts is classified above your clearance level. I trust you understand," Lifeline said, giving Barrel Roll a pointed look.

"You expect me to

 

04/24/2034 - New York City

Monday

1000h - Studio 1A, GE Building, 30 Rockefeller Plaza

Tara Michaels stretched as soon as she was sure they were on commercial break. Three hours down and one to go she reflected. She'd taken her spot on The Today Show because of the pay, but after almost five years she was truly regretting it. Her career had bounced from station to station for the first few years until the war had broken out, when she'd volunteered to cover it for NBC. Five years in the field with the troops, reporting from inches behind the front line had catapulted her to fame and led to the offer of this chair, but truth be told, while she didn't admit to missing getting shot at every few seconds, she rather missed the excitement. Growing up she had never understood guys obsession with video games and sports, but her baptism by fire had shown her just how addictive the adrenaline rush of risking life and limb could be.

Now in the chair, the worst she risked was a broken nail, a far cry from the cracked femur she'd gotten from a sniper back in '26. She paused, had it really been eight years? She shook her head and sighed, unbelievable, when did I start reflecting about the 'good old days'. I need to get back out there and do something.

"Live in five!" called the set director.

Tara rolled her eyes and composed herself, pasting that oh-so-perfect smile back on her face for the camera as the makeup person dabbed a bit more of something or other on her right cheek before rushing away.

It took another hour to get through the various local and international news headlines of the day, most of which were utterly boring, or thoroughly depressing. To top it off the field reporters they were using were completely stultifying and unimaginative in their delivery. Hard to believe so many people could completely lack anything resembling a personality. At least her co-anchors tried to make things interesting, and truth be told, they weren't all really as bad as she liked to gripe about them. Her frustration was more due to the pure loathing of her job than any real incompetence of her coworkers, and she knew she had to learn to separate the two in her mind.

By the time the show wrapped up she was thirsty but had managed to calm down. Heading to her dressing room she took the water offered by one of the camera men. James, if she remembered his name correctly, she wasn't sure how he'd known, but she certainly appreciated the gesture. She locked the door to her dressing room and stripped out of her outfit to change into something more comfortable. In the process she stepped on her mic pack, again, but it seemed to stay intact this time. Good thing, this one actually seemed to work better than the last two. Wait. No. Three, she corrected herself.

She noticed something sitting on her desk as she threw on a black shirt and red blouse, probably one of the few pieces of fan-mail that made it past the screening geeks downstairs. "Well, lets see if you measure up to Monday's", she chuckled to herself. Somehow one of the guys downstairs had accidentally sent up one from the discard pile that was very, anatomically detailed. Though in hindsight, it had actually been a rather enjoyable read. This one was in a simple white envelope and even more surprisingly sealed shut with wax on the back. The stamp in the circle of red wax was of a scripted E. Whoever had put this there had obviously come into her room to leave it rather than mail it the normal way.

Slightly apprehensive, Tara walked over to the light on the wall and held the envelope up to it. It was clear enough that she could make out the contents was a single hand-written piece of paper folded three times, but as far as she could tell no powders or explosives, or anything else life-threatening based on what she'd once been taught by an EOD captain. Good enough to at least open it. She grabbed one end of the envelope and tore it away to slide the paper out. The message itself was fairly simple, but she read it twice to be sure about what she was seeing.

"Hello Tara,

Its been

 

04/27/2034 - Intel Inside

Sparks ushered Shipwreck into the conference room as soon as he signed the final formalities in ink. Today's command meeting was going to be a long one now that most of them were back from New York for the first time. Various chairs around the table sat unoccupied, but there was nothing that could be done about that if the Joe team was going to keep up.

As Colton glanced at him, Sparks nodded sharply once, and took his seat at the opposite end of the table to begin the transcription. Conversation died immediately as Colton stood.

"All right, formalities out of the way. You'll notice that a few members are on assignment and not with us today. Flagg has been given Ray's proxy while he deals with the cleanup in New York, Lifeline will be representing Courage and Steel Brigade Commander while they are at The Cove, Icestorm will be speaking for both himself and Permafrost, and Shipwreck is representing all three of our usual Navy members while they are on assignment."

Shipwreck nodded and glanced around the table for assurance. Keel Haul, Ledger and Narwhal were all still chasing down fleeing Cobra submarines around the world, and so someone who would normally never have been allowed into the room was sitting in one of the spare chairs.

"As per usual," Colton continued, "Sparks will transcribe and add the tie-breaker in any vote. Any questions about the proceedings? Good."

"We'll start with the obvious the, Flagg, a summary of the New York operation if you please."

Colton took his seat and the older Flagg seated to his left stood up to replace him. "Obviously you're all familiar with the general outline of what happened. Thanks to the intelligence gained by Lifeline's off-the-books asset within Cobra, we were able to be positioned and ready to counter the Cobra forces upon their landing. We sustained substantial casualties in the battle, but we believe we eliminated approximately forty-three percent of Cobra's assault forces during the battle. Civilian casualties are totaled at thirteen thousand, three hundred thirteen killed, and sixty-two thousand, eighty-six injured. Hospitals throughout the eastern United States and Canada have opened their wards to treat them, and the medical system is under extreme stress. Lifeline assures me that it is within disaster planning limits."

Lifeline nodded confirmation, "the conditions are horrible for a developed nation, but something that can be handled without permanently crippling the system. I predict things will return to normal within three to four weeks with only the most severely injured remaining under care."

"Operational efficiency was high for all our units, and though our casualties were high, they have not crippled our organization. We are going to require rebuilding. My son and General Ray remain on scene in order to help with the cleanup. The biggest problem is the extensive property damage, which insurance companies are struggling to pay for. It is currently unclear whether the government is going to cover anything or not. Total details of the operation, unit efficiency, casualties, and other information can be found in the green folders in front of you, and I won't recite the details unnecessarily."

Flagg took a breath, then continued, "now the real problem we have. The complete absence of American military support during our operation. I don't need to tell you that if we had had the expected support we may have been able to capture or kill the entirety of the Cobra forces, the most significant problem being the absence of the expected naval blockade that would have blocked their retreat. As it is we have been forced to try and hunt the retreating forces after the fact, and figuring out where the problem stemmed from. Interviews by some of our men with the army forces stationed around New York in preparation for the operation shows that they all received a general order from the White House simultaneously shortly after the opening shots were fired. Those who protested were informed that they, and any soldier who disobeyed the orde

 

My first Brand NEW material. Opinions most welcome.

05/04/2034 - Brisbane

0623h - The Flagg - Pacific Ocean

The aircraft carrier's deck was nearly empty on the second half of its shakedown cruise. It had launched from Norfolk a little over two weeks before and supported some of the aerial operations during the defense of New York. From there it had sailed down through the Panama Canal in a partially successful pursuit of Cobra forces, and was currently making towards Hawaii at full speed.

Only a half-dozen planes, all Skystrikers, were parked in the shadow of the command tower on the port runway, one lier Jet was being taxied to the elevator to starboard, and a Tomahawk helicopter sat on the elevated center deck being refueled for a sprint south to Brisbane Australia. A small crew worked to check out the chopper for its flight, while others worked quickly to load supplies into the hold. Flint watched the proceedings calmly from the balcony of the command tower, anxious to be ready to move. He shook his head, and turned to watch the rolling waves off the bow. After Cobra had fled New York, the intelligence department had been keeping an eye on emergency wards in various hospitals around the world, mostly in port cities to see if there was a sudden influx of gunshot victims, or other violent traumas. The first hit had come from the Princess Alexandra Hospital where seven men and one woman had been checked in in the middle of the night with severe injuries believed to be gang-related. Two concerned family members had come in to stand watch on each patient, all of whom insisted on remaining by their bedsides.

Flint had been assigned as part of a small task force to move in and apprehend the men in the ward. A simple day's flight would allow them to arrive and extract without issue it had been planned. However, one of the duty nurses had been a little too smart for her own good. On a routine examination of the patient she had detected the Cobra tattoo behind the ridge of his ear and rather than reporting it to her superiors had called the police instead. Normally this would have been a commendable effort, but one of the 'concerned relatives' had overheard the call and word had quickly gotten around to the others and now the hospital was in lockdown with a hostage situation on their hands.

The local police had managed to make things worse by attempting to negotiate with the terrorists. Now there were two dead nurses and five dead policemen, terrorized staff and even more traumatized patients. Not exactly a rousing start. Somewhere behind him, Flint could hear Lifeline trying to maintain a calm tone as he spoke to someone on the other end of the phone, but as each minute passed, failing increasingly badly.

The rest of the team was double checking gear downstairs. Widescope and Checkpoint were the front men for the inside operations when it came to that, Widescope, Bullhorn and Rook were there to attempt negotiations, Flint and Beachhead would be backup firepower, and Lowlight would provide...whatever it was snipers provided. Lifeline was of in charge because he knew one of the staff doctors in the ward to coordinate things during transit. Though by the sounds of things they either didn't get along, or something had gone wrong. Flint rather hoped the former because if things got worse, they were going to need more men. Besides, Lifeline could be more than a little abrasive to those who didn't know him well enough. Flint still felt bruises occasionally from their first meeting, even though the had both come to like and respect each other.

Down below he could make out one of the crew members detaching the fuel hose from the fuselage, signalling that the chopper was ready for takeoff as soon as the crew was in place. Flint was anxious to take off, but since they couldn't leave until Lifeline was done his call, Flint leaned on the railing and watched the ocean ahead. Unlike the beach where waves and breakers rolled in, out on the open ocean he could only detect slight, irregular undulations. The Flagg itself wa

 

04/29/2034 - Prisoners

In the frigid wasteland of the north, a small cluster of buildings surrounded a cleared patch of packed snow. A handful of men stood waiting in silence. Beyond the outline of the buildings where they lived and worked, the world was a featureless blur of white as a constant snow blanketed the earth, and the only sound was the howl of the wind that blew the flakes sideways. One of the waiting soldiers reached down and scratched behind the ears of a husky that sat diligently beside him. The animal made no noise, but tilted its head slightly towards its master. A few hundred meters away a Polar Bear sniffed the wind, and smelled something he didn't like before loping away through the storm.

On the other side of the world, a warmer wind blew, drifting sand up against the open doorway to an underground bunker. A small outcropping of rock protruded from the desert, and nestled in the middle was a small metal shack that would have escaped all notice unless someone was actively searching for it. Above the isolated bunker, the sun blazed, scorching the earth to a dusky tan. A half-dozen men sat inside the door, stripped to waist in the heat of the noon sun, laughing as they swapped stories, alcohols, and poker hands. One of them glanced out the door before dealing the next hand, wagering the equivalent of a weeks pay after dealing himself from the bottom of the deck. Easy money.

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The Cooler - Alert, Canada - 82 degrees, 30 minutes North

Joe Canuck blew out a breath through the respirator in his face mask, and watched the thin tendrils of moisture that passed through curl in the air in front of him before they were snatched away by the relentless wind. Behind him the snow crunched as one of the other Joes shifted their weight. Ten minutes late, but in this storm, that was quite forgivable, he reflected. Things were prepared, and the men were all in gear that would keep them warm for hours in this weather. The only problem would be when they started getting hungry in about eight hours. If the choppers weren't here by then, there was something much bigger to worry about then their discomfort. Of course, Law was never late, and neither was Lift-Ticket so he wasn't overly worried.

Wolfgang's head tilted slightly, and he sniffed the wind before letting off two sharp barks. Then two more. He may be an old dog, but he still knew some good tricks, Joe Canuck smiled to himself. Snowbank, Timbit and Shiver moved to the his left, while the rest of the Canuckleheads formed the rest of the semi-circle to his right. Each man was accompanied by a dog, and cradled a weather-adapted assault rifle. After a few seconds they picked up with Wolfgang had earlier, the distant beat of helicopter blades rapidly approaching. A dark blur appeared out of the grey ahead of them, then separated into three smaller ones growing larger as they approached.

Rather close formation for this weather, Joe Canuck thought, then shrugged, so long as they stayed aloft. Somewhere behind him Permafrost pressed the button and three red landing beacons switched on in a triangle. The Tomahawk helicopters altered course slightly and dropped down, landing in perfect unison with their doors facing towards the waiting semi-circle of soldiers. None of them moved, watching as the doors opened, the middle one slightly before the others.

Law was the first man out followed by Order. The rest of the Joes that Joe Canuck could see managing the prisoners appeared to be from one of the other batalions that didn't use code names. Law nodded and tilted his head slightly towards one prisoner. Joe Canuck glanced over to see Snowbank give a slight upward tilt of his head in acknowledgement. Good. I love it when a plan comes together.

The prisoners offloaded slowly, none of them being terribly anxious to brave the weather outside, All of them had been reduced to the barest semblances of their old Cobra uniforms. Whatever was necessary for them to keep their dignity. They'd been held that way fo