Chapter 10 Armed and Dangerous

Chapter 10

When I finally woke up, I was no longer tied up.  The room was no longer spinning, but my head still ached and I had a distinct feeling of disorientation.  Hidalgo and Hollow Point were the first two faces I saw as I began to emerge from my psychologically-induced slumber.  I could only hope that I hadn’t betrayed my brothers or my country with my words during the interrogation. 

“What happened to you?  You were out for a really long time.  If it wasn’t for your breathing, we really thought they had returned you to us as a corpse.” Hollow Point was genuinely relieved that I was alive but still wanted to know about my experience with the Cobra inquisitor. 

I closed my eyes for a brief second and tried to shake out some of the cobwebs.  It had not been easy blocking out the constant probing of their brain scanning device.  The atmosphere of the room had really turned my psyche onto its side.  I could still feel the remnants of the waves of vertigo and hear the soothing, yet prying voice of the doctor.  I began to recap how I had been bound to a chair with zip ties in a dimly lit small concrete cell.  I could hear the echo of dripping water but wasn’t completely sure if it was actually dripping on me.  I explained how I had never really gotten a clear view of my captor, the so-called doctor, yet I could hear him turning knobs on the machine in front of him. 

The whole ordeal had been beyond uncomfortable, but I had not been beaten like so many of the previous captives.  My torture had been mostly psychological in nature with the administration of a serious sedative.  Their eyebrows furrowed as I recounted my ordeal. It was as if I had been questioned by an entirely different person than the others who had each experienced traditional torture in the form of intense electrical shocks and pain. 

“Why do you think they changed their questioning tactics?” Hidalgo inquired. 

At that moment I remembered that I needed to thank my Hopi spiritualist for the experiences he had shared with me during our free time at the barracks.  I didn’t really have any other answers to their questions, as I didn’t know the nature of the questioning used on the others until now.  Maybe they knew I was somehow linked with the G.I.Joe team and if that was the case, we were all in far worse trouble.

It had been days since any of us had seen Pathfinder and we were starting to wonder if we would ever be saved.  I started to rethink my whole outlook on infiltrating the base and had wished I didn’t volunteer myself for this assignment.  I felt completely in over my head and the residual effects of my torture manifested themselves as feelings of extreme hopelessness. I stopped talking to the others and wanted to simply be left alone.  I found a dark corner of the cell and lost myself in a deep depression, although I had never been depressed before.  Not like this.  This had to be something the doctor did to me in an effort to break me down further.  I knew that I needed to remain strong mentally, but was having a really hard go at it.

Hidalgo could sense my desperation and hopelessness and responded to it the only way he could.  He invited me to join him on the far wall in spiritual meditation.  At first, I wanted to yell at him to get out of my face, but I knew he was probably right.  What I needed was to clear my head and get back to reality...back into the game.  We sat down as comfortably as we could.  Hidalgo chose a cross-legged position. I preferred to sit with my legs in more of a butterfly position.  He started chanting softly and I could feel the waves of relaxation forming within short order.  I closed my eyes and continued to listen to the sound of his voice and then found myself drifting off into the spiritual realm.  I could hear the voice of the Cobra doctor once more in my head, but this time I could actually see through the dense clouds of mental energy.  I began to see the source.  A rather eccentric looking middle-aged man with crazy red eyes and a dark mustache and beard who was sitting comfortably on a chair and holding a rather large, flat circular object.  It resembled a shield and the more I stared at it, the more I began to understand.  The shield was the cause of the waves of mental disturbance.  I could see the colorful waves of energy circling in distinct patterns on its surface.  It was completely hypnotic. 

As I described the situation to Hidalgo, I could hear his soothing voice giving me specific instructions. 

“Look beyond and through the shield.  You must not let it keep control of your subconscious mind.  Concentrate on spinning the colorful waves in the opposite direction.”

I began to concentrate intently on the shield.  I was starting to feel less hypnotized now. 

“Do not listen to his voice.  He is powerless over you.  You are a Marine!  And Marines don’t quit!”

Hidalgo’s voice was more forceful this time.  I resisted with everything I had left.  I could hear the voice of the Cobra inquisitor starting to trail off into the background, but not before he laughed one more maniacal time. It was then that the internal mind waves ceased to exist and I once again felt...free.

“Cursed! That miserable Marine has found a way to evict me from his head.  It cannot be!  How?” 

The Cobra hypnotist banged his fist on the table in front of him.  Rarely had he encountered someone who could detect his intrusion after a session.  Let alone mentally force him out of his head.  This Marine was truly hiding something from him.  He extended his hands in front of him and touched the tips of his fingers together in a crude triangle as he stared intently at the doorway.  Then he pressed an intercom button on his desk and awaited a response.

“Yes, Crystal Ball.  What can I do for you, sir?”  The voice coming through the speaker was loud but had a slight undertone of trepidation.  “I need you to reach out to another of our specialists.  Although I’m sure he’s busy moving around and investing the Commander’s bank accounts,  I still have the need for his. . .  other skill sets.” 

“I’m not completely sure who you need sir,” the voice replied. “Do you wish me to contact Extensive Enterprises?” 

“Not the twins.  I have need of the Commander’s accountant.  He is a bit… eccentric if I do say so myself.” 

There was a pause on the other end of the intercom.  An audible gulp could be heard before the next response. 

“You want me to contact Raptor sir?  But he is truly an unruly character.” 

“You dare question me? Get in here immediately!”

The door buzzed open shortly thereafter and a tall slender Tele-viper wearing a communication headset walked in trying to convey confidence.  The Tele-viper saluted the man who kind of resembled a cross between Vincent Price and Albert Einstein.  Crystal Ball glared at him with a rather evil smile.  He then produced his electronic LCD-lit shield from beneath the desk. Upon pressing the "on" switch, it began to produce a wide array of colorful circular waves.

“Come closer soldier,” his voice resumed its soothing qualities once again. “I need you to put aside your reservations and never to question my orders again.  Please sit down.”  The communication’s operator stepped forward and sat in a chair near the hypnotist, his gaze set intently on the hypnotic swirling shield.  “Now, you’re going to reach out to Cobra Commander’s private accountant for me and bring him into the fold.”

“I am going to reach out to Cobra Commander’s private accountant and bring him into the fold.” The response was word-for-word and clearly, the hypnotist could manipulate his own soldiers as easily as the enemy.

“You will call him now and I expect him here within the next few days. Indeeeeed.”

As the words trailed out of his mouth the Tele-viper arose from his seat and returned back to his desk on the other side of the door.  He listened as the monitor rang and the voice of the Cobra Falconer responded. 

“Yes... How can I be of service?” the bird enthusiast’s voice was anything but melodic.

“Hello a Mr. Raptor, sir, Cobra is in need of your special skills here in Kenya.  Crystal Ball has specifically requested your assistance in an urgent matter.” 

The figure on the other side of the screen perked up suddenly.  “Does he now? PeKaw!”

With that slight bird call, the room behind him erupted in a dissonant array of bird sounds, and one particularly large hawk landed on the desk next to him.  He picked up a whistle hanging loosely around his neck and blew into it.  A piercing and shrill sound emerged that silenced the room almost as quickly as he had excited it.  He then leaned into the screen and cocked his head to one side as if he was trying to see through to the other side.

“Do tell!” And he screeched this time. 

“You will be briefed further upon your arrival.” The Tele-viper swallowed hard.  “Try not to be late. I have sent you the coordinates.  Crystal Ball anticipates your arrival within the next few days.”  The accountant squinted his eyes before responding. 

“I will be there as the crow flies. PeKaw! Cakaw!” The room once again erupted into a cacophony of bird calls.  Then the screen went black.

The Tele-viper breathed a sigh of relief and suddenly felt back in control of his mind. He then looked to Crystal Ball who was now standing in his doorway.

“I’m sorry sir, he is just so...strange.  He makes me uneasy.”  The hypnotist did little more than laugh.  He turned back around to re-enter his private room. He sat down behind his desk, placed his elbows down and touched the tips of his fingers together in front of him once again in the shape of a triangle. 

“He isss, indeeeeeeed!”

*     *     *     *     *

At the other end of the console, the eccentric bird man stroked the feathers of his prize raptor.  He then reached into his lower desk drawer to produce a feathered helmet that closely resembled his favorite falcon.  Once he placed it on his head the whole atmosphere of the room physically changed, as did his overall demeanor.  He then opened a closet on the side of the room that revealed his complementary ensemble. The total transformation took a little more than six minutes.  The accountant then grabbed his suitcase and walked towards the large sliding glass doors of his 32nd-floor office suite.  He slid it open and jumped out with a legion of large birds of prey in tow. He extended his wings within moments. As he glided through the air, two small rocket packs ignited on each of his arms.  This trip would require extra flight power. 

“Pekawwwwww!” and the birds behind him all answered in unison.  Once he was certain that all his avian friends were with him, he hit a small button on his left wrist which subsequently closed off his office window.  

Chapter 9 Armed and Dangerous

Chapter 9

The unkempt poacher continued to scour the area in and around where he suspected the underground base entrance to be located.  So far, he had only discovered smaller ventilation shafts that could not possibly allow him safe passage inside.  The G.I.Joe base truly was sealed up tighter than an Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb, but even those had their weaknesses.  It was then that the distant sound of a vector engine caught his attention. Now the normal bystander may have missed it, but this trained hunter could hear the legs of a centipede running across a marble floor.  He shooed away his brutish warthog and made for the cover of some nearby brush.  Having completely concealed himself before the craft came into view, he peered out in the direction of the sound. He watched intently as the vector engines of the approaching Skyhawk suddenly rotated and the craft began to hover in a stationary position over a patch of the flat savanna.  The ground beneath began to shift as a large retracting doorway opened providing a place for the VTOL to descend.

“Ahhhh, and there be the way in,” as a huge smile spread across the greasy poacher’s face.  He started his approach having heard only one approaching aircraft.  He knew he would have only one chance at infiltrating the base.  He swung over the top of the entrance just as the large trap door began to close.  Without taking too much time to assess his ingress, Gnawgahyde noticed a smaller ledge close to the ceiling.  He tucked his chin and using the temporary edge provided by the closing door, redirected his body mid-air into a roll towards it.  With little effort, he reached his mark. Once secured, he pulled out a large black towel from his rucksack, concealed himself and then lay perfectly still.

The Skyhawk used its vertical takeoff and landing abilities to continue its vertical descent to the base floor some fifty feet below the opening.  Only one other Joe could be seen directing the craft onto the appropriate landing pad.  It wasn’t Grand Slam’s normal assignment, but his red chest pads made him the likely candidate to guide the warrant officer, Flint, in for a safe landing.  Upon landing, each officer saluted the other and without a single spoken word, the two headed towards the war room, completely unaware that an uninvited guest now lurked in their rafters.

From a slightly upturned corner of his cover, the poacher could see everything clearly.  The underground complex was much more elaborate than he had anticipated and from a cursory glance, it appeared to descend for several levels.  From his loft, Gnawgahyde could make out several maximum security doors, two larger ventilation shafts, and two guard stations.  He started to ponder the means of his descent and once there, how he could possibly abscond with the cheetah cubs unseen.  This would be a challenge for the hunter, but he had completed tougher missions.  All he needed now was some intel and time.  Luckily, patience was not something he lacked.  If living off the land had taught him anything, it was that patience was a valuable ally to keep on his side.   He decided to use the ledge and his blanket as a chance to nap and to recharge his internal batteries.  He felt around on the dark wall for anything to attach his carabiner and harness to.  The poacher was extremely tired, and he didn’t want to risk rolling off the ledge to his death.  Sure enough, he found a secure spot.  After clicking his locking carabiner in place to the wall and double-checking his belt and harness, he gave it a tight pull.  Once satisfied that he was safe and secure, he closed his eyes and took a well-needed nap.  Although, sleeping on the savanna had also taught him to always do it with one eye open.

Flint and Grand Slam continued down the hallway until they reached the elevator to the next level.  Along the way, they passed and saluted several green-shirt security guards.  Not everyone in the Pit was a higher ranking Joe specialist, and like any military facility, common security teams were needed.  Of course not every military security detail had the advanced weapon technology that these Pit Officers had.  Armed with state of the art firearms, comm-links, and lightweight Kevlar vests and helmets; these guards were fortified against their toughest enemies and would prove to be formidable opponents.

The news from the previously dispatched ground forces had been disheartening.  After careful examination of the surrounding areas, they had found that the reaches of Cobra were more deeply entrenched than originally suspected.

“How did we miss this?  Cobra has managed to not only set up shop at an established military outpost, but it’s clear from the number of ships coming and going along the eastern coastline, that they clearly have a presence somewhere else as well.  This was a well-coordinated attack. Not a one-off.  We need to find out where their main base of operation is located and attack the snake at its head!”

 Grand Slam and the others could do little more than nod their agreement.  Flint after his latest meeting with Beach Head and the others knew that he needed to call in some of the bigger guns.  General Hawk was still back at the states, but Admiral Keel Haul was anchored somewhere along the western coastline.  It would take several days for the U.S.S Flagg to reach this side of the continent. In addition, its deployment would definitely raise the suspicions of the other terrorist groups in the area and possibly raise the ire of countries questioning the loyalty and support of the United States.  This matter needed to be handled with extreme discretion as to not incite an international incident.  Diplomacy measures would need to be taken and top-secret military organization or not, G.I.Joe had to adhere to these rules.  The earlier skirmish at the communications tower surprisingly hadn’t garnered any press coverage. The Kenyan government had made no report of it, which led the Joes to believe that Cobra’s coils were more tightly wrapped around the country than they thought.

Dial-Tone helped establish the comm. links to the United States.  At an undisclosed location, General Hawk, Duke, and General Colton were standing by.  Flint straightened up as the screen showed the “transmission initiated” symbol.  Within thirty-five seconds, the screen lit up to reveal the Joe brass sitting around their war room.  A stenographer and several other un-recognized military personnel were joining them.  In a few moments, the “secure” symbol showed up at the left-hand corner of the screen.

  “Generals.” Flint began with a salute. “Our intel has led us to believe that the threat known as Cobra is way more established in and around the African continent than originally believed.  We currently have two operatives inside the captured Marine outpost. Three teams of specialists, Bravo, Echo and Vulture are positioned in and around the surrounding fauna.” 

General Hawk and the others upon returning their salutes took on a pensive posture.  Upon acknowledging Flint’s information they began to provide some of their own.

“Satellite imagery of the area has shown us a dark anomaly roughly five miles off the coast of Kenya.  Originally this was thought to be a coral reef or sunken tanker but apparently, this is where the Cobra subs are congregating and dispatching from.”  General Colton rattled off the first statistical analysis.  “We have been tracking their underwater activities and have followed them as far east as Okinawa.  This leads us to believe that their network runs deep into Asia as well, with possible ties as far south as Australia.”

Flint’s head began to spin even more as the information continued to roll in from his superiors. 

“As much as we would like to get our boys home as quickly as possible, the chance of doing that efficiently and with minor casualties is becoming a much tougher assignment.” Duke shook his head disdainfully as the words left his mouth. 

“We need to rescue those Marines! I made a promise to a certain PFC that we would prevail!” Flint had a sudden burst of emotion.

“At Ease Soldier! We are working on the best course of extraction and another outburst like that will have you treading close to insubordination!” General Hawk glared from across the monitor. 

Flint immediately straightened up and briefly averted his eyes.  Knowing he had clearly let his emotion cloud his actions, he took a deep breath before addressing the brass on the other end of the monitor. 

“I do apologize Sirs. It has not been an easy two weeks.  Being unable to free those soldiers in a timely manner has weighed heavily upon me.” 

“We appreciate your enthusiasm Flint and know that we are working on a plan that will hopefully prevent an international incident.  The U.S.S. Flagg and one of our destroyers are being redeployed into international waters along the eastern coast of Africa.  Our hope is this will provide your ground forces with additional air strike capability and troops when the time arrives.”

Flint nodded in agreement.  The room erupted in a loud “Yo Joe!” as all in attendance showed their patriotic support. 

“In the meantime, I need your ground forces to set up strategic outposts near the compromised Marine base.  Get your snipers to higher ground and wait for further orders.” 

“Sir, yes sir!”

“What other information has Pathfinder been able to glean about the operations behind the enemy lines?”  General Hawk and the others leaned in attentively. “Is the Commander on the premises? What other high ranking Cobra operatives are behind those walls?” 

This information Flint had.  He knew that the poacher, Gnawgahyde was in the area, but there was no indication that his superior Zartan was. 

“According to reports from the inside, Croc Master and an unknown Cobra Doctor, possibly Venom or Mindbender, is operating from inside the Cobra compound.  Firefly has been spotted boarding a sub seen on the shoreline, but there have been no confirmed sightings of the head snake.  If he is on site, no one is talking about it.”

The Generals seemed pleased with his information, but it led them to believe that the whole operation might just be a smokescreen to divert their attention away from the enemy’s real plans.  After his report, the Generals once again saluted Flint and the room before turning off the transmission.  The warrant officer turned to regard the room.  All the Joes present shared in his somber expression. 

“Let’s get the word out.  The sooner those snipers are in position, the sooner we will have a way of saving those soldiers.”

Chapter 8 Armed and Dangerous

Chapter 8

The following day followed the same routine as the previous one.  Breakfast was delivered to the prisoners in the form of stale bread, a pot of creamed, chipped beef, and some unknown, tropical juice.  It had been four days since I had had a healthy meal and adequate hydration.  The Cobra troopers once again entered our cell and walked around looking for someone new to torture.  Many of my fellow Marines had already experienced at least one session at the hands of our captors.  It had been nearly two weeks since Cobra’s forces had taken the base and little had been done by anyone to uproot them.  I began to wonder if the rest of the world was even aware of the situation here in Kenya. I let my mind wander to the image of Dangerous, my cheetah cub. Was he being cared for back at the Pit? My daydreaming was cut short as the butt end of an Officer’s rifle connected solidly with my ribs.  I grimaced in pain.

“You there. . . new guy.  Savior….not!  You’re with us today.  The good doctor wants to have a discussion with you.” 

They laughed as they mocked me.  I had to fight through the pain and clenched my fists.  I would only have one chance here to make it count.  I glared up at my oppressors, who merely laughed at me more.  I could feel the rage bubbling up inside of me.  It took me back to my first real fist fight in the fourth grade.  I had been bullied as a kid for things that were beyond my control: The color of my socks, my haircut, my oddly shaped ears and the number of siblings I had.  It was sheer torture going to school some days.  All I wanted was to have friends, but no matter what I did to gain popularity, the other popular kids would continue to knock me back down.  This had been going on since the third grade.

One day, I was in a particularly sour mood due to the fact that someone had savagely attacked and killed my pet rabbit overnight.  He had been kept outside in our backyard in a rabbit run for many years without incidence. Every morning before school, I would make my way to the backyard to feed him and refresh his water as well as pet his soft, gray fur.  This morning had been different though. Instead of being greeted by his warm twitching nose and excited thumping, I beheld a terrible sight.  The door to his cage had been forced open and several yards away, my beloved bunny lay on the ground motionless. I was beyond distraught, angry and not in the mood for anyone’s taunting.  Then it happened.  The chanting of, “Mel-vin!  Mel-vin!   Mel-vin!”  It only got louder.  I asked them to stop and said it wasn’t my name and that I was already having a bad day.  This did nothing to quell the assault. 

The name calling continued, only now it escalated.

“Oh, what’s little Melvin going to do?  Huh?  Are you going to run home and tell your Mommy on us?” The lead bully, Jack continued to tease me.  I asked them to stop one more time or else.

“Or else what? Nerd-boy?  What’s little dorky Melvin T. Winklefoot going to do with his big ears and a goofy haircut?” 

That was it!  I snapped.  Out of nowhere, I clenched my fist and swung at the lead bully with all my might.  My first strike connected with his chin and he fell back.  I then kicked him in the stomach which caused him to fall down and cough.  The next thing I knew, I was on top of him choking him in a side headlock.  My teacher, Mrs. Worthington, kept yelling for us to stop, but I wouldn’t hear any of it.  We rolled around on the classroom floor toppling over several desks amidst the cheers and jeers of my fellow classmates. 

The ruckus alerted the other classrooms on our floor and finally, the sixth-grade teacher, a rather large man by the name of Mr. Barrister, came in and pulled the two of us apart. He hoisted both of us up by our shirt collars and successfully kept us separated. We were promptly escorted down to the Principal’s office and my mother was called.  This was actually worse than getting in trouble in school.  Growing up, my generation feared the consequences given by our parents more than those enacted by the school. 

That feeling of extreme rage had returned to me.  Without so much as a warning, I swung at the first guard knocking his head clear out of his helmet.  His partner quickly came to his defense, but I was the quicker and kicked the AK-47 out of his hands.  My cellmates looked on in surprise for a half second before joining the fray.  Soon the entire cell block was up in mutiny, but it would be short-lived.  A half dozen heavily armed Cobra elite troopers called Vipers flooded into the prison.  After firing off a few live rounds into the ground around us, we instinctively froze, not wanting to be shot.  As I turned around to better see the reinforcements, I took the butt end of a rifle to my face.  I could taste the coppery warmth of blood in my mouth.  I spat a blood-soaked loogie to the ground just as a second rifle end struck me in the head from behind.  My eyes started to get fuzzy and I felt extremely dizzy as everything around me went black.

The next time I awoke, I found myself bound by zip ties to a chair in a dimly lit room.  The sound of dripping water resonated in the background.  My head was pounding, my lip was swollen and I could only see out of my left eye, but... I was still alive. 

“You have some fight in you.  We like what we see...indeed.” 

I looked in the direction of the esoteric voice, but couldn’t make out the visage of its source.  My eyes and head were still hazy from the earlier rifle strikes.

“The brainwave scanner could easily crush your spirit and have you devoting yourself to the Cobra cause!  But I much prefer my methods and we have some questions for you….indeed!” 

My grogginess was a bit more than I had expected and I found myself having a hard time keeping my eyes open and staying conscious.  There was an odd hum and shortly after I began to experience a feeling of uneasiness as my mind was assaulted by waves of vertigo.  In the background, the odd doctor would chuckle a bit and mutter an audible “indeed” from time to time.  I felt my senses being attacked by invisible forces and I held my wits together the best that I could.  It was then that I felt the pinch of a hypodermic needle as it pierced the side of my neck.  I figured the syringe contained some type of truth serum as I began to feel rather relaxed.  The doctor’s voice became more soothing. 

“So tell me about your mission soldier.  Why is your unit in Kenya?  You will tell me….indeed.”

I tried to resist and block out his voice, but I found myself wanting to answer.  No! I told myself.  You have to resist!  I began to dive deep into my psyche looking for a lie or another suitable response.  My Marine training told me if I was ever captured to only ever give my name, rank and serial number.  I began by reciting only those things. Private First Class Kordos 131 446 23334.   The doctor’s laugh became more egomaniacal. 

“Oh, you poor soul!  Brainwashed by Uncle Sam and the military mindset.  You know you want to tell me…everything.”

His voice was so melodic, and I felt myself falling into a state of complete relaxation. 

“Tell me PFC Kordos. Why are you in Kenya?”

The doctor’s assault of questions began again.  I tried to go deeper into my mind when a different answer escaped my lips. 

“I really wanted to be a part of something bigger and travel the world.  Plus, this is Africa and who can resist a safari?  The animals are so majestic.”

The Cobra inquisitor chuckled at my response.  “Very interesting.  You have managed to trick my system by offering a truth.  No matter.  I will get what I need from you in time. Indeed.”

I didn’t know where the answer had come from, only that it did.  I had not betrayed the U.S. military or myself even.  I found my thoughts now slipping to Hidalgo, my Hopi roommate back on base, who had spoken many times of his spirit quests and how the mind would not betray what is in one’s soul.  I never thought his spiritual ramblings would help save me, let alone preserve national security.  The overall atmosphere of the room was heavy and continued to get more and more nauseating as the waves of vertigo hit me once more.

 “Now, now, PFC Kordos. There must be some other reasons for you and the United States Marine Corps to be stationed in Kenya of all places.  Just tell me and I promise, I’ll make all the discomfort of this room go away.  It’s rather easy dear boy.” 

My unknown tormentor continued to bombard my senses and kept pressing for an answer, but I refused to let him in.  I watched as the shadowy figure turned the knob up on his machine.  The room began to unnaturally spin around me and then it was as if my mind overloaded and my world simply went black.

Chapter 7 Armed and Dangerous

Chapter 7

The poacher waited patiently for several days before he felt confident that it was safe to move closer to the hidden Joe base.  He knew that an underground base would need a ventilation system and that it would need to vent somewhere along the surface.  Oh, it wouldn’t be easy to find, but Gnawgahyde was confident that he would be able to sniff it out and eventually slither his way in.  He began to creep closer to the edge of the clearing when he caught the feeling of a draft on his left hand.  It was ever so slight, but definitely not a breeze.  A lesser tracker may not have even noticed it, but this Dreadnok had been around the block more than once.  He froze in his current location and waited for the next draft to reach him.  Like clock-work, forty-five seconds later, he felt the next slightly warm draft.  Once again it was ever so slight, but now he had a direction in which to conduct his more thorough search.  This area of the savanna was a bit lusher in terms of ground vegetation, a good cover for an intake/exhaust vent.  His patience and persistence eventually paid off.  Several yards to his left he found the vent.  It was slightly smaller than he had hoped, but he could still hopefully follow it back to a larger point of entry.  This couldn’t be the only one.  The extreme heat of Kenya would demand that a base have air conditioning and surely Uncle Sam would have footed that bill for the G.I.Joe team.

He snapped his fingers and called for Bacon using a throaty guttural snort.  The warthog appeared and reciprocated a similar response then began to sniff around the air vent until it caught the smell of something unique.  The poacher knew that his nose was nowhere near as sensitive as his root-sniffing friend.  The warthog had been instrumental in uprooting truffles for him in the past as well as wounded prey and escaped prisoners. Bacon would find another way in.  Now all he had to do was keep a watchful eye out for security cameras and other hidden sensors.  There was no way the Joes would leave their hidden base unmonitored on the outside.  He anticipated motion sensors and knew that most could be tricked using a simple mirror.  He looked down to the large knife sheathed at his side.  Gnawgahyde unsheathed it to reveal his twisted reflection in its remarkably shiny blade.  He smiled to himself.  It wouldn’t be long now.

*     *     *     *     *

Pathfinder walked over to a large thicketed area within his sweep zone.  Ambush had concealed himself perfectly in the thorny brush.  So well was he concealed, that Pathfinder walked right past him the first two times not even registering the slightly darker shadowed area to his left.  The concealment specialist was that good.  Pathfinder never revealed that he saw him and simply dropped the remnants of a gum wrapper in front of him.  He turned around a paused his walking for a split second as a hand grabbed his left boot.  Knowing that the hand belonged to his teammate, he did his best to limit his reaction.  The brief encounter allowed Ambush to slip him a note to the inside of his pants cuff.  The whole encounter took less than fifteen seconds and to an average bystander, the transaction would not even have registered.  The Cobra in disguise then turned to the left in response to an unusual sound.  The sound was similar to that of the spotted thick-knee, a native Kenyan bird species.  The bird call signaled that his relief was nearby.  He answered the call with a slightly shriller chirp and walked back to the rendezvous site.  A second Cobra trooper appeared within several moments and Pathfinder flashed him the appropriate secret hand signal, then he proceeded back to base. 

As he walked past the sentries at the front gate, he slung his AK-47 over his shoulder then turned towards the mess tent as it was now time for his scheduled dinner break.  Afterward, he would attend the live satellite message from the Cobra Commander.  It would not be safe to retrieve and read the message slipped into his pants leg until he hit the latrine, or turned in for the night.  The mission required great patience and he couldn’t risk being discovered.  Dinner was fairly decent.  It consisted of traditional Kenyan stew.  This was a mix of some unknown meat, carrots, peppers, peas, and potatoes.  His side dish consisted of Sukuma Wiki, which was simply collard greens, onions, diced tomatoes and Mchuzi, a secret Kenyan seasoning.  Surprisingly, the Cobra kitchen had provided perfect Kenyan cuisine during the course of his infiltration.  This told Pathfinder that there were definitely Kenyans among the Cobra recruits. The question now was, were these Kenyans part of a larger coup to overthrow the Kenyan government, part of the current government regime, or simply Cobra sympathizers?

This was something that G.I.Joe would have to figure out before the jailbreak in order to avoid a possible international incident.  The plot continued to thicken.  He finished his dinner, returned the tin plate to the wash bin and headed to the televised “Commander message” of the day.  These transmissions consisted of mostly anti-government propaganda.  Including reasons why Cobra would be successful and reinforcing what Cobra would provide for their recruits in return for their continued loyalty.  Cobra Commander’s message was really quite charismatic and convincing.  Pathfinder began to understand how people in lesser societies and impoverished regions could be sucked into the promises of grandeur that the Cobra organization offered.  As he looked around the room, he could see other recruits nodding affirmatively to the supreme snake’s promises. The whole experience lasted about twenty-five minutes and concluded with all in attendance standing and saluting the image of their commander-in-chief.

 It wasn’t long before he could finally turn into the privacy of his bunk for the night, but as he exited the conference room and hung the left to his barracks, he was stopped rather abruptly by the hulking form of the Cobra alligator rustler. Croc Master had been walking towards him and had stopped deliberately in front of him. 

Pathfinder knew that this particular Cobra operative was not one to be taken lightly.  Having learned the correct way to avert his eyes while still presenting an air of confidence, he fashioned his right arm into the correct salute, stepped over to the side, and hoped that the unusual man had merely walked up to him accidentally.  The crocodile expert returned a similar salute and afterward reached with his left hand to remove the breathing tube from his mouth.  He leaned forward and glared at the grunt in front of him.  This chance meeting was clearly no coincidence.

“I have been observing you these past three days,” Croc Master spoke in a gruff, yet garbled voice.  After each sentence, he placed the rubber mouthpiece back over his lips to take a breath.  “Your work ethic is impeccable!” Another breath. “How is it that I have not seen this sense of urgency and devotion in you before?” He breathed in yet again.

Pathfinder was taken a bit back.  Was this a test? Did they know that he was not who he was pretending to be?  He needed to respond quickly and correctly.  “Master of Reptiles, the words of our great leader have really started to hit home with me these past few days and I feel like Cobra is the family that I have been missing my entire life.” 

The latex lining his red goggled eyes crinkled a bit at the response.  Oddly enough, the next thing he knew, the alligator wrestler was embracing him in a strong bear-like hug, but a hug nonetheless.  It was over almost as quickly as it happened and Croc Master removed his mouthpiece one more time.

“I am so pleased to hear this brother.  Come back with me to the command station. I may have a special mission to entrust to you.”  He smiled crookedly, replaced his aerator, and motioned for him to follow.  The Joe’s message would once again have to wait.

One of the best things about the Cobra organization was the fact that most operatives never exposed their face and there was no visible database of what different members looked like.  ID photos if issued were taken in full uniform with face masks.  The same photo was used even if a trooper was promoted to a new branch of service.  The chief identifiers for specific soldiers were based on uniform tags and physical attributes such as the style of walk, verbal tics, etc.  Pathfinder had done well to study his mark before attempting to take his place.  The trooper he replaced had the same body type, weight, and height as well as eye color.  He spoke with a slight southern accent and lisped his p’s and t’s; an easy emulation.  He didn’t speak much and had no other ties to the organization, as he had just recently joined.  Cobra troopers were not employed to make friends.  They had a job to complete, and that was their prime objective.  You didn’t advance within Cobra if you had friends.

Pathfinder stayed in stride with the alligator trainer up to the command center.  He paused for a second as Croc Master stopped. Thinking that he was expecting him to open the door for him, and not wanting to anger his superior, he jumped into action and consequently tried to pull open the main door.  Croc Master glared at him for a second or two, and after noticing the keypad, The Cobra impersonator averted his eyes.  He heard at least six distinct digits being entered before the hiss of an airlock released the door as it opened inwards.  The gator trainer entered first and motioned for him to follow behind.  The room was filled with large computer monitors and a half a dozen Tele-vipers were busily clicking away on their keyboards.  The enemy group had worked quickly to outfit the previous Marine command center with their own technology. A smaller room had been built off to the side; its door guarded by two larger Vipers with RDT-7 assault rifles.  The Tele-Vipers did little to acknowledge our entry, as only one turned around to regard us.  Chances are they had seen us coming through one of the numerous outside cameras and had already checked our clearance codes using the online server. 

Croc Master continued across the room and headed towards the guarded doorway.  At his approach, the two Vipers stepped together, shoulder to shoulder, blocking the door and pointing their rifles at the two of us.  The Crocodile wrestler removed his aerator and sneered.

“Really boys? Don’t act like you don’t know who I am!”

The larger of the two Vipers shifted uneasily at the berating and managed to stammer an audible reply. 

“The Doctor is not taking any visitors at the moment.  He gave us strict orders not to let anyone in.  That includes.” He swallowed hard. “Even you…..Sir.”

Croc Master hissed at the reply.  He did not take lightly to being dismissed after he had been summoned originally.  Much like the reptiles he managed, he had a rather unpleasant demeanor.  He would much rather strike first and act questions later, but he also knew the pecking order of Cobra.  As much as he was in charge of the events taking place out in the open of the captured Marine outpost, he was simply the subordinate of the well-hidden Doctor.  However, in the same respect, the good doctor was also merely a figurehead for the supreme Cobra Commander.  Pathfinder had observed this type of power dynamic before within other terrorist factions around the world. 

“How long?” his garbled voice inquired.

“Have a seat, you’ll be the first to know,” the second Viper leaned in and delivered the response.  The master of crocodiles sneered one last time and then turned to the chairs lined up on the wall.  Two other operatives were already seated there reading through Cobra propaganda. He then turned to me. 

“Go back to your barracks.” Breath in. “I’ll call for you when I have my audience.” Breath in. “And don’t go to sleep! Or be late when I do!” The venom in his gravelly voice indicated his level of disdain for the Viper guards and whoever was on the other side of that guarded door.  Pathfinder once again flashed the appropriate hand signal, saluted, averted his eyes and made a B line to the exit. 

As he walked back to his barracks, he began to wonder which of Cobra’s prestigious doctors was behind that guarded door?  He would know soon enough, but in the meanwhile, he could only anticipate and prepare.  None of them were particularly known for their exceptional bedside manner and Pathfinder was no stranger to the stories of the brainwave scanner.  He would have to be at the peak of his game if they hooked him up to that contraption.  Regardless, he still needed to read Ambush’s note. 

Upon entering his quarters, he did an initial electromagnetic frequency scan for any anomalies.  He couldn’t risk any hidden cameras or audio recording devices being planted there during his absence.  After ensuring the security of his room, he reached for the folded note that had been slipped into his pants cuff.  When he unfolded it, he recognized the Delta code usually reserved for this type of communication.  His eyes opened widely upon deciphering the message.  The situation was considerably worse than they had all thought.  Help would be coming, but not as soon as initially planned.  He was to remain under deep cover and limit his outside communication to once every three days.  He was also instructed to cut off any interaction with PFC Kordos and the other captured Marines. 

He was truly on his own for the time being.  This would be the longest the jungle assault specialist had ever been asked to stay undercover, but his secondary military specialty was reconnaissance, so it was not something he couldn’t handle.  His wrist comlink flashed a message. You can turn in for the night; our meeting has been postponed till morning. The undercover agent knew exactly who had sent the message and promptly sent the correct response in which he thanked the alligator trainer for granting him permission to rest.  He also told him that he would be anxiously awaiting his call tomorrow.

 He grimaced at the hard facts, then walked into the bathroom, lit a match and burned the evidence.

“Well, at least the food is good.” After he spoke the words aloud, he was finally able to turn in for the night.  He checked his door, shut off his light, but kept his firearm under his pillow just in case.  This was Cobra he was dealing with and he couldn’t trust the lot of them more than he could trust a sidewinder to not strike at him while crossing the Sahara.  As he settled into his single bed, he allowed himself to clear his mind and to slightly decompress before closing his eyes. Morning would be fast approaching and he never wanted to be late for his assigned duties.