June 1994
GI Joe HQ, P.I.T. III, Utah
Ripcord jogged along a corridor in the Joes’ underground headquarters toward the briefing room. As he reached the door, the paratrooper met Hawk and another soldier he didn’t recognise coming from the opposite direction.
“Sir,” Ripcord said, nodding politely since he wasn’t wearing headgear.
“Ripcord. This is Freefall; he’s our new paratrooper. He’s replacing Crazy Legs,” Hawk said, referring to the Joes’ para who had died in Trucial Abysmia, shortly before the Benzheen War.
“Nice to meet you,” Ripcord said.
“You too,” Freefall replied. He wore a paratrooper’s jumpsuit, coloured brown and green in a camo pattern, unlike Ripcord’s which was two-tone green.
“Let’s meet the rest of the squad you’ll be working with,” Hawk said, leading them in to the briefing room.
Inside the room, six men were lounging around, but stood and snapped to attention as Hawk walked in. Ripcord looked the men over, all looked like lean, fit paratroopers. Five were White, one Black. Five were dark haired, one was blonde. The blonde was wearing a paratrooper’s jumpsuit in two-tone grey camo pattern. The Black guy was wearing a silver and blue jumpsuit. Of the other four, one wore a tan and brown camo jumpsuit and had brown hair; one wore a green and brown camo pattern jumpsuit and had black hair; the next wore a two-tone brown jumpsuit and had black hair. The last wore a blue jumpsuit with silver trim and in addition to his brown hair, had a moustache.
“Okay, Freefall, Ripcord, these are Sky Patrol, the new GI Joe paratroop strike team. They’ve trained together to operate as a semi-independent unit, but for this mission, you’re joining them to boost their numbers. Sky Patrol, meet Freefall and Ripcord,” Hawk indicated the two men as he introduced them.
“Do we get to know who they are individually?” Freefall asked.
Hawk gave him a frosty smile. “I was getting to that part.”
The general indicated the blonde. “Air Raid. Sky Patrol’s parachute assembler and battlefield medic. He makes sure the chutes are safe and then patches you up if they fail.”
Air Raid smirked at the joke.
“Airwave,” Hawk indicated the para in the tan and brown colours. “Team’s communications specialist. His job is to make sure you’re able to talk to your air support.”
“Altitude,” the guy in green and brown. “Recon Scout. The eyes of the team.”
“Drop Zone,” the guy in two-tone brown. “Weapons specialist. He’ll make sure you’ve got a gun that works and ammo for it.”
“Static Line,” the black guy. “Demolitions. Blows stuff up.”
“And finally, Skydive, the team leader.” The guy with the moustache in blue.
Skydive nodded at the other two men, before turning to Hawk. “So, we’ve finally got a mission have we, sir?”
“You sure have. Take your seats, gentlemen and I’ll brief you in.”
Hawk clicked on a slide projector. The first photo came up on the screen, a large house set in the countryside of the Appalachian foothills.
“This house was raided last month by a Joe assault team. It was the main US operating base and safe house of the Coil, an off-shoot of Cobra.” Hawk clicked up the next image, one of several men outside the house in green, gold and black uniforms.
“The Coil is led by the guy in the centre, known only as Overlord. Intelligence recovered from the house confirmed CIA reports that Overlord is a former Crimson Guardsman, real name unknown, who absconded with a prototype assault vehicle. Overlord believes that Cobra Commander is leading Cobra in the wrong direction. He has recruited like-minded individuals from Cobra, as well as mercenaries from outside it, with the intention of usurping Cobra Commander, largely by undermining Cobra’s status as a sovereign nation and a legitimate power.” Hawk clicked on the next slide. It showed diagrams, photos and other documents scattered across a large table. He clicked through several more, which showed more plans, photos, and charts pinned to walls or to moveable notice boards.
“The Joes who raided the house were able to uncover Coil plans for a number of attacks; a bombing of the State Department, an airport mass shooting, a train bomb, a car bombing of a foreign embassy in the US and others; all of which would be pinned on Cobra. They also retrieved documents revealing locations of several safe-houses in the US and a few overseas.”
Hawk clicked up the next slide. “One of those is this building, located in the Pakistani province of Waziristan. The building is used as a base for acquiring and storing arms and ammo before they’re smuggled to America and for the making of bombs.”
The building was located among several smaller buildings. The photo showed armed guards visible on the flat rooftop.
“The building is in a small village in a narrow valley. There’s no way we could risk an air strike against it, too much chance of collateral damage. Plus the difficulty in getting a fighter in and out unharmed. Similarly a ground assault is out of the question. We can’t risk contact with the Pakistani authorities, we believe they’ve been penetrated by Cobra and/or Coil operatives. The Agency has officers in country. One of their contacts was able to get us this photo and a floor plan. The destruction of the building is your mission.”
Hawk paused. The paratroopers were listening intently. “ You will fly on board a civilian aircraft chartered out of Oman to India. Over-flying Pakistan, you jump out, parachute in and proceed to the target. An Agency contact will mark your DZ and guide you in. The contact will also extract you from the village and get you to the Indian border, where you will be collected.”
Hawk switched to the next slide, showing a floor plan. “The building is three floors, ground level is believed to be their operations room, radio room and garage for a truck. The next level is the armoury and the bomb making room. Top floor is the barracks and rec area. It is critical that the armoury and bomb factory are destroyed.”
“What’s our rules of engagement?” asked Skydive.
“All Coil personnel are expendable, terminate with extreme prejudice. Do not engage Pakistani forces except to extract yourselves from their vicinity. Do not engage Pakistani civilians.” Hawk looked around. “The Coil is an emerging threat to the US, gentlemen. Let’s squash them before they emerge any further.”
Hawk clicked off the projector. “You have three days to plan and rehearse the assault. Then you deploy to Oman for the infiltration flight.” He looked around the group. “Your CIA contact is named Sunil Rahim. Challenge code is ‘Archangel’, counter sign is ‘Michael’.”
“Archangel Michael?” Freefall asked.
“Patron saint of paratroopers,” replied Air Raid.
“There’s a patron saint of paratroops?” Drop Zone asked, surprised.
“There’s a patron saint of a lot of stuff,” Ripcord replied.
Three days later,
Over Pakistan
The transport plane was a corroded rust-bucket of a Transall C-160. It was stacked full of cargo being flown out to India, with the eight paratroopers crammed in, sitting on crates. For the last ten minutes, they’d been breathing from their bottled oxygen, flushing the nitrogen from their blood, before the jump. Now the US Air Force Spec Ops loadmaster kicked Altitude’s boot. The recon scout would be the first man out. He looked around at the loadmaster who held up two fingers. Two minutes to jump.
Altitude passed the message on, holding up two fingers to the rest of the group. They were wearing black para jumpsuits, the better to hide them in the fading light. Each of them had their M16 assault rifle strapped to their right side, ready to be pulled clear and used on landing if needed. The oxygen bottles were strapped across their chest. Helmets were cinched tight, goggles covering their eyes, masks over their noses and mouths. A small backpack with their gear in was hooked to their belts, they’d release them after the chutes opened, allowing the gear to hit the ground first. The bags contained additional ammo, night-vision goggles, water bottles, radios and demolitions charges.
The paratroopers moved to the rear ramp, following the loadmaster. The red light was on. The loadmaster lowered the ramp. The green light lit and the team began walking forward and leaping off the ramp.
Freefall loved this part of a parachute jump, diving through the sky like a comic-book superhero, arms and legs close in, knifing through the air at speed. He passed Altitude, who was using his arms and legs to brake his descent. Freefall levelled off, the wind roaring in his ears, despite the helmet he wore. Now he was falling flat, the adrenaline still bursting through his system. He brought his arm around and checked his altimeter on his wrist. The numbers were steadily dropping. He glanced up, seeing the rest of the team above him. He spread his arms and legs to brake himself, allowing the rest of the team to pass him, dropping faster.
Then the team finally reached the altitude to deploy their chutes. Freefall felt the familiar kick in the chest as his descent was arrested following the familiar fwump-whump of the opening chute filling with air.
The team steered their rectangular chutes toward the LZ, which was barely visible below in the night. The commandos released their backpacks, allowing it to fall free of them. One by one, they touched down in the field, running as they hit to control their landing.
The team worked quickly to bundle up their parachutes, remove their oxygen bottles and masks, before Drop Zone and Airwave dug a hole and they buried the gear. The paratroopers fixed their night-vision goggles to their helmets and moved out.
Altitude spotted a figure at the edge of the field, fifty metres away, the man called out, “Archangel!”
“Michael!” Altitude replied. The group moved to the nearest gate, at the side of a road.
“Good evening, I’m Sunil,” the man said. He wore plain green trousers, a worn brown shirt and carried an AK-47 assault rifle.
“Skydive, team leader. You got transport?” he asked, not wasting time on pleasantries.
Sunil nodded, “This way.” He led them to a battered looking truck. Skydive got into the cab with Sunil, whilst the rest of the team clambered into the back.
“It’ll take ten minutes to get to the village. Don’t worry, it’s not far,” Sunil informed Skydive.
The truck drove through the night, unmolested, arriving in the village just outside the ten minutes Sunil had said. He pulled the truck into a side street six blocks from the target building. The paratroopers moved out, heading down the street, hugging the buildings to avoid anyone spotting their approach.
Altitude led the way down the street, his rifle up as he constantly scanned the street, his head moving as he checked and rechecked the street. The village was quiet. No lights were on in any of the houses or the few scattered shops, even though it wasn’t long after sundown.
He raised a clenched fist to halt the team one block from the target building.
“Sentries on the rooftop,” he whispered. “Two of them.”
“Allow me,” whispered Drop Zone. He worked quickly to adjust the large night-vision scope on his M16 and then flip his night-vision goggles out of the way. Dropping to one knee next to Altitude, he took aim at the rooftop. One of the sentries was walking toward the back of the roof. The other was walking toward the front. Drop Zone took aim at the one walking forward. A single suppressed, subsonic round dropped the Coil sentry with a headshot. Moving quickly, Drop Zone took aim at the second sentry and fired, just before he moved out of sight.
“Sentries down, roof clear.” He flipped his NVGs back into place.
The squad sprinted to the front of the building, stacking up on either side of the door to the garage. Freefall moved to the front door, pulling out a lock-pick. He worked quickly to get the door open.
The team moved in, quickly, splitting up to seek cover. There were no guards inside the garage.
“Static Line, Drop Zone, move to the armoury and secure it,” Skydive ordered. “Airwave, take Ripcord and secure the radio room. Recover anything you think might be useful; codebooks, computer discs, that kinda thing. Air Raid, you and Altitude move to the top floor and keep watch for any activity that might compromise us. Freefall, you and I will cover the ops room.”
The team split up, each pair heading for their assigned tasks.
Freefall followed Skydive across the garage into the corridor that led them into the ops room. The room was unoccupied, the computers turned off, all the paperwork obviously filed away.
Skydive looked around the room. “Grab anything that looks useful, like I told Airwave and Ripcord. I’ll cover you.”