Ch 111: War

In a windowless room in Cobra Command Headquarters, the members of the Cobra HEAT are locked in a desperate and emotional discussion. Tempers simmer below the surface for some, while others have more raw emotions flowing freely down their faces.

"They have my wife," Barrell Roll pleads as silent tears trail down his cheeks.

Dialton's expression hardened as he responded, "I know, Cobra's taken someone important to all of us."

Barrell Roll took a shaking breath, "She's pregnant," he managed to say, instantly plunging the room into silence.

"What?" asked Dialtone in disbelief.

Catching himself, Barrell Roll continued, "Cobra Commander allowed her to stay with me. So long as I was loyal."

In a flash, Dialtone's fury erupted. He lunged forward, grabbing Barrell Roll by the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the cold wall, "You've been living with your wife!" he shouted, spittle flying from his lips, "My mother is bloodied and in chains! And you're playing house in a little bubble of happiness!"

Sneak Peak and Grandslam quickly grabbed Dialtone, trying to separate the men. They pulled Dialtone's arms, prying him off Barrell Roll, who slid down the wall, his shoulder shaking with each sob.

His sister, Bombstrike, moves to be at his side. Her face is next to his ear, and her hair hides her whispered words. Fire burns in her eyes when she looks up.

The tension between the Joes started the day they woke up in Cobra's custody.

At the onset of the Zombie Apocalypse, Cobra Commander initiated a plan to find and capture the family of G.I. Joe members.

His loyal Crimson Guard and Shadow Guard had found many. The Commander had set valuable resources loose to track the family members of key Joe Operators, and their locations were always known.

Disguised as U.S. military personnel, teams of specialized Vipers led by Seiges had pursued the loved ones. They then convinced the families to enter "protective custody" for their safety.

Cobra kept them captive while hunting for members of the elite team.

Once Cobra Commander was satisfied with the number of Joes he had found, he used their families to make them do his bidding. To prove to his new prisoners that he was deadly serious, he personally executed the family of the Joes he had not found.

Since being under Cobra Commander's control, the dissension in the ranks of the HEAT had grown.

"Jesus H Christ, what are we even doing?" Bombstrike growls, standing up suddenly. "We can't seriously be considering allowing Cobra to hurt our families. And for what? Some rebels we've never even met."

Caught off guard by the callousness of the remark, Sneak Peek turns to her, "You can't be suggesting that we actually go out hunting them. Then what? If we find them, we kill them?"

Bombstrike stares directly at Sneak Peek, eyes hard and fists clenched. "Yes. That is what I'm saying."

Sneak Peak stares at Bombstrike, words failing him.

"Falcon is with them. You served under his command," interjects Jinx.

"Yeah, and he was a sexist blowhard," Bombstrike made sure she had complete eye contact with Jinx before continuing, "Which you'd know if you hadn't been blowing so hard."

All eyes turned to Jinx, and all the faces were shocked except for the ninja's. Her face remained neutral as a wave of calm washed over her as she filed the comment away.

Grand Slam cuts in, "That was uncalled for."

"What're you going to do, Grandpa? Spank me?" Bombstrike hissed the last words.

Jinx mutters something under her breath.

Bombstrike spins to face the crimson-clad ninja, "What was that, bitch?"

Jinx ignores the comment, "Look how far we've fallen," she sits up straighter before continuing, "I remember joining as a Rawhide and dreaming of the day I could make it onto the Joe Team. When I finally did, I felt a sense of pride that I'd never felt before," all eyes were on her as she spoke. "Now listen to us," she locks eyes with Bombstrike. "I get it. He's your brother. You want to be an aunt. But, you cannot be seriously thinking that killing people who oppose Cobra is the right thing to do." Bombstrike lowers her eyes.

Jinx continues, "I'll say this: They have my mother. How they found her, I'll never know. I do know my mother would never want me to give in."

Jinx looks to Bombstrike and Barrell Roll. "You two can do what you want. Just know, if the time comes and you get in my way..."

Before the conversation can continue, the door flies open. Blackout and Skullbuster step into the room. Blackout's sharp eyes take in every detail before declaring, "It's time to go. The Commander is ordering us out into the field."

Grand Slam is the first to speak, "For what?"

"The battle. The Joes attacked New Springfield. We're going after them," growls Skullbuster.

One by one, they exited the room.

Despite Jinx's words being tantamount to treason against Cobra, no one said a word.

Cobra Commander pushed a button, and the video feed cut off, the screen going black. He looked up at Agent X-99, who had returned to his office after sending Blackout and Skullbuster to gather the team. "You know what to do?"

"Yes, Father."

________________________________

Not far from the Joes' location, Cobra was assessing the extent of the damage caused by the traps sprung upon them. MediVipers scrambled through the smoking carnage of twisted metal, trying to triage the wounded, moving swiftly to stabilize the most critically injured.

A sergeant runs over to Tombstone and Onesi, "Sirs, the HISS are completely disabled. The gunners suffered the worst of the blasts. We've also lost multiple transports. Several units of Troopers and Peace Keepers suffered varying effects."

Tombstone is the first to reply, "Clear the wounded. We'll walk from here."

"Yes, sir!" The sergeant turns back to his troops.

A Televiper hands Onesi a slip of paper, "Urgent transmission, sir."

Onesi scans the message and then turns to Tombstone, "Reinforcements are on the way."

"We don't need reinforcements!" Tombstone rages.

"The Commander thinks otherwise," Onesi responded.

Tombstone turned and continued shouting orders to nearby troops.

A short time later, a cloud of dust swirls from the road, announcing the arrival of reinforcements. Several dark gray and black 4x4 vehicles roar down the road. The assembled Cobra forces cheer as they immediately recognize the iconic Cobra Stingers.

"How the hell did they get here so fast?" Tombstone questions.

"The Commander has plans within plans," Onesi replies.

Cobra Stingers were once light-attack vehicles designed for rapid defense in Cobra-controlled areas. Armed with surface-to-air missiles, they had been perfect for quick insertion and extraction.

However, the ferocity of the zombie apocalypse gave birth to a new generation of Stingers. Now, they were heavily armed behemoths. Reinforced armor-plating shielded the occupants from both the menace of the undead and the chaos of battle. Each vehicle is equipped with menacing door-mounted Gatling guns that send thousands of rounds of ammunition down range in seconds. A lethal belt-fed .50 caliber smart gun has replaced the SAMs. Mounted to the front is an aggressive plow designed to clear paths through hordes of the undead and the living.

Five of these armored beasts entered the fray, engines rumbling ominously before going silent. The drivers exited their vehicles and strode toward the officers.

"Sir, reporting for duty," the lead Stinger driver snaps a sharp salute to Tombstone and Onesi.

"Excellent," Tombstone replies, his lips curling into a sinister grin as his mind races with thoughts of how best to deploy the lethal Stingers.

Seconds later, dust kicks up as a FANG Gen4 arrives, its presence intensified by its eerie silence. Utilizing advanced white noise and stealth technology, the single-cockpit VTOL glides in without a sound. With it comes the fiercest collection of weaponry of any Cobra aircraft. It was designed to eradicate massive hordes of undead. It bristles with firepower; two tri-barrelled .50 cal machine guns mounted on either side, dual chin guns, a staggering ten 19-tube rocket launchers, and eight HELLFIRE missiles, all poised to rain devastation.

Tombstone rubs his hands together in eager anticipation, a wicked glimmer dancing in his good eye as he prepares to unleash his forces upon the unsuspecting G.I. Joe team.

As the last component of Cobra's reinforcements arrives, a small armored troop carrier rumbles forward. The rear hatch swings open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a shadowy interior. The first to emerge from the depths of the armored beast is Outback, clad in his Skullbuster uniform, a fearsome sight to behold. His exposed skin and fiery red hair are covered in thick black camouflage paint. A morbid piece of human skull serves as a mask, an unsettling visage that sends chills racing through the ranks of nearby Cobra troops.

Skullbuster leads the HEAT toward Tombstone.

"I fuckin' hate these guys," Tombstone mumbles under his breath to Onesi. "Can't trust them."

"Not any farther than you could throw them," Onesi whispers back.

The hushed conversation quickly ceased as Agent X-99 materialized from behind Skullbuster and approached the two men.

"Sunovabitch," Tombstone mutters under his breath.

"What's the situation?" Agent X-99 asks.

Onesi answers, "The Joes are up ahead." He takes a tablet showing drone footage from a Televiper and hands it to Agent X-99. "They're dug in. They have two Autobots with them. They have a Little Bird as air support."

"Good," Agent X-99 looks from Onesi to Tombstone, "I'm taking command." Neither man argues. "I want three initial waves of troops. Send the first two, Vipers, Troopers, and Peace Keepers, right up the road. They'll draw the majority of their fire. I want the third to be a Reaper unit. Send them around through the forest. No doubt it'll be booby-trapped. Make sure they trigger whatever is out there." He looks at the drone footage just in time to see it crackle to static. "That didn't take long."

"We'll send another up now," replied Onesi.

"No, that won't be necessary," Agent X-99 says. He looks at the TeleViper sitting at a console, "Pull up the last image."

The TeleViper's fingers move swiftly over the keyboard, obtaining the last image of Joe's location.

"Excellent," Chuckles remarks. "After the troops enter, I want the Stingers to take over. It's one road, so they need to go fast," he turns to the lead Stinger driver. "Hit them with everything you have until I tell you to stop."

"Yes, Sir!"

Turning his attention to Onesi and Tombstone, "Do you think you two can handle all of that?"

"Yes," replies Onesi.

"Good," Chuckles turns back to the HEAT, "Let's get to work."

Onesi and Tombstone began preparing to carry out their orders.

"I fuckin' hate that guy," Tombstone whispers to Onesi once Agent X-99 is out of earshot.

"Don't let him hear you say that."

"Lieutenant!" Tombstone barks at the nearest troop commander.

"Sir!" The lieutenant runs over.

"How're we looking?"

"Sir, we're ready to go," the lieutenant replies.

"Send the Troopers, Vipers, and Peace Keepers up the road. Send Range Vipers through the woods to flank these terrorists. I want this over before dinner," Tombstone orders.

"Yes, sir!" The lieutenant runs to his assembled men and begins barking out orders. Instantly, the various troops form up for their leaders and receive their orders.

Cobra's ground forces surged forward like enraged ants determined to devour their prey.

____________________________

"Here they come," Mother's calm voice calls out over the radio.

Falcon responds, "Be sure to conserve ammo. Take only the shots you know you can make."

In his foxhole, Ground leans down to Pound, patting his big head before putting ear protection and goggles on the loyal dog, "You be a good boy. It's going to get loud." Pound's tale wags as Ground carefully aims his rifle at the approaching enemy.

Each Joe readies themselves; their hands go over their gear one last time, they adjust their sight pictures, and whisper mantras and prayers as the enemy approaches their position.

They knew that going into this fight, they would be outnumbered and outgunned. What came at them now was beyond what they expected. Cobra Commander was pulling out all the stops. Despite managing to halt the HISS Tanks, they were now faced with hundreds of Troopers, Peacekeepers, and Vipers, all following the orders of the ruthless Cobra Commander.

From his platform in the trees, Mother watches patiently. He had spent the morning meticulously marking the ranges on the trunks of trees and with rock piles. The moment the enemy entered his line of fire, he gently squeezed the trigger on his rifle, watching to confirm each shot landed true.

With Mother's first shot, the field before him comes alive with the staccato sounds of G.I. Joe rifle fire. Hidden in their positions, the Joes carefully aim before firing to ensure they don't waste a single bullet.

From his treestand, Bowyer unleashes round after round of deadly, accurate rifle fire. His bow is carefully stowed next to him. Usually, it's his first choice, but looking at the flow of troops coming their way, it's become his weapon of last resort.

The Autobots unleash barrages of plasma blasts at the approaching forces.

As their comrades begin to fall, Cobra troops drop to the ground, scramble behind the trees, and quickly start returning fire.

"Concentrate your fire on those damn robots!" Tombstone bellows angrily over the radio.

Multiple teams of Vipers redirect their aim, centering their assault on the Autobot positions.

Simultaneously, bullets from Troopers and Peace Keepers ricochet off the dirt in front of the Joe positions, sending eruptions of soil and rock into the air.

___________________________

In a clearing cut into the forest not far from the Joe's position, Sparrow and Hook go over their flight checklist as Wrench Bender loads up the .50 cal.

"We're good to go," Hook says to Sparrow.

"Then let's do it," Sparrow responds, gripping the stick as the Little Bird leaves the ground.

The Little Bird takes to the air. The small helicopter rises from behind the thick woodline.

They are over the battle in seconds. The rotor wash sends smoke swirling, giving Sparrow, Hook, and Wrench Bender brief glimpses of the fight below.

As Sparrow lines up for their first sortie, Hook calls out to Wrench Bender, "Target that line of Vipers." The command acknowledgment comes in the form of the noise of the .50 cal unloading on the gathering troops below, which reverberates in the small space.

The Vipers below waste no time and immediately split their lines of fire, half aiming at the chopper. "Shit, shit, shit!" Wrench Bender blurts as bullets zip by.

Sparrow uses the speed and agility of the light aircraft to try to avoid the incoming fire. She fires a salvo of stinger missiles, the last that they had. Explosions dot the battlefield, sending debris and smoke up into the air.

"We're out of missiles!" Sparrow radios to Falcon. "Taking heavy fire!"

Falcon watches from his vantage point as the Little Bird zips back and forth, firing the .50 cal on the approaching enemy forces. They had only been in the air for mere moments and made a forceful impact, but now they were becoming little more than sitting ducks.

"You need to get out of there," Falcon responds to Sparrow.

"Negative. We have enough .50 cal ammo to take a few more of these creeps out of the fight."

Wrench Bender quickly swaps out the ammo cans, feeds the .50 cal, and sends lead pouring down on the enemy.

The Autobots and Joes continue to maintain their rate of fire against the Cobra Forces. Continuous eruptions from the Autobot plasma bolts send debris flying.

From their elevated positions, Mother and Bowyer continue to methodically remove Cobra troops from the assault.

Each second ticks by like an eternity.

On both sides, magazines drop to the ground with dull thuds, and smoking bullet shells litter the ground like fallen leaves as both sides reload with practiced efficiency.

Yet, like an unrelenting swarm of locusts emerging from the earth, the streaming line of Cobra troops never seemed to end.

____________________________

Behind enemy lines, Cobra officers and NCOs race to execute hastily shouted orders.

"Get that FANG in the air!" Tombstone demanded. "Shoot that damn bird out of the sky. Then, target those damn robots! I want them to be a pile of scrap!"

"Yes, sir!" An officer responds.

The pilot wasted no time and began flipping switches as the canopy closed. In seconds, the VTOL's powerful props sent gravel spraying in every direction as the heavily armed craft took to the air, ready to unleash hell.

Tombstone shielded his eyes as he watched the FANG rise silently into the air.

In moments, the pilot had his sights on the Little Bird. He rose above the helicopter's position, masking his approach, and then radioed, "Good lock. Fox 1 away."

_____________

In The Little Bird, a warning tone sounds, "We've got incoming!" Hook speaks over the headset, his keen eyes looking for the path of the fast-approaching danger.

"I got it. Hold on." Sparrow banks hard to the right, the missile streaking past, narrowly missing them, before turning to reengage.

"It's coming back!" Wrench Bender calls from the back.

The FANG pilot launches a second, then a third.

"Hold on, it's going to get bumpy," Sparrow calls out before banking hard to the left.

A missile detonates. It's not a direct hit, but it's close enough. Instantly, multiple lights start flashing, and warning tones sound. Hook calls them out calmly, "We've got damage to hydraulics. We're losing fuel. We're losing power to the tail. We're losing everything."

Sparrow holds the stick with all her strength. Over the radio, she calls, "Mayday. Mayday. We're going down." Smoke trails from the tail as the small aircraft rapidly descends to the earth.

From his location, Falcon watches the smoking helicopter cross over the river and then disappear beyond the horizon. Seconds later, an explosion bends the trees.

He had wanted to leave the Little Bird out of the fight, but Sparrow insisted. She argued that the remaining Hydra 70 rockets and the .50 cal would be vital. She was right. The weaponry had made a dent in the Cobra forces.

Now, a pit grows in his stomach as Falcon calls over the radio, "Anyone have eyes on the chopper?!" He already knows the answer. They have no one on that side of the river.

Mother answers, "I'm on it."

"Negative, Mother. We need you where you are!"

Mother does not respond.

Witnessing the Joe helicopter spiral out of sight, the FANG pilot seizes his opportunity. He launches a salvo of air-to-surface missiles at the Autobot locations. The resulting fireball eats the field like a glutinous dragon. Blast waves send splinters flying through the air like bullets. Black smoke covers the battlefield, shutting out the sun and turning day into eerie night. The Joes lie in their foxholes in terrified awe of the firepower being brought to bear on them.

Thick, acrid smoke chokes the sky.

Concussive blasts shatter the stillness, sending shockwaves rippling through the atmosphere.

Craters, deep and jagged, voraciously consume the earth as mortars plunge from afar.

The air crackled with the sharp sounds of gunfire, and explosions erupted around the Joes.

The sounds of war pierce the thick haze, a haunting symphony that resonates into the aether.

The battle charges the air with the metallic tang of blood and the bitter stench of destruction.

The once serene surroundings had become a nightmarish landscape of destruction.

The Joes now fought not for victory but for their survival, struggling to maintain focus and composure amid the chaos.

The Autobots, injured and taking heavy fire, were pinned under the relentless firepower.

Before the battle, Bumble Bee and Beachcomber had hastily dug shallow trenches. Fortifying their positions using downed trees piled high with dirt and debris to create makeshift barriers. However, as the horror of the battlefield unfolded before their optical sensors, they watched helplessly as the defenses they had constructed crumbled and shattered under the assault.

Despite their thick, armored exteriors designed to withstand heavy combat, the high-velocity armor-piercing rounds tore through their metallic hides.

As the cacophony of conflict drowns out reason, chaos reaffirms its dominion. It grows darker and more oppressive with each passing moment, consuming the Joes' hope in its gaping maw.

The arrival of the Stingers and FANGs appeared to be the death knell for the Joes. Fa con, his instincts wired for survival, couldn't shake the unsettling suspicion that Cobra was deliberately toying with them, prolonging their anguish before delivering the decisive final blow.

And then, as if the world had paused, everything came to an eerie standstill. A haunting silence enveloped the battlefield, broken only by the ringing sounds of war echoing in their ears. Cautiously, Falcon peered out from the meager protection of his foxhole and was met with a chilling sight: Cobra forces slowly encircling them like a noose tightening.

A team of Cobra EELs emerged from the riverbank.

Their only escape is to fall back, but with Cobra troops circling, Falcon knows it would be a death sentence for his team.

He watched with growing unease as Cobra soldiers assumed strategic positions.

His heart sank as he witnessed the closest Stinger driver stepping out from the vehicle's protective confines. The driver pulled his balaclava down and lit a cigarette with a nonchalant flick of his lighter, exhaling a plume of smoke that rose silently into the air.

Falcon continued surveying the battlefield, spotting Bulleit racing to tend to the wounded, ignoring her injuries.

All around him, the Joes were a grim sight: hurt and exhausted, their faces etched with pain, fatigue, and raw terror from the ferocity of Cobra's attack. He had served in war zones worldwide and engaged in countless firefights.

But this was different.

His Joes had only seen the odd skirmish using hit-and-run guerrilla tactics. He realized now how utterly unprepared they were for what they were facing. The armored Stingers, the superior FANG, and the sheer number of soldiers at Cobra's command were far beyond what they had expected based on their intelligence.

In contrast, the Cobra forces appeared almost unscathed, their disciplined ranks moving with unsettling calm.

The scars of battle covered the land; once mighty trees splintered like toothpicks, and thick smoke spiraled into the sky, dark and ominous.

"Falcon!" The sudden call catches him off guard. He peers through the smoke, his heart racing, to find Jinx, a former member of G.I. Joe, a trusted ally and love interest, standing boldly before the assembled Cobra HEAT. She clutched a bullhorn, making her voice resonate powerfully, cutting through the tension-filled air, "Falcon, no one wants to fight you. We don't want to fight you. I don't want to fight you. Look around. If Cobra wanted you dead, it would have already happened." She hesitated, her expression softening, but urgency remained in her eyes. "This needs to stop. It would be best if you stopped," she reached into a pouch on her tactical vest, pulled out a long crimson strip of cloth, and lifted it to her eyes, tying it securely at the back of her head. "You know how this goes," a fierce resolve in her voice. "Once the lights go out..."

Jinx's body blurs with astonishing speed in a split second as she pivots expertly. The powerful roundhouse kick smashes into Skullbuster's mask with an audible SNAP, sending him crashing hard to the ground, his weapon clattering away.

In that unexpected moment, the members of the Cobra HEAT make their choices.

Grand Slam ignited the thrusters on his flight pack and launched into the air, his plasma rifle ready as he made a beeline for the hovering FANG. The air crackled around him as he targeted the Cobra aircraft hovering overhead. He squeezed the trigger, unleashing a barrage of plasma bolts, the projectiles streaking through the air like shooting stars, forcing the pilot into evasive maneuvers. The FANG pilot narrowly escaped the incinerating fire aimed at them.

On the ground, Dialtone and Firewall turn on Chuckles, unleashing a whirlwind of kicks and punches. The attack catches him off guard and forces him into a defensive stance. Their ferocity overwhelms him, sending him sprawling back onto the ground, where their continued kicks keep him from regaining his footing.

Meanwhile, Sneak Peek joins forces with Jinx. Ji x draws a long, dark sword from its scabbard while Sneak Peek pulls a knife from its sheath, their attention locked on the Stall family.

Jinx turns her blindfolded eyes toward the former Joes, "Take the other one. I have these two:" Bombstrike and Barrel Roll narrowly escape the lightning-fast blade wielded by the crimson ninja.

Barrel Roll attempts to take to the air, but Jinx presses her attack, slicing his arm before he can launch.

Bombstrike lashes out, "I am going to enjoy killing you." As she lunges forward, knife in hand, Jinx expertly turns and strikes, the sword plunging through Bombstrike's back, entering just below her body armor, the tip of the sword emerging from her abdomen.

"Nooooooo!!!" Barrel Roll screams as his sister falls to the ground. He rushes to her side, tears flowing down his face, blood pouring from his wounded arm, mingling with the blood pooling at his sister's wound. He looks up at Jinx, the horror of what happened, snuffing any spark of light that may have remained.

The scream of the eldest Stall causes Black Out to hesitate.

"I've been waiting a long time for this," Sneak Peek feigns a punch, causing Black Out to block, leaving his side exposed. Sneak Peek plunges his blade hilt deep into Black Out's side.

Tearing off her blindfold, Jinx grabs Sneak Peek, "We need to go! NO !" She shouts, urging him along.

Surprised by the ferocity of the fight, the Cobra soldiers find themselves momentarily distracted.

Seizing the opportunity, Falcon steadies his aim, taking in a calming breath before firing.

The dumbstruck Stinger driver collapses, his cigarette slipping from his lips. The glowing ember dies out against the cold ground as the driver falls lifelessly.

The sharp crack of Falcon's shot acts as a rallying cry for the rest of the Joes, who seize the moment to spring into action, picking off Cobra Troopers who were frozen by the events.

However, the shock within the Cobra ranks is short-lived.

Almost immediately, they regroup, retaliating with a devastating counterattack. The Stingers unleash hell. Blasts rock the ground as a hail of gunfire rains down on the Joes, bullets and explosive ordnance whipping through the air, forcing them into the bottoms of their foxholes.

In the air, Grand Slam skillfully maneuvers around the FANG, weaving through its attempts to counterattack. In a stunning display of marksmanship, he locks onto the agile FANG, fires, and sends it crashing to the earth. He watches as it impacts the heart of the Cobra ranks. The impact triggers an explosion that erupts with ferocity, bending nearby trees and sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield, scattering the Cobra forces.

Seizing the opportunity, Grand Slam fingers the trigger of his weapon, unleashing rapid-fire bursts on the Cobra troops, who are attempting to close in on the G.I. Joe position. With impressive agility, he swoops low over the ground, expertly dodging incoming fire, before executing a sharp ascent and landing behind Falcon's entrenched position.

Falcon meets Grand Slam's arrival with a firm nod. "God to see you on the right side," he comments. Falcon's voice is steady despite the turmoil, and he quickly refocuses on the encroaching enemy forces. "We've gotta help the others," he calls out as the sound of gunfire and explosions echoes around them.

He levels his weapon toward the Cobra lines, trying to provide cover fire for the escaping Joes. Grand Slam joins him briefly before launching back into the air, soaring above the battlefield to lay down more suppressive fire on the enemy. Di ltone, Firewall, Jinx, and Sneak Peek navigate the crossfire, desperately working toward the Joe's defenses.

____________________________

Behind enemy lines, as the disarray spreads. Tombstone's fiery rage ignites his frustrations. "God damn it!" In a fit of rage, he seizes the rifle from a fallen Cobra Trooper. The cold metal feels heavy in his hands as his finger tightens on the trigger as he fires wildly at the Joes, sending a storm of bullets their way until the weapon clicks empty. With a frustrated grunt, he tosses the rifle and quickly snatches up another, ready to continue the fight.

In contrast to Tombstone, Major Onesi remains the epitome of composure amid the unfolding chaos. He meticulously ensures that reports of the rapidly evolving situation are transmitted to Cobra Command and ensures that the higher-ups are well-informed and ready to respond should the need arise. He coordinates his Viper units, confirming they're prepared to press the attack.

"Move those Stingers!" Tombstone bellows, his voice carrying over the noise of battle. The Stingers drivers, powered by adrenaline, shift their vehicles into gear, hurtling forward with wild ferocity. They unleash a relentless storm of bullets that rains down on the Joes' location. The sudden onslaught pins the Joes down worse than before.

Tombstone casts a skeptical look at Onesi. "What're you sitting there for?" he barks, his anger boiling over at the apparent inaction of the officer.

"I'm directing a unit up the left flank," Onesi replies coolly, his eyes narrowing as he surveys the body cam footage from the unit displayed on his tablet.

A sudden explosion from the far treeline catches their attention.

"That would be the Reapers." Onesi comments.

"Good. Let those Joes think they stopped the flanking attack.

Onesi pressed the headphones against his ear, listening intently, "The Reapers are reporting they are closing in on one of the Joe snipers."

____________________________

From his elevated platform, Bowyer senses the barest of movement in his periphery. He risked looking away from the battlefield, only to see a unit of menacing Reapers fast approaching his position.

Immediately grabbing the rope he had secured to the uppermost branches, Bowyer swings down and away from the tree, abandoning his position. He urgently radios the Joes, "We've been flanked!"

His feet barely have time to touch the dirt before the treeline comes alive with the howl of enemy gunfire.

Bullets sliced through the air.

Bowyer sprinted for a foxhole, firing his pistol blindly behind himself as Greaser, Scrounge, and Drifter worked to provide covering fire for his escape.

As he dives for the foxhole, he takes in the hellish scene: explosions erupt all around, smoke fills the air, and his teammates are pinned down and surrounded. Bowyer's shoulder hits the bottom of the hole. He grunts in pain, then gets back to his feet, releases the empty pistol magazine, slaps a new one in, racks the slide, and fires at the enemy.

_____________________________

Elsewhere, Dialtone and Firewall drop into a foxhole next to Forge, whose badly wounded arm is wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage trailing rivulets of blood down to his hand.

Firewall reaches for her iFAK, "Let me see that."

Forge grunts, ignoring both her and his wounds, and fires wildly at the Cobra line, keeping his head down to avoid enemy fire. Firewall drops the kit and follows suit, firing blindly at her former captors.

Forge ceases firing and tries to adjust the headset nestled in his ear, straining to hear through the cacophony of gunfire, "Say again. Your last was garbled."

A voice filled with excitement responds, "I said. Stop. Drop. And watch Cobra roll over."

The stranger's enthusiasm was palpable even through the roar of battle. The Joes hear, "DANGER CLOSE!" over their headsets.

Suddenly, the familiar roar of an A-10 Warthog fills the air, followed by a thunderous BRRRRRRRRRRRT! as it fires its massive 30mm cannon.

Missiles WOOSH past the Joe line, tearing into the Cobra forces with ground-shaking explosions.

The sounds signal the destruction of the Cobra Stingers and the end of the line for numerous Cobra soldiers. The maroon aircraft swoops up from the attack run, executing a stunning barrel roll before banking and turning sharply for another strike.

The sight of the aircraft sends a surge of excitement through the Autobots.

"Holy shit! It's Powerglide!" Beachcomber shouts, relief in his voice.

"Stay low, 'cause here I go!" Powerglide comes in fast and furious, his nose cannon obliterating everything in its path. Cobra Troopers, Peace Keepers, and Vipers scatter in a vain attempt to avoid the line of death created by the brutal and unforgiving weapon.

Powerglide lets out a loud "WOOP!"

WHRR-TSCHZZ-TSCHZZ-TSCHZZ-CHK.

Suddenly, the A-10 transforms into an awe-inspiring robot towering over 50 feet tall. The mechanical giant dwarfed Bumble Bee and Beachcomber, making them look like mere children in comparison. Gleaming maroon armor glinted under the sunlight.

For a moment, silence swallows the sounds of war.

His arrival sends pangs of dread and panic through the Cobra ranks.

With a powerful grip, he hoisted an enormous cannon, its seven barrels thick and menacing. Cobra forces ran in fear as he took aim and unleashed a barrage of fire upon the enemy.

Explosions erupted in the Cobra line, sending debris and dust swirling. The sheer force of Powerglide's weaponry rattled the ground beneath his feet.

"Look at 'em go!" he called out cheerfully, his voice booming across the battlefield. The playful excitement in his tone starkly contrasted with the death around him.

The Cobra lines break.

"Fuckin' hell!" Tombstone grabs one last rifle, unloading on the giant robot, obliterating his troops.

Onesi orders a full retreat. Officers and NCOs echo the call. Cobra soldiers attempt to run. Many don't make it.  

With the chaotic retreat of the Cobra forces, the battlefield transformed into a grim tableau, where the remnants of battle lay strewn about: a jumble of battered Stingers, the charred corpse of the crashed FANG, shattered weaponry, and the haunting cries of wounded soldiers.  

Falcon scanned the scene, spotting Bulleit. Her hands worked quickly to assist Greaser, who had collapsed nearby.

Falcon ran to her, dropping to his knees beside her, "What can I do?"

"Hold this," she said, handing him an IV bag. Her hands never stopped; each movement worked to stabilize her friend.

Falcon looked at Greaser. Her head and half her face were covered in bandages. He wanted to ask if she'd be okay, but he knew better than to distract a medic in the field.

Smoke was still rising from the battlefield when an ominous sound echoed across the desecrated land, a long, low, guttural growl that sent shivers down their spines.

Bulleit's eyes widened with fear as she looked up at Falcon, who drew in a sharp breath.

As if on cue, the fallen bodies began to twitch and convulse.

There was a surge of horror as several started to raise their heads, their dead, yellow eyes searching for their first meal. They groaned and pulled themselves through the dirt, fingernails cracking and splitting as they searched for the nearest meal.

Falcon squinted against the bright sun, his eyes scanning the sky above them. Spotting Grand Slam still circling above, Falcon waved to him.

Grand Slam landed beside the two, his eyes hard, his weapon held tightly.

"What did you see up there?" Falcon asked.

"The good news, Cobra is in full retreat. The bad news, they left you a gift. They set up a triage tent back where you blew the HISS Tanks. It seems they couldn't bother transporting their wounded back to New Springfield." He paused, looking over the twitching field. "Every dead snake in that tent is clawing its way toward you. And there's more approaching from every direction."

"Is there anything you can do from up there?" Falcon asks, looking skyward.

"I'm low on fuel and ammo. Out of missiles," Grand Slam grunts. "I'll stall them as long as I can." Once again, he kicks off and goes into the air. He stays low, trying to make each shot count. Within minutes, his plasma rifle lets loose its final blast. Still in the air, he unholsters his sidearm, a trusty 1911.

A knot begins to tighten in Falcon's stomach, "Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

While the plan had accounted for the possibility of a horde, he had hoped to use it against Cobra. They all knew Cobra would attack with superior numbers, and Falcon had hoped his small force could use a mass of walking undead as cover for their retreat.

Now, his rag-tag group had to face off against the shambling mob.

Still holding the IV with one hand, Falcon drew his pistol with the other and took a deep breath before shouting orders. "Bumble Bee, Beachcomber, get the worst of the wounded out of here! Bulleit, get them to the FOB, and do what you can!"

The two Autobots transformed, their mechanical forms shifting more slowly than before. Bumble Bee's bullet-riddled doors popped open, "Load us up!"

Falcon helped Bulleit load Greaser while the others worked frantically to load Forge and Throttle into the two vehicles while watching the approaching zombies.  

Ground hobbled to Bumble Bee, nestling the limp body of Pound close to his chest. Tears streamed down his face.

Wearing a ballistic vest and eye and ear protection, the large dog stood by Ground's side during the worst of the fighting. Ground believed that being in the deep hole and wearing armor would be enough to protect his four-legged companion.

It hadn't been.

An errant round had ricocheted into the fighting hole and struck the dog in the neck. Ground hadn't noticed until it was too late.

He gently placed the big dog in the back seat across Forge's lap, "Take care of him."

Forge, blood down one arm, placed his good hand over the German Shepherd, "I will."

The sounds of the undead grew as they trudged ever closer.

The instant the doors clicked shut, Bumble Bee and Beachcomber roared to life, accelerating away with Bulleit and the wounded securely inside, their tires spitting gravel into the air. As the fast-moving vehicles sped past the tree line, a terrifying sight emerged; one by one, a stream of zombies began to stagger and drag their worn corpses down the pockmarked road and from the shattered forest, their groans sending shivers down the spines of the survivors.

"HELP!" The desperate scream drew the attention of many of the ghoulish undead, their sunken eyes drawn toward the source of the sound.

"Who's out there?" Falcon barked as he took a mental inventory of his troops.

"Not one of ours!" answers Bowyer.

A sudden gunshot snaps, echoing through the clearing. From the edge of the treeline, a figure emerged. A Cobra Reaper, unmistakable in their signature skull mask. He staggered forward, one hand pressed hard against his chest, clearly in pain, the other wielding a pistol. Despite his injury, his aim was steady, each shot dispatching a nearby ghoul.

"Shit," Falcon muttered under his breath as he turned and fired at a zombie before its outstretched fingers could seize the Reaper.

The other Joes followed suit, their weapons erupting with bursts of fire, providing cover for the limping enemy.

As the Reaper drew nearer, Falcon narrowed his eyes, leveling his weapon at the newcomer. "Are you bit?"

"No. Just fucked up. Busted my arm and twisted my ankle," the Reaper replied gruffly, turning just enough to take another shot at a nearby zombie. The slide of his weapon locked back with a click. "Anyone got a mag of .45 for a Colt 1911?" He called out, the empty magazine falling to the ground, taking tentative steps toward the Joes.

Silently, Falcon reached into his gear and pulled out one of his precious magazines. Holding it out towards the Reaper.

The Reaper turned his head toward Falcon, surprise clear in his eyes even through the mask. With a swift motion, he accepted the ammunition, slapped it into place, and released the slide with a flick of his thumb. "Thanks."

"What's your name, soldier?" Falcon asked forcefully.

"Bishop."

"Well, Bishop, we'll get you out of this mess, but if you do anything to risk my team, I won't hesitate to put a bullet in you."

"Understood."

The decaying mass inched closer, black teeth gnashing at the air as skeletal fingers scratched through the air, ready to clamp down on their next meal. More ghouls stumbled through the chaos of smoking craters left by artillery. Creeping ever closer.

"Stay together. Stay tight. We've dealt with worse." Falcon shouts, hoping to reassure his team. The gathered group is bathed in shadow as the massive Autobot Powerglide steps behind them. They looked at the enormous robot, standing like a monolith over the field.

With a mighty swing of his arm, Powerglide mowed down the first line of undead monsters. Turning sharply, Falcon shouted to their new ally, "Grab one of my Joes and get them out of here! Follow Bumble Bee!"  

Powerglide responded by scooping up Drifter, holding him securely in his massive hand before launching toward the treeline. Each thunderous footfall crushed numerous undead. Then, in a seamless maneuver, Powerglide transformed back into an A-10, the roar of his engines almost drowned out by the horrifying cacophony of the approaching horde. Unleashing a final barrage of bullets, he laid a storm of fire upon the undead, eliminating many of the gathering swarm before turning to follow his friends.

The once beautiful location had become a horrific tableau of blood-soaked earth, mingling with the charred and twisted remains of destroyed equipment and discarded weaponry. Creatures, unable to walk, clawed across the dirt, creating a macabre carpet of undulating death.

"We need to move," Falcon grunted, "we have to get to the FOB." In response, he heard the sounds of weapons being checked as the group prepared to move.

Jinx removed her blindfold and resheathed her sword. She readied her rifle, "You know, Falcon, a simple hello would have done." He turned to see her give a subtle wink before bringing her weapon to her shoulder.

Grand Slam dropped his plasma rifle and flight pack, looking at Falcon and shrugging, "Empty. They'll just slow me down."

The nearest zombie lurked just ten feet away, its decaying features grotesque under the waning light. Its eyes were shrunken and dried like prunes, its skin cracked and gray, and its teeth cracked into sharp fangs.

Falcon raised his shotgun, adrenaline coursing through his body.

He took a steadying breath.

A thunderous crack split the air as the shot tore through the zombie's skull. In an instant, the back of its head exploded in a dark blossom of gore, a gruesome mist of black spray painting the ground behind it as the ghoul collapsed lifelessly.

And just like that, the fight began. The repetitive crack of pistols and the thunderous blasts of rifles filled the air, a grim symphony singing to the newly departed.

Zombies surged forward, bones poking through the mottled skin of their outstretched fingers in hungry desperation, mouths agape, revealing blackened and jagged teeth waiting to sink into soft flesh. Some dragged themselves across the torn earth, and others shuffled and stumbled over the uneven terrain.

As each ghoul stepped up, they met the embrace of true death at the hands of the Joes.

"I'm out," Bowyer shouted, quickly holstering his empty pistol and switching to his trusty bow. His muscles tightened as he drew the bowstring. He calmed his breath with each inhale, his eyes narrowing on the shambling targets advancing on his group.

For Bowyer, time seemed to slow as he assessed the distance and erratic movements of the zombies; every detail of the ghouls came into sharp focus. With a silent prayer to the winds, he released the string. The bow sang a sweet note, a prelude to the end, as its razor-sharp arrow sliced through the air, each flying with deadly precision, striking their putrid targets with a whisper of killer intent.

For a moment, the fletching of the arrows fluttered before the ghouls fell, one after another, crumpling to the ground like marionettes with their strings cut. The rhythmic twang of the bowstring became a calming sound for Bowyer, a reassuring reminder that this was what he did best.

Silently, he counted each arrow that found its mark. After sending the last shaft flying through the air, he let out a frustrated huff, slung his bow, and reached for his sword. Handcrafted years before the world plunged into chaos during the ZomPoc, it wasn't just a weapon. It was a trusted friend. Bowyer had trusted it numerous times when the enemy was too close for his bow.

The bolt of Jinx's rifle locked open as she sent her last round downrange. She dropped the empty gun and drew her sword, gripping the tsuka tightly. The blade glinted ominously as she lunged forward. She swung, feeling a comforting satisfaction as the blade sliced easily through the scalps of the decaying monsters.

The hair on her neck suddenly stood on end, an early warning she did not ignore. Looking down, she saw a dragger, its grotesquely deformed face twisted in a grimace of hunger. Its distended jaws, lined with jagged teeth, were desperately reaching to sink into her flesh. "Shit," she muttered under her breath. Without hesitation, she plunged her sword deep into the top of the dragger's head.

The momentum caused her sword to lodge firmly in the ground, and the blade stuck fast in the decaying creature. Jinx quickly steadied herself as she reached for her second sword, her fingers deftly finding the hilt.

The hammers of Smith's revolvers fell on empty cylinders with metallic clicks. First one, then the other. She had drained her bolt action rifle of ammo during the fight with Cobra. She quickly reached down to her ankle, retrieving her knife, which Forge had made for her.

Seeing him leave the battlefield bloodied and in pain fueled her rage. She seized the nearest zombie, her grip tightening around its decaying throat, the dried flesh rough beneath her fingers. With a primal scream, she drove the blade deep into the side of its head, her breath catching as the point plunged through bone and brain.

Ground tightened his grip on his katana. Streaks of dirt and sweat marred his face, tracing the paths carved by his tears. The thought of losing Pound, his most trusted partner, after all this time threatened to shatter his heart. The bond they shared was forged in the fire of the apocalypse. The loss pressed heavily on his soul as he fought on. He raged against the undead, his guttural shouting turning into a deep growl. Each swing of his blade easily sliced through the undead.

Scrounge had entered the battle with a large assortment of firearms: AK47, shotgun, numerous pistols, and even weapons he had scavenged from the battlefield; their ammunition depleted. They were now worthless. Leaving him his Kukri. He removed his cloak, tossing it at an approaching zombie. Wrapped in the heavy garment, the creature tripped, allowing Scrounge to chop the Kukri deep in its skull.

Dialtone and Firewall moved side by side. The blades of their knives dripped deep ochre gore as they repeatedly drove them into the heads of the undead.

Sneak Peek's knife sank hilt deep into a shambling corpse. He quickly pulled the blade out and readied himself for the next groaning ghoul.

Bishop, the Cobra Reaper, had drawn a short staff from his backpack. With the click of a button, the shaft extended, and a curved blade snapped into place, revealing the Reaper's signature weapon: a wicked-looking razor-sharp sickle. Even with his injured arm, Bishop wielded it with expert precision.

"Keep moving!" Falcon shouted over the sounds of the groaning undead.

For every zombie dispatched, it seemed like two more lurched forward in its place.

Joe's strained grunts mix with the undead's chilling groans, creating a hideous soundtrack for the ZomPoc.

Time seemed to stand still as if frozen in the grip of the specter of Death itself.