Tombstone and Onesi make the long nighttime trek to the Cobra-controlled airport, situated miles outside the security of New Springfield's walls, yet still within the cordon of Cobra security forces. While uneventful, the journey isn't without its possible perils, as the threat of the undead still exists even here under Cobra's watchful eye. As does the growing danger of the G.I. Joe team.
As they make their way to the airfield, they pass through a series of Cobra checkpoints strategically placed every half mile. Heavily armed Cobra Troopers and Vipers operate each, standing ever vigilant in their hardened bunkers. The level of security evidence that in the ZomPoc hellscape, maintaining air superiority is more precious than gold.
Cobra Commander has made a significant investment in securing his small fleet of aircraft, which includes the lone FANG Gen3, several smaller FANG Gen1, several squads of Trouble Bubbles, a company of drones, and a growing number of VTOLs powered through an alternative energy supply, the plans for the next-gen power source was provided by the Decepticon Soundwave. Guards constantly patrol the area, always looking for potential threats from the living or the undead.
If only New Springfield had been afforded the same level of security, perhaps Cobra could have thwarted the Joe attack, and Tombstone and Onesi would not have found themselves on this absurd mission.
They had tried to radio Wild Weasel at the air base, only to be told by a TeleViper that they would not receive a reply. Threats of reprimand fell on deaf ears, even though they were both higher ranking than Wild Weasel, which only added to their frustration.
As they approached, the forested landscape gave way to a bleak and unsettling scene. High-powered spotlights pierced the darkness of the night, illuminating the area in a harsh, unnatural light. The once vibrant vegetation surrounding the air base now lay charred and burned to ash, leaving their enemies no possibility of a surprise attack.
Rising ominously from the charred ground, several layers of reinforced chain-linked fence encircled the facility. Armed guards, flanked by menacing dogs, prowled the perimeter within the fenceline, their silhouettes casting long shadows across the scorched earth.
Parked off to the side of the main gate, a rugged Alley Viper APC stands ready, its gray exterior blending with the ashen ground. A gunner looms from the top hatch, positioned behind the vehicle's roof-mounted machine gun, his eyes scanning for signs of trouble. As the vehicle driven by Tombstone approaches, a small contingent of Alley Vipers emerges from the protective enclosures flanking the entrance, their weapons held loosely, their movements giving away their readiness for action.
As one Alley Viper steps forward, he raises his palm outward, a clear signal for the men inside the vehicle to stop. The Sergeant, clad in the gray and black gear of a hardened Alley Viper, approached the driver's side. He peers inside, seeing Tombstone first and then Onesi. With a respectful nod, he raises his hand in a salute, which Onesi reciprocates. Tombstone, on the other hand, merely chuckles.
"Welcome," the Alley Viper offers, his voice carrying authority tempered with a hint of camaraderie.
"We need to see the Weasel," Tombstone responds directly, cutting through the offered pleasantries.
The Alley Viper stifles a laugh, "Good luck with that," he waves over his shoulder, and the gate slowly rises.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Go through, bang a right, drive down to the end of the runway, bang a left. You'll see his hangar." The Sergeant maintains a steady gaze, his balaclava hiding the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"I asked you what you meant, Sergeant," Tombstone presses, his voice laced with irritation, tension reaching his jaw. His eyes narrowed on the Alley Viper.
"You'll see." The Alley Viper replies enigmatically. He took a casual step back, dismissing Tombstone's question, offering a nonchalant wave into the compound.
"You impudent little…" Before he could finish, Onesi cut him off.
"Just drive," Onesi urged from the passenger seat, shooting a cautionary look at Tombstone. A warning that any confrontation would take time away from their mission, which could upset the Commander.
With an angry grunt, Tombstone turned his attention back to the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he followed the directions given, "I'll have his hide," he muttered under his breath, his frustration still coursing through his veins.
Onesi suppressed a smile, glancing out the window, "These guys aren't scared of us. They live outside the wire. They're damn near feral," he commented, the smirk threatening to spread despite the seriousness of the situation. He knew how much Tombstone loathed being treated so casually and felt a hint of satisfaction that the Sergeant's indignation got under his skin.
Tombstone huffed in response as they drove deeper into the base.
As they approached the far end of the airstrip, Tombstone abruptly yanked the steering wheel to the left. The sudden movement jarred Onesi, who thumped his head against the cold glass of his window.
Tombstone didn't bother to hide the smile that crept across his face.
Onesi rubbed his sore head and pointed towards a hangar in the far corner of the property. Tombstone sped straight for it. He slammed on the brakes, forcing the vehicle to screech to a halt. Onesi was thrown forward against his seatbelt, "I get it, asshole."
Tombstone didn't reply. His eyes fixed straight ahead.
Onesi turned as the shock hit him like a lightning bolt.
Before them stood a grotesque army of zombies, each clad in the ragged, frayed remains of a Cobra uniform. Their outstretched, decayed hands clawed at the air, desperate for a meal, and their feet scratched at the ground, unable to advance. The eerie, low moans of the undead were now creeping into the vehicle's interior.
Tombstone broke the suffocating silence, "What the actual fuck."
Onesi points at one of the ghastly figures, "You see that?" The zombie, a former Viper, now a putrid remnant of its former self, was bound by a thick collar encircling its neck, tethered to an enormous chain, the end of which was attached to a heavy rebar spike that had been violently driven deep into the concrete.
Tombstone's voice dripped with disgust as he took in the scene before him, "The sick bastard is keeping these as fuckin' pets."
"Let's get this over with." Onesi opens the door, stepping out into the oppressive heat of the humid night. The stench of the undead smashes into his nostrils like a sledgehammer.
Tombstone stepped out of the truck, "God damn." Onsei offered a grunt in reply.
Both men tried to avoid breathing through their noses. They knew from experience that the smell would stick for days.
"So how do we get in?"
"I'm working on that," Onesi replied as he scanned for a clear path to the door just beyond the zombies. Looking toward Tombstone with a shrug, he said, "I guess I'll just try this. WILD WEASEL!" He shouted over the groaning of the undead.
"I coulda done that."
"You could have, but you didn't."
The minutes passed with no response.
"Now we try it my way," Tombstone said as he unsheathed a wicked-looking curved blade. His smile matched the wickedness of the knife. He stepped up to the first zombie. Its fingertips had decayed long ago, and the tips of its fingers cracked, leaving sharp spears of bone in their place. Tombstone wrenched the beast by the neck, slamming his knife deep into its temple.
Onsei wasted no time joining in, thrusting his Kabar upwards through the chin of a ghoul, pinning its mouth closed as the blade continued through its soft palate and into its brain. Its body dropped to the ground with a wet thud.
The pair continued dispatching the undead, each corpse getting them one step closer to the hangar door. They made quick work of the creatures, ignoring those tied too far to pose a threat. Tombstone stepped up to the door and slammed his gore-covered fist into it with a resounding BANG! BANG! BANG!
They listen for sounds through the door, "You hear anything?" Onsei asks.
Tombstone grunted dismissively, "Nope. "Before Onesi could respond, Tombstone raised his leg and swung, slamming his heavy boot into the door. With a crash, it splintered inward, flinging itself wide open and slamming into the wall, sending a jarring tremor through the metal building.
As the doorway was cleared, deep, inky darkness filled the interior, making the threshold resemble the gaping maw of the ravenous undead they had just destroyed. Tombstone stepped in, stopping to give his eyes time to adjust to the oppressive darkness while scanning for any movement or danger hidden in the dark space.
Onsei followed, pulling a small flashlight from his cargo pocket. The beam cut through the dense shadows as he swept the interior. In the center stood Wild Weasel's legendary Rattler, an aircraft resembling the A10 Warthog in many ways. However, what set it apart was its VTOL capabilities. Its massive turbine engines were set in each wing rather than mounted in front of the tail. Its deep Cobra blue was nearly as dark as the hangar it sat in.
"Look over there," Tombstone gestured to the right side of the structure, "I'll look this way."
Just as they were about to walk further into the unknown, they were interrupted by furious shouting from outside.
"WHAT THE FUCK! WHO DID THIS! I'LL KILL YOU!"
The pair spun around, their eyes darting to the entrance. There, framed against the jarring glare of the spotlights outside, stood an instantly recognizable silhouette. His arm shot out to the side, and with a soft click, the darkness of the hangar was erased by a flood of light.
In the doorway stood Wild Weasel. Anger radiated off him like heat from a fire. Behind him, a bag of food lay spilled across the concrete. His eyes narrowed as he locked first onto Tombstone and then Onesi. He reached for his sidearm, raising it with practiced precision.
"Oh shit!" Tombstone exclaimed as he instinctively dove to the ground. He rolled as he hit the ground, his shoulder protesting as it smashed into the hard surface. Onesi followed suit, launching himself behind a stack of crates. The sharp whipcrack of a gunshot rang out, echoing endlessly in the space.
"Hold your fire!" Onesi shouted, trying to coax authority in his voice.
"Hold my fire," another shot, "Did you say 'Hold my fire"?" A third rang out, and the crate above Onesi fell as the bullet struck, sending splinters of wood in every direction. "You killed Tommy, Davis, Norman! You killed Morton!" Another shot.
"Jesus Christ, Weasel, you named them!" Tombstone yelled out from behind the front landing gear of Wild Weasel's precious Rattler.
"So what! They were my friends!"
Onesi peaks from behind the crates, "Look, we're sorry. The Commander sent us."
"To kill my friends!" He raises his pistol, aiming at Onesi.
"Weasel, we're here cause the Commander wants to see you about something." Tombstone bellowed.
"Yeah. What?"
"Put the gun down, and we'll talk."
Wild Weasel holsters his weapon, "Talk."
Tombstone emerges from behind the tire, hands out, saying, "Really sorry about your friends."
"Thanks," he said, turning away from the two men and walking to a small door in the back without a word.
Onesi looks at Tombstone, who shrugs and follows.
Wild Weasel opens the door. The space is jammed with belongings. A small battered desk and chair sit to one side, a stack of files hanging precariously over the edge. A cot is pressed against the opposite wall, covered in a pile of disheveled blankets. A file cabinet stands in the corner; remarkably, its drawers are closed. Wild Weasel opens a small closet, pulling out a couple of folding chairs. "Have a seat."
Onesi takes the offered chair, "Thanks."
Wild Weasel sits behind the desk and kicks his feet up on the top. The file stack teetered, "So Tombstone, how've you been?"
"Wait, you know each other?" Onesi asks incredulously.
Tombstone shakes his head, "We were in the same Trooper training class."
"We go way back," explains Wild Weasel.
"Hey, did I ever tell you the story of how he got his call sign, 'Wild Weasel'?"
"I can't say you have," says a dumbfounded Onesi.
"The last weekend before we graduated Trooper School, this guy right here," Tombstone points to Wild Weasel, a slight laugh in his voice, "he breaks into Major Bludd's office carrying this bag of ferrets, and he puts them in Bludd's desk drawer. Monday morning comes around, and Bludd goes into his office. There's all this scratching for the desk, so he opens the door, and these excited, squeaky, furry critters jump out and start tearing ass around the room."
Wild Weasel adds, "You shoulda seen Bludd's face. He was stomping around…"
Tombstone puts on his best imitation of Major Bludd, "Which onena you bloody bastads did this!?"
The two laugh as they remember the scene.
Pointing at Wild Weasel, Tombstone continues between catching his breath and laughing, "I voted to call him 'Feisty Ferret.' For some reason, 'Wild Weasel' won out."
Confused by the mood in the room, Onesi lashes out at Wild Weasel, "Why the hell did you shoot at us?" Anger seeping into his voice.
Tombstone punches him in the shoulder, "Move on, man. He was having a little fun. No one got hurt."
"No, one got hurt," the words stammering from Onesi.
Turning toward Wild Weasel, Tombstone continues, "Really sorry about your friends and the door. We tried calling."
"I only answer the Commander." He reaches behind the desk, opens a drawer with a grinding squeak, and puts a bottle of clear liquid on the top.
Onesi watches as the stack of files nearly falls but tips back at the last second.
Reaching back down, he comes up with three small plastic cups. He unscrews the top from the bottle. Instantly, Onesi and Tombstone's noses are assaulted by the overpowering odor of moonshine. Wild Weasel pours a small amount into each cup, offering one to each of his guests, "I want to hear about why the Commander sent you. But first, we drink."
He tosses his shot back in a smooth motion. Tombstone swigs the drink down, his face scrunching up, "Whoo!"
Onesi raises his cup, "Salut." The warm liquid traces a burning line down his throat.
Wild Weasel pours himself another shot, "Best stuff at The Bizzare." He offers the bottle to Tombstone, who declines. Onesi takes the bottle, pouring more of the burning concoction into his cup before returning it. "So, why the hell did the Commander send you here instead of calling me himself."
Over the next 30 minutes, Tombstone and Onesi take turns recounting the chaotic events of the morning, ending with the description of the giant robot that swept the battlefield of Cobra troops and effortlessly destroyed the heavily armored Stingers.
"A giant robot that turns into an A10, you say," he pushes back from his desk with enough force that Onesi is certain the stack of files will topple onto the floor. Wild Weasel walks around the desk and back into the main hangar; Onesi is disappointed when the pile remains upright.
The two men follow Wild Weasel out of the cramped office, watching him approach his intimidating Rattler.
With a hearty slap against the front landing gear, Wild Weasel grinned and asked, "Did you catch all that?"
Without warning, the Rattler emitted a series of mechanical whirs and clicks.
WHRR-TSCHZZ-TSCHZZ-TSCHZZ-CHK
The Rattler shutters and begins a stunning transformation. Metal shifts and reshapes, and within seconds, the once familiar plane becomes an intimidating robot, its head nearly hitting the ceiling.
Its deep metallic voice resonated in the space, "Powerglide. My Autobot nemesis."
Tombstone and Onesi stumbled back, eyes wide in disbelief.
With a knowing smile, Wild Weasel turned, "Allow me to introduce Viper."
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