The men of Poseidon's Trident have spent the past 21 days on this island. They have kept busy replenishing the freshwater stores on the Hammerhead from the single spring on the atoll along with drying fish that they have caught from the lagoon. The Captain has been careful not to deplete the population within its waters as he knows this area may be needed again in the future. He has also led the men in daily PT, physical training, determined to get as much use from the land as possible. His men performed their limited PT regime while under water but there is nothing better than a beach run, always with gear and rifles.
The time has been a welcome respite from the horrors of the deep. Lacking major shipping lanes few if any vessels ventured into the area before the end. This has meant that THEY aren't as prevalent. There have been a few stragglers which have been quickly dispatched and disposed of. For the most part, the time has been quiet yet, despite the tranquility the men have remained diligent; protected fires burn each night, guard shifts are rotated, weapons are loaded, and the Hammerhead is always ready for war.
Tonight is like every other night except there is no moon to light the evening surf. Complete and utter darkness engulfs the atoll. Where others would be terrified these men know they own the night.
"Did you hear that?"
"What?"
"Sounded like oars splashing."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." There is no argument, no excuses, no brushing aside what was heard. For these men, it is always better to be safe than sorry. The two EELs grab their rifles. Each dons a pair of advanced NODs, night vision optical devices. O'Leary takes watch while Ganson quietly alerts the rest of the team. "Heard something." He doesn't need to say more each man knows his duty. Like a well-oiled machine, each man takes his post. Sgts Ganson and O'Leary begin a perimeter search. It takes only a matter of minutes. With hand signals and whispered voices they proceed. Weapons hot and ready they silently stalk the beach from the tree line. Approximately 50 yards from their camp they see them. Tracks.
"Eyes open."
O'Leary takes a knee and examines the tracks from the cover of tropical brush, "Looks like four possibly five. By that trail, I'm guessing zodiac. SEALs?"
"What the hell are they doing out here?" The two continue on. They find the small semi-inflatable raft, the preferred installation vehicle of the elite Navy SEALs, concealed under palm fronds. "Radio back. Let 'em know to expect company."
"On it." The message is sent on an encrypted channel. "I knew this was all too good to be true."
"It was only a matter of time." Before heading back towards the Hammerhead the men sabotage the small craft, pulling out a few wires from the outboard motor, careful not to make any permanent damage just in case they need the craft. The tracks lead them in a roundabout way back towards their camp. "They knew we were here."
"Musta' been watching us." With increasing stealth the two advance when out of nowhere shots ring out. The familiar sound of ADS rifles mingles with the quick staccato of M4A1. The two quickened their pace in hopes of flanking their attackers. They come up behind the interlopers quickly drawing razor-sharp blades across the throats of the two closest before quietly melting back into the brush. The others realize the loss and are taken off guard by the two-front attack.
"Dammit. Keep firing." The man's eyes show signs of extreme wear. His beard is unkempt. He quickly takes in the situation and realizes there is only one option reluctantly he orders for withdrawal. The two grab their dead comrades and dissolve into the darkness of the jungle. The firing from the men of Poseidon's Trident continues. As the three aggressors pick their way back to their small craft the two EELs ambush the group. Each quickly grabs one of the attackers causing them to drop their comrades. Pressing a glistening knife to the throat of one of the men Sgt O'Leary calls out, "It's over. You're outnumbered and outgunned. If you want these men to live drop your rifle." There was a time when the men wouldn't have been so easily caught. When they would have fought off all comers with the fortitude of tigers. A time when their commanding officer would have resisted tooth and nail. That was a time before THEY came. Now their leader hangs his head dropping his weapon to the ground. Falling to his knees he interlaces his fingers behind his head, familiar with what would come next. "Good." The EELs release their captives forcing them to their knees alongside their leader. A snapping sound brings Ganson around weapon up.
"Woah there, big boy." The familiar voice of Captain Wright announcing the arrival of the crew of the Hammerhead. Wright and Sgt Cruze step out of the foliage. Sgt Paul stayed behind to guard their camp and their craft. "So what do we have here? The last vestiges of the former SEALs? Did you really think you'd be able to take us?" Captain steps forward looking down on the men before him, their hands having already been quickly bound with zip cuffs. They wear the long ago retired BDUs of the Army. Boonie hats block their eyes hiding their faces even more than the thick grease stick camo they had applied. "Well?" In another day and age, the men would have stuck to their guns giving only name rank and serial number.
Now is not that time.
The man who had led the expedition speaks, his voice is grave with age and wear. He is too beaten to raise his head, "We didn't think we could take you out. We were… we were hoping to avoid a confrontation. We just wanted supplies. Thought we could grab some of yours and be off before you realized it."
Captain Wright looks down, venom in his eyes, "You expect me to believe that? You expect me to believe armed SEALs weren't looking for a fight…"
"I'm the only SEAL." This is from one of the men on his knees.
"What was that?"
"I'm the only SEAL. Forrest, Brian. Sergeant. 701-54-8793. I'm the only SEAL. The others aren't…"
The Captain recognizes the name immediately, "Brian Forest, a.k.a. Wetsuit." He turns to his men, "Looks like we have ourselves a Joe. Let's see who else we have." He removes the hats of the other two prisoners.
The identity of both shocks him.
The first is a woman. Not only a woman but one that he has seen on Cobra Island. A well-known and respected agent of Cobra. One who was ranked among the world's best assassins. A woman the Captain is all too familiar with Vypra.
The second…
The second is a legend of the open waters of a man once feared by all in the Cobra Navy. A man who led the most powerful ocean-going vessel ever created the USS Flagg. Admiral Keel Haul.
He quickly looks at the dead men. Turning their corpses he immediately recognizes Dolphin of Action Force, and Tooms a Lamprey of the Cobra Navy. Neither he nor his men can believe their eyes.
"What is the meaning of this?" His words spit at Vypra. She hangs her head in shame. Her hollow cheeks tell more of the story than words would have. Captain Wright looks to his men, "Check them all for weapons then double-check them. Make sure they are secured. Then give them food and water." At the mention of having their hunger and thirst quenched, the two raise their heads. They offer no opposition to being led away. "O'Leary make sure these two get a decent burial."
"Yes sir."
For the first time Admiral Keel Haul looks up tears streaming down his face, "Thank you."
The Captain looks upon the man who was once feared the world over with pity. "You're welcome."
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Admiral Keel Haul looks up, for the last hour he has been relating his story to the man between mouthfuls of dried fish and gulps of freshwater, "We were doing well, had plenty of supplies; beans, bandages, and bullets you know. We were far out at sea when it happened. We came across a derelict cruise ship. I ordered her scuttled, we were preparing when we saw her. A woman on deck. Waving a red flag. She was frantic. I… I couldn't sink her. A boarding team was made, volunteers only, but you know being Joes everyone volunteered. Despite all we had been through, all we had seen, all we had done… We still clung to our oath. So they went to the cruise ship. Found the woman, also found the whole thing was full of infected. How she lived so long we had no idea. Turns out it was your Vypra. Apparently, she had been on vacation when it all went to shit. I didn't even realize you guys took vacations." He stuffs more fish into his mouth followed by a giant mouthful of water. His decorum was all but gone. "Well once we figured it out, and it took a while, we locked her up. How we missed it, a valve open when it shouldn't be. Missing rounds of ammunition. Crew members disappearing… Listen, I've been in this man's Navy for longer than most. Some say I was a relic. They were probably right. But I always did right by my men. I always kept my word. But this…" He raises his bound hands to the world. "No one could have been prepared for this. Then with word of the Cobra Civil War, we were spread thin. Too thin. We just…" His voice trails off as tears roll down his cheeks. "Captain, I know I'm your prisoner but my girl, she's still out there. We have a skeleton crew keeping her alive. She has power enough to last decades without refueling. All her main munitions are gone. We have rifles and small arms still. We also have people; Joes, Cobra, anyone we found adrift. We have plenty of water but no food. I can take you to her."
The Captain listens on with growing pity. By Cobra regulations he is to keep the prisoners and bring them to the nearest Cobra facility for incarceration. The traitors are to be publicly executed. Given the situation, he cannot transport the prisoners. Besides, where would he bring them? He hasn't heard word one from any of the Cobra upper echelons since bugging out. He seriously considers setting them all free and even giving them supplies enough to survive. Survive what? Once their supplies are depleted they'd be back in the same position. Dying on the open water. Adrift at sea in a failing world. If what Keel Haul has been saying is true the world's governments have fallen. There is no more, United States. No more Joe team. Just pockets of survivors and hordes of THEM. For all the Captain knows Cobra has fallen and they are the last left. His thoughts are interrupted by Mack, "Sir, you need to see this."
He turns to find his man standing behind him a printout in his hand. He stands, "What is it."
"Sir, it's our orders."
"Orders? From who?"
"The Commander."
Captain Wright stands and takes the paper out of the Sergeant's hand and quickly reads each word. After re-reading it he hands it back. "Tell the men to ready the Trident. We have our orders."
"Yes, sir." The sergeant snaps off a sharp yet uncharacteristic salute, the Captain long ago ended the practice with his crew. He knows it's only being given now for the benefit of their guest. He salutes back and turns to the Admiral who had remained seated.
"Well, Admiral looks like things just changed. Now, where is the Flagg, exactly?"