There were dozens of them. Fully capable fighting machines, each able to do the exact same thing—eliminate the enemies. Each of these fully capable fighting machines stood in attention to a single man, their drill instructor. The instructor in question wore a green undersuit with a black flak vest on his chest and mask over his face. A four-fifty-four was holstered to his right leg, which stood out against the brown and green camouflage pattern on his pants.

“Get the lead out! Move, move, MOVE! How do ever expect to beat Cobra if you can’t even do the basics?” he screamed at the ‘green’ recruits.

It was at this point that one of the recruits had the audacity to talk back to his instructor and this would prove to be both very bold and very un-wise.

“Like Cobra even exists,” one of them said. He was only twenty-four years old; wore a clash of dark greens and brown. His tussled red hair blew softly in the stiff wind.

“What? You doubt they’re real? Hell boys, we got ourselves a non-believer. What do you think we should do with him?” he said, turning to speak with the two men behind him. The one to his left, known by the name of Low Light, wore a gray body suit and stared down the recruit in question through a pair of red-tinted goggles. The other man, a mammoth of a human, wore a tank top that stretched over his rippling muscles as well as a large brimmed brown hat and sunglasses. This was Sergeant Slaughter. He brushed his right hand past his mustache and then spoke.

“Well, Beach Head, I got us some suggestions, but I’m thinking we still want him alive to finish training,” the sergeant stated.

“Well maybe, the kid’s got a point. How do these greenshirts know that Cobra is real, asides from what we tell ‘em? But that’s giving me a hell of an idea,” Low Light said.

“We’re all ears, Low Light,” Beach Head commented.

“I’d have to ask Hawk about it first. Find a place of suspected Cobra activity and take this punk along,” the spotter said.

“I like it. I’ll go see where the nearest snake activity has been,” Slaughter said, and left the airfield.

“You do that, Sarge,” Beach Head called out and turned his attention to the young kid in front of him. “Kid, you got a code name yet?”

“No sir,” he commented, looking at the pavement.

”Well then I’ll give ya’ one. Hmm…let’s think here. Yeah, I’ll call you Alec…as in smart alec,” Beach Head stated and Low Light began to chuckle to himself.

“What’s so funny?” The newly-named recruit asked.

“Well your lucky I didn’t give you my second choice,” Beach Head said.

“What would that be?” Alec asked.

”Dick,” Beach Head said and then barked an order that dismissed all of the other soldiers but Alec.
Brigadier General Clayton Abernathy sat at his desk, staring out through the large window to his left; he just finished watching the training of some of the new Joes. He turned away from the window, and met the gaze of a Green Beret staring back at him. This startled Abernathy at first, but he quickly calmed himself down, upon realizing it was Lieutenant Vincent Falcone. Lt. Falcon looked completely out of place in the office, his random mismatch of greens, browns, and blacks clashed violently with the white walls of the room.

“Sorry if I startled you Hawk, but I need to discuss something with you,” Falcon said.

“What’s on your mind, Falcon?” General Hawk asked.

“I just came back from the consol room. Mainframe got a desperate call for assistance from a Mr. Austin Gordon. He said that a team of militant men, dressed in blue threads attacked his one of his warehouses on the south beach. Damn well sounds like Cobra to me, sir,” Falcon informed.

“I see. What does this Gordon do, that would attract Cobra’s attention to him?” Hawk replied.

“He makes weapon systems for big contractors. He’s got a contract with the US, if I remember right. Obviously, Cobra wants something his company is making,” Falcon said.

“Was anything stolen?”

“He said that a large amount of paper work was nabbed, as well as the hard drive from a lap-top, and a set of compact disks. Odd thing is that he said nothing of importance were on those things. They were archived receipts, if you will, of everyone who has purchased from Gordo’s company in the last decade. Furthermore, he wants protection for his daughter and for some reason, we’re who he wants to protect her,” Falcon stated.

“Well protection isn’t generally in our mandate, but I guess we can make an exception. Take yourself and two others and go down there to check it out…for some reason this sounds suspicious,” Hawk advised. Lt. Falcon saluted his general and left.
Beach Head walked towards a computer terminal, and pointed his gloved finger to the glass. This was what they had been waiting for, Cobra was moving.

“Okay boys, we got ourselves a date with a few reptiles. They’re moving; it looks like the AimTrex Expo Center. So what do you three say? Well, actually you two, because you don’t have a choice in this and your opinion means squat,” he said as he stared at Alec.

“What else is there to say, Beach? Let’s stomp some snakes,” Slaughter said, and picked up a M-16 from the rack on the wall, and loaded a clip into it.

“Low Light?” Beach Head asked.

“My idea, Beach, but you’re getting to the rookie leash attached to you; he’s your responsibility,” Low Light replied as he picked up a rifle from the wall.

Beach Head looked over at Alec, this was going to be hell. He had to get stuck with a snot-nose rookie who didn’t even think Cobra existed for God’s sake. Well, at least they’d get to shake off the cobwebs of not having action for a while. Cobra had been at rest for some time now, and the Joes were getting rather bored. So, at the very least, he might get to practice with a rifle at putting some rounds in the backsides of fleeing Vipers. That alone, made Beach Head smile.