G. I. Joe is the code name for Joint Special Operations (Counter-Terrorism) Group Delta, a top-secret, highly trained force, determined to stop any and all forms of terrorism, both foreign and domestic. Along with the Army's 1st SFOD-D "Delta Force", G. I. Joe is the only sanctioned military arm authorized by public law to operate autonomously, both inside and outside the United States. It is also considered to be an integral part of the Department of Homeland Security when pursuing terrorists within sovereign American territory.
Joint Task Force Three of the Canadian Department of National Defense, is Canada's contribution to the multinational NATO counter-terrorism effort. Manned by a combination of Canada's best law enforcement, military and intelligence personnel, JTF-3 operates separately from the balance of Canada's civil and military authorities, and is granted some degree of independence in its investigations. Among all the field units of JTF-3, their elite is the five-agent Alpha Team.
Part One
"Escape and Evasion"
***
G. I. Joe "Detachment New York"
Fort Hamilton, Brooklyn
Duke stormed through the underground motor pool garage, hurriedly searching for Crypto. One of the Green Shirts had told the top kick that the Joes' intelligence officer was in the motor pool working on his personal car. Unfortunately, because General Tomahawk was calling with urgent orders, personal car repairs meant nothing to the unit's first shirt.
Crypto was stretched out on a mechanic's roller platform under his personal vehicle, a 1996 Toyota Corolla sedan parked at the very back of the Joes' motor pool and underground garage. Dressed in a pair of worn-out camouflage BDU pants and a gray tee shirt with "Navy" stenciled on its front, he was certainly trying to look off duty. The officer was cursing over a stuck oil plug when Duke crossed the garage looking for him.
"Crypto!" Duke shouted, his voice echoing through the open garage spaces. "Crypto! Where the hell are you, El-Tee?"
Crypto heaved and pulled, sweat forming on his brow. As he tried to force the metal and hardened rubber plug loose with a large socket wrench, Duke's nearby voice startled him. He lost control of the wrench and it slipped off the plug, slamming into his thumb. The instant sensation of pain drew out the worst streak of curses and foul language a sailor could utter.
Duke bent at the waist, resting his hand on the Corolla's fender to steady himself. His face appeared under the car's edge with a beaming smile. "I knew I just had to follow the streams of obscenities to locate you, sir."
"Hey, Duke," Crypto replied, collecting his tools. "You're the one that distracted me from this freakin' oil plug. I damn near snapped my finger off when you shouted my name!"
Duke walked around the car and found Crypto's ankles sticking out from underneath it. He grabbed onto them and hauled the officer out from under the car on his rolling platform.
"Hey, there," Crypto whined. "Only my girlfriend gets to grab my ankles like that when I'm not in the combat zone. I'm supposed to be off duty, and I need to change the oil in my car, if you don't mind."
Although smiling, Duke's face was squared off and his solid gaze expressed quite clearly that he wasn't about to accept any resistance, even from an officer. "The POV will have to wait, sir," Duke said. "General Tomahawk's calling from the Pentagon. He needs you on the horn. Right now."
Whenever Duke emphasized immediacy, he really meant that what he wanted was to be done yesterday, without excuses. Crypto dusted himself off and tucked his dog tags into his gray Navy tee shirt. "So be it then, Top. When the General calls, Crypto answers."
The two Joes walked to the closest conference room on the garage sublevel, where Duke had the general's call transferred to the room's video conferencing system. After a few moments, both Joes stood at attention when the tired face of General Tomahawk appeared on the large projection screen in front of them.
"At ease, guys," Tomahawk said. "As you were." The general's face twisted into a squinty look, as if he were studying either Duke or Crypto very closely in his Pentagon video monitor. "Lieutenant Williams, it appears to me that you're out of uniform, mister."
"Sir, I was off duty, working on my car in the motor pool," Crypto replied, trying to smooth out his oil-spattered tee shirt to look presentable at the very least. "I had a three-day liberty coming up and was going to take a ride down to Arlington National Cemetery to visit an old friend."
"I'm afraid not, sailor," Tomahawk said. "Your three-day pass is being revoked, and I'm putting you and Duke on deployment alert forthwith. We have a problem concerning our neighbors to the north. I need you two and some of the other Joes to get up to the border and do a bit of sniffing around. Apparently, there's some infighting going on between elements of the Canadian Army and the government's counter-terrorist organization, Joint Task Force THREE."
"What?" Crypto said, nearly falling off his chair upon hearing the news. "You're bullshitting us, right, General Abernathy?"
"No bullshit," Tomahawk said. His expression was deadly serious.
"Some of our unofficial sources are saying that an influential Canadian general, Michel Badeau, has gone rogue, and a significant part of their regular army is staunchly loyal to him because of his outspokenness concerning the government's lack of financial support for the Canadian military."
"Others are saying that JTF-3 botched a job that caused the recent nerve gas crisis in Toronto and the Army is cracking down on them because most of their agents refused to voluntarily go into quarantine. The media is oddly quiet about the standoff, including CNN, CBC and Sky News. The Canadian government might have clamped a lid on them already."
"What's our situation on the border?" Duke asked, rubbing his chin and looking at a map of North America hanging from one wall.
Tomahawk sighed as he read through one of a hundred status reports spread out across his desk. "Every state along the U.S.-Canadian border has activated their entire standing National Guard force, armed them, and deployed them to cover every mile of frontier. It's only a matter of time before the word comes down to Federalize them. The border is effectively being sealed, and every vehicle, person, dog, cat, donkey or goat that wants to cross is being searched ten times or more before coming south. Regular units all over the world are going to DEFCON Three. Those crazy Canucks have the President pissin' in his pants right now."
"What would you have us do up there, General?" Crypto asked.
"You and Duke will fly up to the 42nd Mechanized Division's forward headquarters in Buffalo as soon as possible, to establish a presence for the Joe Team there," Tomahawk instructed. "Buffalo is closest to the crisis in Toronto and the supposed trouble brewing in the Canadian capital. The 10th Mountain Division is deploying soldiers along the border between Watertown and Ogdensburg, which is the closest crossing point to Ottawa. Another major command post is being established in Detroit, as the Michigan National Guard deploys to cover border crossings at Windsor, Ontario. Additional Joe Team members will deploy as necessary, or upon your request.
"But for now, the two of you will assess the situation, determine what the 'no-bullshit' truth is behind it, and also observe to see if Cobra is even remotely involved with this Badeau character, or the Toronto nerve gas attack. You will have the authority to override any commands issued by the regulars or the New York Army National Guard, but you had better be damn sure you can justify yourselves if you get into a pissin' match with the commanders up there."
"Sounds like a plan, sir," Crypto replied. "But what about the factions? What happens if any armed Canadian elements, whether they're JTF-3 or Canadian Army, try to encroach upon the United States?"
"For right now," Tomahawk said. "This is a Canadian problem. The CIA is trying to get more hard data, and Washington is leveraging all available diplomatic channels. But I don't see too many of the governmental types talking to us yet.
"This could become a major embarrassment for the Canadian politicians and their Prime Minister if a significant portion of their military AND their supposedly independent counter-terrorist force are somehow both out of control. Your first and foremost mission is to protect sovereign American soil and make sure none of the VXD-9 nerve gas that was encountered in Toronto enters the country in the hands of an enemy. Period."
"More like we shouldn't let any of it in at all, sir," Crypto interjected.
"Roger that," Duke said.
"Good luck, men," Tomahawk said. "Pentagon is out."
As the video conference connection with Washington DC went dead, Duke and Crypto shook their heads at each other. After a long moment of silence between the veteran Airborne Ranger and Naval Intelligence specialist, the latter spoke up.
"How can two guys stop some unknown terror faction from bringing a deadly nerve gas into the U.S. in the middle of a national crisis unfolding in our northerly neighbor?" Crypto asked.
"Sure beats me," Duke said. "I'm just the bullet stopper. But I do think our chances are better of keeping a national crisis from becoming an international incident by us putting our eyes on the problem."
"That's good enough for me," Crypto said. "Shall we draw a couple of Sky Hawks and cruise on up to the falls in style?"
***
Headquarters, Joint Task Force THREE
Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
Gunfire echoed through the lobby areas of the tall concrete and glass structure that housed Canada's elite counter-terrorism task force, JTF-3. Surrounded by units of the 5th Canadian Mechanized Brigade Group under its renegade commander, Brigadier General Badeau, the Canadian soldiers fired the first explosive shots in the escalated standoff against the battle-hardened, terrorist-hunting task force.
"Command post, this is position one!" shouted one of the JTF-3 operatives that survived the initial Canadian Army barrage of machinegun and grenade fire. "The Major is down! Our positions are being hammered out here! Take up fighting positions immediately!"
The light, wavering fire of the regular Canadian Army soldiers' C6 assault rifles and C7 squad automatic weapons were replaced by the heavier punch of M-2HB .50-caliber guns and Mark 19 40mm grenade launchers. The Canadian armored personnel carriers surrounding the JTF-3 headquarters started forward under the rolling barrage of their mounted weapons, their gunners walking the rounds up to the sandbagged positions defending the building's entrance.
Armed with an eclectic array of 5.56mm and 9mm commando weapons, and a handful of rifle grenade launchers, the survivors of the JTF-3 security team at the entrance lobby fought hard. Their only hope was trying to pick off the gunners that sat high atop their APC's, or aimed fire into the open front hatches of the vehicles to disable their drivers. Without more support, their fight wouldn't last very long.
Inside one of the Level Three equipment storage rooms, Alpha Team Commander Rion and one of his teammates, Sergeant Ritsuko Konoe, struggled to sling their combat webbing over their shoulders and secure the snap-link fasteners that held the gear together. The fire alarm bells throughout the building followed the explosion sounds three levels below them, getting all of the JTF operatives in the building to run to the armories and ammunition lockers, on their way to their assigned combat positions.
"Damn, it's started," Ritsuko mumbled, brushing her palm against one of Rion's hands. They had just shared a tender moment together, and the female commando thought hard about the things she said to her superior in the brief moments before they were interrupted by the assault.
If only time could stop, Ritsuko thought to herself, as she picked up the 5.56mm Galil ARM assault rifle that she had drawn from the JTF-3 armory. If only time could stop, I would take Rion and we'd both escape this fate...
Bullets ricocheted off everything in sight, breaking window glass, chipping interior paint and gouging out the cement of the building's outer walls. In the second floor office Captain Claire Fontaine occupied with a pair of JTF-3 snipers, the Spartan décor had already been torn to shreds by the Army firepower bombarding the building.
"They've got Leopard tanks rolling in on us!" one of the snipers shouted in between the loud cracks of his M-21 7.62mm sniper rifle. "We can plink at the M-113's, Bisons and Grizzlies all we want, taking out drivers and gunners. But we can't handle a buttoned-up main battle tank!"
"Just keep pouring it on!" Claire shouted, turning over a heavy wooden desk and shoving it up to the row of windows for more protection. She fired down at the approaching armored vehicles with her M-4A1 carbine, trying to hit the vehicle crews who hadn't buttoned up their hatches. Behind the armor of the vehicles, Canadian infantrymen loyal to the renegade general were returning fire with their standard issue assault rifles and machineguns, surgically picking off any JTF-3 shooters they could identify.
Peering through her shooting scope, Claire zeroed in on the face of a young man, barely in his twenties, who sat atop an M-113 APC. He was firing the vehicle's machinegun at the JTF operatives who were trying to repel the Army soldiers from the lobby level. In the heat of the moment, Claire thought she could see her younger brother's eyes in the APC commander's that filled her scope.
He probably hardly understood what was going on, Claire surmised, yet he's following his orders and killing his own countrymen, instead of asking questions of his leaders like any good soldier should. Her heart sank when the crosshairs of her scope fell right between the soldier's eyes.
Claire pulled the trigger twice, firing a double-tap into the forehead of the young trooper. She had to avert her eyes for a second when the bullets lanced through his skull and his face exploded in a mass of torn flesh, smashed bone and spurts of blood. It was hard on both sides to be defending oneself from one's own people, regardless of orders and the right of law.
When the APC commander slumped down into his cupola, falling dead into the aluminum-skinned M-113, Claire shook off her reverie and got down to business. She had her duty to perform, and some innocents would have to die to save countless more lives. She had to avenge Toronto and stop General Badeau, all by herself if necessary.