Chapter One

The small antechamber of the office hinged at the uncomfortable level of silence, as the only sound in the room was the drone of a female specialist, sitting behind a desk and dressed in Army issue 'Class B' uniform, typing on a computer. The only other person in the room was a man in Army issue 'Class A' uniform who was sitting in one of three separate padded chairs set against one wall of the office. The man's impatience showed as he mindlessly scratched at his close-cropped fiery red hair for about the fifteenth time in about two minutes. Finally the silence was broken as a small phone at the woman's desk rang. The woman picked up the phone and began to answer the speaker on the other end of the line. "Yes sir.....Yes sir....I'll send him in right away sir." As the woman placed the phone back on the cradle, her glance shifted to the man, giving him a warm smile as she spoke, "The general will see you now Specialist Weems."
"Thanks." Weems said with a quick nod and smile. As he stood up, the light played over the highly shined metal of the badges and insignia that covered his Class A jacket, most notably the master parachutist, HALO, and EOD. badges that dominated the left hand breast of the jacket. As he strode with purposeful steps towards the large wooden door beside the woman's desk he did what he could make his 6' 3 height and better than average build seem even more impressive. He opened the door and after entering the room he came to a halt and set himself into a position of attention exactly three feet in front of the general's desk. Fixing his eyes on the back wall of the office, he snapped his right hand up in a salute and held it there as he began to speak in a clear, even voice, "Specialist Wallace A. Weems reporting as ordered sir."


'Ripcord' as 'Hawk' had elected to use as his codename, stared out across the huge expanse of the motor pool lost in thought, with only the sounds of a nearby soldier tinkering with the engine of 'VAMP' keeping him from completely zoning out. His thoughts dwelled mostly on the slew of briefings he'd been assaulted with since his arrival to the massive, remote base in the Virginia mountains. Briefings on terrorist groups, one called 'Cobra' in particular, were the foremost. Then they were the briefings on the custom equipment that the team used. Following those were a near endless string of smaller briefings on everything from protocol to tactics. His thoughts were interrupted, causing eyes to break their empty stare across the motor pool as the sound of a gas turbine engine filled the motor pool. One of the team's big "Wolverine" missile platforms began to roll into an open bay. As it came to a halt and the sounds of the big engine died, it's driver climbed out of the lone hatch on the vehicle and removed his helmet before making a small leap to the concrete floor. Ripcord was taken a back for a moment as the driver turned around. It was a woman. A woman? In armor? Ripcord thought before his mind went blank as he took in the details of the driver. Talk about too-beautiful-for-government-work. The woman seemed to notice his staring as she shot a smirk and a shake of her head in his direction. Ripcord shook thoughts of the woman free of his head and let his thoughts wonder again. 'Codenames, custom equipment, the obvious lack of standard military protocol or regulations, and this apparently is beyond a platoon or company size unit. I know there's this whole hidden 'Cobra' threat but I think their operation must bigger than what the brass let on to. Maybe I'm just antsy. I'll calm down a little once I get some orders. I think it could help out everybody around here a lot; the tension is so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Maybe it's just 'cause we're newly formed, but it's kinda creepy, for the most part everybody is just stickin' to themselves...' Ripcord shook the thoughts free of his head again, he could sulk and daydream or he could attempt to get to know the members of his new unit better. The latter seemed more enjoyable. He pushed himself off of the 'Mauler' that he'd been leaning on and started walking towards the stairwell, letting out a heavy exhale and mumbling to no one in particular. "Maybe I'll go find that 'Freefall' guy again, he was better to hang around with than 'Crazy Legs'." A small smile crossed his face as he realized that in 'getting to know his unit better', he'd only really talked with people who'd he'd seen with jump wings. Old habits die hard. "Jumpers gotta stick together." He mused to himself as he exited the motor pool.


It seemed that the longer Ripcord had to wait, the more he'd become restless. Being in the Army for six years, he'd learned to deal with just sitting around the base for extended periods of time, but this was different. With such a covert unit having this big an operation, it was obvious that they'd be called on quite often. Finally his anxiousness came to an end when he'd been ordered to report to a briefing that morning. He eagerly reported to one of the base's huge auditoriums, which was to be the briefing's location. He stopped in his tracks when he first entered the huge auditorium, impressed with the sheer number of soldiers, airmen, marines, and sailors that were packed into the room, creating a sea of the new woodland camouflage BDUs. Putting his thoughts back to reality, he quickly found an open seat and slid into it. The room was filled with the dull roar of multiple voices as many of the troops shared small talk. A few moments passed before a single voice carried over all of the others like a gunshot.
"Room A-TEN-SHUN!" A booming voice barked out. Instantly the auditorium became deathly silent as all of the troops shot to their feet. Down near the bottom of the stadium seating room Hawk, clad in BDUs just like his men, strode purposefully into the room, coming to a halt as he took his place behind a podium.
"Be seated." Hawk's authoritative voice said into the microphone, however the general's natural voice projection almost rendered the microphone unnecessary. With that, Hawk began to read off names followed by operational outlines, each individual standing when they had been assigned to a mission. Ripcord hung on Hawk's every word, waiting for his codename to be called, barely noticing the extended amount of time that had passed. Finally it came. "Ripcord and Covergirl," The general started, causing the two soldiers to immediately shoot to their feet, "Yours will be most likely the best and easiest assignment. The CIA and MI-5 have recently learned of Cobra operations in the London area. Your mission is mainly liaison duties. You'll meet a contact at RAF Brize Norton, code named Big Ben, who'll act as your go between for us and the SAS. Hopefully by the time you arrive in the United Kingdom, MI-5 will have gathered some idea as to exactly where and what the Cobra presence in the London area is about. Just like the other teams you can pick up your mission packet from the intelligence offices for the finer details of your mission." As Hawk started to rattle off names for the next operation, Ripcord dropped from his stoic position of attention and slid back down into the padded folding seat, his thoughts focusing on the mission he was about to undertake.


After hopping a short flight piloted by a crazy Texan on one of the unit's custom 'Tomahawk' helicopters, Ripcord arrived at Pope AFB where he now stood watching the Air Force personnel load up fuel into the KC-135 plane which he and Covergirl were hopping to RAF Brize Norton. After another vain attempt to brush dust off of his BDUs he looked up from under the brim of his soft cap and saw Covergirl approaching. He picked up his duffle and fell into step beside her as they began to head for the KC-135. "Hey Covergirl how are ya? I just want to ask you what all you're qualified do. I figure since this is obviously a small and somewhat covert op that we need to know what we can count on each other for if something goes wrong." Ripcord jerked a thumb towards his chest before continuing. "Me, I'm basically your standard airborne-infantry demolitions guy, rated master parachutist, rated HALO, rated EOD, expert on M-16, and expert on M-1911." After the long winded sentence was over he shifted his gaze over to her, "I know you mostly drive one of those custom missile platforms so that means you're obviously into either armor, ADA, or arty. So what else are you rated at?"


Covergirl shook Ripcord's hand as he fell in step next to her and smiled. "Sounds like you've done some homework, Skyboy. You're right, my MOS is armor, operating the Wolverine in particular, but I'm also qualified as a mechanic. If it moves I can fix it, hot-wire it, or drive it, even if the steering wheel is on the wrong side. Plus, I'm a qualified expert with the M-16 and M-1911 and LAW." She had to shout a little louder as they climbed aboard the Stratotanker preparing for take off. "I also know London like the back of my hand, so getting around shouldn't be a problem." She chuckled as she noted the predominant HALO and master parachutist badges on the chest of his BDUs. "Keeping you from jumping out of this bird, now THAT may be a problem!" she kidded.

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