Categories > Cartoons > G.I. Joe > Underground Vengeance

Underground Vengeance

by Wolfman769 1 review

The Punisher continues on his crusade against crime in New York City. In the wake of a major massacre among the Mafia's Manhattan organization, the Punisher discovers a new plot hatching in Brookly...

Category: G.I. Joe - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Action/Adventure, Crossover - Characters: Beach Head, Cobra Commander, Duke, Flint, Hawk, Lady Jaye, Scarlett, Other - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2005-09-18 - Updated: 2005-09-18 - 4216 words

"Underground Vengeance"

A Punisher / G. I. Joe Crossover

Author: "Wolfman Six"


The Punisher, aka Frank Castle, is a character owned by Marvel Comics Group. G. I. Joe, Cobra, and their commonly known characters are owned by Hasbro International, through a number of creative outlets such as Marvel Comics Group and Devil's Due Publishing. No infringement of specific copyrights is intended, as this is a derivative work, and I make no profit in the sharing of this work with the world at large.

Chapter One

"Nocturnal Raiding Party"


Punisher's War Journal

05 September, 2004

Brooklyn, New York

The weather is still mild at night, although it should've started to turn colder, especially here along the Brooklyn waterfront. There's been enough of a chill to take the edge off the hot summer days, after the sun's gone down. It helps keep me awake while I stretch out in the front seat of my yellow cab and act like I'm a gypsy cabbie taking a break from a long day.

It's the third night of my stakeout at the Hochheiser Brothers' Warehouse, which is part of the complex of buildings that used to be the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Long abandoned by the U.S. Navy, and no longer building warships and aircraft carriers, the yard's primary facilities were demilitarized and converted to light industrial and warehousing spaces for private ownership.

I don't often stray from my usual stomping grounds, but I've been chasing a couple of wiseguys who used to run with the DiNardo crime family in Manhattan. They apparently found a new benefactor when I broke up the family's major operation and took Anthony "Bambino" DiNardo down for good.

I did some checking through my local snitches, and found out that the new game in town was running guns and smuggling contraband from somewhere in upstate New York. The illegal goods would come down the Hudson from the mysterious supplier by river barge, and then would be distributed by the local thugs through the Hochheiser Brothers' warehouse.

I haven't found out who the new boss of this operation is - yet. The word on the streets is that a former DiNardo "capo" survived my raid and branched out on his own, to fill the void in the family leadership.

Some of the older hands are thinking that an established player from upstate or New Jersey is trying to expand operations quietly, to avoid a turf war with the DiNardo crew, or any of the neighboring families in the Five Boroughs. And they think the other Syndicate Boss isn't aware that "Bambino" DiNardo recently got lead poisoning, courtesy of my UZI.

But perhaps tonight, if my luck holds, I'll be able to pinch Nicky "The Fist" Scarpelli or Tommy "Two-Step" Pescatiello, and beat the information out of one of them...


2200 hours, local time

The streets in the section of Brooklyn near the old Navy Yard were quiet and almost abandoned at night. Save for a few longshoremen and security guards changing shifts in the all-night warehouses and grocery distribution centers, very little was going on.

Outside the Hochheiser Brothers' warehouse, a lone yellow gypsy cab was parked against the curb across the broad avenue, within sight of the main truck loading entryway. The cab was blacked out and parked in the dark shadows under a street lamp whose bulb had blown and hadn't been replaced by the NYC roadways department.

The warehouse itself was a drab, gray construct that covered several thousand square feet. Its thick, concrete block walls had been covered in graffiti many times over, except for the large, billboard-sized McDonald's advertisements that had been painted up high, where passing traffic on the elevated Gowanus Expressway could see them.

A number of rusty steel fire escape ladders ran from the warehouse's foundation up to its flat rooftop, including one that was just inside a shadowy alleyway that separated Hochheiser Brothers' from a subdivided building with a dry cleaning shop and convenience store, both covered over by industrial roll-down doors.

A pair of bright headlamps rounded a corner several blocks down the avenue from the warehouse. A second pair followed the first, and then the higher lamps of a large delivery truck brought up the rear. The three motor vehicles approached the warehouse, whose loading door rolled up automatically, controlled by one of the night watchmen that worked inside.

The column of vehicles was led by a black Ford Crown Victoria sedan, occupied by two plump but tough looking men in suits, with chiseled, scowling faces. The second car was a black Mercedes limousine, with darkly tinted windows that hid the identities of its occupants.

A Ford F350 inter-city delivery truck, with a basic box body covered in colorful spray paint and slogans, brought up the rear. It looked like one of the hundreds of trucks that worked the area, bringing goods in and out of the re-utilized warehouse district.

A shadow stirred ever so slightly inside the gypsy cab upon the approach of the vehicles. The lens of a night vision image intensifier poked up, just over the edge of the driver's side door, as its owner scanned the vehicles and made out the recognizable faces of Nicky The Fist and Tommy Two-Step in the lead sedan.

The shadow followed the vehicles as they entered the brightly-lit interior of the warehouse. As the loading door rolled shut, the black shadow slipped out of the taxicab and made his way to the alley and fire escape ladder inside it.

The dark figure wore black garments, and walked with a stride like he was carrying the extra weight of body armor under his flowing trench coat. A flash of blued steel was hidden under the trench coat, which belonged to the man's weapon of choice.

His trademark symbol, a white skull emblazoned on his black tunic, brought fear to the men and women corrupted by life in New York's underworld. Frank Castle, the Punisher, New York's most infamous and violent vigilante-hero, was on the prowl once more.


In stark contrast to the dark and shadowy neighborhood outside, the interior of the Hochheiser Brothers' warehouse was brightly lit by white spotlights and overhead lamps that hung from catwalks spanning the length and breadth of the large structure.

A handful of workers toiled through their shift, maneuvering pallets of consumer goods and wooden packing crates around the facility with gas-powered forklifts and hand-propelled pallet jacks. Many of the nocturnal staff appeared to be unionized longshoremen, unloading the latest barge that had come down the river from Albany.

Some of the men, wearing simple gray security guard uniforms, patrolled the catwalks and stood guard at the truck entrance that had been opened to allow the small convoy of vehicles to enter.

To any casual observer, the warehouse would look legitimate. Most of the goods being stored or transferred during the night shift were actually part of the warehouse's legal business. However, when the vehicles arrived, led by the pair of ex-DiNardo family wiseguys, a platoon of azure blue-uniformed men materialized to stack a number of unmarked wooden crates in an open area for the arrivals to inspect.

Nicky "The Fist" Scarpelli stepped out of the black Crown Victoria, from behind the steering wheel of the car. He wore a flashy maroon suit and black tie, and for a stocky man of thirty-five, he carried himself with a definite attitude of toughness. His face was square-jawed and solid, adorned with a neatly trimmed moustache.

Tommy "Two-Step" Pescatiello was equally broad at the shoulders and had a bit of a gut from drinking heavily in between jobs for the DiNardo Mafia crime family. He wore a more traditionally colored blue business suit, but appeared a bit more unkempt than Nicky The Fist. The brown leather shoulder straps of his concealed-carry pistol holster were visible against his white shirt, because the rig wasn't fitted right to Pescatiello's body.

The two mobsters glanced around the warehouse, waiting for the uniformed workers to deposit the crates and depart. When the open area cleared out, Pescatiello walked around the Mercedes limo and opened the passenger's side rear door.

From inside the dark-tinted limousine, two capos from the Brooklyn-based Righatelli crime family stepped out under the warehouse lights. The junior /capo/, a numbers runner and manager of several OTB bookmaking scams, carried a thick, silver briefcase.

Behind them, two men exited the large delivery truck. The men were thugs employed by the Righatelli capos for 'muscle', and they nervously brandished Beretta sub-machineguns as if besieged by an invisible enemy.

Joseph Trabiano, the senior Righatelli /capo/, looked the two wiseguys over with a skeptical expression. "I'm still not sure if I can trust you two enough to do dis business," he said. "If you were so loyal to my good friend DiNardo, your bloody bodies should've been lying with his."

"We was on a job for da Boss when da Punisher hit his penthouse," Nicky The Fist said. "We was jus' as surprised ta find out we didn't have jobs no more."

"Well... All right, I guess," Trabiano said. He motioned to his thugs, who followed the capo at a respectful distance with SMG's at the ready. "But don't neither of you two try some funny business, you got me? /Capiche/?"

"Capiche. Understood, Mister Trabiano," Nicky The Fist replied. Scarpelli led the Righatelli capos to the unmarked wooden crates and pried the lid of the topmost crate open with a steel crowbar.

"You're really gonna love dis stuff, guys," Nicky The Fist said, lifting out a Russian AK-74 assault rifle. "Brand new and untraceable. None of dis stuff came through normal channels, so da ATF can't backtrack da serial numbers."

The capos tested the heft and workings of the unloaded weapon, and smiled with approval. "You sure dat your Boss hasn't gone crazy, boys?" Trabiano asked. "You're offerin' dese pieces to my boys for a song!"

"Two hundred an' fifty pieces fer five hundred gee's," Nicky The Fist said. "My Boss is sellin' dese as a gesture of good faith. A peace offering, if you will. He wants ta do business wit' you, and not fight over turf left in the wake of da Punisher guttin' da DiNardo organization."

The junior capo considered the offer and ran some figures through his head before nodding his agreement with the offer. "We can make ten times what we're payin' out on these guns. The gang bangers will pay top dollar fer this stuff," he said.

"Our Boss is takin' minimum profit on this load, so you'll come back and buy more at his regular price," Nicky said.

Trabiano waved to his escorts. "Turn da truck around and load dis stuff up! We ain't got time to pussyfoot around!" he shouted. Then he turned back to Nicky The Fist and passed the briefcase over. "You boys have got yourselves a deal."


Punisher's War Journal

2210 hours, 05 September

I penetrated the warehouse without a hitch. The rooftop door was bolted shut from the inside and locked with a good Master padlock. I wouldn't have gotten through it without making a lot of noise and alerting the wiseguys inside.

So, I took the scenic route. Slipped in through the ventilation system, which happened to have a good deal bigger ducts than your average building. I was able to get into a good vantage point to watch what Nicky The Fist and Tommy Two-Step were up to.

I was surprised to see two former DiNardo boys dealing with the Brooklyn Righatellis. Every time Brooklyn tried to do business in DiNardo turf, the shit would hit the fan hard. I had always thought the two families had it in for each other. It looks like the sharks are already circling the vacuum I created by taking Bambino out.

But the biggest question mark is Nicky and Tommy's new boss. Obviously his stock in trade is funneling illegal arms. Perhaps he's an outsider, a "capo" from another family that's trying to squeeze his way into the turf DiNardo left behind, and he's trying to appease his competition so they won't put up a fight. As soon as I get down to ground level and wrap my fingers around Nicky or Tommy's throat, I anticipate getting all my questions answered.


As soon as the briefcase exchanged hands, a loud crash echoed through the warehouse from above. The wiseguys and capos instantly drew down and pointed their guns at each other, nervously studying one another for a sign of betrayal.

"What da fuck was dat?" Nicky The Fist growled, his hands twitching slightly as he gripped his 9mm automatic with a white-knuckled intensity.

"What kinda shit you guys running here?" Trabiano angrily snarled in reply. "Is dis a setup?"

The Punisher's black shape descended from the overhead catwalks using a rappelling line. An UZI sub-machinegun in the vigilante's hands barked as a hail of 9mm bullets preceded his drop to the warehouse floor.

The security men in the warehouse scrambled to cover the vigilante, as Castle reached under his trench coat and pulled out a fully loaded .44-caliber Desert Eagle automatic. The Punisher didn't give anyone a chance to get behind cover or into a position where they could take him down.

One by one, the security men were shot down, before they could get any rounds off from their own automatic weapons. At the same time, the Punisher charged towards the wiseguys, flailing and kicking at them to try to disarm them without having to shoot them.

Trabiano's thugs got between the Punisher and their boss, as a stray bullet from one of the security guards' AK-74 rifles took out the junior capo's leg, forcing him down to the ground screaming. Trabiano retreated towards his limousine, which was lightly armored with Kevlar plating.

However, a second shadowy figure hung in the warehouse's rafters. Leveling a high-powered sniper rifle, the invisible man centered Trabiano's face in the cross hairs of his tactical scope and fired one rapid shot.

The 150-grain, 7.62mm military match-grade bullet flew straight and true, punching through Trabiano's skull like a hot knife through butter. The Mafia capo fell to the ground as the back of his head exploded from the powerful exit velocity of the round.

The Punisher gunned down Trabiano's thugs, launching a powerful roundhouse kick into Tommy Two-Step's guts and knocking him against the side of the Crown Victoria. Tommy's head snapped back against the door glass and smashed through it. Fatally wounded by sharp spikes of jagged glass protruding into the base of his neck, Tommy didn't last very long as his blood pumped and spurted quickly out of his body.

Nicky The Fist realized that he was outmatched, despite having his own 9mm drawn and ready. He shook with fright as the Punisher's skull motif stared him in the eyes. The barrels of Castle's UZI and Desert Eagle were both pointed at the wiseguy, as the vigilante moved purposefully closer and closer.

"Don't move, if you want to stay alive," the Punisher said in a low voice.

"What da hell do you want wit' me?" Nicky asked in a desperate voice.

"I want to know about your new Boss, Nicky," Castle said. "I know that you worked for Bambino DiNardo before I blew him away and tossed your /capo/, "Skinny" Cabodanno, under the F train. I missed you and Tommy that night. I won't miss you again, unless you talk to me."

"I don't know, man!" Nicky pleaded. "We never seen him directly!"

Castle closed the distance between himself and Nicky. He tucked his tactically slung UZI back under his trench coat and snatched Nicky's automatic right out of his shaky grip. "Now, now, Nicky," the Punisher said. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Believe it, man!" Nicky replied, the fear in his eyes obvious to the vigilante. "He's always used a go-between. Not like a /capo/, but someone who represents him! Please! Don't kill me like you did Tommy!"

The Punisher leveled the barrel of his Desert Eagle right between Nicky's eyes and his finger tightened against the pistol's trigger. "Why should I spare you? You've killed countless innocents to work your way up in the ranks. This city doesn't need a psychopath like you."

The clatter of several pairs of footsteps distracted the Punisher from his intentions just long enough for Nicky to dive for the floor, tearing a large scrap of the Punisher's sigil from his chest. A number of the blue-uniformed men charged around the tall stacks of stored goods, firing their AK-74's at the black-garbed intruder and shouting, "COBRA!!!"

Returning fire, the Punisher dropped at least two of the arrivals with his Desert Eagle. As he backpedaled to avoid the charging men, he gave Nicky The Fist a good solid kick in the face with his steel-toed leather boots to keep him from trying to fight back.

Thinking quickly about an escape route, the Punisher raced the thirty steps between him and Trabiano's armored limousine, diving into the Kevlar-protected passenger cabin just in time to avoid a hail of bullets. While the enemy rounds rained on the car like hailstones, Castle slipped into the driver's seat and shifted the heavy-framed car into reverse.

Bracing himself for the impact, he slammed the accelerator down hard, blasting the rear of the Mercedes through the truck entrance door and out into the darkened avenue. The Punisher escaped the area quickly, abandoning the vehicle a few blocks away and returning to move his taxicab before the approaching police sirens boxed him in.


2225 hours, local time

"Well, that was fun," one of the Cobra Street Vipers mumbled to himself, as he helped two of his platoon-mates move their dead comrades out to the barge at the end of the warehouse. "That Punisher guy is one helluva escape artist."

The blue-uniformed men had already taken both the money and the crates of illegal weapons, and left all the bodies of the wiseguys and security guards in the places where they had fallen to the Punisher's bullets.

Nicky The Fist shook uncontrollably as the after-effects of being so close to death at the Punisher's hands finally took hold of him. He retched and a pool of bile worked its way up into his throat when he looked at the corpse of his longtime partner, Tommy Two-Step, still impaled on the broken window glass of their Crown Victoria.

"Take it easy, Nicky," a quiet voice said from behind. "Put that scrap of fabric in Tommy's hand. Then you get on the barge with my men. This place looks like a mob deal gone wrong, and leaving the Punisher's little calling card behind will probably take the heat off us while we get clear. Oh, and by the way, make sure the men bundle up Mister Trabiano and bring him along. He needs to make one final delivery."

Nicky nodded and tried to regain his composure, glancing about to search for a restroom where he could get a drink of water to calm his stomach. "Who - who the Hell are you?" he managed to stammer.

"Me?" the voice said from behind. "I'm just a sniper. I'm Cobra's version of a wiseguy. They call me Bloodpool." Nicky felt a chuck on the shoulder, as Bloodpool turned away. "Come on. Get your shit wired and let's go. The cops are already on the way."


This is all damn strange
, the Punisher thought as he maneuvered his gypsy cab along the approach lanes to the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. Especially the involvement of those guys with the "Cobra" battle cry. I need to find out the new "who's who" in this game, and fast. Or else, I might find myself staring down at the business end of some hardcore shit.

With the black collar on his trench coat turned up around his scruffy, stubble-covered face and the interior dome light off, none of the local NYPD cops manning the "increased security" checkpoint on the tunnel approaches would have reason to stop him. The sole uniform on duty simply looked the vehicle over as it neared, and then he waved the Punisher on with his flashlight, giving the cab a slight nod in passing.

The gypsy cab's bumper-mounted EZ Pass electronic tollway transponder turned the traffic light in the Battery Tunnel's express toll lane from red to green without Castle even having to tap on the old Chevy's brake pedal. The EZ Pass system automatically logged the account number, location of the toll plaza and the time the Punisher had passed into the Manhattan-bound tube of the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, debiting the required four-dollar toll from the electronic payment account that he maintained.

But, despite the record-keeping, all of the information was bounced through a phantom EZ Pass account that had been "Trojaned" into that of a legitimate taxi company, so that folks like the NYPD couldn't trace the Punisher's movements with any accuracy. "Micro", the Punisher's former part-time assistant and resident techie, had taken great pains to insure that. It was too bad that Micro died in the Punisher's war with New York's criminal element.

The yellow cab emerged from the tunnel in southern Manhattan's Battery Park district. Castle worked his way around the East Village and SoHo by the surface streets and then past The Bowery into Chinatown. He finally located his main safe house, which was hidden literally in the depths of Chinatown.

After passing the entry gate for a small, underground parking garage that was once closed down to the public for structural safety issues, Castle drove his cab into the elevator that he and Micro had taken great pains to restore. The vehicle lift smoothly ran down three levels to the very bottom of the garage structure.

Castle's taxicab returned to its secret parking place, next to the small fleet of the Punisher's other urban commando vehicles. The tired crime fighter silently removed his combat gear, neatly tucking his body armor and torn tunic into the cab's trunk to cover the weapons he had deposited there. Then, he tightened his trench coat around him, keeping a single, sharp combat knife handy underneath its folds, and walked away.

From the Punisher's underground parking garage, the nocturnal vigilante followed a route of access tunnels back to the silent streets, instead of going to ground for the night. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of another urban night.

The cold nipped at Castle's nose as it had on many nights past. Sticking to the shadows, the Punisher strode quietly along the city streets that he prowled in search of justice. After a while, he became lost in thought, almost forgetting with each passing city block, that he had come "topside" for a specific reason.


Punisher's War Journal

0015 hours, 06 September

I find that I like walking late at night, among the night owls of Lower Manhattan. The brisk air in the spring and autumn helps me think about things. The silence of the city around me doesn't judge my actions, nor does it mock me for fighting this war alone.

The towers of glass and concrete simply loom overhead, breaching the space between the city and the sky. They stand steadfastly, unable to be swayed or bent by the wills of the simple humans that dwell inside them.

I must admit that this new DiNardo connection - even if it is a connection to the Manhattan crime family that I cut the heart out of - is quite perplexing. I wasn't expecting to face down the kind of firepower, or manpower, that this new Boss has put together on such short notice.

It leads me to suspect that the new game in town has been well organized long before this little incident tonight occurred. And that's bad. Organized thugs that look like they've been trained to work in someone's private army goes beyond just street crime. They could be a militia group, or even domestic terrorists.

I haven't tangled with either militants or terrorists to much extent. In some respects, I've handled isolated incidents where some thug with ties to The American Brotherhood, or a Riker's Island prison gang crossed my path in one form or another. But terror cells are another animal entirely. Even with my experience in the Marines, the bad guys that run terrorist groups are well trained, well armed, and well funded. That makes them more than a handful for a lone wolf like me.

But, rather than reflect on the "what ifs", I think it's time to stick with the business at hand. I got Tommy Two-Step, but couldn't extract any information from him. And Nicky got away, courtesy of the last-minute Cavalry charge from those fellas dressed in blue. I know that I wasted one of the Righatelli
capos that was in residence, or maybe a stray round picked him off.

Maybe the news will have a story that could fill in some of my blanks about last night. But as for now, all I can feel is that I failed to get what I set out for. And finding Nicky after the dust settles is gonna be like locating a needle in a haystack. Having organized, hardcore bad guys around him will only make my task harder.

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