Categories > Cartoons > G.I. Joe
Disclaimer: Characters in this work (GI Joe/ Cobra) are the property of Marvel Comics, Hasbro
and Devil's Due Publishing, Inc., and are being used without permission. No profit is gained from the use of these characters.
THE DOORWAY
By: Nickelina
Everything about this mission was going wrong. A simple drop and recovery had turned in to a
Fire fight between his troops and the enemy. Of all the black operation's missions Flint had been on, this was the worst. Instead of the usual surprises one would run into, it was becoming increasingly clear that this was not a normal recovery. Right from the start things were not adding up. Someone up top had screwed up bad and his men were dying for it. The landing zone had been wrong. They had walked for two days in hostile territory and were running out of supplies, most of all ammunition. The team wouldn't last the night unless they could restock, or get the emergency extraction he had been calling home base for.
Flint looked across the dirt road from where he was, tucked down behind the shell of a burned out car. His troops had made it to the small town in hopes of finding the supplies they would need, however, all they found was more resistance from an enemy he couldn't identify. On the other side of the road were the remains of a building that he hoped would bring them the much-needed cover from the shower of bullets that rained down on them from all directions. With little battery life left on his radio, Flint made a final call back to base, telling anyone who may be on the other end his location, and made yet another plea for extraction. From the other side of the radio all he heard was static. Tossing the radio aside, he told what men were left in his troop to make their way to the shelter. He would cover them, and be the last to go.
The first two men made it up the ravine and across the road to the shelter. Making sure it was clear, the men signaled back to Flint to send the next set of men across. Waving his hand slightly, Flint sent the next two men across. He emptied the clip on his rifle, laying down the cover they needed, but it was in vain. One man made it across, the other was down in the middle of the road. He knew what he had to do. All of his training, his skills and experience came down to this moment. He had to protect his men at all costs. Flint looked towards the doorway his team was crouching in. One man sent the signal that their fellow solider was gone. That didn't matter to Flint. Each one of these young men were going home, even if it meant that he would have to carry him over his shoulder the rest of the way.
Flint checked the clip in his pistol. He told his last remaining man to do his best to cover him while they both made their way to the shelter. Flint took a deep breath and started out across the road. He had only made it a few steps before his partner was hit in the neck. Through his peripheral vision, Flint knew that man was dead by the time he hit the ground. He continued on towards the first fallen man. Letting off the few rounds he could, Flint bent down and picked the fallen man up. The rest of his team was only a few yards away.
The sharp stinging in his back only lasted a few seconds. Flint waited for it to turn in to a dull ache, but it never did. He dropped the man he was carrying; Flint knew he was hit as well. Before he could take another step, he became dizzy and his legs gave out. The temperature around him was changing; he began to shiver. Flint heard his men yelling towards him. The sound seemed so distant. He tried to pull himself up off the ground. If crawling was the only way to get there he would. He had to get up, had to make it to his men. They were his responsibility. In his struggle to get up, he never felt the second bullet enter his side.
The puddle of blood that was under him was now trickling down towards the ravine in the dirt. He knew he had to get to safety, but it was too dangerous for his men to come out and get him. Seconds seemed like hours. His vision was blurred and his movements were slower. It was taking all his strength just to move the few inches that he did. Flint stretched out his arm, reaching out for something, anything to help him. Everything was so far away, but he was determined to make it. He had to, there was too much at stake, so many things he had left to do.
With a gasp, his face fell down in the dirt. Flint's thoughts drifted as his life came to a close. His troops now left alone to the same fate he was dealt, his wife who would never know what really happened, and his child whom he would never know all come flooding to him and then faded. His breathing stopped, the beating of his heart began its slow decent. Darkness was surrounding him, enveloping him like fog. He slipped away; his arm outstretched, reaching for the doorway.
and Devil's Due Publishing, Inc., and are being used without permission. No profit is gained from the use of these characters.
THE DOORWAY
By: Nickelina
Everything about this mission was going wrong. A simple drop and recovery had turned in to a
Fire fight between his troops and the enemy. Of all the black operation's missions Flint had been on, this was the worst. Instead of the usual surprises one would run into, it was becoming increasingly clear that this was not a normal recovery. Right from the start things were not adding up. Someone up top had screwed up bad and his men were dying for it. The landing zone had been wrong. They had walked for two days in hostile territory and were running out of supplies, most of all ammunition. The team wouldn't last the night unless they could restock, or get the emergency extraction he had been calling home base for.
Flint looked across the dirt road from where he was, tucked down behind the shell of a burned out car. His troops had made it to the small town in hopes of finding the supplies they would need, however, all they found was more resistance from an enemy he couldn't identify. On the other side of the road were the remains of a building that he hoped would bring them the much-needed cover from the shower of bullets that rained down on them from all directions. With little battery life left on his radio, Flint made a final call back to base, telling anyone who may be on the other end his location, and made yet another plea for extraction. From the other side of the radio all he heard was static. Tossing the radio aside, he told what men were left in his troop to make their way to the shelter. He would cover them, and be the last to go.
The first two men made it up the ravine and across the road to the shelter. Making sure it was clear, the men signaled back to Flint to send the next set of men across. Waving his hand slightly, Flint sent the next two men across. He emptied the clip on his rifle, laying down the cover they needed, but it was in vain. One man made it across, the other was down in the middle of the road. He knew what he had to do. All of his training, his skills and experience came down to this moment. He had to protect his men at all costs. Flint looked towards the doorway his team was crouching in. One man sent the signal that their fellow solider was gone. That didn't matter to Flint. Each one of these young men were going home, even if it meant that he would have to carry him over his shoulder the rest of the way.
Flint checked the clip in his pistol. He told his last remaining man to do his best to cover him while they both made their way to the shelter. Flint took a deep breath and started out across the road. He had only made it a few steps before his partner was hit in the neck. Through his peripheral vision, Flint knew that man was dead by the time he hit the ground. He continued on towards the first fallen man. Letting off the few rounds he could, Flint bent down and picked the fallen man up. The rest of his team was only a few yards away.
The sharp stinging in his back only lasted a few seconds. Flint waited for it to turn in to a dull ache, but it never did. He dropped the man he was carrying; Flint knew he was hit as well. Before he could take another step, he became dizzy and his legs gave out. The temperature around him was changing; he began to shiver. Flint heard his men yelling towards him. The sound seemed so distant. He tried to pull himself up off the ground. If crawling was the only way to get there he would. He had to get up, had to make it to his men. They were his responsibility. In his struggle to get up, he never felt the second bullet enter his side.
The puddle of blood that was under him was now trickling down towards the ravine in the dirt. He knew he had to get to safety, but it was too dangerous for his men to come out and get him. Seconds seemed like hours. His vision was blurred and his movements were slower. It was taking all his strength just to move the few inches that he did. Flint stretched out his arm, reaching out for something, anything to help him. Everything was so far away, but he was determined to make it. He had to, there was too much at stake, so many things he had left to do.
With a gasp, his face fell down in the dirt. Flint's thoughts drifted as his life came to a close. His troops now left alone to the same fate he was dealt, his wife who would never know what really happened, and his child whom he would never know all come flooding to him and then faded. His breathing stopped, the beating of his heart began its slow decent. Darkness was surrounding him, enveloping him like fog. He slipped away; his arm outstretched, reaching for the doorway.
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