Excerpts

Chapter One What Heroes Do Uzekurkistan In his white combat suit, Lieutenant Conrad Hauser--Duke to the other nine members of his elite U.S. military covert insertion team--felt like the Michelin tire man. Slogging uphill through nearly knee-deep snow, he was spotlighted by a full moon that shone like a mighty alabaster beacon, illuminating the white-blanketed forest and--most of all, worst of all--the team he led. Slowly, Duke scanned the tree-covered hilltop, searching for any sign of the Uzekurki troops that he knew would be patrolling this sector. Nothing. He lowered his night-vision goggles from his forehead and checked the hill again--still nothing. Nonetheless, in his gut, he felt a twinge of suspicion. He didn't know what caused it, but he had the feeling that danger was imminent, and nearby. Broad-shouldered yet tall and lean, a white stock?ing cap covering his close-cropped dark hair, Duke carried his M16 A3 loosely in both hands, safety off, gloved finger on the trigger. Behind him, "Ripcord" Weems--his best friend and second in command--was complaining to the team's medic, David Westen. Good-natured griping was a specialty of Rip's. "Why is he always out front?" Ripcord asked, loud enough for Duke to hear. Next to the lanky African American, the slightly built Westen remained stoically quiet. The redhead from Monroe, Louisiana, appeared too frail to keep up with the rest of the team; but the skinny medic had an iron will, and his way of having fun was running twenty miles daily. Doc was also the only member of the team who spoke even passable Uzekurki. "We're supposed to be deadly, invisible, and sound?less," Duke said, sotto voce. "Emphasis on the soundless." Undeterred, his voice rising above a strained whisper, Rip asked, "What, you think a brother can't walk point?" Sliding his night-vision goggles up to his forehead, Duke turned to tell Ripcord to keep it down. Though Rip's kidding riffs could bring a welcome tension break, now was not the time. Exhaling as he turned, watching his breath trail into the frigid night air like wispy smoke, Duke said, "Give it a rest, Rip . . ." The first bullet whistled past Duke's ear, and he shouted, "Down," even as he dove face-first into the snow. Half a second later, Westen and Rip hit the ground on either side of him, as bullets from up the hill raked the woods around them. Snow covered Duke's face and the cold stung his cheeks. He looked first to his left to make sure Westen was okay, then glanced right toward Ripcord, who grinned at him. "What?" Duke asked, as bullets buzzed like angry insects. With mock innocence, Rip asked, "Don't you think I oughta be the dude in white face?" "Would you mind cutting the damn comedy long enough to return fire? Please?" The whole team opened up at once, shooting uphill toward the muzzle flashes, where what were presumably Uzekurki troops were hidden by the trees, and dressed in camouflage white, not unlike the Americans. So much for Duke's team being soundless and invisible--if they were going to get out of this scrape, they'd better get damned deadly damned fast. The drawbacks of the mission were supposedly offset by the advantage of surprise: parachute in, extract a team of six scientists held hostage in an Uzekurki fortress, beat feet to the extraction point, and get home. It had all sounded routine if dangerous during the briefing. Now, with the Uzekurki patrol pinning them down, Duke was rethinking his definition of what constituted a routine mission. . . . Sneaking a glance up the hill, Duke could see a possible way to outflank the Uzekurki Excerpted from G. I. Joe: Above and Beyond by Max Allan Collins All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.