G. I. Joe Fan Fiction ❯ A Joe Called "Mercury" ❯ The Name's "Mercury" ( Chapter 4 )

STORY SUMMARY: At the Ironman World Championship, Hawk catches sight of a potential Joe days before the reemergence of Cobra. After Cobra resurfaces, he recruits the young Private. Just how will this Private aid in the battle against the forces of Cobra and what is the secret that resides in the Private's past that Hawk knows?
CHAPTER SUMMARY: After completing her stint in the Green Shirts and making an enemy of the imposing Ranger Beachhead, Reed officially is given the codename of Mercury and introduced to her new comrades - the veteran Joes.
WARNINGS: Violence, language
RATING: PG
GENRE: Action & Adventure/Romance/General
ARCHIVE: ask, and ye will more than likely receive!

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CHAPTER FOUR: THE NAME'S "MERCURY"

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Location: Wright Patterson Air Force Base, Fairborn Ohio

Time: 0330

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“Ooof!” Daemon's chin hit the ground hard as he stumbled over his own feet as he attempted to complete a lap around the track.

 

“Daemon and Firewall, huh? Shish!” Beachhead snorted in derision, his hands on his hips as he glowered at the two young Joes as they gasped and wheezed for breath in their impromptu break. “You're pathetic. Pathetic! The only reason you're here is because you spent too much time playin' on the Internet growin' up instead of outside, and learned somethin' Uncle Sam needed when Cobra caught him with his pants down! And what kind of codenames are those, anyway?”

 

“Handles,” Firewall gasped for much needed oxygen.

 

“What did you say?” Beachhead demanded.

 

“Mailerdaemon76 and Firewall3K were our handles we used as hackers. We just adopted them for the team,” Daemon explained from his place sprawled at the burly Ranger's feet.

 

“I don't understand - why do we have to do this?!” Firewall demanded between pants for breath. “Why do you have to yell so much? Why's a hacker need to run laps?”

 

“Wh…why? Oh no you didn't!” Beachhead growled as he stepped over Daemon, who rested his weight on his elbow, looking at his fellow hacker who was resembling a deer in the headlights of an on coming car.

 

“Nice one, Firewall,” Daemon let out a wheezing laugh.

 

“Because, keyboard jockey…” Beachhead snarled out, his face suddenly inches away from Firewall's own; she recoiled away from the sudden movement and the strong scent of body odor from Beachhead crossing the small air space between them. The pungent sensation in her nose spoke volumes about the senior drill instructor's grooming habits - or lack there of. “…whether Ah like it or not, you're a member of and elite task force now, and if -- the Lord Almighty forbid - you were ever on the field in a combat situation, your teammates lives might depend on you bein' able to run more than five feet before running out of breath! Because there's more to bein' a Joe than playin' video games! Understood?!”

 

“Y-yes, sir,” Firewall stammered as he straightened up, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

 

“Now there's two people who get it. Pssh!” Beachhead snorted and nodded his head in the direction of a dark-haired male with an eye-patch covering one eye garbed in the standard workout sweats of the Joes and Green Shirt working on the uneven parallel bars and a young blond Green Shirt was running laps with ease in full gear and a pack that looked heavier then him. “Take a look at William and Reed, boys and girls. There's a pair of role models fer the two of ya to emulate.”

 

The dark-haired man swung around and the two hackers could see he only had one leg; the other had been amputated to above the knee and fitted with a sleek prosthetic limb. Releasing the lower of the two bars, he flipped over a shallow pool of water surrounded by sand bags, landing easily on his feet. He caught sight of them and nodded respectfully to the towering Ranger. “How was that, Beachhead?”

 

“Nice, William, nice.” Beachhead replied.

 

“He doesn't even have both legs.” Firewall whispered in shock to an equally awed Daemon.

 

“Firewall, you got any questions about runnin'? Try askin' Reed her secret - she's a gold medalist in Track and Field.” Beachhead said with an obvious smirk behind his balaclava as he pointed to where the Green Shirt was jumping over a particularly high hurdle easily regardless of the heavy pack on her back. When Beachhead saw that both were properly `shocked and awed' he pointed back to the track, “Dig yerselves up some inspiration and give me another mile! NOW!”

-

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Later that day…

 

Flint hummed softly to himself as he gathered up the papers on PFC Reed and placed them in their corresponding file folder. He paused to look at the picture of himself and Lady Jaye in its plain wood frame from its place of honor on his desk before he stood and exited his office. He had to admit, this Private Reed was just as General Hawk had promised - well trained enough to follow orders and fully versed in tradition and regulations, but also young enough to bring in new ideas and to quickly adapt to any type of situation. Hell, she used her helmet to hit Storm-Shadow while trapped in the elevator when she was afraid of a friendly-fire incident.

 

"Yo, Flint!" Came a familiar masculine voice, snapping the WO from his reminiscing.

            ;

"Yo, Duke!" He replied, a grin lighting his features. "How are the recruits coming along?"

            ;

"So far, so good - 'course its still early in the training regiment and these G.I.s are said to be the best of the best, so until we bring out the big guns will we see who have true Joe potential." The blond man replied.

            ;

"How is Hawk's recruit Reed doing?"

            ;

"She's doing great, especially in P.T. - has a real hate-on for Beachhead, and it's returned big time." Duke told him with a smirk.

            ;

"Still?"

            ;

"It's got to be the biggest feud I've ever seen." Duke shook his head, thinking of some of the hell Beachhead was putting the young Green Shirt through.

-

-

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“C'mon, you maggots!” Beachhead bellowed, Duke standing beside him and shaking his head in amusement.

 

The Green Shirts were crawling under razor-sharp barbed-wire through thick, cold mud. There were faint mumbles and complaints drowned out by the burly Ranger's shouting, Duke noticed, able to see their mouths moving and the occasional spitting out of mud. Ahead of the others and probably with a heavier pack than the rest, was the lean, petite form of Beachhead's favorite target, the General's personal recruit: PFC Reed. She clawed her way through the mud silently, her face determined and cold.

 

"Kiss that chocolate, my little babies!" Beachhead chided, using his boot to push the cleanest Green Shirt's face squarely into the mud. "Don't it taste soo good?"

 

Reed smirked slightly as the loudest whiner of the group got his face shoved in the mud. Maybe the Ranger wasn't too bad...maybe when pigs flew around on little white wings that magically sprouted out of their backs.

 

"Mmm, yeah!" the Green Shirts shouted. "Give us more, Drill Sergeant! Give us more!"

 

The youngest recruit's eyes were calculating the distance between the wire, herself, and how much longer she had until getting to the next part of the course. One thing she had to grudgingly respect was the course was never the same thing each time out. It changed all the time, the more 'portable' aspects being shifted around in an unpredictable manner.

 

Beachhead stomped along the edge of the wire crawl obstacle, continuing to egg the recruits along. "Come on, troopers! Assholes and elbows! It should take you slumps no more than thirty seconds to negotiate my wires! Any of you turds take longer... and the whole platoon runs again!"

 

With a satisfied grunt, Reed crawled out of the wires, eyeing the burly Ranger. He'd make 'em do it too. He had several times before. Spitting a bit of mud, she watched her fellow Greenshirts crawling out of the wires before looking over her shoulder to see what was next for them to tackle. Oh. A free-fire zone. Probably with live ammo, knowing Beachhead. It's quite simple, really... All a person had to do is get from the starting point to the finish point… all the while watching out for surprises. Stretching out her kinks, Reed gave an unholy grin. This'd be fun.

 

Hidden in perches high over the obstacle course, Roadblock, Rock & Roll, Hardball and Repeater watched the Green Shirts stumble out of the wire obstacle and run blindly away from Beachhead's shouting. Each man locked and cocked their M-214 multi-barrel machineguns, preparing to have a little fun. They enjoyed making the Green Shirts dance. Reed's petite form was easy to make out as she made her way into the free-fire zone, adrenaline racing through her.

 

The Joes manning the high ground peppered the recruits, never firing too close to be a danger. Many of the soldiers, not expecting a huge volume of fire, or to see hundreds of tiny cascades of real dirt being kicked up by the real bullets, still panicked.

 

“Move, move!!” Reed bellowed, charging through the dirt that had been kicked up. “Keep yer heads, boys! Both of `em!”

 

No one else paid much attention to Reed, since the Joes manning the machine guns had bottled the entire platoon up in a ring of gunfire, forcing them to cower in a cluster of quivering bodies.

 

"Cease Fire!" Beachhead yelled, silencing the gun positions.

 

Gritting her teeth and her ears ringing, Reed had to fight the urge to kick a couple guys in the ass for grabbing onto her. What was she, their mother? Big babies...

 

"Look at you," the DI said with disdain dripping from his words. "You meager scumbuckets... What the fuck kind of soldiers are you, anyway? You all just fold and turn in crying babies who want their momma as soon as the real shit starts flying? Look over there!" Beachhead pointed to Reed, who had progressed quite some distance before she paused at the silencing of the weapons fire, audible even over the ringing of her ears.

 

"First off, you're all as good as dead for not getting your whiney asses out of the line of fire," he added. "They had you pinned down and would've cleaned your clocks in short order...

 

Ahh there went the damned ringing in her ears. Now to find out who it was that had grabbed her, then kick his ass. Ass kicking was good...

 

"Then, there's the issue of leaving a fellow Joe behind. We don't leave a fellow Joe to fight a battle alone. NEVER. You cowards let Private Reed go swinging-dick into the enemy's lair without support! She's as good as dead too! Get your asses back to barracks," Beachhead said. "Ah am so disappointed in you today that I have to go to the mess and decide whether to wash the entire platoon out of the Joes over a cup of lifer's juice. I can't bear to even look at most of you. Get the fuck outta my sight."

 

Shifting her pack, Reed headed for the barracks, thinking about getting a hot shower.

 

Beachhead stopped when he saw Reed trudging by. "Good job on the O-Course, trooper," he whispered. "Ah have a feeling that you might actually make it onto my Joe Team, if you don't fuck it up like these other losers."

 

She paused and looked up at him. "One of 'em grabbed me in the run. Thought it was a 'help me momma!' type grab at first, but the hand lingered too long, so if you hear an ass-kickin', that's why."

 

"Do what you gotta, kid," Beachhead said. "Just keep the blood off my nice, clean barracks tiles, okay?"

 

"I'll make sure it's mopped up if it's spilled," she smirked and sauntered off.

-

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“Now there they sound like their getting along!” Flint said when Duke finished reminiscing, a bit surprised.

 

“It didn't last. They had a particularly good run and Beachhead was actually pleased…” Duke snorted with laughter.

-

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"Not bad, Maggots," Beachhead gave one of the Green Shirts a congratulatory whap on the rear and was suddenly staggering from the high kick delivered by Reed when it connected with his chest.

 

"Pervert!" She growled at Ranger, her eyes bright and angry in her mud stained face as she rubbed away the sting to her poor buttock. That hurt damnit! Fuming, the petite female began to stalk to the barracks.

-

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Flint was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his tanned cheeks. Duke was doubled over with laughter as well.

            ;

"Oh man, poor Beachhead!" Flint choked out around his laughter.

            ;

"It was an honest mistake, I'll give him that - Mercury does look like a boy with her hair that short and her face covered in dirt. Add in the Green Shirts' uniform she had on and she was just one of the boys!" The blond said as he wiped his own tears of mirth away.

            ;

The two friends then walked into the Mess Hall, still laughing and joking with one another.

-

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P.T. was harder then it had been in a long time and had started earlier. Reed wondered what was going on - those that given up were told they had washed out of the running and were dragged off. Her biceps burned from the strain of the three hundred and forty-nine pull-ups she had just done and the almost four hundred push ups she had done almost half an hour earlier. Reed's legs burned slightly from the several hundred miles she had run in the past three days, but she stubbornly keep her lips firmly clamped shut.

            ;

"Three-hundred fifty." She and the others still in the program croaked in unison. From the ground, several drop outs groaned in agony. 'Dear God, if Beachhead doesn't let us stop soon, I'm going to fall from my forearms going numb.' She thought as she lowered her body and prepared to do another pull up.

            ;

"Enough!" Beachhead bellowed and she and the other trainees groaned in relief. "Take a thirty-second break and haul ass to the Mess Hall!"

-

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Several hours of training had passed. Her combat-boot clad feet dug into the SandPit and in her hands she firmly clasped a Pugil Stick. She was lowered into a defensive stance and she glared daggers at the macho pigs about to gang up on her and tensed her leg muscles. Damnit, she was hurting, tired, hungry, and on her menstrual cycle - oh hell yeah, these assholes were dead!

            ;

They charged in unison, as though by an unspoken command. On sheer reflex did she duck, bob, and weave around the blows intended to take her out and retaliate with swift hits to abdomens, groins, and knees. The sound of the padded Pugil stick striking the flesh of her opponents was music to her ears.

            ;

Groans of agony came from the fallen men and she brought up the Pugil stick to block a strike from another male trainee. She swiftly twisted the Pugil stick and hit her attacker right in the lower abdomen. The sound of men behind her cursing as they fought caused her to duck out of reflex, allowing one of the other trainees to go flying into another of her attackers. With a feral smile on her lips, she turned to face the last man standing. On an unspoken command, they charged at each other.

            ;

The Pugil sticks collided with one another and their muscles bulged and strained as the last two trainees strove to dominate the other. Her boots dug into the sand as she was being forced backwards, his physical strength threatening to overwhelm her. Reed's face lit up with an unholy grin as inspiration struck her.      

            ;

"Yer fly's open." She grunted while trying to push against him, her biceps and the muscles of her back screaming.

            ;

"I'ma not fallin' fer that one!" he growled.

            ;

"Not that I'm complaining or anything, but do you always go commando?" She asked blithely and was pleased to see her gamble pay off when his mouth dropped open and his eyes widen. He tilted his head downward to check his fly.

            ;

That was when she struck.

            ;

As his muscles slackened, the Pugil stick in her hands twisted and turned. One padded end slammed into her opponent's jaw, sending him reeling. She followed that up with blow to his gut, which sent him to the ground. Standing there, wheezing and panting for breath and sweat matting her hair to her head and stinging her eyes, she found that her knees were on the verge of buckling.

            ;

"And our champion is: Mercury!" Beachhead bellowed. "C'mon, brat, yer car's waitin' to take you back to the barracks and mess hall."

            ;

"Car?" The Private asked in relief. "No more running? I love running, but I think my knees are going to buckle..."

            ;

Beachhead reached out and hauled the staggering Private out of the SandPit. "Cover Girl here will take you straight to dinner - unless you want to freshen up before hand, of course."

            ;

"Food?" She perked up at that, her stomach rumbling in agreement of the idea of ingesting a real meal. "Real, honest to God, food?"

            ;

"Yes, real food."

            ;

"Thank you, sir, I think I love you!" Reed said with a wheezing laugh.

            ;

The balaclava-wearing man blushed under his mask as he helped her to the front passenger side seat, where she gratefully collapsed. Beside her was a beautiful auburn haired woman who made her self-conscious of the fact that she probably stunk to high heaven and was covered in sweat and grim. The woman gave her a friendly, sympathetic look.

            ;

"You poor kid, you look exhausted!" she exclaimed. "Don't worry though, once we get some decent food inside you, you can sleep for as long as you like."

            ;

"Do you think it'd be possible for me to get a shower or bath first? I don't think I've ever been this filthy before and I probably reek." Reed softly whimpered. "And I think I'm about to bleed onto this nice leather seat."

            ;

"You were hurt and didn't say anything?" the older woman asked in surprise.

            ;

"No - just on that time of the month."

            ;

"Time of the...? You mean you're a girl?!" Cover Girl yelped, her eyes wide. The person beside her had short hair of an unknown color matted to his - er, her - scalp and neck with a set of baggy BDU's that were filthy and torn, and grime was over every bit of exposed skin. The only feature truly visible was her eyes, which were an unusual shade of pale bluish-gray.

            ;

"I look that bad?" She asked dryly.

            ;

"One shower, coming up." Cover Girl replied. "What's your name, kid?"

            ;

"PFC Reed." Was the prompt reply and she tugged on her shirt, squinting down at the word covered in grime sleepily. "According to my shirt, though, I'm 'Mercury'."

            ;

"Well, welcome to the Joes, Mercury." The older woman said and her only response was a soft snore.

            ;

The older woman chuckled and in minutes of silence only punctured by the new Joe's soft snores, pulled up before the barracks. She pulled out her cell-phone and tapped a couple buttons.

            ;

"Hi, Jaye, it's me. Do you think it'd be possible for you and Scarlett to help me with the new kid? She passed out on the ride to the Mess Hall so I brought her by the barracks instead so she can freshen up before getting some real food inside her." She paused to listen to the other female Joes confer with one another and grinned at the answer. "Jinx wants to help too? That's great! You might want to hurry though; I don't want her bleeding all over my leather seats." She had to hold the cell-phone away from her ear at the sudden shouting. "No, Jaye, she's not hurt, just on her period.”

            ;

After a brief conversation with Lady Jaye, Cover Girl pressed the 'end' button on her cell-phone. She looked over at where the youngest Joe was slumped against the seatbelt and passenger side door. She had to keep from laughing at the sight of a couple drops of drool trailing down from the side of the kid's mouth. Five minutes after she had called them, Lady Jaye, Scarlett, and Jinx arrived

            ;

"Mercury," Cover Girl said softly, gently shaking the younger Joe's shoulder.

            ;

The younger woman suddenly straightened up, her pale eyes darting around to take in her location. She sheepishly scratched the back of her neck.

            ;

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep like that..." Mercury informed her, embarrassed.

            ;

"Its completely alright, kid, you have every right to be exhausted." The older woman told her reassuringly.

            ;

Mercury grinned wanly at her and looked startled when an oriental woman offered her a hand out of the car. After undoing he safety belt, she took the woman's hand, mumbling an apology about how dirty she was. The older woman laughed and helped her out of the car.

-

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Location: The Mess Hall

            ;

"Where's the new guy?" Ship Wreck grumbled impatiently. “And why'd the gals run off like they did?”

            ;

Snake Eyes looked up from his book in irritation. If the sailor didn't stop whining, he'd have to hurt him...or do something to embarrass him, whichever one came first. The ninja smirked wickedly behind his mask as he planned on things to do to his comrade, each more humiliating than the last.

            ;

The Mess Hall doors opened to admit Lady Jaye, Scarlett, and Jinx. Jaye grinned at the assembled Joes, "Gentlemen - and I use that term very loosely - I give you our newest sibling in arms: Mercury!"

            ;

The women stepped aside to reveal a thin, lean silhouette. The newbie was short, only around five foot five inches, but Ship Wreck and several of the other Joes reminded themselves that this as still a wet behind the ears Private who probably wasn't done growing. The figure stepped fully into the Mess Hall and many jaws dropped. Mercury wasn't a he, but a she. The very she who had gotten into the scuffle with Beachhead!         

            ;

Without the Green Shirt's uniform, they got a better look at her. Her blonde hair was shorn close to her scalp, and her face was tomboyish, making them almost think they were looking at a `pretty boy'. However, the fact that the figure's shirt was hugging a set of small breasts announced that this was a young woman. Her eyes were a piecing blue-grey, which almost matched her faded blue jeans; to some they were eerily familiar, but that familiarity was dismissed. Those pale eyes swept over them before looking at Hawk, and then the food laid out. Hawk had to keep from laughing as he stepped forward.

            ;

"I'm certain you're starving, Mercury," Hawk said, gaining everyone's attention, "So I'll keep this short - welcome to the Joes, kid."

            ;

"Glad to be here. Can I eat now?"

 

“Of course,” the General chuckled, gesturing over to where Roadblock waited with the piles of delicious smelling food.

 

“Hello, kid,” Roadblock grinned, remembering when Beachhead had sent her to help him in the kitchen. Kid was good, fast and efficient at peeling potatoes and chopping up vegetables. Clean little thing too, making certain to follow the sanitary rules to a tee -- almost fanatical about it, according to some of the other Green Shirt helpers.

 

“Sir,” she nodded and was swift in pointing out the food she wanted, watching as he piled on generous servings on her plate. “Thank you.” She said gratefully.

 

“Enjoy, and don't make yourself sick.” The large chef told her, chuckling at her distracted grunt.

 

Sitting down at a barely occupied table, she began to chow down, much to the amusement of Lowlight. The sniper recognized a kindred spirit in her, something he'd seen when she'd come to the sniper course for one-on-one. Of course he'd also recognized that she was on her rag - the girls always shot the targets in the groins when he let them have their fun. At the time he'd silently grumbled that Beachhead always sent him the girls when they were raggin' and easy to irritate. But then he'd been impressed. She was damn good, her accuracy very high for someone at the sniper course their first time.

 

The teenaged Joe all but inhaled her food, clearing plate after plate full of food; several of the veteran Joes that had been watching were chuckling to themselves certain she'd make herself sick soon. Roadblock smirked as she stopped a plate before he'd thought. Some of the Vets grumbled and he knew that money was exchanging hands, Ace and Shipwreck always eager to start a betting pool over anything that caught their fancy.

 

Leaning back in her chair, Reed picked at food stuck between her teeth with a toothpick, her flat abdomen bulging enough to where she had to undo the button of her jeans. “That was great.” She burped out. “Tad bit heavy on the garlic in the lasagna though - but still, it was great.”

-

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Time: 1948 hours

 

Stupid initiation rituals. Mercury stayed in the shadows outside the men's showers, adjusting the digital camcorder in her black gloved hands. She'd ghosted into the showers when it was unoccupied and put a pink dye pack inside one of the shower heads before ghosting back out. Now she had to wait and see who she got, if she got anyone at all.

 

The youngest Joe jerked up straight when she heard a familiar enraged bellow.

 

Oh. Shit.

 

No way.

 

She got Beachhead?!

 

The door to the men's showers jerked open and there stood Beachhead, naked save a towel hastily put around his waist; he was a bright neon pink from head to toe and everywhere in between. Even in his rage, his keen eyes saw Mercury gaping at him in surprise, the camcorder in her hands focused on him.

 

"Ahahahaha..." she gulped, "Hi?" Mercury giggled out nervously. Ohhh she was so dead....

 

From Beachhead's throat came a low, inhuman sounding growl as he suddenly lunged for her. With a squeak, she dodged to the side and her feet took over. Mercury ran as fast as she could, trying to ignore the fact the enraged Ranger was hot on her heels, shouting threats at the top of his lungs. As he got madder, she noted his Alabama drawl got thicker, so thankfully she couldn't understand what he was threatening to do to her. Hoping to tire him out, she led him on a merry chase all around the base. Literally all around the base.

 

In the Mess Hall, Shipwreck and several of the other `Betting Pool Masters' were figuring the odds of what Mercury would do. They had deliberately been vague, but they were hoping she had the initiative to do something original. The doors to the Mess Hall suddenly slammed open and Mercury ran into the room, clutching the digital camcorder they had given her, her face paler than normal as she ran from the most unbelievable of sights: Beachhead, bright neon pink and clad only in a towel, yelling out mostly undecipherable threats. Cross-Country, however, spit out his sweet iced tea at whatever the Ranger was threatening the newest Joe with, watching in shock with the other Joes as Mercury vaulted over Shipwreck's table, dropping the camcorder in the surprised sailor's lap with a desperate scream of, “Save the evidence!”

 

Beachhead was right behind her, his jaw set in determination to capture the fleeing female. The Ranger managed to pounce on Mercury when she tripped over a wayward chair. The young Joe started screaming bloody murder as, to the other Joes combined shock, Beachhead righted the overturned chair, sat in it, and dragged the fighting female face down over his lap. Holding her firmly by the back of her jeans' waistband with one hand to keep her from wiggling free, he raised his other hand and delivered a harsh slap onto her denim covered buttocks; a loud, outraged scream escaped Mercury and her struggles to escape doubled.

 

Mercury managed to wiggle to where she was halfway off of his lap, one hand braced on his shin as she tried to push herself free of his grip; the Ranger ignored her struggles and continued with his `discipline'. Gritting her teeth, she began kicking to get free, her eyes focusing unknowingly on the shadows of the towel concealing his lap. Something moved. Baffled, she froze, blinking. Beachhead took notice of Mercury's baffled stare, visible only to him and shoved her onto the floor. Rising, he paced, cursing her up one side and down the other before vowing to find the person who was behind the initiation challenge. With as much dignity he had left, the Ranger began to stalk from the room.

 

“Dish washer detergent,” Mercury mumbled, audible to him only.

 

Beachhead's eyes narrowed, the only sign he had heard her tell him how to remove the dye before exiting the Mess Hall.