Journal Of A Seasoned Cobra Veteran.
BY Keith Pille
June 6, 1987
My transfer came through today; boy, what a relief. I felt bad leaving the platoon behind, but morale was mighty low up there, and it was really starting to get to me. We were pretty banged up from the Fort Knox tunnel operation, and had been assigned to construction duty on the Weather Dominator. The boys didn’t like that too much—we’re combat troops, not contractors—and it was even worse every time those pretty-boy twins who’re running the project drove by on their four-wheelers.
Can’t wait to get to COBRA headquarters. I bet that’ll be more like the COBRA I thought I signed up with—a well-oiled, efficient machine with a laser focus on world domination.
June 10, 1987
My first day on duty at the Terrordrome! What an experience! It was like being on a Hollywood red carpet, I saw so many heavy hitters! I’d barely walked in the door when I saw this beautiful woman in the tightest uniform I’ve ever seen. I was checking her out when I realized it was the Baroness! Live and in the flesh! That lady really knows how to make the COBRA emblem look good. (I shouldn’t say that. The Baroness is a valued leader in the COBRA organization, and it’s not right for me to objectify her.)
Later, on my orientation tour, I saw Destro striding down the hall on his way to a meeting … maybe he and the Commander were going to get together and brainstorm new plots to defeat those G.I. Joe losers. Man, what I’d give to be a fly on the wall during one of those skull sessions. Anyway, let me tell you, you don’t know what dignity looks like until you’ve seen Destro striding down the hall with his facemask polished up like a mirror, his chest medallion gleaming, and his snake-hood collar flaring out proudly. What an inspiration!
I also met Dr. Mindbender during the tour. He was very nice, and invited me to come down to his lab sometime so he could measure the bumps on my head. Doesn’t make much sense to me, but, then, he’s the genius and I’m the grunt.
June 11, 1987
Another whirlwind day. I found out that Renfro, a buddy of mine from boot camp, is also stationed here at the ‘Drome. That made my day! We had breakfast and caught up—his jaw just about dropped through the table when I told him about the day we had the Joes on the run, only to be stymied by the sudden appearance of Sergeant Slaughter. (Who knew that a pro wrestler would be so devastating in combat? I hate the team he fights for, but that Sergeant Slaughter is a true warrior. He’s a gallant foe, worthy of my steel, and, across the gulf of war, I salute him.) Renfro’s assigned to one of the gun crews on the roof of the complex. He says it’s OK. He sees a lot of action, because Joe planes are always buzzing us and he’s ordered to take potshots at them. That’s fun, he says, but not very satisfying, because he’s almost positive that the Joes in the planes can’t hear him yelling “COBRA!”
After breakfast, I reported for my first duty shift as a guard in the War Room. Should be quite an education. Lieutenant Boyken says I have to stay sharp, because we get Joes invading the compound about once a week. Man, those guys burn me up. Someone really oughta do something about them.
June 19, 1987
Ugly day in the War Room. Today I saw an operation fall completely apart. The Commander and Destro had this great plan where they could infiltrate America by starting a chain of fast-food restaurants called Red Rocket. Unbeknownst to the public, the giant red rocket on the top of each franchise would actually be a real missile, and all the restaurant employees would be undercover COBRA troops. (Major Bludd was excited about the additional revenue the Red Rocket joints would provide; COBRA’s long-distance-phone arm is having an off year, and our operating budgets are way down.) Of course, those darned Joes somehow twigged to the plan, and the whole thing came crashing down. It was pretty disheartening to see the COBRA brass arguing about where the project went wrong. Destro was so upset he even broke protocol and called the Commander “fool” a couple of times. I could tell the Commander was hurt by this, but, being the great leader he is, he wisely understood that it was just Destro’s passion for the mission speaking.
June 24, 1987
Got one of my fondest wishes granted today when I was ordered to stand guard in a conference room where the COBRA brain trust was having a strategy meeting. Wow, what a gathering of the minds. The Commander, Destro, Major Bludd, the Baroness, and Dr. Mindbender, all throwing out ideas. It was fascinating, just watching the process. They talked for hours and hours, mostly about reviving the Serpentor project; the Commander and Destro were getting pretty hoarse by the end. There was a fridge full of sodas in there, but those two couldn’t drink through their masks. Poor guys. I can relate; same thing happens to me all the time with my uniform mask. Nobody said COBRA was easy.
Through the meeting, Dr. Mindbender kept glancing over at me … I think he was winking, but it was tough to tell because of his monocle.
June 28, 1987
We sure seem to have a lot of ninjas on the COBRA payroll.
July 4, 1987
DISASTER. I was back in the War Room today, standing guard during the afternoon shift. Major Bludd was using the giant telescreen to talk to the COBRA satellite crew when suddenly the wall exploded and a whole mess of Joes came running in.
We fought ‘em hard. I was squaring off with that silly sailor they keep on the team, the one who brings his parrot into battle with him. I pretty much had him on the ropes, because he insisted on fighting with a pirate pistol and a set of grappling hooks. That’s no match for a laser rifle and a good set of lungs to yell “COBRA!”
But then this huge guy in a Chicago Bears jersey runs in, swinging around a giant iron football. He’d knocked out a couple of the boys before I recognized him: William “the Refrigerator” Perry! I’m ashamed to say this, but I turned and ran. I remembered what the Fridge did to my Packers last September, and I’d be darned if that was going to happen to me. Everyone else must have been thinking the same thing, because we all retreated, and the Joes have possession of the ’Drome for a little while, at least. Dang it! Why, Fridge, why?
So now we’ve retreated back to COBRA Island, and everyone’s hard at work figuring out how we’re going to get even with those rotten Joes. I’ll leave the planning to the brain trust, but you’d better believe that, whatever they come up with, I’ll be right on the front line yelling “COBRA!”
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