Disclaimer:  I do not own any of the characters used in this story.  All of the characters used belong to their respective owners.  This piece of fan fiction is not for profit.  I created this story, so therefore it belongs to me.  Any relationships to actual persons or entities is strictly coincidental.

Special thanks to Amy Holt for editing and reviewing, as well as having a site to post it on.
Special Tanks also goes to Jill-chan “The Editor Formerly Known As 'The Eepster'”for editing and reviewing.

Special thanks also also goes to the owner of "Ranchan & Co. Crossing Bridges" for an alternative site to post MGR on until it's official homepage is up and running.

Tactical Espionage Action
Metal Gear Ranma

by Chris Davis

Chapter 1: A Chance for Retribution




Fox Archipelago, Alaska
0530 Hours
December 28 2004

From inside the base, you could not tell whether the weather was clear or thicker than a concrete wall, but they didn't care, it was almost seventy inside.  What did make them a little concerned was the fact of where they were; nearly a hundred and twenty miles from any kind of non-militaristic civilization and would not be able to contact any of their family members for the next three months, that is if they even did care about them anyway.

They were, in essence, the new boys in town, all forty five of them, having been transferred from their various positions around the world.  The reason they were there was, of course, classified, so naturally, they knew exactly why they were stationed at that god forsaken piece of America.  If word of their activity on the island some how got out to the public, it would be officially said to be a small war game in which a unknown number of foes had taken over a artic island and a number of personnel who have never had any interaction with their fellow soldiers must cooperate to 'end the threat'.  That would have been it, officially.

The truth was a completely different story.  They were far from unfamiliar with each other, all of them having been trained and fought in the same 'non-existent' battles that no nation on the planet would dare even recognize.  They were also all American, having been through the Force XXI field trials and even a few serving time with Delta Force.  But the people stationed here on the island didn't know that, nor what their ulterior motive for accepting this assignment was.

They were actually mercenaries, the whole lot of them, and their contracts had been bought out by the Pentagon's black budget, and they had been trained as Americans before they had gone rogue, so the government would be thoroughly disappointed if countries who were not interested in the US's intentions bought them out first.  In any case, their assignment was to guard an experiment that would be happening over the course of the next thirty eight hours that, as anyone would have guessed, 'was vital to the advancement of the Nuclear Missile Defense Program'.  A joke that the story was really, having not even a speck of the word defense in the intentions.

It was actually the first field trial of a new kind of weapon, one that only several dozen people who were still alive knew of its existence, and the course of the next few days would be the duration.  Most of the people who were stationed at the island were allowed their ignorance, only the guards, technicians, and the higher ups that were placed in that particular bunker on the north side having actually laid eyes on this prototype.  The new guys, though, called it 'the unit', but did not give a clue of their knowledge to a soul, for fear of reprisal from their superiors.

It was time, and the soldiers knew it.  Sergeants Richard "Johnny" Sasaki and Sean Ellis looked at one another and walked side-by-side down the corridor toward the elevator.  A guard was stationed at the door that lead into the detention center on the right and the infirmary on the left around the corner.  They were dressed in their standard fatigues green fatigues, which neither of them knew why they should wear them in the middle of the cold Alaskan white winter, as did the guards stationed at each door. They also wore the standard armament for the occasion, a French made "FAMAS" 5.56mm assault rifle, which the government had recently ordered a trial set in anticipation for the soon the be decommissioned American AR-34 standard, until a proper US rifle was put into mass production of course, a set of two fragmentation grenades, and a American standard bowie knife to a person.

They both knew the plan.  Johnny walked over to the guard on the right while Sean headed for the elevator in anticipation for the signal.  Johnny struck up the conversation, trying to get the soldier of guard.  But Sean and Johnny knew that it was fake.  Sean approached the elevator and pressed the button to call it.  As he did, a weak hum filled the area, signifying that the device was on its way, they just had to pray that the signal came soon.

Just then, the radios on all four men squawked to life and a voice came through.  "The wolves are getting pretty restless.  Maybe we should let them out."

That was it.  Quickly, while the guard was distracted by the obscure call, Johnny folded his right hand into a fist, brought it around, and crashed it hard against the head of the guard.  He immediately lost consciousness and fell to the floor with a heavy thud.  He then drew his weapon and prepared to fire if the other one so much as lifted his finger to him in a threatening way.

The other one fell for it too.  The guard walked forward, drawn to the sound of something hitting the ground, and stepped around the corner.  And then, he saw the body of his comrade on the floor, but more importantly, the fact that a dangerous weapon was pointed right at him.  "Holy shi-" was all he could say before the but of Sean's rifle struck the back of his head, also sending him into a world of darkness.

It was over in less than thirty seconds, and not a single shot had to be fired, which the both of them were quite proud of.  Sean ended the silence a few seconds later.  "Let's disarm them and stick them around the corner.  Put a claymore in front of them just so they won't be going anywhere."

Each one did just that, slinging the extra rifles around their backs and sticking the extra ammo clips, frag grenades, and knives inside the pockets of their uniforms.  They also made sure to smash the radios, just in case they wanted to make a little call to the outside world.  With that they each took a body and dragged it around the corner, out of sight for anyone that came looking.  They were set against the wall at the end of the corridor next to the vent shaft entrance, which even they couldn't open without a key.  When it was done, Johnny set two charges, one behind the other and each facing towards the sleepers, which guaranteed that if they were able to leap over one, the other would take them out.

Their job as done, at least for now.  Johnny and Sean leaned against the wall and listened to their radios, listening to the voices that were now shouting al over the frequency. 

"This is Collins at the heliport.  I'm pinned down by enemy fire!  If anyone can hear me, respond!  I need help damn it!  I repeat, this is-" was the first voice that came through, before a scream spread all over the net, telling of his death.

"Ryan at Comm. A here, I've got two of our own trying to kill me! Get someone up here!" was all that came through from the second voice before being replaced by another scream.

"Its Davis in the boiler room!  Someone shut off that friggin' gun cam damn it!  I can't hold this position for long and I-" a third voice said before he was cut off by static.

The calls continued to come in for about another ten minutes before all that came over was static.  Then the commander began his tally.  Another round of voices came over, including Sean's, giving the amount of dead and wounded, including the number of soldiers that were captured.

The commander came over the frequency again.  "List the personnel captured."

Another voice responded.  "Two identified h-type personnel, twelve guards, and three technicians, sir."

"Roger.  Have all captured guards disarmed and moved to secure locations.  Double post guards at those positions."

"Yes sir."

"I'm heading for the heliport now.  Send the signal to the Colonel.  I want a arrival party with me in five.  Have teams two and seven secure the weapons lockers in the hanger and teams four and eleven secure them in the nerve."

"Yes sir."

"What is the status of the unit?"

"Team nine reporting.  Unit chamber is secure, unit is not, repeat, not active."

"Excellent.  All personnel refer to procedure three.  Next satellite pass is scheduled in eighty-two minutes.  Cue radio silence."

The final conformation call came in and then static took over once again.  Sean and Johnny both let out a loud sigh.  The hard part was over, and if they were right, the rest would be cake.


***

Five minutes later, outside at the heliport, First Lieutenant Jonathan Graham, the leader of the 'takeover party', watched as Red Ghosts one through four came in for landing.  They were a set of two Russian KA-60 Kasatka choppers and two MI-24 Hind class choppers.  According to the lieutenant's understanding, one of the four transports was scheduled to stay behind with them and help protect the base, not that it would probably be used, but was more of a down payment from that Russian commandant.  He didn't know much beyond that about the arranged deal, but then again, he was lucky to know that much.

They came in low over the ocean, below the American radar that would no doubt have picked them up by now, as the Adak Naval Station was more than four hundred miles way, which could send a message to Elmendorf AFB, who was over seven hundred miles away, but could be reached by fighters within an hour and a half.  As they approached one by one, they landed, blasting a wave of snow and ice in all directions, causing the soldiers to have to cover their faces with their arms in order to block the onslaught.  The rest of the men would arrive via boat within the next few hours, as the helicopters could only make a single round trip without arousing attention to the Americans or the Russians.

The first aircraft landed.  Designated Red-Ghost-One, it was one of the KA-60s, which he knew was carrying twelve more soldiers, ones that would help in the take over of the site.  As the doors opened, Graham noticed they were more heavily armed than the standard artic warfare personnel, consisting of the two extra "flash bangs" and a single .45 caliber SOCOM pistol to each man.  They  wore blue uniforms, unlike the white artic suits, and were covered with strong kevlar vests and helmets, which would be very effective in saving their lives in a firefight.  No doubt, these men would guard the unit as well as the commander, if that was even necessary.  The chopper took off as soon as all of them were offloaded, being sure to hover below the radar detection area, and watched as the second one maneuvered into position.

Red-Ghost-Two, the other KA-60, came in with another dozen men, but this time, they were neither of the two types now on site.  They were NBC troops, each having a standard AR-34 rifle, but loaded with rubber hollow points, which would be very useful for where they would be stationed, two 'flash bang' grenades, and wore very light yellow covered uniforms.  These men were going to be stationed in the nerve as it was codenamed, in where most of the disassembled warheads were kept.  According to the blueprints and the emergency action plan for the warehouse, the warhead storage area could be closed off by two heavy blast doors and be filled with the latest 'NT-3', a new type of nerve gas which dissipated quickly when exposed to oxygen, and was far from non lethal.  Once exposed to the gas, the victim would have forty-five seconds to acquire a gas mask or have the counter reactive, simply named 'NT-3V', injected into the bloodstream before the victim would die.  These soldiers would definitely have the upper hand in a combat situation in that room.

The chopper lifted off and was replaced after a minute by one of the Hinds, this one designated as Red-Ghost-Three.  These two choppers were carrying the commanders for this mission, Graham knew, so he brought his men to attention, saluting as the door opened.  The first person to come out was a man who appeared to be in his early fifties and wore a brown trench coat, matching pants, and some boots that looked like they came out of an old John Wayne movie.  This one was codenamed the Revolver, and it suited him well.  His weapon of choice was a set of twin nineteenth century six shooters used back in the days of the western frontier, and were his personal weapon of choice over all others.

The next person to step off was another man also wearing a trench coat and dark pants and carrying a heavy suitcase.  However, unlike the Revolver, his face was one of obscurity, almost like that of a mannequin.  This commander was Mimic, named as such for his incredible ability to disguise himself to almost anyone without a single flaw.  Rumor had it that he would even take the blood of the impersonated into himself, but no one really knew for sure.

The last person to step off was another man, but he was completely different from the other two.  He wore a black body suit, which covered all of him except for his shoulders and a gas mask for some unknown reason, out of which he breathed heavily.  This man was very pale, his skin having a shade that could nearly be compared with a corpse.  Yet, he was incredibly imposing for a scrawny guy, as he sent a chill down the back of the soldiers on site, and was known as Mantis.

As Mantis stepped off the chopper, the door shut behind him and the Hind lifted into the air, maneuvering out of the way for the forth and final chopper, Red-Ghost-Four, to land.  This one in particular, as it sat down, cut it engines, signifying that this was going to be the support aircraft that was being provided.  The door opened and a woman this time walked out.  She was definitely Russian, as Graham could tell, but that wasn’t what first caught his attention; it was her lack of clothing, mainly her bra that made the men feel something sprout to life in their pants.  This quickly ended as her weapon of choice, a rather large rifle complete with a multi-power scope, came into view.  She was the Wolf.

Wolf stepped out of the way for the next person to come through, as anyone could tell by the sight of the man.  He was easily six and a half feet tall and didn't wear a shirt, which exposed the massive number of tattoos, black birds on closer inspection, which covered his arms, chest, and even his head.  He was exceptionally strong, as his muscles bulged out in every direction testified to that account.  He was codenamed the Raven.

The final person to step out of the chopper was their leader, known as Liquid Snake.  Thought he did not look it, the men were going to be sure to stay the distance from him, even Graham thought.  He also wore a trench coat, as the trend was beginning to be seen.  If even half the rumors were true about Liquid, not even half of the personnel now on the bloody island would be able to stand up against him, as he was rumored to have some connection to the 'Legend'.

The leader approached Graham.  "Sir, I'm First Lieutenant Graham, COS until your arrival.  The area is secure." Graham said, saluting.

Snake returned the salute and spoke, with a British accent, Graham noted.  "Excellent Lieutenant.  How many prisoners do we have and what are their status?"

"We hold seventeen, two h-types, twelve standards, and three techs.  The h-types have been identified as Kenneth Baker, the CEO of Armstech, and Donald Anderson, the DARPA chief.  Both of them are unharmed.  Eight of the standards are wounded and two of the techs are also.  We are moving them to the infirmary as we speak.  The intact standards are being held in storage rooms spread across the base.  The remaining tech is being held inside the lab," Graham reported.

"Have the injured executed and the bodies disposed of.  Keep only two standards alive and move the h-types to separate locations in the hanger."  As he ordered, another soldier behind Graham relayed the order over the net.  Snake then switched his priorities.  "What is the current status of the unit?"

"It is secure," the Lieutenant responded, though a little bit concerned about the execution of the wounded hostages.  "Current load out of weaponry is at sixty-five percent complete, including Pitcher and antitank missiles.  Unfortunately, the mainframe that held most of the data on the unit was destroyed by several standards before they were executed.  The crays in the lab are intact and carry the exercise data concerning Babylon."

The Commander's face fell when this news reached him, but it was a small loss that was probably inevitable.  "Very well then."

Revolver chose that moment to make his move.  "Sir," he spoke to Snake in a gruff voice, "request permission to set up shop in the infirmary."

"Granted, but make sure you don't kill anyone, we still need hostages."

"Yes sir."  Revolver turned around and raised his hand toward the chopper, signaling the remaining men inside.  A few seconds later, a tall, yet thin, crate made its debuted, standing nearly eight and a half feet tall, and was placed on a dolly, and was no doubt heavy just from looking at the site of the four men struggling to get it moving.  When it was set in motion, it was wheeled toward the main doors into the tank hanger, where it would be taken down to the first basement via elevator to the infirmary.  This made Graham nervous, as the stories that came about the Revolver saying that his hobby was torturing his victims with his various toys.

Once the crate was out of sight, Graham turned back to Snake and continued.  "We also have all of the equipment as requested.  The GAU-8 is currently in cold storage inside the warehouse, but can be thawed out in less than an hour."

"Do it." Raven said, at which time the same the order was once again relayed.

"Very good," Snake said finally.  "When is the next satellite pass and report scheduled?"

One of Graham’s subordinates pulled out a list and handed it to him, which he analyzed before responding.  "Next report to the Pentagon must occur at 0800 and the next satellite pass will be in sixty-nine minutes.  The pass will be non-thermal and low grade."

"All right, lets get the Hind covered and begin standard patrol routes.  I don't want anything suspicious to occur to the Pentagon for the next forty-eight hours, understood?" Snake asked.

"Yes sir." Graham said, saluting and turning to his subordinates, who radioed in to have the tasks carried out.

The lieutenant motioned for the group to accompany him inside, where it would surely be warmer than this.  The squad followed suit, allowing Graham to lead them toward the main entrance, the klaxons flashing as the massive twenty foot high twin doors began to split apart, revealing more of the inner workings of the tank hanger as they progressed.  In the sky, the choppers began to turn toward the west, presumably to get back to their own base.  They sped off, soon disappearing from sight, the sound their rotors becoming more feint by the passing second.  As Graham and the five strangers headed into the compound four artics approached the Hind and, lifting a panel from a door on the heliport, produced a large tarp, which would be used to hide any evidence of the vehicle's existence.  The soldiers proceeded, each taking a corner and heading to their own side of the aircraft to take care of business.

Graham continued to walk toward the building, guiding his superiors inside, and thinking all the way.  God, he thought, if we pull this off, we'll be the richest sons of bitches this side of the continent.


***

Two Days Later...

"...and if our demands are not met within the next thirty six hours, we will detonate one warhead on one major American city.  You will comply.  No response force, no negotiating."  The tape ended and the screen filled with static.  It was the second time he had watched the tape through, but it was still hard to believe that this wasn't some old action movie he had seen a thousand times over.  It was not like he hadn't dealt with this sort of situation before anyway.  He sighed and sat up from his cramped seat.

He was a much older gentleman than one would have thought, seeing as how he looked like someone in their mid forties, but was actually closer to his late fifties.  Age showed through his face and his hands, which were rubbing his temple.  He wore a blue uniform and beret, along with several medals adorning his chest, showing to the world that he was a man bred for the military.  On his shoulders, the symbols of a colonel revealed themselves, and across his chest, a name tag bore his name, Campbell.

It was actually Roy Campbell, his actual military service having ended nearly five years ago.  Why that was, he could not tell.  Not because of fading memory, no, very far from that.  It was for the same reason that he was once again on the inside; his wife and daughter.

In truth, he had worked with the 'Legend' as his commanding officer for various missions, and what he knew of what happened was why he had dusted the old suit out of the closet.  The agents, CIA most likely, had come to his isolated house in Oregon to 'ask' for his support in an event that had recently occurred.  He would have declined, but he knew what their message was; help us or you and your families' lives are going to be in quite a lot of pain.  So, without arousing the suspicion of his wife, Meg, and his daughter, Meryl, Campbell went along with them to an undisclosed location, dressed for the occasion of course.

He soon found out that it was actually a submarine, an Ohio class dubbed the 'Discovery', the appointed command center for the soon to be operation.  He had been flown to Now, inside the cramped officer's quarters after watching the evidence, Campbell thought the situation over and said the one word that best described it: "Damn."

He looked up toward the two heavies by the door, who were evidently at his disposal.  "Take me to the bridge." he ordered.

The two men complied and Campbell was escorted to the bridge of the vessel, where various crewmen of strode around at many different terminals, most of which Campbell could only guess as to what their task was.  Dodging and turning his way, he had was lead over to a horizontal navigator's map, where at the captain and his executive officer stood, gazing over and plotting a course into the Bering Sea.  Campbell gave the captain the once over, trying to get an idea of how big of a horse's ass he was.  The Captain, Daniels as he learned, was probably just hitting thirty or so, saying for him that this command was still fairly new to him.  The executive officer looked just a older though, which probably put him a bit off.

"Captain, can you clear the bridge of all non-essentials?" Campbell started.

"Of course," the horse's ass complied, nodding for his XO to follow through.  The room quickly hollowed out, leaving the three officers, the heavies, and a few other personnel inside to hear the discussion.

"Well captain, has the threat been verified?" Roy asked.

"Unfortunately, yes sir.  They sent the serial numbers of the warheads they have in their possession to the Pentagon and they were confirmed an hour ago.  They are real."

"Damn," he spoke.  The colonel thought for a moment, analyzing the situation.  Okay, terrorists have multiple nukes on a remote island in Alaska.  One of those disposal sites too, so we'll have to rule out a nuclear strike.  The base has both radar and sonar detection systems, so that rules out air strikes and the Marines.  If they called me in, that means they want to do a surgical strike, probably a small team.  But if they...  Campbell spoke up.  "Who exactly are we dealing with here?"

The Captain picked out a sheet of paper and responded.  "Ex-members of the Space Seals, NGS Forces, and ex-soviet mercenaries sir."

Campbell was more intrigued by the first one.  "You mean FOX-HOUND?"

"Yes sir, five of them."

Campbell sighed, now realizing how important his being here was.  "Alright.  Give me everything I would want to know about the situation and leave me alone for half an hour.  Then we can figure this out."

"Yes sir."  The captain complied.


Colonel Campbell opened the door from the study into the thin corridor, the various maps and charts outlining the mission under his arm.  He nodded wordlessly to the heavies and he was once again escorted to the bridge where everything was as he had left it.  The captain looked up at him wordlessly, acknowledging his arrival and noting the expression on the Colonel's face, which was, suffice to say, not a happy one.  The captain said nothing however, knowing that it would be futile.

He set his notes down on the map projection and stared at the man before him.  "Okay, let me get this straight." the Colonel began.  "You want to send in a single operative, have that person neutralize the situation and expect him to make it out alive?"

"Yes sir." the Captain replied in his ass of a manner.

"You and the Secretary have got to be out of your minds!  You don't have anybody who could do that, and only one person in history to even do a mission like this probably is retired."

"Exactly, sir."  The Captain held a look that made Campbell curious, until he realized what he meant.

Holy shit, their going to bring in Snake, he thought.  But he won't cooperate, God knows he's done enough for this country anyway.  Campbell paused for a second before starting up again.  That was probably another reason for his being here too.  "You know he won't cooperate."

"He will sir."

"And just how do you know that?"

"He's a soldier sir, he knows his duty."

"To hell with being a soldier Daniels!  Your boys threatened my family if I didn't go along on this crusade!"

"And if you know what is good for them sir, you'll know when to keep your mouth shut when the time comes."  The voice was cold, not fitting the stature of the young man.

Campbell knew what that meant too, and he wasn't about to push the subject.  He signed, regaining his cool.  "Where is he?"

The first officer took the liberty of reaching and picking out a large rolled up scroll, which he soon revealed to be a large map of Alaska.  He lead his finger to a point above the marked city of Anchorage.  "According to public records, we believe that he has a cabin seven miles northeast of the town of Skwentna.  A team has been dispatched from Elmendorf AFB to the area to pick him up, and since the area is forested, though not heavily, the risk of civilians interfering will be minimal.  ETA to target is," he glanced at his watch, "two minutes."

"What kind of team?" Campbell asked.

"A standard squad should take care of any disputes.  Once they have him, we will surface here," he pointed to a spot on the map, "ten miles southwest of Chirikof Island.  It will take the chopper about three hours to get here once they have him in custody.  From there, we will dive and travel at flank speed to this point here" he pointed again, "in approximately thirteen hours, plenty of time for briefing and preparation."

"You expect a helicopter to make it all the way out here and simply 'drop him off'?"  Campbell asked incredulously.

"The chopper is a CH-53E on loan from the Marines, which is built to carry up to fifty five passengers.  We asked them to modify it in such a way that it is a flying gas can.  Once it is in position, the chopper will winch him down and we'll be on its merry way." the first officer answered.

If they make it there, Campbell kept to himself.  He knew of this "How far are we from the rendezvous point?"

"Forty five minutes, sir."

The Colonel took a deep breath, wondering what to do next.  Before he could make one, however, a speaker roared to life to his right.  "Conn, radio, Echo-One is reporting in."

The Captain reached up to a switch and pressed it.  "Patch it through on the squawk."

"Aye, sir." the voice said before cutting out.

It was instead replaced by another one, this time deeper, a sort of reoccurring sound filling the background.  "Sea-Dragon, this is Echo-One, over."

The Captain picked up a transmitter that looked very similar to that of a CB radio and responded, "Echo-One, this is Sea-Dragon, go ahead."

"We have sighted a cabin matching the coordinates and are going to attempt a landing about fifty yards away from the site, over."

"Copy that Echo-One." the Captain responded.

"What do we do now?" Campbell asked.

"Now, we sit and wait."


***


Eight Miles North of Skewenta, Alaska

The 'Super Stallion' came in low over the horizon, practically brushing the tree tops as it went along toward it's destination.  It was a very frigid morning, the sun hidden beneath the veil of thick clouds.  The ground and trees were covered in a blanket of white, standing tall to the testament of the whiteout that occurred two days previous.  As the aircraft passed over the trees, the rotors spinning so fast that snow flew off the tree tops in every direction.  And now, the building came into view.  It looked like a fairly simple one, about the size of an apartment and comprised mostly timber and brick.  The chopper flew over it toward a ideal landing spot, a clearing a hundred feet or so away.  The grass beat with the rotors' wind in every direction as it touched down, the wheels rolling a few feet under the immense pressure of the craft. 

A door slid open facing the house and a group of six men jumped out, automatic rifles in hand, and began to run for the house.  They wore camouflaged uniforms and heavy snow boots, which were coming in handy, as the snow was at least eight inches thick.  They ran toward their destination, the isolated cabin, ready to fire if the need came.  The leader was in front, guiding his men toward the target, speaking into a headset along the way, "Remember guys, we need him alive.  Secure the perimeter before going in."  The leader switched his train of thought.  "Sea-Dragon, this is Charmer, we are swarming the site, over."

A voice responded. "Copy that Charmer.  Keep us advised."

"Yes sir." Charmer acknowledged.

They approached the cabin, merging with tall pine trees.  Each man took up a position behind a tree and aimed their weapons at the cabin, their fingers on the trigger, and scanned the scene.  They had come on a side without a window, so it would be assumed that the target was blind to them.  Charmer made a hand signal and two of his men stepped forward.  He pointed at one side of the cabin, and the other and nodded.  One man ran forward to the left side, the other heading for the right.

The left man ducked around the corner, weapon trained and came across the front, and most likely only, door into the building and a single window, but he kept out of its sight.  He heard some rustling from the bushes from behind him but he did not turn, knowing it was his team mates there to back him up.  Two men worked their way up two him, one being the leader, the other being support.  The first stepped forward and peered into the window cautiously, barely revealing himself in its corner.  However, the window was covered in frost, providing both a advantage and a disadvantage, as they didn't even know what was in there, but neither did whoever know they were there.  The crunch of the snow was the only sound they made as they approached the door.  The support man crept forward, passing the two, and took the lead.  He stopped right in front of the door and faced it, weapon ready.  The first stepped to the left, also trained, while the leader took up position on the right.

Charmer whispered, "On my count, knock on the door.  Three, two, one-"

The middle man brought his leg up and kicked in the door, it blew open and the men burst into the room one by one, the left first, the support second and the leader last.  Inside, the room was quite dim, but was now illuminated by the outside light.  Charmer made a quick scan of the room.  It was a one room building, comprised of a small kitchen with a gas stove, fireplace, and a bed in the corner.  But the most important matter to Charmer was that no one was there.

The men stepped further into the room, weapons now at ease, the building secure.  The support man stepped toward the 'kitchen', took out a pocket flashlight, and turned it on, helping him in his observations.  Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, even various papers that stood next to a sink having a grey tint instead of a white.  It appeared that no one had been here in months, if not years.

A noise came from outside and the men spun around, drawing their weapons.  There was someone outside, and from it, a voice shouted.  "Thunder!"

The leader knew what it meant, and responded.  "Flash!"

From the doorway, three people emerged, the other member of the team whose task was to secure the perimeter.  "Secure sir, no sign of anyone." the man in the middle said.

Shit, Charmer thought, the targets not here.  The brass are not going to like this...  "Any idea as to where the task is?"

"There are no tracks, tread markings, or vehicles of any kind."  the middle man looked around the room.  "Its as if this place were abandoned a long time ago."

"Damn it," the leader cursed.  "Okay, I'll radio in."  He pressed a button on his wrist and spoke into the headset.  "Sea-Dragon, this is Charmer.  The snake is not, repeat not in the basket, over."

A loud angry voice came through, which caused Charmer to wince.  "What do you mean he's not there?!  Echo-One, are you sure you are at the right target?"

Another voice, the one of the pilot of their ride, responded.  "Yes sir, we are at the coordinates and this is the only location for another ten miles sir."

"GOD DAMN IT!" the voice of Sea-Dragon bellowed over the net.  Another voice spoke, but it was not recognizable.  "Charmer, this is Sea-Dragon, return to Echo-One and stand by for further instructions."

The leader was relieved by this order.  "Copy that Sea-Dragon, Charmer out."  He depressed the button on his wrist and turned to his men, who stood before him, waiting for the word on what to do.  "The guys upstairs are pissed, so we head back to the chopper and wait for new orders.  Lets move!"  With that, the men sped out of the derelict house.


***

"God damn it!"  Daniels shouted again, this time much quieter than before, slamming his fist down on the projector for effect.

Colonel Campbell didn't know what to think.  On one hand, he felt glad that Snake wouldn't get involved in this little plan of theirs, but at the same time, he knew he needed to be here, and quick.  Shit Snake, where are you?  "I guess we need a new plan," he said, taking over the situation.  "What are our options?"

The Captain was still mad beyond recognition, but he tried not to show it.  The XO beat him to his word.  "The nuclear option is still out of the question, but a air strike is still a possibility, but the island has a radar range of a hundred and fifty miles, and by that time-"

"They will have gotten the nuke off." Campbell finished.  "What about some B2s?"

"They are in Colorado right now, and are being recommended for use only as a last resort.  However, they will be flow here as soon as the Colorado Springs Air Exposition is over at eighteen hundred hours mountain time."

The Colonel sighed.  It was much easier to work with the XO than his horse's ass captain.  "Are you sure we can't get Delta Force or the Marines in on this?"

"The islands cliffs make it damn near impossible to do a amphibious assault, it would be like going to Omaha beach with sticks and rocks.  The only way to get in is to use the cargo dock outlined in the details, but the only way out of there is the elevator in the back.  If the enemy gets a word off, its so long assault squad."

"Not to mention that the FOX-HOUND group is not your typical gang of gun totters.  Damn it Snake, where the hell are you?" Campbell asked to no one in particular.

It was at that point that one of the heavies, a bulky man in his early twenties, stepped up to the trio before him.  Knowing that the situation was looking dim, he thought he had an idea.  "Excuse me sir."

Campbell turned to meet the heavy face to face.  "Yes, what is it corporal?"

"Well sir, I believe I have a solution to your problem sir." he stated matter of factly.

This caught the attention of the XO, who was about order the man to keep his mouth shut, but Campbell shot his hand up to silence him, intrigued that this might be the key.  "Go ahead son, I'm all ears."

"Well sir, I trained at Fort Richardson for a couple of years before being picked up by the CIA." he paused.

"Go on." Campbell said.

"Well, one day this new guy is assigned to our squad, some Japanese kid around eighteen or so who came here from Japan on that Armed Forces immigration act.  He didn't speak much english, so he was just a pushover to the guys.  One day, while we're doing some exercise, our drill instructor gets pissed off at him and they get into a fight.  The thing is, the new kid beats the livin' shit out of him.  I mean that guy was in the hospital three months easy."  He chuckled a bit at this memory before going on.  "Anyway, he gets locked up for a month cause he struck an officer, so when he gets out, we give him the respect he deserved.  We teach him pretty good english and, by the time his service is up, we get to become friends."

"I don't see your point soldier," Campbell responded to the little story, "just because he beat up your superior doesn't mean he's another Solid Snake."

"Could Solid Snake jump twenty feet in the air and punch through a six inch thick concrete wall without busting his hand?" the heavy asked.

That got the attention of everybody present, including the horse's ass who wasn't really listening himself.  Campbell stared at him, sizing the man up, trying to see if this guy needed to either be committed or have plenty of rest.  "...What?" was all that he could say.

"I'm serious sir, its all documented.  The way I figure it, if you can't get the 'Legend', get him to do the job.  He's very loyal, something about his family abandoning him before he came to the States, so I don't think that should be a problem.  And here's the best part."  The man paused for effect.  "He lives in Alaska."

That was it.  "What's your name son?" Campbell asked.

The heavy brought up his hand, saluting the Colonel.  "Brian Murphy sir."

"Well then, if he turns out as you said, I guarantee you the President himself will hear of you."  Campbell smiled as he said this, knowing that it may not happen, but something good would come from the man's boldness.  "XO, get me the dossier of..."  Campbell turned back to Murphy, having occurred to him that he didn't know the name of this little miracle.  "What was his name Murphy?"

"Saotome," he responded, "Ranma Saotome."

"Right."  Campbell turned back to the XO.  "Ranma Saotome, former army."

"Yes sir." the second officer said, going about his order.

"Murphy, come here." Campbell said, giving a hand signal.

Murphy stared at the table/projector map of Alaska, knowing what was to be the next question.  "Yes sir?"

"Where does this kid live exactly?  I need to know so we can get our men on it."

Murphy looked at the map before him, thinking back to the last time that they had been in touch.  "Well, right before he left, I asked him where he was going to stay.  He said that he had his eye on some place to the west of Anchorage."  Campbell gave him a look that reeked of 'that's not very helpful', so he continued on.  "Close to four months after he leaves, I get this letter in the mail from him.  In it, he described how he came across this town called, uh, Lime Village, and how he bought a piece of land with a cabin and a hot spring close by.  He also described how he has a great view of a mountain to the south and how much privacy he gets now, since it is close to a ten mile trek into town."


***

The crew of Echo-One and its passengers began to get a little edgy.  They were being kept in the dark for some reason, but they weren't there to ask questions, but rather to get the job done.  It had been ten minutes since their last contact with Sea-Dragon, and, while the chopper was still on the ground, it's rotors spinning slowly, they were anxious to get off the ground.  Charmer in particular was a little peeved, not that he didn't get the target, but rather that he wanted to shake the hand of the man himself and was screwed over.

As the men sat in their seats, they wondered just what the hell was going on.  They knew that their task was to take this guy into custody and transport him to Sea-Dragon, wherever it was, as only the flight crew knew the rendezvous point, and it would take several hours to get there.  Hell, even the flight crew wanted to get back to base, but the brass had left orders to stay put, so they would.

Inside the cockpit, Charmer sat with the flight crew, which consisted of two pilots and another man that he could not place his task.  The radio hummed to life on the frequency they had been assigned to them, and out came the voice of their contact, Sea-Dragon.  "Echo-One, Charmer, this is Sea-Dragon, over."

Finally, they all practically thought in unison.  Both the leader of the capture team and the pilot spoke into their headsets.  "This is Echo-One and Charmer, go ahead."

"New target, await description.  Reference coordinates longitude one five six west, latitude zero six zero north, grid number eighteen-B." the voice announced.  Even as the message began, the third man of the flight crew was pulling out large rolled up sheets of paper, presumably maps.  As the message continued on, he filtered out the location, putting the ones that were not to be used back, until he only had one left.  He unrolled it and began to trace his finger over the paper, until he stopped, reached into the compartment and pulled out a pen, marking an 'x' on the map.  He turned back to the pilot and spoke.  "I've got it."

The pilot radioed back.  "Copy that Sea-Dragon, we have the coordinates."

"Target, Saotome, Ranma.  Asian male, five feet eleven inches, early twenties, black hair, black eyes, wiry.  Consider him potentially dangerous but unarmed." Sea-Dragon read off.

Charmer wrote these facts down, not sure if he could remember them or not.  He then responded.  "Copy that Sea-Dragon."

"We expect to hear from you in an hour, Sea-Dragon out." the voice said and the humming died.

"All right gentlemen, lets get this bird off the ground." Charmer ordered to the flight crew, who were already initiating the start off sequence.  In the background, the rotors began to spin faster, the snow beginning to blow violently in all directions once again.  The wheels began to roll and soon were completely off the ground.  The machine began to rise at a quick rate, until it was several hundred feet off the ground. 


***

Campbell leaned against the hull of the submarine, contemplating his next move.  Okay, he thought, I've got a rookie coming to me and I have no idea what to expect. Heh, what's new?

"Excuse me sir, but there may be a small problem."  It was Murphy who spoke those words, ones that were potentially the monkey wrench to Campbell's refined machine.

"What do you mean Murphy?" the Colonel asked, suddenly feeling like he was about to be screwed over.

"Well, Ranma has an allergy, I believe it was called, um, damn, I looked it up one time," he mumbled.  "Oh yeah, it was called 'thermo-aquagenous urticaria,' or allergy of water.  Specifically, he's allergic to cold water, and any contact with  the skin would cause him to react."

"Aww shit," Campbell cursed under his breath.  It was not going to be a pretty picture getting this kid onto the Discovery without sending him into a coma, if not killing him.  The Colonel looked at Murphy, noting that his look was one of complete sincerity, and spoke.  "You better tell the Captain about this, maybe he can solve this little dilemma."

The man followed suit and approach the vessel's commander who was less than ten feet away.  Unfortunately, Daniels didn't overhear the conversation, so the room was about to get a little noisy.  It did, and as soon as Daniels calmed down enough for reasonable communication, which took several minutes, Campbell was beckoned back to the Conn.  As he approached, he noticed that the Captain's face was an almost full red, the yelling definitely taking it's toll.

"Well Captain, what can we do about that?" The older gentlemen asked.

The executive officer spoke for the Captain, who refused to speak at all.  "We could tell the team to wrap him in something like a wet suit sir." he suggested.

Campbell smiled for probably the first time that day, deciding that this guy was not half bad.  His boss, however, was another matter.  "Make it so when the time comes."

"Yes sir."


***

It was a particularly quiet morning he noticed as he continued to split the wooden blocks into two pieces on top of the stump before him.  He had recently, last night as a matter of fact, run out of fire wood, and at this time of the season, you needed an almost constant supply of.  And today was no exception, as the snow was nearly ankle deep and his thermometer read nearly five degrees, though he was not sure whether or not the thing was even working.  It was Sunday, at least he thought it was, and the town was probably more snowed in than he was, so the stores would probably not open until tomorrow.  Ah well, he thought, it would be quiet, like it always is.

He had already gone through his morning exercises and was setting about his chores, hence the firewood.  He also had to check in on the dogs, as it was so damn cold out there that he didn't want them to freeze, despite the heater they had in their pen.  That was one of the things that was bothering him.  The dogs, huskies, were quiet, as normally they were barking at everything, sometimes things that weren't even there, at least to his ears.  He looked toward said pen, no more than fifty feet away, distracted from his work by the silence.  Heh, silence, he thought, that's something I still don't get enough of.  I think I should take them for another run this afternoon, they need to be ready for the race come March.  He had already feed them for the morning and had checked in on them, noting they were just fine.

His task was soon done and he proceeded to carry several logs inside the cabin.  It was a the size of a large apartment, consisting of several rooms, such as the bedroom, kitchen/living room and the bathroom, probably the most secluded room in the building.  Though it seemed simple, he was particularly proud of it, as he had built it with his own two hands.  The price of the home had not come easy, as both the parts and the permits were practically an arm and a leg, if not two.  However, thanks to his previous 'occupation,' he had more than enough money to pay for it.

When he was finished bringing in the logs, he stepped into the 'kitchen' as it were, he turned on his coffee maker and watched as it went about it's job.  He really didn't care for the stuff, but it was warm, and that’s how he liked it.  When the coffee was done, he reached into his cupboard above the sink, pulled out a large mug, and poured himself a fixer upper.  He walked over to his couch next to the fireplace and the television and sat down.

That was when he heard the rumble.  It was barely audible at first, but it grew in intensity as it continued on.  Whatever it was, it was approaching him fast, and it didn't sound friendly.  He set his elixir down on the ground and focused on the sound.  It was oscillating, repeating itself very fast and noisily.  A chopper, he realized, but why was it all the way out here?

It passed over the cabin and the noise began to fade away slowly, but it continued on, only farther away.  He turned in the direction of the sound and looked out the window.  All he saw was the dog pen and trees beyond it, but he knew what was there.  There was a clearing large enough for a helicopter to land on no more than a hundred yards away.  Who ever it is, they better have a good excuse for being on my land, he thought.

He turned around and walked over to the couch and pushed it out of the way, revealing at trap door underneath.  He pulled up on the handle and opened it.  Inside, a tool box was there, and he flipped the latch, exposing a pistol, a forty five caliber.  I swore I would never use this, he thought, but something tells me this isn't a social visit.  he slid a magazine into the compartment and cocked it, keeping the safety on just in case.  He didn't want to kill anybody, but if it came to that...

All of the dogs were barking now, louder than before when the chopper had made its pass of the house, practically in a frenzy.  he got up and walked to the window, looking out upon the snowed in landscape.  There was no one there yet, but it was only a matter of time.  his companions couldn't give him any clues as to where they were, so he would have to rely on his own senses.  He took a deep breath and exhaled, focusing his senses to what was beyond the walls.

There were five, maybe six, of them and the were all around the cabin, as the sounds of boots crashing into the snow came into range.  They were surrounding him.  Quickly, he drew his pistol and ran for the couch, leaping over it.  In a firefight, it might provide some protection.  He knelt down, out of sight from the window and the door.  These guys have to be pros, he thought.

He snapped around, facing the bedroom just feet away, witnessing a shadow peak into the room via the window.  It moved slowly, almost cautiously.  he knew they were checking to see if anyone was here, so he stayed down, not wanting to arouse-

The front door burst open in a loud crack as three men ran into the room, catching the owner of the cabin by surprise.  He jumped up, weapon raised and safety now off, ready to fire.  The intruders were caught off guard by the figures sudden appearance, but they held their fire, knowing their target was needed alive and intact.

The opposing forces examined one another.  Through the man's eyes, the men were heavily armed and wouldn't go down easy, that much he could tell.  They were also very well armored, probably type 5 Kevlar, ruling out the possible identity of police.  But what their most determining factor was the heavy submachine guns they carried, aimed directly at him.

The man in the middle, presumably the leader, spoke to the man.  "Are you
Ranma Saotome?"

This caught him off guard, wondering how in the hell they knew his name.
"Who wants to know?" Ranma asked, keeping his pistol to bear.

The men slowly dropped away their weapons, a smile almost visible through
their hardened faces.  Ranma dropped his pistol as they did, ever so
cautiously.  Charmer spoke up.  "Sir, my name is Michael Baker.  I am under
orders to transport you to Colonel Campbell immediately."

The name didn't ring a bell to Ranma, but he knew that he shouldn't push
them, as he, in all likelyhood, wouldn't get far.  "What the hell for?" he demanded.

"That’s classified sir.  You will know upon arrival."  Baker looked Saotome
over before speaking again.  "I suggest you put on some warmer clothes,
your going to need them."

Shit, Ranma thought, I thought I left this all in Nerima...  "What about my
dogs?"

"You'll be back tomorrow, they'll be fine." he lied.  He didn't know if he would be back in a day or a month, and he definitely wasn't going to piss this guy off, at least until he was on the chopper.

"And if I refuse to go?" Ranma asked.

"Then we will be forced to do this the 'hard' way.  I would prefer that you went willingly sir."

Ranma looked around his once isolated cabin.  At every window he could see, a man had a gun pointed at him, meaning that even if he fought off the ones inside, he would be ground chuck before he could even make it outside.  There wasn't much choice; go with them alive or go with them dead.  Gee, he thought, this is very appealing.  He turned back to Baker, his decision made.  "Alright, I'll go with you.  The dogs have enough food to last them several days and besides, what choice do I have?"

Charmer gave Ranma the faintest of smiles, one which disappeared in an instant.  The man lifted his arm and pressed a button on his head set.  "Sea-Dragon, this is Charmer.  The horse is in the barn, repeat, the horse is in the barn." he spoke.  Ranma couldn't make out the chatter coming from the head set, but he could guess what it was, a congratulatory comment or something along those lines.  "Copy that Sea-Dragon."  He turned back to the new volunteer.  "Lets go sir."


***

Two hours later...

"Where in the hell is his damn profile?" Colonel Campbell asked the XO, wanting an answer.

The first officer turned around and grabbed several sheets of paper off of the projector behind him, turned around, and handed them to the agitated man.  "They just came over the EAF.  They should arrive in twenty minutes sir."

Campbell took the offering, thumbing his way through the pages to get a count, which turned out to be only four.  He looked back up at the executive officer.  "This is all?"

"Yes sir." he answered.

"Okay.  Be sure to tell me when they are five minutes out.  I'll be in my room." he ordered.

"Yes sir."

Campbell did an about face and left the Conn, this time without the escort of Murphy and the other heavy.  He found his way to his room, entered, and shut the door behind him.  Turning on the desk light, he placed the documents on the table and sat down in the conveniently placed chair.  He sighed and began to leaf through this 'miracle workers' history.  He would have to know every little detail about him in order to influence him to the cause.

Lets see, he thought.  Born March twenty-forth Nineteen-Eighty-Four, no siblings.  Interesting, went on a ten year martial arts training trip, got engaged at sixteen.  Moved to the US two years later for unknown reason.  Good, we have a ghost here.  Hmm, was engaged to Akane Tendo... Tendo, where do I know that name?  He thought about the mysterious woman of whom his connection to her he could not conceive.  Then, it struck him.  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper.  On it, there was a list of the personnel assigned to the island before the uprising, and on it...  "Hot damn."  This was what he was hoping for, a motive to get this Ranma character to go along with them.

He continued to read the psych profile on this guy.  He knew that this man was sold, but he thought anything could prove useful.  Unfortunately, the Japanese government had failed to produce any information concerning Saotome, but this was pretty much all he needed.  As he finished reading, there was a knock at the door.

"Come." he said.

The door opened and in stepped Murphy.  "Sir, the chopper is about five minutes away.  Echo-One reports heavy crosswinds, so the delivery will not be easy."

"Okay, lets head to the bridge."

Murphy saluted Campbell, who returned it.  "Yes sir."  Murphy turned around and began to walk out when he was stopped.

"Hold on Murphy."

He turned around to face the superior.  "Sir?"

"I'm gonna need your help when the time comes.  I've got an incentive on this one, but I'll need your help to influence him.  The more, the better." Campbell said.

"Yes sir."

The Colonel stood up and followed Murphy to the bridge, where Captain Daniels and his second in command were briefing a man in scuba gear and another man.  Daniels noticed Campbell's arrival and stopped.  As Campbell approached the projector, the Captain continued on.  "...and when you have him, take him to the brig and give him some warm, dry clothes.  You," he pointed to the scuba man, "will be on stand by in case he goes into the drink.  Watch the current, the storm has made it difficult for the ship to even stay in position, so we will be moving at about two knots."

The men resounded in unison.  "Aye sir."

Nothing more was exchanged between the three and the Captain dismissed them.  As the recovery team escaped from site, a speaker awoke next to the XO.  "Conn, tower, Echo-One is in sight."

Right on cue, Daniels thought as he reached for the switch just below the device and flipped it.  "Copy that tower.  Have the recovery team report to the tower."

"Aye sir." was the response as the speaker died.

"Have you ever done this before?" Campbell asked the Captain.

"No," he answered, "but I saw it in a movie once."


***

The cold winds sped to the south at a fast pace and the water churned, the waves breaking nearly ten feet high.  The pilot noticed this and spoke into his mike, getting the attention of the crewmen.  "It looks like we've got some heavy winds and rough seas guys, so I want Mr. Saotome fitted now before it gets worse." the man ordered.

In the back, Ranma eyed the soldiers that had dragged him into his seat and had kept him there for over two hours.  Two were seated next to him and the other four watched him carefully across from him.  The turbulence had gone from good to bad to worse, which caused the martial artist to groan inwardly, as he had discovered that flying was not a very good innovation, since his flight to the states had gone through a squall that nearly downed the plane.

One of the flight crew approached him and handed him a orange package, which he unrolled and found it to be a jump suit.  "Put it on," the voice in Ranma's headset spoke, "we’re going to use a winch to get you down to the sub."

Ranma said nothing.  He stood up and first fitted the pants onto himself, on which he saw several metal loops, probably what would be used to hook him up to the wire the crewman who had given him the uniform was setting up now.  Another bump of turbulence shook the fuselage, causing Ranma to have to shift his weight in order to stay balanced.  Buttoning his pants, he picked up the large jacket and zipped it up.  He looked up at the 'flight attendant', who was busy with trying to set up the pulley.  He finished, turned around, and made a hand motion for Ranma to sit down, which he did.

"Stand clear!" the voice of the man said.  He put his hand on the latch for the door and pulled it toward him.  As soon as he let go, a popping sound echoed through the vehicle and a rush of air sped toward the door.  This was to equalize the pressure of the chopper to that of the outside air so that when the door was opened, no one would be sucked out.  Mere minutes later, the door was pulled open by the crewman and another wave of air, this time a cold wind, spread throughout the cabin.  The man made a motion for Ranma to approach him.

Ranma sat up and carefully walked over to him.  The man reached overhead and
pulled out what appeared to be a small life belt, commonly used by
skiers.  He pulled the belt around Ranma, sticking his head and arms
through it.  "Alright sir, I'm gonna need you to sit down."

Ranma did, and as he looked out toward the endless blue horizon, he bored
his vision downward, where a elongated vessel sat in the water, no doubt
his destination.  He was going to be on a submarine, just the perfect place
for him, surrounded on all sides by cold water.

The crewman reached out into the open air and pulled down a hook attached
to a thick cord.  Reaching down with the cord, he attached it to the metal
loops on the jump pants Ranma wore.  "Sir, I'm gonna lower you down to the
submarine now.  I want you to cross your arms so that you don't fall
through the carrier.  When you get down far enough, someone will have a
hook and will catch the cord and pull you down so that you can get your
footing.  Do you understand?"

"Yea, lets just get this over with." Ranma responded.

"Alright, off you go."  With that, Ranma pushed himself off of the floor
and into the air.  The sensation of falling fill him for less than a second
before he was held in the air by the cord.  It began to extend slowly toward
the impending ocean less than thirty feet below him.

"Passenger is going down steady.  Forward five, stop." the voice in the
headset state, obviously reporting to the pilot.  Ranma began to swing to
his left.  As he did, the hook pivoted with it, causing Ranma to face in
the direction of his movement.  The bridge of the submarine came into view
was he continued to swing.  On it, two men stood, one with a what look like
a long stick with a large metal hook at the end.  The other person was
shouting orders to the first, ones that Ranma couldn't hear over the sound
of the rotors.

That was when he felt the line shake.  He looked up to the chopper, which
was fifteen feet above him.  The chopper was struggling to stay in
position, the crosswinds making it hard for it to stay in flight.  Ranma
began to swing more violently back and forth.  "Damn.  The wind is making
this a hell of a lot harder than its supposed to be." the pilot commented.

Ranma could hear the man on the bridge now as he drew closer.  "Get ready
Watkins, he's coming back!" the man shouted.  The one with the hook
responded by standing up straight and extending the hook into the air,
watching Ranma's movement.  He continued to swing faster and farther each
time, but was getting closer to the crew below, six feet, five feet,
four...

"Duck!" the man with the pole shouted as he did just that.  They just missed Ranma, but barely.  He stood back up and turned around to face the martial artist, who was completing his swing and coming back at them.  This time, the men jumped to the left, and in doing so, caught Ranma's leg.  Ranma stopped swinging and looked into the face of the seaman before him.  The other with the hook raised it and caught a hold of the line, which Saotome was still attached to, and pulled it down to eye level.  He then reached toward Ranma's jump suit and unhooked the cord.  Ranma slid his arms and head through the belt and felt his feet touch the metal surface of the sub.

He looked back up to the chopper, which was now retracting the line and belt.  Once in position, the voice of the pilot of Echo-One spoke into the headset Ranma still wore one last time.  "Line is secure.  Very well Sea-Dragon, we are out of here."  At that moment, the camouflaged chopper turned to the east and sped in the direction, soon disappearing from sight.

Taking his helmet off, revealing a long black pigtail, Ranma turned back to the seamen before him.  The man who had caught his leg spoke to him  "Mr. Saotome, I’ve been instructed to take you to the brig, please follow me."


End Chapter One


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