Gi Joe A Real American Hero (Open)

Corporal Charles Lennox
Age 20
Height 5'11"
Mild build. Slightly rounded chin, thin lips with bright blue eyes and short cut dirty blonde hair. No tattoos or piercings.


"Welcome to the PIT, maggot" a harsh voice announced as the blind was removed from me eyes and we began a slow decent on a large, open lift that brought us down from the desert surface. Here it was cool from powerful AC units compared to the arid above, but then the voice slapped me back, "eyes front!" And they snapped as ordered.

This man was a beast, towering over me well over six feet and his head covered by a green balaclava that masked his features except piercing dark eyes and a boisterous voice that commanded respect. "Grab you duffel!" Everything from him was a command as the lift touched the bottom and before me lay an entire world under the surface that was crawling with people and vehicles with bright fluorescent lights suspended above that was as bright as day.

"Follow me!" He commanded stepping off and fumbling with my duffel on my back I followed with my eyes wide in wonder at this place.

I was just a twenty year old, volunteered for the Army and went into basic at 18 to do four years and that would be it, but halfway through my enlistment I was summoned to my battalion commander's office where another man, a Lt. General was there with him. After a half hour of questions about my life and choices the man gave me two choices; go to Afghanistan for a year to fifteen months or go to Nevada for "special training". I did not know what he meant by it at first because air assault and airborne school were not in Nevada and really nothing else except Area 51 and Nellis Air Force Base, oh, and Vegas, so I jumped for the 'special training'. I figured being in the desert in the states was better than being shot at in the mountains so I joined up and here I was now under the desert and being pulled by an invisible leash by this man as he took me deeper into the facility and show me to where my first stop was.

The entire base was underground and illuminated with artificial light. It was expansive, going beyond my sight. Hundreds of people were working or training and there was a constant noise that bounced off the rock walls that it a constant drone.

"Hurry up, maggot!" the man barked in front of me.

He was named Beachhead. He was to be our personal trainer. Everything he said, we did. It didn't matter if we were officers or not. He outranked all of us. I say 'us' because when he directed me to a backroom there were at least thirty other new recruits already there and around half were officers. We were from all different branches.

"Drop your bag and get in line!" Beachhead roared.

I dropped my bag on a pile of others and hustled to the back of the formation and wedged myself between two guys.

"Listen up, maggots. As you know, my name is Beachhead. Lord knows why it was seen fit to have you people here. My job is to weed out all you non-hackers that want to join our unit. I'll use any means to ensure that anyone that doesn't have the stamina, will power, the gumption to be here will be instantly removed. I'm the gardener and you're the branches. Get me?"

"We get you, sir!" they barked. I was in the back just mouthing it. That's what I normally did. Not sure why. Just didn't feel the need to do such things. Besides, Beachhead never gave his rank, so I wasn't sure if he was an officer or not.

Walking up and down the front of the formation, Beachhead was looking for the first weakling to be picked on to show off what he was capable of.

"Which one of you maggots is going to be the first to knock me down?" Beachhead boldly asked loudly. There were eyes glancing left and right. There were a few murmurs. No one dared spoke up. Beachhead was an intimidating figure at over 6' tall, he wasn't powerfully built. However, the way he carried himself, and his large hands, showed that he was capable of many things and could strangle us with one hand, but being mere privates.

"No one, huh?" he fumed. "None of you weaklings have the stomach? I thought I had a tough troop here! I thought I had some people with balls!" Some of us were women, so, I don't think that meshed well. Anyway, one person upfront finally decided to step forward and try his hand. The guy's name was Jeffords. A tall, lanky man. He raised his hand, "Sir, I think I can do that, sir!" with a slight quiver in his voice.

"Finally!" Beachhead laughed, pushing himself to the front of the formation. "Okay, maggot. This is going to be your first, and only, chance to take a shot at an NCO." The two squared themselves with Beachhead drawing back his right leg, fists up. Jeffords did the same, though he kept his legs rigid, locked, and he trembled. He thought it was some kind of a game, that he wouldn't really get hurt. If he, somehow, won, then that would launch him high into the organization. If he failed, well, then he would just get laughed at. "Begin!"

One punch. That's all Jeffords could do. He threw a wild haymaker that Beachhead saw coming even before his opponent threw it. Ducking under the arm with a step forward, both hands wrapped tightly around Jeffords' throat and a hip throw planted the boy straight onto the cold concrete floor, followed by a rabbit punch to the gut that made Jeffords' ball up in agony and puke beside him.

We were repulsed by the action and by the vomiting. The guy in front of me almost collapsed. Beachhead rubbed his hands together as he stared at us, "Which one of you is next?!"