Directed by Stephen Sommers ("The Mummy") and starring Dennis Quaid, Christopher Eccleston ("Heroes") and Sienna Miller ("Stardust"), "GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra" explodes into cinemas on August 7, 2009. This thrilling official prequel novel tells the story of the gripping events that will culminate in "GI Joe: Rise of Cobra", the major theatrical relaunch of the awesomely popular GI Joe franchise! Written by tie-in veteran and "Road to Perdition" scribe Max Allan Collins, this is the story you must read before the brand-new movie hit theaters!
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Book Description
Editorial Reviews
About the Author
Max Allan Collins is an American mystery writer of novels, screenplays, comics, short stories, movie novelizations and historical fiction. He wrote the graphic novel Road to Perdition and has written tie in novels to the TV series Dark Angel, CSI, CSI Miami, CSI: NY, Criminal Minds and Bones, among others, as well as movie novelisations, including Air Force One, Saving Private Ryan, The Mummy, I-Spy and The X-Files: I Want to Believe
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
What Heroes Do
Uzekurkistan
In his white combat suit, Lieutenant Conrad Hauser—Duke to the other nine members of his elite U.S. military covert insertion team—felt like the Michelin tire man. Slogging uphill through nearly knee-deep snow, he was spotlighted by a full moon that shone like a mighty alabaster beacon, illuminating the white-blanketed forest and—most of all, worst of all—the team he led.
Slowly, Duke scanned the tree-covered hilltop, searching for any sign of the Uzekurki troops that he knew would be patrolling this sector.
Nothing.
He lowered his night-vision goggles from his forehead and checked the hill again—still nothing. Nonetheless, in his gut, he felt a twinge of suspicion. He didn’t know what caused it, but he had the feeling that danger was imminent, and nearby.
Broad-shouldered yet tall and lean, a white stock?ing cap covering his close-cropped dark hair, Duke carried his M16 A3 loosely in both hands, safety off, gloved finger on the trigger. Behind him, “Ripcord” Weems—his best friend and second in command—was complaining to the team’s medic, David Westen.
Good-natured griping was a specialty of Rip’s.
“Why is he always out front?” Ripcord asked, loud enough for Duke to hear.
Next to the lanky African American, the slightly built Westen remained stoically quiet. The redhead from Monroe, Louisiana, appeared too frail to keep up with the rest of the team; but the skinny medic had an iron will, and his way of having fun was running twenty miles daily.
Doc was also the only member of the team who spoke even passable Uzekurki.
“We’re supposed to be deadly, invisible, and sound?less,” Duke said, sotto voce. “Emphasis on the soundless.”
Undeterred, his voice rising above a strained whisper, Rip asked, “What, you think a brother can’t walk point?”
Sliding his night-vision goggles up to his forehead, Duke turned to tell Ripcord to keep it down. Though Rip’s kidding riffs could bring a welcome tension break, now was not the time. Exhaling as he turned, watching his breath trail into the frigid night air like wispy smoke, Duke said, “Give it a rest, Rip . . .”
The first bullet whistled past Duke’s ear, and he shouted, “Down,” even as he dove face-first into the snow. Half a second later, Westen and Rip hit the ground on either side of him, as bullets from up the hill raked the woods around them.
Snow covered Duke’s face and the cold stung his cheeks. He looked first to his left to make sure Westen was okay, then glanced right toward Ripcord, who grinned at him.
“What?” Duke asked, as bullets buzzed like angry insects.
With mock innocence, Rip asked, “Don’t you think I oughta be the dude in white face?”
“Would you mind cutting the damn comedy long enough to return fire? Please?”
The whole team opened up at once, shooting uphill toward the muzzle flashes, where what were presumably Uzekurki troops were hidden by the trees, and dressed in camouflage white, not unlike the Americans.
So much for Duke’s team being soundless and invisible—if they were going to get out of this scrape, they’d better get damned deadly damned fast.
The drawbacks of the mission were supposedly offset by the advantage of surprise: parachute in, extract a team of six scientists held hostage in an Uzekurki fortress, beat feet to the extraction point, and get home. It had all sounded routine if dangerous during the briefing. Now, with the Uzekurki patrol pinning them down, Duke was rethinking his definition of what constituted a routine mission. . . .
Sneaking a glance up the hill, Duke could see a possible way to outflank the Uzekurki patrol—a long gully ran up the side of the hill, perhaps twenty yards left of his team’s position. If a couple men could get to the ravine, and shimmy up the hill, they’d be on level ground with the patrol . . . and that might change the odds.
Duke was hoping the Uzekurkis hadn’t made a radio call, either for reinforcements or to alert HQ to the presence of the insertion team. But he knew that was a prayer that would likely go unan- swered. . . .
“Rip,” Duke shouted over the gunfire, “with me!”
Not waiting for an answer, Duke crawled to his left, the enemy gunfire following him almost as closely as Rip, bullets hissing through snow, splintering trees.
Rip asked, “What the hell are you doin’, bro?”
“I thought you said you liked it hot,” Duke said.
“Bikini women hot,” Rip said, “umbrella drinks on the beach hot—not up to my butt in snow, bullets flyin’ around my head hot.”
“I take you on a snowy retreat, and all you can do is bitch, bitch, bitch.”
“Come on, Duke—you know we don’t never retreat. . . .”
Duke stopped, Ripcord right behind him, the two as flat as possible in the snow, the Uzekurki patrol still peppering the world around them with gunfire, although the return fire from Duke’s team had the Uzekurkis keeping their heads down some now themselves.
Using his com-link system to the team, Duke said, “All right, guys, cover fire while Rip and I hotfoot it up the hill.”
A torrent of “Yes, sirs,” and “Got it’s” followed as the whole team seemed to answer at once.
“You ready?” Duke asked.
“Ready for what exactly?” Rip asked, but it was too late for details.
In one motion, Duke rose and sprinted toward the gully. Into his com link, he shouted, “Now!”
Instantly, the team’s rate of fire up the hill increased, although the Uzekurkis continued to blast downhill, as well. Even over the clatter of gunfire, Duke could hear Rip’s footsteps crunching in the snow behind him. Bullets continued to fly all around, and Duke had the fleeting thought that the Uzekurki army must be the worst shots on the planet, which was fine with him. Hundreds of Uzekurki rounds sent their way, and neither he nor Rip had so much as a scratch. Some freaking marksmen.
Diving into the gully, Rip sliding on his six, Duke rolled into the trunk of a tree, the impact knocking the air from him just as Rip crashed into him from the other side.
As he came up, ready to fire, Duke said, “I don’t need to worry about the Uzekurkis—you’re going to kill me first.”
With a little grin, Rip said, “Thanks for breaking my fall, buddy.”
Both men now had their weapons trained uphill as they crept through the underbrush of the ravine. No trail here, and each step had to be taken carefully to avoid sinking into the snow. Between the gun smoke and the misty breath of the combatants, a fog enveloped the hillside, making it difficult to see, even in the gully where Duke and Rip hunkered.
Duke whispered as loudly as he dared: “Let’s get up that damn hill.”
“Right behind you, bro,” Rip said as they edged up the gully, weaving between trees.
They had moved less than a hundred yards up the ravine when a Uzekurki soldier popped up, not even fifty yards away. Duke brought up his weapon and fired once, the bullet striking the Uzekurki in the forehead and dropping him in the snow.
As they watched the soldier’s last breath evaporate over his corpse, two of his comrades materialized behind him and leveled their weapons at Duke and Rip. The one on the right got off a round, the bullet striking Duke in the chest, knocking him back. As he fell, he saw Ripcord drop both Uzekurkis—one shot each to the forehead.
Duke felt like a truck had hit him as he lay in the snow, the night sky above him, the stars twinkling their gentle laughter as he tried to draw a breath.
Another thing to reassess now: Uzekurki marksmanship.
“You okay?” Rip asked, kneeling over him.
Looking up at his friend, his vision slightly blurring from the painful jolt the bullet delivered smashing into his body armor, Duke said, “No thanks to you.”
“Hey,” Rip whined. “I dropped both them suckers.”
“Not until after one shot me.”
“Yeah, but he shot you in your armor.”
Duke stared up at Rip. “That’s your excuse? That the idiot didn’t try for a head shot?”
“With your head, it’d take armor-piercing.”
“Help me up before any more of ’em show. Getting shot once per mission is once more than acceptable.” --This text refers to the Mass Market Paperback edition.
What Heroes Do
Uzekurkistan
In his white combat suit, Lieutenant Conrad Hauser—Duke to the other nine members of his elite U.S. military covert insertion team—felt like the Michelin tire man. Slogging uphill through nearly knee-deep snow, he was spotlighted by a full moon that shone like a mighty alabaster beacon, illuminating the white-blanketed forest and—most of all, worst of all—the team he led.
Slowly, Duke scanned the tree-covered hilltop, searching for any sign of the Uzekurki troops that he knew would be patrolling this sector.
Nothing.
He lowered his night-vision goggles from his forehead and checked the hill again—still nothing. Nonetheless, in his gut, he felt a twinge of suspicion. He didn’t know what caused it, but he had the feeling that danger was imminent, and nearby.
Broad-shouldered yet tall and lean, a white stock?ing cap covering his close-cropped dark hair, Duke carried his M16 A3 loosely in both hands, safety off, gloved finger on the trigger. Behind him, “Ripcord” Weems—his best friend and second in command—was complaining to the team’s medic, David Westen.
Good-natured griping was a specialty of Rip’s.
“Why is he always out front?” Ripcord asked, loud enough for Duke to hear.
Next to the lanky African American, the slightly built Westen remained stoically quiet. The redhead from Monroe, Louisiana, appeared too frail to keep up with the rest of the team; but the skinny medic had an iron will, and his way of having fun was running twenty miles daily.
Doc was also the only member of the team who spoke even passable Uzekurki.
“We’re supposed to be deadly, invisible, and sound?less,” Duke said, sotto voce. “Emphasis on the soundless.”
Undeterred, his voice rising above a strained whisper, Rip asked, “What, you think a brother can’t walk point?”
Sliding his night-vision goggles up to his forehead, Duke turned to tell Ripcord to keep it down. Though Rip’s kidding riffs could bring a welcome tension break, now was not the time. Exhaling as he turned, watching his breath trail into the frigid night air like wispy smoke, Duke said, “Give it a rest, Rip . . .”
The first bullet whistled past Duke’s ear, and he shouted, “Down,” even as he dove face-first into the snow. Half a second later, Westen and Rip hit the ground on either side of him, as bullets from up the hill raked the woods around them.
Snow covered Duke’s face and the cold stung his cheeks. He looked first to his left to make sure Westen was okay, then glanced right toward Ripcord, who grinned at him.
“What?” Duke asked, as bullets buzzed like angry insects.
With mock innocence, Rip asked, “Don’t you think I oughta be the dude in white face?”
“Would you mind cutting the damn comedy long enough to return fire? Please?”
The whole team opened up at once, shooting uphill toward the muzzle flashes, where what were presumably Uzekurki troops were hidden by the trees, and dressed in camouflage white, not unlike the Americans.
So much for Duke’s team being soundless and invisible—if they were going to get out of this scrape, they’d better get damned deadly damned fast.
The drawbacks of the mission were supposedly offset by the advantage of surprise: parachute in, extract a team of six scientists held hostage in an Uzekurki fortress, beat feet to the extraction point, and get home. It had all sounded routine if dangerous during the briefing. Now, with the Uzekurki patrol pinning them down, Duke was rethinking his definition of what constituted a routine mission. . . .
Sneaking a glance up the hill, Duke could see a possible way to outflank the Uzekurki patrol—a long gully ran up the side of the hill, perhaps twenty yards left of his team’s position. If a couple men could get to the ravine, and shimmy up the hill, they’d be on level ground with the patrol . . . and that might change the odds.
Duke was hoping the Uzekurkis hadn’t made a radio call, either for reinforcements or to alert HQ to the presence of the insertion team. But he knew that was a prayer that would likely go unan- swered. . . .
“Rip,” Duke shouted over the gunfire, “with me!”
Not waiting for an answer, Duke crawled to his left, the enemy gunfire following him almost as closely as Rip, bullets hissing through snow, splintering trees.
Rip asked, “What the hell are you doin’, bro?”
“I thought you said you liked it hot,” Duke said.
“Bikini women hot,” Rip said, “umbrella drinks on the beach hot—not up to my butt in snow, bullets flyin’ around my head hot.”
“I take you on a snowy retreat, and all you can do is bitch, bitch, bitch.”
“Come on, Duke—you know we don’t never retreat. . . .”
Duke stopped, Ripcord right behind him, the two as flat as possible in the snow, the Uzekurki patrol still peppering the world around them with gunfire, although the return fire from Duke’s team had the Uzekurkis keeping their heads down some now themselves.
Using his com-link system to the team, Duke said, “All right, guys, cover fire while Rip and I hotfoot it up the hill.”
A torrent of “Yes, sirs,” and “Got it’s” followed as the whole team seemed to answer at once.
“You ready?” Duke asked.
“Ready for what exactly?” Rip asked, but it was too late for details.
In one motion, Duke rose and sprinted toward the gully. Into his com link, he shouted, “Now!”
Instantly, the team’s rate of fire up the hill increased, although the Uzekurkis continued to blast downhill, as well. Even over the clatter of gunfire, Duke could hear Rip’s footsteps crunching in the snow behind him. Bullets continued to fly all around, and Duke had the fleeting thought that the Uzekurki army must be the worst shots on the planet, which was fine with him. Hundreds of Uzekurki rounds sent their way, and neither he nor Rip had so much as a scratch. Some freaking marksmen.
Diving into the gully, Rip sliding on his six, Duke rolled into the trunk of a tree, the impact knocking the air from him just as Rip crashed into him from the other side.
As he came up, ready to fire, Duke said, “I don’t need to worry about the Uzekurkis—you’re going to kill me first.”
With a little grin, Rip said, “Thanks for breaking my fall, buddy.”
Both men now had their weapons trained uphill as they crept through the underbrush of the ravine. No trail here, and each step had to be taken carefully to avoid sinking into the snow. Between the gun smoke and the misty breath of the combatants, a fog enveloped the hillside, making it difficult to see, even in the gully where Duke and Rip hunkered.
Duke whispered as loudly as he dared: “Let’s get up that damn hill.”
“Right behind you, bro,” Rip said as they edged up the gully, weaving between trees.
They had moved less than a hundred yards up the ravine when a Uzekurki soldier popped up, not even fifty yards away. Duke brought up his weapon and fired once, the bullet striking the Uzekurki in the forehead and dropping him in the snow.
As they watched the soldier’s last breath evaporate over his corpse, two of his comrades materialized behind him and leveled their weapons at Duke and Rip. The one on the right got off a round, the bullet striking Duke in the chest, knocking him back. As he fell, he saw Ripcord drop both Uzekurkis—one shot each to the forehead.
Duke felt like a truck had hit him as he lay in the snow, the night sky above him, the stars twinkling their gentle laughter as he tried to draw a breath.
Another thing to reassess now: Uzekurki marksmanship.
“You okay?” Rip asked, kneeling over him.
Looking up at his friend, his vision slightly blurring from the painful jolt the bullet delivered smashing into his body armor, Duke said, “No thanks to you.”
“Hey,” Rip whined. “I dropped both them suckers.”
“Not until after one shot me.”
“Yeah, but he shot you in your armor.”
Duke stared up at Rip. “That’s your excuse? That the idiot didn’t try for a head shot?”
“With your head, it’d take armor-piercing.”
“Help me up before any more of ’em show. Getting shot once per mission is once more than acceptable.” --This text refers to the Mass Market Paperback edition.
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More About the Author
Max Allan Collins is a New York Times bestselling author of original mysteries, a Shamus award winner and an experienced author of movie adaptions and tie-in novels. His graphic novel ROAD TO PERDITION was made into a major motion picture by Tom Hank's production company, Playtone.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
3.0 out of 5 stars
Ummm...,
This review is from: G.I. Joe: Above & Beyond (Mass Market Paperback)
...this book makes only a minor attempt, at actually being involved with the recent film, of which it claims to be a prequel. Not enough stuff that is interesting. Maybe, 2 things in the whole novel were part of the movie. Excluding characters, of course. Point is, if you're reading this book, you better not have watched the movie first!
3 of 5 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
Superfluous Prequel to a Poor Premise,
By
This review is from: G.I. Joe: Above & Beyond (Mass Market Paperback)
Max Allan Collins is usually a great author (Road to Perdition, the Quarry novels, and the Mike Hammer continuation novels are among his most successful works), but he freely admits in the beginning of his novelization of the movie screenplay - of which this prequel builds upon - that he is not someone who grew up with the G.I. Joe universe. He credits an associate, Matthew Clemens, with bringing him "up to speed". Let's also be clear that he is not personally responsible for having flushed the Joe mythos down the tubes in favor of the ridiculous Duke/Ana/Rex triangular origin story. Nor did the horrid buddy relationship between the film's unrecognizable Duke and the ever-juvenile Ripcord begin with him (though it really doesn't get any better in his care). We have the screenwriters to thank for this - and much more. In any case, what Collins is left to begin with has little to do with the G.I. Joe Clemens or the rest of us know and is a flimsy premise to base any franchise on, no matter what the title may be. That said, the most charitable thing I can share about this work is that every once in a great while it vaguely reminded me of the comics I grew up with. That is probably due to the insertion of minor details on secondary characters drawn from bios by Larry Hama. (Had Clemens suggested "Sierra Gordo" instead of "San Sabastiano", for instance, I might have been more impressed by his help.) Often times though, one gets the impression that Collins is merely putting up a cheap facade and that this is G.I. Joe in name only.
Sadly, instead of making the best of a bad premise, Collins gives us shoddy prose and silly scenarios that seem tailored to unsophisticated fourteen-year-olds. He doesn't seem to take this project very seriously and it shows. "President Martin Vincente certainly did not consider himself royalty; nonetheless, he was royally ticked off," begins Chapter 3(43). If that bit of writing appeals to you at all, then this may be your book. During Duke's covert mission, he tells the corrupt General Lopez, "I'm not exactly a geopolitical whiz, but I heard he disappeared. It was on Fox News and everything." (123) I will spare you the never-ending antics of Ripcord. His role in battle as the comedy relief to Duke's straight man might be excusable if any of the things he said was actually funny or clever. Unfortunately, he seems to be a graduate of the Bob Saget school of comedy. Like it or not, it would seem that the one thing in this prequel that is crucial for Collins to get right is the relationship between Duke, Ana, and Rex. We are, after all, now basing the entire creation of Cobra on this romance (and bromance) gone wrong. For some reason though, Duke is constantly showing up on his dates with Ana with the uncouth Ripcord in tow. At one point, that crazy madcap Rip shows up at a fine restaurant in a T-shirt. "Couldn't find your 'Kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out' T-shirt?" teases Duke. (99) Quite a knee-slapper there, Duke. Clearly, these are guys who take their job seriously. And Ana is, strangely, constantly chaperoned by her snobby scientist brother, Rex, who yearns to leave his testtubes aside and prove his manliness by fighting alongside Duke and Ripcord. The whole relationship seems very artificial and the scant two portions of the book where Duke and Ana meet seem inadequate for proper character development. I'd like to know how Duke feels about Rex's constant intrusions; wouldn't he be the least bit annoyed by this other guy? Collins doesn't go there. Ana, whom I imagine most readers already realize becomes a major villain, is portrayed here as a lily-white good girl. That she seems devoid of almost any specific emotional quality or thought save her reluctance to see her brother drawn into battle leads me to believe that the inevitable-brainwashing-to-come ought to be easy. She seems like an ill-defined synthoid to begin with. (She and the whole plot might melt away like wax at the press of a button.) Why Duke is gaga over her aside from her fair hair, one has little idea. Instead of giving us a strong feminine character to love, Collins squanders more time and effort in describing Walker, Texas Ranger-style bar fights that ill-fit G.I. Joe. There are a few bright spots to be found; I thought the Vicente character was well thought-out. Duke's Able Team was more interesting at times than the Joes. There is a couple interesting spots the Joes get into and out of. None of this redeems this prequel from being anything other than disappointingly superfluous though.
1 of 2 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
A BIG disappointment.,
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This review is from: G.I. Joe: Above & Beyond (Mass Market Paperback)
This book was just about as ridiculous as the movie yet just interesting enough to get through the whole thing or I would have put it away and read a different book. I've been a huge G.I. Joe fan since about 1983 and wish i had never bought this book. The best thing about it is the cover. And they've really screwed up the story line. If you want a really good Military Sci-fi read then pick up a Star Wars Republic Command book or one of the Halo books. Those were very well written, full of suspense and somewhat realistic action/combat. But in the G.I. Joe book they pulled grenade pins out with there teeth and Scarlet shot down an attack helicopter with here pistol crossbow.
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