Disclaimer: I don't own G.I. Joe or its associated official characters. I do, however, own my own creations including Turbo, Athena and Ironhide among others. Sadly, I also can't claim the story idea. It was a plot bunny of Calcitrix's that was placed up for adoption.

"How to Slaughter Greenshirts Without Really Trying"
By J.T. Magnus, "Turbo"

"So, think they've had enough yet?"

Ironhide flexed his good arm and looked up at the executive officer of Special Anti-Terrorist Task Unit Delta.

"Major, I think they had enough the first minute after you told them that the Pit was going to become a Slaughterhouse," the Marine Drill Instructor looked around, "How did you manage to swing this, anyway?"

Turbo chuckled, "I knew somebody who knew somebody."

"And you talk like you're from an old gangster movie, kid," the Tomahawk commented, taking a drink of beer, "But seriously, Tom, how DID you manage to get a place like this for a dozen people?"

Athena, the team's Top Sergeant nodded, "It IS nice..."

The major chuckled again, "The Colonel knows Ms. Bancroft's brother, it's a long story, but to make it short; I call him, he calls her brother, her brother calls her and here we are: relaxing in California while the Greenies sweat it out under Slaughter."

All of the gathered officers and non-coms, except for Sparks, stared at him for a minute.

Finally, Ace broke the silence, "You are not a nice person, Turbo."

After G.I. Joe had been reinstated and expanded, it had quickly become a tradition among the 'Greenshirt' support troops to either disrupt the monthly staff meeting or have something interesting happening on base when the meeting was over. Unfortunately, it happened, as it will often do, that they went too far. The command staff was not at all impressed to see a pair of fifty-foot-tall nude blow-up dolls in the middle of the Headquarters building's parking lot when they walked out of the building. That was when the idea was born...

Beachhead was the Chief Drill Instructor, the Greenshirts had to deal with him regularly, so he wouldn't do.

Ironhide was also one of the regular Drill Instructors, so he wouldn't have the special touch needed.

Several other Instructor-qualified Joes were considered before one name was finally picked - Sergeant Robert Slaughter, United States Marine Corps. Or as some called him, Sgt. "I don't need no damn codename" Slaughter. If half the stories surrounding him were true, he was enough of a mean and nasty person to send the devil running home to his momma...

And unfortunately for the Greenshirts, for the next week... He Was The Top.

That was one week ago.

"I know," Turbo said, smiling and taking a cigar out of his mouth, "It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?"

"What's gonna be beautiful is when that kills you. You're twenty years old and smoking cigars like a fifty-year-old billionaire, you probably won't even live to BE fifty," Athena countered.

"Hey, Brad, what's the first rule of poker?" Turbo asked.

"'Always have an ace in the hole'," Ace answered, "Why?"

"Simple, I'm not worried because I have an ace in the hole, remember?"

Sci-Fi had served with Turbo in Frontline, so he had no qualms about grabbing the officer by the throat when he and the other command staff members arrived back at base.

"If you EVER pull this stunt again, we WILL kill you! ...Major," he remembered to add at the end.

"So," Turbo asked, pulling Sci-Fi's hand off, "What happened?"

"You know what happened?"

"'Well, what happened?'"

"'Alright, you name it and it happened', just like you KNEW it was going to," Sci-Fi digressed from the original flow of movie dialouge.

"I know what I WANTED to happen, Sea, so come on, give me some details..."

"Let's see... You left on Sunday..."

Monday. It was not a good day at the Chaplain's Assistants' Supply Depot, nor the top-secret base beneath it known as The Pit. Usually a Greenshirt's day began at oh-six-thirty...

Reveille, honest-to-God Reveille and not 'Jose Cuervo' as it had been the day before, sounded an hour and a half before that time. How the hell the man standing before them managed to be showered, shaved and sober at this time of morning had the scraggly and half-asleep members of the Greenshirts wondering.

"Congratulations, Maggots!" Sgt. Slaughter said in a voice far too loud and chipper for the quarter-past-dead Greenies to handle, "You have just managed to complete your first military act... In about an hour, you're gonna wish you didn't!"

"And that, Major, was just the beginning..."

Tuesday it got worse. Being a member of the Joe Team rather than a Greenshirt meant you had gained the right to have a trace of individuality. Included amongst that was that Joes were allowed to sleep up to an hour later than the Greenshirts were permitted. Which was why most of them were shocked when the Sarge had used command override to enter their quarters and physically haul out of bed the Joes that didn't arrive at the five o'clock Reveille and roll call on the parade ground. Even worse, morning chow remained at oh-seven-hundred, which meant the Joes and Greenshirts of Special Anti-Terrorist Task Unit Delta were forced to endure two hours of exercises before they were permitted to eat breakfast. Normally, that wouldn't be much of a problem since even the non-regular military members were well-trained enough to handle it. However, this was Slaughterhouse-style training, and that meant that it was made to force anyone put through it through the worst wringer in the United States military training arsenal.

Throughout the day, anyone who got the chance tried to slip away to regain their lost time of sleeping, which when the Sarge found them meant that they would be in even more trouble, and they always were.

"...By the end of daylight, Lifeline had threatened the Sarge that if one more soldier came to the infirmary because of exhaustion, he would personally turn him into a mummy, complete with organ removal."

"LIFELINE said that?"

"Oh, yeah. I never thought I'd say this about Ed... But he's scary when he's mad."

"What about 'first do no harm'?"

"Mac asked him about that..."

"What'd he say?"

"'I don't intend to harm him... I intend to murder him.'"

"Remind me not to try and skip my next check-up..."

On Wednesday, they weren't even allowed to sleep in that late. They were up before the sun on a march out into the desert. If it hadn't been for Dusty, Spirit, Dart and others, things could have gotten bad. Real bad. There was no food or water with them, just the clothes they had on when they all set out. It was dark before the were back at the Pit.

Turbo shook his head, "Sea, if I ever leave Slaughter in charge again, and you DON'T kill me for it, I'm gonna have you court-martialed for failure to obey a direct order."

The advanced weapons specialist shrugged, "Those were pretty much the high points. I think that by Thursday and Friday he was running out of ideas on how to torture over a battallion's worth of troops. After all, he does specialize in training small groups."

That's when a brown 'Smokey the Bear' hat topped head leaned into the room.

"Kid, I actually enjoyed this. How about another in a month or so?"

Sci-Fi looked at Turbo, Turbo looked at Sci-Fi, then Turbo reached over to one of the weapon racks that lined the walls of the Rec Room and pulled out a gun, handing it to Sci-Fi


"Yes, SIR!"

"I suggest you start running," Turbo said, nodding to Sci-Fi, who stood up...

Seconds later, a paintball splattered against the wall behind where Sgt. Slaughter had been standing.