Action Force Part III: Confrontation

[Sundance]

Somewhere over western Germany

The four Bobcat helicopters sped toward the Belgian border. Flying the lead helicopter was Chopper, with Skip in the co-pilot’s seat. Blades flew the second with Eagle in the co-pilot seat. Whirl and Downdraft, a Polish MiL-24 pilot flew the third, while the two American pilots Snake-Eater and Night-Stalker flew the fourth.

On board each helicopter were twelve members of Action Force; two manned the side-mounted guns, whilst the other ten sat in tense silence in the rear.

Five miles from the border, the radio crackled in Whirl’s ear.

“Bobcat flight, Lead. Reduce speed and hold position,” Chopper ordered.

Whirl glanced to his side where Downdraft used the controls to lift the helicopter’s nose to decelerate faster, even as he pulled back the throttle. The Polish pilot seemed to be doing well.

The mission had been thrown together quickly and Chopper, accorded seniority over Blades and Snake-Eater by virtue of being older, had insisted on making sure Belgian air traffic control knew they were coming.

The four helicopters hovered near the border for nearly a minute, then Chopper’s voice came back on the channel.

“Bobcat, Lead. We’re clear to enter Belgian air space and proceed to Brussels. Continue squawking emergency code on IFF.”

The lead helicopter’s nose dropped and it accelerated away, Blades’ helo close behind. Downdraft kept up, while a glance in the side mirror confirmed to Whirl that the fourth helicopter was close behind.

“How you doing?” Whirl asked over the interphone circuit.

“Fine,” Downdraft replied. “Not too different to flying the Hind,” he added, referring to the Russian helicopter by its NATO name.

“Good.”

Ten minutes later as they were over central Belgium, the radio squawked once more.

“Bobcat flight, this is Eagle Leader, flight of four F-16s from Belgian Air Component. We’re your escort to Brussels. Maintain current course and speed. We’re joining from south.”

Downdraft glanced at Whirl. “Belgian Air Component?” he asked. “What’s that?”

“It’s their air force,” Whirl answered. “The Belgians merged their forces into a combined unit a few years back, same as Canada and New Zealand have. Chopper’ll handle it.”

“Right.”

“Eagle Leader, this is Bobcat leader. I copy. I have you on radar.”

Moments later, two F-16C Fighting Falcons slid into view out Whirl’s window. He looked across the cockpit to see the other pair on the other side.

“Bobcat Flight, Do you have current intel on the situation in Brussels?”

“Our last update was just before we crossed the border,” Chopper answered. “We were told that the Shadows are being held off by Belgian troops and armed police.”

“Correct. We don’t know how thy got here, but several people reported the Shadowtraks speeding through the city to the police. There’re no reports of any Hyenas or aircraft involved. The Shadows have surrounded the European Parliament building. They’ve shot down a police helicopter and an Army one with shoulder-fired SAMs, so be careful.”

Chopper acknowledged that comment as the helicopters crossed the outskirts of Brussels.

The F-16s circled over the city as the four helicopters descended toward the capital.

“Listen up, guys,” came Skip’s voice over the radio. “I’ve spoken to the local commander in charge. The Shadows are mainly in the Leopold Park behind the Parliament building and the Place du Luxembourg on the other side of the rail lines. Whirl, I want you to put my Z-Force guys in the park, with the ones Chopper’s carrying. Then orbit overhead and provide cover.”

Whirl keyed his radio. “Copy, Skip.”

“Snake-Eater and Blades, drop the SAS guys in the square and provide cover.”

“Wilco, Skip,” replied Snake-Eater.

“Roger that, Colonel,” Blades answered.

Whirl put his hands on his controls. “I have the aircraft.”

Downdraft let go of his controls. “Pilot has the aircraft,” he replied.

Whirl took his hand off the controls long enough to flick his targeting monocle into place, before taking the Bobcat lower, toward the Leopold Park. With the monocle over his right eye, he now controlled the 20mm machine gun mounted on the helicopter’s nose.

Several Red Shadows were easy to spot sprinting across the park, firing at Belgian troops as the British pilot brought the helicopter toward the ground.

A Shadowtrak raced around a building toward them. Whirl didn’t hesitate. He held the trigger on his control stick and sprayed the vehicle with bullets. Several tore through the assault vehicle’s front right tyre, sending it into a skid. More bullets shredded the driver as the vehicle span around.

Whirl brought the helicopter down to a few feet above the ground. He turned his head slightly and screamed, “GO, GO, GO, GO!”

The soldiers were already on the their feet and began leaping clear as he shouted. As soon as the ten troops in the back had leapt clear of the doors, even as Warhead, the door gunner behind him, opened up on a Red Shadow bringing an RPG to bear, Whirl lifted the helicopter from its hover and raced skyward.

“Damn,” Warhead commented over the interphone. “I missed him.”

“As long as he didn’t hit us, I don’t care,” Whirl replied.

On the ground, Red Devil shouted to the four men who’d leapt clear alongside him, “Move it! Go! Get to cover!”

The British paratrooper raised his G-36 to his shoulder and sprinted across the open ground to the nearest trees. A Red Shadow ran toward him, an AK-47 in his hands.

Silently thanking the bad guys for wearing easily identifiable uniforms, Red Devil fired a three round burst that hit the soldier in the chest, dropping him to the floor.

The park was a madhouse as civilians lay screaming in pain and terror and the red uniformed terrorists ran riot.

“Skip to all teams, try to drive ‘em away from the civvies,” the colonel ordered as he fired at a Red Shadow who was trying to line up a Stinger MANPAD on the circling Bobcat.

Skip received several acknowledgments over his headset as the Red Shadow lowered his SAM and turned around. The veteran paratrooper calmly put three rounds into the terrorist and waved his group forward.

“C’mon lads, let’s move it!”

On the other side of the European Parliament building and the train station, the SAS troops were engaged in a ferocious gun battle in the Place du Luxembourg.

Two Shadowtraks were positioned near the station’s entrance and were firing their forward .30 calibre guns as the two Bobcats fired back.

The clatter of gunfire was loud in the small square as Double-Tap leaped from the helicopter.

He, unlike most of the other troops, wasn’t carrying an assault rifle or a sub-machine gun. Instead, he carried a standard issue 9mm SIG P226 pistol, known as the L105 to the British Army.

He brought the pistol up as he crouched beside the Bobcat’s nose. He took aim at the Red Shadow manning the gun on the right-hand vehicle. He fired twice. Despite being a good sixty feet away, and with the down draft from the helicopter’s rotors, Double-Tap’s shots hit the gunner’s neck, throwing him back.

A few feet from him the Australian commando known as Anzac swore. “Geez, man, how’d you do that?”

“Practice,” Double-Tap replied, aiming at the gunner in the left-hand vehicle. Anzac and a Polish SAS trooper called Piorun opened fire with their G-36s as the right-hand Shadowtrak started moving forward.

Suddenly, a bullet slammed into the ground a few feet in front of Double-Tap. The marksman leaped to his feet and dashed across the street toward the nearest parked car.

Piorun and Anzac were close on his heels. The Bobcats lifted clear and a second gunshot hit the car’s window above the three commandos.

“Sniper,” Piorun pronounced in his strong Gdansk accent. “Probably on the station roof.”

“Agreed,” Double-Tap nodded. He pulled out his radio.

“Double-Tap to all SAS teams. Sniper on the station roof.”

“Copy that,” replied the voice of the American SEAL sniper known as Hunter.

Double-Tap looked across the square to see both Hunter and his partner, Longshot, were leaning on the rear of a Citron car.

The snipers were carefully albeit hastily adjusting their sniper rifles. “Got him?” Hunter asked.

“Nope.”

“Me either. Hold on. Bingo.” Hunter squinted as he adjusted his sights.

Kill Shot was trying to spot the three soldiers who dived behind the car after he tried to shoot the pistol marksman. He didn’t even see the snipers setting up behind the car.

Overhead, a Bobcat circled. Suddenly, Snow Wolf, the Chinese commando spotted Kill Shot.

“Sniper!” he shouted. “Station roof!”

The commando opened fire with his door-gun.

Kill Shot dove for cover as the 7.62mm bullets slammed into the station roof. On the street below, Hunter cursed as he lost his shot. Snow Wolf, however, continued spraying bullets at the sniper as he rolled over, dropped his Dragunov sniper rifle and ran across the roof, desperate to reach safety.

Bullets chased Kill Shot as he sprinted across the flat roof, leapt and dropped on to the glass roof over the station. He rolled over, cursing as he felt pain stab through his feet. The Bobcat shot overhead, engine roaring.

“God damn Action Force,” Kill Shot cursed. He gingerly got to his feet. The glass near him creaked ominously. “Oh, yeah, that’d be right,” he muttered.

In the Rue Weirtz, between the station and the Parliament building, Baron Ironblood was crouched behind a Shadowtrak, with the Black Major. Ironblood was cradling an Uzi sub-machine gun in his hands whilst the Major was listening intently to his radio headset.

Gunfire pinged off the assault vehicle, which had been crippled by a Belgian police officer. Said officer was now dead in the street. Several of the other Shadowtraks had remained in the street to cover the Baron and his right-hand man.

Belgian troops were off to the left, near the junction with the Rue Montoyer, firing sporadically at the Red Shadows.

The major swivelled his headset away from his mouth and turned to Ironblood. “We’re in trouble, Baron.”

“How so, Major?” the Baron asked.

“Action Force has arrived. Obviously your source’s information that they were training in Europe was correct. Red Jackal reports that his group in the park has come under fire from a group of soldiers airdropped in by the helicopters we’ve heard overhead. He says he is taking heavy casualties and wants to withdraw to this street, to cut off the Belgians and reinforce us.”

Ironblood frowned behind his helmet. “What about Shrapnel’s group on the other side of the station?”

“Red Jackal says he’s lost contact with them and believes they’re under attack also.”

“Get Shrapnel on the radio and tell him to fall back to the Rue Belliard. We need to get back to the airport. I knew I should’ve brought the Roboskulls,” Ironblood cursed.

The Major swivelled the headset back into place, trying to raise Shrapnel.

In the nearby park, Red Devil and his team were pressing their attack on the Shadowtraks.

“Tracker, Raider, flank them on the right. Blast Wave, Toro, follow me!” Red Devil shouted.

The troops cut loose with sustained bursts from their G-36s before sprinting forward.

One of the Red Shadow gunners fired back, causing Blast Wave and Toro to dive for cover. Blast Wave pulled a grenade from his bandolier, shoved it into the breech of his AG36 grenade launcher, which he then slammed shut.

The Polish commando levelled the weapon and fired. The grenade slammed into the ammo box on the side of the gun and detonated. The explosion tore apart the gun, the Red Shadow’s chest and sent the driver reeling back.

Suddenly a male voice yelled out, “Red Shadows, retreat!”

Almost instantly, the five surviving Shadowtraks’ engines roared to life and they began dashing across the park, some slowing to allow other gunmen to leap aboard, others simply running flat out. Gunfire chased them across the park as the Z-Force troops tried to stop them.

“Follow me!” Red Devil yelled, sprinting toward a police van.

He scrambled into the driver’s seat as Tracker scrambled into the front passenger’s seat.

Blast Wave and Toro scrambled into the van’s rear as Raider grabbed an abandoned police motorcycle.

The two vehicles screamed out of the park on to Steenweg op Etterbeek and headed north.

More Shadowtraks raced out of the park onto Rue Belliard, with two Belgian Army Dingo jeeps in pursuit, Roadhog was driving one, with Diablo manning the gun turret, while Jammer was driving the second.

“Jammer, I hope to hell you can drive stick!” shouted Sureshot, the sniper who was manning the gun turret.

“Relax, bro’, I drive an import Civic back home. I got this!” Jammer called back.

On the west side of the park, Ironblood and the Black Major had scrambled aboard a Shadowtrak and were racing up Rue Weirtz with a Belgian police car and a civilian car on their tail, with more Z-Force troops hanging out the windows, firing at the red assault vehicle.

As the chase raced past the intersection with Rue Montoyer, three more Shadowtraks joined them. One sprayed the police car, causing Bolt, Ton-Up and Trax to duck as the engine block was shot apart. The civilian Peugeot raced past, with Ring-Tone hanging out the left rear window, spraying the Shadowtrak that had crippled the police car.

In the Place du Luxembourg, Double-Tap, Anzac and Piorun had scrambled aboard a Shadowtrak, with Double-Tap wrestling the vehicle into gear and running. Already, Tane, Quickfire and Beaver were on the heels of the retreating Shadowtraks in a Belgian Army Dingo, while Beaver, Sabre and Barracuda had commandeered a Belgian police car.

The Action Force troops raced on to the Rue de Tréves and headed north in pursuit of two of the Shadowtraks.

As they sped through the streets, the Red Shadows manning the rear guns on the vehicles were spraying bullets indiscriminately at their pursuers. Several parked vehicles were shot up.

Sparrowhawk raced up the street on a Honda motorcycle and caught up with Tane’s Dingo.

“They’re heading on to Belliardstraat!” he shouted to Beaver in the gun turret. “Keep chasing them!”

“Got it!” the Canadian shouted back before ducking into the vehicle to tell the New Zealander driving.

The chase was soon overrunning the Belliardstraat and the adjoining Rue Belliard as the vehicles headed east.

As the chased crashed through a police barricade on the junction with the Oudergemsalaan, the Red Shadows hosed the police and bystanders with indiscriminate fire.

Where they could, the Action Force troops fired at the Red Shadows, but the gunmen had less compunction and blazed away at their pursuit, regardless of the civilians in the line of fire. Several bystanders were hit as the chase moved on to the Avenue de la Joyeuse Entrée, while at least three civilian cars were hit, causing crashes.

Jammer took one hand off the wheel of his Dingo to hit his radio’s earpiece. “Anyone know where the hell we’re going?”

“Looks like they’re heading for the Kortenberg tunnel,” Roadhog replied as two of the Bobcat helicopters roared overhead at low level.

“Where’s that lead?” Jammer asked.

“Could lead any where,” Sureshot answered from the gun turret.

Jammer grunted in acknowledgement as he slid the van-like vehicle around a shot-up BMW.

Above the city, Eagle watched as the continuing car chase played out below. “Don’t lose them, Blades.”

“Don’t fret, Eagle. This is easier than flying cas-evacs in Baghdad.”

“We’ve got company,” Snow Wolf reported from the left-side gun position.

“Who?” Eagle asked.

“News helicopter,” the gunner replied. “There’s a pair of Bobcats close behind too.”

Calw, Germany

The Commander and Major Flagg watched the unfolding car chase on the TV screens in the ops room. Euronews was showing the chaos live. A second screen showed BBC News was showing the Euronews coverage as well.

“What the hell are they doing?” The Commander demanded. “This isn’t goddamn Hollywood!”

“Off hand, I’d say they’re doing their jobs.”

The Commander glowered at Flagg.

Brussels

The car chase entered the Kortenberg tunnel. The soldiers were forced to dodge more and more shunted aside civilian vehicles as the Red Shadow drivers simply rammed aside anything that got in their way, whilst the rear gunners continued to blaze away with their weapons.

Luckily for the commandoes. Most of the gunfire missed them. Unluckily, it was hitting everyone else.

The Shadowtraks emerged on to the A3 motorway. A quarter of a mile up the road from the tunnel entrance, two of the Bobcat helicopters hovered over the busy road, like some kind of alien raptor.

As the Shadowtraks got into range, the two helicopters, pilot by Snake-Eater and Whirl opened fire with their turret-mounted 20mm machine guns. The forward gunners on the three leading Shadowtraks opened fire at the helicopters.

Snake-Eater managed to hit the Red Shadow manning the gun on one Shadowtrak, before he was forced to pull the Bobcat up and away from the return fire.

Whirl hit the driver and gunner of the second Shadowtrak, killing both, but return fire pinged off the helicopter’s underside.

The British pilot whipped the helicopter around, pivoting in the air to bring the turret to bear and fired once more. Behind him, Warhead opened fire with his 7.62mm machine gun, spraying another Shadowtrak with bullets. A Red Shadow in the vehicle raised a LAW anti-tank rocket launcher.

“RPG! RPG! RPG!” Warhead screamed at Whirl.

The rocket launched, trailing white smoke as it streaked skyward.

Whirl jammed the throttle forward and dropped the nose, causing the helicopter to shoot forward, the missile to speed harmlessly past and slamming both Warhead and Horsepower, the other door gunner, into the back of Whirl and Downdraft’s seats.

“Hang on,” Whirl ordered as he span the helicopter around, lined up on the offending Shadowtrak and fired.

The six-wheeled assault vehicle was almost sawn in half as the bullets shredded the LAW-wielding Shadow and punched into the vehicle’s base.

Whirl dropped the helicopter lower, now flying only scant feet above the roofs of cars heading west along the motorway. He then began flying the helicopter sideways, keeping the nose pointed at the column of vehicles. Whirl opened fire again, as Warhead and Horsepower twisted their door guns to face forward and opened fire.

As the convoy continued up the motorway, the pursuing Action Force troops began to open fire at the rear-guard vehicles once more. Some shots hit, mostly on the Shadowtraks’ rear armour. Most missed.

Chopper and Blades dropped their helicopters in low on either side of the convoy, allowing Throttle and Wireless, the two door gunners to open fire.

The Shadowtraks in the middle of the convoy opened fire, trying to drive off the helicopters.

Throttle yelped in pain as a ricochet hit him in the shoulder, staggering him.

“Blades, break off,” Eagle ordered. “Chopper, we’ve got an injured man here. Breaking off to higher altitude.”

“Copy that, Eagle. We’re taking a lot of fire and breaking off as well.”

The two Bobcats climbed away from the motorway as the Shadowtraks began turning on to the turnpike, to head north.

“Where the hell are we going?” muttered Whirl as he hovered his Bobcat helicopter over the turnpike, watching as the Shadowtraks merged on to the R0.

He pivoted the helicopter and looked around. “Oh, sh*t.”

He keyed his radio. “All AF units, target vehicles are heading for the airport. Say again, Red Shadows heading to the airport!”

Once again, Whirl dropped his nose and increased his speed, dashing across the city to try to cut off Ironblood’s escape.

The four Bobcats were soon hovering over the airport, waiting for the Shadowtraks.

Minutes later, still being chased by the troops on the ground, the surviving six Shadowtraks raced along the A201, cut across a car-park and smashed through the gates into a cargo loading area.

Ironblood held the Black Major’s radio to his ear.

“Are you ready for take off?” he demanded.

“The planes are ready,” replied Red Condor. “But they’ve shut down all air traffic. We’ve got no clearance for take off.”

“You can fly with out can’t you?” Ironblood snarled.

“Of course, but the Belgian air force is around. So are those Action Force helicopters.”

“Don’t worry about them!”

The Shadowtraks crashed through another fence and raced across open tarmac toward a pair of Ilyushin 76 transport planes. The Bobcats converged on them quickly.

The helicopters hovered low over the two transport planes as the Shadowtraks drove up the planes’ tail ramps.

Ironblood leaped clear of the Shadowtrak he’d been in and scrambled into the cockpit next to Red Condor and a Red Shadow pilot.

“Are you running engines?” Ironblood asked.

“Yes,” Condor answered.

“Good, get moving.”

“What about the helicopters?” Condor asked.

“Were the modifications completed?”

“Yes,” Condor replied, sounding confused.

“Taxi to the runway,” Ironblood ordered.

As Skip watched from the cockpit of the Bobcat helicopter, both ‘Candid’ transport planes raised their rear ramps and taxied across the aircraft parking area toward the taxiway that adjoined the runway.

“Hose ‘em,” he ordered over the interphone.

Chopper opened fire on the lead Il-76 with the nose gun as behind him, Muzzle opened fire with his door gun.

Whirl opened fire with his gun, as did Snake-Eater. The bullets bounced off the airplanes’ armoured bodies.

The two planes continued to taxi into position for take off. The first Il-76 taxied to the white ‘hold’ line, bullets pinging off its hull. Then, it suddenly launched flares and smoke canisters from launchers on the wing-roots.

Reacting instinctively, all three helicopter pilots pulled back, avoiding the cloud of smoke and the burning flares. The Il-76 raced down the runway at full throttle, quickly reaching rotate speed, its nose lifted and then it was away.

The second Il-76 ‘Candid’ thundered forward to the hold line, revved its engines to maximum and then launched into its take-off run.

The two transports began rapid climbs away from Brussels and the airport, turning northwest, toward the Channel coast.

The planes had soon passed above the helicopters maximum altitude.

The four Belgian F-16s raced west to follow them.

Somewhere over southern Germany
Thirty minutes later

Sky Raider’s radio squawked in his ear.

“Sky Raider, this is the Commander, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear, general, what’s up?”

“Your training flight is hereby cancelled. Ironblood’s escaped from Brussels aboard an Ilyushin ‘Candid’ transport. They were pursued out of Belgian air space by four F-16s, but the government wouldn’t allow them to shoot the planes down as they’re registered to a Kazakh company,” the Commander informed him. “Can you intercept them and either shoot them down or track them?”

“We’re only armed with machine guns, Commander. But we can try to track them.”

“French radar is tracking them in international airspace over the channel, heading south-west.”

“See if you can get a French tanker to meet us over the Bay of Biscay. Three of the F/A-24s. We’ll meet them there in around ninety minutes.”

“I’ll do what I can. Base out.”

Sky Raider switched to the squadron’s discrete channel. “This is Sky Raider to Space Force, Sky Raider to Space Force, come in.”

The other pilots quickly acknowledged.

“All right, you guys, listen up. Ironblood’s over the English Channel. Our training mission is cancelled. Hawkwind, I want you to lead everyone back to Ramstein. Spitfire, Moon Dancer, you’re on me.”

The Swedish pilot led most of the F/A-24s away.

“Listen up guys. I want your IFF beacons off, shut down your radar and all other systems. Climb to maximum altitude and go to super-cruise speed. We’ll make a dash across France, meet a tanker off La Rochelle and then intercept the transports over the Atlantic.”

The other pilots acknowledged and they raced upwards to their maximum altitude, before throttling their engines up to their highest settings.

Somewhere north of Spain
One hour later

The three F/A-24s were trailing behind the Il-76s at high altitude. The two transports had been picked up by Spanish radar, flying southwest over the Atlantic and after the fighters refuelled, they cruised south to meet the planes.

It was a very boring mission, Sky Raider concluded as they trundled south, passing the border with Portugal, a hundred miles to their left.

The transports seemed to be heading for somewhere in Africa, the major thought. He was grateful the Commander had arranged for a Spanish tanker to meet them in an hour off Cadiz. It would enable them to pursue the transports for longer.

Calw, Germany
That evening

“It’s 6 o’clock. And now the news, with George Alagiah. Tonight’s top story, the terrorist known as Baron Ironblood has struck at the heart of Europe. The Belgian capital, Brussels was a scene of chaos today as Ironblood and his Red Shadow troops attacked the European Parliament. The UN-sanctioned military group known as Action Force responded to the attack, but it left hundreds dead.”

The Commander rubbed his nose as he listened to the BBC news that Wireless was pirating off a digital satellite feed.

“Good Evening. Once again, a major European capital city came under attack as Baron Ironblood and his Red Shadow gunmen attacked the European Parliament in Brussels today. Despite the efforts of both the Belgian police and army, it took the international commandos known as Action Force to drive off Ironblood and his associates. The attack left 147 Belgian police and soldiers dead, with another 33 in hospital. 178 Belgian civilians were killed, with another 42 injured. So far, 25 Red Shadows are known to have died in the gun battle outside the Espace Leopold, with at least one of the gunmen captured. Action Force’s troops escaped with only minor injuries. Our security correspondent Frank Gardner has the full report on today’s events. Frank.”

The Commander switched the television off and stood up. Action Force had indeed been lucky. Whilst Throttle and Powerslide had both suffered gun shot wounds, most of the injuries had been cuts from shrapnel and bruises from the impact of bullets on body armour. Throttle had suffered a shoulder injury that ruled him out of any missions for the time being, whilst Powerslide, a Russian Z-Force jeep driver had had a round hit him in the arm. Thankfully, his injury was a lot less severe.

The Commander went back to the separate ops room the Germans had set up. Sky Raider, fresh from his recon mission, was looking at a laptop’s screen with Eagle and Skip either side of him. Quarrel, the Swiss woman who served as Z-Force’s Intelligence officer, was studying another computer’s screen. Major Flagg was busy reading some paperwork.

“What have we got, then?” The Commander asked, swigging from his mug.

“American recon sats have downloaded imagery from the area,” Sky Raider announced. “It’s definite. Ironblood’s got a camp in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains in Algeria.”

Quarrel looked around. “We’ve got confirmation they’ve got an SA-6 battery there. As well as Shilka anti-air tanks.”

The Commander took off his cap and scratched his head. “Great. How do we get there if we’ve got those kind of air defences to worry about.”

“Och, we’ve got a good idea, Commander,” Skip said, his Scottish accent thickening in his excitement. “Sky Raider and his laddies may not be able to hit those defences with their Wraiths, but Eagle and his lads can.”

“If we can’t use the F/A-24s, how can a bunch of commandos take them out?” The Commander asked.

“HALO jump,” Eagle answered. “There’s a late-night cargo flight out of Marrakech, that goes to Chad. We substitute our C-130 for the regular flight. Plane follows the flight-plan of the cargo bird, the Red Shadows ignore it. Then the SAS HALO jump in. We can knock out the Shilka tanks and the radar for the SAM site.”

“Then,” Sky Raider continued. “My guys fly in and hit the TELs and the Roboskull pad.” TELs were the Transporter-Erector/Launcher, the vehicle that carried the surface-to-air missiles.

“The remaining Roboskulls take off after the Wraiths,” Skip continued. “Then my boys drive their battle tanks and jeeps in and draw off the Hyenas and Shadowtraks.”

“Then the SAS moves in and grabs Ironblood and the Major,” Eagle concluded.

“Of course, we’ll need to send in a recon team first to be sure Ironblood’s still there,” Major Flagg pointed out as he set aside his papers.

“True,” Eagle agreed.

“Even if he isn’t, I want this place taken out,” The Commander said. “Let’s make this happen.”

The foot hills of the Atlas Mountains
Algeria
Three days later

The recon team had parachuted in to the area ten miles from the Red Shadow camp. Tracker, the Spanish recon expert from Z-Force led the way. Prowl, an American from SAS Force, was close behind him. Trailing slightly further back were Sureshot and Bolt, the Z-Force sniper pair. At the rear of the group was the SAS Force desert warfare expert Sandstorm.

The group trudged up the side of a hill, dropping to crawl the last few metres. Sureshot and Bolt set up their rifles, an M-82 .50 calibre and a smaller L-118A1 7.62mm rifle. Tracker pulled out a pair of binoculars, which he used to scan the camp. Prowl pulled out a compact digital camcorder and set it up. Since it was still dark, he didn’t bother turning it on.

“Looks quiet,” Tracker whispered. “No sign of foot patrols very far out. A few sentries inside the perimeter. No watchtowers. No fence.”

“I’ll take watch,” Sandstorm said. “Everyone else, get some sleep.”

The rest of the group slithered down the sandy slope and quickly got comfortable, using their packs as pillows and tried to sleep. Sandstorm peered through Tracker’s binoculars, then tried to get comfortable.

When the sun rose the following morning, Sandstorm set up their radio at the foot of the hill, while Prowl set about filming the camp with whispered commentary.

Sandstorm activated his radio as Tracker set up a small portable computer.

“Ferret to Nest, Ferret to Nest. Come in, Nest.”

“Nest here, Ferret. Copy you five-by-five. Commander is here. Go ahead.” Sandstorm recognised Jammer’s voice.

“Nest, have set up OP overlooking camp. SA-6 battery visually confirmed. Confirm multiple Shilkas. Have seen no long-range foot or vehicle patrols. Multiple Roboskulls sighted. Large force of Hyena tanks and Shadowtraks. Stand by for visual sweep.”

“Copy that, Ferret. Standing by,” The Commander answered.

Prowl slid down the hillside and took a memory card from the camcorder and handed it to Tracker.

“Uplink established,” Tracker announced. “Copying data.”

The Spaniard quickly worked the keyboard and then transferred the video file.

“Uploading data now,” Sandstorm reported.

“Have you sighted any HVTs?” The Commander asked.

“Negative. Large numbers of Red Shadows spotted, no tier one targets yet.”

“Upload complete,” Tracker reported.

“Copy, commencing download. End transmission, will contact if necessary.”

“Out,” Sandstorm answered. He shut off the radio.

Two days later

It took a day and a half for Z-Force to transfer their four battle tanks, four Hawk attack helicopters, five jeeps, two missile tanks and seven rapid-fire bikes to Algeria with German Hercules transports. They were literally driven off the planes’ rear ramps as the planes flew at low level across the desert floor. Z-Force then moved out to rendezvous with the recon team. At the same time, the SAS Force had moved to Marrakech and was standing by with a Moroccan Hercules. Riptide, Undertow, Fathom and Shark from Q-Force were with the SAS commandos to bolster their numbers. Space Force had flown their F/A-24s to an Algerian air base outside Barga.

Finally, the commandos boarded their C-130 and it took off into the moonless night sky.

The thirty commandos were dressed in black and grey camouflage battle dress with black helmets and thin ski masks to cover their faces. Each carried an MP-5 sub-machine gun, except Hunter and Longshot the snipers who were carrying an M-82 and an L118A1 like those Sureshot and Bolt were equipped with. The soldiers also carried spare ammo; a pair of flash-bang stun-grenades and a small number of ration bars and a canteen of water. Sparrowhawk checked over everyone’s parachutes twice.

Of the thirty commandos, twenty-nine were men. The single female was a South Korean woman codenamed Shade. She’d been a member of the 707th Special Missions Unit, one of only a handful of units worldwide that allowed women to join. Most of the women were used for undercover covert ops. Shade had had to prove herself more than any other SAS Force member to get in. The fact was, as Eagle had had to concede, she was just as good as the men. Since she was a skilled martial artist, she was also capable of kicking all of their butts.

Now, as the plane thundered through the night sky, as she sat next to Double-Tap and an Icelandic commando named Redline, Shade wondered whether volunteering for Action Force had been such a bright idea. She hoped like hell, it didn’t kill her.

Next to her, Redline was harbouring his own doubts. He’d been a rally driver for five years; winning races worldwide, until in 2001 he quit the racing circuit and joined the British Army in the wake of 9/11. After three years in a regular unit, he’d volunteered for Special Forces. After completing selection, instead of joining the SAS, he’d joined the Special Reconnaissance Regiment. Even after six years, of being in UKSF, Ragnar Ragnarsson was still a hot driver. He’d volunteered for Action Force after learning that Eagle was after at least three specialist jeep drivers. Redline was one of them. Now, however, he was wondering if he’d made a mistake. It was a niggle he’d had before. This time it was more than a niggle. Why he was so doubtful, he didn’t know. He’d been determined to make a great soldier and every step in his career had proven he was.

Finally, after nearly an hour, Sparrowhawk announced it was time to get ready to jump.

First to jump would be Cougar, a British trooper, Tane, a New Zealander and Lobo, a Spaniard. They stepped forward, bracing themselves as the ramp whined down.

The green light came on and the three soldiers walked off the ramp. The rest of the group quickly followed. Eagle, Hunter and Longshot were near the end, with Sparrowhawk, Stakeout and Beaver bringing up the rear.

At Z-Force’s command post, Skip watched the Hercules as it rumbled high overhead and the paratroops leapt clear. He lowered the night-vision goggles and turned to Ring-Tone.

“Signal The Commander. Mission is a go.”

The radio operator nodded and turned back toward his radio set. Next to him, Short Wave, Wireless, Jammer and Breaker were trying to determine whether the camp was sending any broadcasts, whilst Tracker and the two Z-Force snipers remained in place, watching the camp. Skip turned to Quarrel.

“Tell everyone to get ready. It’ll be kicking off soon.”

The woman nodded and ran toward the vehicles. Skip looked over to where The Doc, Triage and Tourniquet the three medics were inspecting their medical packs once more. He hoped they wouldn’t be needed. For Action Force, at least. He turned to Breaker.

“Get on to Sky Raider. Tell him to get his guys airborne.”

“Si, Colonel.”

A thousand feet over the camp, the SAS Force deployed their parachutes and quickly steered themselves toward their targets. Nine were landing in close proximity to the Shilka vehicles and the SA-6 command trailer. The tenth group – Eagle and the snipers – landed several yards from the camp near a rise on the valley’s southern flank.

Once the teams were down and free of their parachutes, one of the three commandos pulled a block of C-4 plastic explosive from their kit sprinted to the Shilka, or the command trailer in Undertow’s case, and planted the charge.

The charges were set off simultaneously, blowing apart the guns on the turrets of the tanks and destroying the command trailer.

As the explosions rocked the valley floor, Eagle looked up to see the F/A-24s racing in. Each fired off a single missile before breaking away.

Eight of the anti-tank missiles hit and destroyed either an SA-6 TEL vehicle or one of the trucks carrying the reloads. A ninth missile hit the ‘Straight Flush’ radar vehicle. The final three missiles streaked across the camp and hit the massed parking area of the Roboskull pad.

Eagle smiled in satisfaction as several of the red skull-like craft were blown apart.

The Wraith fighter jets circled over the camp as a siren began wailing, causing the camp inhabitants to start sprinting around.

Outside the valley, Gaucho and Ton-Up drove their missile tanks toward the mouth of the valley, readied their launchers and then fired four missiles each.

The results were devastating. Half the Hyena tanks and several dozen Red Shadows were wiped out as the barrage hit the tank laager. The rest of the tanks, along with the Shadowtraks began streaming out of their parked positions as the rest of Z-Force’s vehicles raced into the valley.

Eagle activated his radio headset. “SAS, move in,” he ordered.

The commandos darted towards the tents and rough-built vehicle repair buildings.

Cougar led the way into the first tent, Lobo and Tane close behind him. Three Red Shadows were inside, pulling on their uniforms.

“Freeze,” Cougar snapped, his sub-machine gun levelled at the closest.

The one at the rear drew a Makarov pistol from his belt. Tane wasted no time shooting him. The other two immediately put their hands up.

“Lobo, get the flex-ties and cuff em. We’ll collect them later,” Cougar ordered. He and Tane covered the Spaniard as he pulled out two lengths of plastic and cuffed their hands. Cougar then made Tane remove the three AK-47s, the three Makarov pistols and the knife that they found in the tent whilst Lobo tied the terrorists ankles.

In another tent, Stakeout, Beaver and Sparrowhawk had shot two Red Shadows. A third was unconscious on the ground after Beaver punched him. The three commandos moved out and entered another tent.

It was empty, they moved on.

In another part of the camp, several Red Shadows were boarding their Hyena tanks as Red Wolf shouted orders to them. The red armoured vehicles were soon racing out of the laager. Three Roboskulls raced low overhead as Red Wolf’s radio crackled.

“Red Wolf, this is Red Condor. I’ve just spotted at least five jeeps and four tanks entering the valley. I suggest you get your tanks out quick, I’ve got a squadron of stealth jets to deal with.”

Red Wolf snarled before keying the walkie-talkie. “Copy that, Condor. My unit is mobilising now.”

Red Wolf raised his binoculars and looked across the valley toward the mouth. He could see several shapes in the darkness, but nothing specific.

He heard a missile screaming in and dived for cover. A Hyena nearby exploded. Then a second and a third followed. Two attack helicopters he didn’t recognise flew overhead, spraying bullets from a chin-turret.

Red Wolf turned and sprinted back into the camp, leaving the tank crews to deal with the oncoming enemy force. He decided to try to find the Baron and convince him to escape.

Snake-Eater pivoted his Hawk helicopter around and sprayed another Hyena with 20mm bullets. The engine exploded and the crew leapt clear. His radar-warning receiver issued a shrill alarm and he accelerated away as a shoulder-fired SAM flashed past his tail boom. Looking through his night-vision monocle, he followed the smoke trail back to the missileer and sprayed the area with bullets.

Blades and Chopper were using their long-standing partnership flying Apaches to good effect, one baiting the Red Shadows into firing SAMs as the Hawks hovered overhead, and then the other gunning down the missileer.

Steeler watched through his view-slit as the battle tank rumbled around Gaucho’s missile tank and headed into the valley. Fires burning through the camp illuminated the chaotic battlefield.

“Target tank, ten o’clock,” he reported. “Lock!”

“Locked!” Spartan replied.

“Fire!”

“Firing!”

The tank’s 120mm shell hit the Hyena’s turret square on the guns and detonated, wrecking them.

“Depress gun and fire again,” Steeler ordered. The second shot blew the tracks off.

“Kill. New target, eleven o’clock.”

“Locked!”

“Fire!”

“Firing!”

The second Hyena was hit on its turret, which exploded upward and flipped over before dropping back to the ground, hitting the side of the tank. Ammunition began exploding in the tank’s hull.

“Catastrophic kill,” Steeler announced. “Move out.”

“Moving,” Trojan acknowledged. The battle tank began speeding forward. Bullets from a Shadowtrak pinged off the hull, then the Red Shadow vehicle was hit by an anti-tank missile and exploded. A jeep raced past.

“WOOHOO!” Warhead bellowed as Roadhog sped past the burning Shadowtrak they’d just destroyed. Another Shadowtrak was racing toward them. Warhead set aside the controls for the anti-tank missiles and took hold of the dashboard-mounted .30 calibre machine gun. The gun belched bullets as the jeep sped forward. Some pinged off the Shadowtrak’s armoured hull, but several hit the front left wheel, causing it to skid. As it turned, Warhead continued firing and cut down both gunners.

Wheels was driving his Land Rover jeep hard, racing across the valley floor, while the Spaniard Toro was blazing away with the machine gun at a Shadowtrak as it tried to come to the aid of another.

More Roboskulls had lifted off from their pad and were trying to provide air support to the ground troops, but they were facing stiff opposition from the F/A-24 Wraiths. Moon Dancer had claimed one kill, hitting the Roboskull as it took off with a burst of gunfire.

Spitfire had taken down two Roboskulls and was pursuing a third. Too close for a heat-seeking missile, he was trying to lock on for long enough to fire his guns.

Sky Raider raced across the camp, pulled up and caught a Roboskull as it tried to get onto Kiwi’s tail. Sky Raider’s gunfire shredded two of the tilt-wing’s engine pods and sent it plummeting from the sky.

Afterburner, another British pilot, was trying to shake off a Roboskull that was dogging his tail. “Blast it, Shar, where are you?” he muttered to his wingman. Then the other Wraith suddenly dropped into view directly ahead of him, racing toward a collision. Afterburner dropped his nose and dove toward the ground as the Royal Navy pilot in the other jet fired his guns. The Roboskull was Swiss-cheesed by the 20mm guns.

Raven was getting more and more irate as he followed Moon Dancer through another manoeuvre. The American-born Arab pilot was insisting on taking the lead and not allowing his Russian wingman to get a chance at attacking the Red Shadows. This was really hacking him off. ‘Goddamnit,’ Raven thought. ‘I feel like shooting him down.’

Back inside the camp Lobo, Cougar and Tane had cleared the first of garage buildings. They got ready to enter the next.

Lobo and Cougar stood either side of the door. Tane kicked the door open and dodged aside. No gunfire emerged, so Lobo threw in a flash-bang that detonated, and then Cougar leaped in through the doorway.

Four Red Shadows were directly in front of him. He fired a three round burst, killing the first, tracked left as he dived aside and fired another three round burst. A second Red Shadow fell. Cougar hit the floor, rolled on his shoulder and fired as he went over, hitting the third Shadow. As he came back on to his feet, Lobo crashed in the door and gunned down the fourth Red Shadow.

“Clear!” Lobo called.

“Clear!” Cougar shouted back.

They moved to the next garage.

All across the camp, the soldiers were clearing one tent after another, battling the Red Shadows who were unwise enough to resist. Near the rough airstrip, at the back of the tents, Quickfire, Anzac and Archer were getting ready to enter.

“What was that?” Archer asked.

“What?” Quickfire whispered back to the New Zealander.

“Thought I saw someone over there,” Archer replied, pointing to the rear of the tent.

“Check it out,” Quickfire ordered. “We can handle this.”

Archer nodded and jogged away. Quickfire and Anzac stacked up by the door.

“We’ve cleared six empty tents,” Anzac commented. “You go in. I’ll cover you.”

Quickfire nodded. He burst in.

Standing in front of him were Baron Ironblood and the Black Major. Neither was armed.

“Freeze!” Quickfire snapped. “Anzac, get in here! We’ve hit the jackpot!”

There was the sound of a gunshot, then Quickfire heard the tent flap move. The Black Major grinned. Quickfire risked a look around.

Standing behind him was a burly Slavic looking man. He had a Makarov in his hand, levelled at Quickfire’s face. The last thing Quickfire saw was a flash of light as a deafening bang filled his ears.

“Well done, Red Jackal,” Ironblood commented.

“I just took out his back-up,” Red Jackal said. “We need to get out of here. Red Wolf’s over at the airstrip. He’s got two pilots prepping one of the Candids.”

“Very well. We will withdraw,” Ironblood conceded. “Action Force may have found this base, but there are plenty of others.”

The three men walked out, leaving Quickfire’s bleeding body on the floor.

Outside the tent, they dashed across the rough airstrip toward the large Il-76 transport plane. Red Wolf was standing near by, watching as a pair of maintainers fuelled the plane.

“Make sure they finish the refuelling,” Ironblood ordered to Red Jackal and Red Wolf. “The Major and I will be onboard.”

A shot rang out across the desert. The fuel tanker sprayed jet fuel out. Some of it sprayed across Red Jackal’s face before he could turn away. As the Black Major grabbed Ironblood’s arm and pulled him toward the plane, a second shot rang out. The jet fuel spraying from the tanker ignited and the fireball hit Jackal’s face with a distinctive ‘woomph’ noise. The Russian screamed in agony.

Red Wolf tackled him to the floor, pulled off his red and black jacket and smothered the flames on Jackal’s face. As the Russian continued to scream, Wolf lifted him into a shoulder carry and ran toward the transport’s rear ramp.

Inside, Wolf lay Jackal down on three of the troop seats and pulled his smouldering jacket away. The Russian’s face was a hideous mess of burns.

Black Major was shouting into his headset as Ironblood raised the cargo ramp.

“Get your ass over here, Condor! I don’t give a sh*t about the Action Force jets! The Baron’s evacuating and there’s a goddamn sniper nearby! Get it done!”

The transport began to spool up its engines.

On the rise overlooking the camp, Eagle looked at Longshot.

“I thought you said you had a shot,” he snarled.

“I did. On Jackal.”

“Well, you missed him as well as Ironblood.”

“I know!” the sniper snapped.

“Incoming!” Hunter bellowed as a pair of Roboskulls raced toward them.

The three men leapt to their feet and threw themselves over the side of the small hill, abandoning the sniper rifles as the Roboskulls opened fire.

The top of the rise exploded as the bullets ripped across it, showering Eagle and the snipers with dirt. Below them, the transport finally began its take off run. Eagle activated his headset.

“Playback, call Space Force! Get them to take out that transport! Ironblood’s on board!” he shouted over the roar of the engines. He didn’t hear the German acknowledge, but a moment later two Wraiths screamed out of the night sky toward the transport.

Then the Roboskulls came back and opened fire.

The two stealth fighters broke off their attack run, looping away as the transport lifted off.

The Il-76 thundered into the night sky, turning south as it continued to climb.

Moon Dancer brought his F/A-24 around. Sky Raider and Hawkwind were still trying to shake off the Roboskulls that had chased them away. He locked on his AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles.

“Watch my back, Raven,” he instructed his wingman. “I’m taking a shot.”

Raven glowered behind his oxygen mask. He made his decision. He switched his master-arm to guns, slid his Wraith in behind Moon Dancer’s jet and opened fire.

The other pilot was slammed forward into his restraints. “What the hell?” he snarled as he fought to control his fighter. Alarms blared at him as his stick vibrated and he fought to control the aircraft.

“So long, Moon Dancer. I’ve had enough of your ego and posturing. Here’s to the next time,” Raven said over his headset. The F/A-24 became harder to control. Moon Dancer barely had time to see Raven race past, heading toward the retreating transport before he shoved his head back, reached between his legs and yanked the ejection controls. The shotgun shells blasted his canopy open; it was ripped clear in the slipstream. The rocket motor fired and his chair blasted him clear of the cockpit as the Wraith plunged out of the sky.

At Skip’s Command Post, Ring-Tone turned toward the colonel. “Sir, Moon Dancer is down,” The British Pakistani reported. “Shar and Afterburner report he was fired on by Raven and ejected. He’s flying south with the Il-76 the Baron’s on.”

Skip swore a Gaelic curse. “Tell Sky Raider to pursue them. We can’t let Ironblood get away. Short Wave, get on to Wheels and his lads and tell them to find Moon Dancer. Breaker, get on to Steeler and his boys and tell them to secure the crash site. We’ll have to recover the wreckage.”

The three radiomen got to work.

Wheels and Toro raced southeast, Roadhog and Gearshift close behind in their own jeeps. They’d picked up Moon Dancer’s radio beacon and got a lock on it. Night-Stalker had flown over and confirmed the pilot’s presence.

As the three jeeps sped along, a Roboskull suddenly screamed overhead. It slowed, tilted its vertical wings, pivoting, and then opened fire.

Roadhog threw his jeep into a hard right hand turn. The jeep slew around and hit a small boulder, leapt into the air and crashed down on its side, throwing both the Belgian driver and his American gunner out of the vehicle.

Both cried out as they hit the sand.

On the other side of Wheels’ jeep, Gearshift slammed on his brakes, yanked the hand brake and then accelerated once more, narrowly avoiding the line of fire. His Spanish companion was thrown against his seatbelt with an ‘oof’ of expelled air. But both were fine.

Wheels didn’t have time to take evasive action. Twenty millimetre bullets ripped through the jeep’s engine block, the seats, the Hellfire anti-tank missiles and the fuel tanks. The resultant explosion tore the vehicle apart.

Diablo grabbed the jeep’s radio handset as Gearshift brought them around in a loop. “This is Jeep 3, we’re under attack from a Roboskull. Jeep 1 is hit. Jeep 2 is damaged. Need help.”

Even as he spoke, a missile flashed across the sky and blew apart the Roboskull. Night-Stalker’s Hawk had returned. The helicopter hovered overhead as the jeep carrying the medics raced toward them.

Somewhere over Mauritania
Half an hour later

Sky Raider was leading four F/A-24s across the western Sahara desert, in hot pursuit of Ironblood’s fleeing plane. It had taken a good ten minutes for the four Wraiths to get away from the remaining Roboskulls. They were still five minutes out of range of the plane.

Flying alongside him were Spitfire, Hot Jets, the other Russian pilot, and the American Navy pilot, Hornet.

Sky Raider was fuming. He couldn’t believe one of his handpicked pilots had suddenly become a traitor and switched sides. It beggared belief. Anton Nobokov had been a highly decorated pilot with the Russian Air Force, surviving being shot down over Chechnya, before volunteering for Action Force. Why, Sky Raider wordlessly demanded, had he done this?

The four stealth fighters got within range of their AIM-120C Scorpion missiles. Sky Raider immediately targeted the transport.

Then it began ejecting chaff and dropped toward the ground, two Roboskulls close beside it.

Sky Raider had enough time to wonder where Raven’s F/A-24 was before he dropped out of the clouds, fired a Sidewinder and then sprayed Sky Raider’s jet with gunfire.

Hot Jets and Spitfire ejected flares and pulled up, away from the missile.

Hornet fired flares and tried to out-turn the missile.

He failed.

The Sidewinder struck the fighter’s spine and detonated, ripping the plane apart. Hornet never stood a chance.

Sky Raider’s own controls were sluggish as he tried to bring the jet around.

“Back off, Sky Raider,” said Raven over the radio. “Or the next one goes up your exhaust.”

“Shoot him down and you die next,” Spitfire replied. “Your ass is in my sights, comrade. Just try it.”

The Russian pilot didn’t reply, instead he turned and accelerated away.

“Head back to Algeria,” Sky Raider ordered. “I can barely keep this crate flying. Ironblood gets away, this time.”

NATO Headquarters, Belgium
Later that morning

Major Flagg walked out to the lectern in the pressroom. Several photos were taken as he stopped and faced the journalists.

“Good morning. My name is Major Flagg. Two ‘g’s for the benefit of the print media. I am here to give a statement regarding Action Force’s recent operations.”

An expectant hush descended.

“At oh three hundred hours local time, Action Force launched an assault on a Red Shadow camp located in Algeria. The Algerian government were informed ahead of the operation and their military provided logistical support. The operation was part of Action Force’s ongoing mission to locate and apprehend the terrorist known as Baron Ironblood. The operation incorporated elements from Action Force’s Z Force, Space Force and SAS Force; these are the armour and assault unit, the air wing and the special forces group. The raid was a success, with the camp put beyond use. A total of thirty-seven Red Shadows were apprehended alive by Action Force. Resistance by the remainder resulted in three hundred seventy-eight Red Shadows being killed.”

The still cameras went mad, flashing their lights as Flagg made that announcement, but no one interrupted.

“Unfortunately, in the course of the operation, five Action Force personnel were killed. Their identities will not be revealed for security reasons, although their next-of-kin have been notified. The soldiers killed were from several nations and included a pilot from Space Force whose fighter was shot down whilst pursuing an enemy aircraft. The other four soldiers were all killed on the ground as a result of enemy fire. A further eight Action Force personnel were injured in the operation. They are currently receiving treatment in Europe.”

Flag paused. “Any questions?”

“Excuse me,” asked an American reporter, “Can you please confirm the number of Red Shadows killed?”

“Three hundred seventy-eight Red Shadows were killed. Thirty seven captured.”

“There were over four hundred Red Shadows present?”

“Correct. Unfortunately, some were also able to escape.”

“Was Baron Ironblood present?” asked a French reporter.

“He was. He was one of the escapees, along with his number two, the Black Major.”

“How were Ironblood and his cohorts able to escape?” asked a German.

“They fled aboard an Ilyushin-76 transport plane, the same type used when they fled Belgium following the Brussels attack.”

“Did Action Force attempt to shoot down the plane?” demanded a British reporter.

“Yes. This was what led to the pilot’s death.”

“Do Action Force know where Ironblood is now?” asked another American.

“Information on Ironblood’s whereabouts is classified. I will not reveal any information we may have.”

Central Africa
The same day

Ironblood turned toward the former Action Force pilot who stood beside him, as they looked out on to the floor of the factory below.

“Impressive, is it not?” asked the baron.

“Very,” he replied.

“This used to be a tractor factory, but I bought it after it was closed down. Now, it is one of my facilities, manufacturing Hyena tanks.”

The pilot nodded.

Ironblood turned away, back toward the conference room and those present.

“Meet your new colleagues, Red Vulture,” Ironblood said, waving a hand toward the group.

Ironblood went around the table counter-clockwise. “My right-hand man, the so-called Black Major.”

The man nodded. He’d changed out of the black BDUs he’d been wearing when they arrived. He now wore a black version of a British Army Major’s uniform, with a skull and crossbones over the left breast. A red officer’s cap sat on the desk in front of him.

“That’s Red Wolf,” Ironblood continued. “Commander of my Hyena brigade.”

The Teutonic looking man gave nothing away. His blue eyes icy.

“Red Fox, my undercover operative.” Ironblood said, indicating the beautiful brunette wearing a slinky full-length red dress. She gave a small smile.

“Kraken, my naval commander.” The dark haired man was chewing gum and leaning on a green helmet that looked like some kind of sea monster.

“Red Laser. Our expert in directed energy weapons.”

This was a rather geeky looking Asian, who ignored the introduction as he stared at Red Fox in adoration.

“Bombshell, my chief anti-armour expert.”

The burly black man growled a greeting.

“Shrapnel, my leading grenadier,” the blonde man gave a nod as curt as the Black Major’s.

“Landline, my computers expert.”

Anton Nobokov recognised the American from the pictures in the papers after the German bank robbery. He still wore the mask over his face.

“Airburst,” Ironblood went on. “My resident expert on nuclear, biological and chemical warfare.”

“Who has nothing to do since we lost the warheads,” Airburst muttered in Russian.

“And finally, you’re predecessor as air commander, Red Condor.”

The American, still clad in his red flight suit, glowered. “Still don’t know why I got demoted.”

“Because you didn’t deliver a cutting-edge stealth aircraft when you signed up,” Black Major laughed.

“My advice, my Baron, is to begin work on dismantling the Wraith at once and replace your Roboskulls with copies. They are far superior to the Roboskull.”

“Indeed.” Ironblood made no other comment. “But we have other issues to discuss first.”

Before they could continue, the building was rocked by an explosion.

In seconds, Ironblood, Red Vulture, Red Condor and the Black Major were rushing for the door.

Moments later, they looked out at the burning wreckage of Red Vulture’s F/A-24.

“What the hell happened?” demanded Condor. “Did Action Force hit it with an air strike?”

Germany

Sky Raider handed the detonator back to the Commander. “I hope we’re going to be able to get replacements for the three Wraith’s we’ve lost.”

“Worry more about replacing Hornet and Raven.” The Commander paused. “And be glad Moon Dancer’s recovering. We move out to our new headquarters tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

[Double-Tap]

Double-Tap in action, i love it
Bill

[Sundance]

you read that quick!

[Double-Tap]

just skim read it.
hate reading things on the computer.
gonna print out parts 1-3 tonight in work and sit down and take my time with it.
i have my own AFverse i'll have to get down on paper some time.
Bill