Action Force 2: Escalation

[Sundance]

First part, more to follow:

One year later

Action Force’s headquarters was located somewhere in Europe. The exact location was classified. The entire facility was surrounded by a ten-foot high wall, with watchtowers every hundred feet, and emplaced 50mm flak cannon every other fifty feet. Inside the base, a large billboard size air search radar kept watch on the skies, linked to a dozen mobile SAM batteries around area. Emplaced ‘Whirlwind’ anti-air batteries were positioned close to the two runways.

The rest of the base was rather unassuming. Two hardened aircraft shelters were located at the ends of the runways, each large enough to hold a pair of F/A-24 Wraiths. Off to one side was a hangar for a larger transport plane to park in, as well as a smaller helicopter hangar. Further off, a garage was located near a small concrete block building.

What no casual observer would realise was that the main base was located underground. The HAS and the hangars covered heavy-duty lifts to the first level down which housed the F/A-24s, the two X-78 space-planes and the Bobcat and Hawk helicopters. The garage hid a lift down to the second level where Z Force’s tanks, jeeps, Wolverine missile tanks and rapid-fire bikes and the SAS Force’s new Panther jeeps and battle bikes were located.

The third level was dominated by the ops room and the Intelligence Centre, which also doubled as the radio room. As well as Playback, Ring-Tone, Short Wave, Breaker and Quarrel, the Intel Centre was typically manned by Wireless and Jammer the two electronic warfare specialists and the three new Intelligence officers Skip had recruited to Z Force. Vixen was a dark-skinned DIA officer, known as cunning operative. Deep Cover, another dark skinned CIA officer, was an expert at disappearing into organisations only to emerge months later with information to wipe them out. The fourth operative was Loki, a British officer who was a skilled mimic and impressionist who could’ve jacked in military work to become a comedian.

The fourth level held the barracks and the sickbay. The Doc and his assistants Triage and Tourniquet oversaw the medical facilities.

Level five was the home of the base gym, swimming pool, firing range and the armoury.

The sixth level was home to Action Force’s newest squad, the Special Weapons force. Normally, in military circles, ‘special’ weapons meant WMD. In Action Force, it meant anything from nuclear weapons to TASERs to UCAV drones to experimental energy weapons. The only level below the labs was the power plant, air and water recycling systems and the emergency escape tunnels.

The Commander stepped out of a lift on to level six and entered the huge, hangar-like lab. Dominating the space was a high-tech looking fighter jet with a pair of strange looking pods on carts under its wings.

The Commander walked over to the white-haired bearded man tinkering with the innards of one of the pods.

“Morning, Professor.”

The man looked up. “Good morning, Commander,” he replied. Despite having a code-name, the scientist refused to answer to anything other than ‘Professor’.

“How are things going?” The Commander asked.

“Well, we think we’ve got the software issues resolved,” the scientist said, in his cut glass Chelsea accent. “I think we’ll be ready to try a test flight again soon.”

The Commander nodded as he looked up at the fighter’s cockpit. Sitting in the back seat of the jet was the other prime mover on the project, Lightning. An American unmanned aircraft expert, he’d helped design the system they were working on, codenamed ‘Triad’.

“How’s it going, Lightning?” The Commander asked.

“Just peachy, Commander,” Lightning replied. “The X-55 is fine. It’s those Q-12 Talon drones causing all the problems.”

The Commander nodded. “Right.”

“I take it Spitfire’s flying the X-55 next time out?” Lightning asked.

“Ask Sky Raider. I suspect it will be though, he can’t seem to get enough of that plane.”

Lightning laughed. The British pilot had certainly got quite excited about the single engine fighter when he flew it.

The Commander turned to look around at the other mechanisms in the lab. He wandered over to where two of the other team members were.

“How’s the Dart coming?” he asked.

“Fine,” replied one of the two. He stood up and turned around, allowing the Commander to see it was Bombardier. The American pushed up the visor on his helmet and wiped his face. “We’ve got the wireless controllers working, along with the VL and IR cameras and the millimetre-wave radar. We’ll be ready to test it in another week or so.”

The Dart was a battlefield robot, consisting of a small tank-like drive unit with a columnar body, which had a pair of stubby arms attached which were fitted with hard-points for four missiles. Bombardier was leading the research on getting it working as he’d been a technician with a Patriot battery in the US Army before leaving to join the Nuclear Emergency Support Team. Skip had recruited him into Z-Force after they’d met in Algeria when the NEST had been called in to recover and remove the two Russian nuclear warheads Action Force had found in Ironblood’s camp.

The other man stood and stretched. The Commander noted it was Fixer, the British Army weapons expert. He nodded to the Commander.

“Morning, sir.”

“Morning. How’s the other two coming?”

Fixer shrugged. “The Lance is fine. We got it sussed last week.” He waved toward the unit.

The Commander looked over to the small four-wheeled vehicle, with its four 20mm machine guns projecting from the front.

“It’s ready for field testing.” Fixer waved to the other robot. “The Shaft’s the bigger problem.”

“Why?” asked the Commander as he looked over to the oddly designed device, which stood on small tracked wheel units, on a tripedal leg system. The front end had a large gap in it.

“Some dispute over the armaments,” Fixer answered. “Sniper says it’s stupid to use a flamethrower on it. We’ve been arguing the last three days about whether to fit a 50mm anti-tank cannon, a 30mm grenade launcher or, as Sniper would prefer, a immobilising putty gun.”

“Where is Sniper?” asked the Commander.

“In his room, trying to get a larger version of the putty gun working.”

The Commander rolled his eyes. “Oh, God, don’t tell me he’s stuck himself to the walls again.”

“No, I haven’t,” came the reply, as Sniper walked out into the main lab. “I’m starting to think the putty gun’s a waste of time, actually.”

The Commander rolled his eyes again. Sniper was a former scientist with America’s Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency who had joined the US Army in order to field-test some of the non-lethal and less-lethal weapons he’d developed. Boffin, AKA ‘Professor’ had recruited him after being selected to head the special weapons team. Sniper was well qualified for his job, but had a tendency to quickly decide each project was ‘worthless’ and switch to another.

The Commander’s walkie-talkie buzzed before he could say anything else. “Yes.”

“Sir, this is Ring-Tone in the Intelligence Centre. We’ve got a situation.”

“On my way.”

Defence Support Programme HQ
Sunnyvale, California
Ten minutes ago

“Launch detection!” snapped an NCO at one of the stations in the command centre.

The Defence Support Programme was responsible for monitoring the world for signs of a ballistic missile launch against the continental United States.

“Map it,” snapped back the colonel who commanded the room.

“Thermal signature is across the spectrum. It’s not a laser-flash. Mapping it now,” the NCO reported.

The colonel, a forty-year veteran of the US Air Force, headed to the phone.

“Location’s confirmed, central Africa. Looks like… Nigeria.”

“Nigeria?” the colonel asked, turning back to the NCO. “Since when does Nigeria have ballistic missiles?”

“Launch profile indicates an orbital shot,” reported a second NCO.

“What?” the colonel asked. He picked up the phone. “This is Argus Control, I have flash traffic for CINC-NORAD.”

On the other end of the phone, the commander of NORAD picked up and the DSP colonel reported the launch detection. The General commanding NORAD soon had his own personnel studying satellite surveillance and ground-based tracking as the rocket climbed northeast across the Atlantic Ocean.

Action Force HQ
Five minutes ago

“I’m copying flash traffic from DSP to NORAD,” Short Wave reported. “Defence Support indicates a ballistic launch from somewhere inside Nigeria. NORAD’s tracking. Looks like they think it’s a space launch.”

Ring-Tone span around. “A space launch from Nigeria?” he asked. He grabbed the walkie-talkie that was a direct link to the Commander.

“I’m calling the Commander. Wireless, get into the NRO and get us some imagery from their satellites of Nigeria; Jammer start looking at Google Earth. Breaker, put in a call to NATO, telling them.”

“Why are you issuing the orders?” asked Playback.

“Because I’m the one who thinks it’s Ironblood and you’re all doing nothing about it!”

When the Commander entered the room five minutes later, he snapped, “Report.”

“We’ve copied flash traffic from the Defence Support Programme to NORAD that a ballistic launch has been detected in Nigeria. NORAD are tracking and believe it to be a space launch. Course projections show it crossing Newfoundland as it heads north,” Ring-Tone informed him.

“NORAD just confirmed first stage separation and second-stage ignition,” reported Short Wave.

The Commander looked at one of the flat-panel displays on the wall. It showed information that Wireless was pirating from NORAD’s systems. The launch track was visible crossing the Atlantic.

“Who the hell has launch facilities in Nigeria?” The Commander asked.

“One guess, sir,” Ring-Tone replied.

The Commander looked at him. “You think this is Ironblood?”

The sergeant nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“What have we got from recon?” The Commander asked.

“Just getting it now from NRO,” Wireless answered. The NRO was the National Reconnaissance Office, the Defence Department agency which maintained America’s recon satellites.

Wireless entered a couple of commands on his computer and a second screen lit up with a view of a large factory in the Nigerian countryside. A factory with what was clearly some kind of silo next to it.

The Commander frowned. “Get me a picture from when the launch occurred.”

“Already on it,” Wireless answered.

“Uh, sir,” Jammer said.

“Yes?”

“Look at this.” Jammer activated a third screen on the wall. “This is from Google Maps, about six weeks ago according to the date-stamps.”

The screen showed the factory. Outside it were several rows of what were unmistakably Hyena tanks.

The Commander frowned. “I’d say Ironblood’s involved all right.”

Ironblood’s Mission Control
Location: Unknown

Ironblood stood next to the Black Major at the back of the mission control room. Whilst Ironblood wore his usual white jumpsuit with it’s large skull-and-crossbones on the chest and his black helmet, the Black Major had swapped his typical black battle dress uniform for a black uniform styled after the service uniform of the British Army. He was still wearing his black ski mask, however.

“Report,” Ironblood snapped. A Red Shadow stood and walked over to the baron, bowing.

“Red Interceptor Leader, sir,” the soldier said, identifying himself as being part of Ironblood’s technical troops. “Satellite launch has gone flawlessly, Baron. Second stage separation in five minutes. Twenty minutes to orbital insertion.”

“Very good, leader. Continue.”

The soldier bowed once more and returned to his position.

Ironblood turned to one of the three bodyguards standing behind him. “Fetch Red Laser up here.”

“At once, Baron,” the soldier replied and left.

Twenty minutes later, with Ironblood, Black Major and Red Laser watching, the shroud protecting the satellite split apart and the device activated. It quickly deployed its solar collectors and fired its thrusters to position itself correctly.

Ironblood turned to a Red Interceptor nearby. “Upload the video.”

“Yes, Baron.”

Simultaneously, the BBC, CNN, Euronews, CCTV-9 in China and ASAHI NEWSTAR in Japan and YouTube received a video upload. It didn’t take long for the news channels to interrupt their broadcasts to air it.

“Greetings. I am Baron Ironblood, leader of the Red Shadows. Doubtless you have heard of me. I have launched a satellite in to orbit with the capability to destroy a city. The world will surrender to me in twenty-four hours or I will destroy a major capital city. Failure to capitulate will result in another city being destroyed every two hours until you surrender. A demonstration will follow.”

Gloucester, England

The office block in Station Road was home to an insurance company until they’d gone under in the credit crunch. Now it was deserted.

A pinkish red light shone down on the building. Several passers-by wondered what it was. A few looked up into the sky. Then the light intensified and with a roar, the plasma stream hit the building, shattering the glass solarium in the roof, melting the surrounding tiles and punching through the floor below and then the next three floors.

The plasma stream hit the gas mains under the floor. The resulting explosion ripped apart the building and most of the neighbouring buildings. The fireball rolled across the street, slamming into the shops next to the bus station and vaporised several pedestrians.

Ironblood’s Mission Control

Red Laser grinned and clapped his hands gleefully as he watched the satellite fire its weapon and hit the target.

“I told you it’d work,” he chirped in his Japanese accent. He hugged Red Fox and kissed her. The intelligence officer hid her disgust. She’d been ordered to recruit the genius laser scientist from Tokyo by Ironblood eighteen months previously. He’d taken a shine to the woman and she’d been forced to play along with his infatuation in order to successfully recruit him.

She hated him and what he’d just done. She just hoped Ironblood got what he wanted now, so she could get away from the little geek.

Ironblood shook Red Laser’s hand. “Well done, Kaito. And you’re sure that the towed-artillery version will work just as well?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replied, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s nearly ready for a field test.”

“Excellent.”

Action Force HQ
One hour later

The wall screens in the Ops room were showing BBC News Channel’s coverage of the efforts by the emergency services to contain and clear up the damage in Gloucester. It was clear from surviving eyewitness reports that this was Ironblood’s demonstration.

All five members of the special weapons team were gathered around the main map table with the Commander, Major Flagg, Eagle, Sky Raider, Skip, Moon Dancer, Hot Jets, Loki, Vixen and Quarrel.

“What the hell was that?” Major Flagg asked.

“Looked like a plasma stream,” Sniper answered. “A superheated ionised gas ignited by a laser beam.”

“Judging by the aerial shots,” Bombardier put in, “I’d say it hit the building and then hit a gas main. Could’ve been worse. But it was bad enough.”

“Have we located the satellite?” The Commander asked.

“NASA, NORAD and the ESA are all tracking it,” Quarrel replied. “We’re tapped in.”

“Any way we can take it down?”

“Yup,” Sky Raider answered. He looked around at Moon Dancer.

“We can take the cosmic cruisers up, go EVA and knock it out,” the Arab pilot replied.

“The ‘cosmic cruisers’?” Flagg asked.

Sky Raider sighed. “He means the X-78 space-planes. Moon Dancer thinks ‘Cosmic Cruiser’ sounds more ‘Trekky’.”

Flagg rolled his eyes.

“Who’s going to go EVA?” The Commander asked.

“Me,” Sniper replied. “I’m the directed energy weapons expert. I’ll have to go.”

“So will I,” Boffin added. “Laser weapons are why the MOD recruited me from Oxford after all.”

“Are either of you space-qualified?” Flagg asked.

They both shook their heads.

“Who’ve we got who is?”

Moon Dancer and Hot Jets raised their hands.

“Just you two? Great.”

“They’re the only ones who know how to safely disable the satellite’s weapons, Major,” Sky Raider said. “It has to be them.”

“Eagle, Skip, get the SAS and Z Force ready for immediate deployment to Nigeria. Now we know where Ironblood’s building his Hyenas, and where he launched that satellite from, I want it gone,” The Commander said. “Sky Raider, I want the rest of the Wraiths over there, to give them cover.”

“Do we go in with everything?” Eagle asked.

“No, just take a light raiding force with the jeeps, bikes and the Hawks.”

“Yessir.”

Moon Dancer, Hot Jets, Boffin and Sniper were soon getting kitted out in the special pressure suits they would have to wear during the mission, while the ground crews towed the X-78 space-planes across the hangars, on to the elevators and raised them to surface level.

Once the four men were kitted out, they were helped aboard the X-78s by the ground crew and strapped in. The ‘Cosmic Cruisers’, as Moon Dancer persisted in calling them, were small craft with a four-seat cockpit and a small hold behind it. The wedge-shaped craft were painted a clinically clean white on their top half, with ‘Action Force’ stencilled in black letters along the side. The two outward canted tail fins bore the Space Force logo of a stylised orange lightning bolt across a white circle.

“Tower, Cruiser One, requesting clearance for take off,” Moon Dancer said over the radio.

“Taxi to hold line and stand by, Cruiser One.”

The X-78’s engines powered up and the craft crept forward. Moon Dancer applied the brakes and brought the space-plane to a precise halt.

“Cruiser One, you are clear for take off. Good luck and Godspeed.”

“Roger that, Tower.”

Moon Dancer shoved the throttles forward to maximum, tripped the brakes and then gasped as he was slammed back in his seat.

The Cosmic Cruiser sped down the runway, flaming exhaust pouring from its engines as it quickly covered the concrete. The X-78 reached rotate speed and Moon Dancer pulled back on his stick, bringing the nose up. The space-plane sped heavenward.

“Holy mother of God.” Boffin coughed, “Can we go back for my stomach?”

“Sorry, Professor, no can do,” Moon Dancer replied affably. He briefly activated the X-78’s onboard radar and saw the second space-plane climbing behind his.

Once the two space-planes cleared Europe, they rendezvoused with a special tanker that had been sent aloft earlier on, once Moon Dancer knew that they were going into space. The tanker was a modified American KC-135, it not only carried normal jet fuel, but also a special fuel used by the X-78.

The two Cosmic Cruisers completed their refuelling, then began to climb. Once they reached 10,000 feet, the jet engines were spun down and their secondary engines activated. These were a new prototype engine designed by NASA for the X-78 space-plane. The engines ignited and thrust the craft higher than before. The Cosmic Cruisers were soon clearing the atmosphere and entering their orbital insertion track.

Boffin looked down at the curve of the Earth below in quiet wonder. Moon Dancer, having flown a pair of shuttle missions with NASA, ignored the view.

“Coming up on the satellite,” he announced half an hour later as the X-78s crossed the Chinese coast.

Moon Dancer activated the holographic overlay on the shuttle’s forward canopy that Boffin had added. The display showed the satellite using a combination of radar images and pictures from a camera in the nose.

The satellite began rotating toward them.

“Can that thing fire at us?” Moon Dancer asked.

Boffin tried to look across at the Arab astronaut. His helmet prevented it. “Don’t see why not,” he replied.

“Shit,” Moon Dancer muttered. “This isn’t Star Trek. We’ve not got shields and I can’t try much in the way of evasive manoeuvres.”

He gently twitched the control stick, shifting the space-plane off its glide path. Seconds later a red plasma beam flashed through the vacuum where the X-78 had been. Moon Dancer twitched the stick back.

The satellite fired once more. Again, it missed completely.

The two space-planes began decelerating and shifted into a slightly higher position, to approach the satellite from above and behind.

The satellite started to rotate, before suddenly stopping and reorienting back toward the planet.

“I’m going to have to see about arming these boys when we get back,” Boffin commented.

“No kidding,” Moon Dancer answered. The Cosmic Cruiser slowed further, before coming to a relative stop near the satellite. Moon Dancer unbuckled himself and then helped Boffin unstrap himself.

They made their way to the rear area, where they replaced their pressure suits with full EVA suits. Moon Dancer made sure Boffin was sealed in correctly, double-checked his own suit and then he opened the inner door of the airlock. They squeezed in and Moon Dancer closed the door.

As they exited the space-plane’s cramped airlock, Hot Jets and Sniper were visible climbing free of their X-78. The four astronauts were using tethers to attach themselves to the Cosmic Cruisers and float across to the satellite.

Boffin clung to the satellite and studied a computer terminal attached to it.

“Looks like a password’s needed to get access. Should I try anything?”

“Try Ironblood,” Moon Dancer suggested over Boffin’s radio.

“Right,” Boffin clumsily typed in the letters I-R-O-N-B-L-O-O-D, his thick, padded gloves making it hard.

The screen flashed red. “Password rejected,” Boffin said.

“Try ‘Red Shadow’,” Sniper suggested as he held on to the satellite and fiddled with an access panel.

Laboriously, Boffin tapped in R-E-D-S-H-A-D-O-W. Again the screen flashed red.

“Nope.”

“What about ‘Baron Ironblood’?” Hot Jets chipped in his strong Russian accent.

Once again, Boffin punched in the letters. Again, it didn’t work.

“I’ve got this access panel open,” Sniper reported. “Screwdriver worked on it.”

Boffin carefully clambered around the satellite until he reached Sniper. The pair peered into the satellite’s guts.

Moon Dancer floated alongside the satellite and watched as the pair went into a technical discussion that went over his head. He turned his attention away from them and contacted Action Force Command via the space-plane’s radio and reported in. They still had another twenty hours, so the Commander wasn’t worried about the current lack of progress.

“Okay,” Boffin said. “We’ve got some idea of what we’re going to do.”

“Go ahead and do it,” Moon Dancer replied. “Just don’t kill us as well.”

“Not a problem,” Sniper answered cheerfully.

As the astronaut watched, Sniper and Boffin pulled out several components, rewired a couple of connections and then plugged one of the components back in.

“Done,” Sniper reported. “If they try using it now, it should go kablooey.”

“Good. Get back to the cruiser. We’ve got a window for descent opening in ten minutes.”

The astronauts were soon back aboard the space-planes and ready to enter the glide path to return to Earth.

An hour or so later, the two X-78s were cruising across the Atlantic Ocean, flying like normal jet fighters. They descended toward Europe and quickly got clearance to land back at AF headquarters.

The two space-planes were towed into the hangar off the runway and secured before the elevator lowered them into the busy main hangar level. The Commander was waiting for the group as they climbed down from the Cosmic Cruisers. Two of The Doc’s medical technicians were standing by as well.

“Well done,” The Commander said as one of the medical technicians handed the astronauts bottles of water. “The satellite exploded as you were re-entering the atmosphere. The threat’s over. Eagle and Skip have left already leading the assault force to Nigeria.”

Moon Dancer looked disappointed. “Damn, I wanted to see the new guys in action.”

“I’m sure you’ll still get a chance to see Priest and Kahu strut their stuff,” The Commander reassured him.

Nigeria
Later that day

The Action Force transports had landed at Kano airport in the north three hours ago, shortly after the satellite’s destruction. The F/A-24 Wraiths of Space Force and Z-Force’s Hawks were stationed at Zaria Airport several miles to the south. Once the transports had off-loaded the jeeps and motorcycles, the ground force had raced northwest toward the facility.

Several miles from the launch facility, Skip halted the column and had The Doc, Triage and Tourniquet set up a field hospital, while Jammer, Breaker and Short Wave set up a command post. Skip was planning on leading the assault team. Gearshift, Roadhog and Powerslide were driving three of the Z Force jeeps. Joyride, the new British driver, was in the fourth. Blast Wave, Raider, Mirage – another new recruit, an Omani desert warfare specialist – and Diablo were driving the other jeeps. Warhead was partnering Roadhog. Lock’n’load, the new American machine-gunner, was partnering Gearshift. Rain-bringer, another new American – the forward air controller – was with Powerslide whilst Skip was going to ride with Joyride. Scout was partnering Blast Wave. Molot, a new Russian, was partnering Raider. Wireless was with Mirage and Red Devil was with Diablo.

The SAS had their own jeeps. Redline was driving with Eagle and Playback. Throttle was with Stakeout and Beaver. Rev was driving Sparrowhawk and Sandstorm. The new K-9 handler, Hound, was driving a jeep with his dog Rex in the ‘shotgun’ seat, while Cougar was manning the roof-mounted gun. Tane, Archer, Fenris, Dagger, Sabre and Fantasma were riding the SAS Force’s new Battle Bikes.

Kickstart, Vaquero and Muzzle were riding Z-Force’s rapid-fire bikes.

The column moved out, heading down the dusty dirt road to the launch facility. As they approached the gates four of the Hawk helicopters screamed overhead and one fired a Hellfire missile into the gates. The gates and the two guard towers were blown apart by the missile, and the vehicles raced in even as the alarms began to sound.

Ignoring the factory buildings for the moment, the Action Force column raced across the open parking area toward the launch silo.

Overhead, Chopper held his Hawk in a hover and sprayed a group of approaching Red Shadows with gunfire. Next to him, the new British pilot Peregrine was hosing a guard shack with gunfire.

“Target destroyed,” Peregrine reported. Peregrine was the only woman helicopter pilot in Z-Force and was an ex RAF Mountain Rescue pilot. She’d admitted to volunteering for AF because she was ‘sick of saving people and wanted to get some action’. As a Hyena raced around the factory building, she lined up a missile shot and let it loose. The tank detonated.

Chopper smirked to himself and looked across to where the other new pilot was flying. Werewolf was a Russian Army pilot who had flown the KA-52, known as the ‘Werewolf’, hence his codename.

Werewolf was firing on a group of Shadowtraks that had sped from a garage near the silo. Three of the assault vehicles exploded under his onslaught.

Peregrine grinned as she brought her Hawk across the launch facility and opened fire on a Hyena racing to intercept the SAS group. The armour-piercing bullets shredded the tank’s fuel bowser before the resulting fireball hit the ammo boxes and blew the tank apart. She knew intellectually that she had just killed three people, but emotionally, she was caught up in the adrenaline rush of flying an attack helicopter at high speed and low altitude and blowing stuff up.

On the ground, the SAS Force jeeps sped into the large hangar next to the launch silo. The Panther jeeps were modified and upgraded versions of the American Chenowth Desert Patrol Vehicle. The Panther had a more powerful engine, capable of greater speeds and was slightly larger, to allow a gunner to stand on the rear in order to man a .30 calibre machine gun mounted atop the roll-cage. A second machine gun, an M-249 SAW, was mounted on the dashboard.

As Red Shadows ran from the hangar the SAS troops gave no quarter, cutting them down mercilessly. Redline pulled his jeep to a halt and Eagle and Playback quickly dismounted. Hound and Rev pulled up moments later. The dog-handler climbed out as Cougar unhooked his safety line and stepped down.

“Rex, sniff em out!” Hound commanded. The German Shepherd ran into the hangar without barking. Rex was wearing a specially modified Kevlar vest to protect his chest and neck, whilst a Kevlar helmet, fitted with a camera, covered his head. The camera was linked to a small hand-held unit Hound carried. As the dog ran further into the hangar, the SAS troops stacked up by the door, ready to enter. The camera relayed pictures to Hound showing the huge empty building, a few crates and barrels scattered about.

“Looks clear,” Hound told Eagle. The Major waved the troops in and they quickly dived in.

Hound stuck near the back with Playback and Eagle. Rex had found a staircase leading up to a small office. Hound and Eagle headed up to the office. Rex pawed at the door without whining or making any noise. Hound and Eagle exchanged looks. The dog-handler raised his MP-5SD3 suppressed sub-machine gun and kicked the door in. Rex leapt in. A gun barked as Hound dove in.

A Red Shadow was madly trying to throw Rex off as the big dog grabbed the gunman’s arm and snarled. Bullet holes in one wall attested to the wild shots the trooper had made as the dog charged him.

“Surrender!” Hound snapped as Eagle came in.

“No speak English!” the Red Shadow said in a thick African accent.

“Drop the gun!” Hound repeated in French, then in Spanish.

Eagle snapped, “Drop it!” in Swahili. The gunman released his AK-47 and it clattered to the floor.

Rex continued to hold the man’s arm and to quietly snarl. Hound called him off. The dg obediently let go of the Red Shadow’s arm, but continued to growl quietly as the man cowered in fear. Eagle pulled out a set of flex-ties and secured the prisoner.

Cougar entered the office. “All secure below, sir. Z Force reports they’re still engaged with Red Shadows around the factory.”

Eagle nodded. “Tell the bike squad to go and help them, we’ll remain here.”

Cougar saluted and headed back down the stairs to where Playback was standing, talking to Skip on his radio.

Over at the factory building, the Z-Force jeeps were pinned down by Hyena tanks that had rolled out of the main doors. The Hawks had been forced to withdraw due to low fuel. As Lock’n’load and Warhead blazed away with their M-249 Squad Automatic Weapons, Rain-bringer was talking into his radio set.

“Roger that, Spitfire, targets are forty metres in front of friendly forces,” the forward air controller said. He stood and pulled a smoke grenade from his webbing gear as machine-gun fire crackled around him. “Am popping smoke.”

Rain-bringer flicked the pin from the grenade and hurled the grenade forward, as it began to trail green smoke.

“Roger, green smoke sighted,” Spitfire replied over the radio.

“Confirm green smoke is target. Fire at will!”

Rain-bringer turned to see the first pair of F/A-24s screaming low through the sky. “Bring the rain!” he yelled.

Seconds later both jets opened fire with their machine-guns, sending streams of armour-piercing bullets into the red tanks. Three exploded from the onslaught. The jets quickly pulled up and away as the second pair came blazing in and opened fire.

Three more tanks were destroyed. The next pair of Wraiths flew across the line of tanks at a ninety-degree angle to the first four. This time five tanks were wiped out.

Three surviving Hyenas revved their engines and then sped away from the factory, their machine-guns spraying fire at the Z-Force vehicles, forcing the crews to dive for cover.

The three tanks sped across the concrete parking area in front of the factory and crashed through the fence and raced away.

“Kickstart! Get the bikes after them!” Skip shouted. “Rain-bringer, tell Space Force we’ve got three runners!”

The six SAS Force battle bikes raced past at full throttle as Kickstart and his companions gunned their own engines and kicked off their stands.

Skip waved the rest of Z-Force forward into the factory.

Tane was leading the six Battle Bikes as they roared out of the factory complex and across the dusty road in pursuit of the Hyenas. He knew that his bikes stood no chance of actually destroying the tanks since the Battle Bikes were only armed with 9mm machine-guns attached to the handlebars, but they could at least chase them and call in air support.

The Norton-built motorcycles ate up the distance the tanks had opened up as the chase went off-road, but the Z-Force Rapid-Fire bikes soon caught up. The Z-Force motorcycles were also Norton-built, but were fitted with an outrigger pod that mounted a .50 calibre machine-gun and held a thousand rounds.

As Kickstart drew level with Tane he shouted across, “We’ll try to slow them down!”

Tane nodded as he watched Vaquero and Muzzle pull level with the British soldier. The three bikers opened fire. They shot the tracks on the trailing Hyena, the armour-piercing rounds shredding the steel pads. The tank promptly lost its track and skidded around.

The crew in the tank reacted quickly; the turret traversed and opened fire. All of the bikers ducked as the bullets whizzed overhead.

“Split up!” Tane screamed. “We’re making too big a target!”

The bike group broke apart, racing either side of the tank. Kickstart opened fire on the next tank that came into line, while the SAS riders slid their bikes around. Fenris and Fantasma threw hand-grenades at the crippled Hyena.

One of the Space Force Wraiths roared over the tank, before a second dived out of the sky and launched a Maverick missile into the Hyena.

As the other two Hyenas tried to hit the pursuing motorcycles, their crews failed to spot a second F/A-24 launching another pair of Maverick missiles. The two infrared guided missiles slammed into the Hyenas and blew them apart.

The Wraith, piloted by Hawkwind pulled up from its attack run, executed an aileron roll and then climbed up and looped away.

Back at the factory, Z-Force had secured the building, collected a number of prisoners and Skip was now grabbing CDs, memory cards, flash-drives and even good old-fashioned paper documents and stuffing it into several duffel bags. Once these were secure, he waved over Wireless who pulled out a screwdriver and began opening up the desktop computers and pulling out their hard-drives. He then snatched up a pair of laptops.

“That’s it, sir.”

“Good, move out.”

The soldiers headed back down to their jeeps and Skip pulled out his radio. “Skip to Eagle, we’ve got intel and prisoners. Preparing to pull out.”

“Copy. We have one prisoner and intel. Pulling out.”

The soldiers regrouped on the parking area in front of the factory. The prisoners were secured aboard three large trucks before the group raced out of the facility.

Seconds after the last SAS Battle Bike passed through the gates, two of Space Force’s F/A-24s raced overhead and dropped large bombs on both the factory building and the hangar.

After stopping to collect the medics and radio operators, Action Force withdrew back to Kano airport. An hour later, they were back aboard the transports and headed back to Europe.

Somewhere in Europe
The next day

The three trucks carrying the prisoners pulled up outside a large blast door in the side of one of the Alps at the end of a rough track. Cougar led the SAS commandos out of the trucks, helping the prisoners down before shackling their legs together.

Cougar walked over to the blast door and slammed the butt of his MP5 into it twice. A concealed camera above the door studied him before the door swung open slowly.

The British soldier stepped aside and waved in the line of prisoners and their escorts.

After passing through a set of barred doors, the prisoners were led into what was unmistakably a cellblock.

Standing in the centre was a large blonde man, someone who looked like they’d played as a prop forward in rugby or a defensive tackle in American Football. Next to him was a large German Shepherd dog.

Cougar walked past the line of prisoners as Reaper brought them to a halt. The Dutch commando smirked at Cougar, but neither spoke.

Cougar saluted the blonde soldier. “Good day, Sergeant. Prisoners for you.”

The soldier returned the salute. “Good day, Sergeant.”

The man turned toward the line of prisoners as several more soldiers entered the cellblock.

“My name is Lockdown. I am the head warder here at The Dungeon. You are prisoners of Action Force. As far as anyone is concerned, you are dead. Amnesty International isn’t going to be making visits and demanding you get your rights. Guantanamo, this ain’t.” Lockdown glowered as he looked along the line.

“The only way you’ll get out of here and face the prospect of a fair trial and time in a nice normal jail is if you give us any useful intel. Don’t worry; we’re not going to torture you. I don’t hold with water-boarding or stress positions or any of that bull. You’re going to be stuck in a six-by-four cell for twenty-two hours a day. One hour of the other two will be for exercise. The other will be for eating. There’s no TV here. There’s no radio. No books. Nothing. Just four bare walls. You will have plenty of time to consider your actions.”

Two of the former Red Shadows began trembling with fear.

“The only other prisoner we have here is Jovo Mladic, who some of you may know better as Kill Shot. He’s refused to cooperate in the year since we captured him in Belgium,” Lockdown went on. “He’ll be here for a long time. You don’t have to be. Cooperate and you’ll get out of here and into a regular jail.”

Next to Lockdown, an equally large African American glared at the group of prisoners.

“My name is Siren,” the soldier growled, his Alabama accent a contrast to Lockdown’s New York accent. “I am Lockdown’s deputy. Do not mess with me.”

On Lockdown’s left, stood a red-haired muscular man, shorter than Siren or Lockdown. “You can call me Sentinel. I will be watching you all on our cameras. You won’t be able to pick your noses without me knowing.”

Sentinel’s British accent contrasted sharply with the two Americans’.

A fourth guard stepped around Sentinel. He was smaller, more wiry, but no less dangerous looking. “I’m Deadbolt. No one gets out without getting past me. Don’t let my size fool you, I could kick any of y’all’s asses.”

The final guard stepped up to Siren’s shoulder. “I’m Stockade,” he said with a quiet voice. “You want out, talk to me.”

Cougar and the other SAS troops aided the guards in securing the prisoners before leaving. Cougar knew it was probably a waste of time, after all, the prisoners they’d captured in Algeria hadn’t known anything worthwhile. But one never knew.

The SAS soldiers left, the prisoners in the care of their new warders, their job done.

[Malcolm Orr]

Very good. The dialogue and the grammar are top notch. The actual story reads very realistic too.

I can't quite put my finger on the problem as whilst it's great quality, it's also daunting to read. I think a huge block of text looks hard to read. Maybe it could be broken up more, or maybe the destinations made bold or something - something to break it up.

The quality of the story and writing, the imagination and depth in the story is brilliant. I really do think that the Baron's suggestion of using art from BAF cut and pasted in would really help. It would be great to get more people reading these because they are a lot of fun and really well written too. Have a word with the Baron...

[Sundance]

the date/location things are in Bold in the original story. the forum software renders everything into plain text. likewise speech over radio is supposed to be in italics. I'm thinking of getting in touch with a photoshopper mate and getting some character pics done with actors as the characters. have to make do without any vehicle pics...

[Malcolm Orr]

Why do without vehicles? Just post the real thing. Plus there's lots of good SAS pics on the net.

[The Baron]

It's easy enough to convert forum text to bold and italic. Just highlight the phrase and click the button above. I'd have thought that somewhere in the thousands of comics pages, original toy photos and exclusive customs we should be able to find something that fits, I don't know what else to suggest. If you really can't use any of the site images then please just e-mail me the original formatted documents and I'll convert them to jpegs. At the very least we can use the team logos.

[Sundance]

yes, i know about being able to do bold and italic and even underline.

i'm just lazy at times.

[Malcolm Orr]

Why don't you do a poll to see what the board members think? Personally I think the stories are great and if you were to take the Baron up on his offer then I really think the outcome would be really special indeed, and for the occasions when an archive photo doesn't match, I'd trace a line drawing from a printed photo.

[Sundance]

Ironblood’s secret HQ
Two weeks later

Red Fox entered Ironblood’s private room. He had his helmet off and was drinking Schnapps whilst the Black Major, who was wearing his black service uniform, was sipping a whiskey.

“Ah, Red Fox. What new intelligence do you bring us?” Ironblood asked convivially.

Red Fox was confused as to why the Baron was in such a good mood, considering the destruction of the satellite and the loss of the Hyena plant. But then, she’d left for the British MOD shortly after the satellite’s destruction. She brushed her blonde bob-cut hair away from her ears before rubbing her blue eyes.

“I’ve spent two weeks infiltrating the MOD in London. I learned that Q-Force has been deployed to the Atlantic Ocean to recover canisters of a nerve agent from a wrecked Nazi frigate. Apparently the chemicals are inert in their liquid form, but can combine to form a highly toxic gas.”

Ironblood considered the news. “No doubt that is the warship my father once told me about. It was supposed to be en route from Germany to South America, carrying the chemicals and a cache of gold bullion.”

“How did your father know about it?” the Black Major asked.

“He served in the SS and escaped to Peru,” Ironblood replied, waving a dismissive hand. He returned his attention to Red Fox. “Did you obtain the location of the wreck?”

“Yes. I thought you would want to pit Kraken and his Red Piranhas against Q-Force,” Red Fox answered.

“No, I wish for Kraken to eliminate Q-Force and for his Red Piranhas to recover the chemicals.” Ironblood finished off his drink. “Inform Kraken and Airburst I wish to see them.”

Red Fox nodded and left.

The North Atlantic
150 miles off the Portuguese coast
Two days later

The Sea Snake assault boats crashed from wave crest to trough as they sped north, toward the coordinates Red Fox had provided. Each Sea Snake was a low-slung 30-foot long sleek craft propelled by a pair of jet turbine engines. Two 20mm machine guns on the bow provided part of their armament, along with two torpedoes and four surface-to-air missiles, the latter of which were mounted on a rail at the rear of the control cabin.

The control cabin was cramped and held four men; helm at the front, radar to the rear, weapons on the left and sonar on the right. The lead Sea Snake was commanded by Kraken, Ironblood’s naval commander. Kraken was standing next to the weapons panel as the boat raced north.

“Commander, radar’s picking up multiple contacts on the surface,” announced the Red Piranha frogman at the rear station.

Kraken turned toward him. “Can you identify?”

“Negative. I have six vessels. Maybe eight. One large one looks like it’s got two smaller craft in close proximity. The other five are smaller and separated from the larger craft.” The Red Piranha studied the screen for another moment, “Looks like the larger craft is some kind of support vessel. It’s emitting air and surface search radar.”

Kraken stepped into the centre of the cabin and reached up to the radio set attached to the ceiling. Pulling down the handset, he contacted the other Sea Snakes.

“Prepare for combat, enemy vessels due north. Reduce speed to five knots and arm your torpedoes.”

One by one, the Sea Snake crews acknowledged the order.

On the large vessel the Red Piranha had detected, Dolphin was heading aft, adjusting the hood of his high-visibility dry-suit when his radio crackled.

“Phones to Dolphin.”

Dolphin pulled the radio out and thumbed the transmit key. “Go ahead,” he replied in his Welsh accent.

“Commander, we’ve got six contacts closing from the south. Surface-search radar just picked them up, doing thirty knots. They’ve dropped to five.”

Dolphin frowned at the sonar specialist’s report. “Sound battle stations. Get the boats to brace for an attack.”

Barely acknowledging the Irishman’s reply, Dolphin sprinted to the rear of the vessel. Tied to the craft were two of Q-Force’s Sea Lion submersibles. Dolphin leaped from the support ship’s stern into the sea. He swam to the closest Sea Lion and cast off. He then scrambled aboard the small craft and sealed the cockpit canopy. The Welshman quickly flicked switches and pressed buttons firing up the submersible’s engines, activating its sonar and its machine guns.

A hatch behind the cockpit opened on two hydraulic levers, opening the gun pod. The two 20mm guns were normally stowed in a watertight compartment during underwater operations to protect them. Now, though, they were ready for action.

Dolphin manoeuvred the Sea Lion clear of the support craft and headed toward the three Swordfish attack boats and the two newer and larger Sawfish boats.

The Swordfish were three-man fast-attack boats armed with three SAMs on a rear launcher, two surface-to-surface missiles and a pair of bow-mounted 20mm guns. Seaspray and Broadside were commanding two of them. The third was supposed to be under Dolphin’s command, but Waverider and Akula would have to cope without him.

The Sawfish were 50-foot boats, with a five-man crew, adding a pair of torpedoes to their main armament and two 7.62mm guns on their flanks. Tidal Wave and Shark were commanding them. Tidal Wave’s Sawfish was also a man down as Barracuda had been medevac’d to Portugal the previous day after a shark decided to bite part of his foot off.

Dolphin’s radio crackled. “Phones to all Q Force units, torpedoes in the water. Six torpedoes coming in fast from the south. Looks like Chinese Yu-6s.”

Dolphin activated his own radio. “Release decoys and split up! Cavitate!”

Dolphin followed his own orders, firing a pair of decoys from his Sea Lion before throttling the engines to full and racing southeast.

The decoys were small compressed air canisters, which released bubbles of air into the water creating a ‘knuckle’ of disturbed air. By ordering the crews to ‘cavitate’, he was telling them to use their engines to make a disturbance and noise in the water. The intent was to create more knuckles in the water and throw off the torpedoes.

As the torpedoes sped through the sea toward the Q Force boats fired off their decoys and accelerated away from the path of the torpedoes, their screws churning the water up into froth, creating knuckles.

The mass of bubbles and choppy water confused the torpedoes and caused them to either detonate harmlessly in the froth, or to chase phantom sonar returns before detonating.

On board Swordfish 1, Seaspray turned the attack boat back south, toward the attacking craft. The Canadian aimed the craft toward the attackers.

“I think we can assume hostile intent,” he commented, sarcastically. “Morsa, lock on missiles and fire!”

“Aye, aye,” the Portuguese frogman answered. He targeted one of the Sea Snakes and launched a missile before targeting a second and firing.

Seconds later, on Swordfish 2, Leviathan followed Broadside’s command and launched their missiles.

On the lead Sea Snake, Kraken watched in anger as his torpedo attack failed and the Q-Force boats returned fire.

“Kraken to all units, go evasive, sea-skimmer missiles coming!” He shouted into the radio as he leapt back to the weapons station.

Two of the Sea Snakes failed to evade the missiles and were hit. The explosions tore apart the boats and they swiftly sank beneath the grey Atlantic waters.

“Accelerate and close the distance!” Kraken shouted. “We’ve got to get too close for their missiles and torpedoes to be effective!”

The two groups of armed boats closed on one another.

In his Sea Lion, Dolphin closed in on one of the Sea Snakes and raked the craft with gunfire. As one of its ammo stores exploded, he saw three frogmen in SCUBA gear leap overboard, diving under the waves.

“All units, we may have trouble. Frogmen seen diving from one of those boats. Look like Red Shadows. Bombardier, Shark, Manta, Mako, get in to the sea. Everyone else, cover us!”

Dolphin shut the gun pod on the Sea Lion and then flicked two controls; the submersible flooded its ballast tanks and dropped below the surface.

On board Sawfish 1, Tidal Wave turned to Mako who was manning the sonar console.

“You heard the commander,” the American snapped to the New Zealander. “Get out of here!”

Mako stepped away from his console, grabbed his closed-circuit underwater breathing apparatus and flippers and ran aft. As he passed Riptide, the Hawaiian born SEAL dashed into the control cabin.

“You want me on sonar?” he asked Tidal Wave.

“You bet!”

Riptide quickly took Mako’s station. Born Hoxworth Whipple, Riptide had been a junior surfing champion back home in Wailuku. He’d joined the US Navy to get away from pressure from his teacher and mentor to go professional. He still surfed as a hobby, and that’d led to his code-name, since he was known to surf on riptides and rip currents.

On Sawfish 2, Shark was helping Bombardier into his CCUBA gear after donning his own.

“You remember everything we taught you?” Shark asked over the radio link the gear incorporated.

“Yeah, just about.”

“Bon. Stay close to me and you’ll be fine.” Shark guided Bombardier in climbing over the bucking boat’s rail before the pair leapt overboard.

Beneath the surface, the Q-Force divers flicked on lights mounted on their helmets and swam toward the wreck.

Ahead of them, Manta spotted the first group of Red Shadow frogmen. A second group were swimming down from the surface. The Norwegian drew his underwater pistol, the P-11 that all Q-Force divers carried.

“Hold your fire, Manta,” Dolphin instructed over the radio. One of the red-clad divers turned toward Mako and raised a spear gun.

Manta ignored Dolphin’s order and immediately aimed at the frogman and fired. The steel dart the gun released shot through the water and hit the man in the shoulder. He dropped his spear gun and reached up to the wound.

One diver, Manta noted, was wearing a green fish-scale style dry-suit and wore an odd-looking helmet that made him look like some kind of sea-monster. He aimed a spear gun toward Manta, but was distracted when Shark fired a dart at him.

Kraken managed to twist aside so the dart missed him. Airburst continued to swim toward the wreck.

Kraken glowered behind his helmet and fired at the diver who’d fired at him. The spear hit the frogman’s arm, but he returned fire.

As the rest of Q-Force swam toward the Red Piranhas, determined to stop them, Dolphin brought his Sea Lion around, took aim at the wreck and fired both of his torpedoes.

The Red Piranhas swam clear as the two torpedoes streaked through the sea and hit the wrecked Nazi warship. They detonated, blowing apart the remains of the old frigate.

Dolphin activated his radio. “Q-Force, return to the surface.”

The frogmen swam back toward the surface, leaving the Red Piranhas to struggle back to their own attack boats.

As Kraken climbed aboard the Sea Snake that had survived the battle, he knew Ironblood wouldn’t be happy about this defeat, but there was nothing more he could do. Q-Force would pay, Kraken was sure. Some time, they would pay…

[The Baron]

Can I just check, this is the fourth piece, yes?

[Sundance]

it's the second story. Formation, Selection and Confrontation are three chapters in one story. Escalation is the sequel. think of F,S and C as three acts in movie 1. this is movie 2. i'm just writing and posting it as i finish instead of divvying it up into chapters.