JoeCanuck

Somewhere high in the Austrian Alps
August, 1985

Anna Conda strode into the command centre of the castle owned by her Cobra Europe deputy and looked around. A Tele-Viper caught her eye and she strode toward him. The Tele-Viper handed her a clipboard.

“Message from Cobra Commander, ma’am.”

Anna took the clipboard and read the message. It wasn’t often that Cobra Commander bothered to give specific missions to the newly formed European wing of the organisation. Most often, he left them to their own devices or simply co-opted their personnel and equipment for a mission.

“Orders from Cobra Commander to launch an attack on Action Force’s space-station,” Anna Conda commented aloud. “Summon Hades and Red Wolf to my study.”

The Tele-Viper bobbed his head as he acknowledged the order and the Austrian-born woman strode off.

Moments later, exiting what had once been a banquet hall, Anna passed along a corridor and entered the small study she’d taken over. The décor was fairly Spartan; a map of Europe decorating one wall, a Cobra flag stood on a pole behind the desk and a deactivated WW2 era sub-machine gun hung on another wall.

Anna sat behind the oak desk and re-read the message, double-checking the authentication codes.

Hades entered the office without bothering to knock, Red Wolf close on his heels.

The men were contrasts; Hades wore a black uniform similar in style to the Crimson Guard uniform, but with grey cloth mask across his mouth and nose and an officer’s helmet. He was muscular and tall. Red Wolf was shorter, leaner and had close-cropped dark hair. He wore a rumpled red flight suit with several pouches on the chest.

Neither man spoke as they came to attention before Anna’s desk. For a moment she simply studied them, remembering their histories. Hades; born Sebastian Blaine in New Zealand had served in their SAS regiment before throwing it away to become a mercenary. Betrayed by his own group and left for dead, he’d survived and set up a small arms-dealing company known as Argent Corporation. Argent was now a legitimate front company for Cobra in Europe as Anna had hired Blaine on a long-term contract to act as her advisor and deputy. Red Wolf, his real name he kept to himself, was a former NASA astronaut drummed out over a rivalry with another man. He’d been blackmailed in to serving Baron Ironblood as lead pilot for his Roboskull fleet. Only months earlier, Ironblood had suddenly turned on the Shadows and the organisation had been smashed apart by Action Force, the European counter-terrorist unit. Red Wolf, along with a few others, had survived and joined Cobra in Europe. Along the way, he’d delivered a force of Roboskulls.

“We’ve received mission orders from Cobra Commander,” Anna finally announced. “He wants us to launch an attack on Action Force’s space-station and destroy it.”

A smirk creased Red Wolf’s face. “A chance to strike back at the Space Force dogs?” Red Wolf asked. “Good. When?”

Anna held up a warning finger, “First of all, can we mount such a mission? You told me that you had Roboskulls capable of space flight. Do you have the capability to attack Space Force?”

Red Wolf nodded enthusiastically, “We have a force of eight Roboskulls that can mount such an attack. I’ve also got pilots for such a mission. All I need to know is when you want the attack to go ahead.”

Hades turned to Red Wolf, “You brought us a force of twenty Roboskulls. I know we’ve lost a few, but that many?”

Red Wolf shook his head, “We still have ten Roboskulls for atmospheric flight,” he answered. “I only saved eight orbital flight versions from Action Force.”

“Can’t we use the others?” Anna asked.

Red Wolf shook his head again. “No, they’re not pressurised for flight in a vacuum, they can’t withstand the heat of re-entry and lack the mounting points for the boosters to achieve escape velocity and reach orbit.”

“Could we convert them?” Hades asked. “Add the attachments, add heat-shielding and so on?”

A third shake, “No, because we only have boosters for eight Roboskulls. They don’t exactly grow on trees, you know.”

“Can you guarantee you can complete the mission with only eight Roboskulls?” Anna asked.

This time Red Wolf shrugged. “That depends on timing. We might be able to strike at the station whilst Action Force have no craft in orbit, to aid in its defence, but what window do we have for timing on this?”

“The Commander wants the station out of operation by the end of the year.” Anna leaned forward, “I do not want to disappoint him.”

“Give me a week to plan the mission and check on the launch windows. We can probably launch the mission inside a month.”

“Good, dismissed.”

September, 1985

The Space Force space station hung over Earth like a bright Christmas bauble, sunlight glinting off its hull. Hot Jets liked seeing the station like this as he piloted his Cosmic Cruiser on its final approach to docking.

The Russian had to admit to himself it was strange for him, a Soviet cosmonaut, to be excited about flying to a Western space-station, even after being in Action Force for three years.

The multi-national counter-terrorism force had been finally declared operational in 1981, after two years of negotiations to put it together. Formed to counter the increasing threat of international terrorism from Palestinian groups, Communist insurgents in Western Europe, separatists in some countries and various other groups, Action Force had been a NATO outfit, but when the Soviets raised concerns that the unit might be used against them NATO had offered to allow the Soviets to put forward members in the force to reassure them. Six men from Warsaw Pact countries had joined, Yuri Asimov, Russian fighter pilot, among them.

Action Force had been dominated by British and American soldiers, including squads from the British Parachute Regiment, SAS and Royal Marines as well as a force of US Army paratroopers. It had also included various commandos, frogmen, mountain and Arctic warfare experts, pilots and a squad of Australian jungle warfare experts. Two months after being declared operational, a mission investigating rumours of a new terror organisation had gone awry. One of the Royal Marines, an officer known only by an alias now, had been captured by Baron Ironblood, the leader of the force known as the Red Shadows. The Marine had been twisted to serve the Baron and led an attack on a British weapons–testing facility, capturing an American Heavy Artillery Laser in the process and leaving dozens dead.

The US withdrew most of its support, focusing instead on its own new counter-terror unit code-named ‘G.I. Joe’. The Soviets had also withdrawn their support, although four of the Warsaw Pact members had remained, Yuri among them. The Pact had instead formed the Soviet-dominated Oktober Guard unit. Action Force underwent a radical reorganisation to counter what knowledge the man now known as the Black Major had of the unit. Gone were the Ground Assault, Naval Assault and Night Patrol cadres and in came SAS Force, an elite hit-and-run and covert ops force, Z Force, the armour and infantry group, Q Force, the naval operations flotilla, Special Weapons Force, the highly secretive weapons testing wing and Space Force, which had been planned to be an air wing, until the US had allowed use of its space shuttles and launch facilities to construct the space-station.

Yuri Asimov, now known as ‘Hot Jets’, had been assigned to Space Force and become the lead pilot in the Cosmic Cruiser, a compact shuttlecraft used for ferrying personnel and supplies to the station.

“Cosmic Cruiser flight 378 to Station, on final approach for docking. Request clearance,” Hot Jets radioed to the station.

“CC 378, this is Station. You are cleared for docking. Welcome back to the station, Captain.”

Hot Jets recognised the pleasant voice on the radio as the new American woman, codename ‘Telstar’. She was a Black woman who was one of two new communications experts Space Force had recruited, along with a Bulgarian known as ‘Uplink’.

“Thanks, Station.”

The docking went smoothly and Hot Jets climbed from the craft as four technicians approached to help unload.

In the station’s command centre, Telstar reported the docking to the station commander, Sky Raider. Her fellow American acknowledged the report as he studied his latest status report.

Hawkwind, the Swedish head of security, was leading a group of four Satellite Defence sleds on a training flight to destroy a damaged satellite, Sky Raider saw. Hawkwind had checked in a few minutes ago, the group was approaching their target, several thousand miles over Brazil.

Moondancer, meanwhile, had checked in on his mission with Kiwi and Zenit to repair an Action Force communications satellite. The repairs were underway, with the New Zealand-born engineer carrying out his EVA to work on the comsat. Moondancer reported the Triad would be returning on schedule in two hours.

Sky Raider mused to himself that this was another quiet boring day. He barely had time to complete the thought before Blast Off suddenly spoke up.

“Multiple launches detected. Infrared satellite picking up multiple thermal spikes across the spectrum. Somewhere in the south Pacific. Attempting to isolate location. Looks like several rockets lifting off.”

Sky Raider turned toward the Australian, “Tracks?” he asked.

“Crossing the Pacific, west to east. Climbing rapidly,” the space patroller replied.

“Telstar, contact NORAD at Sunnyvale, see if they’ve got this. Sound yellow alert,” Sky Raider ordered.

Booster chimed in next, “I have the tracks on my screen,” the strategist reported. “Launch tracks are inconsistent with ballistic launches for a missile strike on the US. Speed and altitude are consistent with orbital insertion profile.”

“I’m attempting to isolate the launch point,” Blast Off reported. “Looks like somewhere west of Indonesia.”

“NORAD has the inbounds,” Telstar cut in. “They are claiming it’s civilian test launches from an island in the south-east Pacific.”

Booster spoke up again, “Bogies are at eighty kilometres altitude, approaching thermosphere. Still on track for trans-atmospheric flight.”

Sky Raider was busy working his computer station as the other members of the crew spoke. He was trying to find out who had a launch facility in the southeast Pacific.

“Confirmed eight bogies, flying in formation,” Booster reported. “Altitude now two hundred kilometres.”

“Sound red alert,” Sky Raider ordered. “Telstar, contact Hawkwind and tell him to get his flight back here ASAP. Then call Moondancer and get him back here too.”

“Aye,” the communications operative replied.

Sky Raider hit his intercom panel.

“Sky Raider to Hot Jets; is your Cosmic Cruiser ready to fly?”

“We’ve just off-loaded the last crate,” the Russian answered.

“Then get your Russian butt in that ship and get out there, we’ve got bogies in the air, possibly hostile.”

“Da, Commander.”

Tense moments passed as Sky Raider continued trying to determine who owned the launch facility and Booster continued to report the unidentified craft’s climb toward space.

“Moondancer reports his Triad has begun de-orbit burn, he’s en route. ETA Ten minutes,” Telstar announced.

“Status of Hawkwind’s flight?” Sky Raider asked.

“They’re out of position,” Telstar answered. “Currently on the opposite side of Earth, heading for transit of North Pole.”

Sky Raider cursed. The four Satellite Defence sleds, although little more than a set of manoeuvring engines strapped to a seat and a phased particle beam weapon, could still prove useful in defending the station.

“Radar contact on bogies,” Blast Off announced. “Tracking bogies on satellite 3-3. They just began jettisoning booster rockets.”

“Comparing flight profiles with known orbital vehicles,” Booster said.

“Hot Jets, what’s your status?” Sky Raider asked.

“Launching now, Commander.”

A squad of Snow Serpents launches a volley of missiles at a Joe convoy



The lead Polar Battle Bear is damaged, the convoy halts and the Joes return fire.



Iceberg returns fire, lucky to hae escaped his skimobile



Frostbite, dismounted from the Snowcat fires with his M16.



Along side him, is an Action Force visitor, helping to return fire.



Stalker's moved from the back of the Snowcat to fire.



Sub Zero fires his M60 from cover at the rear of the Snowcat



Snow Job moves to a firing position from the rear Polar Battle Bear



With more Snow Serpents getting in close, the fighting intensifies.



Sub Zero cuts down several Snow Serpents



Snow Job is hit!



Stalker deals with a Snow Serpent who gets too close.



Snow Job, back on his feet, moves to cover.





Sub Zero starts dropping mortars on the Snow Serpent missile team

Hawk V2 pistol
1982 Clear visor
1x Skystriker Sidewinder missile (the small one)
Backstop V1 Pistol
Big Ben V1 bipod
Polar Battle Bear guns (intact with internal arms for swivel)
Ambush tent poles
FANG v1 Skids

cash money paid, contact me via PM.

December 2, 1990
Action Force Command, Belgium

Seated in his office, The Commander was finishing reading a report from Special Weapons Force on a test-flight of the American-built V-22 tilt-rotor aircraft they’d acquired for evaluation when he noticed the BBC Six O’clock News was starting on the TV set in the corner. The Commander turned the volume up and put aside the report from the test-pilot code-named ‘Brains’.

“Today’s headlines: The terrorist organisation Cobra has invaded the Central African Commonwealth; thousands flee as Cobra forces march on the capital. President Kowombe has been evacuated to Kampala in Uganda.”

The Commander swore under his breath, muted the TV set and grabbed his phone, dialling a three-digit number.

“Van Berg,” replied a Dutch accented voice.

“It’s the Commander,” the British general replied. “What the hell’s going on in Africa and why hasn’t my unit been alerted?”

“Calm down, Commander,” Van Berg answered as the picture on the TV screen switched to show a convoy of Cobra vehicles, including several HISS tanks, STUNs and trucks speeding along a highway, before cutting to another clip, this one showing two Rattlers screaming low over a city before something on the ground exploded.

“Calm down?” The Commander asked incredulously.

“Yes. Calm. Down.” Van Berg paused before continuing. “This all kicked off about four thirty local time. The Commonwealth’s state broadcaster just launched their third channel, an all-news one like CNN. They were doing a report from St. Michaels near the Sudanese border when they were interrupted by a Cobra armoured column speeding through. Not long after that, reports came in from Peterton and Nicholasboro, the other two main border towns. Fifteen minutes after the initial reports, a pair of Rattlers destroyed the main TV transmitter in Saint Sebastian, the capital. Commonwealth News switched to a back-up and continued reporting as the local air force scrambled their Hawk fighters and F-5 Tigers. Cobra’s Firebats and Rattlers tore them apart. President Kowombe was evacuated by the order of the Chief of the Defence Staff at five pm, local, when it became obvious they were losing. His plane was escorted to Uganda, but they lost four of their six escorts to Cobra. The President was on the phone to NATO at the time. We’re still trying to make sense of it all. The Natangan TV network picked up the story and is re-running it. From what we’ve got out of the BBC, their local correspondent in Natanga picked up on the story and got the NTB to share the footage from the Commonwealth.”

“Did Kowombe ask for intervention?” The Commander asked.

“No, he didn’t. He demanded Action Force quote, ‘crush Cobra and destroy their forces,’ unquote. We’ve heard from one of our contacts at the UN. The Commonwealth Ambassador is calling for an emergency session of the Security Council.”

“Let me talk to my force commanders. We’ll get moving.”

Before General Van Berg could answer, The Commander hung up the phone then picked it up and dialled a new number.

Action Force Operations Base
Birmingham, England

Skip answered the phone before the second ring. “Yes?”

Eagle looked around at his Z Force counterpart as he continued listening with half an ear to the briefing he was being given.

“Yes, sir, Z Force and SAS Force are ready to deploy sir. We’ll get moving, right away,” the Scottish officer replied to whoever was on the phone.

Skip hung up and turned back to Eagle. “The Commander wants us moving as fast as we can to the CAC and a plan to kick them out.”

“Right,” Eagle said, his posher accent contrasting with Skip’s Scots voice. “I’ll get my boys moving.”

December 5th, 1990
Natanga Military Airfield #6

In the space of three days, a combat engineer force assigned to Action Force from the Spanish Army had transformed a dirt-strip base with a runway of only 1,500 feet in length into a two-runway field with a large mass-parking ramp and extensive fuel and weapons storage areas. The airfield had quadrupled in size and the advance team had removed the only permanent Natangan military presence, twelve sentries who’d been found literally sitting with their feet up when the team arrived.

Transport planes were constantly using the now-six thousand feet long runways to deliver supplies and equipment as Action Force continued to fortify their forward base, which the Natangan government had allowed them to use.

The base was now defended by four American-made air defence radar units, which had hypersonic long-range SAMs attached to them, as well as 10 SAS Force Mobile Missile Systems for medium-range SAM coverage and 20 Z Force Whirlwind towed anti-air artillery units for short-range cover. The SAM units and the radars had been tied together in a cutting-edge network operated by Jammer, one of Z Force’s computer specialists and Scorpion, one of their air defence specialists from a pre-fabricated command centre, which was also providing air traffic control thanks to a team of Space Force specialists.

As well as the transports flying in and out, the base was now home to a dozen SAS Force Hawk light attack/scout helicopters, a complete squadron each of Z Force’s Dragonfly attack helicopters and Tomahawk medium-lift helicopters and eight of their Trojan heavy-lift helicopters. Space Force’s fighter jets were staging from a Natangan Air Force base nearer the capital with properly paved runways. The rest of the equipment at the forward base was an armoured battle force of nearly seventy vehicles that was the equal of several nearby nations’ firepower.

In an open-sided tent being used as the ops room, Quarrel – Z Force’s Swiss Intelligence specialist – was briefing several of the senior operatives.

“This is the latest intel we have as of ten minutes ago,” Quarrel began. “Our principal sources are the four UAVs provided by Special Weapons Force.”

Quarrel gestured toward another part of the tent where Lightning, one of SWF’s resident geniuses was sitting at a desk with four PCs on the top.

“The recon drones were deployed overnight and have been gathering intel for us for the last two hours. Our second source of intel is the Commonwealth Army. We’ve managed to make secure contact with the Chief of the Defence Staff who is at large in the country, commanding what forces he has left in armed resistance.”

“I thought the CDS left the country with the President and the two defence ministers,” put in Sergeant-Major Zero, the senior NCO in Z Force, who was standing at the table next to Skip and Peregrine, the Dragonfly squadron leader.

Quarrel shook her head, “No, that was his deputy. The government in exile in Kampala consists of the President, the PM, the defence minister and his deputy, the foreign minister, the deputy CDS and the Commonwealth ambassador to Uganda.”

Skip cut in. “So, what are we facing?”

Quarrel looked at him. “Nearly four hundred Cobra vehicles, as well as over a hundred and fifty aircraft.”

There was a pause as the personnel present took in that news.

“The situation as it stands is this: Cobra occupies most of the north and west of the country. Their assault was fast and deadly. Air support including FANG and Mamba helicopters with Trouble Bubble Flight Pods decimated most of the Commonwealth’s armoured and artillery units. Fighter support, including two complete Firebat squadrons savaged the local air force, which was made up of British Hawk jets and American F5Es. Cobra has a squadron each of Condor bombers and Hurricane attack jets as well as two squadrons of Rattlers for close support. The main thing we need to address is the use of ballistic surface-to-surface missiles by Cobra.”

Quarrel picked up several photos and slapped them down on the map that dominated the table the briefing was taking place at.

“Twenty Imps and twenty Adders at four separate sites, each defended by six ASP batteries and accompanying Stingers.”

She placed another set of photos down, like the others these were black and white aerial shots. They showed several buildings ruined by explosions.

“They’re indiscriminately firing rockets into the major cities, including the capital Saint Sebastian,” Quarrel went on. “These are nothing more than acts of terror, to put fear into the local populace. Local intelligence puts the death toll in the thousands. We’ve identified the launch sites as you can see, but hitting them won’t be easy if we intend to minimise collateral damage.”

Of the four launch sites, Skip, Eagle and Space Force commander Sky Raider could see from the photos that three were positioned in built-up areas. The fourth was in an area of open ground.

“My Skystrikers can take care of that site,” Sky Raider said, tapping the photo of the open site. “We can use our Rockeyes to take them out without any trouble.”

The man standing next to Sky Raider spoke up, “My team can handle one of the targets, sir.”

Eagle frowned at the Space Force member before saying, “Sorry, you’re new aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

The other man saluted. “Code-name Thrust, Colonel. I’m the squad-leader for the jetpack troopers.”

“Oh, yeah, Chuck mentioned you guys. The ones who can fly around like King of the Rocket-Men.” Eagle returned Thrust’s salute.

“More or less, sir, more or less…” Thrust looked at his commanding officer, “My team can hit one of the sites. Give us a transport to get us within 30 miles of the target and we’ll take it out.”

Sky Raider mulled it over. “Fine. If you can’t pull it off, we’ll figure something else out.”

Standing next to Eagle, Quickfire spoke up next. “My commandos can handle one or even both of the other sites,” the German said. “Depending on whether you wanted them wiped out simultaneously.”

“Let’s take them out over two nights,” Eagle replied. “The jetpack guys can hit one and you hit the other in one night. The Skystrikers can hit the third and Captain Bulldog’ team can hit the last one. If either mission goes wrong the first night, we hit them a second time the next night.”

“You can count on us to handle it,” Bulldog put in. He was another British officer, a former member of 2 Para who led the SAS Force’s new airborne spearhead team.

“So, that’s the ballistic missiles dealt with,” Skip said. “What else have you got, Quarrel?”

“The recon drones haven’t found the Cobra airfields yet.” Quarrel glanced at a digital clock attached to one of the tent poles across from her. “Captain Bloodhound’s advanced recon team was deployed an hour ago by a Hercules transport. They’re not due to report in for another two hours. We think the aircraft are being concealed in the countryside where we haven’t been looking, since so many of them are vertical take-off capable. The Condors and Firebats may even be operating from inside Sudanese territory. Bloodhound’s team is searching a possible location of one base. Lieutenant Orion’s Paratroop squad have been deployed as well, but we don’t expect them to report for several hours yet.”

“Wait, what?” Eagle said. “I didn’t know Orion’s team had been deployed.”

Skip sighed, “I ordered them deployed to check on a possible Cobra supply dump that the Commonwealth Army reported to us. I acted under my authority as Z Force commander to deploy my assets to carry out a time-critical mission.”

Eagle held his hands up in a placating manner, “Okay, fine. I just thought we agreed we’d tell each other when we sent units out.”

“We did. I didn’t tell you yet, which I should have. I’m sorry.” Skip turned back to Quarrel. “Carry on, agent.”

“Yes, sir. The Cobra ground forces are deployed across a large swath of the country, mostly in the towns and cities. Even with air superiority or even air dominance, if we’re to minimise civilian casualties and property damage, we’re going to have to move in ground units,” Quarrel explained.

“Then it’s important we establish air dominance,” Sky Raider said. “Find us those airfields and we can start bombing them.”

“Or we can go in and frag the aircraft,” Eagle said.

“Either way, we need to find those aircraft,” Sky Raider said. “In the meantime, let’s start planning these raids on the ballistic missile sites.”

December 6th 1990, 01:00 local time
Somewhere over the Commonwealth

The C130 Hercules transport plane was flying at its maximum altitude, as the four members of Space Force’s jetpack squad got ready to execute their mission. Each of the squad wore a special outfit which had an all-in-one helmet and torso to protect their bodies during the flight, from friction and from bullets up to 20mm calibre, and with more flexible sleeves and legs to protect them, but also allowing them to move around on the ground. Large shin-length boots protected their feet, whilst gauntlets that neared their elbows protected their hands and arms. On their backs was the business end of the outfit, the twin jet engine Single Man Aerial Unit, more simply known as the jetpack. The twin engines produced over 250lb of thrust with a top speed of 200 mph. Controls built into the gauntlets allowed the wearer to steer and activate the engines, with steering partly managed by the use of thrust-vectoring exhaust nozzles. The soldiers’ only weapons were compact sub-machine guns strapped to the armoured torso like a HALO jumper. The suits also incorporated an oxygen rebreather system to allow them to breathe normally at high speed and altitude and a holographic heads-up system on the visor. The set-up was a prototype system, as was the entire outfit, created by Action Force’s brain trust in Special Weapons Force.

The loadmaster lowered the C130’s rear ramp and gave them a good luck thumbs up before they moved to the ramp. The green light came on and Thrust stepped off the ramp and into freefall. Velocity, the Russian member of the team dived off like a swimmer on a board. The Canadian member of the group, Ballistic, jumped off the ramp. The final team member, Ramjet, leaped into the air, twisted, waved to the loadmaster and fell away.

The four team-members plunged through the air in freefall, arms and legs tight at their sides.

As they fell through the sky, the holographic HUD displayed their altitude, which was winding down at high speed. As the soldiers neared 10,000 feet above ground, they activated the jet engines with a double-tap of one of the buttons on their gauntlets.

The engines span up and fired off, pushing them earthward even faster, before they used a combination of vectored thrust and twisting their bodies to level off at 7,000 feet. A controlled descent to 1,000 feet followed.

The group sped through the night sky toward the town of Barbaraton like a group of missiles. The Cobra missile site’s air search radar was picking them up intermittently, but the Vipers manning the radar unit couldn’t decide what the returns were and didn’t report them.

The jetpack squad circled Barbaraton, descending as they did to below rooftop level. They sped through the town toward a large shopping centre at the edge of the town, dropping to a mere ten feet off the ground.

A hundred yards from the shopping centre, Thrust steered his suit in to land and cut the engines a foot above the ground, he hit the ground and staggered as he did, but stayed on his feet. Velocity landed next to him and hopped around as he tried to stay up right. Ballistic touched down and fell to his knees.

Ramjet flew over the other three soldiers, still two feet off the ground, cut his engines and dropped into a three-point landing, on his left foot, right knee and right hand, with his left arm thrown out behind him.

After a pause, he straightened up and turned to see the others pointedly ignoring him as they unslung their weapons and checked them. Ramjet swore under his breath, after the first twice of him landing in such a fashion during flight training, the rest of the squad had got tired of it.

1990
Somewhere off the Kola Peninsula

It had taken several weeks for the freighter to cross the Atlantic Ocean, pass through the English Channel, cross the North Sea and make it’s way around the Scandinavian Peninsula, but it was finally nearing its destination.

The captain was in the mess hall drinking a cup of coffee and reading a message from the owners when the intercom crackled to life and an urgent voice called out.

“Captain to the bridge! Urgent, Captain to the bridge!”

The captain set aside his mug and papers and dashed out the door, headed along the narrow passage and scrambled up the ladder to the bridge.

The first officer turned toward him as the captain dashed in.

“Our air-search radar is tracking several aircraft, sir. Bow lookout has them in sight.”

“What aircraft are they?” the Captain asked.

“Six helicopters and two fighters,” the first officer answered.

“They’re Cobra aircraft,” put in the crewman manning the radar station. Normally the station was used for tracking commercial aircraft in case of an accident.

The Captain turned toward the crewman. “How do you know that?”

The crewman turned toward him, causing the captain to flinch involuntarily; the sailor’s scars still provoked the reaction.

“Stands to reason,” the sailor answered. “We’re carrying classified cargo from Brazil to Russia. We’ve been shadowed on and off across the Atlantic by fighters. Since we entered European waters we’ve had at least two fighters trailing us at a distance until yesterday. Someone’s been keeping track of us. Now they’re not. I’d bet that someone was Action Force and now Cobra’s ready to strike.”

The captain frowned, it made sense, but, “How do you know all this?”

“About Cobra and Action Force trailing us?” the radar operator asked. “Simple, I was in Q Force, the naval arm of Action Force.”

“I thought you were in the Royal Navy,” the first mate said.

“I was. Radar operator for HMS Broadsword. I joined Q Force in 1985, and became a radar operator for their Swordfish craft. I was on an operation in the Middle East when I was injured and invalided out of Action Force,” the crewman replied. “I know how they operate and I know how Cobra works.”

The crewman limped toward the door out to the flying bridge, picking up a spare set of binoculars as he passed. The captain followed him out.

The radar operator scanned the sky through the binoculars until he spotted the aircraft.

“There they are,” he muttered. He focused the binoculars as the captain sought to spot them.

“Two Cobra Rattlers and a pair of Mambas,” the radar operator said, as he identified them. “Looks like four troop carriers behind.”

The captain spotted the aircraft. “Fighter jets,” he moaned.

“That’s the Rattlers,” the radar operator told him. “Anti-tank jets with a big-ass multi-barrel cannon on the nose. They’re also carrying air-to-surface missiles. The leading helicopters are Mambas. They carry 9mm machine guns and anti-tank missiles.”

As the captain watched, the radio inside the main bridge crackled to life.

“Attention, MS Stellar Eclipse, this is Cobra. You will heave-to and prepare to be boarded or we will open fire.”

The captain headed back inside, the radar operator following.

Before they could do or say anything, a flash of light crossing the sky caught their attention. All four men on the bridge turned to see one of the Rattlers explode, its wreckage plunging into the sea, still burning.

A second flash of light crossed the sky and blotted the other Rattler from the sky, before a third struck and destroyed one of the Mamba helicopters.

The radar operator and captain raised their binoculars to see the second Mamba and the troop carrying helicopters turn and speed away.

Seconds later, four fighter jets screamed over the freighter at low level.

The radio crackled once more. “Attention, Stellar Eclipse. This is Space Force Peregrine flight, do not heave to. We will trail the Cobra aircraft back to the Soviet coast. Continue on your current course and speed.”

The captain picked up the radio handset and acknowledged the message as one of the four fighters broke off and circled the freighter twice.

The captain raised his binoculars to watch as it flew around before heading off. Large orange lightning blots were visible on the right forward swept wing and on the twin rudders.

“What are they?” he muttered.

“Conquest X-30s from Action Force’s aerospace arm,” the radar operator replied. “American jets that were leased by Action Force to replace their Skystrikers. One of the most advanced jets ever built.”

The captain turned to the crewman. “I’m glad I took you on, now.”

High overhead, Afterburner brought her Conquest back into formation with the other three X-30s.

“Peregrine Lead, this is Three. The Eclipse looks undamaged, looks like we timed that just right, over.”

“Roger that, three,” replied the American accented voice of Hornet, the flight leader. “Shar already radioed the Soviet air force. They should have MiG-29s in the air shortly to intercept the Cobras once they cross the coast, over.”

“Outstanding news, Lead, over.”

“We’ll maintain our trail of them until the MiGs intercept. Make sure you have your IFF on and set to broadcast our Space Force ID code.”

Afterburner glanced down to check her Identification Friend or Foe beacon was set correctly and turned on.

“Set and broadcasting, Lead.”

It didn’t take long for the four Soviet fighters to arrive and escort the Cobra helicopters to a Russian base, allowing the Conquest X-30s to fly back toward Norway and refuel from a tanker before landing back at a Norwegian air base.

Talazhskiy Airport, Russia
Two days later

Skip stood off to one side as the Action Force unit went about their business of unloading the vehicles. The airport was a civilian one, but had been temporarily turned into a military field by the arrival of a joint SAS Force and Z Force group.

The Soviets would’ve preferred their own army to provide security for the transhipment of the spent nuclear fuel rods from the port to the reprocessing centre at Mayak, but the fact was, with the ongoing collapse of Communism, there had been a rise of corruption within the Red Army and equipment, ranging from uniforms, radios and tools up to armoured vehicles, had been sold on the black market. No one wanted nuclear fuel rods to end up that way. Nor had the vaunted Oktober Guard been up to the job after losing four of its six members in a mission in Sierra Gordo. The two survivors had been joined by two new members, but they wouldn’t be able to fight off a determined Cobra attack.

So, reluctantly, the Soviets had allowed an Action Force unit to provide the security force. It had been very conditional agreement: No fighter jets. Only four attack helicopters and one transport. No heavy tanks. Only sixty personnel.

As Skip watched, fifty of that number was unloading the vehicles. Two mechanics were busily returning the rotors of the two SAS Force Hawks to their usual position from the folded-up transport configuration. Two SAS Force Attack Troopers were carrying over a box containing four of the Hawks’ rockets to arm one, whilst Chopper and Blades were busy feeding ammo-belts into the nose turrets of both Hawks.

Two more mechanics were fussing over the Dragonfly helicopters, detaching the fuel tanks that had been attached to their weapons wings to increase their range and allow them to fly from Poland. The two pilots were wheeling over a trolley holding anti-tank missiles and air-to-air missiles to arm them. Redline was loading ammo into the gun mounted on the SAS Force recon buggy, whilst Throttle, the vehicle’s driver, was trying to fix a problem with its radio. Rev and Quickfire were loading the gun turret on the Panther jeep. Boonie and Bodycount were manhandling the missiles from a crate to arm the Puma Air-Defence Jeep.

Eagle and Jammer were conversing with Thunderbolt, the Zimbabwean-born ATC driver. From what Skip could hear, there was a problem with the troop carrier’s radio system.

Ton-Up and Swerve were trying to fix a broken track-link on one of the Z Force Armadillo mini-tanks.

Joyride and Digger were fitting the machine gun to one of the Z Force jeeps, whilst Wheels and Scout did the same to the other.

The other SAS Attack Troopers were assisting Evac, Tex and Rappel to remove the fuel tanks from the Tomahawk’s wings and to install it’s laser-guided missiles and to load both the 20mm chin gun and the 7.62mm door gun.

As Skip watched, a Soviet UAZ jeep sped across the tarmac and pulled up. Sitting in it were the four Oktober Guard members. Lt. Gorky walked toward him. A lean man, with blonde hair, Gorky wore a grey uniform and a black beret.

“Colonel Skip, a pleasure to meet you.” Gorky saluted and then stuck out his hand.

Skip returned the salute before shaking hands. “Nice ta meet you,” Skip answered in his Scots accent.

Daina and Sgt Misha wandered over to where the Puma was parked as Gorky and Skip began talking.

“How does Action Force have a Stinger jeep?” Misha asked as Bodycount stepped away from the vehicle making sure the missile wouldn’t fall off.

“I don’t know,” Daina answered. “It seems strange to me.”

Bodycount turned toward them, he wasn’t fluent in Russian, but had picked up enough to recognise the name of the jeep’s original version being used.

“Problem?” he asked in English.

“We wondered why you have a Cobra jeep,” Daina replied.

Bodycount smiled and the Czech sniper had to admit, he was good looking when he did smile.

“It’s a knock-off. We call it the Puma. An Action Force operator stole the plans from MARS a few years back and it was copied. After a legal wrangle, we now have a license from MARS to build our own modified version of the Stinger, which is this beauty,” Bodycount answered.

Daina self-consciously noticed he was staring at her.

“Speaking of beauty, when this mission’s over, how about I take you out for dinner, gorgeous?” Bodycount’s eyes seemed to twinkle as he flirted with Daina. To her shame, she felt embarrassed.

“I don’t know if that would be possible,” she replied, blushing slightly.

Bodycount’s smile broadened. “Well, I’ve got leave coming, I could always take it and take you to dinner if you can get a weekend pass.”

Daina forced herself not to smile. “I don’t even know your name,” she hedged.

“Codename’s Bodycount,” he answered.

“Ah, I’ve read your file,” she said before he could say anything else. “SAS Force Commando. Joined Action Force last year after serving with British SAS regiment.”

“I’ve got a file?” Bodycount asked.

“We have files on several Action Force soldiers and assorted Western special ops types. Admittedly, your file is rather thin.”

Bodycount frowned, “Glad to hear it.”

Before Daina could reply, Lt. Gorky called her name and she turned away, saw him waving her over and hurried across.

Boonie slapped Bodycount’s arm. “Hey, stop staring at her ass and help me finish up here,” he snapped in his New Zealand accent.

Bodycount glared at his comrade, but did as he was told.

Soon the vehicles were already and the soldiers assembled for a pep talk.

“Alright, you were all briefed before we left Britain,” Skip began. “You know what this is all about, so let’s not screw this up. We’ve got to impress the Oktober Guard after all. Mount up and let’s roll!”

As Daina watched the troops move to their respective vehicles, she noted that whilst the troopers were wearing largely unique outfits, they had uniform colours. All the SAS Force troopers wore grey, black and yellow on their uniforms, whilst the Z Force troops were clad in green, black and red. It seemed odd, compared to the unique outfits the Guard all wore.

The first Z Force jeep led off the convoy, with Wheels driving and Scout manning the machine gun, his metal detector leaning against his leg if he thought they were going to run into a minefield.

Behind them, Rev and Quickfire were in the Panther, Throttle and Bodycount followed in the Recon buggy trailed by Torque driving the HAVOC, with Mustang and Lock’n’Load.

Next came the Puma, driven by Redline, with Boonie. The ATC followed it, carrying Eagle, Skip, Kukri, Jammer and the Oktober Guard, with Thunderbolt driving. The two Armadillo mini-tanks came next, driven by Ton-Up and Swerve. Bringing up the rear was the second Z Force jeep; Joyride was at the wheel, with Triage the medic and Digger.

Once the convoy was moving, the two SAS Force Hawks and the Z Force helicopters lifted off. The Tomahawk then followed, carrying six SAS Force Attack Troopers.

The four attack helicopters settled into a pattern of orbits over the convoy as it moved through the city of Arkhangelsk, heading for the docks.

The convoy arrived at the docks to find four Soviet Army soldiers waiting for them with a Ural-4320 medium cargo truck.

Eagle and Lt. Gorky dismounted from the ATC and met the four soldiers. They reported that the ‘package’ was aboard the truck and they were ready to depart.

The convoy moved out, once more, with the Ural truck now positioned between the HAVOC and the Puma.

can someone please hit me up with links to the filecards for Valkyrie, Take Down, Snowbank and Shiver please. there's a game going over at serpentor's lair where you draft Joes for a team tournament and i'd like to include them in my team, but i need the filecards.