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Author Topic: Black Sword part 2  (Read 2516 times)

Sundance

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Black Sword part 2
« on: August 09, 2013, 03:27:19 PM »

Black Sword is the codename for a UK Special Forces task group. Its purpose, to hunt down the terrorist group known as Cobra, an organisation dedicated to bringing down Western civilisation.

Previously…

Black Sword commandos have been tracking the arms dealer James McCullen, also known as ‘Destro’. Destro is known to be connected to Cobra. Tracking Destro to the small East European principality of Darklonia, the team’s plane was shot down…

Darklonia
Two minutes after the crash

David Adowele opened his eyes and groaned. That, he decided, had hurt. The Signaller looked down at his right arm and saw a large bruise already starting to form. His laptop had hit it during the plane’s crash landing. As he looked down, blood dripped past his eyes. The soldier reached up and touched his forehead. Blood from a cut above his right eye decorated the brown skin of his hand. He looked around.

“That bloody hurt,” muttered Matthew Jackson, the SAS rifleman behind him.

“You okay, Jacko?” David asked, turning in his seat.

The other commando paused before answering, “Just bruised I think, Ado. You?”

“A cut and bruises.”

“Sound off!” came a female voice from the cockpit. Ado turned that way to see Melanie Vincent, the pilot struggling out of her seatbelt. A large bruise decorated her forehead.

“Ado’s fine,” he said, using the nickname he’d been given years back when he’d joined the Army.

“Jacko’s bruised but okay.”

“Wee ‘Eck is a wee bit bruised, but otherwise fine,” said Alec McDonald, the Scottish Marine.

“Lisa is unconscious,” said a voice behind Ado. He turned to see Liam Norris, the sniper standing next to his fellow Special Reconnaissance Regiment member. Sure enough, Lisa Nichols was out of it.

Mels made her way toward Lisa as Ado’s fellow signaller groaned. “Paddy’s fine, except for feeling like he got hit by a keg o’ Guinness,” the Irishman said.

Mels carefully checked Lisa over. Ado fished a penlight from his pocket and handed it to Mels. She used it to check Lisa’s pupils.

“She’s out of it alright,” Mels said, “But she needs a real medic.”

“Shame we didn’t bring Steve or Hywel then,” Ken, the other pilot, said.

“We’ve got a problem,” Paddy announced, “I just copied a radio call from a helicopter to the Viggens that shot us down that they’ll be on site in ten minutes.”

The Viggens were the Swedish built fighters who had shot the plane down.

“Despoiler One-One just checked in with Hammer Three-Three,” Paddy went on. “Two Dominator helicopters en route with twenty troops they called ‘Iron Grenadiers’.”

“Who the heck are ‘Iron Grenadiers’?” Jacko asked.

“The local army,” Ado replied. “I saw it on Wiki too. The Darklonian Army are formally known as the Iron Grenadiers. Dominators are their assault helicopters, like a Hind-D.”

“Oh hell,” Jacko said. “We need to get out of here.”

Mels suddenly noticed Liam’s arm was dislocated. “Liam, your arm…”

He looked down. “Yeah, I know, I was more worried about Lisa.”

Mels pulled him around gently. “Allow me,” she said. The pilot quickly snapped his arm back in to place. Liam let out a grunt of pain.

“Damn, that how you treat your boyfriend?” he asked, still gasping for breath.

“She hasn’t got one,” Ken said.

“I can see why,” Liam answered.

“Enough,” Mels said. “I’m taking charge. I did my refresher at SERE school two months ago and that’s what we need to do: Survive, Evade capture, Resist capture and Escape to friendly territory.”

She looked around the group. “Liam and Jacko, I want you two on point. Wee ‘Eck, you cover our six. Paddy, I want you monitoring the enemy’s radios. Ado, get on to the colonel. Ken, you think you can carry Lisa?”

Ken nodded. “Sure. I’ll carry her pack too.”

“I’ll get that,” Mels said. “I’ll take her rifle too.”

Mels had proven herself to be a better shot than several of the commandos in the Black Sword group, even though she was a pilot.

Ado had his satellite phone in his hand. “I’m calling the boss,” he said.

“This is Zero,” the colonel answered, using his call sign.

“Zero, this is Ado. We’re in Darklonia. We were shot down.”

“Yeah, I got the email. Use the call sign ‘Scimitar One-One’.” The colonel paused for a moment. “What’s your personnel status? Any KIA?”

“Negative, Zero. We have one unconscious, all others are walking wounded,” Ado said. “Mostly cuts and bruises. Our good lady pilot has assumed command,” he added, trying not to use any names.

“Roger that, pass me over to her.”

Ado turned to Mels. “The guv wants to speak to you. We are now ‘Scimitar One-One.”

Mels took the phone as Ken and Jacko moved Lisa out of the wrecked plane.

“Zero, this is Scimitar.”

“You are Scimitar Zero, Flight Lieutenant. I assume you’ve taken command as the most recent person to complete SERE training?” the Colonel asked.

“Correct, sir.”

“Fine. You know what the score is then. I’m in contact with some friendly forces across the border. Try to get there as fast as possible. They will try to expedite your extraction, but I don’t know if they’ll cross the border to help you.”

“Solid copy, sir.”

“Try to maintain a low profile if possible. But I’m giving you a green light to do what ever it takes to get across the border in one piece. Anything you need to do, do it. You copy?”

“Roger that sir, this whole country is a free-fire zone if that’s what it takes, yes?”

“If that’s what it takes. You’re not wearing any clothes traceable to the UK. Your weapons are from Kenya. The only thing we need to worry about are the comms gear and the UAVs. If you have to, either bury them or destroy them.”

“Got it. We’ve got enemy forces incoming sir, I better get going.”

“Good luck, Scimitar. Zero out.”

Mels cut the connection. She followed Wee ‘Eck and Paddy out of the plane before handing the phone back to Ado.

“Move out,” Mels ordered. “Zero says we have a green light to do what ever it takes to get across the border to Wolkekuckukland. Friendlies will be waiting for us.”

The sound of rotors getting closer as they beat the air made the team turn as one.

The two large red and black Dominator helicopters were visible approaching them, weapons hung from their wings.

“Move it!” Mels shouted.

The commandos sprinted for the trees behind them, atop the hill. The two Dominators hovered over the mountain meadow as they ran; side doors opened and ropes were thrown out.

Liam and Jacko reached the tree line and took cover behind a pair of solid-looking Oaks. Both dropped to one knee and began lining up targets.

Iron Grenadier troops in black fatigues and helmets fast-roped down to the ground from the helicopters as Wee ‘Eck and Paddy helped Ken to reach the trees.

Liam fired first, dropping an Iron Grenadier with a headshot. Jacko fired next, a short burst from his FAL assault rifle dropping another.

“Good news, boys and girls,” Jacko commented. “They’re not wearing body armour.”

Mels and Ado joined them in firing as Paddy leaned against a tree, listening to the enemy comms traffic. Wee ‘Eck fired, dropping another Iron Grenadier.

“Soddin’ ‘ell,” Paddy muttered. “They’re talking in their local lingo,” he said louder. “I got no idea what they’re blathering about.”

One of the Dominators pivoted around, its forward gun turret traversing back and forth, before opening fire.

“Move!” Mels shouted. “Fall back into the wood!”

The commandos needed no more encouragement as 20mm shells shattered branches above their heads.

Liam, dropped flat to the ground, adjusted his scope and then fired. The first shot from his Dragunov sniper rifle pinged off the Dominator’s cockpit canopy. The second struck one of the fast-spinning rotors. The Dominator’s pilot quickly peeled away, before the third round flew through the open side door and slammed into the roof of the cabin. The second Dominator flew forward, but Liam adjusted his position and fired three shots in quick succession which all hit the cockpit canopy. Then he scrambled to his feet and ran for it.

Several feet away in the woods, he caught up with the rest of the squad.

“What the hell did you do?” Mels asked.

“Bought us some time and put them off pursuing us,” the Special Reconnaissance Regiment soldier said. “I shot the two helicopters and they broke off.”

Ado was sat by one of the large oak trees, his laptop out. He checked a small commercial GPS wrist unit he had on. Then tapped in the reading on his laptop.

“Good news everyone,” he said. “I know where we are, thanks to GPS and Google Maps.”

Mels, Jacko and Liam moved closer to look at the laptop, whilst Wee ‘Eck kept watch.

“Two miles outside the village of Sheepridge, twenty miles from the nearest border crossing. We can’t try crossing elsewhere, because the border’s in the mountains and it’d be a nightmare getting across and climbing half way up a damn mountain.”

“Nice work,” Mels said. “We’ll head for the village on foot and then see about acquiring transport.”

“I love military euphemism,” Liam said. “You mean ‘stealing cars’, right?”

Mels nodded, “Yeah.”

The commandos set off through the woods, guided by Ado’s directions.

Castle Darklon
The same time

General Voltar Kasimov, commander of the Darklonian Army strode down the corridor to the throne room doors. A pair of Iron Grenadiers in dress uniforms, complete with sabres hanging from their belts, stood guard. Voltar knocked on the door.

“Enter,” came the lord’s voice.

Voltar pushed open the door and went in. The Lord Darklon was standing next to the throne, having placed his three-year-old son there as Voltar entered.

The Lord Darklon turned to his general. “Report.”

Voltar saluted, his liege returned it perfunctorily. “My lord, the intruder aircraft was shot down as reported. Apparently the pilot attempted a warning shot, but the Twin Otter went into a bank and was hit by the cannon fire instead. The plane crashed near the village of Sheepridge in the hills. Two Dominators carrying two squads of infantry were dispatched, they came under fire from the survivors and took casualties. The Dominator pilots returned fire, against my orders. We believe the survivors are now fleeing through the woods on foot. The Sergeant-Major on-scene has ordered the helicopters to land and collect his dead and wounded.”
Logged
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Sundance

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Re: Black Sword part 2
« Reply #1 on: August 09, 2013, 03:28:13 PM »

The Lord Darklon nodded, “Have the Dominator pilots stripped of their rank and reassigned to digging latrines or something equally disgusting. What measures do you suggest to capture our intruders?”

“I took the liberty of alerting the nearest border crossing posts, my liege. One is only twenty miles from the crash site. The others are at the town of Pinewood and at the Smarl River. I would suggest we deploy more Iron Grenadiers at checkpoints every five miles from the crash site out to thirty miles. Move in Razorbacks to support the troops and have roving patrols of Annihilators on board Dominators to search for them,” Voltar replied.

“Our elite paratroops?” Lord Darklon asked. “You don’t trust the regular troops?”

“It’s not that, Lord, I just think if these intruders are American or British Special Forces as your cousin suggested, they need to be met by our best troops.”

The Lord Darklon turned away. He stared out the window behind his throne for a moment. His black mask hiding his expression from Voltar. Finally, he turned back. “Do it. Make it clear to the unit commanders that they are to take them alive.”

Voltar nodded, “Yes, my lord.”

“And then have my cousin brought here. I think I need to discuss exactly what happened in Africa with the Laird McCullen.”

“At once, lord.”

Near Sheepridge village
Twenty minutes later

Mels and Liam studied the village from a distance. The sniper, using his rifle’s scope, knelt to steady himself. Mels, using Lisa’s binoculars, stood.

“Looks pretty quiet,” Mels said.

“Mmm,” Liam grunted.

They were at the edge of the forest, near a road leading south from the village, at the foot of the hill the trees covered.

“Okay, take Jacko and find us some transport. Two vehicles for preference,” Mels said. “With something large to lie Lisa in.”

Liam nodded; he headed back to where the rest of the squad were with Mels close behind him.

Ken waved Mels over to him as he knelt over Lisa.

“She’s coming around,” he informed his fellow pilot.

Sure enough, Lisa let out a groan and then reached up to rub her head. “Ooo, God,” she moaned. Lisa opened one eye and peered up at the two pilots.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Outside a village in Darklonia,” Mels said. “How much do you remember?”

“I remember the bloody plane getting shot,” Lisa said, closing her eye again. “I also remember us hitting that field and then it’s black.”

“We crashed,” Mels said, apologetically. “You were knocked out.”

“I had to carry you,” Ken went on. “We had to get out of the area because local troops were coming after us.”

Lisa rubbed her stomach, “That’d explain why my stomach feels painful, being slung over your shoulder, I suppose.”

“Sorry,” Ken said.

Lisa opened her eyes and struggled up into a sitting position. “So, what’s happening now?” she asked.

“Liam and Jacko have gone into the village to acquire transport. If we can get across the border to Wolkekuckukland friendly air can pick us up and extract us,” Mels replied.

The two commandos had made their way into the village. Fortunately, everyone seemed to be inside, Jacko was sure that two guys walking about carrying automatic weapons were likely to cause comment. They moved between the houses on the edge of the village until they spotted what they deduced was a doctor’s surgery. The car park was half full of assorted vehicles.

Jacko turned to Liam. “You know how to pick locks?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Look for an older car then, with no central locking. Might get lucky and find a spare set of keys inside. If not… Can you hot-wire a car?” Jacko asked the sniper.

Liam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Find me then. I can.” Jacko pointed to the left. “I’ll go this way, you go right.”

They set off. A few moments later, Jacko found a car he just knew he had to lift: a 1989 Peugeot 205 Rallye. He had to fight down a urge to giggle like a child and do a dance of glee. He pulled out a paper clip, unfolded it and proceeded to pick the door lock. The commando climbed in and rooted around in the glove compartment and the door storage compartments before finding a spare key to the ignition. He shoved the key in and then climbed out and looked around the car park, leaning on the roof.

Liam had managed to pick the lock on a 1980 Ford Transit van. He found a spare set of keys behind the sun visor and started the van up. Liam drove the van around to where he could see Jacko waiting.

“Ready?” the sniper asked.

“Hell yeah,” Jacko replied. He ducked back into the car, gunned the engine and then reversed out of the parking space and led the way back down the road, out of the village and back to where the rest of the team were waiting.

The Transit and the Peugeot pulled over at the side of the road. Ken and Paddy helped Lisa into the van, whilst Ado and Mels climbed into the 205. Both vehicles executed a flawless u-turn and headed north, speeding back through the village.

As the 205 led the way, Ado was peering out the window.

“Lot of helicopters about, don’t you think?” he commented to Mels.

She turned to look off to the east, where he was pointing. Sure enough several helicopters were flying in westwards.

“Oh, hell,” Mels said. “That’s the Darklonians moving in troops to try to find us, I’ll bet.”

The radio suddenly crackled in Ado’s ear.

“Scimitar One-One, this is Archer Five-Five, do you copy, over,” The American accent on the radio was noticeable.

“Five-Five, this is Scimitar One-One, go ahead, over.”

“One-One, We’re approximately twenty minutes from the Darklonia border. We have sufficient fuel to remain for two hours. You have that long to get to the border and we will extract you.”

“Solid copy, Five-Five.  Be warned, we have visual on hostile aircraft moving into the area. Suspect they are searching for us, over.”

“Roger that, One-One, we have radar contact on multiple rotary wing aircraft headed westbound.”

“That’s them, Five-Five.”

“We are not allowed to cross the border unless we have a positive visual on you and you are in contact with enemy troops, One-One. Contact us, this frequency, once you’re near the border.”

“Solid copy, Five-Five.” The channel clicked off.

Mels was watching Ado as he set the radio aside, then flicked on his short-range radio so everyone in the team could hear.

“We have friendly air assets, call-sign ‘Archer Five-Five’ coming in from the other side of the border,” Ado informed them. “We’ve got just under two and a half hours to get to the border.”

“What’s our current position and ETE?” Lisa asked, requesting their estimated time en-route.

Ado checked his GPS and Google Maps. “We’re about sixteen miles direct from the crossing,” he replied. “Five more minutes at this speed and on this road.”

Jacko accelerated, shifting up a gear. “Let’s get there quicker, eh?”

As the car sped around a curve in the road, they could see a helicopter ahead of them, lowering an armoured personnel carrier on to the road with its winch. Several soldiers were standing around it.

“Fookin’ hell,” Jacko swore, “Roadblock!”

“They’re still unhooking the APC,” Mels said, “Keep going!”

Both vehicles accelerated, pushing the beat-up Transit to its limit.

The helicopter was rapidly climbing clear as the Iron Grenadiers moved to ready their weapons. The turret slowly turned toward them.

“Oh, sod,” Ado swore, “Razorback! That’s twin 20mm cannon on that bugger!”

Jacko swerved left as the APC fired its guns. Liam swerved right. The shells slammed into the road behind them.

Mels wound down her window, leaned out and began firing her FAL. Ado, in the back seat, leaned out his window and began firing as well.

Bullets pinged off the Razorback’s armoured hull as the Iron Grenadiers dived for cover. Paddy opened the side door on the van, before leaning out, with Lisa and Ken holding his belt one-handed to enable him to lean further out the door. Paddy fired as well.

The Peugeot sped by the APC, sending one Iron Grenadier flying as he was struck by the car. The Transit flashed past, in the 205’s wake.

The two vehicles barrelled down the road as two Iron Grenadiers fired futilely at them.

Ado checked his GPS and then the laptop again. “Coming up on a left turn in two hundred yards,” he warned Jacko.

“Right. I see the signs.”

Jacko didn’t slow down, instead, sliding the car around the corner in a drift manoeuvre that would’ve done any Japanese Touge driver proud. The Transit Liam was driving, raced around the corner with far more discipline and braking.

The road ahead was blocked. Not only by the Darklonian border crossing, but also by another Razorback and several soldiers.

Ado immediately got on the radio. “Archer Five-Five, this is Scimitar One-One, we are at the border crossing and are imminent TIC, request immediate air support and extraction, over!”

“One-One, Five-Five, Archer Five-Six and Archer Five-Seven are pushing up speed to cover you. Five-Five is still en route, five minutes out.”

The Iron Grenadiers began moving to take cover as Jacko brought the 205 around in a controlled skid, two hundred yards short of the APC. Liam slammed on his brakes and slid the van to a halt. The commandos scrambled out of the two vehicles and took cover.

Paddy was looking to the west. He’d copied the radio transmission Ado had sent.

“Two Apache Longbows inbound from the west!” he called out.

“Attention, throw down your weapons and surrender or you will be fired upon without further warning!” a heavily accented voice bellowed from the Darklonians’ position. “You have twenty seconds!”

“Let them fire first!” Mels called out.

Sure enough, after twenty seconds shots rang out. Liam, Mels and Paddy returned fire first. Jacko fired seconds later. Ado was on the radio again.

“Archer Five-Six, this is Scimitar One-One, we are TIC at the border crossing twenty miles north of Sheepridge village. We are approx two miles from your current position. Taking small arms fire at our position. Enemy has armoured personnel carrier in place as well as multiple infantry forces.”

TIC was a brevity term for ‘troops in contact’ – in other words, fighting.

“One-One, I have a visual on multiple pax with weapons engaging two vehicles with some pax visible by them. Large APC in middle of road.”

“That’s the bad guys, firing from the APC, Five-Six. Friendlies are the eastern pax firing from the van and the car. I want a gun run north to south across the APC and hostile forces.”
Logged
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Sundance

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Re: Black Sword part 2
« Reply #2 on: August 09, 2013, 03:29:09 PM »

“Solid copy, One-One. Tipping in.”

The lead Apache attack helicopter screamed across the border into Darklonia, pivoted around and then came toward the gun battle from the north.

“Request clearance.”

“Five –Six, cleared in hot, nearest friendlies two hundred yards. Danger close!”

“Five-Six, guns, guns, guns.”

The 20mm gun on the Apache roared, bullets slamming into the Razorback APC and several of the Iron Grenadiers.

The Apache flew away to the south, before looping back west.

“Great shooting, Five-Six. I see multiple hostiles down.”

“Copy One-One. Do you want another run?”

Ado looked at Mels, “You want another strafing run?” he asked her.

The surviving Iron Grenadiers were either trying to drag the dead and wounded clear or running for cover in the bushes at the side of the road.

“No,” Mels said. “Let’s get out of here. Everyone! Get in the van!”

All seven of the commandos piled into the Transit and Jacko gunned the engine, speeding down the road. The van smashed through the wooden barrier and crossed the large red line painted across the road, which marked the actual border.

An American Army CH-47 Chinook helicopter flew in, dropping down on to the road, its rear ramp already lowered. The commandos didn’t need an invitation, leaping from the van and running aboard the Chinook. The helicopter lifted off and sped back across the Wolkekuckukland border crossing and deeper into the country, as its Apache escorts formed up alongside it.

Black Sword Operational HQ
The next day

The seven commandos arrived back at base after being flown to Britain by a US Air Force transport and from RAF Brize Norton by a Joint Special Forces Aviation Wing helicopter.

The colonel greeted the group as they disembarked from the Chinook. “Welcome back. I was starting to wonder when we’d see you again.”

“Long mission, sir,” Mels replied. “I think it was worth it, however.”

The colonel shrugged. “We’ll see. Debriefing in the ops room in an hour.”

The commandos trudged past him, carrying their weapons and bags.

Nearly two hours later, the group had debriefed the colonel on their initial foray into Kalingaland and the journey to Kalingaville. Lisa and Ado were now describing the planting of the tracker beacon on Destro’s aircraft.

“The beacon’s worked a treat,” Ado said. “We tracked the plane across Africa, into Europe to Darklonia.”

The colonel folded his arms, looking pensive. “What’s its current location?”

“Still in Darklonia last we checked,” Ado said. “Which suggests that Cobra’s got a camp there, or that Destro’s based there.”

The colonel frowned. “Or that his cousin loaned him a plane to get to Africa, which is now back in Darklonia and Destro is who-knows-where.”

Ado shrugged. “Possibly.”

“Still worth looking into, sir,” Lisa said.

“True.” The colonel sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets before packing around the room. “I’m just concerned about trying to run an op into Darklonia after your little escapade. Don’t get me wrong,” he added hurriedly, “You did a great job of getting out of the country, but by now word’s probably got to Destro that someone got involved in a fire-fight in the country, only a few weeks after his meeting in Trucial Abysmia was crashed by a buncha American commandos and other gunmen. We’re going to have to be careful about trying to track him down now.”

There was a knock on the door and the colonel called, ‘Enter!”

Four men walked in, one with an Alsatian on a lead.

“Gentlemen, meet our prodigal team. The rest of you, say hello to the new guys on the team,” the colonel said. “They arrived whilst you were in Africa.”

“Hi,” said the guy with the dog. He was a white man with blonde hair. “I’m Martin Tanner, the dog handler, as you might guess.”

“David Bennet,” said the tallest, muscular one of the group. “Everyone calls me ‘Big Ben’, so you might as well.”

Jacko snapped his fingers. “I know you, you’re from Mountain Troop. Everyone I know in that troop goes on about what an ‘ard sod you are.”

Big Ben smirked, “Yeah, I hear that too.”

The other two men were Ghurkhas. Both nodded politely before speaking.

“I’m Thaman Rana, Pathfinder Platoon,” said the taller of the two.

“Kulbir Gurung, 1 Para,” said the other.

Lisa looked at the colonel, “So, how come these guys are latecomers?” she asked.

“Martin and his dog, Fritz, are one of four K9 teams in the SAS. I had to fight the colonel of the SAS and the Director of UKSF to get them assigned to the team. Took longer than I expected. The other three have been on an SAS/SFSG joint op, which you don’t need to know about. They got back from the mission and then got assigned here,” the colonel explained. SFSG was the Special Forces Support Group, a joint-services adjunct to the SAS, SBS and Special Reconnaissance Regiment that included RAF Regiment, Royal Marine and Parachute Regiment members.

“Anyway, I’m going to be looking into what we’ve learned on your mission, guys, in the mean time, we’ll be doing more training, so you can all get acquainted and integrated.”

Two weeks later
Black Sword Operational HQ

The entire commando force assembled in the largest of the briefing rooms available to the unit at the SAS barracks. The team sat waiting as a large, muscular man walked in and moved to the front. He shook hands with the colonel.


“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I am an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency and a liaison to the Joint Services Special Task Force Black. You might remember some of you working alongside them. They’re also called ‘G.I. Joe’. I’m here to brief you on a joint operation, the Joes would like to run with you guys. You can call me ‘Chuckles’.”

“Why’s that?” asked Saint. “Is it cuz yer so bloody serious?”

Chuckles cracked a brief smile. “No, not really.”

“Well, at least ye’s understands us,” Cameron put in.

Chuckles’ smile looked more genuine the second time. “I’ve worked with several British officers in my time,” he said. “One was a Scot, one was Welsh, two were English and one was Irish. I kinda got used to the accents.”

Chuckles turned on a computer projector. An overhead satellite photo appeared.

“This is a Cobra training camp in northern Somalia. CIA has been observing it for six months. We thought it belonged to Al-Shabaab, but in recent weeks we’ve been able to confirm it’s a Cobra camp.”

Chuckles flicked through a series of lower-altitude photos, taken at an oblique angle, obviously from a UAV.

“We can see Cobra Vipers, trooper trainees and instructors in these images,” Chuckles went on. So, you might think, ‘why don’t they just bomb the bloody place then?’ Simple, gentlemen and ladies, we’ve found two people we want alive.”

There was quiet laughter from two of the commandos at the comment about bombing the camp.

Chuckles put up another image. This one was from ground level and showed a man in two-tone green camouflage, including a camo-print balaclava, in a camp in a tropical rainforest.

“This is the mercenary bomb-maker, saboteur and assassin known as ‘Firefly’. He’s been linked to a number of terrorist incidents over the last twenty years, most recently an attempted car bombing in the US. He’s wanted by the Federal government for that crime and the car bombing of the US embassy in Russia. CIA believes he has been passing his knowledge on to Cobra forces and may have taught the creators of the bombs used on the Glasgow underground. His real name, background and nationality are all unknown.”

Chuckles flicked up a new photo, showing a blonde, muscular man with no shirt on. “This is Sergei Mikhail Gerasimov, a Ukrainian national and former Ukrainian Army boxing champion. Gerasimov is also known as ‘Big Boa’ and is a physical training instructor for Cobra. He was friends with Nikolai Valuev, and after Valuev’s defeat by David Haye, he vowed to avenge Valuev’s loss by beating Haye. He subsequently disappeared, most people believing he was involved in some kind of secret training regime. Imagery from the drone has placed him at this camp, where he appears to be training troops in hand-to-hand combat.”

Chuckles looked around the room, “These two are priority targets, any other Cobras that can be captured are secondary to these guys. The Joe team are planning an assault on the camp. Black Sword’s assistance, particularly in snatching Firefly would be appreciated.”

The colonel nodded, “I think we’re interested. When the op kick off and where are we staging from?”

“Colonel Hawk is moving the Joes out to Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti. I believe the plan is for them to stage from there to a Navy carrier in the Indian Ocean area and then move into Somalia,” Chuckles replied. “I imagine the operation will kick off in the next week or two at the most.”

“Fine, We’ll get some transport sorted once I’ve decided who’s going and fly out to Lemonnier. Tell Hawk to expect us within the next two days.”

Chuckles nodded and left the room after collecting the computer disc with his photos on.

“Who’s goin’ on this one then, Boss?” asked Cameron.

The colonel looked around at the group. “Most of you, I expect. I certainly intend for Hywel, Captain Windsor, Steve, Cooper, Harry, Dave, Jacko, you and Liam, the Paras and Marines and the Ghurkhas to go. Martin and his dog…” The colonel trailed off as he stared into the middle distance. “Mick and Ken, Big Ben and probably Ado too.”

Several of the commandos were grinning, clearly pleased at the prospect of getting a mission at last.

Camp Lemonnier, US Africa Command, Djibouti
Two days later

The C-17 Globemaster transport plane touched down at the airport Camp Lemonnier abutted and taxied into the US military area of the field. Finally coming to a halt, the rear ramp was lowered, then a US Air Force crewman opened one of the side doors, allowing the Black Sword commandos to climb down as a Merlin transport helicopter was rolled down the ramp.

Hawk met the colonel at the door and, after shaking hands, led the group into a large briefing room.

The GI Joe commandos were already present, Daniel Windsor noted. Most wore US Army uniforms, but there were a few Navy and Marine Corps uniforms too.

“If you could all find seats,” Hawk said. “I’ll bring you up to speed on the op plan.”

The British personnel found seats, most sitting at least two seats away from the Americans.

“We’ll be flying out to the USS Lawrence Flagg, she’s a Nimitz-class carrier that’s currently flagship of the Navy’s force in the NATO anti-piracy task-force. From there, we will conduct a final recon of the objective via UAVs before the assault group deploys,” Hawk explained.

He suddenly paused and frowned. “Oh… I forgot. Uh, Duke reported that you guys don’t use codenames, like we do.”

The colonel stood up, “That’s right, all the shooters in my team and the pilots use their real names.”

“Well, could you guys use them, just for this mission?” Hawk asked. “For security.”
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Sundance

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Re: Black Sword part 2
« Reply #3 on: August 09, 2013, 03:29:47 PM »

The colonel looked at the soldiers, then shrugged. “I suppose so. You’ll have to give us a minute if you want them now.”

Daniel stood. “You can call me ‘Monarch’,” he said. “SAS regiment, captain. I’m the field commander.”

Two of the other Black Sword commandos sniggered.

Jacko stood. “My nickname’s Jacko, can I use that?” he asked.

Hawk shook his head, “If it’s a nickname from your real name, no.”

“Okay, can I use ‘Moonraker’?”

“Why that?” asked ‘Monarch’.

“Old nickname for people from Somerset.”

“That’ll do,” Hawk said.

“I’ll go with ‘Rock’,” said Greg Randall. “Seeing as I’m from Gibraltar.”

“I’ll take ‘Granite’ then,” said Wee ‘Eck, “Since I’m from the granite city of Aberdeen.”

“Ah, I’m the tallest bugger in the group,” said Big ‘Eck, “I’ll take ‘Giant’.”

“I’m a helo pilot,” said Mick Johnson, “Can I take ‘Whirl’?”

“Fine,” replied Hawk.

“I’ll take ‘Downdraft’,” said Ken.

One of the Marines waved to him. “Hi! I’m Updraft,” he called out cheerfully.

“I’ll take ‘Longshot’, if that’s okay,” said Liam, “Being a sniper.”

“Och, well, I’ll be ‘Sureshot’ then,” said Cameron.

One by one, the rest of them picked names. David Cottrell took ‘Centurion’, Hywel took ‘Dragon’, ‘Steve’ McQueen went with Trojan. Brian Cooper chose ‘Frog’, Harry Harrison picked ‘Corsair’. Griff chose ‘Chimera’ whilst Peter King selected ‘White Horse’. Carwyn Davies took ‘Red Devil’, Connor O’Donnell chose ‘Tiger’. Mo Khan decided upon ‘Raja’. Ado picked ‘Short Wave’. After a brief argument, Kulbir chose Kukri, leaving Thaman to pick Trailblazer. Martin opted for ‘Werewolf’, whilst David Bennett chose ‘Big Ben’, which Hawk concluded was sufficiently different to be allowed. Martin’s dog stayed as ‘Fritz’.

Hawk went back to briefing the assault plan.

“Our snipers and our mortar and anti-armour teams will be deployed first, via helicopter to a point five miles from the target, they will advance by foot to this ridge overlooking the camp.” As Hawk spoke, he cued up a satellite photo on the wall-mounted LCD screen.

The image showed a fenced compound, watchtowers were at each corner, guard posts at the gates at either end of the compound. Most of the terrain around the camp was flat, barren ground with little in the way of vegetation. A ridged hill was off to one side of the camp, providing the ideal position to overlook the camp.

“The sniper teams consist of Lowlight,” a blonde-haired guy wearing a green beret waved to the British troops, “Ambush,” A brown-haired soldier with a long beard and a thick moustache waved, “Hollow-point,” A muscular looking guy in Marine Corps camouflage, “and Cross Hair.” The last one of the four was a Ranger, with short brown hair and a round face.

Colonel Zero stood, “As my team members indicated, we've got a sniper pair. You want to add them to the mix?”

Hawk nodded,  “Good idea. The mortar team consists of Short-Fuse and Downtown.”

The two men waved to the British, both were Rangers. Short-Fuse was a lean, wiry blonde-haired guy, while Downtown was a more broad-shouldered brown haired guy.

“The anti-armour team is Bazooka and Zap.”

Another pair of Rangers, the anti-armour team was a study in contrasts; Zap was a shorter, Hispanic soldier with close-cropped black hair and a lean physique. Bazooka was a dark-haired white guy, with a muscular build. His shirt was hanging open to reveal a red sports shirt of some kind with a green ‘14’ on the front.

“The mortar team will target the guard posts on the main entrance and the southern watchtowers. The anti-armour team, using Javelin anti-tank missiles with destroy the northern watchtowers and the northern gates. Both teams will provide indirect fire-support to the main assault element if needed. The snipers will provide over-watch as needed.”

Hawk cued up a new picture, taken from a UAV.

“The camp buildings have been provisionally identified as barracks blocks here,” he indicated several structures group together in the southwest corner. “The ops room, mess hall and armoury,” the ops room and mess hall were on the southeast side of the camp, facing the barracks across an open area of ground in front of the gate. The armoury was nearer the middle of the camp. “These two blocks appear to be the showers and latrines,” Hawk indicated two more buildings next to the barracks and the armour in the centre of the camp. “Finally, there's an assault course, a firing range and this space is the parade ground.” These occupied the northern end of the camp.

“The open end of the camp at the south is guarded by six machinegun nests, mounting either DShK or RPD machineguns. The threat will be dealt with by the next strike element, two Humvees, who will insert ten miles from the camp. The Humvees will crash the camp gates after the guard posts are destroyed. They will then engage the gun nests with their Ma Deuce guns.” ‘Ma Deuce’ was a term for the Browning M2 .50 calibre heavy machinegun.

“The strike element will comprise Lt. Falcon, Rock'n'Roll, Roadblock, Hit&Run, Breaker, Snake Eyes, Wet Suit and Wet Down. Rock'n'Roll and Roadblock will be manning the guns on the Humvees, with Clutch and Crankcase driving.”

Monarch watched as one by one, the strike element stood up and waved to the British team. Falcon was a Green Beret who looked like he should be on a recruitment poster he was so clean-cut and good-looking. Rock'n'Roll was a bearded, blonde-haired muscular Ranger. Monarch thought he looked like he should've been surfing in California, he seemed so laid-back. Like Bazooka, his shirt hung open, revealing a faded Steppenwolf T-shirt. Roadblock was a Black guy who had his hair shaved off and looked like he ought to be playing in the front row of a Rugby team or for an American football team. He had a green beret tucked in his epaulette on his shoulder. Breaker was a Ranger with scruffy stubble rather than a proper beard. He was shorter and leaner than the two gunners. Snake Eyes, Monarch saw, was exactly as Lisa had described him after the Trucial Abysmia mission, dressed in black fatigues, a black balaclava and tinted goggles. Wet Suit was a fair-haired lean guy in a US Navy uniform, obviously a SEAL. Wet Down was a black-haired guy who was slightly taller than Wet Suit and of a more average build. Like Wet Suit, he wore Navy camos, clearly another SEAL. Clutch was a Ranger, with a beard and slicked-back black hair. Crankcase was slightly taller than him, thinner and with reddish-brown hair and also wore a Ranger tab on his shirt. Hit&Run wore desert camos with brown camouflage face-paint not just across his face, but his arms too.

“Once the machineguns are neutralised,” Hawk went on, “The main assault force will be inserted by three MH-60s. The assault force will be led by Sgt. Stalker and comprise Recoil, Spearhead, Footloose, Grunt, Gung-Ho, Leatherneck, Dial-Tone, Depth-Charge and Night Fox.”

Once again, the team stood to introduce themselves. Stalker was a Black Green Beret, who looked as lean as a jungle-cat, with close-cropped hair. Recoil was a Ranger with a short Mohawk cut in his blonde hair, wearing sunglasses and a marathon runner's build. Spearhead was a taller Ranger with short brown hair. Footloose was a more muscular Ranger with brown hair and a moustache. Grunt, on the other hand, was so average looking in height, build and looks and with medium length brown hair as to appear completely forgettable. He was also a Ranger. Gung-Ho was a US Marine, his head shaved and his shirt hanging open to reveal a large tattoo of the US Marines emblem across his chest. Leatherneck was also a Marine, but he had his shirt done up and wore a Marines cap on his buzz-cut black hair. Dial-Tone was a Ranger with short dark hair and a thin moustache. Depth-Charge and Night Fox were both wearing Navy uniforms. Night Fox had ginger close-cropped hair and a scar across his cheek. Depth-Charge was a taller, leaner dark-haired guy. Monarch deduced from the uniforms they were SEALs.

“Three helicopters for ten guys?” asked Zero. “And where do my team fit in?”

“The Joes will fly in the lead MH-60, flown by Wild Bill and Lift-Ticket. The other two helos will carry elements of your team, Colonel. With your consent, I want an eight-man element to fly in your Merlin helicopter to land at the north end of the camp to secure it and prevent any Cobras escaping in that direction. The other members of the unit would be flown aboard the Black Hawks to assault the south end of the camp,” Hawk explained.

The colonel mulled it over. “Fine, We put the Paras, Giant, Red Devil, Tiger, Raja and Kukri on the security team with Trailblazer and Werewolf. I’d suggest Big Ben be in that element as well, as he’s our sass machine-gunner.” ‘Sass’ was how a lot of British troops would pronounce SAS. “The Marines, SBS and other sass guys can be in the assault element.”

Monarch didn’t react, but he approved of the idea.

“Who’s flying them?” Zero went on.

“The second Black Hawk will be flown by our Marine pilots, Major Altitude and Updraft.”

The two Marines stood. Major Altitude had buzz-cut brown hair and a smart demeanour. Updraft, who Monarch noted wore captain’s rank insignia, had slightly longer, scruffier brown hair and looked more laid-back.

“The third will be flown by Cloudburst and Windmill.”

As the Marine pilots sat, the other two stood, both wore Navy uniforms. Windmill had black hair cut in a flattop and was leaner than Cloudburst who looked more muscular and had brown hair that was closely cropped. Next to them were the two Army pilots, who Monarch guessed were Wild Bill and Lift-Ticket. Wild Bill had a pearl-handled revolver strapped on his hip and wore what looked either a Cavalry hat or a Stetson. He wore mirrored aviator sunglasses. Lift-Ticket was younger looking with a baseball cap on, an automatic pistol in a chest holster and a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.

“We’ll leave the briefing there,” Hawk said. “Everyone can get acquainted before we fly out to the Flagg.”

USS Lawrence Flagg, Nimitz class carrier
Forty miles off the Somali coast
Late the next day

Hawk led Monarch, Lt. Falcon and Colonel Zero in to the stateroom belonging to the Admiral commanding the US Navy carrier. Inside were the Admiral, sitting behind his desk and two pilots, lounging in seats in front of it.

“Colonel, Captain, Lieutenant, this is Admiral Everett Colby, commander of the Flagg’s task force. Admiral, Colonel Zero of the British Army, Captain Monarch, field commander of the Black Sword unit and my field commander, Lieutenant Falcon,” Hawk said.

“Good evening gentlemen,” Colby replied. “May I present Commander Brad Armbruster, commander of VFA-141 and Major Pete Sanderson, US Marines. They’ll be providing your group with close-air cover.”

Monarch took a look at the Admiral before looking at the pilots. Vice-Admiral Colby was a tall, lean man with short black hair and wore a brown leather pilot’s jacket over his lightweight tropical uniform, despite the African heat. Monarch had borrowed Ado’s laptop and looked up the Admiral online. Former F-14 Tomcat pilot from the 1980s, flew as an instructor and adversary pilot at the Top Gun school in the 1990s before returning to a frontline role commanding an F/A-18 squadron in late 1990s before screening for flag rank. He knew his stuff as a Naval Aviator, Monarch decided.

Commander Armbruster wore a Navy flight-suit festooned with patches. He had medium length brown hair, neatly combed, and a rumpled look about him that suggested he spent as much time as possible in the cockpit. Major Sanderson, however, looked like a typical Marine; muscular, close-cropped blonde hair and not an ounce of fat on him. His flight-suit had a few patches as well.

“Sanderson will be flying the lead of a pair of AH-1 Zulus to provide you with helicopter close air support. A second pair of Zulus will be on stand by if either of those breaks. Armbruster will be flying lead of a pair of Hornets, ready with Mavericks and JDAMs for heavy air cover.”

“Someone think we’re really going to run into that much trouble?” Monarch asked. “That we need Hornets with precision munitions and anti-armour missiles.”

The Admiral shrugged. “We’re the US military, son, we like fire-power on our side.”

Monarch snorted in amusement, but said nothing.

“I also received word that your Humvees are standing by in Somalia with a Marine group who are guarding a pair of fuel trucks in case the helos need refuelling. That gear was flown in from Lemonnier by a pair of C130s an hour ago. The Black Hawks and that Brit helo you flew in on have been refuelled. You’re all set.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” Hawk replied. “We go wheels up on the fire support team’s insertion in one hour. The strike team deploys two hours later, then the assault force deploys an hour after that.”

Colby nodded, “Very well, dismissed.”

The officers left the room together. “Hey, colonels,” Armbruster called. “Any of your men know how to JTAC an air-strike?”

Hawk stopped and nodded. “One of my mortar team is cross-trained as a JTAC for his secondary role in the unit.”
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Sundance

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Re: Black Sword part 2
« Reply #4 on: August 09, 2013, 03:30:27 PM »

Zero glanced at him. “One of my radio operators is trained for it too,” he said.

Armbruster smiled, “Good. Wouldn’t want a bad drop because your guys didn’t know how to direct our fire properly. My Hornets are Skystriker 1-1 and Skystriker 1-2 for this mission.”

Major Sanderson spoke for the first time. “My pair of Hueys are Dragonfly 2-2 and Dragonfly 2-3. If we go to the back up pair, they’re Locust 3-3 and Locust 3-4.”

Both colonels nodded. “Right.”

Later that night
Somalia

The commandos making up the fire support team scrambled along the top of the ridge, getting into position. Lowlight and Ambush crawled into a position near a pair of bushes at the northern end of the ridge, setting up their M24 sniper rifles. Ambush then pulled out a small tripod-mounted range finder with an infrared laser. He began taking measurements from their position to various points around the camp visible from their position and making notes on a pencil map.

At the southern end of the camp, Cross Hair and Hollow-point were setting up their own rifles. Midway between the two American teams, Longshot and Sureshot, the two British snipers were setting up their L115 sniper rifles.

Positioned between Ambush and Lowlight and the Brits at the northern end of the ridge were Zap and Bazooka who were busy setting up their Javelin anti-tank missiles. Between the Brits and Cross Hair and Hollow-point, Downtown and Short-Fuse were setting up the M224 mortar they would use.

Soon, all five teams were ready, their weapons sighted on the camp.

Five minutes later, the sound of high-powered engines reached them. Hollow-point looked to the south.

“Visual friendlies,” he called on the short-range walkie-talkies the teams were using to speak to each other. “Two hummers coming in fast.”

“Mortars, firing,” replied Short-Fuse. Downtown dropped the first round into the launch tube.

The shell was fired back out and arced across the sky, before slamming into the eastern gatepost and exploding.

Downtown and Short-Fuse worked quickly to adjust the mortar and fire the second shell, obliterating the western gatepost on the southern side of the camp.

“Firing Javelin!” Zap reported over the radio. He squeezed his triggers and the anti-tank missile was soon streaking across the sand to slam into the northeast watchtower.

A third mortar shell destroyed the southwest watchtower, even as a few rounds were being fired from a machine-gun toward the ridge. A second Javelin destroyed the northeast watchtower.

Clutch gunned the engine of the Hummer into top gear, as he screamed, “Get ready!” over the roar of the V8 engine. The New Jersey native was having great fun, racing the HMMWV, as he had been a street-racer before signing up for the Army, modifying several cars for his own use. Behind the Humvee Clutch was driving, was Crankcase’s Humvee. Whilst he was from Indiana, Crankcase was just as keen a racer as Clutch. Both had overseen modifications to their vehicles to gain more speed without sacrificing the armour or the weapon.

The Humvees crashed through the burning wreckage of the wooden gate, into the Cobra camp. Dozens of Cobra troops were rushing from the eight barracks blocks, some heading for the machinegun nests around the entrance.

Rock’n’Roll opened fire at the running Cobras with his M2 .50 calibre heavy machinegun, the roar of the gun was music to his ears as he swing the gun around, obliterating several Cobras running for two gun nests near the barracks. As Crankcase’s Humvee swung into the camp, Roadblock opened fire with the M2 on his Humvee, liberally spraying rounds into the running Cobras.

Lieutenant Falcon threw open the door to the Humvee and dove out, firing his M4 SOPMOD as he went, dropping a Viper running toward the Humvee with an AK47. Breaker and Hit&Run leaped from the rear doors, quickly bringing their guns to bear as rounds began to ping off the armour of the Humvee. Snake Eyes, Wet Suit and Wet Down had scrambled from the second Humvee and were laying down short, controlled bursts from their weapons as the gunners continued to blaze away with longer, sustained suppression fire.

North of the camp, Whirl and Downdraft were flying in the Merlin HC3 transport helicopter. Muzzle-flashes were visible in their night-vision goggles like fireflies as the gun-battle at the south of the camp continued. The burning watchtowers were constant glows.

“One minute!” Downdraft shouted back to the commandos in the rear.

Whirl brought the helicopter over the perimeter fence of the camp, before dropping toward the open area near the gate.

The helicopter moved into a hover, three feet above the ground. Trailblazer was the first to leap from the ramp, drop the ground and bring up his M4 carbine. Big Ben landed next to him, his L110 light-machine gun at the ready. One by one, Kukri, Red Devil, Tiger, Giant and Raja jumped out, followed by Werewolf and Fritz the dog.

The Merlin lifted clear of the camp, quickly pivoting around and flying away.

“Hey, we got company,” Trailblazer said, pointing toward a group of Cobras running toward them.

Big Ben brought up his L110 and opened fire with a ten-round burst, the bullets hitting the ground before the fleeing Cobras.

“Hold it right there!” he barked.

Two Vipers returned fire with FAL assault rifles, missing the SAS gunner.

Neither Viper survived to fire again as the five paratroopers opened fire and cut them down.

One of the running men peeled off and charged toward the fenced off assault course. Red Devil aimed down his ACOG scope and tried to line up on the runner.

“Oi, that looks like bloody Firefly pegging it!” he called. Werewolf looked around, raised his own rifle and then issued an order.

“Fritz, subdue!”

The dog tore off after the fleeing man without a noise. The Alsatian leaped over the barbed wire fence with ease, dodged around a six foot tall wall, sprinted past the tyres that were joined together as one obstacle and quickly gained ground on the running man, before leaping at him.

Firefly was getting close to the barbed wire fence on the other side of the assault course when the seventy-pound dog slammed into his back and flattened him. He struggled to get out from under the dog and to draw his sidearm but the dog seemed to be fighting him like a demon possessed nightmare, finally clamping its jaws on his shoulder, close to his neck.

Werewolf and Kukri caught up to the dog in short order, with Big Ben not far behind.

The dog handler quickly flicked on his tac-light, attached to the side of this M4. The beamed revealed the camo-print balaclava of Firefly and his squinting eyes. Werewolf flicked the light off.

“It’s him,” he said to the others. “Okay, Firefly, you’re covered by three guns and an angry Alsatian, one false move and we slot ya. Got it?”

The mercenary started to nod, before stopping as the dog growled.

“Yes.” Firefly’s voice sounded hoarse.

“I’ll tell you this, too, one of the guys with a gun on you is an SAS machine gunner and the other is a bloody Ghurkha, so don’t try screwing around,” Werewolf went on.

Firefly seemed to freeze even further. “For God’s sake, don’t kill me,” he whimpered.

“Fritz, release,” Werewolf commanded. The dog let go of Firefly, but remained standing on his back. Werewolf pulled out plastic flex-ties and moved in to grab his arms and restrain him.

Working quickly, the dog handler then quickly pulled out Firefly’s sidearm, the knife strapped to his other thigh and threw them aside. He hauled the mercenary to his feet, Fritz moving around to stand before Firefly, emitting a long, low growl. Kukri moved around to stand before Firefly, his M4 pointed at his face. Werewolf then patted Firefly down, pulling out a garrotte wire, three frag grenades from various pouches, two Semtex sticky-bombs and assorted other gear. Big Ben slung his machine-gun across his shoulder, pulled a small canvas bag from his web-gear and gathered up Firefly’s belongings into the bag. Werewolf and Kukri half-dragged Firefly with them back to where the rest of the team waited.

Big Ben keyed his radio. “Cutlass 9-1 to Magician, we have secured target alpha, request you return and pick us up.”

“Roger that, Cutlass 9-1,” Whirl replied. “Inbound, two minutes.”

Big Ben acknowledged the message, before switching to the general frequency both teams were using.

“Cutlass 9-1, ‘Clinton’, I say again, ‘Clinton’.” ‘Clinton’ was one of a series of code words chosen to convey important messages in short form. ‘Clinton’ meant Firefly was captured alive and intact. ‘Roosevelt’ meant he’d been apprehended but was wounded. ‘Kennedy’ would mean he had been killed.

At the same time the Merlin was dropping off Big Ben and the paratroopers, the three Black Hawks were approaching the southern end of the camp.

Wild Bill and Lift-Ticket steered their MH-60 into place first. Stalker swung out the side-mounted bar above the helicopter’s door which held the team’s rope. Recoil grabbed the rope and slid down first. Spearhead, Footloose and Grunt followed in rapid succession, the Rangers being used to fast roping from helicopters. Dial-Tone went next with his heavier radio pack, before Leatherneck and Gung-Ho followed. Depth-Charge and Night Fox dropped next and then Stalker. Lift-Ticket scrambled from his co-pilot seat and unhooked the rope, allowing it to drop to the ground before swinging the bar in and slamming the door shut as Wild Bill flew clear.

Major Altitude moved in the second MH-60 and Updraft swung out the rope bar, before the first of the Brits, Dragon, swung out. He was followed by Moonraker, Centurion and Monarch before the four SBS commandos followed.

Windmill flew in the third helicopter, delivering Short Wave, Playback, Granite, Rock, White Horse and Chimera.

Falcon was crouched next to Clutch’s Humvee when Monarch reached him.

“Sitrep, Lef-tenant,” the SAS captain said.

“Cobras are holed up between the barracks blocks. Some of them have weapons,” Falcon informed him. “I dunno if they’ve got to the armoury or not.”

Monarch turned to the other commandos. “Centurion, Moonraker, take Leatherneck and Spearhead and secure the armoury. Frog, Corsair, you take Night Fox and Grunt and secure the ops room,” he ordered.

The captain tried not to notice the Americans looking to their officer, who gave them a subtle nod, before they ran off.

“Cutlass 9-1, ‘Clinton’, I say again, ‘Clinton’.”

Falcon and Monarch exchanged looks at the code phrase as they heard Big Ben’s message.

“Magician is inbound to collect Cutlass 9-1 squad,” Dial-Tone reported a moment later.

“Well, at least we’ve got one of our targets,” Monarch commented.

Frog and Corsair reached the door to the wooden building that housed the ops room a few seconds ahead of the American SEAL and Ranger.

“Shouldn’t have wasted time double-checking your orders,” Corsair commented, from his position at the right of the door. “Means you get to kick the door in and we clear.”

Night Fox grimaced, but said nothing, as he pulled out an M1014 shotgun he had slung over his shoulder.

“Keep that for close encounters, do ya?” Frog asked him.

Night Fox actually smiled at that comment. “Stay frosty,” he said.

Grunt was standing next to him, his own M4 levelled at the door.

Night Fox fired two slugs, shattering the door’s hinges. Corsair grabbed the door handle and pulled. The door collapsed inward. Frog threw in a stun grenade. The blinding flash and ear-splitting bang followed in a second, before the two SBS commandos charged in, weapons up.

Two Cobra troopers were inside, staggering around. One tried to raise his AK-74 assault rifle, so Corsair shot him. The other dropped his FAL assault rifle and fell to his knees. Frog grabbed him and cuffed him with flex-ties as Night Fox and Grunt followed them in.

The SEAL pulled a small cloth bag from one of the pouches on his web-gear. He shook it out and then began grabbing DVD-ROMS, flash-drives, paper work and anything else he thought looked valuable. Grunt was busy doing the same. Frog and Corsair exchanged looks.
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Sundance

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Re: Black Sword part 2
« Reply #5 on: August 09, 2013, 03:31:22 PM »

“What the hell are you doing?” Frog asked.

“Never heard of SSE?” Night Fox asked. “Sensitive Site Exploitation?”

Corsair caught on, “Oh, grab anything that looks like it might have intel.” He turned around, spotted a mobile phone, picked it up and shoved it into an empty pouch on his web-gear. Frog grabbed a laptop and a second mobile phone. Grunt pulled out a small screwdriver as Corsair began picking up paperwork and began unscrewing a PC tower. The SBS soldier frowned. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he commented.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he said. “Mainframe taught me what to do.”

“Who’s Mainframe?” Frog asked as he picked up a tablet PC.

“One of our desk weenies back home,” Night Fox answered as Grunt went to work removing the PC’s hard drive. “He’s an Army computer nerd that generally stays at base with our CIA liaisons. Been building computers for twenty years apparently. Got recruited out of college before Microsoft could hire him.”

Night Fox pulled a second bag from his web-gear and handed it to Frog, allowing him to put the stuff he’d grabbed into it. Corsair shoved the phone and the paperwork he’d picked up into the bag as well.

“You guys never do this before?” Night Fox asked.

Corsair shook his head. “Most of the raids I did in Afghanistan were on bomb factories, so we let the EOD guys do their thing after we’d shot the Terry snots. I did wind up raiding an opium store once as well.”

“Terry?” asked Grunt as he put the hard drive into his bag.

“Terry Taliban,” Frog answered. “You Yanks might like to call them pejorative stuff like rag-heads and so on, we call them ‘Terry’. Most of the time when my team did raids, I was more worried about covering the exits.”

Once the commandos had filled the bags and grabbed armfuls of paperwork, Corsair pulled the Cobra trooper to his feet and steered him out the door and back toward the Humvees. The others followed him.

The other commandos were exchanging sporadic fire with the Cobras between the barracks blocks.

Monarch and Falcon were conferring next to the Humvees.

“We definitely need to flank them,” Monarch said. “Centurion’s not reported in, or come back, I’m concerned his team are in trouble.”

Falcon sighed. “Right. Let’s keep some guys here and send the others to flank north and south. Catch them in a pincer.”

Monarch nodded.

“I suggest we send my four Marines and the SBS guys to the south with two of your guys. Send six of your guys and two of my sass chaps north to reinforce the team we sent to the armoury and then flank them.”

“Fine,” Falcon looked around at his team. “Gung-Ho, Snake Eyes, join the British team and head to the south and get ready to flank them. Stalker, take Depth-Charge, Footloose, Wet Suit, Wet Down and Hit&Run north with two of the Brits. Find Spearhead’s team and make sure that armoury is secure.”

“Chimera, Rock, Granite, White Horse, Broadside and Trojan. Head south. Dragon and…” Monarch paused, realising the other SAS man was him, since Werewolf and Big Ben were out-bound with the Paras. “Frog. You two join the Yanks.”

The two teams set off. “Breaker,” Falcon called, “Radio the fire support team what’s going on. I don’t want friendly fire taking the flanking squads out.”

The radio operator nodded and switched frequencies on his radio to send the message.

Stalker led the north-bound team at a dead run across the empty ground in front of the barracks blocks to the armoury. Inside, they found the four other commandos busy planting charges.

“Dag, Spearhead, the Ell-tee is worried about you guys. We thought you were toast or somethin’. What you doin’?”

“Moonraker pointed out it’d be a damn good idea to blow this stuff into next week before Cobra could recover it, or worse still some locals get hold of it,” the Ranger replied.

“We don’t want some mob of pirates getting hold of it, do we?” Moonraker pointed out.

The Green Beret looked around the single room building. It was a cornucopia of mayhem, holding racks of Kalashnikovs, FALs, RPDs, RPKs, grenades, boxes of ammo, a variety of sub-machine guns and RPGs.

“Guess not.” Stalker looked back to Spearhead. “How long before you’re done?”

The Ranger turned to Centurion. “Sarge?”

“One minute,” the British commando replied. He finished the last wiring job.

“Right, let’s go, before we blow our own heads off. Anyone else tries to get in here and they’ll get blown sky-high.” Centurion waved his hands in a shooing motion, sending the others out the door.

The group moved to the end of the nearest barracks block.

Stalker keyed his walkie-talkie. “North team to Dial-Tone.”

“Dial-Tone here.”

“Tell Falcon, the armoury is rigged to blow. We’ve got Spearhead’s team with us. We’re at the end of the barracks nearest the shower block.”

“Solid copy, Stalker.”

A moment later, Broadside’s Yorkshire accented voice came over the radio net. “South team in position.”

“Both teams, move up on barracks block,” ordered Falcon.

The teams moved along the narrow lane between the barracks until they reached the next intersection of paths. The Cobras were still concentrated in the centre of the group of eight buildings.

“HEY!” a Cobra trooper shouted, spotting the northern team.

“We’re spotted!”  shouted Stalker. “Go loud!”

He opened fire at the same time as Spearhead, both dropping to one knee, allowing Depth-Charge and Wet Suit, the next to men in line, to open fire over their heads.

Four Cobras were felled by the bursts of fire; more began turning their way.

“South team firing,” reported Rock.

More gunfire crackled across the night. More Cobras fell.

The two flanking teams were close enough to see only a few Cobras were armed with assault rifles. Most of them had only sidearm pistols or a few sub-machine guns.

More gunfire rattled out as the two teams cut down the Cobras.

At the Humvees, Falcon and Monarch were watching the battle through their night-vision goggles.

“I hope we haven’t killed Big Boa already,” Monarch admitted. “I don’t see him.”

Falcon glanced at him. “Good point. Breaker! Call Dragonfly 2-2, have them perform a show of force over the barracks blocks.”

The radio operator nodded and got to work. A show of force was a low-level fly-by of enemy positions, often with flares being launched to intimidate them.

Moments later, the roar of the attack helicopter filled the night air, overpowering the crackle of gunfire.

The AH1Z flew across the camp from south to north at twenty feet above the ground; firing flares out as it cross the centre of the barracks buildings.

Two flares shout out from either side of the helicopter, burning brightly as they dropped toward the ground. The AH1Z climbed away and came back around to the east. Seconds later, the second AH1Z flew over, firing its flares.

Falcon opened a bag hooked on the side of the Humvee and pulled out a loud hailer.

“Attention Cobra troops!” he shouted into the loud hailer. “Those were AH1 Hueys! They are loaded with full gun loads, Hellfires and rockets. You have a choice. Surrender now or we call them back in for a gun run. If you wish to surrender, drop your weapons and place your hands on your heads and kneel down.”

Three Cobra troopers threw down their handguns and put their hands on their heads.

Two Vipers shot them before they could kneel. The Vipers were gunned down seconds later by Stalker and Wet Suit. More of the Cobra troops began throwing down their guns.

“Now what do we do?” Monarch asked. “There’s no way we can haul all of them back to the carrier and we can’t exactly execute surrendered enemies, even if they are terrorists.”

Falcon smiled at him. “We prepared for this,” he replied. “Dial-Tone, signal Hawk. Code word is Jefferson.”

“Jefferson?” asked Monarch. “That wasn’t one of the codes you told us about. You told us Clinton, Roosevelt and Kennedy for Firefly and Eisenhower, Reagan and Lincoln for the same situations with Big Boa.”

Falcon nodded. “I know. Hawk and I also agreed four other codes. ‘Washington’ for a failure of the mission, requiring an abort. ‘Jefferson’ for the Cobras surrendering and the need for reinforcements. ‘Carter’ meant we had to withdraw and call in an air-strike and finally ‘Truman’ if we had to abort before the assault began.”

“What reinforcements?” Monarch asked.

“Marines from Lemonnier.” Falcon turned to where Grunt and Night Fox were watching. “They should be here in an hour.”

“You two,” Falcon went on, “Remove all the guns from the machine gun nests and destroy them with thermite. I want the prisoners moved out here. Clutch, Crankcase, back up these hunks of iron. I want your gunners to have good fields of fire to cover the prisoners.”

The Joes began to get to work before Falcon ordered the commandos to escort the prisoners into the open. Once the prisoners were out in the open, Falcon had some of the Joes take up positions in the destroyed gun-nests, whilst Roadblock and Rock’n’Roll stayed manning the Humvees guns. Falcon and Hit&Run then went around gathering up the dead Cobras, along with Centurion and Moonraker, before Stalker took photos of the Cobras, Hit&Run took fingerprints and Falcon took swabs from their mouths. The fire support team had been called down from the ridge, allowing them to get some rest.

The Marines from the camp in Djibouti arrived an hour after Falcon had called them in. Two CH-46 Sea Knight helicopters landed, dropping off a Marine rifle platoon of forty-five Marines and one Navy corpsman medic.

The lieutenant commanding the platoon met Falcon and Monarch. “I’ve got an entire rifle platoon here, sir. Where you want us?”

“Take over from my men in the camp, lieutenant. We should have some Air Force transports coming in to lift the prisoners out,” Falcon replied.

Sure enough, three C-130 Hercules transports landed a few minutes after the two Marine Corps helicopters had lifted off again.

The forty-seven Cobra prisoners were cuffed with flex-ties, hooded and moved on to the first two Hercules transports, with half of the Marines accompanying half of the prisoners on the two planes. The two Humvees were loaded on to the third Hercules, along with several of the commandos. The rest of the commandos were collected by the Black Hawks flown by the Joes’ helicopter pilots.

USS Flagg
Two hours later

Zero and Hawk entered the small room Firefly had been left in. Since the Merlin and the Cutlass 9-1 team had delivered him to the carrier, his camouflage gear had been stripped off him and he was now wearing a bright orange jumpsuit and sat with his hands cuffed before him on the small table.

“So. Want to tell us your real name?” Hawk asked.

“That’s not what you really want to ask me about, is it?” Firefly replied, smirking. Zero noticed he didn’t seem to have much of an accent. Neither French, English nor American. Not Canadian or Australian. That, he thought, was odd.

“What do we really want to ask you about, then?” Hawk asked.

“You want to know all about Cobra. I’m prepared to tell you everything. But, I have two conditions. The first of which is, I won’t speak without a lawyer present and in a civilian police facility. I am not getting rendered away to Uzbekistan or some place like that. I want some guarantees of being treated humanely.”

Hawk and Zero exchanged a look.
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Sundance

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Re: Black Sword part 2
« Reply #6 on: August 09, 2013, 03:32:00 PM »

“What’s the second condition?” Zero asked.

Firefly smirked again. “Put me in police station with a lawyer and I’ll tell you.”

The colonels stood. “You might just wind up back in Somalia,” Hawk told him. “You’re wanted there for illegally entering the country as well as associating with a banned organisation.”

“Not to mention the jurisdictional fight that the Feds in America are going to have with the British authorities. They finally indicted you in London yesterday after a Cobra trooper connected to the Glasgow bombings confirmed our intel that you taught them how to build the bombs.” Zero smiled. “Smirk that off.”

Firefly said nothing, but did indeed smirk.

Paddington Green Met Police station
London, England
Two days later

Firefly, now dressed in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, sat next to his lawyer in the interview. Across the desk were Chuckles and Zero. The American authorities had conceded Firefly’s capture had been by the British and that he would be extradited to the US once he had served his sentence in the UK.

Zero regarded Firefly with a wary look. “So, are you now willing to tell us your second condition?”

Firefly nodded. “Yes. My second condition for telling you all about Cobra is that you don’t send me to Belmarsh. I don’t want to be thrown in with the Islamists, the IRA nutters and whatever other terrorist scum you’ve got in there.”

Her Majesty’s Prison Belmarsh was a high security jail where Britain detained terrorists and terror suspects. Among those held there were both notorious hate-preachers Abu Qatada and Abu Hamza and the murderers of a British soldier earlier in the year.

Zero shrugged. “That’s not my decision, but I doubt you’d be held there. They’ll probably ship you out to some where like Frankland.” That was another of Britain’s high security jails.

Firefly glanced at the lawyer, who said nothing. “Okay. I suppose you want me to start with how I got recruited?”

Zero shook his head. “Let’s start with Cobra Commander.”

Firefly shrugged. “I never met him. If you’ve watched the garbage he posts online, you probably know as much as me. He’s a Yank. He’s nuttier than a bowl of salted peanuts. About all else I can tell you is rumours I heard. Stories that he lost his business in the recession five years back. His wife and kid left him. He’s supposed to blame it all on Obama, the US government, capitalism, blah, blah, blah.” He rolled his eyes. “Like I said, a nut.”

“So, if you never met the Commander, who did recruit you?” asked Chuckles.

“Major Bludd did.” Firefly studied their blank looks. “Never heard of him, eh?”

“No,” Zero replied. He looked at Chuckles.

“Not a clue,” the American answered.

“Major Sebastian Bludd,” Firefly began, in a somewhat lecturing tone, “Formerly of the Australian Army and the French Foreign Legion, turned mercenary. He was an officer in the Australian Army, before joining the SAS out there, where he served until 1999. He subsequently left to join the French Foreign Legion, where he thought he’d see more action. Somewhat ironic, considering that fact that the SASR were deployed to East Timor in ’99, before being sent to Afghanistan. He was commissioned as a captain in the Foreign Legion. Served in KFOR in Kosovo and then in Afghanistan. Left the Legion and became a merc in 2003. He was recruited to work for the Menshivikistas in Sierra Gordo after they returned to power. They commissioned him as Major, training their new elite unit. When they got ousted, Bludd fled, fearing he would be executed. He served with the Royalists in Kalingaland for three years, before he was recruited by Cobra Commander.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Zero.

“He bored me to tears telling me his damn life story in a bar in Nigeria when he recruited me. I was on the verge of going legit. I’d made a load of money, but was contacted to work for a mining company, doing their blasting work. I was about to take the contract when Bludd found me. He offered me a steady payday and more money than the mining company. Like an idiot, I took the job,” Firefly replied. “Bludd serves as Cobra’s principal field commander. If a mission involves anything bigger than a section, he’s either in command or he’s keeping close tabs on the Vipers in charge. He’s the Commander’s right-hand man.”

Firefly paused to sip some water.

“He told me he was recruited, not by the Commander, but by a woman. No doubt you’ve never heard of her, either. She’s known as ‘The Baroness’ or ‘Anastasia DeCobray’. According to Bludd, her real name is Anastasia Cisarovna. She’s ex-SVR, Russian intelligence. I don’t know much about her, either. All that I do know is hearsay and rumour. She’s taught some of the Vipers espionage techniques like dead-drops, brush-passes, all that field-craft. Rumour has it she’s hot. You remember Anna Chapman, that spy the US caught? Think her, but bustier and with black hair and glasses. Word in the Viper cadre is that she’s got something going on with Destro, but no one really knows. She rarely goes into the field, mostly she trains a few Vipers and does intel analysis to help the Commander plan his moves,” Firefly went on.

“Does Cobra have any ties to the SVR?” Chuckles asked. “Are they getting material aid from them?”

Firefly burst out laughing. After a solid minute of laughter, he calmed down. “No.” He cleared his throat. “The Commander may hate his country’s government, but he’s not cosying up to the Russkies, that’s for damn sure.”

Firefly took another drink. “Cobra is a multi-national group, sure, but the Commander, for all the attacks on other countries, is only interested in bringing down the US government.” He paused, “Oh, one other thing, Major Bludd led the op that resulted in that French minister being assassinated in Toulouse. As a result, DGSE was given a kill order against him. They caught up with him in Africa, he survived, but lost his left eye.”

Zero frowned. “So, who else is there besides Major Bludd and The Baroness at the top of the organisation, other than the Commander?”

Firefly shrugged. “Several specialists. The big one you want to catch is Doctor Mindbender. Cobra’s chief scientist.”

Zero and Chuckles exchanged glances. “Scientist?” asked Chuckles.

“Yeah. Chinese guy. No idea how to say his name, so don’t ask. Everyone calls him Mindbender because he’s involved in developing chemical weapons for inducing hallucinations.” Firefly looked at their expressions. “You know, like in Batman Begins? Fear inducing weaponised hallucinogens. Make people see scary guff that’s not really there. He was part of a Chinese program that got cancelled in the 1990s. I met him a couple of times, when they were trying to work out how to make the delivery system work. He mostly works with a guy called The Interrogator, some scary Iranian or Iraqi bloke who specialises in dealing with prisoners. Word on the Interrogator is that he doesn’t use physical torture, preferring chemical serums. That and talking calmly to subjects in a kinda of hypnotic fashion. I don’t know who he is, either.”

Firefly glanced at the lawyer, who was watching intently.

“I know you already know all about Destro, so I won’t bore you with that. Besides Big Boa, the others I know about are Skycreeper and Vypra. Skycreeper’s a pilot. Specialises in flying hang-gliders, microlights and other small aircraft. He’s got a squadron under his command called the Night Vultures. They’re supposed to have armed microlights. I don’t know any more than that. Vypra’s a woman. She leads a group called the Motor-Vipers, specialists in vehicle combat, fire-and-manoeuvre tactics, defensive driving and so on. From what I’ve heard, she’s got some military training as well as being a street racer. Her group use UAZ jeeps Destro bought from a former Soviet republic, fitted with machine guns and hillbilly armour.”

Hillbilly armour was a term used for retrofit metal plates added to vehicles to give them additional protection.

“Other than that, all I can tell you is about the specialist groups. That and where they’ve got bases,” Firefly said.

“Specialist groups?” asked Zero.

“Yeah, like the Motor-Vipers and the Night Vultures. They’ve got at least six guys who are commando frogman trained. They call them ‘Eels’. There’s a group of a dozen parachute qualified Vipers they call ‘Para-Vipers’. Ten pilots, mostly fly transports, called the Aero-Vipers. Then there’s the Alley-Vipers, a 20-strong group of Vipers trained in urban combat, they’re equipped with body armour, riot helmets and shields. Night-Vipers are a group trained in nocturnal combat, equipped with NVGs and thermal scopes. There’s a few others, the Internet geeks are the Tele-Vipers, they also handle communications; the vehicle and aircraft maintenance techs are the Techno-Vipers and the SAW-Vipers, a group specifically trained to fight with light machineguns.” Firefly paused in his recitation. “Oh, and then there’s the Crimson Guard.”

“Who are they?” Zero asked.

“Twenty undercover operatives they’ve got all around the world. From what Bludd told me, they’re not your typical lone-wolf type. They’re family men, living respectable lives as bankers, doctors, accountants, even lawyers, with a wide social circle and no obvious ties to the military or to Cobra.” Firefly looked at his lawyer. “Someone like him, even.”

The other two men looked at the lawyer, who immediately paled.

“Don’t worry, he ain’t one of them. But I know they’re out there,” Firefly said. “They could be your biggest threat.”

The lawyer cleared his throat. “I suggest we leave it there for the day, gentlemen. He’s given you a lot.”

The colonel exchanged looks with the CIA liaison. “True. We need to analyse this.”

“And I need to report back to my superiors,” Chuckles said. “But we’re going to want to know where the bases are.”

Firefly nodded. Chuckles stood and walked out without looking back. Zero stood. As he was about to leave, Firefly called out, “Hey.”

Zero stopped and turned back.

“One of the Vipers that I was training in Somalia. He was a new guy, came from Europe. He’d been sent over from Darklonia. You might want to start there.” Firefly smirked, “Word got back to the camp about the commandos who were shot down.”

Zero didn’t react visibly, then he said, “I’ll bear that in mind.”

To be continued…
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Paratroopers don't die, they go to Hell and regroup.