War of the Red Shadows

1995

Somewhere…

The man known only as the Black Major strode across the wooden stage to the podium. Hanging from the podium’s front, was the emblem of the Red Shadows. A larger version, as a flag, hung behind him.

In front of him were massed ranks of Red Shadows. Not all of the army he had assembled in the past ten years; but an army nonetheless.

“Shadows! The world outside our walls has largely forgotten us. They no longer tremble at our name. Instead, they cower at the name Cobra! But Cobra’s time is coming to an end! It is time that the world trembled at our name! It is time the world remembered us! We are the Red Shadows and they shall fear us! They shall fear our cry!”

The chant began immediately.

“BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD FOR THE MAJOR!”

“The world shall fear us and the Red Shadows will prevail!”

Austria

'''March 9, 1995. 15:30 GMT'''

Hades stood on the ramparts of the castle he owned. Looking out across the snow-capped mountains, he cursed fate once more. Fifteen years ago, as Major Sebastian Blaine, he had thrown away his career as a New Zealand SAS officer to become a mercenary. After the betrayal of his mercenary comrades during a mission in Africa, he joined Cobra. He had rapidly made his way through their ranks to become the number two operative in Cobra Europe.

Along the way, his arms dealing company, Argent Corporation, had grown in size and respectability; even owning two drilling platforms in the North Sea. Such had been Argent Corporation’s prestige, when Action Force had assaulted one of the platforms, believing Cobra to have hijacked it, Hades had been able to deal Action Force an embarrassing blow, by arresting them for piracy and forcing the unit into a temporary suspension of operations. His power had also led Hades to rashly boast of being the true leader of Cobra Europe.

The truth, however, was that Anna Conda remained Commander of Cobra Europe. The loss of face Hades had suffered at the hands of Skip, leader of Z-Force, in Greenland – beaten and captured, taken to London – had led Hades to make a rash decision to try to overthrow Anna Conda. It had cost him his left eye in a vicious knife fight. He then spent two years attempting to undermine Cobra Europe from within, leaking information to Action Force. Ultimately, that had failed. Anna Conda had realised there was a mole in Cobra and ruthlessly hunted the leak’s source, swearing bloody retribution on the mole.

Hades had subsequently pinned the blame on Salamander, costing the Russian mercenary his life, whilst preserving his own.

He might have simply left and fled Europe, if not for Shadow Snake. Anna Conda’s bodyguard and assassin was a master of snake-style Wu Shu as well as an expert archer and swordsman. If Hades fled, Anna would send the killer after him and he would likely die without even knowing it was coming.

As Hades began to consider the idea of simply turning himself in to Action Force and selling Anna out, a Viper ran along the battlements.

“Hades, Anna Conda demands your presence in the ops room immediately.”

Hades nodded and followed the trooper back into the castle.

Minutes later, Hades joined Anna in the ops room, once a dining hall in the castle’s main keep.

Anna Conda turned to Hades as he entered. “We’ve received this video,” she said. She snapped her fingers and a Tele-Viper promptly started the video.

One of the monitors changed to show a man in a uniform that looked superficially like a British Royal Marine’s uniform. The resemblance fell away when one saw the large skull-and-crossbones insignia on the left breast of the tunic and the red and white stripes on the shoulders.

“''Greetings, Commander. I am the Black Major, commander of the Red Shadow army. I invite you and any associates you may choose, to a meeting on March 12th in Madrid. This meeting is to discuss matters believe will be mutually beneficial to all of us''.”

The screen switched to show a street address in Madrid.

Anna looked at Hades.

“I thought the Red Shadows were dead. We clashed with them enough in the ‘80s… I wonder what he wants?” Hades mused.

“You think I should meet with him?” Anna asked, her Austrian accent showing in her clipped question.

Hades shrugged. “That’s up to you, Commander. I would caution against it. I’m sure you remember the trouble they caused us; especially in India.”

Anna said nothing, merely considering what Hades said and what the Black Major had said.

Sunday March 12th20:45 GMT

Madrid

Shadow Snake opened the door to the Argent Corporation-owned Mercedes-Benz. Anna Conda stepped out, looking around as she did. Hades followed her out. The martial artist closed the door and looked around himself. It was hardly the most palatable location for a meeting. Dingy warehouses surrounded them. Behind his mask, Shadow Snake frowned. Security here would be difficult.

Anna Conda, resplendent in her usual form-fitting black bodysuit and knee-high boots, strode toward the designated building. Her surroundings were hardly fit for an Austrian countess, but she’d left that life behind more than ten years ago when she’d become a member of an Austrian terrorist group, murdering her way around Austria before joining Cobra and rising to the leadership of their European operations. She still carried her aristocratic bearing, even when slumming it in Madrid’s warehouse district.

Hades and Shadow Snake followed her in through the door, which was opened for them as they approached. Inside four Red Shadow troopers watched them as they entered. One-stepped forward.

“You need to check your weapons,” the trooper said. “No one goes further without surrendering weapons.”

Anna slowly drew the small Walther pistol she had on her hip and handed it over. Hades did the same with his much larger Browning Hi-Power. Shadow Snake reluctantly handed over his Dao sword, his two fighting knives and his crossbow. One of the Red Shadows stepped forward and used a hand-held ‘wand’ metal detector to sweep over their bodies. Satisfied, he stepped back and waved them forward.

Another Red Shadow, this one an officer, Hades decided, escorted them into a simple wood-panel room. Already inside the room were the Black Major and three other men.

The first one Hades noticed, and the one who scared him, was Black Ice. The leader of Cobra’s Canadian operations, Black Ice was clad in a special body suit that incorporated a helmet that hid his entire head. He was notorious as one of the most dangerous hand-to-hand fighters in Cobra, even including the likes of Slice and Dice the ninjas or the next man Hades spotted: Ninja-Ku, the black-clad ninja bodyguard of the last member of the group, Cobra de Aco, also known as Steel Cobra, leader of Cobra’s South American operation.

The Black Major smiled as he moved toward the seat the head of the table.

“Please, do sit down.”

Black Ice took the seat opposite Black Major. Anna Conda and Hades took seats on the Major’s right. Steel Cobra took one on the left. Ninja-Ku stood behind him. Shadow Snake stood behind Anna and Hades. The Red Shadow officer moved to stand behind the Black Major’s right side.

“Welcome. I apologise for the facilities, but when one is a hunted terrorist the creature comforts can sometimes be hard to come by, as I’m sure you’re all aware.”

“Get to the point, Major,” Black Ice growled. “Why invite us here?”

A frown flickered across the former Royal Marine’s face, before he forced another smile.

“I would like to propose an alliance between my Red Shadow forces and your respective organisations. An alliance of mutual benefit,” Black Major explained. “My Red Shadows will shortly be launching a concerted attack on the various teams formed to fight both Cobra and the Shadows. Following that attack, we will launch an offensive against the United States of America. Once we control America, we will expand our control across the world. If you choose to side with the Red Shadows, your respective groups will be free to seize control of your respective areas and to rule them as you see fit in the new world order.”

The Black Major paused.

“Well, with one exception.”

“What exception is that?” Steel Cobra asked.

“The United Kingdom. Cobra Europe can have the rest of that continent including Iceland and all of Russia. But Britain and Northern Ireland are mine.”

“What if we refuse?” Black Ice growled. He didn’t seem to speak any other way.

“Well, one does hate to be melodramatic,” Black Major, said with a small smile. “But if you’re not with us, clearly, you are against us and shall be treated… accordingly…”

Silence reigned for a moment. “Not interested,” Black Ice finally announced.

“Neither am I,” Anna spoke up next.

Steel Cobra’s face was hidden by his polished steel mask, but his voice carried through strongly enough. “Count me out, too.”

The Black Major heaved a sigh. “Very well.”

“Yǐng shé shā sǐ míngfǔ,” he said in fluent Chinese.

Shadow Snake blinked. Then he stepped forward, grabbed Hades’ head and snapped his neck.

Anna Conda leaped to her feet, letting out a shriek of horror as she did.

Ninja-Ku immediately leapt across the table and tackled Shadow Snake to the ground. Black Ice threw the table to one side and charged the Black Major.

The Red Shadow officer threw himself into Black Ice’s path, allowing the Major to run for it.

Ninja-Ku threw several punches at Shadow Snake, but he blocked each one. Then the Wu Shu master punched Ninja-Ku straight in the nose, shattering the cartilage and ramming it backward into his brain. Death was instant.

Black Ice turned toward Shadow Snake as the Chinese warrior threw himself into a flying kick.

The Canadian grabbed Shadow Snake’s ankle and span around, slamming the assassin into the wooden wall.

Anna Conda and Steel Cobra both took this as their cue to run.

Black Ice strode out of the room and looked around. The Black Major had fled and so had the Red Shadow guards.

Muttering a curse, he strode over to where the guard had confiscated his sidearm, retrieved it and then walked out without looking back.

Two days later: March 14, 14:20 GMT

Argentina

Four vans drove into positions scattered around the military base that had been identified as Task Force 282’s headquarters. Inside each van, three men set to work, opening special hinged panels in the roof, raising mortar tubes into position and preparing their shells.

Each van’s commander checked their watches and then signalled the other two men. They immediately began firing.

As the first wave of four shells crashed down on to the base, alarms began sounding.

Manleh and Shimik ran to the door of the operations building as a second wave of shells hit.

“Madre di dios,” Shimik muttered as a round hit a Tomahawk parked outside its hangar for maintenance.

The helicopter exploded. Three of the Argentine mechanics weren’t quick enough to clear the area and were killed by shrapnel.

The two soldiers ducked back inside as a third wave hit.

Several fuel tanks were hit and exploded next. As the fourth wave fell, one shell struck the ops building, blasting a hole in it.

Manleh and Shimik ran back to the ops room.

“Mortars,” Shimik said. “Being fired from outside the perimeter.”

TF 282 had been expanded since 1990, and the man formerly called El Coronel was now El General.

“Contact Glenda and Martillo,” El General ordered Topson. “They should still be out on that training flight in the Dragonfly.”

Martillo was a new helicopter pilot who’d recently joined the task force from the Peruvian Army.

“Got them,” Topson reported. The mortars were still firing.

“Tell them to return here, I want to know who’s attacking my damn base!”

Several more barrages of shells hit the base. Finally, the shells stopped falling.

El General turned to Manleh, “Take a squad and get out there and see if you can find them!”

Moments later, as the Dragonfly helicopter swooped over the base, Manleh led Leopard, Shimik and Estopim out of the ops building. Several small fires were burning on the base, whilst Argentine Army medics were tending to several wounded personnel.

The four soldiers piled into an AWE Striker parked in an intact garage building and raced out.

“I feel bad about leaving those medics,” Leopard commented. “We ought to be helping.”

Manleh looked at the jungle warfare specialist. “Let’s let the medics and SOS do their jobs, we do ours, hunting for the guys who put them in the hospital.”

The jeep sped through the smashed gates and headed along the road toward where Manleh had seen one of the shells coming from.

Next to him in the jeep, Shimik pulled out a radio and contacted Glenda.

“Any sign of the hostiles?” he asked without preamble.

“Affirmative, I see four vans speeding along the highway towards Punta Arenas,” Glenda answered. “''We’ve got no ammo. We can’t intercept them.”''

“Just give us a position and keep them in sight, we’ll handle it,” Shimik assured her.

“''Currently heading straight for Punta Arenas. You’re about 650 metres behind them.”''

“I see them,” Manleh said as he weaved the Striker between the civilian vehicles on the road.

In the back of the tail van, one of the two Red Shadow soldiers spotted the AWE Striker. He slapped his companion on the arm and pointed out the window. Both still wore earplugs. They were going to need them.

The first Shadow opened the van’s rear doors, whilst the other grabbed one of the two AKSM carbines in the back of the van and opened fire.

Manleh dodged the gunfire, which took out the windshield of a car behind the jeep.

“Don’t be shy returning fire,” he said.

Estopim had harnessed himself to the Striker’s roll-cage. He grabbed the light machine gun Shimik carried and braced himself, before opening fire.

The burst cut down the Red Shadow even as his colleague snatched up a second AKSM and opened fire.

Shimik armed the Striker’s 40mm cannon and fired a single round. The shell hit the van and blew it to pieces.

“It would be nice to have one alive to interrogate, amigo,” Manleh said as he weaved around the burning wreck.

Ahead of them, the next two vans spread across the road, their doors flung open. Estopim opened fire with the light machine-gun again.

The bullets stitched a line across the back of the right-hand van, killing both Shadows. Manleh swerved to avoid the return fire from the Red Shadows in the left-hand van.

“Enough of this,” Shimik said, firing the 40mm cannon. The shell hit the road squarely between the two vans, throwing them up into the air, to crash back down and roll over.

The AWE Striker sped between them without stopping, even as civilian cars behind them began to skid to a halt or serve to avoid the wreckage.

Leopard looked back over his shoulder. Seeing the mess behind them, he leaned across the roll-cage from the jeep’s left side and disconnected the thick black cable connecting the cannon to the dashboard-mounted controls.

“You seriously need to calm down, Shimik. We’re supposed to protect civilians, not cause pile-ups,” the Ecuadorian soldier commented.

Shimik glowered up at Leopard’s face as Manleh weaved around a car in front.

“He’s right, Shimik,” Manleh shouted as Estopim opened fire at the final van. “We’re not supposed to put their lives at risk.”

The Red Shadows in the final van began firing at the commandos as the traffic began to thin out.

Suddenly, the Dragonfly helicopter roared overhead, pivoted and dropped toward the road.

Hovering just above the road, its three guns were aimed squarely at the van. The Red Shadow driving panicked, slammed on the brakes and yanked the steering wheel to the right. The van skidded around, as he tried to avoid the attack helicopter, then tipped over and slid along the road for a few metres on its side before coming to a halt.

Manleh brought the jeep to a halt, allowing Leopard and Estopim to hop off the running boards. Leopard unslung the MP5 submachine gun he carried and carefully approached the van as Manleh and Shimik stepped out of the jeep and drew their side arms.

Estopim followed Leopard forward, covering the jungle warfare specialist with the machine gun.

Leopard reached the van and checked the pulse of both Red Shadows in the back. They were alive but unconscious.

Leopard carefully dragged one clear of the van, then the second. Estopim moved around the crashed van to check the driver. He was also unconscious, but trapped.

As the grenadier informed Manleh, the squad leader turned at the sound of a loud diesel engine. A Task Force 282 APC had just arrived. Sirens in the distance heralded the imminent arrival of civilian authorities. SOS had climbed down from the APC as Manleh moved that way. He ignored the sergeant and headed for the nearest wreck.

A second AWE Striker drew up as Espada, Hacha, Redmack and Sokerk climbed down from the APC. SOS began to give instructions to the four soldiers as Manleh saw El General was getting out of the Striker, accompanied by Oso and Montana.

The task force commander walked over to Manleh, with the Colombian infantryman and Uruguayan mountaineer close on his heels, their M16s at the ready.

“What the hell happened?” El General asked. Manleh explained as the first police cars and ambulances arrived.

El General sighed. “You deal with the police. Get them to take the wrecks to our base. Redmack will want to inspect them; they might provide some forensic clues. Tell the ambulance crews to take the Red Shadows to our infirmary as well, if SOS hasn’t already.”

Both men looked across to see the 282 medic was indeed conversing with the paramedics. Espada and Hacha, the other two new infantrymen, were already manhandling an unconscious Shadow on to a stretcher. Neither the Peruvian or Colombian were being particularly gentle, not that Manleh blamed them.

“What casualties did we take?” Manleh asked.

El General grimaced. “Twenty-seven dead, another thirteen wounded. Mostly from the maintenance staff, a few from the Paratroop company responding to the attack.”

The officer turned back to Manleh. “Keep a short leash on Shimik. He can be a bit too hot-headed sometimes.”

The sergeant saluted, “Yes, sir.”

El General muttered, “Now I have to go and break bad news to the politicians.”

As he headed back to the AWE Striker with his escorts close by, El General reflected that this had seemed like a good day earlier. It had gone downhill and wouldn’t get any better now he had to deal with seven sets of politicians.

It had been bad enough, he mused, when he only had to deal with three lots. But four years earlier, a Cobra force had run amok in Colombia and Ecuador, flitting back and forth across the border between the two and eluding both countries’ military forces. They’d finally decided to ask the Task Force for help and a joint op between them had captured or killed the entire group.

As a result, both countries invited the defence ministers of Chile, Brazil and Argentina, as well as other ‘concerned parties’ to a conference, proposing to expand TF 282 to give it more capabilities as well as to enable it to operate across the continent. The Peruvian and Uruguayan governments, as well as the three member governments of Task Force 282 agreed.

That led to the task force gaining replacements for it’s four dead members and Leontor and Tigor who’d been medically discharged due to their injuries, four new members, including Leopard and Montana, as well as a support force. The support force comprised a company of paratroops from the seven countries, a tank company and extra pilots and a squadron of helicopters to move them.

Which was fine, as far as El General was concerned, since it led to his promotion and gave the unit greater effectiveness in battling Cobra. But it also meant he now had to report to seven separate defence ministries and would have to tell them the bad news: after nine years, the Red Shadows were back. All seven countries had been attacked by the Red Shadows at one time or another and that news was not going to be well received. El General reminded himself he also ought to send a report to Action Force in Europe, since they’d been the group who’d battled the Shadows the most…

Russia

The next day: March 15, 10:15 GMT

Red Star sat at the side of the ops room, doing some paperwork. The Oktober Guard’s headquarters was quiet. A situation that pleased the commander a lot. He had had his fill of dealing with Cobra after the crazy situation in space the previous year.

Red Star was therefore unhappy when a radar technician from the Russian Air Force who served in the ops room called out, “Sir, we have four bogies inbound. Low and fast.”

Red Star stood and moved over to the radar screen. Lt. Gorky moved over from where he’d been working as well.

“What else can you tell me, sergeant?” Red Star asked.

“Contacts are travelling at sub-sonic speeds, direct path heading for the base, sir. They came into range already at low altitude. They’re not broadcasting IFF codes. Definitely an attack profile.”

Gorky cursed and turned to another NCO. “Where’s Berkut?”

“He’s out in that new prototype fighter, the Sokol. Somewhere up near Murmansk, I think.”

Gorky cursed again. There was no way he would get here in time.

Red Star reacted quickly, “Sound the alarm, all crews to the SAM batteries. Ready the Shilkas.”

“Multiple missile launches!” the first sergeant shouted. “All four aircraft just launched four missiles each!”

Twelve missiles were now flying toward the base at supersonic speeds. Red Star could only hope none were targeted on the ops building.

The alarms were now screaming, as Daina and Big Bear entered the ops room.

“What’s going on?” asked the anti-armour specialist.

“Air attack,” Gorky replied tersely. “They’ve just launched.”

Outside, several crews were trying to lock on to the incoming missiles with their surface-to-air missile batteries, but the old Soviet equipment wasn’t up to the task.

The ZSU-23/4 ‘Shilka’ anti-aircraft guns, however, opened fire with a curtain of bullets in an attempt to shoot the missiles down.

The missiles were simply too fast and flying too low for that tactic to work. The main radar dish was destroyed first.

The next six missiles hit and destroyed all of the SA-8 ‘Gecko’ SAM batteries around the base.

The five remaining missiles hit the Shilka batteries.

Molot, one of the newest members of the Oktober Guard, knelt next to a BRDM armoured personnel carrier as the explosions rocked the compound.

He looked around at the sound of jet engines at full throttle, just in time to see four jets scream overhead.

Then he saw the bombs falling away from the straight-wing fighters and leapt to his feet and ran.

Explosions ripped through the air as several vehicles were destroyed. Molot skidded to a halt next to a hardened aircraft shelter. He looked back into the sky. The four fighters were executing climbing turns to come back toward the base.

He frowned; they looked like the Russian Air Force’s close-air support jet at first. But then he realised they weren’t Rooks, since these jets had engines mounted on their wings and he could see they were painted blood red.

“Nicheyvo,” he swore and started running again as the fighters came back toward the base, opening fire with the massive rotary machine guns mounted on their noses.

The four fighters strafed the base with 30mm cannon fire before climbing out and heading away from the base at high speed.

The paratrooper started running toward the ops building.

Inside, Red Star was in the radio room.

“They must’ve taken out the antennae farm,” one of the sergeants said. “We’ve just lost all our long-range radio signals.”

Red Star pivoted, spotted a field radio and snapped, “That works, right?”

The sergeant frowned and then grabbed it, “It ought to,” he said.

It didn’t take long for the sergeant to get the backpack set up and dial in the frequency for the Air Force.

Red Star took the headset and began broadcasting. He soon got an answer from Borisovsky Khotilovo air base a hundred-odd miles northwest of Moscow.

“This is Red Star of the Oktober Guard,” he explained. “We’ve just been attacked at our base by four ground-attack fighters. We need interceptors here immediately!”

“We have them on radar,” the officer at the other end answered. “We were attempting to contact Moscow to request permission to launch a pair of MiG-25s to intercept.”

“Under Directive 678 of the Oktober Guard orders, I am hereby authorising you to immediately scramble aircraft to intercept and destroy those fighters,” Red Star said.

Directive 678 was a special powers order for the Oktober Guard commander to use to demand immediate cooperation from Russian forces. Red Star had never needed to use it before. As far as he knew, Colonel Brekhov, his predecessor, had only used it once.

“I understand, comrade,” the other officer answered. “I am scrambling my MiGs immediately.”

Ten minutes later, the Mig-25s screamed over the Oktober Guard base as they sped south, pursuing the four aircraft that had attacked the base.

The lead pilot was in contact with his home base’s radar operators.

“''Alpha One, contacts now heading due south, fifty kilometres from your position. Maintain course and speed.”''

“Alpha One copies.”

After a few more minutes, “''Alpha One, contact now ten kilometres from you. You should have visual momentarily.”''

The pilot searched the sky. “Acknowledged, control. I have a visual.”

The lead pilot switched frequencies. “Pasha, do you see them?”

“I see them, Gregori,” his wingman replied. “Are we clear to fire?”

“Affirmative,” Gregori answered.

Both pilots armed their missiles, activated their infrared tracking systems and waited. Moments later both locked on to the trailing pair of fighters. They immediately opened fire with a single R70 missile each.

The two missiles screamed across the Russian sky and detonated scant feet from the tails of the two planes. Both planes lost their rear tail-mount engine. The shrapnel cloud also punched holes in the attack jets’ tail fins and rear wings.

The leading pair of enemy jets broke away, firing off flares and chaff. The two damaged fighters began losing altitude rapidly.

Alpha flight’s MiG-25s ignored the wounded planes and split up to go after the others.

Gregori was bringing his MiG around to lock on to his target when it suddenly began spraying gunfire from a turret he’d failed to spot on the plane’s spine. The major rolled left and tried to lock on, but the turret tracked him. He rolled right and lost altitude, allowing the other aircraft to fly above him.

Searching his memory, he realised there was only one fighter equipped with a gun turret like that: the Cobra Rattler.

Enraged that those terrorists were attacking his homeland, Gregori reduced his speed; allowing his fighter to drop back.

He locked on his second R70 and fired. The missile flew straight and true toward the Rattler before detonating under its belly. The explosion tore the plane apart and sent wreckage plummeting groundward.

Pasha was having more trouble with his target, he saw now that the plane was a red-painted Cobra Rattler, with a strange skull-and-crossbones insignia on its tailfins. The damned pilot was uncannily good at evading his lock on. Pasha cursed the MiG’s lack of a cannon as well as the Rattler’s rear gun turret.

Once again, bullets sprayed out from the turret, causing him to jink his fighter away from the Rattler.

“Gregori, I could use some help here,” Pasha called over his radio.

“I’m on it, Pasha,” Gregori replied. “I see you.”

Even as the Rattler piloted rolled away from Pasha’s MiG again, he presented his fighter’s belly to Gregori’s heat-seeking missile and the major fired. The missile slammed into the Rattler a few feet aft of the huge Gatling gun in the nose. The explosion sheared the pilot’s cockpit away from the rest of the plane. The rest of the plane flew on for several more feet, its engines carrying it forward.

Pasha locked on his R70 and launched. The remains of the Rattler were an easy target.

Action Force Headquarters

Mons, Belgium

Three hours later: 14:55 GMT

Even though Action Force maintained bases across Europe – and even beyond, what with bases in Greenland, on Ascendancy Island and in Australia – their official headquarters were in Belgium, co-located with the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers in Europe. Sharing facilities with SHAPE meant they could coordinate operations with NATO if needed and utilise SHAPE’s existing support facilities.

With the end of the Cold War, Action Force had begun efforts to collaborate more with the Oktober Guard. As such a video link between AF HQ and the Guard’s HQ had been set up. Normally, the screen simply sat in a corner of the radio room, displaying a test signal of multi-coloured bars. The two Z-Force radio operators were startled when the monitor’s speakers suddenly emitted three short beeps and the screen switched to show the Guard’s crest.

The junior operator dashed out of the room, whilst the senior operator moved to the screen.

The crest was replaced with a picture of a Russian officer, after a moment, the radio operator recognised him as Red Star.

“Good afternoon, is your Commander available?” Red Star asked in Russian.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she replied. “I don’t speak Russian.”

Red Star muttered to himself and then repeated himself in English.

“My colleague’s just gone to get him, I believe,” the operator informed him.

Before Red Star could reply, The Commander strode into the radio room. The sergeant saluted and moved out of the way.

“Good afternoon, Red Star. What’s wrong?” The Commander asked, all business.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Commander, but the Red Shadows seem to be back,” Red Star informed him.

“We’ve heard about the mortar attack in Argentina. Has something else happened?” The Commander asked.

Red Star nodded, “''Da, my headquarters were attacked three hours ago by Red Shadow Rattler jets. They destroyed our SAM batteries, radar array, radio antennae and killed a lot of our Russian Army support troops. Two MiG-25s were able to intercept them and shoot them down. At first we thought it was Cobra, but the interceptor pilots reported the Rattlers were painted red and bore the Red Shadows emblem''.”

“Damn. That’s definitely not good news,” The Commander noted. “Have you heard about the mortar attack on Task Force 282?”

Red Star shook his head. “Nyet, what happened?”

The Commander briefly explained.

“I will report that to Moscow,” Red Star said. “''If we develop any more intelligence we’ll let you know. Oktober Guard, out''.”

The monitor switched back to the test signal.

The Commander turned to the radio operators. “Alert all bases; it’s confirmed, the Red Shadows have returned.”

Sydney, Australia

The next day: Thursday, March 16th, 06:00 GMT

The Australian headquarters of Action Force was a small facility located on the outskirts of Sydney. Built in 1988 after the discovery of a Cobra satellite launch facility beneath Ayer’s Rock, the facility had come about with the realisation that that incident had been the second attempt by Cobra to establish a base in Australia and those incidents had followed an attempt by the Red Shadows to invade.

The facility had less than a hundred staff, of which some thirty were combat troops, largely drawn from Z-Force’s infantry troops and SAS Force’s Attack Troopers. Two thirds of the remainder served to maintain the base’s communications nexus which acted as a ground station for Action Force’s network of satellites, and as maintenance personnel for the small force of vehicles. The rest of the staff were medics at the base infirmary.

The base had a single approach road that was blocked at the perimeter by a checkpoint manned by two Z-Force infantrymen.

Today’s luckless guards were Dingo and Devil. Both were members of the Australian 1st Commando Regiment before being recruited to Z-Force. Dingo stood in the lower part of the checkpoint, drumming his fingers on the clipboard which held the day’s schedule.

Devil was supposedly manning the machine gun mounted at the front left corner of the upper level. In actuality, he was leaning against the armoured wall and wishing his shift could end so he could go and get a cool beer.

Devil suddenly turned as he heard a grunt of pain from behind him. He saw Skymate, an Australian SAS Regiment soldier who’d joined Action Force after a brief stint with the American GI Joe team, throwing his boomerang around.

“Looks like Skymate’s practicing again,” Devil commented.

Dingo turned to see the soldier catch the boomerang one handed, flip it over in his hand and then hurl it away.

The boomerang whirled out, looped and came back, straight to his hand.

The sound of a heavy truck’s engine on the road prompted Dingo to return his attention to the job at hand.

A deuce-and-a-half truck roared around the curve in the road, smoke belching from its exhausts.

…And two Red Shadow troopers hanging from the rear-view mirrors with AK-47s in their hands!

Dingo ducked, hit the alarm and unslung his Stoner rifle in one continuous motion as the truck smashed through the metal gate, both Shadows spraying automatic fire.

Dingo stepped out of the checkpoint as the truck raced straight toward the ops building, raised his Stoner and got off a single shot that missed the truck before a Red Shadow in the back of the truck fired a long burst and hit him in the legs.

As the alarm klaxon blared, Skymate turned and threw his boomerang at the truck.

“BLOOD! BLOOD FOR THE MAJOR!” screamed the Trooper, before the spinning weapon struck him on the arm, dropping him from the truck.

Skymate sprinted over to the Red Shadow as he dropped his Kalashnikov and clutched his arm.

“Ah, my arm!” the Shadow cried out.

“Tough Koalas, mate,” Skymate said and kicked him in the head. He snatched up the Shadow’s fallen weapon and sprayed a long burst at the truck as it smashed into the wall of the ops building at a good fifty miles an hour.

Before Skymate could react further, the truck exploded.

The explosion threw him backwards through the air and dumped him on the hard concrete parade ground on his back. A grunt of pain escaped him.

Skymate struggled to roll over and push himself up. The Ops building was burning badly.

Some of the maintenance personnel were running from the vehicle garage, carrying fire-fighting equipment, but Skymate knew it was probably too late for several of the soldiers inside.

Action Force Headquarters

Two hours later: 08:30 GMT

The Commander stood in the ops room, listening as Skymate briefed him on the attack. On two other monitors, Eagle and Skip were listening in as well.

''“…In total, we’ve got 33 dead and another 26 injured. Casualty count’s not complete yet'',” Skymate said. “But I’ve confirmed Digger and Tagger as among the dead.”

For a moment, none of the officers spoke.

“Very well. I’ll see if I can cut some troops loose to come down and help you out,” The Commander informed him. “In the mean time, don’t be shy about letting the Australian authorities help out.”

“Don’t worry on that score, sir,” Skymate said, nodding. “Australian military and civilian hospitals are taking care of the injured and we’ve got regular troops providing perimeter security.”

The Commander nodded approval, “Good work, carry on.”

Skymate nodded once more on the screen before cutting the communications link.

The Commander turned to Eagle and Skip.

“I’m going to send a message to the Americans and warn them,” The Commander said. “This is concrete, the Red Shadows have returned.”

New York

10:00AM Eastern Standard Time, 15:00GMT 

Anthony Gambello walked into the Manhattan café to see his friends already waiting for him.

“It’s about time you showed up, Tony,” commented Rafael Melendez.

“Yeah, what kept you?” asked Eric Freistadt.

“Oh, I had a problem with my building manager,” Gambello answered. “Nothing serious.”

“Is that how life is for you as a civvy, arguing with your building manager?” asked James Barney.

“Not usually, Jim. How’s life treating you, then?”

“Boring as hell, man,” James answered. “Got an office job with an electronics company. You?”

Anthony snorted, “Working across town for NBC. Making sure they don’t lose their satellite links.”

Unnoticed by the four men, someone else entered the café as another customer was leaving. The new figure walked toward them, a long raincoat hiding his clothes.

“BLOOD!” the man shouted, pulling off his coat to reveal a bomb-vest. “BLOOD FOR THE MAJOR!”

As the four men were turning, the man in the bomb-vest hit the detonator. The coffee shop exploded.

The Pentagon

10:30AM EST, 15:30GMT

Major General Clayton Abernathy was sitting at his desk, contemplating his paperwork when the door to his office in the Pentagon’s D-ring opened. Standing in the doorway was General Joseph Colton.

“Hey, Hawk,” Colton greeted him. “Hollingsworth wants to see you in the NMCC immediately.”

Hawk, as he had once been known, frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he put down his pen and picked up his hat.

“A lot,” was all Colton said in reply.

The older general led the way down the corridor to the elevator which conveyed them down to the basement level NMCC complex.

As the two generals strode along the corridor, exchanging greetings and salutes with passing military personnel, Hawk saw one of the Pentagon’s Defence Protective Service officers approaching. The DPS was the agency that provided the Pentagon with its law enforcement and security officers.

As the man approached, Hawk noticed the DPS officer had his hand on his sidearm and the holster was unsnapped.

Before the Major General could remonstrate with the man, he drew his pistol and fired.

Seeing the DPS officer’s arm coming up, Hawk threw himself sideways into Colton, knocking both of them into the wall. As they crashed to the floor, the DPS officer snarled, “Time to die, Hawk! Blood for the Major!”

Before the DPS officer could fire a second shot, a gunshot echoed through the corridor. The traitorous DPS officer fell and Hawk turned to see another DPS agent standing in the corridor, lowering her own pistol.

Hawk got to his feet as several junior officers and enlisted men ran up, he turned and helped Colton to his feet.

“Get forensics down here,” Colton ordered. “I want to know who he is and how the hell he got in here.”

Another DPS agent who’d arrived nodded and raised his radio.

Hollingsworth walked up the corridor as Hawk and Colton moved away from the body.

“What happened?” Hollingsworth asked.

“An attempted assassination of Hawk,” Colton replied. “He said ‘Time to die, Hawk. Blood for the Major.’ What did that mean?”

“The Red Shadows,” Hollingsworth replied, his dark skin paling. “Come in to the NMCC.”

The three generals entered the National Military Command Centre and Hollingsworth led them to where a face Hawk recognised was sitting.

“Sergeant Morelli, give us a playback on the screen,” Hollingsworth ordered.

The sergeant hit a couple of controls on his computer and the screen next to his desk switched to show a video message.

“''Good morning, I’m sending this message for General Hollingsworth, General Abernathy or General Colton. Please see that this message reaches them. In case you don’t remember me, general, I am the Commander of Action Force. I regret to inform you that the terrorist group known as the Red Shadows have returned. In case you were unaware, two days ago the headquarters of Task Force 282 was attacked by mortars. Several of the perpetrators were captured alive and identified themselves as Red Shadows. Yesterday, the Oktober Guard’s headquarters were struck by an air raid. Recovered wreckage of the aircraft confirmed pilot reports that the attack was carried out by Red Shadow-piloted Rattler jets.”'' The Commander paused, allowing the news to sink in, “''At 16:00 local time today, Red Shadow operatives struck the Action Force headquarters in Sydney, Australia. Action Force bases have gone to high alert and are expecting further attacks. I have waited until now to inform you of these attacks to ensure you’re better able to respond instead of dragging you out of bed at 3AM. I sincerely suggest you alert all the former members of GI Joe as well as the Canadian Joe team. There may be attacks on you.”''

Hawk turned to look at Hollingsworth. Before he could speak, the shorter man did.

“At ten am, this morning, a Red Shadow suicide bomber blew himself up in a café in Manhattan, along with twelve civilians, he also killed four retired Joes; Flash, Zap, Grand Slam and Short-Fuse. I want you and Colton to supervise alerting all of the Joes, both those still active in the military and the retirees. I’ll handle contacting Canada.”

Hawk closed his eyes and tried to control his reaction to the news four of his oldest comrades in the GI Joe team had been killed.

Hollingsworth moved out of the side room and headed for his office. Hawk turned to the sergeant. “Dial Tone, is Mainframe around?”

The other former Joe nodded. “Yes, sir. He’s in here somewhere.”

“Find him and get him to help. We’ve got a lot of phone calls to make.”

Wichita, Kansas

22:00 Central/23:00 Eastern, Thursday March 16th: 04:00 GMT, March 17th 

Dashiell Faireborn lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Next to him, his wife of nine months was asleep. Dashiell couldn’t help thinking how lucky he was once again, to have married Alison and to be so happy.

Just as he finally started to drift off to sleep, he heard what sounded like glass breaking. Instantly alert, he sat up in bed and strained his ears. Next to him, Alison had woken up.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Dashiell put a finger to his lips before slipping out of bed. He pulled his underwear back on, opened his wardrobe and took out his trusty Winchester shotgun.

Downstairs, he thought to himself, definitely someone downstairs. He glanced across the room to see Alison had pulled on her bra and a pair of trousers before retrieving a Colt pistol from her dresser.

Both of them could hear footsteps coming up the staircase. Both took the safety off their gun.

The door edged slowly open, the barrel of a Kalashnikov visible as it swung back.

Dashiell pulled the trigger of his shotgun. The 10-gauge shell blasted straight through the wooden door and hit the gunman on the other side. Dashiell pumped the shotgun, sending the spent casing flying as the new round chambered.

Seconds later, the door flew open and Dashiell dived for cover as a red clad gunman charged in, firing his AK-47.

Alison dropped to one knee as Dashiell hit the floor and rolled past the bed. She fired two shots straight in to the gunman’s facemask.

“Conrad?” called a voice from down the stairs. “Hank?”

Dashiell leaped to his feet and grabbed Alison’s arm and shoved her into the en suite bathroom.

Dashiell closed the bathroom door as footsteps came up the stairs.

“Who the hell are these guys, Flint?” asked Alison, slipping back into the old codename Dashiell had used.

“I dunno, Jaye,” Flint answered. “Red uniforms, but not Crimson Guards.”

They heard the third man step in to the bedroom, cursing as he discovered the corpse of his buddy.

Flint threw himself through the door, and fired a second shot, dropping the third gunman.

Flint moved over toward the third body, with Lady Jaye close behind. The former Joe bent down and looked at the insignia on the front of the gunman’s helmet.

A skull and crossbones. Why did that look familiar, Flint wondered.

“Holy,” Lady Jaye whispered as she looked at the body. “That’s the Red Shadows’ insignia.”

Flint frowned. “The Red Shadows?”

“Don’t you remember?” Jaye asked. “They caused all that trouble in Europe and Asia in the ‘80s. We were briefed on them when we flew to Scotland for that mission with SAS Force.”

Flint nodded as he remembered. “I don’t know why they’re after us, but we better get out of here.”

He slipped on a pair of canvas deck-shoes and moved toward the door to their balcony. Stopping, he turned back to the dead gunmen. Then he said, “I think we ought to have better firepower.”

After locking the shotgun back in the wardrobe, he then picked up one of the dead men’s Kalashnikov and two magazines.

Flint opened to the doors to the balcony, climbed over the rail and dropped down on to the patio. Lady Jaye dropped down next to him seconds later. Another Red Shadow chose that moment to step through the back gate but Lady Jaye dropped him with a double-tap to the chest.

“Nice shooting, darling,” Flint grinned. “Stay here, I’ll check the drive’s clear.”

The former warrant officer moved quickly to the back gate, peeked through it and then darted out to crouch behind the Camaro sitting on the drive. Flint looked down the street and saw seven figures striding towards his house.

Frowning, Flint waited for them to step into the light cast by the streetlamps. Leading the group was a black woman with a shaved head, a long, white fur coat covered her clothes. She was carrying a revolver in her hand. Behind were six more Red Shadows.

At the sidewalk, the group stopped and the woman directed one pair to remain in place, one group to head for the back garden and the others to head in the front door.

Flint sighted on the first pair as they came up the drive. He fired two short bursts, dropping both men.

The second pair stopped, raising their Kalashnikovs and looking for him.

“Move!” the woman snapped. “We must kill these two Joes!”

The second pair moved forward and Flint shot one as he came up the drive. Lady Jaye, kneeling at the back gate shot the other.

As Flint turned to shoot the pair at the bottom of the drive, the woman ran forward.

She slipped around the Camaro, her revolver aimed squarely at Flint’s head.

“Drop it, warrant officer.”

Flint turned his head to see the barrel of a .44 Magnum aimed at him. Carefully, he set the safety on the Russian assault rifle and laid it down.

“Come out of there, Mrs Faireborn. Come out or I shoot your husband.”

No one moved from the back gate.

“You have ten seconds, Mrs Faireborn.” The woman was smirking behind her hand-cannon, Flint could see.

She began a slow count down from ten.

Sweat trickled down Flint’s back, despite the cool Midwest air. He couldn’t see any way out of this without risking getting his head blown clean off.

“Three!” the woman called. “Two!”

“One!” Lady Jaye snapped, before two gunshots cracked the night air in quick succession.

Flint relaxed as he stood up and looked at his wife standing in the doorway.

“I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful,” he commented as she finally lowered the Colt and safed it.

Lady Jaye grinned. Sirens were getting closer. Flint bent down to look at the woman. There was no point looking at her head, but he carefully rolled her on to her back and moved aside her coat. Underneath it was a Red Shadows uniform.

Elsewhere

Twenty minutes later; 04:40GMT

Wilder Vaughn rubbed his tired eyes. He really ought to go to bed, he supposed, but until he got word from the two teams still in the field, he wanted to stay up. So far, his forces in the United States had a fifty percent success rate: one operation had wiped out four Joes. The other had singularly failed to kill the GI Joe commander, Hawk.

As Vaughn scratched at his beard and stared unseeing at a readiness report, there was a knock at his office door.

“Yes?” he asked, curtly.

The door opened and a Red Interceptor, one of the Red Shadows radio and communications troopers walked in, a headset still perched atop his helmet.

“Sir, we’ve just intercepted a phone call from Wichita police to the FBI field office in Kansas City, requesting assistance in a shooting incident. They report ten dead gunmen and a dead woman. Two former Army soldiers attacked in their home. Both survived.”

Vaughn slammed his fist on to the desk. “Damnation. Eden failed!”

The Red Interceptor stood impassively by as Vaughn cursed Dela Eden’s failure in a string of profanity. Finally, he turned to the soldier.

“Inform me at once if we receive a mission success message from the other team. Otherwise, do not send any messages at all.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Red Interceptor left and Wilder Vaughn could only hope this last mission succeeded.

Somewhere in the High Sierras

20:45 Pacific/23:45 Eastern: 04:45 GMT 

Shana O’Hara snuggled next to her husband on the couch. He smiled down at her as they enjoyed the crackling of the log fire in the cabin’s main room. Although they’d been married six months, Shana was as blissfully happy living out here, in the middle of nowhere, as she had been at the beginning of her new life.

In fact, Shana was surprised how happy she was, living this rustic life after spending so long in the US Army and later in the secret counter-terror unit known as GI Joe. She supposed some of the reason for her happiness was to do with her love for the man next to her. Even after marrying him, it was still hard to get used to calling him by his name instead of ‘Snake Eyes’…

Suddenly, the former commando tensed, looking toward the window. A flock of birds could just be seen flying across the night sky.

Snake Eyes stood, putting his finger to his lips. Shana stood herself as he disappeared into the bedroom before returning carrying his katana, whilst a pair of fighting knives was tucked in his waistband.

Frowning, Shana immediately moved to a metal box under the window and pulled out a Ka-bar combat knife and a Colt M1911 pistol with a flash suppressor attached.

Moving quickly to her husband, Shana whispered, “Cobra?”

Snake Eyes thought it over before shaking his head.

Together they slipped out the cabin’s back door. In the rapidly darkening woods, Shana heard someone calling out orders.

“Surround the cabin. Remember, they’re both martial arts experts. Don’t underestimate them.”

Snake Eyes led Shana to a small group of bushes. They ducked behind them for cover. Advancing out of the gloom were about twenty men, all dressed in blood-red martial arts robes. Each wore a red bandana across their mouth, black boots and a pair of red gloves. All of them carried either a knife or a short sword.

Using a series of hand-signals, Snake Eyes told Shana to cover him and be ready to fire as he moved around the cabin.

She nodded and watched him disappear into the night.

Checking the pistol Shana took a deep breath and reminded herself she was a Joe. Even if the team no longer existed, she was still Scarlett.

On the other side of the cabin, Snake Eyes exploded from the trees in a blur, cut down two of the martial artists and disappeared before they could react.

“What the hell was that?” one demanded.

“Silence!” snapped the leader. Snake Eyes watched him from inside the tree line. He was bare-chested, wearing a red balaclava and black trousers. A Chinese Dao sword was strapped to his back. Not a ninja, Snake Eyes decided.

The leader walked toward the corpses. Snake Eyes leaped out of the trees and cut down another of the warriors.

“Sir! We’re under attack!” shouted another.

The leader stood and looked around. “Red Fists! Attack!”

That was all the cue Scarlett needed, she opened fire with her Colt and gunned down three of the martial arts experts before they could even react.

Snake Eyes dropped from one of the trees and cut down another of these Red Fist warriors, before a second drew his sword and blocked Snake Eyes’ strike.

Scarlett burst out of the bushes and shot another pair of the Red Fists before her Colt emptied. She tossed it aside and pulled out her Ka-bar as two of them charged at her.

All her memorised training came back to her. She blocked attack after attack, using her Tae Kwan Do training and her knife-fighting skills. Finally, she got an opening and stabbed one of them in the neck before punching the second in the face and knocking him down.

Diving to avoid another attack, Scarlett snatched up one of the fallen swords as she turned her dive into a cartwheel.

She span around and deflected two sword strokes, before running the Red Fist through.

Snake Eyes was wading his way through more of them, blocking strikes, slashing at the warriors, before turning his attention to the next attacker.

Finally, as Scarlett disposed of her last opponent, she saw Snake Eyes was duelling the leader.

He executed a roundhouse kick, back-flipped away and then leaped back at Snake Eyes.

Scarlett recognised his style; Snake-style Wu Shu, more commonly called ‘Kung Fu’.

She was tempted to go and help, but as Snake Eyes blocked another series of attacks, she knew she’d just get in his way.

“You truly are as dangerous as Cobra’s reports said,” the man said. “But Shadow Snake has never lost a battle yet!”

As Shadow Snake leaped toward Snake Eyes once more, he executed a perfect standing jump and lashed out with a kick, which connected with the Wu Shu master’s jaw, breaking it.

Shadow Snake hit the ground, screaming in agony. Growling, he stood up, turning toward Snake Eyes.

The ninja calmly reached under his shirt, pulled out a 9mm automatic pistol and shot Shadow Snake.

“You could’ve done that five minutes ago,” Scarlett commented as she walked towards him.

Smiling, Snake Eyes shrugged.

A grin on her own face, Scarlett commented, “Or did you need to fight this guy for a work out? Your loving wife not enough for you?”

Snake Eyes shook his head, still smiling, and waved in what was clearly a ‘I-never-said-that’ gesture.

Scarlett walked back into the cabin. “I’m going to phone Hawk. He better know what’s happened here.”

The next day:  March 17th14:00 GMT

Somewhere off the coast of Cobra Island

Six Red Destroyer hovercraft raced north toward Cobra Island. Manning them were Red Piranha and Red Barracuda frogmen. The leader was Red Eel, a Cobra frogman who’d been captured by the Red Shadows and brainwashed into serving the Black Major years earlier.

The Red Destroyers were copies of GI Joe’s Killer WHALE hovercraft, the plans for which had been stolen by a Red Shadows mole in the Department of Defence. These, however, were armed with surface-to-surface missiles in place of the WHALE’s SAMs.

The Red Destroyers slowed down and drifted on the waves as they reached five miles from the coast of Cobra Island. On Red Eel’s command, the six hovercraft raised their missile launchers and fired four missiles each in quick succession.

On Cobra Island, the missile launch was immediately detected by the radars of the island’s airfield.

Two FANG helicopters were quickly scrambled, whilst the control tower ordered a pair of Rattlers warmed up and launched.

The two tank-smasher jets were taxiing from their hangar when the missiles reached the airfield. Each split open to drop ten sub-munitions each.

Two hundred and forty bomblets fell across the airfield. They each contained 20 pounds of high explosive and a sensor designed to detonate ten feet above the ground.

The presence of the aircraft on the airfield, as well as other equipment, meant a lot detonated several feet above that, showering the Cobra airfield in shrapnel.

Eight Mamba attack helicopters were shredded by several of the bomblets. Another three of the sub-munitions destroyed the taxiing Rattlers. The fuel tanks were blown up in a spectacular fireball, which took out two ASP batteries nearby, as well as a hangar housing two Condor Z-25 bombers. Another shower of bomblets destroyed a Night Raven that had been parked outside its hangar for maintenance. A row of Flight Pods was smashed to pieces. Several FANGs were blown apart.

The airfield’s runway was also hit by ten of the bomblets, creating several large craters that rendered it unusable.

The Red Destroyers moved in closer to the island, even as the FANGs continued their approach. They rippled off their remaining missiles and turned around to race south, away from the island.

The second barrage of missiles rained down their bomblets on the Cobra city that housed many of the Cobra forces, including the dependants of Cobra troops who’d fled from the GI Joe invasion of Springfield years before. Vehicles, buildings and pedestrians alike were blown apart by the barrage.

The six hovercraft charged away from the island, as the FANGs closed into weapons range. The two mini-copters launched two missiles each at four of the hovercraft, before closing to cannon-range.

Two of the Red Destroyers were shredded by the rockets. The other two evaded them.

The four surviving hovercraft continued their race south, but the Red Piranha frogmen manning the gun turrets rotated them and elevated the guns and opened fire.

One of the FANGs was caught in a crossfire and blew apart in the sky; the other was hit and turned back toward Cobra Island, trailing smoke and flames.

Thirty miles from Cobra Island, a large freighter was waiting for the hovercraft. After the survivors reached it, the larger ship lowered its rear ramp and one by one, the Red Destroyers were loaded aboard, to be stowed in the ship’s cavernous hold.

Nevada Flight Test Range

Later the same day: 15:30 GMT

Three Storm Eagle fighters sliced through the early afternoon air over the Nevada desert at Mach 1. Flying lead was Major Brad Armbruster, call sign ‘Ace’. Flying in the second jet was Captain Gregory Boyajian, whilst the third was being flown by Captain James King.

The purpose of this training flight was for the two captains to get used to flying the Air Force’s new Advanced Tactical Fighter. Captain Boyajian had previously been the principal Conquest X-30 pilot for GI Joe, using the codename ‘Slipstream’. Captain King had been the pilot of the Mudfighter for the Joes, using the codename ‘Dogfight’.

The Storm Eagle was scheduled to replace the aging F-15 in the US Air Force as the primary air dominance fighter. A secondary role as an attack fighter was being considered. The F-117 was due to be retired by 2005 and the Phantom X-19s had proved too expensive. Thus the US Air Force hoped to save money by utilising the Storm Eagle in both roles. Dogfight was part of that evaluation team, but needed to qualify to fly the fighter first.

The three Storm Eagles were flying a pretty routine course to ease Dogfight and Slipstream into the job, since their postings to flying them had only come in the last few months. Ace, however, had been flying the jet with the Joes before the unit was closed down.

Ace’s threat warning system suddenly lit up with a signal that an air-search radar was bouncing off the fighter’s radar absorbing skin. He frowned behind his visor and flipped on the radar.

Four bogies were climbing at high speed out of the desert below. Ace switched on his radio.

“Tower, this is Storm Lead, we have four bogies in our sector, please advise.”

Static answered him. He flipped to another channel, followed by a third. Each was the same. Clearly the radio frequencies were being jammed. His radar screen began to fuzz with jamming. Ace shut it down and switched to a little-used coded GI Joe frequency.

“Storm Flight, this is Ace, do you copy? Slipstream, Dogfight, come up on Joe freq.”

After repeating the call twice, Ace received a reply.

“''Ace, this is Slipstream. I read you on Joe frequency.”''

“Dogfight to Lead and Two, we’re being jammed; I’m on Joe frequency, anyone copy?”

“Dogfight, we’re here. Someone’s jamming our radar as well as radio. Four bogies are climbing out of the rocks at speed. One’s trying to get a skin-paint.”

“Same here, Ace,” Slipstream answered.

“Roger that, me too,” Dogfight concurred.

Ace pondered what to do as he watched the distant shapes of the four aircraft getting closer.

That decision came easily when the threat-warning system blared a warning that the bogies had launched a missile.

“Flight, Lead, go evasive, I’m being locked up!” Ace shouted into his radio. He throttled back, shoved the stick forward and dove away from the other two fighters. Both split up, Slipstream breaking left, whilst Dogfight broke right.

Ace wondered if the missile was a heat-seeker and fired off several flares, before throwing the agile jet into a tight climbing turn. The Storm Eagle’s stealthy radar absorbing skin shouldn’t have allowed a radar lock on for a missile launch.

Then Ace noticed he had his IFF beacon on. He quickly flipped it off, fired off a pair of chaff canisters and slammed the throttle forward.

The jet screamed up into a steep climb, before Ace levelled off. Somewhere behind him, the missile exploded harmlessly.

The four bandits – he was no longer thinking of them as ‘unknowns’, bogies, but as enemy ‘bandit’ aircraft – were now splitting up and chasing the three stealth fighters.

Ace brought the Storm Eagle around and headed straight for the craft approaching him.

As they closed in, he could make out more the bandit through the hazy sky. It was a bizarre looking aircraft, with a red skull-like fuselage and black panels on either side. It looked like some kind of horror movie version of a TIE fighter from Star Wars.

As the strange craft opened fire with dual machine guns mounted either side of the mouth part of the skull, Ace realised what he was looking at: a Roboskull, the deadly tilt-jet aircraft employed by the Red Shadow terrorist group that had caused chaos across Europe and South America in the mid 1980s. After the fall of that group, a few had made it into Cobra Europe’s hands, but had been destroyed by Action Force’s Space Force fighters.

As Ace evaded the stream of bullets, he realised someone had clearly found surviving examples, or built more. It seemed this version had ditched the experimental directed energy weapons and had added air-to-air missiles on the large wing-panels.

Ace evaded another stream of bullets, throwing the Storm Eagle into a diving turn, before levelling out and punching his afterburners. The Roboskull gave chase.

As the Roboskull fired again and again, Ace executed a split-S manoeuvre, which allowed the pursuing craft to catch up to him.

Then Ace shoved his stick forward, dropping the fighter, before popping his slats and flaps. The Roboskull shot past him as his speed fell off.

Ace quickly pushed his throttles back forward and retracted his slats and flaps. The Roboskull was now ahead of him. Ace armed his Storm Eagle’s gun. The Vulcan M61A2 was the only armament the Storm Eagles were carrying on this flight.

Ace closed into range of the 20mm gun and fired a fifty-round burst into the Roboskull’s rear. Something vital was apparently hit as smoke and flames began pouring from the aircraft, before parts flew off bouncing off the Roboskull’s wings and engine pods.

Ace pulled away from the Roboskull as one of its engines exploded and it heeled over and dropped toward the desert floor.

Steering his Storm Eagle back toward Nellis Air Force Base, Ace keyed his radio.

“Flight, Lead. Give me a sitrep, Joes.”

“''I’ve got bandits on my tail, Ace. Help me out here,”'' Slipstream replied.

Ace spotted the vapour trails the other aircraft were leaving and raced to intercept.

Slipstream was doing his damnedest to stay out of the Roboskulls’ line of fire, but with two of them hot on his tail, it wasn’t easy.

He suddenly saw a blur coming in from his starboard side, looked around and saw a second Storm Eagle fire a longer burst into one of the Roboskulls’ wings. The Roboskull fell away; the engine pods on either end of the wing-panel trailing fire and smoke.

Slipstream now only had one Roboskull on his six, but it now had two Storm Eagles to contend with.

The Roboskull turned in a smaller arc, bringing itself around to face Ace’s fighter as he looped back toward it.

The Roboskull fired two of its missiles before opening up with its cannons.

Ace threw the stealth jet into a corkscrew spiral, evading both missiles before firing his Vulcan cannon in a longer burst that slammed straight through the ‘eye socket’ parts of the Roboskull.

The bizarre looking craft plummeted from the sky.

Ace pulled his fighter level with Slipstream’s. “You’re shot up pretty bad, buddy.”

“Tell me about it,” Slipstream answered. “''I’ve got practically no controls, my port engine’s out. I had a fire in it and had to shut it down. And I’ve been hit twice.” ''

Ace could see both ruddervators, the angled V-shaped control surfaces which doubled as rudders and elevators, had been shot full of holes. Bullet holes also decorated the starboard wing and the port engine pod.

“Get back to Nellis,” Ace ordered. “Once you get out of the jamming field, call in and request us some support.”

“''You got it, Ace. Good luck.”''

“You too.”

Ace watched for a moment as the other Storm Eagle turned and headed south back toward Nellis Air Force Base. He wondered whether Slipstream would even make it back, before putting the thought aside and keying his radio once more.

“Three, this is Lead. Give me a sit-rep.”

Dogfight’s voice came back over the radio. “''Bandit is down. Am in pursuit of ground targets. My position is approximately ten miles north of Indian Springs, at low level.”''

Ace checked his navigational display, reefed his fighter around in another turned and punched his afterburners.

It took him only a few minutes to catch up to Dogfight who was still chasing the two vans he’d called Ace about. They were now twenty miles east of Indian Springs, driving along a back road.

“Who are these guys?” Ace asked over the radio.

“They’re the source of the jamming I think,” Dogfight answered. “''I spotted them after I took out that weird looking aircraft. They were heading toward the wreckage, saw me and drove off at top speed''.”

“It was a Roboskull,” Ace told him. Dogfight had joined the Joes long after it was believed the Red Shadows were no longer a threat and the Roboskulls destroyed.

Ace checked his fuel. He only had a few minutes left at his current speeds.

“To hell with it,” he muttered. He lined up the vans in his gun sight and fired a fifty round burst into the second van. He then lined up the lead van and fired at it.

Seconds later, the radio crackled. “Storm Lead, this is Nellis Tower, do you copy?”

“Tower, Lead. I copy. We’ve just destroyed the vehicles causing the jamming.” Ace read off a set of coordinates before reporting he and Dogfight were returning to Nellis.

“What happened to Slipstream?” he asked.

“Slipstream is down,” Nellis Tower reported. “''SAR is en route. He reported in, but then informed us he was having trouble controlling his bird. The automatic crash beacon went off a few seconds later''.”

Ace cursed as he brought his Storm Eagle to a higher altitude, decelerating as he did.

Punta Arenas, Argentina

'''That evening: 17:00 Local. 21:00 GMT'''

Cobra in North America used the Arbco Removal company as a front for various activities. In Europe, the role was largely filled by the late Hades’ Argent Corporation. In South America, Carob International Shipping did the job.

In one of CIS’s warehouses, Brutus sat behind his desk as four Invasor troops walked in.

Steel Cobra’s deputy looked the men over; all four were pretty nondescript and wore bland clothes.

“I trust you heard the news about the attack on Task Force 282’s headquarters?” Brutus asked.

The four soldiers nodded.

“Our glorious leader has finally deigned to tell me why he flew to Madrid five days ago. He, like the commanders of Cobra Europe and Cobra North, was invited to a meeting with the leader of these Red Shadow pendejos. This so-called Black Major. He wanted to ally with Cobra to attack TF282, Action Force in Europe and the Oktober Guard. Now, without our aid, he has struck against them anyway. Steel Cobra has commanded me to find my four best men to hunt for these Red Shadows in South America. Once we find them, he wishes to destroy them. You four will find them, report in and then we will destroy these hijos de puta once and for all.”

The four Invasors saluted and left. Brutus stood, smoothed down his black uniform and then collected his helmet as he strode out into the warehouse.

The vast room was home to a pair of CIS articulated trucks and a few smaller vans, but most of the space was taken up by Ferret ATVs, STUNs and HISS tanks. At the back of the warehouse was Brutus’ own preferred vehicle: a Cobra Rage tank.

As Brutus strode through the warehouse, he stopped to check on the work the Invasors, troopers and Techno-Vipers were performing on various vehicles.

The sound of high-powered engines caught his attention and Brutus turned toward the wooden doors, frowning.

Two black Honda Civics crashed in through the door, one ploughed into a HISS tank and was smashed. The other one smashed aside a workbench and a Ferret before hitting a STUN.

Several of the Cobras grabbed weapons and pointed them at the cars. Two more Civics crashed in the smashed doors and shoved their way into the warehouse.

Brutus sprinted toward the Rage tank. Before he made it, all four cars exploded.

TF 282 Headquarters

Ten minutes later

Topson turned to Redmack. “Just copied a report off the police radio net,” Topson announced. “Major fire at a warehouse in Punta Arenas. A witness reported four black cars driving in to the warehouse before an explosion which started the fire.”

Redmack frowned as he moved toward Topson’s radio console. “Who did the warehouse belong to, any idea?”

Topson smirked, “Carob International Shipping.”

The Task Force had long suspected the connection with Cobra, but never managed to prove anything.

Redmack smiled, “Be interesting to get a look at that warehouse…”

Saturday, March 18th 1995; 07:15 GMT/local

Twenty miles off the Angolan coast

The Q-Force submarine Nautilus was slowly cruising north along the Angolan coast. A heavily modified American ballistic missile submarine, Nautilus only carried four ballistic missiles. Instead, most of the 24 launch tubes had been removed and replaced with a special hangar bay, which enabled the sub to carry and deploy either ten Q-Force Stingray sea-sleds or four Stingrays and a single Sea Lion submersible.

Captain Jamie Maclaren, code-name Leviathan, entered the submarine’s attack centre in response to a summons moments before.

Lieutenant Commander Hector Ramone, the first officer, moved to meet him. “Sonar reports contact with the assault team. All four Stingrays proceeding at max speed straight for the RV point.”

Leviathan looked at his deputy. “Drop the other shoe, Hector, I hear the hesitation in your voice.”

Ramone grimaced. “Sonar also reports the Sea Lion is moving much more slowly and is apparently damaged.”

Leviathan nodded. “Very well. Time to RV point?”

Ramone looked toward the navigator, a French lieutenant.

“We’ll reach the RV point in ten minutes, Captain. The Stingrays should arrive another fifteen minutes later.”

Leviathan nodded once more, then moved out of the attack centre to the sonar room. As usual, Patrick O’Flaherty was in the room. Phones, as he was known, had worked with Leviathan as Q-Force’s sonar expert since the beginning. Two other men were in the compartment; a German petty officer and a Spanish Chief Petty officer. Both concentrated on their scopes as Phones turned toward Leviathan.

“Scopes are clear of anything hostile, Cap’n,” Phones said. “We’re tracking the assault team easily. All else we’ve got is commercial traffic north, east and south of us. Nae bother at all.”

Leviathan smiled at his Irish comrade. “Let me know once they’re inside a mile from us.”

Phones nodded and returned to his work.

Leviathan returned to the attack centre. He wondered how the mission had gone… Dolphin had been providing cover for a four-man Aquatrooper team – comprising Shark, Tempest, Riptide and Fathom – who had gone in to the rebellious Angolan province of Cabinda to rescue several hostages and get them to a UN peacekeeping team.

As the rendezvous finally got closer, Leviathan began giving orders.

“Helm, reduce speed to one third. Make your depth twenty feet. Diving officer, flood hangar bay.”

“Reducing speed to one third, aye. Increasing depth to twenty feet, aye,” replied the helmsman.

“Vent doors open, flooding hangar bay. Hangar flooding.” The diving officer looked around. “Hangar bay will be flooded in one minute.”

Leviathan nodded, “Very well.”

Suddenly the intercom squawked. “''Conn, sonar! We’ve just picked a massive mechanical transient from Sierra 33. Sounds like doors opening. Now reading six, no, eight. Wait… ten…Twelve new contacts heading south at high speed.”''

Leviathan charged into the sonar room. “Repeat and clarify, Phones.”

“Sierra 33 is a merchantman sailing on the Europe-South America sea-lane. We just had a massive mechanical transient off his bearing, like he opened large doors. Immediately after we began detecting new contacts, now tracking twelve high speed submerged contacts heading this way!”

The German petty officer cut in, “I’m picking up more new contacts on the surface. Possibly high-speed small craft. Impossible to get a definite number or any kind of blade-rate.”

Leviathan darted back into the attack centre and snatched up the handset for the 1-MC system, which would send his voice to all decks and all compartments.

“All hands, all hands, battle-stations, I repeat, battle-stations. We have multiple incoming unknown sonar contacts.”

The submarine didn’t sound an alert siren, nor were the lights changed, but a rush of activity followed the Captain’s words. Crewmen dashed to their stations, doubling the engine room complement, manning damage control parties throughout the submarine and readying the torpedo and missile compartments for action.

“''Conn, sonar. Sound signature for the twelve submerged contacts has been classified. They read as GI Joe SHARC submersibles,” ''Phones reported.

Leviathan and Ramone exchanged confused looks. The GI Joe SHARC had been retired several years earlier.

Leviathan turned to the fire-control tracking party at the rear of the attack centre. “Time to complete rendezvous?”

“Stingrays will arrive in two minutes. Sea Lion in another four.”

“Time to intercept by the SHARCs?”

“Five minutes, sir,” reported Harpoon, the Sea Lion pilot who was head of the tracking party.

Leviathan moved to the intercom. “Radio, Conn. Contact the assault team on short-wave radio and order them to increase speed.”

The radio operator acknowledged the order. Leviathan moved back toward his usual place beside the chart table.

“Weapons officer. Load all tubes with mark 48s. Have a MOSS on stand by for tube 2. Flood the tubes and open the outer doors as soon as your fish are loaded.”

“Aye sir,” replied the Dutch lieutenant.

“''Transients! Transients! Torpedoes in the water bearing zero-zero-zero, dead aft!”'' Phones’ voice bellowed from the wall-mounted speaker.

“Helm, right full rudder, all ahead flank!” Leviathan snapped. He moved to the intercom. “Five inch room, launch a spread! Radio, order the assault team to abort the RV!”

The five-inch room was the small compartment aft of the attack centre that launched noisemaker decoys which would create a cloud of bubbles in the water like a dissolving tablet, in order to fool the torpedoes’ sonar.

The Nautilus was now racing west away from its previous course.

Leviathan activated the intercom. “Sonar, conn, report!”

''“Sir, we have six torpedoes in the water, launched by the SHARCs, heading in. We left a big knuckle in the water when we went to flank speed and turned.” Phones paused, “I dunno if they’ll go after the assault force.”''

A ‘knuckle’ was a large cloud of disturbed water, typically created by a submarine suddenly accelerating and turning in the sea.

“''Okay, torpedo one just hit one of the noisemakers… Two just exploded in the knuckle. Took out three and four, as well. Five is still coming; it blew through the knuckle and is still coming. I lost six.”''

“Stream the nixie!” Leviathan snapped. The nixie was a towed decoy deployed from a fairing on the Nautilus’ rear hydroplanes.

“Helm, reduce speed to full. Come to new course one-six-five.”

“Reducing speed to all ahead full, aye. Coming right to new course one-six-five, aye.”

“Torpedo five just hit the nixie,” Phones reported. “''I’ve got transients from the assault team. Looks like the Stingrays have just launched their mini-torps at the SHARCs.”''

“Roger that,” Leviathan answered.

“Torpedo six reacquired, it’s just hit one of the noisemakers.”

Leviathan turned to the weapons officer. “Weps, target those SHARCs and launch all four torpedoes when you have a solution.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“''Conn, Sonar, The assault team took out three of those hostile SHARCs. I’m reading hull break-up noises.”''

“Let us know if they launch more torpedoes, Phones,” Leviathan replied.

“Tubes one through four, set and ready,” reported the weapons officer. “Firing one…Firing two… firing three… firing four. All torpedoes away.”

“''Conn, Sonar, I read all four torpedoes on track toward the hostiles. All units running hot, straight and normal.”''

Leviathan acknowledged and then gave his next orders, “Weps, load and fire that MOSS, have another standing by. Load tubes one, three and four with –48s and stand by to fire.”

“Torpedo room reports MOSS loaded and ready to fire,” Weps replied. “Launching now.”

The MOSS was a modified torpedo that carried a recording of a submarine’s plant noise instead of a warhead. The MO-bile Submarine Simulator acted as a decoy, which could manoeuvre more like a real submarine than a noisemaker.

“MOSS away,” Weps reported. “Loading a second in tube two. Tubes one, three and four loaded with torpedoes and ready for targets.”

“''Conn, Sonar, torpedoes are locked on targets… Torpedo one, has just hit Sierra 37. Second fish has Sierra 40 locked. Three is on Sierra 41. Four is on Sierra 39. Hits, hits, hits. All torpedoes have hit. That’s seven targets down. Five remaining. They’re launching.”''

Leviathan called out, “Weps, launch second MOSS.”

“Second MOSS away,” Weps replied.

“Helm, bring us around to bearing zero one zero. All ahead one third.”

“All ahead one third, aye. Coming left to new course zero one zero.”

“''Conn, Sonar, transients, transients, transients. Multiple torpedo launches from surface contacts. I read at least eight torpedoes in the water.”''

Leviathan moved to the paper plot on the chart table where the fire-control tracking party stood. It was getting really hard to keep up now.

“Sonar, Conn, status of torpedoes launched by SHARCs.”

For a moment, Phones didn’t reply. Leviathan guessed he was checking his own instruments to decide where they all were.

“''We just lost MOSS 1. Looks like two hostile torpedoes took it out. Stand by one… Okay, torpedo three hit the debris and the knuckle from that explosion and detonated. Four and Five are circling below us, in ping-and-listen mode. I think they’ve lost us.”'' Phones paused for a moment. “The torpedoes launched from the surface are going after MOSS 2.”

“Very well. Weps, target remaining SHARCs and launch torpedoes one, three and four. Reload tubes one and three and fire.”

“''Conn, radio. Message from Dolphin. Stingrays have submerged and headed east to clear the area. They lost Stingray 4. Tempest has been killed, sir. Dolphin reports he has engaged surface contacts and destroyed several. He reports they are red Devilfish speedboats. He says his Sea Lion is damaged and he’s submerged at twelve feet and racing south east to clear the area.”''

“Acknowledged, radio room.”

Leviathan looked at his executive officer. Ramone stared back. “I got nothing to say, skipper. I can’t see anything wrong in what you’ve done.”

Leviathan grinned. “Good.”

“''Conn, Sonar. All remaining SHARCs have been destroyed. Torpedoes from the surface have destroyed MOSS 2. The rest seem to have begun self-destructing.”''

“Very well.” Leviathan switched intercom channels, “Radio, Conn. Raise Ascendancy Island base on the ELF radio. Request air support against multiple surface hostiles.”

After a few minutes, the radio room reported Ascendancy Island had launched a pair of Osprey fighters, but since the engagement was at the jet’s extreme range, they wouldn’t have a long loiter time, even with their wing-tanks.

'''08:25 GMT. '''

The Atlantic Ocean

Razor steered his Osprey fighter toward the coordinates Ascendancy Base had been given. It was fifteen minutes since he’d launched and twenty since the call had been received from the Nautilus.

“Activate the look-down radar, River. Let’s see if we can find them.”

“Roger that, Razor,” replied the radar intercept officer in the backseat. “Radiating.”

The Osprey Q-Force Maritime Strike Fighter was a modified F/A-18B Hornet with the carrier landing capability removed, an added lookdown radar and an enhanced targeting system. The two crewmembers on Osprey-1 were Canadians.

“Contact,” River reported. “I’ve got multiple surface contacts near the coordinates we were given. Small. Hard to get an ID.”

“Pass it over to Saeta in Osprey-2,” Razor replied, referring to the Spanish pilot. “Can you target the vessels?”

River didn’t answer straight away. “Yeah… I think so,” he finally answered. “We can use the clusters on them.”

“Pass that over as well,” Razor ordered.

As River got on the radio to Osprey-2, Razor took his fighter into a shallow banking dive down toward the ocean.

“Targets locked,” River reported. “Ready to shoot.”

“Launching.”

Two CBU-97 cluster bombs fell from their launch rails as the Osprey continued it’s shallow dive.

The canisters split open and fired out their ten BLU-108 sub-munitions. These deployed parachutes, corrected their courses automatically according to the launch parameters they were preset with and then released the chute, fired a rocket motor and began launching their sensor-fused projectiles known as Skeets. These Skeets used mini-radar arrays to scan the waves, detected the mass of twenty speedboats and fired off their explosively formed penetrators. The EFPs were rods of metal formed by the Skeets’ detonation of a shaped charge. The EFP rods were fired at speeds approaching mach 8.8, nearly nine times the speed of sound.

The EFPs didn’t detonate when they hit the speedboats. Instead they simply slammed into the boats, smashing them to pieces in what was known as a ‘kinetic kill’.

Red Eel had been leading a force of twenty-five Red Manta speedboats. Six of them had been destroyed by the cursed Q-Force Sea Lion submersible before it had retreated. He knew his Red Shark submersibles had been destroyed by the Q-Force submarine as well as the Stingray sea-sleds. He’d been leading the Red Mantas in a grid-search pattern, trying to locate the Nautilus, although he knew it was next to impossible with the simple sonar systems the Red Manta carried. The sound of several rocket motors firing caused him to look up, but he couldn’t make out anything in the cloudy sky.

Then he spotted the two fighter jets descending toward the sea and immediately grabbed his radio.

“All Mantas, abort mission, come about and prepare for a speed-run to the mothership!”

As the speedboats began try to turn about, Red Eel heard several detonations above him, he slammed his throttle forward and raced his Red Manta away from the others, before looping back around.

As he did, he saw half of his force blown to pieces. None of the boats seemed to be hit by missiles, they simply smashed apart, sending debris flying. Water and wreckage flew everywhere.

Red Eel cursed under his breath, before steering his speedboat away from the wreckage.

He looked up in time to see the two twin-rudder fighters scream out of the sky, guns blazing.

Another six of the Red Mantas exploded under the onslaught. Both jets climbed back into the sky, turning west.

Red Eel activated his radio. “Any survivors, follow me.”

He steered his Red Manta northwest and shoved his throttle forward, zipping the small boat around the wreckage, heading for the freighter his force had been deployed from. A total of three other Red Mantas joined him.

Sunday March 19th 1995.

10:00 Eastern Standard Time/15:00 GMT

Washington DC

Wilder Vaughn was sitting in the back of a panel van, the exterior of which identified it as belonging to a small-time radio station in Ohio. In reality, it was his mobile headquarters for this operation. The radio antennae, which ostensibly allowed the van to transmit back to its owners, were in fact to enable him to communicate with his field teams. The van was parked outside the Longworth House Office Building, one of several which served the House of Representatives.

Vaughn checked his watch as it ticked down to 10:00. It had taken three years to plan this operation under the Black Major’s direction and eight months to manoeuvre the assets into position. Across the city a variety of vans, trucks and cars were moving into position.

At exactly 10:00, across the city, van doors were opened, ramps lowered from trucks and the Red Shadows assault force began to move out.

Several blocks west of Vaughn’s position, eight vans crashed through fences into Lafayette Square and The Ellipse either side of the White House campus. All four vans opened roof panels and opened fire with mortar shells.

Secret Service snipers on top of the White House, Old Executive Office Building and the Treasury Building barely had time to shout warnings into the radio headsets they wore before the 20mm shells hit the three buildings. Fifteen Secret Service agents died in the first wave. A second wave hit even as Service agents crashed in to the President’s lounge, grabbed him from his late breakfast and forcibly moved him toward the nearest lift. Neither the First Lady nor the First Daughter had a chance to react before they too were being bundled down stairs.

At the J. Edgar Hoover Building, halfway between the White House and the Congress building, Red Shadows waited in concealment before a convoy of Chevy Suburbans raced from the underground garage. They barely cleared the gates before they were hit by a succession of anti-tank rockets.

Across the city, at the headquarters of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, a Hyena tank crashed through the fence surrounding the building and the Red Shadow in the gun turret opened fire with the tank’s twin 90mm cannon, spraying the building liberally with the shells. On the other side of the building, a pair of Shadowtraks were pumping their own .50 calibre rounds into the windows, shattering glass, pummelling concrete and killing several agents.

The Headquarters of the US Secret Service was taking fire at the same time. The Red Shadows in this instance had a pair of Hyenas they’d removed from a long articulated truck, as the first response force had started to emerge, the Hyenas had shredded the lead vehicle, before an accompanying infantry force had launched grenades at the building.

10:20 Eastern/15:20 GMT

Several of the VH-60 helicopters of HMX-1 squadron at Andrews Air Force Base were kept in alert postures for an emergency evacuation of VIPs from Washington at short notice. Even as the assault continued on Federal buildings in the capital, eight VH-60s were scrambled to head west into the city.

Racing in to the city, the modified Black Hawks were crossing Lincoln Park when anti-aircraft fire suddenly ripped across the sky. The northernmost helicopter in the lead triangle formation was hit by several 120mm shells and blown to pieces. Burning wreckage plunged into the tree-lined park as the others dropped lower to try to avoid being targeted.

The second element of three VH-60s turned northwest, heading for the US Naval Observatory, where the Vice President’s residence was located, when six surface-to-air missiles screamed up from Stanton Park.

All three VH-60s fired off their flares, dropping lower still. Several of the SAMs were decoyed by the flares, but one hit the tail boom of one of the helicopters, blowing off the rear three feet of the tail-boom.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” screamed the co-pilot as the pilot tried to keep the helicopter flying even as it entered a flat spin. “We’re going down! We’re going down near C Street North East!”

The VH-60 slammed into one of the buildings at the side of the narrow road, span around, crashed into a second building across the street and finally slammed into the road, bounced once and then slammed into a car driving down the street. The helicopter’s fuel tank was ripped open and a spark from the scraping metal ignited it, blowing the helicopter and the car to pieces.

The surviving helicopters of the lead element crossed the Capitol Building complex and began flying straight down Pennsylvania Avenue when anti-aircraft fire erupted from Henry Park on their left. Both helicopters broke off, turning toward Judiciary Square. Two surface-to-air missiles streaked from the park, causing the Marine pilots to fire off chaff and flares and dodge back west and drop to near roof-top level.

The radio in the lead helicopter crackled to life.

“''Hammer One, this is Castle, we’re watching your approach. Break off, say again; break off. We’re still taking heavy mortar fire here.”'' Castle was the Secret Service codename for the White House.

“Roger that, Castle,” the co-pilot replied. “We’re taking a lot of fire up here.”

A few minutes later, the two surviving helicopters from the second element landed at the US Naval Observatory where the Vice President was hustled out to the waiting helicopters, which lifted off and raced north-west into Maryland.

10:30 Eastern/15:30 GMT

US Marine Corps barracks, 8th and I Streets

Gunnery Sergeant Etienne LaFitte and Gunnery Sergeant Wendell Metzger entered the rec room to see a large group of the other sergeants gathered around a TV set that was showing an NBC news flash.

“What’s going on?” Metzger growled.

The other sergeants immediately leaped to their feet and snapped to attention.

“Sir, terrorists are attacking the White House, sir,” snapped Sergeant Sanchez.

“Say again?” LaFitte asked, incredulously.

“Sir, NBC news is reporting that there’s a terrorist assault ongoing around the White House, sir,” Sanchez said.

The two Gunnery Sergeants looked at the TV to see a slightly shaky camera shot from a helicopter over Washington DC, showing what looked like red HISS tanks and some other red armed vehicles speeding along Independence Avenue, passing the Smithsonian. The news anchor was saying that the Hoover Building had also been attacked and there were reports coming in that several of the DC Police stations had been attacked. The footage on the screen changed to show four vans firing mortar shells toward the White House, before showing a montage of clips, including anti-aircraft fire being directed at VH-60 helicopters.

The two gunnery sergeants exchanged looks.

“Cobra?” Metzger said.

LaFitte shook his head, “Don’t think so, Leatherneck. Those smaller vehicles look familiar, but they ain’t Cobra issue.”

On the screen, a ‘Live pictures’ caption appeared as more footage came on, showing a police helicopter being shot down by a surface-to-air missile. Seconds later, tracers could be seen flashing past the camera, before the picture wobbled erratically, showing red anti-air gun batteries firing up.

The picture suddenly cut back to a shaken looking anchor in the studio.

“Those were ASPs,” Metzger said.

LaFitte nodded. “MARINES! Get your asses in gear! This city is under attack! We ain’t sitting around like goddamn Army girls! Get your gear! Get your rifles! Get your squads moving!” he shouted.

Most of the men ran out, but one lingered. “Gunny, we’re a ceremonial unit,” he protested.

“WE’RE GODDAMN UNITED STATES MARINES!” Leatherneck screamed, “EVERY MAN A RIFLEMAN! MOVE YOUR SORRY ASS!”

The sergeant fled.

“Goddamn, Gung-Ho, we’re back in the ass-kicking business,” Leatherneck commented with a grin.

“Let’s go kick some, Leatherneck.”

The two Marines headed out.

Inside ten minutes, nearly every enlisted Marine in the barracks was in the armoury drawing weapons. Four were carrying M60E3 light machine guns. Two more carried LAW anti-tank rockets. The rest were largely armed with M16 assault rifles, some with M203 grenade launchers attached. Leatherneck was one of those. Gung-Ho, however, was carrying an M203 separated from his M16.

As the Marines, now clad in combat gear and body armour began moving out, they were intercepted by three Marine officers and two PFCs, one with a cast on his arm, the other in a leg cast.

“Gunny Metzger,” said the Major as the Marines halted. “Where are you going?”

“Sir, to kick some ass, sir.” Leatherneck saluted as he replied. “Terrorists are attacking the White House.”

“Well, why didn’t you come to me, first?” the Major asked.

“Sir, time is of the essence, sir.”

“Indeed it is. The Commandant and the colonel may be out of town, but I’m still the senior man on-site, Gunny. You still ought to tell me you’re going out.”

“Sir, yessir.”

“Myself, the privates here, and Lieutenants Marks and Hill will man a command post here. I see you’ve got radio packs. Report in thirty minutes from now and on every hour as needed. We’ll try and get you some support from the Pentagon. Now get moving, Gunny. There’s ass to kick!”

“Sir, yessir!”

The Marines moved out at double time, heading up 8th Street toward Pennsylvania Avenue.

10:40 Eastern/15:45 GMT

The Pentagon

Even as Leatherneck and Gung-Ho were getting the Marines ready to respond, Across the Potomac River, news was reaching the Pentagon.

Hawk entered the National Military Command Centre to see it in uproar. The General had been due to have a videoconference with The Commander of Action Force at 11:00 and had arrived early to catch up on some paperwork. The Navy Commander running the NMCC had called him down as the senior ranking officer present.

“General, we’ve got a report from Andrews that the Vice President’s been evacuated and the White House is under attack. The news is getting out that a terrorist assault is under way. CNN and NBC are running reports right now,” the commander, whose nametag read ‘Moss’, reported.

Hawk immediately turned toward the large wall monitors. “Quiet!” Hawk shouted. The room fell silent.

“Put CNN up on one of the large monitors,” Hawk ordered.

The map on one of the screens showing a satellite feed from over Iran was replaced with CNN’s breaking news coverage. Hawk moved closer to the screen as four familiar vehicles raced past CNN’s studios in Washington.

“Shadowtraks,” Hawk said it like a curse. He turned around, “We’ve got Red Shadows in the city. Someone give me a sit-rep, fast.”

Moss quickly recapped the situation; mortar fire on the White House, Treasury building and Old Executive Office Building; the FBI, Secret Service and ATF headquarters shot up; helicopters trying to reach the White House and Naval Observatory shot down, along with a DC Police copter and a news helicopter; State, Justice and Transportation department buildings attacked; DC police stations under attack.

“Alright, call the FAA and get airspace over DC closed. Nothing in or out. I am not risking a 747 full of tourists being shot down over the National Mall. Next, get hold of Langley Air Force Base and request a pair of Eagles do a fast over-flight. Next, get me a secure line to Action Force Headquarters in Belgium. Get someone up here from NRO as well.” Hawk turned back to the screen. It was now showing a Black Hawk helicopter being hit by a surface-to-air missile.

“Someone call General Hollingsworth too.”

10:45 Eastern/15:45 GMT

Fort Drum, New York state.

Sergeant First Class Franklin Talltree was standing with his four-man team when the MH6 Little Bird helicopter swooped in. Talltree hefted his M16 and trotted over to the compact helicopter and hopped on to the bench seat bolted onto the side. Sergeant Wallace Weems sat next to him, a grin on his face. Weems seemed to enjoy these exercises more than Talltree. On the other side of the Little Bird, Sergeant Philip Arndt and SFC Wallace Badducci were taking their seats. The pilot looked left and right, lifted off the compact helicopter and raced away, across the camp.

Despite the team’s time in the special ops unit known as GI Joe, none of them had ever practiced this kind of insertion. The general commanding 10th Mountain Division insisted, however, that all of the members of his Special Troops Battalions be trained to do it.

The Little Bird dropped toward another empty hangar and touched down, allowing Talltree and his men to leap from the benches, drop to one knee, then run forward to the hangar as the Little Bird lifted off.

The MH6 came back around, but landed and shut its engines down as the four men approached.

The pilot opened his door. “Just got a call from the CO,” the warrant officer reported. “We’re to stand by for a possible emergency deployment.”

“Where to?” Talltree asked.

“Washington. Apparently there’s some kind of attack going on.”

“You got enough fuel to get us there?” Weems asked.

The pilot shrugged. “There and to Langley or Andrews.”

“Get moving, then.” Weems turned to the others. “Terrorists attacking DC means Cobra, right? We’re Joes, we fight Cobra, right?”

“Right,” Badducci agreed.

“Bet your ass,” Arndt said.

“You’re nuts,” the pilot said. “I can’t do that!”

“If you don’t, I’ll take the helo and fly us there myself,” Weems said.

The pilot swore, and then said, “Okay, fine, let’s go.”

Talltree looked at the others, “We’re Joes?”

“C’mon, Airborne, of course we are,” Weems said.

Airborne grinned. “Of course we are.”

“Until we get court-martialled,” Arndt said.

“Knock it off, Freefall,” Badducci said. “We won’t get court-martialled.”

“Wanna bet?” the pilot muttered.

The Little Bird lifted off and sped south.

10:50 Eastern/15:50 GMT

The Pentagon

Hawk hung up the phone after talking to General Hollingsworth. He looked around and spotted Dial-Tone who was conferring with Mainframe, both NCOs having been saddled with weekend duty shifts.

Hawk strode over, “Put out a priority message to all former Joes still on active duty, wherever they are: GI Joe is being reactivated. Stand by for further orders.”

“Does that include us?” Mainframe asked.

Hawk smirked, but didn’t answer. He moved across to where a pair of NRO officers were conferring with someone on a video link. The two men from the National Reconnaissance Office were explaining that their recon satellites were out of position to get imagery of Washington. The man on the other end, Hawk recognised vaguely. He racked his memory and realised it was Uplink, the Bulgarian communications specialist in Space Force.

“I’ll get it done,” Uplink finally said. ''“We’ve got a recon bird over North America all the time. You guys might be happy to live and let live with Cobra Island these days, but The Commander isn’t so sanguine. It’ll take a few minutes to reposition the satellite to look at Washington.”''

“Thanks, man,” the junior officer said, as his boss frowned at the comment. Hawk, standing outside the camera’s field of view smirked. He was no happier about the end of the Joes’ mission than The Commander was.

Space Force had orbited a series of recon satellites and communications birds over the last five years to increase their capabilities in support of the other units of Action Force, instead of just depending on the new space station they’d constructed. The original had been damaged by Cobra Europe’s trans-atmospheric Roboskulls in 1985 and attempts to keep it operational had finally been abandoned in 1986. That had led to Space Force nearly being mothballed, until it was discovered Cobra had a launch facility on Cobra Island and its own satellite network. A new station had been built with support from NASA, the Japanese space agency and even the Soviets. It had also led to the protracted attempt to form GI Joe’s own space unit, which had finally resulted in the short-lived Star Brigade team.

The senior NRO man looked at Hawk. “Action Force has agreed to provide recon support, General.”

An Air Force non-com called out. “Eagles from Langley lifting off now!”

Hawk nodded to the NRO man and headed toward the Air Force sergeant.

It had taken a while to fit a recon photography pod to an F-15 to fly over Washington, but the plane had finally lifted off, with a second Eagle as escort.

11:00 Eastern/16:00 GMT

Wilder Vaughn was starting to get rather bored. His Red Shadows had fought off a counter attack from federal agents around the White House, shot up a lot of federal buildings, but had singularly failed to assault the White House and capture the President. Next to him in the van, one of the Red Interceptors looked up, then gave a terse acknowledgement before turning to him.

“Sir, the watch team at Langley Air Force Base reports two F-15s just took off, one carrying a photo-recon pod.”

“Good, alert the Roboskulls. Tell them they have prey.”

The Red Interceptor set to work as Vaughn turned to the second Red Interceptor, “Have the Shadowbats standing by.”

“Yes, sir!”

11:10 Eastern/16:10 GMT

The two F-15 Eagle fighters sped toward Washington DC. Both pilots praying that despite their low altitude and slow speed, they wouldn’t get hit.

‘Slow speed’ in this case meaning around 500mph.

As the fighters crossed into the District of Columbia from Virginia, two other aircraft suddenly rose from the south of the city.

“What…the…?” asked the lead pilot as the two craft raced toward them. He activated his radio.

“Recon One, we have unidentified aircraft approaching, they took off vertically from some where near the docks.”

“Roger Recon One,” replied Langley control. “Can you identify?”

“Negative, Control. I do not recognise the type.”

The two aircraft sped closer. The pilot keyed his radio again, even as the first of the strange machines opened fire.

“They look like freakin’ TIE fighters, but with skulls in the middle!” he shouted. “They’re firing!”

The captain threw his Eagle into a sharp turn, but the odd craft turned on a dime and dropped on to his six, firing its guns.

“I’m hit! I’m hit! Losing control!” the pilot screamed into his radio. He tried to steer the fighter away from the city before the strange craft riddled the F-15 with more bullets and it exploded.

The lieutenant in Recon Two was luckier, after dodging the first hail of bullets, he simply slammed his throttle forward to full afterburner and hauled his stick back.

The Eagle streaked away from the Roboskulls, before levelling off at 30,000 feet, looping around and heading back to base.

The Pentagon

Hawk listened to the report from Langley before turning to the Air Force non-com who had called the Federal Aviation Authority.

“Call the FAA again,” Hawk ordered. “We’re declaring an air defence emergency. Nothing flies into Virginia or Maryland without my clearance.”

11:15 Eastern/16:15 GMT

The Emergency Broadcast System began broadcasting its alert tone across all of the Washington DC networks, both television and radio. TV stations switched to a slide announcing that this was not a test; that a message from the President would follow.

At 11:16, the President appeared on the screen. The background clearly showed that ‘Eagle’ – the President’s Secret Service codename – was not in the Oval Office.

“My fellow Americans, I bear serious news. Our country, and in particular our capital city is under attack from a terrorist group. These men are heavily armed and have assaulted the White House complex. Due to this attack, I have remained in the White House, as evacuation is not possible without unduly risking the lives of American servicemen. Several members of our Armed Forces have already lost their lives fighting these individuals. Many more federal agents have been killed or injured in this attack.

“I have already authorised our nation’s forces to respond to this attack, including directing General Hawk to reconstitute the G.I. Joe task force to take point in this situation. General Hawk is currently coordinating our response.

“If you are a resident of the city of Washington, my advisors recommend you remain in your homes. Mobile groups of these terrorists are moving about the city; largely in the area immediately surrounding the White House and Capitol Building complexes. If you are a non-resident of Washington, please follow the instructions following this address and report to one of the designated evacuation centres.

“This is a trying time for us, here in Washington and in our military, but make no mistake, America will survive as she has survived other calamities and America will respond to this attack. My thoughts and prayers are with the federal agents and servicemen who have lost their lives and their families. I hope your thoughts are as well. God bless us and God bless America.”

The President’s face was replaced by a member of the White House press staff who began listing evacuation centres for people to report to, emphasising that it may take time for an evacuation to begin, but that help was on its way.

11:15 Eastern/16:15 GMT

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

Captain Vincent Falcone stood with his squad of Green Beret commandos, watching as an MH-60K Black Hawk descended toward them. The team had been alerted ten minutes earlier to stand by for pick-up and deployment to Washington. Falcone had seen the news and knew what was coming.

As the Black Hawk flared and touched down, Falcone turned and waved the troops forward.

First to sprint forward was Sergeant Andrew Meyers, an M16 in one hand and a LAW-80 slung over his shoulder. Next was Sergeant Brent Scott, carrying his M4 carbine. Sergeant Peter Millman was close on his heels, carrying his suppressed M16. Following him was Sergeant First Class Wayne Sneeden, carrying his MP5 sub-machine gun. Staff Sergeant Joseph Felton followed him, carrying an M16/M203 combo.

Last to run forward, in front of Falcone, was Sergeant-Major Conrad Hauser. Hauser was carrying an MP5K sub-machine gun. Falcone hefted his own weapon, a M4 carbine with a telescopic sight attached, and climbed aboard.

The MH-60K lifted off and sped north.

Falcone pulled on a headset to talk to the pilot as the helicopter raced along.

“So which crazy snake-eater did the Night Stalkers send us for this op?” Falcone asked as he looked at the back of the pilot’s head.

The pilot laughed. “Now, is that any way to address an old friend, Captain Falcon?” asked Warrant Officer Victor Sikorski from the pilot’s seat.

Falcon laughed as he recognised the voice. “When it’s a mad pilot like you, Lift-Ticket, sure. I thought you retired?”

“Hell, no, I got promoted like you Joes did. I got shanghaied into the Night Stalkers to instruct the poor fools they had in how to fly a real helicopter; namely the Tomahawk. Then the pukes in the puzzle palace pulled the funding and the Tomahawk was canned.”

“Pentagon pukes always hated the Joes, you know that, Lift-Ticket,” Falcon answered. “All those crazy new vehicles we were using… and often wrecking.”

“I know, I sometimes wonder if that’s why they folded the unit; too expensive.” Lift Ticket craned around to see who else was in the helicopter. “So who else you got back there?”

“Hell, it’s old home week back here, mate. We’ve got Footloose, Hit&Run, Spearhead, Duke, Recoil and Beach Head,” Falcon answered.

“Just like old times, eh, Falcon?”

Falcon laughed.

11:25 Eastern/16:25 GMT

Washington, DC

Leatherneck and Gung-Ho were leading their team toward Seward Square. After hoofing it up 8th Street, they’d turned along Pennsylvania Avenue South East and were heading northwest toward the Capitol complex.

The Marines paused half a block short of the 6th Street intersection, both to rest and to enable the two Gunnery Sergeants to eyeball the area ahead. During their run up Penn Avenue, Corporal Jackson had received a message from Major Barnes. Barnes had relayed the news of the reactivation of the Joes and that Hawk had authorised them to operate as a temporary expansion of the Joe team. Barnes had further relayed intel from the Pentagon; Seward Square was home to a Red Shadow anti-air site that comprised three ASP units and a pair of Stinger jeeps.

Leatherneck turned to the six Marines immediately behind him. “Nichols, Gordon, Butcher. We’re gonna move up and recon the area. Let’s not do anything stupid, just see if we can determine their strength and fire-power.”

Nichols saluted but the others just nodded. The four Marines moved off.

A few parked cars and some abandoned vehicles in the streets served to provide cover for the Marines as they approached.

Leatherneck signalled to Nichols and Gordon to stay put, whilst he and Butcher moved closer. They were only a few feet from the anti-air site. Leatherneck pulled out a set of binoculars and looked around, whilst Butcher watched his back. Despite the name, which might have fooled a tourist into thinking it was a park or pleasant place to visit, Seward Square was really little more than a large intersection where Pennsylvania Avenue crossed North Carolina Avenue SE, with a few patches of greenery and some trees. The ASPs were sited in a triangular formation in the centre of the intersection. The Stingers, painted red like the ASPs, were positioned on the junctions of North Carolina Avenue.

As Leatherneck looked around, he could see that there were Red Shadows seated in each of the ASPs, four on foot patrol in pairs on the perimeter of their position, with another Shadow in each of the jeeps. One of the patrolling Red Shadows was carrying a radio pack on his back. The others looked to be armed with AK-47s or similar knock-offs. Leatherneck was surprised. None of them had heavy weapons, which made things a lot easier.

The gunnery sergeant scooted around and signalled Butcher to follow him. The pair crouch-walked back to where Nichols and Gordon were trying to stay out of sight next to a flatbed truck. Leatherneck looked it over, realising it could’ve easily carried the two Stingers here.

The four men made their way carefully back to the rest of the Marines.

Leatherneck crouched next to Gung-Ho and relayed his observations. Together they swiftly drew up an attack plan.

Leatherneck then began directing several of the Marines in to positions whilst Gung-Ho directed others.

Attwood, a Lance Corporal, was found to be carrying an M40A1 sniper rifle as well as his M16. Leatherneck immediately had him move up the street and stand by to take out the radio operator.

Most of the Marines were held back, whilst two fire-teams were set on either side of the road, with two riflemen accompanying an M60 gunner in each team. The rest of the assault force was made up of Leatherneck, Gung-Ho and four others with M203 grenade launchers.

Once the assault force was in position, Leatherneck signalled Attwood. The Lance Corporal lined up his target and fired. The single shot smashing the radio operator’s backpack set.

Seconds later, as the Red Shadows began to turn toward the sound of the rifle shot, the grenadiers launched a single 40mm grenade each.

The high-explosive grenades destroyed both Stinger jeeps and hit the control seat of the ASPs.

The two fire-teams opened up next. Sustained fire from the M60s cut down several of the Red Shadows as the riflemen fired controlled bursts.

It took five minutes for the Marines to wipe out the anti-air site, with no casualties and barely any return fire.

Leatherneck turned to two of the assault team. “Edwards, Merrick, go shove a hand grenade into those ASPs’ barrels. I don’t want any chance of the Shadows using them again.”

The two Marines trotted forward as the rest of the Marines regrouped. Gung-Ho called over Jackson and reported in to Major Barnes that the group had successfully destroyed the Red Shadow anti-air site at Seward Square.

Barnes acknowledged the message.

“You two,” Leatherneck pointed to a pair of PFCs, “Gather up their personal weapons and frag them with a thermite charge. We don’t want any civvies picking up weapons.”

Within ten minutes, the Marines were moving out, heading for the Capitol Building.

11:30 Eastern/16:30GMT

Canada

Sergeant Moosejaw walked into the briefing room in the headquarters of Canada’s GI Joe team. People used to think it was a joke, Canada having it’s own Joe team, but Moosejaw knew it wasn’t. The team had been put together after Cobra was found to be shipping Terrordrome components through the country. That, along with Action Force’s destruction of a Red Shadow base in Canada, had convinced Ottawa to put a team together.

Moosejaw’s team had since clashed with a Canadian branch of Cobra several times; Cobra North was not to be sniffed at either.

Moosejaw looked around at the team. As well as his fellow veterans like Snowbank, Deke, Pulse-Pounder, Powder Keg and Line Dance, there were several newer members, including Aurora and Prairie Dog, the two newest.

“I’ve just finished talking to the Lieutenant-General,” Moosejaw informed them. “We’ve been cleared to head for DC and help out our American friends. Get both Tomahawks prepped for take off; we’re all going in. Snowbank, I want you to escort the ‘hawks in the Hailstorm.”

The tracker nodded, although Valkyrie was a qualified pilot, Snowbank typically flew the Hailstorm fighter.

“Valk you fly ‘hawk 2, whilst PP flies ‘Hawk 1.”

Valkyrie winced at Moosejaw’s contraction of her codename, but nodded. Pulse-Pounder ignored the shortening of his name.

“Teams in both helicopters. Wheels up in fifteen.”

The Canadians moved out.

Ten minutes later, Aurora was in the hangar standing next to Tomahawk 1, examining the pintle-mounted mini-guns.

Hard-point, the team’s aircraft mechanic and the only member who wouldn’t be flying to America, was working on the last of the fuel tanks that would hang from the helicopter’s stub wings in place of the usual bombs.

“Looks like that did the job, Hard-point,” Aurora said as she stepped back. “The guns seem fine.”

Hard-point nodded as he stood up and rubbed his back. “Good. I thought I’d get you to check it over since I know you’re so careful around those babies.”

Aurora smiled and moved back to pick up her FN Minimi machine-gun. “Well, you know me, Hard-point. I like the heavy weapons to work right.”

Aurora turned as several more of the team began entering the hangar. Snowbank was doing his pre-flight walk-around of the Hailstorm. The compact single-seat fighter had been built by Cobra North and captured by Shiver, a former Cobra North member who’d defected.

Pulse-Pounder climbed aboard the Tomahawk and began running through his checklists. Valkyrie pre-flighted her helicopter before climbing aboard.

Backstop and Plow-wind boarded Tomahawk 1 and moved to take up places behind the mini-guns. Since both were vehicle drivers, this was where they could help most.

Moosejaw, Deke, Line Dance, Powder Keg, Shiver, Quick Synch and Badger boarded Tomahawk 1.

Aurora walked over to Tomahawk 2, where Zombie and Trace Route were manning the mini-guns. Sun Dog, Eclipse, Underbrush, Deadhead, Prairie Dog and Take Down were all aboard. Aurora climbed in, before the tractor-tug began pulling the helicopter out of the hangar.

Snowbank took off first, in the Hailstorm, before the two heavy-lift helicopters took off. It would take another two hours to get to Washington.

12:00 Eastern/ 17:00 GMT

Action Force Base of Operations; Birmingham, England 

Eagle had summoned several of his SAS Force troops to the briefing room. He looked around at them.

“Right, listen up, men. As you’ve no doubt seen on the telly, the Red Shadows have assaulted America’s capital. We’re going over there with a Z-Force unit to help out. Of course flying from Europe to America’s time-consuming and it may be over by then, but it’s been dragging on for two hours already. Redline will drive my command vehicle, one of our new Hammers; Playback and Boonie will accompany us. Throttle and Big Ben will take one of the Recon Jeeps. Rev and Stakeout will have a Panther. Double-Tap, you and Beaver get a second Recon Jeep. Quickfire, Sparrowhawk and Bodycount, you get Battle Bikes.”

Eagle paused to look around. He didn’t notice the smile on Bodycount’s face.

“This is the most serious incident yet from the Red Shadows. Let’s see if we can’t make it the last. Dismissed.”

As the team began filing out to head for the armoury, Double-Tap caught up with Bodycount. The pistol marksman noticed the commando’s smile was now a full grin.

“What you smiling so much for?” Double-Tap asked.

Bodycount looked at his friend. “Eleven years, man. Eleven years since those Red Shadow scum attacked my platoon on Salisbury Plain. I didn’t get into Action Force until they’d all disappeared. Now, I get some payback.”

Double-Tap didn’t comment as the other man walked away. He finally shrugged after mulling his friend’s words over. If he wanted payback fine. But Double-Tap was going to make sure Bodycount didn’t do anything too stupid.

At the same time Eagle was addressing SAS Force, Skip was addressing a Z-Force unit.

“Thunderbolt will drive my Hammer command vehicle, with Tracker on the gun turret. Jammer will join us. Quarrel, you get your Rapid-Fire Bike as usual. Ton-Up will drive an Armadillo; Wheels and Scout, jeep 1. Warhead, Powerslide, Kickback, jeep 2. Let’s move.”

The Z-Force squad headed out to collect their weapons and gear.

12:00 Eastern/ 17:00 GMT

The Pentagon, Washington DC

Hawk was sitting in the NMCC, eating a cheeseburger a Navy steward had brought up from the commissary, studying the recon satellite images Action Force had sent over. The Europeans had been kind enough to provide the raw images as well as copies with their own analysis attached. The NRO officers had studied the raw photos and Hawk was now comparing their analysis to that of Space Force’s experts. Both groups agreed in the results. Anti-air sites were located around the city, including Lincoln Park, Franklin Square, Stanton Park, Dupont Circle, Logan Circle North West and on the Mall near the Washington Monuments. Further Shadow units comprising infantry, Hyenas and Shadowtraks had been located near the FBI headquarters, ATF and US Secret Service headquarters and near several police stations. Mortar units and infantry were dug in on The Ellipse and in Lafayette Square.

He set the photos aside as he finished the burger and picked up a report from US Army Special Forces HQ at Bragg. Captain Falcon and the other ex-Joes at USASF were en route with Lift-Ticket in a Black Hawk. ETA was around another thirty minutes. Hawk considered this to be good news. Sixty Marines led by two of his Joes was good, but having a team of Green Berets would be better.

The phone next to Hawk rang. He picked up the receiver.

“Hawk,” he said tersely.

“Sir, this is Lieutenant Ellis, I’m part of the phone crew,” The voice on the other end announced. “I’ve got a very irate Major General on the phone, wanting to speak to you about four members of his unit going AWOL with one of his Little Bird helos.”

Hawk frowned. “Why the hell’s he want me?”

“Sir, he says they claim to be GI Joe members.”

Hawk considered that. “Which unit is this general calling from?”

“10th Mountain, sir.”

Hawk struggled to work out which former Joes had wound up with that unit. “You better put him through.”

Seconds later, after identifying himself, Hawk was being harangued by the General in question. As the officer came to a verbal halt with the demand, “What are you goin’ to do about this?” Hawk finally got a chance to speak.

“Sir, in case you’re not aware, Washington is currently under attack from a regimental size force of terrorists. I have Presidential authorisation to deal with this attack and since I am the former GI Joe commander, I have reactivated my unit. Apparently my former troops heard of this attack and have responded before being formally activated. I apologise for this breach in the chain of command, but my men are used to operating on their initiative in emergency situations and to having a greater degree of freedom under the chain of command than most units. I will note in my formal report to the President, the SecDef and the Joint Chiefs that you were co-operative in the deployment of my men providing you let them carry on,” Hawk informed him, referring to the Secretary of Defence by the popular contraction.

“Now, I would appreciate it if you could apprise Lieutenant Ellis of which troops are on their way here. I need to get back to dealing with this situation.”

Once Hawk had got off the phone, he picked up another report. A group of Joes had arrived at Camp Dawson, a National Guard facility in West Virginia. Vehicles were being moved there for the Joes. It would take time for the force to assemble and move to DC.

The phone rang again. It was Lieutenant Ellis once more, who informed him the names of the four Joes. Hawk recognised two, immediately: Wallace Weems and Franklin Talltree. Ripcord and Airborne, two good men. A quick check of the copy of the Joe roster Hawk had nearby reminded him who the others were: Freefall and Static Line. Both were paratroops who had joined the team in the later years and whom Hawk barely knew. The fact that they were Joes told him enough, however.

12:15 Eastern/17:15 GMT

Near the Library of Congress

Leatherneck ducked back behind the shot-up car he was using for cover. The Marines had got pinned down a block away from the Library of Congress by a large group of Red Shadows. The firefight that had erupted as a result had claimed the lives of four of the Marines, but more of the Red Shadows. These Red Shadows were using light machine guns and grenade launchers.

Leatherneck scooted back to where Gung-Ho was with Jackson and the wounded.

“We need to flank them,” Leatherneck said. “They’ve got too much cover up this street for us to stand a chance advancing.”

“Roger that,” Gung Ho said. “I think they’ve got vehicles advancing up too provide cover, too.”

Leatherneck nodded, he’d heard the engines getting closer as well. “I’ll take Grant, Curtis, Hitchens and Kaparso down 3rd Street, cut along C Street and up 2nd Street. We’ll come at them from the back.”

Gung-Ho gave a curt nod, “Kyle can handle things here.” Gung-Ho referred to the senior Sergeant below them in the chain of command. “I’ll come with you.”

After telling Kyle to keep the Marines safe and firing, Leatherneck and Gung-Ho moved out, leading their squad.

As they approached the intersection of 2nd Street South East and Independence Avenue, they saw several vehicles speed past. Three were conventional Red Shadow Shadowtrak assault vehicles. The fourth was a tracked version sporting a three-point missile battery on its rear.

Red Saracen was driving the lead Shadowtrak in the group Wilder Vaughn had ordered to the Library of Congress to aid the Shadows there in fighting off an American counter-attack.

Red Saracen had once been known as Salahadin al-Haq, a PLO terrorist who had worked in Europe under Carlos the Jackel. During the 1980s he’d joined the Red Shadows after realising the Palestinian liberation movement was going nowhere. After narrowly avoiding capture during the Action Force assault on Red Shadow bases worldwide – sometimes known as the Resolution 909 campaign – he had rejoined the Red Shadows after the Black Major’s return. Now he was leading an assault group in this attack on the Great Satan.

The Shadowtraks pulled to a halt next to the wrecked vehicles at the intersection of Pennsylvania Avenue and Independence Avenue. Red Saracen hopped out of his vehicle, with Red Terror following from his TerrorTrak.

The lead Red Shadow hurried up to meet them.

“What have you got?” Red Saracen asked, his Egyptian accent still thickening his words.

“American Marines,” replied the Shadow leader. “They have automatic weapons and grenade launchers, but we’ve held them off so far. We need your support to finish them.”

Red Saracen nodded, he moved to take a look down the street. The Marines and Shadows were exchanging fire from behind more parked and abandoned cars.

“No problem,” Red Saracen said, moving back toward his vehicle. “Leave the TerrorTrak here, Red Terror, we don’t need missiles for this.”

His silent companion nodded and remounted his vehicle as Red Saracen climbed into his own and began giving orders to his two companion drivers.

Before anyone could react, a light anti-tank weapon streaked across the street and hit the TerrorTrak’s rear end, blowing it apart.

Red Saracen ducked for cover as an M60 opened fire next, cutting down several of the Red Shadows.

Leatherneck dropped the spent launch tube and unslung his M16/M203 as Curtis continued laying down suppression fire from the M60. Gung-Ho sighted his M203 on the Red Shadow commander in his Shadowtrak and fired off a 40mm HE grenade.

The High Explosive shell dropped into the vehicle’s open body and detonated, ripping it apart.

Kaparso and Grant were firing in short bursts, taking down Red Shadows with more precision than Curtis who continued spraying rounds down the street. Hitchens was holding their rear, further back.

Gung-Ho raised his own M16 as Leatherneck blooped a grenade from his M203 into the Red Shadows. The explosion covered Gung-Ho as he fired off three bursts in quick succession, cutting down three running Shadows.

The Red Shadows resistance quickly crumbled as more gunfire began from down Penn Avenue.

The explosion that had destroyed the TerrorTrak had ripped apart the other two Shadowtraks, leaving four burning wrecks.

The Marines regrouped and once more, they gathered the enemy weapons and destroyed them with thermite charges.

12:25 Eastern/17:25 GMT

Dunbar High School, Washington DC

The MH-6 Little Bird touched down on the school grounds, the four soldiers hopped off the bench seats. The compact helicopter lifted back off the ground, pivoted and sped away to the northwest.

Airborne pushed himself up off the ground from his crouch and looked around. “Looks okay,” he commented.

Next to him, Ripcord was looking around as well. “Any idea where the hell we are?”

“Dunbar High School,” Freefall replied, pointing to a nearby sign.

The other three paratroopers exchanged glances. “Don’t look at me,” Static Line said. “I’ve never been to DC.”

“Neither have I,” Freefall put in.

Ripcord and Airborne exchanged looks again. “Last time I was here’s going back a few years,” Airborne admitted. “Let’s find a car.”

The four soldiers walked toward the gates of the school, which proved to be locked. Rather than shoot the lock, Airborne simply scaled the fence. The others followed him.

“Hey! What the hell you doin’?” shouted a man nearby carrying a shotgun.

Airborne walked toward him. “We’re US Army, sir. I suggest you return home.”

“Army?” the man asked. “What you doing in the school?”

“We were dropped off by a helicopter,” Ripcord answered before Airborne could. “Didn’t you see it?”

“Lot of helicopters flyin’ about,” the man answered. “All kinds of crazy stuff.” He looked the Joes over.

“Army, you say? Which outfit?”

“10th Mountain Infantry,” Airborne replied. “We’re all paratroopers.”

“10th Mountain? My brother was with them, back in the ‘80s. That was before he got killed in Somalia.” The man shook his head. “Real mess that was…”

“Sir, do you live nearby?” Airborne asked.

“Yeah, right over there. Why?”

“Do you have a car we could borrow?” Airborne went on.

The man considered it. “You boys a recon team? Part of that GI Joe bunch the President was talking about in the Emergency Broadcast?”

“That’s us,” Freefall said cheerfully.

“We got dropped off a bit further away than we intended,” Ripcord explained.

“Okay, sure. Just don’t get it blown up, or nothin’.” The man led Airborne down the street. Moments later, he returned in a late ‘80s model Camaro.

“Sweet ride,” Freefall commented as he got in the back.

“You know where we’re going?” Ripcord asked as he took the front passenger seat.

“There’s a map in the glove box,” Airborne replied. He put the car in gear and drove off.

13:00 Eastern/18:00 GMT

Approaching Washington DC

The four Storm Eagle fighter jets knifed through the sky at five hundred miles an hour. Lt. Colonel Alexander Russo was flying the third of the fighters. Leading the flight was Ace, with Dogfight as his wingman. Their job was to cover him and his wingman, who’s name Russo was ashamed to say he could never remember.

Russo’s radio crackled. “Skystriker, you ready?” Ace asked.

“Ready and willing, Ace.”

“Hit ‘em hard, Colonel,” the flight leader replied.

It was a bit strange for a Lieutenant Colonel to serve under a Major, but Ace was the lead pilot of the GI Joe team, which gave him seniority in that outfit. His experience flying the Storm Eagle during its brief time as a Joe aircraft also meant he got to serve as training instructor for the Storm Eagle squadron.

Skystriker had joined the Joes several years after Ace, flying the Conquest X-30 at first, before being assigned to the Tiger Force Tiger Rat, an aircraft he barely ever flew in practice. Now, he was flying this new stealthy fighter and hoping like hell the attack computer would work.

The four fighters descended to a lower altitude and decelerated. Ace and Dogfight took up a cover position, whilst Skystriker and his wingman went on the attack.

He armed his AGM-65 missiles and opened the weapons bay; he was approaching Dupont Circle, the missile’s onboard TV camera locked on to the ASP batteries and Stinger sitting in the circle. Skystriker launched the missile.

The anti-tank weapon scored a direct hit on the Stinger jeep, the explosion destroying both ASPs. The Red Shadows had sited the triple-A batteries too close to the SAM jeep for safety and it just cost them.

The second Maverick missile was aimed at the two Stingers and one ASP at Logan Circle. The missile destroyed one of the Stingers outright, with flying debris hitting the ASP and the second Stinger.

As Skystriker was preparing to launch his third missile, he suddenly spotted the Roboskulls lifting off to the south.

Seconds later he saw Ace and Dogfight flying their Storm Eagles to intercept. Skystriker quickly armed, targeted and launched the third Maverick, which destroyed two ASPs sitting in Franklin Square. A fourth destroyed a pair of Stingers in Mount Vernon Square.

Before Skystriker could turn east and head for Stanton Park and Lincoln Park, anti-aircraft gunfire began to lash out at his fighter from Lafayette Square and the Ellipse.

“Stay close, Four,” Skystriker radioed as he pushed his throttle forward and climbed away from the tracers zipping across the sky.

The captain flying the other fighter gave a terse acknowledgment as they tried to evade the gunfire. More gunfire erupted from Henry Park and Judiciary Square as they tried to get to their targets.

“Break off the attack, Four,” Skystriker radioed. He pulled his fighter north and into a climb. He looked back to see his wingman close on his wing.

“We’ve got a new problem, Colonel,” Four radioed just before Skystriker’s threat warning system began screeching its alert tone; his Storm Eagle was being hit by several radars. He thought at first it was the Stingers trying to lock on with their missiles, before he looked at his own radar and saw twelve new contacts closing fast.

Skystriker cursed the decision to only arm his and his wingman’s fighters with the anti-armour missiles. Whilst the public liked to think stealth aircraft were invisible on radar, the truth was that they weren’t. Instead, whilst a conventional fighter of similar dimensions might’ve had a radar cross section the size of a house, a stealth jet had one the size of a person. The radar beams not absorbed by the fighter’s skin were deflected away at angles to the transmitter/receiver. Those signals could easily be detected by another radar unit – in other words, twelve hostile jets could wind up being able to lock on to his jet by simply overwhelming the plane’s stealth characteristics. The fact they’d been flying with missiles on wing pylons surely hadn’t helped; the missiles weren’t stealthy.

The squadron suddenly split in to two groups. One turned south, the other kept heading his way. Skystriker checked his radar screen to find Ace and Dogfight were now racing north after shooting down the Roboskulls.

The two Storm Eagles launched a barrage of their Sidewinder heat-seeking missiles at the group of smaller jets. Skystriker armed his fighter’s 20mm cannon and turned to intercept the leader.

As the two fighter’s closed on one another, Skystriker realised they were Firebats, the Cobra fighter used in Terrordromes. Clearly the Red Shadows had decided not to rely on the VTOL Roboskulls.

Skystriker set the thought aside and fired his Vulcan Gatling gun as he came into range. The burst of bullets shredded the cockpit, killing the pilot.

The Storm Eagle’s onboard computer screamed another warning as one of Shadowbats launched an air-to-air missile at him. Skystriker fired off chaff and dove toward the ground, before sweeping back up in a climbing turn. He lined up on another Shadowbat and fired off another burst, peppering the jet’s rear with bullets. Something exploded before the fighter disintegrated; smoke, flames and metal fragments pouring out of the wreckage as it plunged toward the ground.

Skystriker cursed under his breath as he looked around the sky. Dogfight and Ace were engaged with targets. The other guy, flying the fourth jet, had just waxed another Shadowbat. ''Damn, why can I never remember his name?'' Skystriker thought before dismissing the irrelevancy.

A quick radar scan revealed that of the twelve Shadowbats that had initially attacked the Storm Eagles, eight had now been destroyed.

The number dropped by another two as Ace and Dogfight dispatched their targets. The surviving pair fled.

Skystriker checked his fuel state as Ace contacted the flight group on their coded frequency and ordered them to report in.

“This is Skystriker, I’m four Mavericks down. I’ve used 200 rounds of ammo and I’m about five minutes away from Joker fuel.”

Dogfight reported he had only a single Sidewinder remaining and was closer to Joker fuel, the point at which fuel would become critical, but above ‘Bingo’ when the fighter would have to land soon.

The fourth pilot, whom Skystriker remembered was a captain, reported he had expended more rounds for his Vulcan cannon, and was also closer to Joker fuel.

“That’s it then,” Ace concluded. “''We need to get to a base and refuel. Form up on me, I’ll raise Langley AFB and see if they’ll let us land.”''

Skystriker brought his fighter up on Ace’s left wing, with Dogfight on Ace’s right. Skystriker’s wingman slid into position on Skystriker’s left wing.

The four stealth fighters headed for Langley.

13:45 Eastern/18:45 GMT

Five miles south of Washington

Lift-Ticket was flying the Black Hawk with a steady hand on the controls. After topping off his fuel tanks near the Virginia state line, he’d taken the MH60 in low toward the capital. The briefing he’d been given on the radio by Dial-Tone had stated he was to drop off Captain Falcon and his team at the Thomas Jefferson Memorial, near the tidal basin. That now seemed to be off the cards as far as he was concerned.

“Uh, Falcon, you might wanna take a look at this…”

The Green Beret shifted from his seat to crouch behind the pilot’s seat. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Lift-Ticket simply pointed out the cockpit window.

Ahead of the helicopter, tracer anti-aircraft fire flashed up from the ground in several places, fighter jets could be seen flitting around.

“Damn,” Falcon said over the intercom. “Looks like someone launched an air battle without telling us.”

“Right. I can’t risk getting this bird shot down, Falcon,” Lift-Ticket said.

“You gonna abort on us?” Falcon asked.

“Hell, no, Cap’n,” Lift-Ticket answered. “I’ll go in low up the Potomac, see if I can get you close to the DZ.”

Moments later, the pilot put the helicopter into a shallow dive, before levelling off mere inches above the river’s surface. As they approached a few ships still travelling up the Potomac toward Washington, Lift-Ticket steered around them, rather than over-flying them.

Falcon consulted a map he had of DC. “Lift-Ticket, get us past Hains Point and then drop us at East Potomac Park. We’ll have to haul ass in to DC from there.”

“Roger that, Cap’n.”

The MH60 passed by Washington National Airport, far lower and closer than it ever could have normally, turning toward the spit of land jutting out from the city as it neared the Pentagon.

The Black Hawk finally came to a halt over the parkland, hovering before dropping toward the grass.

Falcon pulled off his intercom headset, slapped Lift-Ticket’s shoulder and flashed a thumbs up before watching the rest of his squad drop the two feet to the ground and then drop to one knee, before following them out of the helicopter.

The Black Hawk lifted straight up, pivoted and then raced away to the southeast.

Falcon looked around. “Okay, so we’re short of our target drop zone, no biggie. We’re Green Berets, not Marines, right?”

Duke gave him a “Yo!” of agreement.

“Nothing like a walk in the park in spring time, Captain,” Hit&Run commented.

Falcon smirked as he turned his attention to Spearhead.

“Take point, Spearhead. Beach Head, cover our six. Hit&Run, Footloose, flank left and right. Recoil, Duke, on me. Let’s move.”

The squad quickly moved out with Spearhead jogging to take up the lead position, whilst Beach Head held back to cover the group’s back.

As they moved forward, Falcon looked up at the sky as another explosion sounded overhead.

The group was approaching Buckeye Drive, at the edge of the park, when the anti-aircraft fire stopped. Falcon called them to a halt and pulled his binoculars from his pack.

He spotted two fighters speeding away from the city, before catching sight of four others forming up and heading off much more slowly.

“Okay, that’s good. No more dogfight going on.”

Duke stood next to Falcon, “Might wanna report into to the Pentagon, Captain.”

Falcon nodded and pulled out his compact radio.

14:00 Eastern/19:00 GMT

The Pentagon

Hawk listened to Falcon’s brief report of his team’s position and the dogfight that had led to his team being dropped further south than planned.

“Good job, Falcon. Keep heading north until you get to the Jefferson Memorial, then follow the plan. I need you on the edge of the Mall by 15:00. Think you guys can manage that?”

“No sweat,” was Falcon’s laconic answer.

“Stay cool, Captain. No doing anything stupid when you reach the Mall, we already know they’ve got a lot of men and gear there.”

“''Roger that, General. We’ll report in again once we’re at the tidal basin. Out.”''

Hawk handed the radio handset back to Dial-Tone.

“Okay, so, Falcon’s team are approaching the Mall from the south. We’ve got the Marines holding position at the Capitol complex. Where’s Airborne’s team?”

“Their last check in said they were approaching Judiciary Square. Waiting for a new check in any minute now,” Dial-Tone answered.

Mainframe looked up. “Since we know Skystriker didn’t hit the triple A site there, how much you wanna bet Airborne’s stopped to take it out?”

Hawk snorted. “No bet, Mainframe. I’d count on it.”

Hawk stretched his arms over his head and grunted. “Damn, I’m aching all over.” The radio crackled.

“''Sir, this is Petty Officer Jones on the fifth floor. We’ve got a hell of a lot of helos taking off somewhere east of the river.”''

Jones was one of a number of lookouts Hawk had posted on the fifth floor, at the outer walls to report what they could see.

“Clarify that report, Jones,” Dial-Tone ordered.

“''Sir, there are multiple helicopters lifting off, initial count indicates ten medium lift type helos and ten to twelve smaller birds. They’re heading this way.”''

Hawk checked the map that he, Dial-Tone and Mainframe were studying as the situation unfolded.

“Mainframe, call the Canadians. Request a position update. Weren’t they supposed to be arriving soon?”

The computers expert nodded and picked up another radio to put through the call.

The same time

Ten miles northwest of Washington DC

Quick-Synch gave Mainframe the team’s position as the two Tomahawks and the Hailstorm jet approached Washington. After listening to the American’s report of the helicopters heading for the Pentagon, he turned to Moosejaw.

“Moose, the Americans want us to head for the Pentagon, they say they’ve got numerous helicopters coming their way.”

Moosejaw nodded, “Right.” He stood up and moved forward to relay the course change to Pulse Pounder.

After notifying Valkyrie and Snowbank of the change of plans, Moosejaw moved back to inform the rest of his team on Tomahawk 1.

Quick-Synch took Snowbank’s call seconds later.

“''Quick-Synch, tell Moosejaw I’m going in to engage the helicopters. I’ll try to soften them up for you.”''

Quick-Synch acknowledged and told Moosejaw, just as the Hailstorm streaked past the Tomahawk’s cockpit windows.

13:55 Eastern/ 18:55 GMT

Wilder Vaughn stared at the map stuck to the inside of his van. This situation was spiralling out of his control. His air assets had been hammered by the Joes – he was under no illusions that the pilots of the Storm Eagles were GI Joe pilots – in addition to four of his air defence sites being destroyed by air strikes. An American ground force – probably Marines – had destroyed an air defence site in Seward Square and engaged a force at the Library of Congress which had included two of his senior vehicle force commanders. A recon unit had reported sighting a Little Bird in the north of the city, possibly dropping off a small commando team. A Black Hawk had dropped off a team north of Hains Point – it was the only explanation for the large helicopter dropping low near East Potomac Park before reversing course and leaving as his forces on the Ellipse had reported.

Worst still, the assault on the White House had failed. The Secret Service agents inside had beaten off two attacks by the Red Shadows despite the attackers having mortar support.

Vaughn considered his reserve force. Twelve Red FANG helicopters and ten medium lift helicopters had been delivered to a truck stop off the Beltway the previous night. The helicopters had been assembled earlier in the morning, with the truck stop seized by the troops present.

He had been considering using them to stage a heli-borne assault on the White House. Now though, with the other two Red Interceptor teams in the city reporting heavy encrypted traffic between the Pentagon and units across the East Coast, Vaughn decided he need them to attack the Pentagon.

He turned to one of the radio operators, “Contact the reserve force. Order them to assault the Pentagon.”

14:10 Eastern/ 19:10 GMT

The Pentagon 

Members of all four of the American armed forces were rushing to prepare for the coming assault on the Pentagon. Along with the Pentagon Police, they were setting up barricades and firing positions on all five sides of the complex.

The frenzied activity suddenly halted as the roar of jet engines sounded overhead. Many of the men and women looked up in alarm.

“One fast mover!” shouted a look out on the south side. “Just crossed over, coming back around!”

“Whose is it?” shouted an Air Force lieutenant.

“No idea…” the lookout replied.

“GET DOWN!” another lookout screamed. “Helos incoming!”

Everyone began diving for cover as four red painted single-seat helicopters dropped in to view of the south side of the building and opened fire.

Each of the helicopters was armed with a pair of miniguns mounted on its skids.

“FANGs!” one Army non-com shouted. “Cobra FANGs!”

“No, Red Shadow FANGs,” Dial-Tone shouted back.

“More of them!” a Navy chief petty officer yelled. “With rockets!”

Sure enough, two FANGs moved in as the first four shifted away. Unlike the first four, which hadn’t got the usual bubble turret in the nose, this pair was equipped with both the bubble turret and a pair of multi-shot rocket launchers.

“MOVE!” Dial-Tone screamed. “Clear the E through C rings!”

Seconds later, as he dived through a doorway into the B ring of offices, both FANGs fired their rockets into the lower floors of the Pentagon, destroying most of the South Parking Entrance façade. A hole easily fifteen feet across had been blown in the lowest three floors.

Before these FANGs could fire or flee, they exploded. Then the fighter jet screamed overhead once more.

Snowbank cursed the FANG pilots who had held him up as he swooped the Hailstorm back around. His air-to-air missiles had been seconds late in destroying the FANGs.

Five FANGs survived his initial attack. He came around and lined up his fighter’s miniguns. Both sprayed twenty millimetre bullets and shredded two more FANGs, before they could fire.

The FANGs were now ignoring the Pentagon and trying to target him as he climbed up and then looped back around to fire another burst from the miniguns, shredding two more of the FANGs.

The remaining three FANGs were desperately moving around, trying to line up on the fast moving jet fighter. Two sprayed 30mm cannon shells at the Hailstorm as the blue jet streaked across the sky. Neither hit it.

Snowbank steered the Hailstorm around, locked his gun-sight pipper on one of the FANGs and fired another ten second burst, shredding the single-seat helicopter. He zoomed away, looped around and came back at the remaining FANGs. Luckily for him, they were armed with TOW missile racks that wouldn’t lock on to his jet.

Snowbank lined up on the left most FANG and fired, destroying it.

He was coming back around to engage the remaining FANG when it exploded under the onslaught of Tomahawk 1’s 20mm chin turret.

By this point, the unarmed troop carrying Red Shadow helicopters were on the ground, mainly grouped on the south side of the building.

The Red Shadows were already leaping from the helicopters, charging toward the Pentagon, when the two Tomahawks came across the Pentagon and opened fire.

“Guns, guns, guns,” Pulse Pounder called over the radio channel. Again his 20mm turret sprayed bullets, shredding several Red Shadows, a parked car and one of the transport helicopters.

“Guns left,” called Backstop as he finally got a target in view. His 7.62mm pintle –mounted gun sprayed leaden death at a group of Red Shadows trying to set up shoulder-launched SAMs.

“Guns right,” Plow-wind called next as he walked his bullets across the parking lot and into another transport.

Tomahawk 2 swing around to the right of ‘hawk 1 and began firing its own bullets. Two of the transports lifted off, but Valkyrie cut one to pieces with three bursts from the chin turret, whilst Zombie liberally sprayed the other, stitching a line of tracers into the helicopter’s tail boom.

Trace Route cut down several Red Shadows as he blazed his minigun into a group of them running from their helicopter, before sending the armour-piercing rounds into the helicopter’s cockpit and engines.

“Let’s move, Canucks!” Moosejaw shouted as Powder Keg threw the ropes out the side of the Tomahawk.

Badger grabbed one of the ropes, slid down it fast and then hit the ground and unslung his riot shield in one smooth motion. The former SWAT officer moved forward from the ropes, keeping the shield between himself and the Red Shadows who were starting to respond to the Canadians’ arrival. Badger dropped to one knee, allowing bullets to ping off the Kevlar shield, before leaning his MP5K sub-machine gun around it and firing a burst at the Shadows.

Behind him, Moosejaw and Quick-Synch moved forward, firing their C7 assault rifles.

Eclipse had led the second Tomahawk’s deployment of troops, carrying his riot shield in front of him. Aurora and Take Down were close behind him, with the woman firing her Minimi machine gun in long bursts.

As Eclipse and Badger formed a strong point for the Canadians with their shields, Aurora, Quick-Synch, Take Down and Moosejaw kept up the pressure, firing at the Red Shadows. Deke, Line Dance, Shiver and Prairie Dog sprinted away from Tomahawk 1 and headed to the west side of the Pentagon.

Powder Keg, Sun Dog, Underbrush and Deadhead headed toward the east of the building, firing at the Red Shadows as they went.

Overhead, Trace Route and Backstop released the ropes hanging from the Tomahawks, and then Pulse Pounder accelerated away from the Pentagon, followed by Valkyrie. Both helicopters fired a few more bursts from their door-guns before they raced north, away from Washington. Their pilots were keen to reach a safe distance and then adjust course toward Langley Air Force Base.

Powder Keg found a wrecked minivan to use as cover, she halted her team with a clenched fist.

“Sun Dog, let’s see what that fancy ray gun of yours can do,” she said.

Next to her, the directed energy weapons expert smiled. He was used to the abuse he got about his weapons system. Both Flash and Sci-Fi of the American team had warned him of the ridicule they got sometimes for their so-called ‘laser rifles’.

Sun Dog quickly checked his weapon; charged, set and ready, he saw. He levelled the rifle-like firing unit at the nearest group of Shadows and fired.

A shriek split the air as an orange-gold beam lashed out and hit a Red Shadow in the chest. The Red Shadow collapsed like he’d taken a rifle round.

“Now we gotta wait for the charging cycle,” Sun Dog commented.

“You mean, you do,” Underbrush commented. He raised his own C7 and opened fire.

Deadhead grinned, “Take your time, Sun, more targets for us.” He opened fire, hitting two Red Shadows trying to set up a light machine gun on a wrecked car.

Sun Dog grimaced. Getting the backpack particle accelerator’s cycle sped up was one of the biggest problems the weapon faced. That didn’t make the jungle warfare trooper and frogman’s comments any easier to take.

On the west side of the Pentagon, Shiver led the way toward the Red Shadow assault group that was taking cover behind several wrecked cars. Return fire was coming at them from several Pentagon office windows.

Shiver directed his four team-members to take positions behind the assault team with hand gestures.

He then snapped his hand down and all four opened fire, cutting down the twelve Red Shadows in seconds.

Further north, to the team’s left, came the distinct ‘bloop’ sound of a mortar firing. Shiver’s head snapped around, then toward the Pentagon, where a shell traced a smoking arc through the sky before slamming into the roof and detonating.

“Dog, with me,” Shiver snapped before running off.

Prairie Dog charged after him. The pair rounded a shot up SUV to find a mortar team, preparing to fire. Both opened fire, cutting down the three Red Shadows.

Shiver turned to Prairie Dog, “Spike it, I’ll cover you.”

The EOD expert nodded, pulled a grenade off his webbing and trotted forward. He flicked the pin free, and then shoved the grenade into the mortar tube before turning around and running.

The grenade exploded, destroying the mortar.

On the south side of the Pentagon, Moosejaw’s team were moving forward, with Badger and Eclipse leading.

The Red Shadows were desperately firing at the team, but with the two SWAT experts crouch-walking forward, keeping their shields forward, Moosejaw, Aurora, Quick-Synch and Take Down were able to keep moving behind them, firing at the gunmen.

Inside the Pentagon, Hawk and Dial-Tone were standing in a third floor office, watching the battle from the window.

“Jesus, those Canadians are good,” Dial-Tone commented.

“They ought to be,” Hawk answered. “We helped train them, remember.”

The radio operator nodded, remembering help set up the Canadian unit’s computer system, as well as the fact that they’d had trouble using it as someone had cleverly lost the manual. Irrespective of their technical abilities, a situation he knew had been remedied with Trace Route’s addition to the team, the Canadians were clearly highly effective commandos.

Occasionally, he could see an amber beam of light flash out across the car park to the east.

“What’s that flashing light?” Dial-Tone asked.

“Probably the particle beam weapon one of the newer guys uses.” Hawk glanced at the other Joe. “Supposed to be better than Sci-Fi and Flash’s death rays.”

“It’s attracting a lot of return fire, I know that,” Dial-Tone commented as several Red Shadows could be seen firing in the direction of the beam’s source.

Hawk left the office and headed back along the corridor to the stairs, a Marine sergeant was standing nearby, carrying an M16, waiting to cover Hawk on his return to the NMCC.

“Still can’t believe we’re being bailed out by Canadians,” the Marine muttered.

Hawk turned an angry glare in the Marine’s direction. “Belay that, Marine. Those are some damn good soldiers out there. One of them’s an ex-GI Joe member. That’s the calibre of men and women they are.”

On the east side of the building, Powder Keg gunned down another Red Shadow.

“I think you ought to give up on that ray gun, Sun Dog. It’s taking longer and longer to charge back up,” she commented.

Deadhead chuckled as he fired a suppression burst at two Red Shadows, “PK, I could’ve done better than him if I’d brought my harpoon gun.”

“C’mon, Deadhead, give the guy a break,” Underbrush commented. “That’s the way of the future he’s got there.”

The frogman snorted. “Yeah, in 2010 maybe. Right now, I’d sooner have another real gun with us.”

Sun Dog glowered as he powered down the particle accelerator and the beam-caster. He then drew his sidearm pistol, took the safety off and took aim.

Two Red Shadows popped their heads over a wrecked car. Sun Dog shot both in quick succession, hitting both in the head.

He turned toward Deadhead. “Happy now?” he asked.

The frogman grinned.

Powder Keg’s squad began to advance from the cover of the wrecked car. They shot any of the Red Shadows they encountered, moving across the parking lot toward Moosejaw’s team.

Once the two groups had linked up, they began to make their way toward the Pentagon, moving from cover to cover.

“Friendlies coming in at your three!” a voice shouted out.

Aurora and Moosejaw turned to see Shiver’s team jogging across the parking lot.

Shiver dropped to one knee next to Moosejaw.

“We’ve taken out a mortar team over on the west side. We also took out some Shads,” Shiver reported.

“Good work, Sheevs,” Moosejaw said, using the nickname he’d given the former Cobra North operative. “We seem to have them on the run.”

Aurora let fly with a long burst from her Minimi to punctuate Moosejaw’s comment.

The remaining Red Shadows were taking cover around the wreckage of one of their helicopters.

The Red Shadows leader was a man known as Red Tiger. His uniform had a unique red and black tiger-stripe pattern to it, whilst his helmet lacked the distinctive Red Shadow face shield; instead it had a chrome faceplate like a Cobra Viper’s. As bullets pinged off the wrecked helicopter, Red Tiger was crouched next to a Red Interceptor.

“Goddamnit, Vaughn, I need some back up! There’s a Canadian assault group out here that’s killing my troops! We took heavy losses from their helicopters and now they’re on the verge of over-running us!” Red Tiger shouted into the handset of the Interceptor’s backpack radio.

“''I’m afraid you’re on your own, Red Tiger. Your unit was our only reserve force. Our other forces are still committed around the White House and Capitol and elsewhere.”''

Tiger swore and handed the handset back to the Interceptor. He had about ten troops left, there were twice as many Canadians out there besides the American troops inside the Pentagon… A brief scream to his left informed him he was now down to nine of his troops.

Red Tiger stood up and let loose a long burst of automatic fire from his Chinese copy of the Kalashnikov. The last thing he saw was a woman in a red bodysuit and baseball cap firing a light machine gun at him.

“That’s another one down,” Aurora said as she ducked back behind the wrecked car she, Moosejaw and Shiver were sheltering behind.

Before either of them could reply, there was a scream of, “BLOOD!”

Another scream, “BLOOD!”

A third, “BLOOD FOR THE MAJOR!”

The remaining Red Shadows charged around the wrecked helicopters toward the Canadians. The Red Shadows weren’t even aiming, simply blazing away with their weapons.

The Canadian Joes returned fire with precision, dropping all eight Red Shadows.

Quick-Synch radioed the Pentagon, and then handed his headset to Moosejaw.

“Moosejaw to Hawk. All Red Shadows down.”

“Good work, Moose. Have your troops come on in. I just got word a convoy’s on route. I want you guys to rendezvous with it.”

“Roger that, General.”

14:30 Eastern/19:30 GMT

Andrews Air Force Base, Virginia

Whilst the Canadian Joes were busy fighting the Red Shadows in the Pentagon car park, three C-130 Hercules transports were flying into Andrews. The planes touched down in quick succession before taxiing clear of the runways. They barely had a chance to stop outside the hangars before the rear cargo ramps were lowered and a string of GI Joe vehicles began rolling out of them.

The first Hercules disgorged a Mauler tank and a Hammer jeep. The second disgorged a HAVOC assault vehicle and a Hammer, whilst a second HAVOC drove out of the third.

Two Skystorm X-Wing helicopters landed near the transports as Joes disembarked from the Hercules planes.

The Joes gathered around Stalker who stood next to one of the HAVOCs, affixing a street map of DC to the vehicle’s flank. The Master Sergeant had been serving as an instructor at the Rangers School at Fort Benning when he’d heard about the assault on Washington. Hawk had placed him in command of this ad-hoc task force.

“Okay, Joes, listen up. The enemy is the terror group known as the Red Shadows. They used to run around South America, Europe and Africa mostly, back in the early ‘80s. Everyone thought they were finished after they disappeared back in ’86. Seems like they were biding their time.”

Some of the Joes knew whom they faced, others didn’t.

“Back in the day, their MO was brainwashing people into serving them. Some did it for the cash; most were effectively slaves. This group could be the same – brainwashed – or they could be mercenaries hired by the surviving Shadow leaders. Either way, they’re dangerous and they’ve attacked Washington.”

Stalker pointed to the map. “Air strikes by some of our former fly-boy comrades have taken out air defence batteries here, here, here and here. More remain. This one,” Stalker indicated Lincoln Park. “Will be our target. Two Stinger jeeps and four ASP batteries. Large group of foot-mobile infantry. No Humint on how alert they are. All we’ve got is overheads from an Action Force recon sat. We hit them with a barrage of rockets from the Hammers, then move in to engage with the HAVOCs and the Mauler.”

“What about the whirly-birds?” asked Steeler. Next to him, Windmill bristled at the derogatory term for helicopters.

“Windmill and Wild Bill will fly escort for the convoy,” Stalker replied. “During the attack, they will remain away from the park to avoid them being shot down. Their job will be to insure we don’t get counterattacked by a roving pack of Hyena tanks.”

Stalker waited for any more comments before continuing, “Once we’ve destroyed the air defence site at Lincoln Park, we’ll continue down East Capitol Street to Capitol Hill. Leatherneck and Gung-Ho have a Marines detachment there, ready to engage the Shadows on the Mall.”

“Yo Joe!” Rock’n’Roll shouted.

Stalker gave the machine-gunner an exasperated look before continuing. “You know your assignments. Move out.”

Wild Bill and Windmill returned to their helicopters, which were being refuelled. The rest of the Joes began to split up and head for their vehicles.

Cross Country climbed into the driver’s seat on the lead HAVOC. Roadblock clambered into the gunner’s seat atop the HAVOC, whilst Repeater got into the cockpit of the recon sled. Dusty took the driver’s seat of the second HAVOC, whilst Rock’n’Roll took the gunner’s seat and Stalker climbed into the recon sled.

Cover Girl was driving the Mauler whilst Bazooka took the gunner’s seat and Steeler the commander’s position. The lead Hammer was manned by Recondo driving, Lowlight and Shockwave on the side guns, with Salvo in the roof turret. The second Hammer was being driven by Wet Suit, with Heavy Duty manning the roof turret. Torpedo and Backblast manning the side guns.

The convoy rolled out of Andrews Air Force Base and headed west toward Washington. Moments later, the Skystorms took off and followed.

16:00 Eastern/21:00 GMT

Capitol Hill

Stalker’s Joe team had arrived at Capitol Hill a few minutes earlier. Together with the US Marines led by Leatherneck and Gung-Ho, the force was now mounting an assault on the Red Shadow positions on the Mall and Henry Park.

The Mauler and the two HAVOCs were providing intermittent cover fire as the Marines advanced across Henry Park, supported by the Hammer jeeps.

Salvo, Lowlight and Shockwave were firing long bursts of suppression fire as the Marines advanced toward one of their dug-in ASP batteries. The Red Shadows had hunkered down to avoid the heavy machine-gun fire and the occasional bursts from the Marines.

As Hammer Two advanced, behind Hammer One, Heavy Duty looked northwest to where Wild Bill and Windmill’s Skystorms could be seen over Lafayette Park.

Wild Bill swerved his Skystorm to avoid the return fire from one of the ASP batteries defending the mortar vans.

Ignoring the ASP for the moment, Bill locked on a Hellfire anti-tank missile and launched it at the two mortar vans on the right. He then switched his aim to the ASP battery and fired a second Hellfire. The first missile detonated between the mortar vans and blasted both off their wheels and smashed them into the ground. The second Hellfire destroyed the ASP unit.

Windmill launched a Hellfire at the other pair of mortar vans before firing a second Hellfire at a Stinger jeep that was trying to lock on to his Skystorm.

The Red Shadow infantry on the ground were now firing light machine guns and assault rifles at the two helicopters. Both pilots armed their nose-mounted machine guns and returned fire.

The two Skystorms swooped away from the smoking ruin of the Red Shadows’ position, passing over New York Avenue Northwest. Wild Bill spotted a large force of Hyenas and Shadowtraks racing along the road.

“Skystorm One to all Joe units,” Wild Bill radioed. “We have a large enemy force heading down New York Avenue toward the White House. I am engaging.”

As Wild Bill spoke, he pulled his Skystorm around to approach the convoy from the rear. He switched over to his Hydra 70 rocket launchers, targeted the middle of the column and opened fire. Both launchers spat eight rockets on tongues of flame; the 70mm rockets hit and shredded ten of the Red Shadow vehicles, causing the others to swerve to avoid the burning wreckage.

Two Hyena tanks opened fire with their 90mm gun turrets as Wild Bill climbed away from the column. Unfortunately for those Red Shadows, they failed to spot Windmill bringing his Skystorm into line with the column before he unleashed his own Hydra rocket pods. The remainder of the column was obliterated in seconds.

“Bill to Windmill, we’ve got another column comin’ down Vermont Avenue, pardner,” Wild Bill reported as he circled away from New York Avenue.

“Roger that, Bill.”

The second group of Hyenas were more alert this time, firing their cannon as the two Skystorms approached. The two Joes simply armed their remaining Hellfire missiles and launched them into the column.

The four anti-tank missiles destroyed several of the Hyena tanks at both ends of the column. Wild Bill wasted no time arming his twin 9mm nose-mounted cannon and opened fire at the remaining vehicles. The armour-piercing rounds ripped through the Hyenas and Shadowtraks with ease.

Windmill reefed his Skystorm into a tight turn over K Street North West, spotted another column of Red Shadow vehicles and quickly targeted them with his Hydra rockets.

“Bill, this is Windmill, I’ve just shot up another column. I’m down to my cannon rounds.”

“''Roger that, pard. I’ve just spotted a group comin’ in along M Street. I’ve got half my Hydras left. I’ll take ‘em out. You best let Stalker know you’re buggin’ out if you’re Winchester.''”

“Copy that,” Windmill answered, before switching frequencies on his radio to report to Stalker his helicopter was nearly out of ammo, or ‘Winchester’ as pilots called it.

Wild Bill pulled away from M Street, leaving another smoking pile of wreckage in his wake and turned north toward Rhode Island Avenue.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself as he spotted yet another group of Shadowtraks speeding south, passing Logan Circle.

“Wild Bill to Joes, we’ve got another attack force headin’ south near Logan Circle. I’m outbound, Winchester. You guys are on your own, I’m afraid.”

''“No, they’re not, Bill. I’m on it,”'' reported a new voice on Wild Bill’s radio.

Seconds later, the Texan helicopter pilot was surprised to see the Tiger Rat screaming across Washington at low-level.

Wild Bill realised the voice on his radio had been Skystriker, who had apparently retrieved his Tiger Force modified Rattler.

The Tiger Rat’s Avenger Gatling gun opened fire, wreathing the nose of the fighter in smoke as Skystriker strafed the Shadowtraks.

The Tiger Rat pulled up and away from the burning wreckage, before looping around southwest.

“''Wild Bill, I see more Shad vehicles heading toward Constitution Gardens on Virginia Avenue. If you’re out of ammo, bug out. Me and my wingman can handle them'',” Skystriker radioed.

Before Wild Bill could ask who Skystriker’s wingman was, he saw what looked like a blue Firebat scream past his cockpit, a large red maple leaf decorating its flank.

“Copy that, Skystriker. I’m outta here.”

Skystriker lined up on the large force of Shadowtraks and Hyenas speeding along Virginia Avenue.

“How you doin’ back there, Dogfight?” Skystriker asked his gunner.

“Just dandy, thanks, Colonel.” Dogfight smirked. “How about this time, you give us a roll so I can use the turret?”

Skystriker grinned as he promptly threw the Tiger Rat into a barrel roll, before firing his Avenger cannon again. As the yellow and black fighter screamed over the surviving vehicles, Dogfight opened fire. The twin machine guns aimed ‘up’ and behind the aircraft to fire at the vehicles below.

Seconds later, Snowbank steered the Hailstorm down the street, firing a short burst from his fighter’s twin chain-guns.

The two remaining Shadowtraks exploded as the Hailstorm pulled up and away, rolling through a barrel roll as it did.

As the two fighters screamed across the Mall and passed the Ellipse, anti-aircraft fire flashed up at them from several ASP batteries. Skystriker wasted no time pulling the Tiger Rat around in a flying u-turn and speeding back toward the Ellipse. He armed his fighter’s Mk 82 Snakeye bombs and shoved the throttle forward as he sped back across the Ellipse, releasing the bombs as he crossed the Red Shadows’ air defence site and the mortar vans. The bombs deployed their tail retarding devices, which slowed their descent, allowing the Tiger Rat to clear the area. The bombs detonated exactly eight feet above the ground, the explosions destroying the lightweight vans and smashing the jeeps and AA batteries into the ground.

Snowbank raced the Hailstorm across the Ellipse, firing the jet’s twin chain-guns.

The radio crackled in Skystriker’s ears, “''This is Falcon, we’ve got a large force of Red Shadow vehicles coming in from the south. They’re on 14th Street and Maine Avenue. My team is on the move, heading east.”''

“This is Skystriker, I’m on it.” As the colonel steered the close-air support jet toward the area he wanted, he checked his ammo. He had fifty rounds left in the Avenger cannon, four laser-guided missiles and a pair of air-to-air missiles for self-defence. This looked like it would be his last attack run, then.

“Skystriker to Snowbank, I’m close to being out of ammo, how’re you doing?”

“I’ve got about thirty rounds left in my miniguns and my four anti-tank missiles,” the Canadian pilot answered.

“Follow me in, I’m using my missiles.”

The Tiger Rat screamed out of the smoke-laden sky toward Maine Avenue South West at the edge of the Tidal Basin. Skystriker activated the laser designator, targeted the middle of the Red Shadow vehicles, armed the missiles and launched in quick succession. He pulled the fighter up and away as the four missiles hit in short order and destroyed several of the Hyena tanks.

Seconds later, Snowbank flew across the Tidal Basin and launched his anti-tank missiles at the vehicles crossing the 14th Street bridge. Two of the missiles struck the trailing Shadowtraks and obliterated them, the other two struck the bridge itself and ripped it apart, dumping several Shadowtraks into the Potomac River.

“Skystriker to ground Joes, we’re Winchester. We’re out of here, good luck, guys.”

Standing next to one of the HAVOCs on Capitol Hill, Stalker cursed as he heard this news. Staring down toward the Washington Monument, he could see the Marines falling back as Red Shadow vehicles moved out on to the grass of the parks before him. The soldiers were retreating in good order, with groups moving back to take cover behind trees or what other small cover there was, before firing to allow others to fall back past them, enabling the process to repeat itself with each group. He looked left and saw Falcon’s Green Berets sprinting up the edge of the parks, pausing to fire back at the Red Shadows before moving on.

Stalker moved forward to where Cross Country was sitting in the HAVOC’s cockpit. Roadblock was seated in the gunner’s position atop the vehicle, with the hydraulic arms raised to allow the canopy to be open slightly.

“Move your HAVOC down on the left flank, Cross Country,” Stalker ordered. “I want cover for Falcon’s team.”

“Y’got it, Stalker,” the other Joe replied in his strong Southern accent.

The canopy whirred down, then the assault vehicle’s big diesel engine roared into life. The HAVOC moved off, it’s armoured panels splitting apart as it rolled forward enabling Repeater to deploy the recon sled from the bed on the back.

As the HAVOC moved out, Stalker could see both Hammer jeeps had halted and were firing back at the Shadowtraks and Hyenas to cover several Marines sprinting back toward 3rd Street and the Capitol reflecting pool in front of the Sherman Memorial.

“I wish we had more air support,” Stalker muttered to himself as the turret hatch on the Mauler popped open. The main battle tank had been firing intermittently for the past several minutes, destroying several Shadow vehicles.

“Yo, Stalker!” shouted Steeler. “We’re getting low on ammo!”

“Dag!” Stalker cursed. “No air support and now our tank’s running out of ammo!”

Before the Ranger could curse further two Tomahawk helicopters roared over the Capitol Building and raced toward the Washington Memorial before opening fire.

Both heavy-lift helicopters sprayed several bursts from their 20mm chin turrets into the Red Shadows’ positions, destroying several Shadowtraks, before their door-guns opened fire next.

Stalker moved back toward the small command post he’d set up with Airborne and the Marine radio operators.

“Stalker,” Airborne called, as he got close. “Pulse Pounder and Valkyrie of the Canadian Joes report they’ve got enough ammo for about ten minutes of strafing.”

“Sounds good,” Stalker answered. “Tell them to make the most of it.”

One of the Marines looked up, “Sergeant-major, Pulse Pounder reports sighting multiple vehicles approaching Constitution Gardens and the World War Two Memorial at the other end of the Mall.”

Stalker took the Marine’s radio handset. “Pulse Pounder, do you have an ID on those vehicles?”

“''Affirmative, six tanks and six APCs, type unknown. They do not appear to be Red Shadows, but I’m a bit busy trying not to lose another Tomahawk, here''.”

Stalker half turned toward the obelisk-like Washington Monument to see several Hyenas were clearly firing their turret guns into the air at both Tomahawks as they circled overhead.

“I can tell you what they are,” a new voice cut in, with a strong Canadian accent. “Bradley IFVs and Abrams battle tanks!”

“Moose, is that you?” Pulse Pounder asked before Stalker could say anything. “Where’ve you guys been?”

“''It’s me, PP, we’ve been fighting our way up from the Pentagon with the Virginia National Guard. The Red Shadows had checkpoints all along the Washington Parkway and on the Arlington and Roosevelt Memorial Bridges. We’re here to kick some ass, though''.”

Stalker realised that ‘Moose’ must be Moosejaw, the leader of the Canadian Joe team. He allowed himself a small smile, backup had arrived, it seemed.

At the other end of the National Mall, the Canadian Joes were advancing on foot as the vehicles moved ahead of them, firing their machine guns at the Red Shadows vehicles. The Shadows manning the vehicles were now forced to divide their attention between the armoured force that had suddenly arrived on their right-rear flank and the Joe vehicles and infantry still firing at them from their left-front flank.

“Move it, Canuckleheads!” Moosejaw shouted. “We can’t let the Americans get all the glory!” The sergeant knew it was a stupid thing to say, but he figured it’d help motivate his troops.

The Canadians were keeping up with the Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicles and M1A2 Abrams tanks now, as they slowed down to fire and manoeuvre. Some Red Shadow infantry troops were returning fire, bullets pinging off the armour of the vehicles.

“Shiver, move right with first squad!” Moosejaw shouted. “PK, flank left with third squad! Second squad with me!”

The rattle and clatter of automatic weapons fire was deafening as the battle continued to rage. As Powder Keg’s Third Squad moved left, north, across the Mall, Sun Dog glanced at his watch. His eyes narrowed behind his special gold-lens sunglasses. It was nearly 17:00 Eastern time. It had now been seven hours since the Red Shadow assault began.

Moosejaw led Second Squad straight up the Mall, behind the armoured vehicles. Second Squad comprised him, Quick-Synch, Aurora and Prairie Dog. Aurora was firing her Minimi machine gun in quick bursts at the Red Shadows whilst Prairie Dog covered her.

The Bradley IFVs halted and Second Squad crouched next to one as more bullets ricocheted off their armour. The APCs returned fire with their 7.62mm machine guns then began moving again, their caterpillar tracks churning up the grass as the moved toward the Washington Monument.

Suddenly, a group of Shadows appeared around some trees on the edge of the park and opened fire with their assault rifles. Prairie Dog slammed Quick-Synch to the ground, saving the radio operator, Aurora pivoted on one foot, fired off a long burst that cut down two of the Shadows and then threw herself to the right, knocking Moosejaw off his feet.

“Argh!” Aurora grunted as she was hit by three rounds in the right arm and shoulder.

“Curds and gravy!” Moosejaw cursed. He rolled over, grabbed Aurora’s Minimi and fired off a longer burst that shredded one of the Red Shadows. Prairie Dog fired his C7 assault rifle, killing the other Shadow. Quick-Synch quickly leaped to his feet and ran to the nearest Bradley. The APC halted as he grabbed the intercom on its rear and called for help.

The other three Canadians quickly moved to the Bradley, Moosejaw and Prairie Dog helping Aurora to the APC, as a medic onboard opened the rear hatch and helped her in. The National Guardsmen that the Bradley had been carrying had mostly been dropped off by the Korean War Memorial to guard the prisoners they’d captured on the way in to the city. This meant the APC was mostly empty, allowing the medic room to treat Aurora’s injuries, which the medic pronounced to be ‘not life-threatening’.

16:45 Eastern/21:45 GMT

Several miles east of Washington

Three C-17 Globemaster III transport planes thundered through the skies of Maryland, descending toward Washington DC. The huge jet-powered transports had raced west from Britain in a little over six hours. En route, the USAF planes had been refuelled by tankers which had staged from Iceland for the rendezvous.

On board the first C-17, Eagle was briefing the SAS Force team he had with him. Bodycount, Sparrowhawk and Quickfire were with Playback the radio operator, Boonie and Redline who would be in the Hammer, whilst Stakeout and Rev would be in a Panther.

“We’re coming towards DC,” Eagle informed them. “We’re going to have to move fast, the last update we had from the Pentagon said that the Joes and the Marines at Capitol Hill were heavily engaged with Red Shadow forces. We might have to off-load on the move as there is still a risk from anti-air fire.”

Before Eagle could explain further, the loadmaster approached him and spoke into his ear.

“We’re one mile out from DC, pilot wants a word, sir,” the loadmaster shouted over the roar of the jet engines.

Eagle nodded before turning to the commandos, “Get the vehicles unchained and get ready, we’re one mile from DC.”

Eagle made his way to the cockpit and quickly pulled on a spare headset to talk to the crew.

“What’s up, Major?” Eagle asked.

“Where d’you want us to drop you off?” the Major asked. “We’re tracking aircraft over the District. They could be hostile.”

“Well, we’re not going to mess about landing at Washington National or Dulles. Have you got a map?”

The pilot handed one over, glancing at the co-pilot who was flying the plane as he did.

Eagle looked at the map. He could see several possibilities here. “Have you guys ever done a low-altitude drop at, say, ten to fifteen feet?”

The pilot shrugged, “Not in this baby, but I’ve done them in a Herky-bird. I imagine we could pull it off, though.”

“Think you could do it here?” Eagle asked, pointing to the map. It was a large empty parking lot with a rail line passing over it on a viaduct.

“Might be a bit dicey with that rail line, but yeah, we should be able to,” the pilot replied. He checked his charts and then relayed a new heading to the co-pilot before contacting the two C-17s following his. Eagle went back to the other SAS Force troops in the back of the plane.

“Okay, listen up. We’re doing a low altitude drop into a car park. The C-17s will drop us off east of the Capitol Building and we’ll drive from there. This is going to get very hairy, so be damned careful,” Eagle told them all.

The soldiers moved quickly to their vehicles as the jet began to slow down and take on a nose-up attitude.

The loadmaster lowered the rear ramp and held his headset close to his ear. This was going to be very close, he knew.

Bodycount revved the engine of his Battle Bike. He’d never rode one on an operation before, but he looked forward to it, he’d only recently learnt to ride a motorbike.

The loadmaster raised his hand then dropped it. Bodycount had already kicked his stand up and shoved his bike into motion before the airman’s arm was even three quarters of the way down.

The black and yellow motorcycle shot forward, passed the loadmaster and raced off the cargo ramp and disappeared. Eagle swore as he watched the other two Battle Bikes race off before Redline drove the Hammer out of the plane.

Bodycount watched the road race toward him, he gritted his teeth as the bike bounced off the road, hit a second time and then was away.

Bodycount slammed down his left foot and slew the bike around in a U-turn as the other two Battle Bikes hit the edge of the car park. He sped into the car park from the road outside and pulled the bike into a wheelie as the Hammer bounced down beside him, followed by the Panther jeep.

The C-17 was now climbing steadily away from the city, retracting its flaps and slats as the ramp rose and the speed came back up. Bodycount raced out of the car park and skidded to a halt as the second C-17 thundered down out of the sky, nose high, before the other SAS Force members dropped into Washington in their Recon Jeeps, followed by Wheels and Scout of Z-Force in their jeep.

Bodycount grimaced as his ears were assaulted by the second transport gunning its engines and racing higher into the sky. The other SAS Force vehicles sped by him as he watched the last C-17 approach.

As the Z-Force jeep drove past, he watched Quarrel and her Rapid Fire Bike drop from the C-17 before being followed by the second Z-Force jeep, their Hammer and finally, Ton-Up in the Armadillo.

The mini-tank smashed down, cracking the tarmac before it roared away from its crater, span around in a quick one-eighty and dashed after the Z-Force jeeps.

Bodycount kicked his bike back into action before reaching up to key his headset mic.

“Bodycount to Eagle, all vehicles down and rolling.”

“Roger that, Sergeant.”

Bodycount accelerated past the Z-Force vehicles, catching up to and passing Quarrel, before he popped another wheelie and raced after the leading SAS Force vehicles. The Swiss Intelligence officer shook her head as the SAS Force commando whizzed by on one wheel.

The Action Force unit raced along 22nd Street, in the wrong direction before merging onto C Street, crossing the central meridian to get on the right hand side of the road. Luckily for them, there were no other cars about, other than the odd abandoned or wrecked car.

On C Street the convoy accelerated. It was more or less a straight-shot through to the Capitol complex from there.

Redline steadily shifted up through the gears, shifting each time the revs hit the red line on the dial. Redlining the engine in that way was how the young vehicle driver had earned his nickname. He’d joined the British Army with the intention of learning to become a mechanic and then leaving for a civilian job. In his time with the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, he learned to maintain every type of vehicle in the Army, from tanks to motorcycles. In 1989 he’d been drafted to join a temporary evaluation team, which was tasked with testing the American Desert Fox 6WD vehicle for Army use. Action Force sent along its own team, which led to Redline being recommended for Action Force by the former Global Rally champion driver Ragnar Ragnarsson, who had himself joined SAS Force. Redline had subsequently spent six months with the British SAS Regiment, earning his parachute wings and refining his marksmanship skills before joining AF. When the Americans had offered the Hammer to Action Force, Redline had been a vociferous proponent of accepting it. He loved the vehicle, even more than the modified AWE Strikers Action Force used as the Recon Jeep.

As the convoy sped along C Street, several civilians watched them race past, some waving to the troops as they flashed by. The convoy was soon nearing Stanton Park and Quickfire radioed back to Playback in the Hammer.

“Playback, ask Herr Eagle which way we go would you?”

“Cut straight through Stanton Park,” came the answer in the German commando’s earpiece moments later. “It’s the most direct route.”

“Jawohl, Colonel,” Quickfire replied.

However, as the convoy got closer, Quickfire spotted the park was housing a Red Shadow air defence site.

“Uh, We have eine kleine problem,” he radioed. “Two ASPs and a Stinger in the park.”

“Not a problem,” Eagle replied.

Seconds later, Quickfire saw four missiles arc overhead and drop toward the park. The air defence site was destroyed in a heartbeat.

Quickfire steered his Battle Bike between the traffic lights and lamppost at the side of the road and shot into the park. Sparrowhawk and Bodycount followed him. The three motorcycles easily smashed through a low wooden fence and roared across the park. They whipped around the large statue in the centre and then narrowly avoided the burning wreckage of the air defence site before passing the children’s play area.

The jeeps following behind didn’t have such an easy ride. Narrowly avoiding the lamppost, Rev instead hit the traffic lights with his Panther, the metal pole flying aside as the jeep struck it. The jeep crashed through a low hedge and smashed a wooden bench as it careened through the park, avoiding the larger trees. Throttle and Beaver driving the Recon Jeeps attempted to follow his route as closely as possibly, both drivers clearly deciding one trail of damage was enough. The Z-Force group followed them.

“Swing to the left and take Maryland Avenue,” Eagle ordered over the radio.

The three motorcyclists had to slam on their brakes and turn around quickly as they’d been about to carry on down C Street.

The convoy raced southwest down Maryland Avenue, the Supreme Court building looming over them on the left.

The convoy turned left, heading south down 1st Street, until, at the junction with East Capitol Street, they saw the metal bollards that blocked the sidewalk had been smashed aside. The Action Force vehicles turned and headed toward the Capitol building.

The column of vehicles swiftly sped around the huge building to crash through some trees and come out near the GI Joe and Marine force.

The Red Shadows were trapped between the Joes and the Marines on Capitol Hill, and the National Guard and Canadian troops steadily advancing up the Mall behind them.

The Action Force assault force sped down Seaton Park, opening fire on the Red Shadows who were attempting to dig in as best they could on open ground.

The Battle bikes opened fire first with their 9mm cannon, followed by the Panther’s 9mm twin turret guns. Next came the crash of the 40mm cannon on the two SAS Force Recon Jeeps. The roar of the 20mm Gatling gun on Quarrel’s Rapid Fire Bike drowned them out for a moment, before the Armadillo’s four 40mm cluster cannons bellowed their fire at the Red Shadows.

Powerslide steered his Z-Force jeep around a shell crater and slowed down slightly as Warhead opened fire with the dashboard-mounted 7.62mm machine gun. Kickback was already blazing away with the larger .50 calibre machine gun on the jeep’s roll-cage. Powerslide saw several Red Shadows fall under the onslaught.

One Red Shadow pulled himself to his hands and knees. An explosion from a 40mm shell had thrown him off his feet. His helmet’s visor was starred and cracked. He pulled it off and spat blood. His stomach ached. Broken ribs, he decided. His uniform was torn from shrapnel damage. His ears rang. He coughed and spat out more blood. Possible punctured lung, he thought.

He spotted a loaded RPG-7 someone had dropped. He staggered to his feet, picked it up and shouldered it.

“Blood,” he croaked, spitting more from his mouth.

“Blood,” he snarled louder as he turned and sighted a Z-Force jeep barrelling past.

“BLOOD FOR THE MAJOR!” he yelled as loudly as he could before firing the rocket-propelled grenade.

The grenade flew forward, spinning erratically as it was hit by a crosswind and slammed into the ground short of the Z-Force jeep. The explosion none the less lifted the jeep off its wheels and flipped it over.

Kickback fell from the rear of the jeep as it flipped over. He was lucky. The jeep smashed down on the driver and front passenger seats, killing Warhead and Powerslide instantly.

As Kickback struggled to regain his composure, an SAS Force Battle bike roared past him.

The SAS Force Battle Bike is a modified version of the same motorcycle that forms the Rapid Fire Bike, but with the sidecar-mounted Gatling gun omitted in favour of a pair of twin 9mm machine guns mounted underneath the front fairing. The guns are fed ammo by a belt linked to magazines mounted at the rear where the RFB’s saddlebags hang.

Bodycount had expended half his ammo so far, the long burst he fired from his Battle Bike into the Red Shadow expended another sixty rounds and ripped apart the soldier. The SAS Force commando skidded his bike to a halt and stepped off. He unslung his M16 assault rifle and strode toward the Red Shadow. The man was clearly dead, but Bodycount stood over him and fired a three round burst at point-blank range into the dead gunman’s head.

Bodycount looked up, his face contorted with rage. He saw another pair of Red Shadows in front of him. He snapped up the American assault rifle and fired two bursts from the hip, dropping both. He stomped forward into the mess of wreckage and bodies that constituted the Red Shadows position and calmly shot several more of the Red Shadows before Double-Tap and Big Ben caught up to him and tackled him to the ground.

Bodycount rolled over in their arms, slugged Double-Tap in the jaw and pushed away from the other SAS trooper.

“It ain’t worth it, man,” Big Ben said as he grabbed hold of Bodycount’s arm. “Don’t let this happen!”

The other man simply span in his grip and punched him in the face, sending him staggering back. Bodycount turned around and had enough time to see Beaver’s fist before it hit him in the face and he collapsed.

The Canadian Ranger turned to Big Ben, “You okay?”

Big Ben wiped blood from his nose and nodded, “Sure.”

On the other side of the Red Shadows position, four of the terrorists were still holding out. Shiver’s first squad were advancing near to some of the trees lining the park as Powder Keg’s third squad moved up from the other side.

One of the Red Shadows leaped up and fired at Shiver’s squad.

Underbrush fired back, causing the Shadow to duck back, before a second leaped up and opened fire. The jungle warfare specialist was hit in the chest even as Shiver returned fire, hitting the Red Shadow.

Deadhead and Take Down had knelt next to Underbrush as Shiver and Line Dance fired once more to keep the Red Shadows’ heads down.

“He’s hit bad, Shiver,” Take Down reported. “Give us some cover fire, we need to get him to the Bradley.”

Shiver nodded, firing again as the other two picked up Underbrush and carried him back to the APCs that had halted their advance to cover the infantry.

Powder Keg’s team were advancing now behind Zombie and Badger’s SWAT riot shields. One of the Red Shadows threw a hand grenade.

Zombie darted forward, bent to scoop up the grenade but fumbled it.

“Down!” he screamed before the weapon detonated.

Deke and Sun Dog threw their own hand grenades into the Red Shadows’ position before Badger and Powder Keg moved forward to the other SWAT trooper. There was nothing they could do for him.

17:25 Eastern/ 22:25 GMT

Near the Capitol Building 

Wilder Vaughn couldn’t believe what he’d been seeing. The Joes air strikes against his air defence units had been bad enough; then the Canadian Joes had thwarted his assault on the Pentagon before destroying several of his checkpoints. Another Joe force had somehow landed at Andrews and made its way to the Capitol Building. Only his decision to pull all his forces back to the Mall had prevented the Joes and the Marines over-running the positions there. But most of his forces had been slaughtered by more Joe aircraft. Now Action Force had arrived.

Vaughn knew it was over. He drew his sidearm pistol and shot both Red Interceptors. He then climbed into the driver’s seat of the van and quickly drove away from the battleground. He sped down the road to a parking lot off Washington Avenue SW and pulled in to the huge, mostly empty, lot.

Vaughn climbed back into the rear of the van and activated the radio.

“This is Red Major to Red Storm. I need an immediate extraction from LZ One, repeat, extract me from LZ One.”

“Copied,” was the terse reply.

Mere minutes later, a fighter jet screamed low across the city toward the parking lot. It’s wings rotated to vertical and the jet landed in the parking lot like a jump jet. Vaughn tossed aside the red officer’s cap he wore, pulled out a small bag he’d stashed under his seat and removed a pilot’s helmet.

Jogging across the parking lot, Vaughn pulled the helmet on before scrambling into the Red Hurricane’s rear seat.

Red Storm looked back over his shoulder as Vaughn strapped in. “Ready?”

“Go!” Vaughn commanded.

The canopy whined down and Red Storm sealed it before lifting the plane off with a rolling vertical jump. He rotated the wings level and then shoved the throttle forward. The jet, bought from MARS some years earlier, climbed into the sky and raced east toward the coast before the Americans could react.

06:30 GMT, March 20th, 1995

Red Shadows headquarters

Exact location: Unknown

The Black Major stood in his audience chamber with one of his most trusted lieutenants as Wilder Vaughn was escorted in.

“Well, well,” Artur Kulik commented. “The so-called Red Major.”

Vaughn scowled at Kulik’s naked contempt.

The Black Major raised a hand to silence Kulik.

“Vaughn… You have returned from America. Alive. Yet, you have clearly failed. Why?”

Wilder Vaughn looked scared, the Black Major noted. Though he hid it on his face, the terror was evident in his eyes.

“I felt I should inform you personally of the assault on Washington’s failure and the reasons for it.”

Kulik snorted, but said nothing.

“I know the reasons for the assault’s failure. Your assassin failed to kill Hawk. You failed to adequately prepare your fighters for engaging the American Air Force. You failed to properly site your air defence units, allowing them to be destroyed and you failed to deploy your forces effectively to neutralise the possibility of ground forces being landed in the city and their destruction of your air defence sites. You also failed to attack the Pentagon until after they had already begun organising a counter-assault.” The Black Major paused. “You also failed to kill more than a handful of former Joes and of those you did kill, several weren’t even in the US military any more.”

The Black Major turned and paced away from Vaughn. He sighed deeply, before turning back toward Vaughn.

“Combined with the failure of the air attack on the Oktober Guard’s headquarters, the failed mortar attack on Task Force 282 and the utter failure of Red Eel’s attack on the Q-Force submarine, this entire campaign has been a shambles. Clearly you, Wilder Vaughn, like some of my other officers, are not worthy of being a Red Shadow.”

Artur Kulik drew his Makarov pistol and levelled at Vaughn. “Goodbye, Wilder. You’ve never been anything more than a jumped up Red Shadow who was a Black Major wannabe.”

The pistol shot echoed as Vaughn fell to the floor, a single bullet hole between his eyes.

The Black Major turned to Kulik. “We must begin preparations for an Action Force assault. The Americans will want revenge and will support any operation Action Force mounts to find us.”

“Yes, Major.”

10:30 Mountain Time/ 17:30 GMT

March 21st, 1995

GI Joe Headquarters, Utah

As he walked along the corridor of the newly reopened PIT III headquarters of GI Joe, Action Force’s Commander couldn’t help wrinkling his nose. Next to him, Law the military policeman, noticed as he escorted the Commander to Hawk’s office.

“Horrible smell isn’t it?” Law commented. “Like a musty old attic.”

“Indeed,” the Commander acknowledged. “I suppose it’s inevitable after over six months of the base being closed.”

Law nodded, “And we’ve only had the place reopened for a little over twenty-four hours.” He chuckled. “My dog Order’s sulking in my room because he hates the smell.”

The Commander smiled in return as they reached Hawk’s office. Law knocked on the door and then went in as Hawk called, “Enter!”

“The Commander to see you, Sir,” Law said.

Hawk stood, “Thanks, Law. Commander, good to see you again.”

The MP took his cue and left as the Commander shook Hawk’s hand.

“We never did have that video conference, did we?” Hawk smiled grimly as he moved toward his coffee machine.

“That’s why I’m here, Hawk,” the Commander replied.

Hawk looked over to the British officer, “You want some coffee?”

The Commander shook his head, “Can’t abide the stuff. I suppose tea’s out of the question?”

Hawk shrugged, “Sorry.”

The Commander let out a small sigh, “Never mind. This isn’t exactly a social call, anyway.”

Hawk filled a mug of his own and sat down, sipping the coffee. “I didn’t think it would be. I know you didn’t fly all the way from Belgium for tea. Eagle, Skip and Quarrel are still at Langley meeting with CIA about what we’ve learned from the prisoners we captured, so I’m guessing this is about whatever you wanted to talk to me about on Saturday.”

“Correct. I’m hoping that the horrific events of Saturday are actually going to make you more amenable to my request, to be honest.”

Hawk’s eyebrows rose as he swallowed another mouthful of coffee. “Oh. Sounds serious.”

“Yes… I’d like to have your communications codes for the Steel Brigade. Naturally, we’d share whatever the network generated, but they are rather handily placed to help us. In some cases I imagine they’re better placed than our own undercover operatives.”

Hawk blinked twice before asking, “How the hell do you know about the Steel Brigade?”

The Commander smiled. “Oh, our Z-Force chaps had a run-in with one of the operatives down in Santalla last year. Said he seemed like a bright bloke, but a bit trigger-happy.”

Hawk frowned, he’d seen that operative’s report when he’d been at the Pentagon. ‘Trigger-happy’ was the kindest thing anyone had called the agent, code-name ‘Dog-tag’, in any evaluation Hawk had seen. He’d been recalled to the US following the incident, expelled from the Steel Brigade and then court-martialled from the US Army.

Hawk considered the request from the Commander again. The Steel Brigade was a secret network of GI Joe operatives deployed overseas, undercover, to act as a support network for covert ops for the Joe team. Single agents or small cells had been sent to various potential hotspots across Central America, Africa, Asia and Eastern Europe. The cells had set up safe houses and false identities for any Joe to use in a mission if they needed to operate covertly or to escape incognito. The operation had been run in co-operation with the CIA and was still around solely because the CIA still funded it.

“I might need to talk this over with the Agency,” Hawk finally said. “I’ll also speak to Colton and Hollingsworth.”

The Commander nodded, “Very well. But consider this: if you want to find and stop the Red Shadows, you can’t just rely on the CIA, your fancy recon satellites or the NSA eavesdropping on phone conversations.”

“True,” Hawk acknowledged.

The Commander stood and shook Hawk’s hand. “I hope I hear from you soon,” he said. Hawk nodded.

The Commander walked out to find another Joe, Chuckles, walking along the corridor.

“Excuse me, would you mind pointing me toward the exit?” The Commander said. “Bit of a maze down here…”

Chuckles smiled and said, “Sure, sir. Follow me.”

Tblisi, Georgia

March 22nd 1995

17:30 Local time/ 14:30 GMT

The Steel Brigade safehouse in the former Soviet republic of Georgia was part of a row of terraced houses in a suburb of the capital city. The front room was sparsely furnished with a three-seater sofa, two armchairs and a television set, which was currently showing CNN’s worldwide feed.

Lone Star, the former Navy SEAL, walked into the front room from the adjoining kitchen and handed around bottles of beer.

As Lone Star took his seat on the end of the sofa, he turned to Alpha Dog at the other end.

“So, what did you call us together for, Alpha Dog? I’m supposed to be meeting a trade ministry official as part of my cover in two hours.”

“We’ve got a mission, Lone Star,” Alpha Dog replied. The Delta Force operator had assumed command of the cell on the basis of time served, since he and Lone Star both held E6 ranks.

“What mission is that?” asked Firebolt, a former US Army Ranger.

Alpha Dog pointed to the TV set which was playing footage of the attack on Washington DC to accompany a report of an earlier attack by Red Shadow troops in Australia.

“What do you think?” Alpha Dog began. “The Red Shadows; no one knows where their headquarters are. Action Force hunted down the Shadows back in ’85, after Ironblood was captured. UN Resolution Nine-oh-Nine. Everyone thought the Shads were either dead or captured. Then the Black Major, Ironblood’s number two, came back after being MIA. He released a load of the captives and started causing trouble again. Then in ’86, he disappeared again after an attack on a Cobra facility in Italy.”

“So Langley wants us to snoop around and try to find them?” asked Jarhead, the fourth member of the cell. The former Marine Force Recon commando had wanted to join the GI Joe team and was happy they’d been reinstated.

“Basically, yes,” Alpha Dog confirmed. “Action Force put in a request for Brigade assistance direct to Hawk. They’ve got some undercover people looking, as have British Intelligence and CIA, but the more people looking the better.”

“Are we doing this incognito, using our cover identities or are we breaking cover?” Lone Star asked.

“We need to maintain our cover,” Alpha Dog replied. “You’ll all have to work out how to do this whilst doing your day-jobs too. At least I can more reasonably drive around the country and stick my nose in as an FBI liaison. We might need to break out the Sky Hawk and perform aerial recon, however.”

The other three commandos nodded.

“Meet back here in a week for a debrief. If you find anything sooner, come to the Embassy and contact me there.”

'''April 5th, 1995. 10:45GMT'''

Action Force Headquarters, Belgium

The Commander walked into the briefing room where Skip, Eagle and Sky Raider had assembled. A TV set on the conference table showed Leviathan sitting in the radio room of the Q-Force submarine.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I’ve got some good news, at last. After two weeks, we’ve got our first substantial lead on the Red Shadows headquarters,” The Commander informed them.

“Something more than the bases Task Force 282 and the Canadian Joes found?” Skip asked.

“Indeed,” The Commander nodded. “Whilst those operations were a success and the Americans have been busy kicking in doors across the States at all the safe-houses used by the DC assault force, they were, we must all agree, small fry. The Steel Brigade cell operating in Georgia has found what they believe to be either their main headquarters or at least, a major operations base.”

The Commander set down the manila folder he’d been carrying and removed several photos. He passed them around as he resumed speaking.

“The Joes were able to take these photos from a distance, passing the compound on a country highway. They’re planning to use the Sky Hawk they have in a warehouse over there to get some aerial photos. I want the Phantom X-19 over there to get some. I don’t know what kind of photos we’ll get from a one-man VTOL craft, but Boffin and Lightning tell me that they’ve got the stealth recon pod ready for a test on the Phantom. I think this is the ideal time to try it out.”

Sky Raider glowered at the news. Eagle simply nodded. The Space Force commander had been very unhappy when the US Government agreed to transfer a single Phantom X-19 to Action Force from the GI Joe team after it was decommissioned and the stealth jet had been placed under SAS Force control. Sky Raider could live with SAS Force and Z-Force having helicopters under their control or Q-Force having a small contingent of Skystrikers and Osprey jets under their aegis, but was much less in love with a valuable tactical air asset like the X-19 under SAS Force command. Eagle, on the other hand, didn’t care.

“I’ll tell Spectre to get the jet warmed up and start planning the mission,” Eagle said.

“Make sure you get permission to stage from our airfield in Turkey. It’ll make things easier,” The Commander said.

“Yes, sir.”

“In the meantime, I want SAS Force and Z-Force prepping an assault force for deployment to Turkey, along with Space Force fighter support. I also want Space Force to recon the site with their satellites,” The Commander went on. “I’ll be speaking to the government in Tblisi about running the operation in Georgia.”

Action Force Forward Operating Base

Somewhere in Turkey

Two days later, 22:00 local time

The SAS Force Phantom X-19 thundered down the runway and lifted into the air like a bird of prey on the hunt.

Spectre quickly retracted the landing gear, throttled back and put the plane into a shallow climb to ten thousand feet. Once he’d levelled off, Spectre made sure the stealth jet was not radiating from either its air-search or navigation radars, the formation lights were out and the radios were shut off. The black jet flashed through the sky at just under the speed of sound, heading east toward Georgia.

Nearly two hours later, the Phantom X-19 crossed the border into Georgia without being detected. Spectre had even gone so far as to deliberately fly across a Georgian radar site to make sure he was undetected.

It didn’t take long for him to close in on the compound suspected of being the Red Shadows’ headquarters. Spectre activated the recon pod and reduced his speed further.

The jet passed over the compound, taking photos and recording moving images with its six cameras, two were recording in visual light, two in infrared and the final pair in thermal imaging. Sixty miles north of the compound, Spectre executed a banking turn, descending to five thousand feet as he did and then flew back toward the compound, but now passing a mile east of the complex to get lower angled oblique shots.

As the fighter was approaching the complex the second time, Spectre’s earphones began chirping to warn him that a radar unit was trying to illuminate him.

“Air search radar,” he muttered. “Still in the green, nothing to worry about.”

The fighter passed by, the threat-warning display switching from green to yellow to indicate the heightened threat as the radar beams swept across the stealth aircraft.

Once the Phantom was clear of the site, Spectre put it into a climb back up to ten thousand feet and accelerated once more, now racing southwest towards Turkish airspace.

Once the fighter was back in friendly territory, Spectre reactivated his navigation radar and his radio, before flipping on his Identification Friend or Foe beacon and heading back to the Turkish airfield used by Action Force.

The landing went smoothly and after taxiing off the runway to the hangar assigned to the Phantom, Spectre was able to clamber down and head for his bunk whilst the ground crew went to work on the fighter and a photo-recon team removed the film canisters and video tapes from the recon pod for analysis.

'''April 8th 1995. 09:00 Central European Time/08:00 GMT'''

Action Force Headquarters

Eagle and Skip studied the photos of the compound in Georgia. The visual light imagery didn’t show much, but the infrared pictures showed what were clearly ASP anti-air artillery units sited inside the compound and what appeared to be a pair of Roboskulls sitting outside a hangar sized building. The thermal imaged photos showed multiple heat-sources in the buildings, as well as giving clues to the large number of personnel present.

“This place is worth hitting, whether it’s the Shads’ headquarters or not,” Skip commented. “Looks like there’s at least a couple hundred people there. Possibly large numbers of vehicles too.”

The Commander walked back into the briefing room the pair was using. “Uplink’s just got these images from the recon satellites. He’s busy going through our archives of passes over the area to see what we’ve missed,” he informed them as he handed over several more photos.

Eagle took the satellite images and frowned. “Definitely got Roboskulls there, then,” he commented before squinting and looking more closely at one of the photos.

“Hyenas?” he asked the Commander.

“That’s what the analysts are saying. We think they might have Shadowtraks too.” The Commander sighed. “Normally, I might sanction simply having Spectre fly back over and drop a pair of missiles on the place, but we need to make sure we take the Black Major alive. That slippery sod has eluded us too many times over the years.”

“Boots on the ground is a definite, then?” Eagle asked.

The Commander nodded. “And fast. We can not allow Black Major to escape again.”

Picking up one of the thermal images, the Commander said, “But how you do it is your decision.” He shrugged, “I’d make sure you’ve got a lot of warm bodies to do it, though.”

Action Force Forward Operating Base, Turkey

Two days later

The Russian Air Force transport plane thundered down from the sky toward the remote airstrip Action Force was using for preparing the mission.

The Antonov touched down and quickly taxied to the parking ramp in front of the hangars. Quickfire and Sparrowhawk moved to the rear cargo ramp of the plane, with Bodycount and Double-Tap walking behind them. Both the pistol marksman and the commando were very visibly carrying their weapons at the ready.

“I guess you’re looking forward to seeing Daina again,” Double-Tap commented.

Bodycount shrugged, “S’pose.”

“I thought you two got on well together,” Double-Tap said. “You had two days leave after that mission to Russia, you were flirting with her like crazy.”

“Yeah, I took her to dinner in Prague and she told me she wasn’t going to leave the Guard to move to Britain. She also said she wasn’t interested in a long-distance relationship.” Bodycount shrugged. “It was all very amicable.”

“I still can’t believe you flirt with all the women.”

Bodycount glowered, “I do not. I never flirted with Triage. She made it quite clear she wasn’t interested and all I said to her was ‘hello’. Quarrel and me flirting is just fun. And I’ve never seen Shade as anything other than a friend since that op in Sierra Gordo.”

“What about Peregrine?” Double-Tap, asked referring to the Z-Force Dragonfly pilot. “Or Afterburner?”

Bodycount gave a hollow laugh. “Peregrine and I never went past dating. It barely lasted a month. Okay, I had a relationship with Afterburner, but that’s one woman in five.”

Double-Tap turned to look at Bodycount directly. “And what about you flirting with Glenda, Sparta and Powder Keg when they came over for that conference two years ago?”

“I didn’t flirt with them,” Bodycount said, looking more annoyed. “I had a friendly chat with Glenda and Sparta. I just said hi to Powder Keg and she was flirting with Beaver.”

“What about Deke, the Canadian intel specialist?” Double-Tap asked.

Bodycount thought back. “Didn’t speak to her. PK said she was a bit of a cow.”

The plane’s cargo ramp began to whine down as Double-Tap spoke again. “What about the American women?”

“I didn’t even speak to Scarlett,” Bodycount answered. “She was with Snake Eyes all the time. I started flirting with Lady Jaye and then Flint turned up, so I left. I barely said two words to Jinx or Cover Girl.”

Double-Tap sighed. “I’m sorry, maybe I misjudged you.”

Bodycount nodded. “Thank you.” There was a pause, then he spoke again, “There was that thing with Aurora, though, before we left DC.”

Double-Tap’s head whipped around as Quickfire and Sparrowhawk turned around to stare at the British soldier.

“What? She was released by the National Guard medics and came into my room, half out of it on meds and literally threw herself at me.”

“And you slept with her?” Quickfire asked, incredulous. “You scheisse-hund.”

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Bodycount said, defensively. “We just snogged a lot.”

Quickfire suddenly turned his attention back to the plane as the sound of footsteps approached.

Red Star led the Oktober Guard off the An-12 transport. He stopped as Quickfire stepped forward and saluted him. Red Star returned the salute.

“Good morning, Colonel,” Quickfire greeted him. “Welcome to Turkey. Eagle and Skip are in the ops room, waiting for you and your command staff.”

Red Star smiled, “Lead the way, Herr Muller.”

Quickfire nodded and moved off, followed by Red Star, Lt. Gorky and three other members of the Oktober Guard that Quickfire didn’t recognise.

Sparrowhawk waited for the rest of the Guard to disembark. As they assembled at the end of the ramp, he addressed them, “If you’ll follow me, gentlemen, I’ll show you to our temporary accommodations.”

Bodycount and Double-Tap watched as Dragonsky collected his gear and led the group off, Sgt. Misha trailing close behind the flamethrower operator. Most of the others they didn’t recognise. Daina lingered at the back of the group and spoke to Bodycount as he fell in next to her.

“Nice to see you again, Scott,” she smiled.

“You too, Daina.” He paused, then spoke again. “Your team’s got a lot bigger…”

Daina nodded, “Da, The Kremlin decided it was foolish to just have four or five of us in the Guard. We’ve now got a fighter pilot, but he’s still in Russia. Then there’s Ruslan, Wong, Molot, Akula, Sergei, Tanya and Katya.”

“So who are all those guys?” Double-Tap asked.

“Ruslan’s our demolitions expert,” Daina explained. “Wong’s a marksman. Akula is our frogman. Molot’s a paratrooper. Tanya’s our new intelligence expert, Katya’s our commo expert and Sergei is our covert ops expert.”

Double-Tap looked slyly at Bodycount. “Better warn Tanya and Katya to watch out for Scott,” he smirked. “He’s likely to start flirting with them.”

Bodycount turned and punched Double-Tap before calmly walking on as Daina stopped to look at the pistol marksman with concern.

“Are you alright?” she asked. Double-Tap nodded without answering.

Midnight, local time

That night

A C-130 Hercules from Action Force’s support wing took off from the forward operating base, climbing through the black sky to reach altitude before turning north east toward Georgia. Two hours earlier a series of transports had flown a reserve assault force into Georgia. That force had included two Z-Force Wolverines, two Z-Force Hammer jeeps, a Z-Force battle tank a company of Z-Force infantrymen, two SAS Force Wolverines, three SAS Force Panther jeeps, four SAS Force Hawk helicopters and a platoon of SAS Force Attack Troopers. The C-130s had been escorted by four of Z-Force’s Dragonfly attack helicopters.

As well as the infantry troops and vehicles, the reserve force had included Skip’s command force which had included Jammer, Ring-Tone and Wireless – three Z-Force communications experts, Quarrel, Tracker, Kickback the anti-armour expert, Tor the Ranger and Scorpion the air defence expert. Along with them were most of the Oktober Guard.

The final C-130 was carrying an SAS Force assault group, led by Eagle himself. As well as the SAS Force Attack Troopers making up most of the group, the unit included Quickfire, Boonie, Kukri, Bodycount, Sparrowhawk, Beaver, Stakeout, Double-Tap, Big Ben and Prowl, the Fijian recon expert. Much to Eagle’s annoyance, the transport also carried a four man Oktober Guard team, led by Lt. Gorky, and the four American Steel Brigade troopers. The Georgian government had insisted on the Guard’s participation in the attack. The US government had demanded the Steel Brigade team’s involvement.

As the Hercules approached the drop-point, Sparrowhawk went around each soldier and double-checked their parachute. When he reached Bodycount, the commando returned the favour and checked Sparrowhawk’s chute.

“Good to go, Sparrow.”

“Thanks, Body.” Both troopers grinned at one another before fastening their oxygen masks into place.

Sparrowhawk gave Eagle the thumbs up and the squad leader returned the gesture.

Each of the SAS Force Attack Troopers had been recruited from either a specialist counter-terrorist unit or an elite special ops force. They were all airborne qualified, trained in close-quarter battle tactics including hostage rescue procedures. They were also trained in demolitions, sabotage, long-range recon and small unit infantry tactics. Eagle was proud to lead them, something he didn’t get to do very often these days.

The loadmaster signalled the ramp was coming down. The red light lit as Eagle moved forward toward the rear of the plane. He always insisted on being first out. The red lit flicked off, the green lit came on and Eagle charged forward, stepping off the ramp into open space.

The plane was flying several thousand feet over the Georgian countryside along a known commercial air corridor. It attracted no attention from the Red Shadows compound.

The commando force deployed their chutes and drifted toward the ground, executing what was, so far, a textbook high-altitude high-opening parachute jump.

Silently, the commandos floated into the Red Shadows compound. None of the sentries in the four corner watchtowers or the four gateposts were alerted as the force landed and began gathering up their chutes and grouping together. Before Quickfire, Bodycount and Boonie joined the other troops, each quickly moved up to the three ASP units stationed in a triangular formation inside the compound and planted demolitions charges. Once they were finished, they joined the rest of the SAS Force troops. The force quickly split into six squads and moved out.

Eagle was leading Gold Squad, which comprised him, Alpha Dog and Firebolt from the Steel Brigade group, Stakeout and two Attack Troopers. They headed across the compound toward the six buildings identified as being barracks blocks. Close on their heels was a second squad, led by Sparrowhawk, which included Gorky, Molot and three Attack Troopers. Sparrowhawk’s group was Blue Squad.

Quickfire was leading Green Squad, which consisted of his fellow SAS Force commandos, Boonie, Bodycount and Kukri, along with Jarhead from the Steel Brigade team and Sgt. Misha from the Oktober Guard. They were heading toward the fuel dump and the Shadowtrak garage.

Black Squad was led by Beaver. Alongside him and Double-Tap were Lone Star and Ruslan. Two Attack Troopers rounded out the squad. They headed for the Roboskull hangar.

The fifth group was led by Big Ben and was made up of five Attack Troopers. They formed Red Squad. Their target was the radio centre and the ops room. Prowl led the last group of five Attack Troopers as Grey Squad. Their targets were the Hyena garage and the ammo dump.

Black Squad approached the Roboskull hangar from the side of the building believed to be the hospital. Two Red Shadows were standing near the doors to the hangar. Both had their AK74 assault rifles slung and their helmets off. One was lounging against the side of the hangar. The other had his hands shoved in his pockets. Beaver raised his fist to halt the group. Double-Tap moved up next to him and both aimed at the soldiers.

Beaver was armed with a specially modified version of the MP5 sub-machine gun created by Action Force’s boffins in the Special Weapons Force. The MP5-SWF was even quieter than an MP5SD, the normal Special Force suppressed version of the weapon. This was combined with subsonic ammo, making the weapon almost as quiet as Hollywood portrayed suppressed weapons. Double-Tap was armed with a Colt M1911-SWF, a similarly modified version of the venerable automatic pistol.

The two commandos levelled their weapons and fired a single shot each, dropping their targets from thirty feet away with a headshot.

“Move up,” Beaver whispered. The six commandos sprinted from the hospital building to the hangar. The two Attack Troopers grabbed the dead bodies and dragged them into the hangar behind Beaver and Double-Tap. Ruslan and Lone Star took the sentries’ places, standing next to the building before the Attack Troopers returned and replaced them.

Inside the hangar, Ruslan and Lone Star began quickly unpacking demolitions charges the pair had been carrying. Beaver and Double-Tap moved around the hangar, checking no one else was lurking inside.

Once the explosives were unpacked, Ruslan took the lead in planting the charges on the building’s supporting walls and pillars. The Russian commando worked quickly and efficiently, planting exactly enough explosives to level the hangar. Lone Star had asked the Russian about the amount required during their mission briefing. Ruslan had politely informed the SEAL he always knew precisely how much to use and never used a gram more. Red Star and Daina had both assured Lone Star that he was not making idle boasts. Now, the Texan commando could see they hadn’t been exaggerating.

Once the explosives were in place, the team retreated to crouch near the hospital. Beaver keyed his radio.

“Black One, ready.”

“Grey One, ready,” reported Prowl, moments later.

“Green One, ready,” Quickfire reported.

Inside one of the three storey barracks blocks, Eagle heard the reports in his radio’s earpiece. He didn’t reply, but felt pleased. So far the barracks had proved to be home to several dozen Red Shadows, housed in single rooms that covered most of each level’s floor space, aside from a toilet facility on each floor and a staircase. He reached the top floor and peeked in the window set in the door at the top. More Shadows. He turned and waved to his team to return to the ground floor.

“Gold One, clear,” Eagle reported.

Red Squad had quietly eliminated the sentries outside the radio room, before Big Ben and an Attack Trooper had scaled a ladder to the roof and planted demolitions charges on the rooftop antennae and satellite dishes. Now they were ready to assault the building. Big Ben took the lead; the one-time member of the GI Joe team had joined Action Force on his return to Europe when the American government deactivated the Joes.

The squad moved in the door slowly, to find a security desk which was currently empty. Big Ben led the way along the corridor, which had three doors leading off it. A Red Shadow was just stepping out of one, to the sound of a flushing toilet as Big Ben rounded the corner. Before the gunman could speak, Big Ben shot him with a three-round burst to the chest.

The SAS Force team turned toward the lone door on the right side of the corridor. The Attack Troopers moved to assault positions and Big Ben kicked the door in before moving aside. Two Attack Troopers charged in the door, firing at a pair of Red Interceptors, before pivoting to the left. One took a burst of automatic fire in his chest from a Red Shadow’s Skorpion sub-machine gun. His partner promptly gunned down the Shadow. The second pair of Attack Troopers moved in, moving around the radio equipment to reach the far end of the room.

A Red Shadow at the far end opened fire with his Uzi sub-machine gun, causing the two Attack Troopers to duck away, before the gunman slapped a large alarm button.

Klaxons began to sound across the complex.

Eagle reached the bottom of the staircase in Barracks One as the alarm began to sound. He immediately activated his radio.

“Eagle to all units, execute Omega Protocol.”

Seconds later, a series of explosions rocked the buildings as, in quick succession, the ASP units, the Hyena garage, the Roboskull hangar and the fuel dump exploded.

“''Grey Squad, evacuating area of Grey Two. Stand by''.”

“Green group evacuating Green Two. Firing demolitions charges,” Quickfire reported next as his team sprinted away from the Shadowtrak garage. The group skidded to a halt next to the armoury, where Quickfire looked at Bodycount. The British commando muttered, “Kaboom,” before hitting the detonator.

The Shadowtrak garage’s roof collapsed in to the building as the walls dropped inwards, smashing the vehicles and burying them in the rubble.

The ammo dump exploded seconds later as Grey Squad detonated their second charges.

Back at Barracks One, Red Shadows were streaming down the stairs as Gold Squad fell back toward the parade ground.

Eagle brought the group to a halt as the Red Shadows charged from the buildings, most carrying only side arms or sub-machine guns.

Sparrowhawk’s team had been caught trying to leave Barracks Two and were now engaged with Red Shadow troops in the stairwell of the building.

Sparrowhawk shot two more Shadow troopers as Molot was hit by a burst from an Ingrams MAC-10 sub-machine gun. As the Russian paratrooper collapsed, Sparrowhawk fired another burst up the stairs, dropping the shooter. Gorky grabbed Molot and hoisted him over his shoulder. The squad’s three Attack Troopers were busy shooting Red Shadows as they tried to exit the ground floor barracks room.

“Flash-bangs!” Sparrowhawk shouted, before pulling one of his own from his webbing. He primed the device and simply hurled it straight up the stairwell. One of the Attack Troopers copied him, the stun grenade bouncing off the wall to drop on to the mid-level landing. Another hurled one in the door of the ground floor barracks.

The grenades detonated in quick succession with their blinding flash and thundering bang. Dazzling and deafening the Shadows, the flash-bangs allowed the squad to escape the building.

“Multiple foot-mobiles from the left,” reported Fenris, a Danish Attack Trooper in Blue Squad. He dropped to one knee and fired several bursts at the Red Shadows rushing from the direction of Barracks Three and Barracks Five. The other Attack Troopers joined him as Sparrowhawk and Gorky sprinted towards Barracks One, the Belgian paratrooper covering the Russian as he carried his comrade.

“Blue Leader to Gold, we’re at the rear of Barracks One and need assistance, we have a man down and are coming under heavy fire from Barracks Three and Five,” Sparrowhawk radioed to Eagle.

“''Stand by, Blue Leader. Gold Squad is under fire from Barracks One’s front.”''

Sparrowhawk cursed as he kept firing at the Red Shadows allowing the Attack Troopers to sprint across to his position.

Eagle switched frequencies on his radio as his team kept up their fire. “Gold Leader to Skip; we’re under fire, launch the Hawks and have the Dragonflies stand by. Get your reserves ready as well. We may need you.”

Eagle heard the acknowledgement from his Z-Force counterpart and then clicked off his radio. “Make sure your strobes are on, squad. We’ve got friendly air coming in.”

Each of the commandos quickly checked that the small infrared strobe lights they wore on their shoulders were turned on and blinking.

Five miles from the compound, Blades climbed into the cockpit of his Hawk light helicopter. He plugged in his helmet’s radio headset and began powering up the small aircraft. Next to his Hawk, Chopper was doing the same. Parked further away were two more Hawks, flown by other members of the SAS Force air squadron.

As the rotors began turning on the Hawk, Blades keyed his radio.

“Hawk Flight, check in.”

“Hawk 2, Chopper’s ready.”

“Hawk 3, Spin-blade is a go,” responded the next pilot, his British accent setting him apart from the two Americans.

“Hawk 4, Mongoose is in the green,” the final pilot chimed in. His Italian accent was even more of a contrast.

“Hawk Flight, prepare to lift and follow me in.”

The four black single-seat helicopters quickly took off and sped east toward the compound. The still-burning fire of the fuel dump created a large white spot in the pilots’ infrared visors.

“Hawk flight, remember friendlies are marked by blinking strobes. Do not engage anyone marked by a strobe. Stand by for fire missions,” Blades radioed. After the other pilots reported their readiness, he switched frequencies.

“Ground forces, this is Hawk 1, standing by to provide close-air. Someone give me a target.”

“Blue Leader to Hawk 1, I need fire support near Barracks Two. Multiple enemy foot-mobiles twenty feet from my squad. Danger close.”

“Roger that, Sparrowhawk. I’m rollin’ in hot.”

Blades dropped the nose of his Hawk to increase speed, raced across the wall of the compound, over-flying the radio centre and the ops room, he spotted the IR strobes blinking in the darkness, the muzzle-flashes of weapons fire and took aim.

Sparrowhawk fired another short burst from his MP5; he was nearly out of ammo in the magazine. Just as he was about to call out that he was reloading, there was the shriek of an incoming shell and then it hit, blowing a good five Red Shadow troops off their feet and through the air. A second shell seconds later took out several more of the Red Shadows.

Sparrowhawk keyed his radio, “Good hits, good hits, multiple confirmed kills.”

The small shape of a Hawk flashed overhead and cleared away before a second Hawk flew in much slower and fired two shells into the Red Shadows then turned away.

Spin-blade flew his Hawk toward the ongoing gun battle, but suddenly saw the flash of a rocket motor and broke off his attack run. He slapped the trigger for his Hawk’s flare dispenser as the missile homed in.

The SA-7 Grail missile detonated in the flare-cloud, but the explosion threw shrapnel at the Hawk, puncturing the tail rudder and the three-bladed tail rotor.

Spin-blade cursed as he fought for control. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Spin-blade, I’m hit. I’ve got rudder damage. I am going down.”

The Hawk cleared the compound and Spin-blade armed and fired his rockets in quick succession. He next triggered his 30mm cannon, firing all 20 shells inside a minute. He then flipped the emergency release for the belly fuel tank the Hawks were using on this mission. Once that was done, Spin-blade stopped fighting the helicopter and brought it down as safely as he could. In six years of flying Hawks with SAS Force, this would be his second crash landing.

The helicopter hit the ground and bounced, hit again and then tipped over. Spin-blade leaped clear of the cockpit, rolled over and looked back to see the blades snapping off as the helicopter crashed down upside down. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted away from the wreckage.

At the Z-Force command post, Skip immediately dispatched Rev in an SAS Force Hammer and Hunter in a Wolverine to retrieve Spin-blade. As the two vehicles passed the medical station, Triage, the Z-Force female doctor, dashed out of the tent. She flagged down Rev’s Hammer and quickly climbed aboard, carrying her medical kit in a metal case.

The two vehicles sped toward the plume of black smoke visible in the night sky.

Inside the compound, Eagle’s Gold Squad had fallen back to the hospital building and been joined by Green, Grey and Black Squads. They were under fire from a large contingent of troops dressed in black uniforms. These black-clad Shadows had all come from the building designated Barracks Six, and were actually wearing night-vision goggles and carried AK103s, the latest version of the venerable Kalashnikov assault rifle.

Both sides were exchanging fire, but many of these apparently elite Shadows were falling to the assault force’s fire. In contrast, the Action Force unit had only taken three more casualties, two Attack Troopers and Ruslan. Ruslan had been hit badly and was being helped by Lone Star and an Attack Trooper. Another Attack Trooper, codenamed Hatchet, was treating the injuries suffered by one of his comrades. The third casualty, codenamed ‘Boxer’ was dead and had been put on a stretcher. The other two commandos were lucky to have been injured in what was a fairly well stocked infirmary.

Inside the building designated ‘Barracks Four’, the Black Major was standing near one of the windows of his private quarters, watching the gun battle. Near the door, Artur Kulik stood waiting attentively for his commander’s orders. The Black Major turned toward him.

“The dogs of Action Force appear to be winning, Artur. Our loyal Shadows may have destroyed one of the SAS fools’ Hawk helicopters, but they have three more. No doubt there is also a reserve force outside the compound standing ready to move in when Eagle gives the word.”

Artur was impressed by the Major’s analysis of the situation, even though he knew his master had once served in Action Force, however briefly, before being turned by Baron Ironblood.

The Black Major crossed the room to the door and headed out on to the landing. Artur followed closely, his Skorpion sub-machine gun at the ready.

Once they reached the ground floor, the Black Major moved quickly to the door leading to the basement.

“Return to your Elite Shadows, Artur. I shall use the tunnels to escape. Action Force may have captured the Baron and imprisoned him, but they will not take me alive.”

“As you command, Black Major.”

The two men descended to the basement, and then parted company. Black Major took one tunnel leading southwest toward the firing range building, whilst Artur took the tunnel leading back to Barracks Six.

Black Major passed through the tunnel and into an underground parking facility. Four Red Shadows stood at the ready, next to two black Shadowtraks.

The Shadows snapped to attention as the Major entered.

“Are the BlackTraks ready?”

“Of course, Major,” replied the lead Shadow.

“Good, I am leaving immediately. Let’s go.”

Moments later, both BlackTraks sped from the parking facility, racing along a tunnel that led outside the compound, sloping up to emerge inside a barn a mile from the compound.

Inside the compound, Eagle had organised Quickfire’s Green Squad to move out of the hospital and rendezvous with Beaver’s Blue Squad.

The six commandos sprinted from the hospital across the parade ground toward Barracks One. As they ran, the gunfire from the windows of the hospital intensified to cover them.

As they reached the barracks building, Bodycount and Kukri moved to covering positions and began firing at the Elite Shadows.

“Twenty-six,” Bodycount muttered to himself as a Red Shadow fell to one of his bursts of fire. “Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.”

Kukri looked at him sideways as he fired. “What are you counting?”

“Dead Shadows,” Bodycount answered. “Thirty.”

“You’re keeping score?” Kukri asked.

Bodycount spared him a quick glance. “You do know my codename, don’t you?”

Kukri rolled his eyes before shooting another Shadow.

“So, how many Cobras you killed?” he asked.

“Three hundred seventy-eight in seven years.”

“Good job you don’t carve notches in your rifle’s stock.”

“Right, I wouldn’t have a stock left,” Bodycount answered.

At the other end of the building, Quickfire had found Big Ben and three of Red Squad’s Attack Troopers alongside Blue Squad. Molot and the other two Attack Troopers were lying on the ground, being tended by one of the Blue Squad troops.

“Are they fit to move?” Quickfire asked the medic as he knelt next to the Attack Trooper.

“Molot’s dead,” the soldier replied. “Nomad took a round in his right shin. It went right through. He’s out of it on morphine. Jester’s badly injured. I’ve got him on morphine too. He took three rounds in the torso. I don’t known how much longer he’ll last.”

Quickfire looked toward Sparrowhawk. “Sparrow, get your squad organised! We’re getting out of here!”

“Roger that, Quickie!”

Two Attack Troopers picked up Molot and Nomad and slung them over their shoulders in a fireman’s carry. The Attack Trooper tending to Jester organised two of Red Squad’s troopers in carrying the wounded man in a makeshift stretcher.

Quickfire moved to where Bodycount and Kukri were crouched.

“Ammo check,” he snapped.

“Half a mag loaded, three left,” Bodycount answered.

“Half a mag loaded. One left,” Kukri answered.

“Right, I want you two to led the way to the hospital. Me and Boonie will take over here,” Quickfire ordered. “Make sure everyone knows we’re coming in with three casualties.”

“Copy that, sir,” Bodycount answered. Boonie and Quickfire took the other two commandos’ positions and opened fire. The first pair sprinted toward the hospital building.

Moments later, they dashed through the shattered doorway into the building. Eagle met them as they skidded to a halt on the slippery floor.

“Report,” Eagle ordered.

“Red Squad’s RV’d with Blue, sir,” Kukri informed him. “They have three injured. Molot is dead, Nomad and Jester are wounded.”

Eagle nodded, then pulled out his radio.

“Skip, this is Eagle, how copy?”

“Eagle, Skip, I read you loud and clear.”

“Skip, I want you to leave a protective force with the medics and then roll in the rest of your force. We’ve got wounded here, some severely. It’s time to end this.”

“''Copy that, Eagle. Give us a few to get organised.”''

Eagle hooked his radio back on to his webbing gear as two Attack Troopers charged into the hospital carrying casualties over their shoulders, with another pair of Attack Troopers and Lt. Gorky close behind.

Eagle moved toward Gorky as the Attack Troopers were directed toward a treatment room.

“I’m sorry Molot’s been killed,” Eagle said to the Russian squad leader.

Gorky nodded, “Such is combat, I suppose.”

“I also hate to tell you, but Ruslan’s been injured as well.”

Gorky nodded again, then gave a shrug. “I suppose we can’t expect anything less,” he replied. “You’ve lost men too.”

Eagle nodded as the three Attack Troopers seeing to Jester charged in. Before Eagle could comment, the sound of helicopter rotors beating the air drowned out the clatter of gunfire. Both officers turned toward the windows in time to see an explosion tear through the mass of Elite Shadows.

Seconds later, another flash dropped from the sky and another boom shook the building.

Both men moved toward the front of the hospital as several more of Red and Blue Squads’ members ran in.

“What was that?” Gorky asked.

“Z-Force Dragonfly,” Big Ben replied. He started to say something else, but was drowned out by the roar of a 20mm minigun firing.

He looked around toward the window, looking annoyed, waited for a moment and then spoke again.

“Two of ‘em are hoverin’ over the Roboskull landin’ pad. I take it someone called in more air support,” Big Ben explained.

“I called in our reserves,” Eagle answered.

*

Four Space Force Conquest X-30s were orbiting the compound five miles away, as the fighters turned toward the complex on the eastbound leg of their orbit, Afterburner suddenly spotted a vehicle racing northeast.

“Hornet, this is Afterburner,” she radioed to the flight leader. “I have a fast-moving ground vehicle heading north-east. Request permission for over-flight and identification.”

There was only a brief pause before Hornet answered, “''Roger that, Afterburner. Over-fly and identify. Watch yourself, it may fire on you.”''

“Roger,” she answered and threw the fighter into a diving turn toward the vehicle.

The forward-swept wing fighter soon dropped to barely three hundred feet above the ground. The former RAF pilot levelled her jet out and pulled the throttle back to avoid overtaking the vehicle as she quickly closed on it.

Afterburner squinted through her night-vision goggles as she caught up to the vehicle.

“Lead, three, I have what appears to be a modified Shadowtrak here. I see two persons in the vehicle, one is wearing what looks like an officer’s cap.”

“Roger that, Three. Stand by one.”

More than one minute passed as Afterburner continued following the Shadowtrak, which wasn’t attempting to evade her before Hornet came back on the radio.

“Three, Lead, Eagle says waste ‘im.”

“Copy that,” Afterburner said. She executed a pair of S-turns to slow herself down, allowing the vehicle below to pull away from her slightly. She armed her fighter’s twin nose-mounted cannon.

Dropping the Conquest to nearly ground scraping level, Afterburner brought the Shadowtrak into her targeting pipper, waited for the vehicle to fill the pipper and then fired a five second burst.

Twin streams of bullets ripped the BlackTrak to pieces and Afterburner pulled up in radical climb to avoid the detonation of the vehicle.

*

Inside the Red Shadows compound, the Elite Shadows and the Red Shadows were trying to reorganise themselves after the two shells from the Dragonfly hit, when the main gates were smashed in and a Z-Force Battle Tank rolled through the wreckage.

Some of the Shadows recovered their senses enough to open fire at the tank as it rumbled toward them, but the bullets bounced uselessly off the armour. Seconds later, two Z-Force ATCs rolled in, followed by a pair of Z-Force jeeps. The Red Shadows stopped firing as the two ATCs levelled their guns at the group, as did the infantry troopers in the jeeps.

The Shadows turned as they heard a small explosion and then the sound of high-performance engines. Racing through the complex from the opposite end were four SAS Force Panthers, a pair of SAS Force Hammers, a single Recon Jeep and a pair of Z-Force Hammers.

In seconds, the Shadows were surrounded as more Z-Force infantry troops poured out of both ATCs and scrambled from several of the jeeps. The SAS Force commandos began to move in from the hospital.

The closest thing to an officer left to command the surviving troops was an Elite Shadow who safed his weapon and dropped it to the ground as Skip pushed through the Z-Force infantry troops, with Red Star, Big Bear and his own senior NCO Sergeant-Major Zero close behind him.

“Red Shadows, I suggest you surrender immediately. You’re outnumbered and outgunned. Any further resistance will be met with the most severe consequences,” Skip informed them in a loud, clear voice.

One Elite Shadow raised his Makarov pistol. He barely got it to horizontal before he was shot by three Z-Force infantrymen with three-round bursts from their M16s.

Skip raised one eyebrow.

“Anyone else want to throw their lives away?”

There was a flurry of noise and activity as the Shadows safed and dropped their weapons in a hurry. Skip and Eagle had both hoped that without the Baron’s brainwashing, the Red Shadows would be mostly mercenary types who would crumble when faced with the inevitability of their demise at the hands of overwhelming firepower. It seemed they were right.

Moving quickly, the Z-Force troops and the SAS Force commandos collected and removed the Shadows weapons, cuffed them and moved them to the parade ground to await the arrival of Georgian Army troops to take them to a waiting detention facility.

Skip and Eagle moved to the hospital with Red Star. The Russian officer went to check on his troops, before returning.

“As we were about to crash in the gates, we had a message from Afterburner,” Skip informed the other two Colonels. “She reported spotting, pursuing and destroying a Shadowtrak vehicle. I dispatched a squad to inspect the wreckage. Afterburner believed that it might be the Black Major’s escape vehicle. Unfortunately, the infantry squad couldn’t find any bodies in the remains. It seems Black Major has eluded us.”

Red Star cursed, “I suppose we shouldn’t have expected any less. That man was always a slippery customer.”

“Yes,” Eagle commented. “He was a good man once, one of the best… It seems his training has enabled him to evade us again.”

Action Force Headquarters, Belgium

'''Thursday, April 13th, 1995. 10:30 local time.'''

Eagle and Skip sat in one of the conference rooms in Action Force’s headquarters. Seated at the head of the table was The Commander. To his right was his aide de camp, a British major named Flagg. On the left were General Wolfgang Bernadis and Admiral Maarten Verstappen. General Bernadis was an Austrian officer, who served on the Action Force oversight committee with the admiral. The membership of the committee rotated between the European nations who contributed to Action Force, whether they were NATO or EU nations. Whilst France and Germany held permanent positions in the six-man group, and Britain was represented by The Commander, the other three flag officers served for eight months at a time.

The two colonels were debriefing the senior officers on the mission to Georgia. They had already received written after-action reports form several members of the group, and interviewed several, but were now discussing the mission with the two commanding officers.

“Well, I must admit, you’ve certainly proved the need for Action Force’s continued operation and funding,” General Bernadis commented. “This mission proved decisive in trying to ferret out and contain the threat of the Red Shadows.”

Eagle and Skip exchanged wordless looks. Funding for Action Force often proved divisive in several of the contributing nations. Additional funding from Australia and New Zealand had helped in recent years.

“There are a few things that have been brought to light by this whole ‘war of the Red Shadows’ as the press are calling it, however,” Admiral Verstappen commented.

Skip shifted uncomfortably.

“Such as?” Eagle asked.

“The lack of intelligence sharing between some of the counter-terror units around the world,” Verstappen explained. “Besides the continued threat posed by both Cobra and the Red Shadows.”

“We know you share intelligence with the Oktober Guard and the Americans,” Bernadis went on, “But there is almost zero co-operation with the Canadian Joe team and only minimal amounts with the South American group. That needs to change.”

Eagle frowned as Skip leaned forward. “Do we have any proposals for answers?” Skip asked.

“There are several,” the general replied. “Hawk, El General, Red Star and the general who oversees the Canadian team will be coming to Belgium for a conference with the oversight committee and you Action Force field commanders to discuss it next week.”

“What are the proposals?” Eagle asked.

“The four main ones being considered are to merge all of the units into one; to simply form a joint intelligence sharing group; to simply talk to each other more and report on what you’ve all been up to or to merge the Guard with Action Force and the Joes with 282 to cover the eastern and western hemispheres respectively.” Verstappen smiled at the horror on the faces of Skip and Eagle.

“Don’t worry,” he went on. “I don’t believe the Americans will seriously consider the first or last options and I know the Russians will never agree to either. We may get them both to agree to the second or third proposals. It’s not just Action Force, either. The Guard has no co-operation with Task Force 282 or the Canadians. They barely speak to the Americans and only seem to contact us when it suits them. The Americans barely share intel with the Guard or 282 and only get intel from the Commandos because Redmack’s an American.”

Bernadis cleared his throat. “Back to Georgia. The intelligence secured in the aftermath of the assault has thrown up the locations of several Red Shadow bases. The Americans are gearing up to deal with several in Central America. The Russians have the ones in the former Soviet Union covered. Task Force 282 can deal with the ones in South America. Action Force gets to deal with the rest: Asia, Europe, Africa and a couple in Australia.”

Bernadis looked at Eagle and Skip.

“You should have your work cut out for you, for a while.”

The two colonels exchanged glances.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Eagle replied.

The End