The Raid

**Q-Force submarine, *Nautilus***

**Somewhere in the Caribbean Sea**

**15 July, 1996**

The Q-Force submarine slid silently through the tropical
waters of the Caribbean, her nuclear reactor easily producing the power to
maintain her speed of twenty knots. The *Nautilus* was virtually silent as
she headed toward her destination.

In the attack centre, the submarine’s control room, her
commanding officer was standing at the navigator’s table with the six men of
Q-Force’s elite Aquatrooper squad. Leviathan gestured to the map on the table.

“This is the island of Nueva Galicia, a small country in the
Caribbean, former Spanish colony,” Leviathan began.

Immediately, five of the Aquatroopers turned to look at the
newest member, Trident. The Spaniard stared back at the group.

Leviathan cleared his throat and the others looked back at
him.

“Nueva Galicia gained independence from Spain in 1824,
during the Napoleonic Wars,” Leviathan explained. “The same era when Spain was
busy losing all it’s South American colonies.”

“Hardly our fault,” Trident interjected. “What with having
been thrown into chaos thanks to that short Corsican.” He gave Shark, the
French Aquatrooper leader a sour look.

Shark said nothing, but looked back at Leviathan.

“The island,” Leviathan went on, “is pretty small, smaller
than Barbados for example. Population is 175,000. Military forces are nearly
non-existent; they’ve got a Nueva Galician Defence Force, which translates as a
battalion of infantry, a few mortar teams, some anti-tank weapons and an air
component shared with the local Coast Guard and police force. Said air element
comprises ten UH-1 Hueys, which they can bolt door guns on if needed.”

Fathom grinned at Leviathan. “So what do they need the bad
boys of Q Force for?”

Leviathan reached under the map and pulled out a document
folder. “Last month, the NGDF noticed a lot of planes flying into the northern
forest region. A region with no airstrip or inhabitants. A squad of troops was
deployed to the area. The squad spent a week reconnoitring the area.”

Leviathan pulled out several photos as he spoke, slapping
them down on the map. “They found a camp belonging to the Headhunters, the
South American narcotics cartel operating across the continent. The Headhunters
had set up a rough field airstrip and were also building a small dock area.
Machine-gun nests and mortar pits were already dug and weapons set. The squad
leader kept an eye on the place for two days before bugging out with his men
and calling for extraction. A larger force went in, a heliborne assault. They
lost twenty out of the forty men. The Headhunters are heavily armed.”

The photos Leviathan had set down showed the camp, a
piston-powered plane sat on the runway being refuelled, a pair of speedboats at
the jetties and heavily armed Headhunters walking around several shack-like
buildings and sandbagged weapons positions.

“The local government put in a request to Action Force HQ
for assistance. It’s taken the last two weeks to get the sub here and then get
you out here,” Leviathan went on. “Your mission is simple: infiltrate the camp,
eliminate the Headhunters and destroy any narcotics on site.”

“Just a straight up search and destroy?” Fathom put in. “Why
not just whistle up some Skystrikers from Space Force or some of our own Ospreys
and frag the place?"

Leviathan shuffled the photos and smirked as he pulled one
out. “Glad you reminded me, Fathom.”

He put the photo down. The man in the photo wore square-lens
sunglasses and had dirty blonde hair worn in a ponytail. Stubble decorated his
face below the mutton chops on his cheeks. A sneer curled his lips.

“This is Gristle, believed to be the number 2 man in the
Headhunters. He’s believed to be running the show after their number one guy
was captured by the Americans. His real name is Danimal Rogers. Born in Montego
Bay, Jamaica. Known to have worked up from a low-level thug to a mid-level
enforcer with gangs in Jamaica before moving to the US and working with various
gangs across the country before he was recruited into the Headhunters. His rap
sheet is longer than your arm; arms smuggling, narcotics smuggling, murder,
assault, illegal possession of firearms, drug dealing, tax evasion, driving
without a license, grand theft auto.”

“He’s an ugly sod, too,” Riptide put in.

The other Aquatroopers all laughed at that.

“He’s the reason we’re sending you in and not just having
someone like Tomcat drop a five-hundred pound care package of high ex on the
place. The Americans want him alive, preferably in one piece.” Leviathan passed
the photo to Shark. “Ugly as he is, memorise the face; if you see him in your
sights, try not to pull the trigger.”

Shark studied the face before passing the photo to Fathom.

“If you ask me, we ought to shoot him just for that
ponytail,” Shark commented.

Leviathan chuckled. “Regardless, we want him alive. Everyone
else in the camp is expendable,” he paused as the photo made its way around.
“We’ll drop you off one mile off the coast. You infiltrate via Stingray sea
sled.”

“Weapons?” asked Fathom, as he often did during mission
briefings.

“Suppressed weapons. You’ll need to take them down as
covertly as possible to avoid getting swarmed. MP5SWF for most of the team.
Who’s your sniper?” Leviathan asked.

“Me,” replied Manta, the Norwegian Aquatrooper.

“You’ll be interested to know we’ve got a Special Weapons
Force modified version of the Arctic Warfare sniper rifle. The first examples
went to SAS Force and Z Force, but Boffin’s boys finally delivered some to Q
Force.”

“Nice!” Manta commented.

“I’d also recommend that one of the squad takes an SWF
modified M4, to provide heavier support,” Leviathan said.

“I’ll do that,” Riptide put in quickly. “M4SWF with a 203
grenade launcher, thanks.”

“You did just hear him say ‘covert’ didn’t you?” asked Orca,
the German aquatrooper sarcastically.

“Yeah. But if things go pear-shaped, we might need the extra
‘oomph’ of a 203. There’s no such thing as too much firepower.”

Orca shook his head as he turned back to Leviathan.

“We’ll be on station in…” Leviathan paused to look at the
navigator, a Dutch lieutenant.

“Forty-six minutes,” the navigator replied, after glancing
at his watch.

“So, get geared up and ready,” Leviathan ordered.
“Dismissed.”

As the *Nautilus* arrived at the drop-off point, the
six Aquatroopers were standing in the modified submarine’s hangar bay. More
properly known as the dive chamber, the bay was part of the submarines hull,
fitted out to carry a Sea Lion submersible or Stingray sea-sleds. Large doors
in the sub’s spine could open up, allowing the smaller craft to deploy. The
Aquatroopers had sealed the watertight hatches behind themselves and geared up
in their black covert ops drysuits, instead of the normal bright yellow ‘high
visibility’ wetsuits they sometimes wore; closed-circuit breathing apparatus
which wouldn’t produce bubbles; flippers and waterproof bags carrying their
weapons and other gear.

Hatches opened and water poured into the dive chamber,
flooding the room, before the doors opened.

Over their radio headsets, the Aquatroopers heard the voice
of the submarine’s diving officer, “*Aquatroopers, clear to deploy.”*

The team took hold of their sea sleds, shoving themselves
upward with kicks against the deck, before starting the small crafts’ engines.

The six Stingrays moved quietly through the waters of the
Caribbean. Chugging along at ten knots, it took them nearly ten minutes to
cross the mile to the shoreline.

The six Aquatroopers grounded their Stingrays on the bottom,
before swimming up to the beach. Crawling out of the surf, the team peered
around in the darkness. No sentries or patrols were visible. They quickly
stripped off their flippers and closed-circuit breathing apparatus before
opening the bags to retrieve their weapons, helmets and night-vision goggles.

The team moved quietly up the beach on to the grass. Ahead
of them was the Headhunters’ encampment. The airstrip was to the left, the
buildings to the right.

Two machine-gun nests protected the end of the runway. No
one was visible in the nests. The team moved up, both nests were empty. C4
demolitions charges were placed on the guns, before Manta moved off toward the
wooden tower that apparently functioned as the control tower.

The sniper moved up carefully, finding the tower just as
deserted. He took up station in the tower, flipping his night-vision monocle
aside to use the sniper rifle’s attached scope.

“No sign of any sentries at the hangar,” he reported quietly
on the team’s encrypted radio channel. “I see machine-gun nests at the other
end of the runway. They look deserted too.”

“Copy,” Shark replied tersely, as the squad approached a
large warehouse-like building.

The team moved in through a side door. Inside the warehouse
were several large wooden crates Fathom found a crowbar and pried one of the
crates open. Packets of drugs filled the crate.

“Holy Mother of God, there must be a couple of million Marks
worth of drugs here,” Orca commented.

“I’ll say,” Fathom agreed. “Twelve crates, each crate…” he
tailed off, clearly doing the mathematics in his head. “I’d say probably four
million Marks worth. Or about eight million American Dollars, allowing for the
exchange rate.”

“Set the C4 charges,” Shark ordered. “It’s all going up in
flames.”

The team worked quickly to place C4 charges amongst the
crates with remote detonators set.

The Aquatroopers moved out of the warehouse and along to the
hangar next to it.

“You’re still clear,” Manta informed them as he scanned the
camp from the control tower. “I see sentries at the walled house. Some movement
at the canteen. Everything else is clear.”

The hangar stood empty, its doors open to the night air.
Heading along the side of the runway, the Aquatroopers came to three large fuel
tanks set off to the side of the hangar and runway. Riptide placed charges as
Orca jogged across to the two machine-gun nests at the end of the runway and
placed charges there.

The team moved onward, swinging around to the north of the camp
where several shipping containers sat. A swift search of them revealed most of
them to be empty.

Ahead of them sat what was clearly the bow of a ship, cut
off from the rest of the vessel and turned into a building. A quick check
revealed it be a storeroom, housing food and cooking supplies. Shark planted a
C4 charge in a machine-gun nest set between the storeroom and the containers.
The team moved back toward the coast, moving quietly between two more storage
rooms before they reached a barracks room, which was empty. They could hear the
loud rock music playing in the bar and canteen further to the west.

Across the ‘street’ from the barracks the team found the
Headhunters’ armoury. The team worked swiftly to rig demolitions charges to the
building and to booby-trap the doors. Anyone trying to enter would not live
long. Further along the pathway between the buildings they found the
Headhunters’ communications facility. That was a far more grandiose name than
it deserved; it was a shack with two radio sets inside, a tall antenna mast
sitting atop the building. Another C4 charge was placed.

Moving on, the Aquatroopers came to another machine-gun nest
and two buildings clearly made from the stern of a freighter. Oddly, the name
on the hull parts didn’t match that on the bow storeroom.

“*Hostiles approaching from the canteen,”* Manta
reported. “*Looks like twenty to thirty of them heading your way.”*

Shark looked at the others, they all looked tense, but
ready.

“Fathom, detonate the charges.”

Fathom pulled out the detonator. He hit the button;
explosions rocked the night.

“*That got their attention,”* Manta reported. “*Headhunters coming out of the canteen. The warehouse is on fire, as are the fuel tanks*.”

“Manta, start shooting anyone you can get a line on.
Everyone else, get ready,” Shark ordered.

The group moved swiftly back in the direction they’d come, along
the opposite side of the radio shack and the barracks building.

Shots rang out from two sentry posts on the walls of the
compound where Gristle’s home was. The fire from the radio shack cast enough
light for the Headhunters to see the team. Fathom and Riptide returned fire,
dropping the sentries.

A massive explosion rocked the night, a large fireball
rolling up into the sky.

“There goes the armoury,” Orca commented. Secondary
explosions confirmed his analysis.

“Aquatroopers,
get ready to defend yourselves, keep your eyes open. Fathom, watch our six.
Orca, cover our three, Riptide cover nine. Trident, on me.”

The five commandos moved into position, weapons at the
ready.

The team moved along the street toward another building.
Headhunters charged around the corner, some carrying knives, others with
machetes. Few carried firearms.

“Contact, right!” Orca yelled, seconds before opening fire.

Fathom and Shark pivoted to the right, opening fire. Trident
kept his attention ahead and Riptide kept his on the left.

All three Aquatroopers short several of the Headhunters
before they got close enough to be a threat. Fathom fired full-auto before
dropping to one knee.

“Changing, cover me!”

He reloaded as Shark and Orca kept up their fire with short
bursts.

As Fathom moved back to both feet and began fire
semi-automatic bursts, Shark dropped to one knee.

“I’m reloading!”

Barely had he reloaded before Orca also switched magazines.
A few bullets whistled past as the Headhunters with pistols returned fire.

“Fathom, cover nine o’clock. Riptide, move to three and drop
some frags on them!”

The two British commandos easily swapped places, Riptide
changing grip on his M4 to fire the M203 grenade launcher.

The grenade blew a hole in the Headhunters’ ranks as they
began to run. Riptide swiftly reloaded and fired again.

“Contact!” Trident called out. He opened fire, dropping
several Headhunters in seconds.

Shark turned back toward the team’s original direction and
began firing to support him.

“We’re getting pinned down here,” Orca pointed out.

“I know. Move up, we’re already pushing them back,” Shark
answered.

“Moving, watch your fire!” Orca called out. He ran to the
corner of the building to the left. Fathom followed, moving to the building on
the right.

Shark and Trident joined them moments later, followed by
Riptide.

“Clear left,” Orca reported.

“Clear right,” Fathom replied.

“Move up, head left toward the compound,” Shark ordered.

The five commandos moved out, running through the darkness
at full speed.

Shark pulled his last demolitions charge from his bag, set
it to a timed countdown and then threw it at the compound wall.

“Fire in the hole!” he hollered.

The Aquatroopers all dropped to the their knees and covered
their heads as the charge hit the wall and detonated.

Rubble from the wall rained down in the compound, dust
obscured the hole in the wall.

“Move! Move! Move!” Shark barked. The Aquatroopers leaped
through the hole, one after another.

Their night-vision gear allowed them to see the Headhunters
scattered around the garden inside the compound. Several were dead. Some were
badly injured. Those furthest from the explosion were doubled over, coughing
from the dust.

The Aquatroopers ran past them, leaving them behind.

“Riptide, take out that window!” Shark snapped.

The other commando nodded and pulled out a shaped charge; he
slapped it on to the window, using a sticky pad. The charge detonated, blowing
in the window and its frame.

Fathom vaulted through the blown in window first, the room
inside was empty.

“Clear!” he called. Riptide, Trident and Shark followed him
in, with Orca bringing up the rear.

The team moved quickly toward the door leading out of the
room. Trident took the lead, heading out into a hallway, his gun up and ready.

“Move up,” he called, quietly. The others followed him out
into the hall. Running footsteps could be heard above them, then a shout.

“You and you, secure Gristle in the safe room. The rest of
you, with me!”

The Aquatroopers quickly headed along the hall to the
staircase, four Headhunter Stormtroopers were coming down the stairs.

They barely had a chance to spot the black-clad commandos
before they were cut down.

“Upstairs, fast!” Shark said. The team sprinted up the
wooden stairs two at a time.

Orca tried a door. Unlocked, it led into an empty bedroom.
Riptide tried another. Another bedroom. On the King-size bed were two
half-naked, clearly terrified women. Riptide put a finger to his lips and
backed out. Thankfully neither of them screamed.

Shark went to try another door, before realising it was the
only one on the floor with a lock.

He raised a clenched fist, then pointed to Trident. The
Spaniard pulled out a demolitions charge and moved to place it on the door.

Shark and Fathom moved to the right side of the door. Orca
moved to the left. Riptide positioned himself to the right of the door, but
facing it from a few feet away. He had the M203 aimed at the door.

Trident moved to Orca’s side, he looked across to Shark.

“Blow it.”

Trident hit the detonator he held and the door exploded
inward in a shower of wooden splinters.

Riptide fired a grenade in through the smoking doorway.
Seconds later, a thunderous bang and a blinding flash filled the room.

Shark and Fathom charged into the room, weapons up. Orca and
Trident followed.

Six Headhunter Stormtroopers were lying on the floor, dazed
and trying to get up. Gristle was sprawled across the desk. Orca and Trident
grabbed him and began dragging him clear of the room.

The other Aquatroopers followed them out. Riptide paused to
pull a grenade from his satchel, pull the pin and toss it over his shoulder
before running down the stairs. The explosion shook the house.

Headhunters were swarming toward the front doors of the
house, weapons ready. They stopped as they saw the Aquatroopers coming out the
door, with Gristle held between them.

“Back off or we’ll blow his head off!” Shark shouted. He
dropped his MP5SWF on its sling and drew his sidearm and jammed it against
Gristle’s head.

The Headhunters began to back away, still with their weapons
up. The Aquatroopers moved slowly and carefully across the compound to the main
gates.

*“Aquatroopers, this is Manta. I just radioed a request for air support to Leviathan. We have two Ospreys inbound out of Jamaica. ETA twenty minutes. A Black Hawk from the US Navy in Puerto Rico is also inbound for extraction. Their ETA is fifteen minutes*.”

Shark looked around at the crowd moving in a ring around the
Aquatroopers. He wondered if they had fifteen minutes.

Nonetheless, the team kept moving, heading out the main
gate, and around the side of the camp, toward the beach. The Headhunters
continued to move around them, both sides, behind and ahead, keeping three feet
away.

“*This is Hammer 2-1 to Q Force assault team, we’re two* minutes out. Mark the LZ with strobe*.”* *The American voice on the radio channel sounded calm, but Shark could tell there was an element of tension*
present too.

Riptide hit his radio’s transmit button. “2-1 this is Aqua 4, we’re surrounded by hostiles and attempting to move to a suitable extraction point. Any help in thinning out enemy would be appreciated.”

“*2-1 unable at this time. We are unarmed. Stand by for* low-level show of force by inbound fast-movers*,”* *replied the pilot*.

Seconds later, the two modified F/A-18s known as Ospreys
screamed overhead at only five hundred feet, firing their flares.

The deafening roar of their twin jet engines was added to by the flares launching which sounded like rapid gunshots. The flares burned
brightly overhead.

Several of the Headhunters panicked and ran. Others dropped
to their knees, clutching their ears.

The Aquatroopers took advantage of the confusion. Shark and
Fathom grabbed Gristle’s arms and dragged him off his feet and ran toward the
end of the runway. Riptide and Trident opened fire into the mass of
Headhunters, liberally spraying them with automatic fire, whilst Orca threw his
remaining stun grenades.

The Black Hawk roared in at low-level over the island. It
landed as the Ospreys screamed past a second time.

Shark threw Gristle into the Black Hawk, before punching him
unconscious with a single blow. He dragged the Headhunters leader into a seat
and strapped him in as Riptide and Fathom fired at the Headhunters, allowing
Manta, Orca and Trident to scramble aboard. The two former SBS commandos
climbed aboard last.

The Black Hawk lifted clear and sped out to sea. The Ospreys
came back for a third pass, this time opening fire with their 20mm M61 guns.

As the Black Hawk headed out to sea, Nueva Galician Defence
Force Hueys began to head toward the camp.

“I just got a message from Leviathan,” Shark informed the
others. “We’re to hand laughing boy here over to the US authorities in Puerto
Rico. The NGDF are going to take in the surviving Headhunters. He called them
after calling in our air support.”

The Frenchman looked around the group, smiling, “Our
extraction may not have gone to plan, but job well done mes amis.”

### Notes

This story was another of my one-offs, written to give the Q-Force Aquatroopers an outing and to use the Headhunters in a story against Action Force. I went through a number of attempts to find a suitable location, using various Caribbean islands, before resorting to creating Nueva Galicia. The Nautilus submarine is based on a custom by BFTB forum member 'Jimbo', whilst the Osprey jets are based on a custom by BFTB member 'Red Baron'.