05-30-2014, 11:46 PM
The assault team executed the move off the airport brilliantly. Using buses, service vehicles, and emergency vehicles seized from the airport, they left the Firebase crew behind, hidden by the flames and smoke of burning planes and assumed either departed with the evacuation flights or more likely embedded with the assault group convoy.
Legionnaires ran on foot, displaying the benefits of a tireless training regime; even weighed down by their outdated body armour, kit, and weapons, they kept up with the vehicles admirably.
The entire plan hinged on how well executed the next phase went. A surge of rebels had fallen upon them as the planes full of CCD troops and citizens cleared the runway and flew north towards safer territory, leaving the Legionnaires of the assault group to fight their way out and make a break towards the harbour, most specifically the CCD naval port that sat far to the south west.
Unknown to the rebels, the evacuation plans there had gone better then they had hoped; the buildings were rigged to blow, and would be detonated before the insurgents could glean anything of use from the armouries or offices.
They broke through the perimeter fence of King Abdulaziz International Airport and onto Highway 271, crashed through the meridian and plowed through a hastily assembled barricade of burning tires and cars that choked the entrance to Assalam street, avoiding the onramps to the overpass where the convoy would be most easily boxed in.
The lead vehicle, a heavy firetruck, easily smashed an abandoned, burned out bus from the road before slowing down again so as not to outpace the Legionnaires stuck running on foot along side the myriad of random vehicles that had been pressed into service.
Extremists still dotted that part of the city in small groups, far from any site of ongoing fighting and seeking easier prey. Prey found at CCD funded schools or 'foreign' businesses that insulted 'good Muslim' sensibilities. Those groups proved the most pressing threat to the Legionnaire column; they hadn't expended much effort or ammunition in the fighting, as they had blatantly broken away from the 'righteous cause' of their brethren that had been battling at the airport all day.
The lead firetruck was struck suddenly by an RPG launched from the roof of a Fuddruckers restaurant on the corner of a dominant round-about. But their luck held out; the RPG didn't have enough distance to travel before it hit the firetruck, and so didn't arm. The round penetrated the thin metal of the reservoir, and a great wave of fire extinguishing chemicals rushed out across the road. Legionnaires opened fire on the low-walled roof of the restaurant, something that became a prevailing theme as the convoy turned south onto King Abdul Aziz Road.
A major thoroughfare, King Abdul Aziz Road would carry them due south to the naval port, their most logical destination. A token CCD rear-guard continued to fight there, barely holding waves of rebels at bay, obviously awaiting the arrival of the Legionnaires to make good their escape by sea.
Word seemed to spread quickly among the nebulous command structure of the insurgency. They moved en-masse from the abandoned airport and other parts of the city, flocking to crush the last group of organized resistance in the city, a group that had so thoroughly embarrassed them at the airport. Word had spread quickly of the Legionnaire's counter-attack and rescue of the hundreds of innocents trapped there, and holy vengeance was screamed for in the name of their god.
The road south was not as crowded with abandoned vehicles as they had expected; it was only recently that Jacques had managed to t-up with the CCD's Vega representative, and he still struggled to gain access to satellites and the CCD military's radio channels. But despite the clear road ahead of them, the Legion convoy did not move any faster; in fact, they slowed, giving the dismounted men a chance to catch their breath in the short reprieve they were given.
Their travel south was cut short as they arrived at the dark edifice of the Yusr International School. The convoy brought their vehicles in close to the school's perimeter, and eight-man sections of Legionnaires quickly fanned out to secure the area against the rapidly approaching masses of rebel fighters, while other teams fanned out into the school proper searching for students.
And during it all, a group of Legionnaires snuck west into the vehicle yards of Alzamil Heavy Industries LTD. By the time the search parties began leading out some dozens of students hiding in the school, the surrounding area was peppered with the barks and sputters of automatic weapons fire. The flash and smoking trails of RPGs struck the Legion's seized vehicles, and men screamed in pain or barked ferocious orders.
The Legionnaires chose their shots rather then the spray-and-pray of the untrained rebels, but even the untrained masses of attackers got lucky occasionally. Legion men were struck and wounded, or less frequently killed, by enemy fire. The students were panicked, and corralled into the shadow of safety provided by the airport vehicles.
But then things changed, again in the favour of the Legion. Heavy equipment seized from the Alzamil Heavy Industries LTD yard came crashing through the thin concrete wall that surrounded their vehicle compound. A pair of large dozers and a row of thick-sided dumptrucks, from which Legionnaires fired on the rebels with the advantage of height and hard-sided cover.
The rebels were broken and forced back for a time, and the Legionnaires used the fresh respite to load the students and their wounded into the newly seized trucks before continuing south.
Another ambush awaited them; less ambush then chance-meeting, and the Legionnaires were able to fight through mostly thanks to the enemy's lack of preparation.
The road to the naval yards was open to them now, but satellite imagery showed armed crowds moving to cut them off. The movement of the rebels was slow and cumbersome, but they were simply too many to keep ahead of all of them. Thousands of hostile fighters regrouped and swept towards the south-west corner of the city, intent to crush the resistance at the naval port and the venomous thorn that was the Legion convoy.
They continued south, their travel intentionally slowed to assure the enemy would continue to swarm towards them, and, most importantly, away from the airport. And then it was time for the next phase of their plan. The rebels had responded as Jacques had expected; slow and cumbersome, with a momentum that was hard to control and coordinate.
The Landwarriors of the Legionnaires tracked markers Jacques laid out for them based on his view from the CCD satellites. Enemy movement, buildings of interest, and of course their intended route of travel. A route that saw them take a sudden, aggressive turn east onto Hira Street, a path that would lead them towards Al-Salam hospital and the known location of their VIPs.
It was at that turn that the first of the Legion's heroic stands were struck.
-----
Sergant Johnathon Wilks fell back against the hood of an abandoned taxi, gripping his rifle tightly to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. He was exhausted, barely able to take in a breath, and his chest felt as if it were on fire. His squad of eight was down to just the four of them, and one quick glance told him they were in the same state as he.
One of the medics knelt next to him as the trucks rumbled past, crushing abandoned vehicles, rounds ricocheting harmlessly off the thick metal sides, which muffled the panicked yells and frightened screams of the civilians hidden within.
He studied the HUD of his Landwarriors a moment, then grimaced at a sharp stab of pain in his side, realizing the medic was moving with a sense of urgency, readying one of his last applications of QuickClot. Johnathon tuned in to the situation again and looked down, realizing that the heavy armour plate of his vest was cracked, the fabric stained red around a gapping hole. He'd been shot. "Bad, is it?"
The medic nodded grimly, and hesitated from tearing the package open. They shared a moment's understanding, and Johnathon flashed a grim smile. "Keep it, bone-saw."
He waved the medic away and glanced at his men, then jerked his head onwards in the direction of the departing trucks. They understood well, and two moved to catch up at a laboured sprint, rifles up and at the ready as they peppered the flanking rooftops, forcing enemy shooters away from the edges.
The other two men stayed with him; both were too badly hurt to carry on, and a quick scan of his area revealed four others in the same state. "Capitan Hennings. Rear guard. We'll buy you some time."
Riding in the lead-most vehicle, the Capitain studied the map that appeared on his HUD then nodded, "Understood, Sergeant. The Legion dies."
"It does not surrender. God speed, Sir."
The wounded pulled their dog tags and handed them to the medics or stragglers who continued after the convoy, heading towards the distant hospital. Three kilometers had never seemed so far. Then the last vehicle passed, and Johnathon and his men took cover as best they could, weapons leveled down the broad street.
A great mob approached, and the Legion had been lucky so far that no seized military vehicles had appeared among their ranks. It was surely just a matter of time before those began to arrive, but surprise and deception had kept them and their charges one step ahead of the extremists so far.
He took a deep breath, noticing now how...wet...his exhale felt. Eyes narrowed and he began to pick out priority targets in the approaching crowd. They still had a lot to learn; intent to chase hot on the heels of the departing convoy, they rushed to catch up to the fleeing Legion convoy, unaware of the thin line of stragglers that awaited them.
There were always the easy targets...none carried radios; they hadn't the equipment nor means to employ what they may have captured. They had no understanding of how the cryptography worked, and the CCD would have switched channels already. But they did carry weapons of interest, and they did tend to lead from the front...
Targets were marked, and the mob drew closer. Maybe it wasn't right to call them a mob; they were organized to some degree at least, but those leading seemed to be of many minds of how to do so. A thought for another day...well, not for himself. For others. The CCD. The Legion would wipe it's hands clear of this place long before his body had grown cold, God willing.
"Nous sommes des dégourdis, nous sommes des lascars,
Des types pas ordinaires,
Nous avons souvent notre cafard,
Nous sommes des Légionnaires!"
They opened fire, their first barrage flying true. Men carrying RPGs or captured machineguns dropped to the earth. Elder men, those who moved with more certainty then the rest, were more vocal, dropped too. And then the mob returned fire, charging the thin line intent to close the distance and see the infidels destroyed.
They charged, and the thin line of Legionnaires took up their song, flipping from repetition to fully automatic. Short, controlled bursts walked across the rushing crowd, even as they returned fire. The heavier calibre rounds of the insurectionist Kalishnikovs punched worrying holes into the Legionnaires' thin cover.
"Au Tonkin, la Légion immortelle
A Tuyen-Quang illustra notre Drapeau.
Héros de Camerone et frères modèles
Dormez en paix dans vos tombeaux!"
Johnathon dropped an empty magazine from his rifle, and ducked his head lower as he fought out his last and slapped it into place. A glance left and right saw one of his men on their back, no longer moving. Others staggered their fire, reloading in an organized series, and he painfully scurried back to a fresh piece of cover before popping up to resume firing.
"Tiens, voilà du boudin, voilà du boudin, voilà du boudin
Pour les Alsaciens, les Suisses et les Lorrains.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Ce sont des tireurs au cul.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Ce sont des tireurs au cul!"
The crowd faltered under the hail of fire and began to scatter, but it was too organized. Some took cover, keeping the Legionnaires pinned while others vanished into alleys and side-streets. They had indeed been learning...
"Nos anciens ont su mourir
Pour la gloire de la Légion.
Nous saurons bien tous périr
Suivant la tradition!"
His last magazine ran dry and he tore his bayonet free before dropping it as his side. His breath was harder to draw, and his vision was blurring dangerously. So this was what it felt like to die, was it? He remembered the civilians loaded in the trucks at his back, and glared at the Huns to his front. If this was what it felt like to die, then it was a wonder any feared it. He'd never been more alive. Another of his men fell, hit as he fell back to another parked vehicle, and was hit again and again as he tried to crawl onward.
"Au cours de nos campagnes lointaines,
Affrontant la fièvre et le feu,
Oublions avec nos peines,
La mort qui nous oublie si peu.
Nous la Légion!"
Their song was lost in the roar of fire now, sung by too few throats. But another pipped up over their radios, and with it came a fresh wave of resolve. The CEO was watching.
"Tiens, voilà du boudin, voilà du boudin, voilà du boudin
Pour les Alsaciens, les Suisses et les Lorrains.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Ce sont des tireurs au cul.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Ce sont des tireurs au cul!"
Fire erupted from behind now; they weren't surprised by it. Those that had fled into the side streets had circled, through back alleys and compound yards, and now bore down on the remaining Legionnaires with a poisoning fury. Another of his men died in that sudden hail, and John stood defiantly, pistol and bayonet in hand as those Holy Soldiers fell upon him.
Pistol barked and a bearded man's face turned red and dark as he dropped to the earth. Again, and another staggered as a round caught him in the shoulder. Johnathon fired again, dropping the wounded man to the earth, tripping a third over the body. Then they were on him. Bayonet slashed, embedding deep into the throat of another man, and a Kalishnikov fell heavily on his extended arm. Bone snapped and his bayonet was lost as his limb fell uselessly to his side. The club-wielder died next, another two rounds into his chest.
More. Too many. They swarmed his men, even as they died to bayonet and rifle fire, and their rifles, devoid of ammunition or forgotten as such in their anger, fell upon his men like crude iron clubs. They were pulled to the ground, tackled from their feet, too wounded and exhausted to resist any longer, and they died. They tackled Johnathon to the earth, and his chest exploded in pain. His pistol was dropped, knocked free, but somehow he pulled his arm free and grabbed at his vest. A grenade, his last, found it's way to his hand, and he rolled to his knees, throwing his assailant free.
A yell of pain as another kicked him in the ribs, another rifle splintered his shoulder blade. "Ad unum!"
he yelled through gritted teeth, barely heard over the victorious cries of the crowd. A weapon fired, and his leg gave free as a round punched through his hip, and he rolled to his back to glare up at his attackers, a red-toothed, defiant grin meeting them as he thrust the grenade into the air above his head.
"Ad unum."
spoke a voice quietly in his radio. A voice thick with pride and sorrow. The grenade detonated.
-----
The thin line at their backs faltered the advance of the rebels after the Legionnaire convoy. They picked up the pace, using every second their brothers could buy them to close upon the hospital, and were met by surprisingly little resistance as they neared and surrounded the hospital.
Satellite imagery showed a group of enemy fighters fleeing the area, moving as if they expected to be chased. Likely an enemy commander and his bodyguard had been sited at the hospital. It made sense; the building held a commanding position at a central location of the city, and had radios in the forms of ambulances and hand-helds used by paramedics. Those had been seeded out to some bands of rebel fighters to aid in their otherwise lacking means of communication.
Again teams of Legionnaires fanned out into the surrounding area, setting up a thin perimeter to hold the rapidly approaching waves of rebels at bay while other teams stormed the hospital proper, only to learn that not all the enemy fighters had fled.
There was a firefight in the foyer; the Legionnaires had entered with some hopes of sparing the building from violence, but a group of wounded enemy fighters had found the strength for one last stand. Two Legionnaires died in the entryway before those few rebels were done away with.
Of course, that led to a panic in the hospital, as Legionnaires thundered in. All the teams were tasked to the same priority; the VIPs, Michael and Torri, but they also sought out any who sought to escape the nightmare that DV had been plunged into.
There were too many wounded for them to evacuate, and thus far the hospital appeared to have been treated as neutral ground; civilians as well as rebels received treatment, although with the enemy commander having fled the area, that was likely to change when the Legionnaires departed. But there was little they could do; they simply hadn't the time or resources to evacuate entirely or secure indefinitely.
Making use of HUD and tracking signals on Michael and Torri, a team of eight Legionnaires quickly closed on their position. The Legion men were relieved that their two VIPs were both moving (a sign they were alive) and together, and they quickly found the abandoned ward the pair had stopped in.
Sounds of weapons fire outside the hospital quickly spiked as the rebels drew nearer and ran into the perimeter the Legionnaires had established. Aided by satellite imagery, they were able to position themselves to maximum effect, unlike the rebels who approached like an unchecked tide which quickly broke on the Legion rifles.
The enemy halted at first, and broke contact, falling back out of sight of the Legion guns. They began to surge and swell, as groups began to catch up to their brethren around the hospital. Hundreds turned to thousands as the Legion scoured the hospital, evacuating all who desired to flee under the dubious safety the Legionnaires could offer.
A senior caporale of the Legion led the charge through the swinging ward doors into the room Michael and Torri had taken shelter. Their weapons were held at the ready and they came in expecting to find the pair in the unwanted company of the rebels, that they were held prisoner.
"Légion Première! We're here to get you out of here."
Legionnaires ran on foot, displaying the benefits of a tireless training regime; even weighed down by their outdated body armour, kit, and weapons, they kept up with the vehicles admirably.
The entire plan hinged on how well executed the next phase went. A surge of rebels had fallen upon them as the planes full of CCD troops and citizens cleared the runway and flew north towards safer territory, leaving the Legionnaires of the assault group to fight their way out and make a break towards the harbour, most specifically the CCD naval port that sat far to the south west.
Unknown to the rebels, the evacuation plans there had gone better then they had hoped; the buildings were rigged to blow, and would be detonated before the insurgents could glean anything of use from the armouries or offices.
They broke through the perimeter fence of King Abdulaziz International Airport and onto Highway 271, crashed through the meridian and plowed through a hastily assembled barricade of burning tires and cars that choked the entrance to Assalam street, avoiding the onramps to the overpass where the convoy would be most easily boxed in.
The lead vehicle, a heavy firetruck, easily smashed an abandoned, burned out bus from the road before slowing down again so as not to outpace the Legionnaires stuck running on foot along side the myriad of random vehicles that had been pressed into service.
Extremists still dotted that part of the city in small groups, far from any site of ongoing fighting and seeking easier prey. Prey found at CCD funded schools or 'foreign' businesses that insulted 'good Muslim' sensibilities. Those groups proved the most pressing threat to the Legionnaire column; they hadn't expended much effort or ammunition in the fighting, as they had blatantly broken away from the 'righteous cause' of their brethren that had been battling at the airport all day.
The lead firetruck was struck suddenly by an RPG launched from the roof of a Fuddruckers restaurant on the corner of a dominant round-about. But their luck held out; the RPG didn't have enough distance to travel before it hit the firetruck, and so didn't arm. The round penetrated the thin metal of the reservoir, and a great wave of fire extinguishing chemicals rushed out across the road. Legionnaires opened fire on the low-walled roof of the restaurant, something that became a prevailing theme as the convoy turned south onto King Abdul Aziz Road.
A major thoroughfare, King Abdul Aziz Road would carry them due south to the naval port, their most logical destination. A token CCD rear-guard continued to fight there, barely holding waves of rebels at bay, obviously awaiting the arrival of the Legionnaires to make good their escape by sea.
Word seemed to spread quickly among the nebulous command structure of the insurgency. They moved en-masse from the abandoned airport and other parts of the city, flocking to crush the last group of organized resistance in the city, a group that had so thoroughly embarrassed them at the airport. Word had spread quickly of the Legionnaire's counter-attack and rescue of the hundreds of innocents trapped there, and holy vengeance was screamed for in the name of their god.
The road south was not as crowded with abandoned vehicles as they had expected; it was only recently that Jacques had managed to t-up with the CCD's Vega representative, and he still struggled to gain access to satellites and the CCD military's radio channels. But despite the clear road ahead of them, the Legion convoy did not move any faster; in fact, they slowed, giving the dismounted men a chance to catch their breath in the short reprieve they were given.
Their travel south was cut short as they arrived at the dark edifice of the Yusr International School. The convoy brought their vehicles in close to the school's perimeter, and eight-man sections of Legionnaires quickly fanned out to secure the area against the rapidly approaching masses of rebel fighters, while other teams fanned out into the school proper searching for students.
And during it all, a group of Legionnaires snuck west into the vehicle yards of Alzamil Heavy Industries LTD. By the time the search parties began leading out some dozens of students hiding in the school, the surrounding area was peppered with the barks and sputters of automatic weapons fire. The flash and smoking trails of RPGs struck the Legion's seized vehicles, and men screamed in pain or barked ferocious orders.
The Legionnaires chose their shots rather then the spray-and-pray of the untrained rebels, but even the untrained masses of attackers got lucky occasionally. Legion men were struck and wounded, or less frequently killed, by enemy fire. The students were panicked, and corralled into the shadow of safety provided by the airport vehicles.
But then things changed, again in the favour of the Legion. Heavy equipment seized from the Alzamil Heavy Industries LTD yard came crashing through the thin concrete wall that surrounded their vehicle compound. A pair of large dozers and a row of thick-sided dumptrucks, from which Legionnaires fired on the rebels with the advantage of height and hard-sided cover.
The rebels were broken and forced back for a time, and the Legionnaires used the fresh respite to load the students and their wounded into the newly seized trucks before continuing south.
Another ambush awaited them; less ambush then chance-meeting, and the Legionnaires were able to fight through mostly thanks to the enemy's lack of preparation.
The road to the naval yards was open to them now, but satellite imagery showed armed crowds moving to cut them off. The movement of the rebels was slow and cumbersome, but they were simply too many to keep ahead of all of them. Thousands of hostile fighters regrouped and swept towards the south-west corner of the city, intent to crush the resistance at the naval port and the venomous thorn that was the Legion convoy.
They continued south, their travel intentionally slowed to assure the enemy would continue to swarm towards them, and, most importantly, away from the airport. And then it was time for the next phase of their plan. The rebels had responded as Jacques had expected; slow and cumbersome, with a momentum that was hard to control and coordinate.
The Landwarriors of the Legionnaires tracked markers Jacques laid out for them based on his view from the CCD satellites. Enemy movement, buildings of interest, and of course their intended route of travel. A route that saw them take a sudden, aggressive turn east onto Hira Street, a path that would lead them towards Al-Salam hospital and the known location of their VIPs.
It was at that turn that the first of the Legion's heroic stands were struck.
-----
Sergant Johnathon Wilks fell back against the hood of an abandoned taxi, gripping his rifle tightly to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. He was exhausted, barely able to take in a breath, and his chest felt as if it were on fire. His squad of eight was down to just the four of them, and one quick glance told him they were in the same state as he.
One of the medics knelt next to him as the trucks rumbled past, crushing abandoned vehicles, rounds ricocheting harmlessly off the thick metal sides, which muffled the panicked yells and frightened screams of the civilians hidden within.
He studied the HUD of his Landwarriors a moment, then grimaced at a sharp stab of pain in his side, realizing the medic was moving with a sense of urgency, readying one of his last applications of QuickClot. Johnathon tuned in to the situation again and looked down, realizing that the heavy armour plate of his vest was cracked, the fabric stained red around a gapping hole. He'd been shot. "Bad, is it?"
The medic nodded grimly, and hesitated from tearing the package open. They shared a moment's understanding, and Johnathon flashed a grim smile. "Keep it, bone-saw."
He waved the medic away and glanced at his men, then jerked his head onwards in the direction of the departing trucks. They understood well, and two moved to catch up at a laboured sprint, rifles up and at the ready as they peppered the flanking rooftops, forcing enemy shooters away from the edges.
The other two men stayed with him; both were too badly hurt to carry on, and a quick scan of his area revealed four others in the same state. "Capitan Hennings. Rear guard. We'll buy you some time."
Riding in the lead-most vehicle, the Capitain studied the map that appeared on his HUD then nodded, "Understood, Sergeant. The Legion dies."
"It does not surrender. God speed, Sir."
The wounded pulled their dog tags and handed them to the medics or stragglers who continued after the convoy, heading towards the distant hospital. Three kilometers had never seemed so far. Then the last vehicle passed, and Johnathon and his men took cover as best they could, weapons leveled down the broad street.
A great mob approached, and the Legion had been lucky so far that no seized military vehicles had appeared among their ranks. It was surely just a matter of time before those began to arrive, but surprise and deception had kept them and their charges one step ahead of the extremists so far.
He took a deep breath, noticing now how...wet...his exhale felt. Eyes narrowed and he began to pick out priority targets in the approaching crowd. They still had a lot to learn; intent to chase hot on the heels of the departing convoy, they rushed to catch up to the fleeing Legion convoy, unaware of the thin line of stragglers that awaited them.
There were always the easy targets...none carried radios; they hadn't the equipment nor means to employ what they may have captured. They had no understanding of how the cryptography worked, and the CCD would have switched channels already. But they did carry weapons of interest, and they did tend to lead from the front...
Targets were marked, and the mob drew closer. Maybe it wasn't right to call them a mob; they were organized to some degree at least, but those leading seemed to be of many minds of how to do so. A thought for another day...well, not for himself. For others. The CCD. The Legion would wipe it's hands clear of this place long before his body had grown cold, God willing.
"Nous sommes des dégourdis, nous sommes des lascars,
Des types pas ordinaires,
Nous avons souvent notre cafard,
Nous sommes des Légionnaires!"
They opened fire, their first barrage flying true. Men carrying RPGs or captured machineguns dropped to the earth. Elder men, those who moved with more certainty then the rest, were more vocal, dropped too. And then the mob returned fire, charging the thin line intent to close the distance and see the infidels destroyed.
They charged, and the thin line of Legionnaires took up their song, flipping from repetition to fully automatic. Short, controlled bursts walked across the rushing crowd, even as they returned fire. The heavier calibre rounds of the insurectionist Kalishnikovs punched worrying holes into the Legionnaires' thin cover.
"Au Tonkin, la Légion immortelle
A Tuyen-Quang illustra notre Drapeau.
Héros de Camerone et frères modèles
Dormez en paix dans vos tombeaux!"
Johnathon dropped an empty magazine from his rifle, and ducked his head lower as he fought out his last and slapped it into place. A glance left and right saw one of his men on their back, no longer moving. Others staggered their fire, reloading in an organized series, and he painfully scurried back to a fresh piece of cover before popping up to resume firing.
"Tiens, voilà du boudin, voilà du boudin, voilà du boudin
Pour les Alsaciens, les Suisses et les Lorrains.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Ce sont des tireurs au cul.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Ce sont des tireurs au cul!"
The crowd faltered under the hail of fire and began to scatter, but it was too organized. Some took cover, keeping the Legionnaires pinned while others vanished into alleys and side-streets. They had indeed been learning...
"Nos anciens ont su mourir
Pour la gloire de la Légion.
Nous saurons bien tous périr
Suivant la tradition!"
His last magazine ran dry and he tore his bayonet free before dropping it as his side. His breath was harder to draw, and his vision was blurring dangerously. So this was what it felt like to die, was it? He remembered the civilians loaded in the trucks at his back, and glared at the Huns to his front. If this was what it felt like to die, then it was a wonder any feared it. He'd never been more alive. Another of his men fell, hit as he fell back to another parked vehicle, and was hit again and again as he tried to crawl onward.
"Au cours de nos campagnes lointaines,
Affrontant la fièvre et le feu,
Oublions avec nos peines,
La mort qui nous oublie si peu.
Nous la Légion!"
Their song was lost in the roar of fire now, sung by too few throats. But another pipped up over their radios, and with it came a fresh wave of resolve. The CEO was watching.
"Tiens, voilà du boudin, voilà du boudin, voilà du boudin
Pour les Alsaciens, les Suisses et les Lorrains.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Ce sont des tireurs au cul.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Pour les Belges y en a plus.
Ce sont des tireurs au cul!"
Fire erupted from behind now; they weren't surprised by it. Those that had fled into the side streets had circled, through back alleys and compound yards, and now bore down on the remaining Legionnaires with a poisoning fury. Another of his men died in that sudden hail, and John stood defiantly, pistol and bayonet in hand as those Holy Soldiers fell upon him.
Pistol barked and a bearded man's face turned red and dark as he dropped to the earth. Again, and another staggered as a round caught him in the shoulder. Johnathon fired again, dropping the wounded man to the earth, tripping a third over the body. Then they were on him. Bayonet slashed, embedding deep into the throat of another man, and a Kalishnikov fell heavily on his extended arm. Bone snapped and his bayonet was lost as his limb fell uselessly to his side. The club-wielder died next, another two rounds into his chest.
More. Too many. They swarmed his men, even as they died to bayonet and rifle fire, and their rifles, devoid of ammunition or forgotten as such in their anger, fell upon his men like crude iron clubs. They were pulled to the ground, tackled from their feet, too wounded and exhausted to resist any longer, and they died. They tackled Johnathon to the earth, and his chest exploded in pain. His pistol was dropped, knocked free, but somehow he pulled his arm free and grabbed at his vest. A grenade, his last, found it's way to his hand, and he rolled to his knees, throwing his assailant free.
A yell of pain as another kicked him in the ribs, another rifle splintered his shoulder blade. "Ad unum!"
he yelled through gritted teeth, barely heard over the victorious cries of the crowd. A weapon fired, and his leg gave free as a round punched through his hip, and he rolled to his back to glare up at his attackers, a red-toothed, defiant grin meeting them as he thrust the grenade into the air above his head.
"Ad unum."
spoke a voice quietly in his radio. A voice thick with pride and sorrow. The grenade detonated.
-----
The thin line at their backs faltered the advance of the rebels after the Legionnaire convoy. They picked up the pace, using every second their brothers could buy them to close upon the hospital, and were met by surprisingly little resistance as they neared and surrounded the hospital.
Satellite imagery showed a group of enemy fighters fleeing the area, moving as if they expected to be chased. Likely an enemy commander and his bodyguard had been sited at the hospital. It made sense; the building held a commanding position at a central location of the city, and had radios in the forms of ambulances and hand-helds used by paramedics. Those had been seeded out to some bands of rebel fighters to aid in their otherwise lacking means of communication.
Again teams of Legionnaires fanned out into the surrounding area, setting up a thin perimeter to hold the rapidly approaching waves of rebels at bay while other teams stormed the hospital proper, only to learn that not all the enemy fighters had fled.
There was a firefight in the foyer; the Legionnaires had entered with some hopes of sparing the building from violence, but a group of wounded enemy fighters had found the strength for one last stand. Two Legionnaires died in the entryway before those few rebels were done away with.
Of course, that led to a panic in the hospital, as Legionnaires thundered in. All the teams were tasked to the same priority; the VIPs, Michael and Torri, but they also sought out any who sought to escape the nightmare that DV had been plunged into.
There were too many wounded for them to evacuate, and thus far the hospital appeared to have been treated as neutral ground; civilians as well as rebels received treatment, although with the enemy commander having fled the area, that was likely to change when the Legionnaires departed. But there was little they could do; they simply hadn't the time or resources to evacuate entirely or secure indefinitely.
Making use of HUD and tracking signals on Michael and Torri, a team of eight Legionnaires quickly closed on their position. The Legion men were relieved that their two VIPs were both moving (a sign they were alive) and together, and they quickly found the abandoned ward the pair had stopped in.
Sounds of weapons fire outside the hospital quickly spiked as the rebels drew nearer and ran into the perimeter the Legionnaires had established. Aided by satellite imagery, they were able to position themselves to maximum effect, unlike the rebels who approached like an unchecked tide which quickly broke on the Legion rifles.
The enemy halted at first, and broke contact, falling back out of sight of the Legion guns. They began to surge and swell, as groups began to catch up to their brethren around the hospital. Hundreds turned to thousands as the Legion scoured the hospital, evacuating all who desired to flee under the dubious safety the Legionnaires could offer.
A senior caporale of the Legion led the charge through the swinging ward doors into the room Michael and Torri had taken shelter. Their weapons were held at the ready and they came in expecting to find the pair in the unwanted company of the rebels, that they were held prisoner.
"Légion Première! We're here to get you out of here."