05-04-2016, 09:59 PM
Freetown, Sierra Leone, Parliament. 1430 hrs Greenwich Mean Time (GMT)
Jacques guards saw him dutifully to a cell. One shoved him in almost halfheartedly, then slammed the door of the interior-walled small office behind him. It was an awkward choice of cell, as the door didn't actually lock from the outside, and as amusing as the thought of locking it from his side was, Jacques opted against. Instead, he scanned the small office briefly before helping himself to the uncomfortable looking chair behind the tiny desk. It was made even more awkward to sit in for the heavy FELIN Mk2 kevlar armour he wore, and the chair creaked alarming beneath him as he settled into its wooden frame.
Without his Landwarriors and Wallet, he was entirely out of touch with the events in Freetown, but despite that he was oddly calm. Confident, even. He knew the competence of his men, and had no fear of Wallace-Johnson's chances of success with Operation Rien N'Empeche in full swing. Likely, with the aid of his Legionnaires, the police and their supporters had already taken much of the city back from the mad-man and his thugs.
And of course, Commandant Tuft would have already issued the orders for Operation Gauntlet. Captain Zhou Ah Sung's Baadi Qasriga was just outside of Sierra Leonean waters, and likely already navigating towards Freetown, the Captain's much preferred docking point considering the questionable legality of his cargo.
Major Curtis Freeman, commander of the skeleton garrison of the Lungi International Airport, former base of General Wallace-Johnson's troops before he had taken control of Freetown, would already have been forced to deploy troops to secure the coastguard vessels needed to transport his Legionaries to the Baadi Qasriga and back to mount the assault on the General's headquarters, and of course his own rescue.
And the relief convoy from Casablanca was barely an hour from the city, ready to assault Wallace-Johnson's perimeter forces, catching the last bodies of his loyal troops between his Legionnaires in the city and their convoy of armoured vehicles and mounted troops. Everything seemed to have been going to plan.
He was only seated a few minutes before the sound of movement outside the office door drew his attention. A moment of heated discussion in the hallway was followed by the flimsy presswood door of his 'jail cell' being barged open. Three men, one wearing the markings of a Lieutenant, barged into the office.
"Stand up!"
The two non-coms barged into the office past the officer, and all three's faces were screwed with rage. Jacques remained seated as they closed on him, and couldn't help but grin at their wasted display. He wasn't so easily intimidated, even as the officer pulled a machete from his belt, and his two men dragged Jacques to his feet, a task made comical for the fact that he simply stood before they could actually drag him up.
"And what, exactly, do you expect this to accomplish, Lieutenant?"
Jacques stood to his full height, which was actually somewhat dwarfed by one of the two non-coms holding his arms, but physical height paled compared to personality.
"Shut up!"
Already enraged by how arrogantly Jacques had barged into their headquarters, and how close he had come to being able to simply shoot the General in his own command center, the Lt lashed out with his machete, chopping at Jacques' kevlar shielded chest. The machete bit into the armoured plate, part of the blade leaving a cut along his chin and stopping shy of his neck.
Jacques staggered slightly from the blow, and the flanking non-coms jerked him straight, but after the initial shock of the blow he settled once more and tilted his head down to eye the machete, careful to keep his throat free of the blade. "Ah, well then. It shall be like that, shall it?"
He barely had time to notice the Lt's fist before it caught him in the jaw, tearing the machete free of his chest plate. The two non-coms began tearing at the straps and buckles of his FELIN Mk2 armour.
-----
Freetown, Sierra Leone, 1500hrs GMT
Barely half an hour after Jacques parted ways with Legionnaire Vanders, the first of the M777's 155mm high explosive shells crashed into Freetown. The seven howitzers were based 25km outside of the city, towards the edge of their effective range, and the crews manning them were not so well trained as to guarantee where those shells would land even if they had cared.
The Methodist Boys High School had been serving as a refugee center in the past few weeks of violence. Its doors had been closed due to lack of funding only a year previous, so the structure had been intact enough to serve; the water pipes and electricity still worked, and the classrooms and gymnasium had easily been converted to house the hundreds of refugees that had found shelter there.
The first shell to land on the city tore a hole in the old football field, a small miracle that saw no one killed. The field was empty, as refugees sought the perceived safety of the school's walls as city police, backed by Legionnaires, worked swiftly through the city to capture our oust the General's troops.
The second shell struck the gymnasium.
-----
Legion HQ, Outskirts of Casablanca, Morocco. 1440hrs GMT
Commandant Tuft stood in the rapidly collapsing Legion headquarters, overseeing the opening moves of Operation Rien N'Empeche when the first of some two dozen Contact Reports began flooding the comms lines. Legionnaires on the ground in Freetown were reporting the same thing across the city; some readily identified the source of the explosions, others sited possible IEDs. But, it was easy to identify in short order. The city was being shelled.
And the forces within were in no position to do anything about it. With General Wallace-Johnson's forces being over run across the city by the Legion, city police, and their associated allies, and the Legionnaires themselves embroiled in the task of retaking the city, there were no forces in place to sortie against the shelling, even if they knew where exactly it was coming from.
"Get Provost Boipelo on the horn. The convoy should be close enough to Freetown now that we should be able to triangulate the artillery's position. And get a link to Bombardier Iweala. Between the city and the convoy, we should be able to find these guns."
Commandant Tuft walked over to one of the few screens still mounted in the room; many had already been removed for shipping to the Legion's new facility in the ghost-city of Sidi Bel Abbès, Algeria.
Within moments of his order, the comm tech seated there had Bombardier Iweala and Bombardier Iweala were on two separate screens. The Provost was seated in the gunner's chair of one of the convoy Panhards, while the Bombardier was kneeling in the streets of Freetown with the sounds of artillery screaming over head.
"Alright Bombardier. What do you need to find these guns?"
The Commandant seemed unmoved by the imagery behind the Bombardier; a hotel half a block down was a quickly turning into a raging inferno, much of the buildings face already collapsed into the street. Smoke and dust obscured much of the image feeds background, but it was clear there were plenty of wounded in the street.
"Sir? I need a source outside the city, we're all too close to get a good picture."
The Bombardier was briefly accosted by one of his team mates, who after a few back-and-forth hand swatting started digging through Iweala's pouches for his bandages and first aid kit.
"Provost Boipello here. The convoy is an hour out, and we can hear the guns from here. That going to be enough?"
Boipello cracked the roof hatch on the Panhard and popped his head outside, and the image feed switched from the in-vehicle camera to his Landwarrior mounted camera, showing deserted, jungle-lined highway ahead of the armoured vehicle's weapon system.
"Three's better, but this'll do Sir. Synch the feeds to my glasses and I'll give you an estimate."
He dug out a map and compass next, kneeling in the rubble-strewn street and laying them both out on the ground before him, quickly orientating himself to the north.
The comms tech did as requested, and within moments the Bombardier was marking positions on his map and drawing lines off the compass. Aided by the programs and HUD of his Landwarriors, within a few moments he had an area singled out to the east of the city.
"Between 15 and 30 km east of Freetown, Sir. Maybe. That's the best I can do."
With the Commandant's permission, the Bombardier was dropped from the conversation, and the Commandant's attention shifted to Provost Boipello.
"You are passing Port Loko. Split the escort, send the trucks on to Lungi airport, take the escort to that area. Find those guns and take them. Understood, Provost?"
"Sir. We can be there in two hours."
-----
Wari, Sierra Leone. 1450hrs GMT
Wari, Sierra Leone
The village was abandoned before Warlord Shakespeare and his men arrived. They had taken the ford to the north that morning, and were making steady progress south into the unprotected in-lands of Sierra Leone. An occasional militia would try to resist them, but most were smart enough to scatter before the Guineans could arrive.
With no sport to be had, Shakespear pushed his men south; they would avoid the international airport, knowing there was a military garrison there. But the town of Port Loko would be easy pickings, surely.
Dozens of trucks armed with anti-tank recoilless rifles and .50 machineguns rolled south towards Porto Loko road and an unfortunate run-in with a very lightly guarded Legion supply convoy.
-----
Freetown, Sierra Leone. 1500hrs GMT
A platoon of Major Freeman's troops from Lungi airport, aboard three Sierra Leonean coast guard vessels, stormed the ferry crossing in northern Freetown. The fighting was brief and some of the most violent in the city to that point.
The troops guarding the ferry were taken offguard; they had assumed the approaching coast guard ships had reinforcements. By that point, it was known that there was an uprising in the city against the General, but particulars were still being figured out.
The troops holding the ferry crossing didn't realize what was going on until it was too late, but even then they refused to simply surrender. Not to 'traitors to the cause', at least. It was over in minutes, with dozens dead on both sides, but Major Freeman's men were succesful in the end, sending the last of the General's troops fleeing back into the city and leaving them to occupy the ferry crossing, awaiting the arrival of the Legionnaires that would be bound to the Baadi Qasriga and the weapons waiting aboard the transport.
Edited by Jacques, May 11 2016, 09:01 PM.
Jacques guards saw him dutifully to a cell. One shoved him in almost halfheartedly, then slammed the door of the interior-walled small office behind him. It was an awkward choice of cell, as the door didn't actually lock from the outside, and as amusing as the thought of locking it from his side was, Jacques opted against. Instead, he scanned the small office briefly before helping himself to the uncomfortable looking chair behind the tiny desk. It was made even more awkward to sit in for the heavy FELIN Mk2 kevlar armour he wore, and the chair creaked alarming beneath him as he settled into its wooden frame.
Without his Landwarriors and Wallet, he was entirely out of touch with the events in Freetown, but despite that he was oddly calm. Confident, even. He knew the competence of his men, and had no fear of Wallace-Johnson's chances of success with Operation Rien N'Empeche in full swing. Likely, with the aid of his Legionnaires, the police and their supporters had already taken much of the city back from the mad-man and his thugs.
And of course, Commandant Tuft would have already issued the orders for Operation Gauntlet. Captain Zhou Ah Sung's Baadi Qasriga was just outside of Sierra Leonean waters, and likely already navigating towards Freetown, the Captain's much preferred docking point considering the questionable legality of his cargo.
Major Curtis Freeman, commander of the skeleton garrison of the Lungi International Airport, former base of General Wallace-Johnson's troops before he had taken control of Freetown, would already have been forced to deploy troops to secure the coastguard vessels needed to transport his Legionaries to the Baadi Qasriga and back to mount the assault on the General's headquarters, and of course his own rescue.
And the relief convoy from Casablanca was barely an hour from the city, ready to assault Wallace-Johnson's perimeter forces, catching the last bodies of his loyal troops between his Legionnaires in the city and their convoy of armoured vehicles and mounted troops. Everything seemed to have been going to plan.
He was only seated a few minutes before the sound of movement outside the office door drew his attention. A moment of heated discussion in the hallway was followed by the flimsy presswood door of his 'jail cell' being barged open. Three men, one wearing the markings of a Lieutenant, barged into the office.
"Stand up!"
The two non-coms barged into the office past the officer, and all three's faces were screwed with rage. Jacques remained seated as they closed on him, and couldn't help but grin at their wasted display. He wasn't so easily intimidated, even as the officer pulled a machete from his belt, and his two men dragged Jacques to his feet, a task made comical for the fact that he simply stood before they could actually drag him up.
"And what, exactly, do you expect this to accomplish, Lieutenant?"
Jacques stood to his full height, which was actually somewhat dwarfed by one of the two non-coms holding his arms, but physical height paled compared to personality.
"Shut up!"
Already enraged by how arrogantly Jacques had barged into their headquarters, and how close he had come to being able to simply shoot the General in his own command center, the Lt lashed out with his machete, chopping at Jacques' kevlar shielded chest. The machete bit into the armoured plate, part of the blade leaving a cut along his chin and stopping shy of his neck.
Jacques staggered slightly from the blow, and the flanking non-coms jerked him straight, but after the initial shock of the blow he settled once more and tilted his head down to eye the machete, careful to keep his throat free of the blade. "Ah, well then. It shall be like that, shall it?"
He barely had time to notice the Lt's fist before it caught him in the jaw, tearing the machete free of his chest plate. The two non-coms began tearing at the straps and buckles of his FELIN Mk2 armour.
-----
Freetown, Sierra Leone, 1500hrs GMT
Barely half an hour after Jacques parted ways with Legionnaire Vanders, the first of the M777's 155mm high explosive shells crashed into Freetown. The seven howitzers were based 25km outside of the city, towards the edge of their effective range, and the crews manning them were not so well trained as to guarantee where those shells would land even if they had cared.
The Methodist Boys High School had been serving as a refugee center in the past few weeks of violence. Its doors had been closed due to lack of funding only a year previous, so the structure had been intact enough to serve; the water pipes and electricity still worked, and the classrooms and gymnasium had easily been converted to house the hundreds of refugees that had found shelter there.
The first shell to land on the city tore a hole in the old football field, a small miracle that saw no one killed. The field was empty, as refugees sought the perceived safety of the school's walls as city police, backed by Legionnaires, worked swiftly through the city to capture our oust the General's troops.
The second shell struck the gymnasium.
-----
Legion HQ, Outskirts of Casablanca, Morocco. 1440hrs GMT
Commandant Tuft stood in the rapidly collapsing Legion headquarters, overseeing the opening moves of Operation Rien N'Empeche when the first of some two dozen Contact Reports began flooding the comms lines. Legionnaires on the ground in Freetown were reporting the same thing across the city; some readily identified the source of the explosions, others sited possible IEDs. But, it was easy to identify in short order. The city was being shelled.
And the forces within were in no position to do anything about it. With General Wallace-Johnson's forces being over run across the city by the Legion, city police, and their associated allies, and the Legionnaires themselves embroiled in the task of retaking the city, there were no forces in place to sortie against the shelling, even if they knew where exactly it was coming from.
"Get Provost Boipelo on the horn. The convoy should be close enough to Freetown now that we should be able to triangulate the artillery's position. And get a link to Bombardier Iweala. Between the city and the convoy, we should be able to find these guns."
Commandant Tuft walked over to one of the few screens still mounted in the room; many had already been removed for shipping to the Legion's new facility in the ghost-city of Sidi Bel Abbès, Algeria.
Within moments of his order, the comm tech seated there had Bombardier Iweala and Bombardier Iweala were on two separate screens. The Provost was seated in the gunner's chair of one of the convoy Panhards, while the Bombardier was kneeling in the streets of Freetown with the sounds of artillery screaming over head.
"Alright Bombardier. What do you need to find these guns?"
The Commandant seemed unmoved by the imagery behind the Bombardier; a hotel half a block down was a quickly turning into a raging inferno, much of the buildings face already collapsed into the street. Smoke and dust obscured much of the image feeds background, but it was clear there were plenty of wounded in the street.
"Sir? I need a source outside the city, we're all too close to get a good picture."
The Bombardier was briefly accosted by one of his team mates, who after a few back-and-forth hand swatting started digging through Iweala's pouches for his bandages and first aid kit.
"Provost Boipello here. The convoy is an hour out, and we can hear the guns from here. That going to be enough?"
Boipello cracked the roof hatch on the Panhard and popped his head outside, and the image feed switched from the in-vehicle camera to his Landwarrior mounted camera, showing deserted, jungle-lined highway ahead of the armoured vehicle's weapon system.
"Three's better, but this'll do Sir. Synch the feeds to my glasses and I'll give you an estimate."
He dug out a map and compass next, kneeling in the rubble-strewn street and laying them both out on the ground before him, quickly orientating himself to the north.
The comms tech did as requested, and within moments the Bombardier was marking positions on his map and drawing lines off the compass. Aided by the programs and HUD of his Landwarriors, within a few moments he had an area singled out to the east of the city.
"Between 15 and 30 km east of Freetown, Sir. Maybe. That's the best I can do."
With the Commandant's permission, the Bombardier was dropped from the conversation, and the Commandant's attention shifted to Provost Boipello.
"You are passing Port Loko. Split the escort, send the trucks on to Lungi airport, take the escort to that area. Find those guns and take them. Understood, Provost?"
"Sir. We can be there in two hours."
-----
Wari, Sierra Leone. 1450hrs GMT
Wari, Sierra Leone
The village was abandoned before Warlord Shakespeare and his men arrived. They had taken the ford to the north that morning, and were making steady progress south into the unprotected in-lands of Sierra Leone. An occasional militia would try to resist them, but most were smart enough to scatter before the Guineans could arrive.
With no sport to be had, Shakespear pushed his men south; they would avoid the international airport, knowing there was a military garrison there. But the town of Port Loko would be easy pickings, surely.
Dozens of trucks armed with anti-tank recoilless rifles and .50 machineguns rolled south towards Porto Loko road and an unfortunate run-in with a very lightly guarded Legion supply convoy.
-----
Freetown, Sierra Leone. 1500hrs GMT
A platoon of Major Freeman's troops from Lungi airport, aboard three Sierra Leonean coast guard vessels, stormed the ferry crossing in northern Freetown. The fighting was brief and some of the most violent in the city to that point.
The troops guarding the ferry were taken offguard; they had assumed the approaching coast guard ships had reinforcements. By that point, it was known that there was an uprising in the city against the General, but particulars were still being figured out.
The troops holding the ferry crossing didn't realize what was going on until it was too late, but even then they refused to simply surrender. Not to 'traitors to the cause', at least. It was over in minutes, with dozens dead on both sides, but Major Freeman's men were succesful in the end, sending the last of the General's troops fleeing back into the city and leaving them to occupy the ferry crossing, awaiting the arrival of the Legionnaires that would be bound to the Baadi Qasriga and the weapons waiting aboard the transport.
Edited by Jacques, May 11 2016, 09:01 PM.