11-01-2015, 11:08 PM
The up-armoured Legion SUV departed the Legion HQ, housed in the former Moroccan embassy without much fanfare. Legionnaires were slowly making their way throughout the city, many on foot due to a severe lack of working vehicles, but for the moment at least their sudden flurry of movement seemed to go unnoticed by Wallace-Johnson's soldiers.
The ride was quiet; Jacques' escort consisted of only three Legionnaires. Vanders of course, Lesław, and Bartoš. Lesław was Polish, albeit of rather slight build at first glance and with a list of driving qualifications the length of his somewhat gangly arms. Bartoš, Slovakian, sat shotgun to Lesław with a Benelli shotgun across his lap, the barrel pressed to the door at his side, ready to be lifted to the window, or brought to bear through the door once opened. One finger tapped against the trigger guard, while his other hand held a shell ready to be slipped into the breach once the first round was fired.
The two men in the front seats watched the road ahead intensely, with Lesław watching the traffic around them and Bartoš eyeing the crowds and rooftops as they drove towards the Parliamentary buildings that had been re-purposed into Interim President General Wallace-Johnson's command center.
Jacques' attention was split in a dozen directions, through the HUD of his Landwarrior glasses. Live updates of the movement of the various squads throughout Freetown, an update on the relief convoy's progress towards the city. Position of a Chinese merchant freighter that was scant kilometers off the country's territorial waters on it's way to Morocco. Legal demands by slighted former investors were brushed aside, as well as a 'formal request' for Jacques Danjou to present himself to Moroccan police headquarters in Casablanca in regards to suggestions of bribery,fraud, embezzlement, and a list of other white-collared crimes.
They passed through a series of checkpoints manned by Wallace-Johnson's troops and their 'militia.' The usual scum drawn to the opportunity for personal power and gain, for chances to exact revenge on those that they felt had wronged the in some way. Neighbor turned on neighbor, jilted lovers, jealous fools. The crimes committed under the 'leadership' of Wallace-Johnson were myriad and terrible, and would surely go unnoticed by the world at large. It was Africa, after all.
The final checkpoints around the Parliament included a pair of Rooikat Mk2 IFVs, lines of concertina wire dividing the new government's command center and the public at large.
The intel the Legion had gathered had indicated no more then a platoon-strength guard for the Parliament, but the vehicle-flanked final checkpoint was manned by twenty uniformed soldiers and another two dozen militia. There was limited resistance to the Legion vehicle getting through the checkpoint, but the guards were less then subtle in their comportment. They knew who Jacques was and that their General had summoned him.
The vehicle was waved to a stop in front of the Parliamentary building scant moments after the sharp bark of rifle fire. Two men in suits, some of the few remaining members of the elected parliament, waited to meet them. The two men were studiously ignoring a firing squad was busy loading the bodies of five men into the back of a waiting truck. The men were stripped to their underwear, but still wore undershirts identical to those worn as part of the Sierra Leonean military's uniforms.
The Legion SUV came to a stop, and Jacques stared silently out the bullet proof glass at the firing squad and the bodies they were loading into the truck. It took a moment before one of the bodies were carried to the truck and he could get a look at the dead man's face, and he nodded tiredly.
"Legionnaire Vanders. Lesław. Bartoš. Take the vehicle back to HQ. Commandant Tuff will have further orders. Prepare for follow-on tasks."
The ride was quiet; Jacques' escort consisted of only three Legionnaires. Vanders of course, Lesław, and Bartoš. Lesław was Polish, albeit of rather slight build at first glance and with a list of driving qualifications the length of his somewhat gangly arms. Bartoš, Slovakian, sat shotgun to Lesław with a Benelli shotgun across his lap, the barrel pressed to the door at his side, ready to be lifted to the window, or brought to bear through the door once opened. One finger tapped against the trigger guard, while his other hand held a shell ready to be slipped into the breach once the first round was fired.
The two men in the front seats watched the road ahead intensely, with Lesław watching the traffic around them and Bartoš eyeing the crowds and rooftops as they drove towards the Parliamentary buildings that had been re-purposed into Interim President General Wallace-Johnson's command center.
Jacques' attention was split in a dozen directions, through the HUD of his Landwarrior glasses. Live updates of the movement of the various squads throughout Freetown, an update on the relief convoy's progress towards the city. Position of a Chinese merchant freighter that was scant kilometers off the country's territorial waters on it's way to Morocco. Legal demands by slighted former investors were brushed aside, as well as a 'formal request' for Jacques Danjou to present himself to Moroccan police headquarters in Casablanca in regards to suggestions of bribery,fraud, embezzlement, and a list of other white-collared crimes.
They passed through a series of checkpoints manned by Wallace-Johnson's troops and their 'militia.' The usual scum drawn to the opportunity for personal power and gain, for chances to exact revenge on those that they felt had wronged the in some way. Neighbor turned on neighbor, jilted lovers, jealous fools. The crimes committed under the 'leadership' of Wallace-Johnson were myriad and terrible, and would surely go unnoticed by the world at large. It was Africa, after all.
The final checkpoints around the Parliament included a pair of Rooikat Mk2 IFVs, lines of concertina wire dividing the new government's command center and the public at large.
The intel the Legion had gathered had indicated no more then a platoon-strength guard for the Parliament, but the vehicle-flanked final checkpoint was manned by twenty uniformed soldiers and another two dozen militia. There was limited resistance to the Legion vehicle getting through the checkpoint, but the guards were less then subtle in their comportment. They knew who Jacques was and that their General had summoned him.
The vehicle was waved to a stop in front of the Parliamentary building scant moments after the sharp bark of rifle fire. Two men in suits, some of the few remaining members of the elected parliament, waited to meet them. The two men were studiously ignoring a firing squad was busy loading the bodies of five men into the back of a waiting truck. The men were stripped to their underwear, but still wore undershirts identical to those worn as part of the Sierra Leonean military's uniforms.
The Legion SUV came to a stop, and Jacques stared silently out the bullet proof glass at the firing squad and the bodies they were loading into the truck. It took a moment before one of the bodies were carried to the truck and he could get a look at the dead man's face, and he nodded tiredly.
"Legionnaire Vanders. Lesław. Bartoš. Take the vehicle back to HQ. Commandant Tuff will have further orders. Prepare for follow-on tasks."