09-05-2016, 09:34 PM
Even with the air and sea port reopened, and the seizure of military and government hoarded supplies, they were short on everything but manpower and will. In the past two weeks, they had forced General Katlego to surrender unconditionally, and brought elements of his forces into the fold. Even among the Temne rebels, there were those who simply wanted an end to the conflict, to the decades of hatred.
It only took a matter of days to take back the north-west from the Guinean warlords. After a week of drills, the Legion's newly acquired vehicles, delivered off the Baadi Qasriga along with dozens more F3LIN suits, had established an effective picket to the south-east, heading off any potential further advance by Liberian forces, while F3LIN suited infantry hit the Guinean forces to the north-west.
The Legion's four Type 99 MBTs, crewed by Legionnaire vehicle commanders and rush-trained Sierra Leonean troops, were intimidating enough to keep the Liberians in check. Especially as they seemed to have some sort of internal conflict to deal with. What reports that reached the Legion were sketchy, but seemed to indicate some sort of coordinated resistance in Liberian-held Sierra Leone. Supply convoys and isolated patrols had a tendency of turning up dead.
The four BMPT Terminators led the the assault to the north-east. Designed as a close support platform, the tracked vehicles had little trouble maneuvering through the densely packed Sierra Leonean towns and jungle, and were heavily armoured enough that little in Warlord Shakespear's arsenal could threaten them. Backed up by F3LIN equipped Legionnaires, they tore through the guerrillas with ease, liberating towns and even recovering much of the lost Legion supplies from the ambushed convoy.
Newly formed militia forces, led by elements of the Freetown police and Sierra Leonean military elements, patrolled the interior of the nation, delivering much needed supplies and bringing a sense of security and unity back to the nation, mounted in Patria AMVs flying the national colours. Many of the APCs had survived the civil war.
In only two weeks, the capital had returned to some semblance of normality. No more columns of smoke over the city's skyline. No more echoes of gunfire and turning of blind eyes to what Wallace-Johnson's forces had been doing to their own people.
There was only one thing though that was immediately holding Jacques attention. Of all the progress they had made thus far, in so short a time, there was only one thing that he regretted. Namely, how short on anesthetics they still were.
The loss of his hand had been accepted as best he could; certainly some amount of shock had deadened the pain, and true acceptance of the loss of a limb was a hard thing to establish, to come to grips with. His past two weeks had been awkward; an adjusting period, in which many times he sought to do things that had once been common-place, but suddenly nigh impossible with only one hand. It had, however, led to an air of deliberation in everything he did. The calculated pauses to assess and plot his next move.
How to open a door while carrying something? Sipping tea with his off hand was nigh impossible while he walked. Luckily, he had been training all his life to be ambidextrous with a pistol, but loading magazines, cocking the action, remedying stoppages, all became dreadfully awkward with one hand.
He was rambling, if that was what such thoughts could be called. Chasing headlong down the rabbit hole to try and distract himself from the work being conducted on the other side of a thin grey blanket that blocked his view from the stump of his right arm. He was strapped down, as surgeons worked on the stump. The cauterization had saved his life in the short term, but had led to all sorts of complications.
They had to cut away the burned and scarred flesh, to deal with the cracked and broken bones in the stump of his wrist. He had staved off infection by some small miracle, but what healing had been established had to be undone and set on the right course if he were to ever be fitted with a prosthetic.
And there wasn't enough anesthetic to do more then freeze his arm. Mostly. The surgical team at work beyond that sheet included three people, Americans, that had answered his call to the world. He hadn't expected a world renowned surgeon to have shown up on their doorstep, but the man had given up everything he had back home to go where he was needed. Years of working on the richest people in America had left the man empty inside. Three days in Freetown had seen a miraculous change.
Suddenly, everything that man did had meaning; no more was he wasted on trivial procedures paid for by the rich and powerful. He was saving lives again, testing his skills against his Death himself once more. The classic power-trip of a successful surgeon.
A nurse, also American, leaned around the sheet and looked at him. He met the older woman's gaze with a level stare, doing his best to hide the pain and discomfort of the procedure he could hear, and almost feel, but could not see. "Almost done, sir."
-----
Liberian politicians had released a public declaration of aggression against Sierra Leone. Dozens of Liberian soldiers had been found dead, in what they claimed was a 'humanitarian aid' mission in the south-east of Sierra Leone. They of course denied reports of seizures of industrial equipment, facilities, and depots in the region. Denied reports that they were funding South African mercenaries to destabilize the region.
Africa's north-east was being torn asunder. Al Janyar was spreading almost unchecked. Dozens of once-disparate extremist groups were flocking to their banner, sparking conflicts ever further west and south. Nations weakened by decades of economic and social strife were offering little by way of organized resistance, and where such resistance may have been found, it was bogged down trying to keep tens of thousands of refugees fed and organized.
The first class of Legion recruits to graduate training since the Battle of Jeddah and the civil war in Sierra Leone received their white Kepis and were immediately deployed to work with the Algerian military. Joint training had been agreed upon as one of the terms set by the country to allow the Legion to relocate onto their soil. The first woman to join the Legion was among their numbers, and a dozen more were in the classes behind her.
In Freetown, transport ships and planes arrived daily from around the world, bringing an influx of skilled volunteers and much needed resources. Schools were reopened, if only to serve as day-care centers so their parents could assist in the rebuilding of the city and some return to normalcy. Shops were reopened, refugees that had choked the city's streets were returning to their towns and villages, no longer worried of Guinean rebels or being caught up in the violence of the civil war.
There were desperate short-falls though. Vaccines, especially for Ebola, were in short supply. The government stockpiles hadn't been refreshed in fifteen years, and much of the supply held in the few remaining hospitals simply couldn't meet the demand. Shakespear's forces had purposefully contaminated water supplies, destroyed crops and cattle, and aggressively encouraged the spread of Ebola into Sierra Leone.
A lack of proper education and awareness had led many to believe that the vaccines they had received as children, during the height of the Ebola scare, would last for the rest of their lives. Perhaps even carry on to their children. Cases of Ebola, cholera, dysentery, and malaria to name a few, were beginning to grow in the north-west.
The list of challenges that faced him and his people was daunting. He simply didn't have access to the resources needed to combat it all alone. Support from Algeria had allowed the Legion to stock-pile the humanitarian aid supplies that had begun flooding into Sierra Leone when the fighting had stopped, but Algeria was, economically at least, in a worse situation then Sierra Leone. The Legion was that nation's last desperate effort to stabilizing the nation. And, albeit slowly, it seemed to be working.
What nations that may have given aid to Sierra Leone had been, momentarily at least, alienated by both the civil war and the Legion's seizure of the nation. The African Union existed, but counted barely two dozen nations in its membership, and Liberia was one of them. And of course, Al Janyar was drawing much of the AU's attention.
-----
Only a few hours after his most recent surgery, Jacques sat in his quarters. The Legion had been relocated again, forced to move from the old Moroccan embassy after the fire, and relocated into the government district and adjacent military barracks. Jacques room was, at one time, that of the President of Sierra Leone. Not the actual President's house, but an office and bedroom in the government district.
He sat at the desk, and a dozen holographic screens hung in the air in front of him. Status reports and live feeds from troops in the field, updates on various projects around the city and the country, email chains with foreign powers. Much of the logistics and politics was being handled by Commandant Tuff and the Legion command staff in Algeria, but Jacques made a point of being as up to date on it all as possible.
Most of those were ignored, however. Struggling to write with his left hand, he penned his signature to the next in a series of letters to family and loved ones of the fallen. Each letter, typed...something that grated him deeply, for the impersonal feel of it compared to a properly written letter, but made necessary for his poor penmanship with his left hand...was personalized. Individual accounts of the Legionnaire in question.
Some were to the families of the police officers and first-responders that had given their lives during the liberation of Freetown. And some were to the families of those killed at Masiaka. Those that had any living family left for whom such letters could be addressed.
He set the pen aside, flexing his left hand briefly before taking up a cup of tea and moving his attention to the most recently updated screen. Another report on Liberian troop losses in Sierra Leone. Another request by a foreign power for Jacques to formally acknowledge Liberia's hold on the resource-rich region of Sierra Leone, so the production of rhodium could continue once more. More formal declarations that Jacques and the Legion liquidate its assets to reimburse its former investors.
He sighed quietly and reached to rub his eyes, before remembering that he hadn't the free hand to do the task. His stump was lowered to the desk once more, tea cup set aside. Too much work to be done.
It only took a matter of days to take back the north-west from the Guinean warlords. After a week of drills, the Legion's newly acquired vehicles, delivered off the Baadi Qasriga along with dozens more F3LIN suits, had established an effective picket to the south-east, heading off any potential further advance by Liberian forces, while F3LIN suited infantry hit the Guinean forces to the north-west.
The Legion's four Type 99 MBTs, crewed by Legionnaire vehicle commanders and rush-trained Sierra Leonean troops, were intimidating enough to keep the Liberians in check. Especially as they seemed to have some sort of internal conflict to deal with. What reports that reached the Legion were sketchy, but seemed to indicate some sort of coordinated resistance in Liberian-held Sierra Leone. Supply convoys and isolated patrols had a tendency of turning up dead.
The four BMPT Terminators led the the assault to the north-east. Designed as a close support platform, the tracked vehicles had little trouble maneuvering through the densely packed Sierra Leonean towns and jungle, and were heavily armoured enough that little in Warlord Shakespear's arsenal could threaten them. Backed up by F3LIN equipped Legionnaires, they tore through the guerrillas with ease, liberating towns and even recovering much of the lost Legion supplies from the ambushed convoy.
Newly formed militia forces, led by elements of the Freetown police and Sierra Leonean military elements, patrolled the interior of the nation, delivering much needed supplies and bringing a sense of security and unity back to the nation, mounted in Patria AMVs flying the national colours. Many of the APCs had survived the civil war.
In only two weeks, the capital had returned to some semblance of normality. No more columns of smoke over the city's skyline. No more echoes of gunfire and turning of blind eyes to what Wallace-Johnson's forces had been doing to their own people.
There was only one thing though that was immediately holding Jacques attention. Of all the progress they had made thus far, in so short a time, there was only one thing that he regretted. Namely, how short on anesthetics they still were.
The loss of his hand had been accepted as best he could; certainly some amount of shock had deadened the pain, and true acceptance of the loss of a limb was a hard thing to establish, to come to grips with. His past two weeks had been awkward; an adjusting period, in which many times he sought to do things that had once been common-place, but suddenly nigh impossible with only one hand. It had, however, led to an air of deliberation in everything he did. The calculated pauses to assess and plot his next move.
How to open a door while carrying something? Sipping tea with his off hand was nigh impossible while he walked. Luckily, he had been training all his life to be ambidextrous with a pistol, but loading magazines, cocking the action, remedying stoppages, all became dreadfully awkward with one hand.
He was rambling, if that was what such thoughts could be called. Chasing headlong down the rabbit hole to try and distract himself from the work being conducted on the other side of a thin grey blanket that blocked his view from the stump of his right arm. He was strapped down, as surgeons worked on the stump. The cauterization had saved his life in the short term, but had led to all sorts of complications.
They had to cut away the burned and scarred flesh, to deal with the cracked and broken bones in the stump of his wrist. He had staved off infection by some small miracle, but what healing had been established had to be undone and set on the right course if he were to ever be fitted with a prosthetic.
And there wasn't enough anesthetic to do more then freeze his arm. Mostly. The surgical team at work beyond that sheet included three people, Americans, that had answered his call to the world. He hadn't expected a world renowned surgeon to have shown up on their doorstep, but the man had given up everything he had back home to go where he was needed. Years of working on the richest people in America had left the man empty inside. Three days in Freetown had seen a miraculous change.
Suddenly, everything that man did had meaning; no more was he wasted on trivial procedures paid for by the rich and powerful. He was saving lives again, testing his skills against his Death himself once more. The classic power-trip of a successful surgeon.
A nurse, also American, leaned around the sheet and looked at him. He met the older woman's gaze with a level stare, doing his best to hide the pain and discomfort of the procedure he could hear, and almost feel, but could not see. "Almost done, sir."
-----
Liberian politicians had released a public declaration of aggression against Sierra Leone. Dozens of Liberian soldiers had been found dead, in what they claimed was a 'humanitarian aid' mission in the south-east of Sierra Leone. They of course denied reports of seizures of industrial equipment, facilities, and depots in the region. Denied reports that they were funding South African mercenaries to destabilize the region.
Africa's north-east was being torn asunder. Al Janyar was spreading almost unchecked. Dozens of once-disparate extremist groups were flocking to their banner, sparking conflicts ever further west and south. Nations weakened by decades of economic and social strife were offering little by way of organized resistance, and where such resistance may have been found, it was bogged down trying to keep tens of thousands of refugees fed and organized.
The first class of Legion recruits to graduate training since the Battle of Jeddah and the civil war in Sierra Leone received their white Kepis and were immediately deployed to work with the Algerian military. Joint training had been agreed upon as one of the terms set by the country to allow the Legion to relocate onto their soil. The first woman to join the Legion was among their numbers, and a dozen more were in the classes behind her.
In Freetown, transport ships and planes arrived daily from around the world, bringing an influx of skilled volunteers and much needed resources. Schools were reopened, if only to serve as day-care centers so their parents could assist in the rebuilding of the city and some return to normalcy. Shops were reopened, refugees that had choked the city's streets were returning to their towns and villages, no longer worried of Guinean rebels or being caught up in the violence of the civil war.
There were desperate short-falls though. Vaccines, especially for Ebola, were in short supply. The government stockpiles hadn't been refreshed in fifteen years, and much of the supply held in the few remaining hospitals simply couldn't meet the demand. Shakespear's forces had purposefully contaminated water supplies, destroyed crops and cattle, and aggressively encouraged the spread of Ebola into Sierra Leone.
A lack of proper education and awareness had led many to believe that the vaccines they had received as children, during the height of the Ebola scare, would last for the rest of their lives. Perhaps even carry on to their children. Cases of Ebola, cholera, dysentery, and malaria to name a few, were beginning to grow in the north-west.
The list of challenges that faced him and his people was daunting. He simply didn't have access to the resources needed to combat it all alone. Support from Algeria had allowed the Legion to stock-pile the humanitarian aid supplies that had begun flooding into Sierra Leone when the fighting had stopped, but Algeria was, economically at least, in a worse situation then Sierra Leone. The Legion was that nation's last desperate effort to stabilizing the nation. And, albeit slowly, it seemed to be working.
What nations that may have given aid to Sierra Leone had been, momentarily at least, alienated by both the civil war and the Legion's seizure of the nation. The African Union existed, but counted barely two dozen nations in its membership, and Liberia was one of them. And of course, Al Janyar was drawing much of the AU's attention.
-----
Only a few hours after his most recent surgery, Jacques sat in his quarters. The Legion had been relocated again, forced to move from the old Moroccan embassy after the fire, and relocated into the government district and adjacent military barracks. Jacques room was, at one time, that of the President of Sierra Leone. Not the actual President's house, but an office and bedroom in the government district.
He sat at the desk, and a dozen holographic screens hung in the air in front of him. Status reports and live feeds from troops in the field, updates on various projects around the city and the country, email chains with foreign powers. Much of the logistics and politics was being handled by Commandant Tuff and the Legion command staff in Algeria, but Jacques made a point of being as up to date on it all as possible.
Most of those were ignored, however. Struggling to write with his left hand, he penned his signature to the next in a series of letters to family and loved ones of the fallen. Each letter, typed...something that grated him deeply, for the impersonal feel of it compared to a properly written letter, but made necessary for his poor penmanship with his left hand...was personalized. Individual accounts of the Legionnaire in question.
Some were to the families of the police officers and first-responders that had given their lives during the liberation of Freetown. And some were to the families of those killed at Masiaka. Those that had any living family left for whom such letters could be addressed.
He set the pen aside, flexing his left hand briefly before taking up a cup of tea and moving his attention to the most recently updated screen. Another report on Liberian troop losses in Sierra Leone. Another request by a foreign power for Jacques to formally acknowledge Liberia's hold on the resource-rich region of Sierra Leone, so the production of rhodium could continue once more. More formal declarations that Jacques and the Legion liquidate its assets to reimburse its former investors.
He sighed quietly and reached to rub his eyes, before remembering that he hadn't the free hand to do the task. His stump was lowered to the desk once more, tea cup set aside. Too much work to be done.
