06-15-2014, 10:51 PM
The final tenuous lines that held the plan together fell apart like dominoes struck by some unseen hand. The convoy of civilians and high-profile prisoners lumbering out of the fog of war. A fog created by the CCD to protect their secret prison. The crates of ammo that were entirely useless to his men. Even to the CCD troops on the ground; they had no mortars, and what few heavy machine guns they did have were on the prison convoy, which would have no use for the ammo once their vehicles were abandoned for the evacuation.
Those would have to be destroyed...Jacques delegated to one of his few senior Caporal's to see to it that a group were ready for the task. Explosives were few and far between, but they had other means of destroyed armoured vehicles, especially when you had the luxury of crawling inside.
The sudden wash of weapons fire and flames barely distracted Jacques from his task, although some of his command staff flinched, reaching for weapons or ducking more fully behind their computers.
He glanced up long enough to understand what had happened; a band of insurgents had gotten close. Service tunnel, likely, one that he had missed in his initial site survey. Another flaw in his plan. More of his men that would not be joining their brothers in Sierra Leone. Every one last here was both one of his sons and one of the tools he would need to bring that torn country together again. Each Legionnaire lost were more Sierra Leoneans he would not be able to protect. They were an invaluable and all too exhaustible resource.
Trano's fall was noted, and he personally laid the way-point marker that sent one of the few Legion medics still left at the base-camp running their way. The man was far too important to let die. Especially considering that his...magic...had made their position tenable for so long. The more the plan had begun to fall apart, the more his attention was forced away from the fire-base, the more Trano's abilities had been what had kept the position safe.
Without the ammo for the mortars, his decision was clear. There was only one thing that could be done to keep the enemy off the VTOLs, to keep the road open long enough for the prison convoy to arrive. Had they not been loaded with civilians as well, he may well have left them behind and gotten his men out. But there were innocents crammed into those APCs, and soldiers just trying to do their jobs. He could not fault them for their commander's poor decision making skills.
"Courage is the most important of all the virtues because without courage, you can't practice any other virtue consistently. I must ask of you the final sacrifice. We have been trapped by the Custody's love of secrets, and our adherence to what is right."
Orders were delivered to the fire-base team. Most of the forty remaining Legionnaires began packing up their .50s, others darted off to bring in another bus to bring them quickly to the front line.
The mortar crews collapsed their weapons, and men ran the mortar tubes into Jacques' jet. They were tagged out by CCD soldiers from the freshly arrived VTOLs, who replaced the Legionnaires with mixed reactions of confusion or stark realization.
Then they loaded onto the bus, and one of their men handed Jacques the chains of dozens of dog-tags. Their bodies would never be recovered, would never be buried in the company graveyard outside Casablanca. After gathering what little ammunition they had left, they were bound for where their brothers would be digging in.
"You must hold this line. Should the enemy advance further, the CCD crafts will be plucked from the sky and all of this will be for nothing. You must open a path, such that the stragglers can reach us, or all is for naught."
Jacques had to pause, and took a steadying breath as he surveyed the scene that was unfolding. The assault group had already barged onto the airport grounds, and were slowed to a crawl as their vehicles struggled through the breach and the partly filled ditch.
"Battle of Camarón. 62 Legionnaires held 2,000 Mexican soldiers at bay for 10 hours. I ask of you only one."
Dozens of way-point markers began to pop up on the screens of the command post. The men of the assault group were laying their cratering charges and plotting their fields of fire. He could see the movement of each of his men as blue triangles swarming across the flat field of the airport.
"You only live twice: Once when you're born, and once when you look death in the face. Know that the enemy, these cowards and fanatics and fools, are blinded by their hatred. Let them die not knowing their true mettle."
Tears were freely flowing as Jacques took a steadying breath. He had never been in such a position before. Not one where there was not a way out, where he hadn't a plan to see everyone to safety. He could only save a few. The wounded, those already too injured to fight with their brothers on that line.
The CCD convoy drew closer, the first detonations of the cratering charges could be heard in the distance. And then all hell broke loose. The view from the satellites was obscured by great clouds of smoke and dust, but flashes of light and surges of earth still showed through occasionally.
So he switched to the cameras of his men. And froze. That CCD officer, Vellas, stood near the front edge of the line of Legionnaires, staring into the buildings and highway that marked the line between airport and city proper.
He could not understand what was happening. His mind tried to equate it to artillery fire and rocket salvos. But that was not right, and so he swept those preconceptions aside, and really watched what was happening. And more importantly, what Vellas was doing. He had recordings already of Trano's posture and gestures during the American's efforts to defend the fire-base.
The face of warfare had changed. Drastically and terribly, and Jacques had no intention of being unprepared.
His distraction with Vellas' display was ended by necessity. He barked orders to his men, and some in the assault group snapped out of their stupor and finished the cratering charges as the bus with the men from the fire-base arrived. They dismounted, and ran to their positions. Michael was buying them time, and they would damn well make use of it.
Michael's magics seemed to have left him exhausted, and the man quit the field as the CCD convoy rolled through the Legion position; they hadn't the same view of the hell that Michael had unleashed, and had likely thought it was indeed friendly artillery. The human mind could do amazing things to trick itself, after all.
The APCs rolled through the Legion line, and even as the dust and fires of Michael's display faded, the enemy was on them once more, pressing hard on the Legion position.
The first of the evacuees arrived at the fire-base, the dump trucks and heavy equipment the Legionnaires had used to carry their charges. The students, the people of the hospital and mall. Victoria Weston and the Legion medics, whom would have no purpose on the line.
CCD soldiers ran forward to start seeing the evacuees to the VTOLs, or to help carry the wounded, and Jacques' command staff began to collapse their computers and screens and load them back onto his jet.
He glanced at the Vega at his shoulder, and waved the man away, "You are dismissed, Major. Do as you must."
Jacques' tone was hollow, distant. He was still watching the live feeds from his men. The enemy had insinuated themselves into buildings and onto rooves, where RPGs and Dragunov rifles were able to strike down on the dug in Legionnaires.
Jacques stepped away from the collapsing command post, and stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. From afar, he looked calm, imperial even. The spitting image of an officer supervising a task. What few of his men remained at the fire-base came and went as CCD troops ushered civilians and wounded towards the VTOLs. There were too few familiar faces in the crowd; some of his men were carried or dragged/limped to the waiting crafts.
The civilians were panicked, but the waiting crafts held their attention now, and they needed little guidance from the CCD soldiers to start boarding the crafts. The first were already lifting off as the CCD convoy arrived with Michael.
Those would have to be destroyed...Jacques delegated to one of his few senior Caporal's to see to it that a group were ready for the task. Explosives were few and far between, but they had other means of destroyed armoured vehicles, especially when you had the luxury of crawling inside.
The sudden wash of weapons fire and flames barely distracted Jacques from his task, although some of his command staff flinched, reaching for weapons or ducking more fully behind their computers.
He glanced up long enough to understand what had happened; a band of insurgents had gotten close. Service tunnel, likely, one that he had missed in his initial site survey. Another flaw in his plan. More of his men that would not be joining their brothers in Sierra Leone. Every one last here was both one of his sons and one of the tools he would need to bring that torn country together again. Each Legionnaire lost were more Sierra Leoneans he would not be able to protect. They were an invaluable and all too exhaustible resource.
Trano's fall was noted, and he personally laid the way-point marker that sent one of the few Legion medics still left at the base-camp running their way. The man was far too important to let die. Especially considering that his...magic...had made their position tenable for so long. The more the plan had begun to fall apart, the more his attention was forced away from the fire-base, the more Trano's abilities had been what had kept the position safe.
Without the ammo for the mortars, his decision was clear. There was only one thing that could be done to keep the enemy off the VTOLs, to keep the road open long enough for the prison convoy to arrive. Had they not been loaded with civilians as well, he may well have left them behind and gotten his men out. But there were innocents crammed into those APCs, and soldiers just trying to do their jobs. He could not fault them for their commander's poor decision making skills.
"Courage is the most important of all the virtues because without courage, you can't practice any other virtue consistently. I must ask of you the final sacrifice. We have been trapped by the Custody's love of secrets, and our adherence to what is right."
Orders were delivered to the fire-base team. Most of the forty remaining Legionnaires began packing up their .50s, others darted off to bring in another bus to bring them quickly to the front line.
The mortar crews collapsed their weapons, and men ran the mortar tubes into Jacques' jet. They were tagged out by CCD soldiers from the freshly arrived VTOLs, who replaced the Legionnaires with mixed reactions of confusion or stark realization.
Then they loaded onto the bus, and one of their men handed Jacques the chains of dozens of dog-tags. Their bodies would never be recovered, would never be buried in the company graveyard outside Casablanca. After gathering what little ammunition they had left, they were bound for where their brothers would be digging in.
"You must hold this line. Should the enemy advance further, the CCD crafts will be plucked from the sky and all of this will be for nothing. You must open a path, such that the stragglers can reach us, or all is for naught."
Jacques had to pause, and took a steadying breath as he surveyed the scene that was unfolding. The assault group had already barged onto the airport grounds, and were slowed to a crawl as their vehicles struggled through the breach and the partly filled ditch.
"Battle of Camarón. 62 Legionnaires held 2,000 Mexican soldiers at bay for 10 hours. I ask of you only one."
Dozens of way-point markers began to pop up on the screens of the command post. The men of the assault group were laying their cratering charges and plotting their fields of fire. He could see the movement of each of his men as blue triangles swarming across the flat field of the airport.
"You only live twice: Once when you're born, and once when you look death in the face. Know that the enemy, these cowards and fanatics and fools, are blinded by their hatred. Let them die not knowing their true mettle."
Tears were freely flowing as Jacques took a steadying breath. He had never been in such a position before. Not one where there was not a way out, where he hadn't a plan to see everyone to safety. He could only save a few. The wounded, those already too injured to fight with their brothers on that line.
The CCD convoy drew closer, the first detonations of the cratering charges could be heard in the distance. And then all hell broke loose. The view from the satellites was obscured by great clouds of smoke and dust, but flashes of light and surges of earth still showed through occasionally.
So he switched to the cameras of his men. And froze. That CCD officer, Vellas, stood near the front edge of the line of Legionnaires, staring into the buildings and highway that marked the line between airport and city proper.
He could not understand what was happening. His mind tried to equate it to artillery fire and rocket salvos. But that was not right, and so he swept those preconceptions aside, and really watched what was happening. And more importantly, what Vellas was doing. He had recordings already of Trano's posture and gestures during the American's efforts to defend the fire-base.
The face of warfare had changed. Drastically and terribly, and Jacques had no intention of being unprepared.
His distraction with Vellas' display was ended by necessity. He barked orders to his men, and some in the assault group snapped out of their stupor and finished the cratering charges as the bus with the men from the fire-base arrived. They dismounted, and ran to their positions. Michael was buying them time, and they would damn well make use of it.
Michael's magics seemed to have left him exhausted, and the man quit the field as the CCD convoy rolled through the Legion position; they hadn't the same view of the hell that Michael had unleashed, and had likely thought it was indeed friendly artillery. The human mind could do amazing things to trick itself, after all.
The APCs rolled through the Legion line, and even as the dust and fires of Michael's display faded, the enemy was on them once more, pressing hard on the Legion position.
The first of the evacuees arrived at the fire-base, the dump trucks and heavy equipment the Legionnaires had used to carry their charges. The students, the people of the hospital and mall. Victoria Weston and the Legion medics, whom would have no purpose on the line.
CCD soldiers ran forward to start seeing the evacuees to the VTOLs, or to help carry the wounded, and Jacques' command staff began to collapse their computers and screens and load them back onto his jet.
He glanced at the Vega at his shoulder, and waved the man away, "You are dismissed, Major. Do as you must."
Jacques' tone was hollow, distant. He was still watching the live feeds from his men. The enemy had insinuated themselves into buildings and onto rooves, where RPGs and Dragunov rifles were able to strike down on the dug in Legionnaires.
Jacques stepped away from the collapsing command post, and stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. From afar, he looked calm, imperial even. The spitting image of an officer supervising a task. What few of his men remained at the fire-base came and went as CCD troops ushered civilians and wounded towards the VTOLs. There were too few familiar faces in the crowd; some of his men were carried or dragged/limped to the waiting crafts.
The civilians were panicked, but the waiting crafts held their attention now, and they needed little guidance from the CCD soldiers to start boarding the crafts. The first were already lifting off as the CCD convoy arrived with Michael.