06-08-2014, 04:05 PM
The vehicles pulled away from the hospital, bound further east and away from the port district, and as the Legionnaires began to fall back, the rebels began to surge forwards, eager to overtake them once the convoy was away from the valuable hospital. Some of the more cowardly stormed the hospital, eager to secure it once more for their leader whom had fled in the face of the Legion's approach. Whatever guided their leader, it had been a wise decision, sparing the hospital from the brunt of the fighting in the city.
But in the wake of the Legion's departure, cowards and cutthroats moved in. They were policed by their own, but too late to spare the hospital from unnecessary violence.
Fire-and-movement was the way of the day, and squads fanned out north and south of the main road to keep the enemy from circling them, from getting ahead. The explosion of RPGs, the sudden infernos of Molotovs, and the near constant muzzle-flash of rifles lit the night-shrouded streets.
The heavy equipment vehicles made even shorter work of abandoned vehicles and shoddy barricades then the firetrucks from the airport had, and the huge rubber tires ate small-arms fire before finally deflating. But the Legionnaires cared little about the life-span of the vehicles, and so driving on the rims didn't matter to them.
The lead vehicle, a large bulldozer, plowed through the first traffic-circle, crashing through an immaculate field of flowers and statuary with ease. Capitan Hennings coordinated with the staff at the fire-base, who fed him with an understanding of the way ahead, and marked a series of way-points and threat markers. Translucent red walls marked enemy movement on streets beyond the Capitan's line of sight, further guiding the movements of the Legionnaires.
They approached the Heraa International Mall and were again forced to way-lay. The place had been a major tourist hot-spot, travelers seeking a chance to shop for exotic local fashions and keep-sake's in the comfort of a massive air conditioned building. As the Legion convoy approached, looters and worse fled the area, their movements tracked by CCD satellites under Jacques' temporary control.
Thermal imaging showed dozens of people still within; most people had fled in the confusion of the past day, but some still huddled in hopes that the mall would be spared the worst of the fighting. And some of those hidden people were likely to be foreigners. The sorts that would not fare well in the days after the CCD forces had pulled out of the area.
The convoy smashed through the concrete barriers that divided the east and west lanes of Hira Street, and they rolled into the huge parking lot of the mall where the vehicles began to circle. A make-shift laager was quickly formed as teams on foot ran into the mall. Others climbed the dozer to reach the building's roof, hoisted up by the deep bucket, and still more positioned themselves in prime firing positions, ready to begin repelling the insurgents hot on their heels.
They held position for the better part of half an hour while they scoured the mall. Mortar fire from the fire-base was still held in check; if they began firing it would give away their presence to the enemy, and begin drawing rebel fighters back to the airport, rather then for the to continue playing the cat-and-mouse game they had been with the convoy team.
CCD tourists, caught in the violence that had so suddenly erupted but not deemed important enough to grant them access to the airport that morning, were led out under Legion guard towards the waiting vehicles; families, husbands and wives and children, the ones that had been lucky enough to avoid detection by the looters that had torn the mall apart in the past many hours.
And just as they began preparing to move again, things took a sudden turn for the worst. Landwarriors began to flash warnings. Waypoint markers leading north to the airport winked out. Secondary routes farther east flashed a warning red before vanishing.
A portion of eastern Jeddah had been hidden from Jacques' view. A facility existed there; the Internal Security Forces Housing district of the long defunct Saudi Arabian secret police had been re-purposed under CCD rule. Or more accurately, it's purpose had been taken on by a new force.
A branch of the CDPS now controlled the facility, where 'high interest' prisoners were held in a secret facility. The facility had held firm all these hours of the uprising. Thick walls, abundant ammunition. And motivation to protect the CCD from it's enemies had allowed them to hold their place. The secrecy of the facility had kept them from allowing Jacques to know of it's existance, and with the arrival of the VTOL transports and reinforcements that Jacques had been promised, their ulterior motives had been revealed.
The security forces had made a daring break-through of the encircling insurgent forces, and now a convoy of CCD APCs and vehicles made it's way for the airport, and with them came a fresh wash of insurgent forces, racing to cut off the way back to the airport.
The VTOLs had been spotted on their approach, as a pair had circled wide and approached the city from the south, moving to give air support to the CCD convoy and it's high value prisoners. With their ploy given away, the Legion mortars began firing again, banishing any doubt that the fire-base team still held position at the airport, and the city buzzed like a kicked bee's hive.
Satellite imagery revealed the enemy moving at speed to swarm highway 271 and the overpasses onto the airport, and the Legion convoy was forced to try and race them to that choke point.
Pressed now for time, the flanking groups of Legionnaires were no longer granted the leniency of fire-and-movement. Exhausted from their hours running around the city, and running dangerously low on ammunition, spurred on by the sacrifice of Sgt Wilk's stand, teams of Legionnaires began to take and hold ground.
-----
Caporal Bousaid and his squad pounded pavement ahead of the convoy until they reached their destination. The men were exhausted, and two didn't even carry rifles anymore, having long since expended their ammunition. They ran through the parking lot of a gas station, where one man dropped face-first into the asphalt where he stayed, unmoving.
Another stumbled to his body, and with his knife cut free the dead Legionnaire's pack, while another kicked through the glass doors of the gas station to fire up the pumps, and another still began working on the mechanisms, which began to spill gasoline across the ground.
Others moved to circle the building, where they ran into the lead most runners of the approaching rebel groups. They came across each other by surprise, but the Legion men were faster on the draw. Weapons fired, men screamed.
Realizing how little time they had, the Legionnaire with the pack knelt in a rapidly widening puddle of gasoline and pulled free four breaching charges. They were small, meant for blowing locks rather then holes in walls, and had been hastily connected by a length of electrical wire to their detonators.
At their backs, the convoy began to rumble past, Legionnaires staggering to keep up. The walking wounded continued to move on foot, and when their wounds became too great they would stagger and fall, their backs to the airport, their rifles trained on alleys or the highway at their backs, doing whatever they could to keep the enemy at bay. And always dogtags were taken, handed off, pushed to the front of the convoy, the lead most dumptruck where Michael sat.
The numbers of metal chains grew in spurts and trickles; one, six, a dozen. Already a score of them had been pushed forward, and eight more were handed up, the fore-most bearing the name of Caporal Zakariyya Bousaid.
The convoy pushed north, leaving the squad behind. The last vehicle passed, and the distance grew. Fifty meters, a hundred. The last two Legionnaires could be seen in the parking lot, their reflections rippling in the puddle of gasoline at their feet as the rebels grew closer. Blinded by their hatred, a dozen charged the two men, who bore knife and bayoneted rifle, shouting challenges in Arabic at their opponents.
Two hundred meters turned became five, and the Caporal squeezed the clacker in his off hand, detonating the breaching charges that lay scattered in the puddles of gasoline, stuffed into the open caps of the underground tanks. The explosions happened almost simultaneously; the first of the charges and the puddle igniting, the second of the flames reaching the underground tanks. A great plume of flames engulfed the highway and the surrounding buildings, and for a moment, the highway towards the airport was empty.
But in the wake of the Legion's departure, cowards and cutthroats moved in. They were policed by their own, but too late to spare the hospital from unnecessary violence.
Fire-and-movement was the way of the day, and squads fanned out north and south of the main road to keep the enemy from circling them, from getting ahead. The explosion of RPGs, the sudden infernos of Molotovs, and the near constant muzzle-flash of rifles lit the night-shrouded streets.
The heavy equipment vehicles made even shorter work of abandoned vehicles and shoddy barricades then the firetrucks from the airport had, and the huge rubber tires ate small-arms fire before finally deflating. But the Legionnaires cared little about the life-span of the vehicles, and so driving on the rims didn't matter to them.
The lead vehicle, a large bulldozer, plowed through the first traffic-circle, crashing through an immaculate field of flowers and statuary with ease. Capitan Hennings coordinated with the staff at the fire-base, who fed him with an understanding of the way ahead, and marked a series of way-points and threat markers. Translucent red walls marked enemy movement on streets beyond the Capitan's line of sight, further guiding the movements of the Legionnaires.
They approached the Heraa International Mall and were again forced to way-lay. The place had been a major tourist hot-spot, travelers seeking a chance to shop for exotic local fashions and keep-sake's in the comfort of a massive air conditioned building. As the Legion convoy approached, looters and worse fled the area, their movements tracked by CCD satellites under Jacques' temporary control.
Thermal imaging showed dozens of people still within; most people had fled in the confusion of the past day, but some still huddled in hopes that the mall would be spared the worst of the fighting. And some of those hidden people were likely to be foreigners. The sorts that would not fare well in the days after the CCD forces had pulled out of the area.
The convoy smashed through the concrete barriers that divided the east and west lanes of Hira Street, and they rolled into the huge parking lot of the mall where the vehicles began to circle. A make-shift laager was quickly formed as teams on foot ran into the mall. Others climbed the dozer to reach the building's roof, hoisted up by the deep bucket, and still more positioned themselves in prime firing positions, ready to begin repelling the insurgents hot on their heels.
They held position for the better part of half an hour while they scoured the mall. Mortar fire from the fire-base was still held in check; if they began firing it would give away their presence to the enemy, and begin drawing rebel fighters back to the airport, rather then for the to continue playing the cat-and-mouse game they had been with the convoy team.
CCD tourists, caught in the violence that had so suddenly erupted but not deemed important enough to grant them access to the airport that morning, were led out under Legion guard towards the waiting vehicles; families, husbands and wives and children, the ones that had been lucky enough to avoid detection by the looters that had torn the mall apart in the past many hours.
And just as they began preparing to move again, things took a sudden turn for the worst. Landwarriors began to flash warnings. Waypoint markers leading north to the airport winked out. Secondary routes farther east flashed a warning red before vanishing.
A portion of eastern Jeddah had been hidden from Jacques' view. A facility existed there; the Internal Security Forces Housing district of the long defunct Saudi Arabian secret police had been re-purposed under CCD rule. Or more accurately, it's purpose had been taken on by a new force.
A branch of the CDPS now controlled the facility, where 'high interest' prisoners were held in a secret facility. The facility had held firm all these hours of the uprising. Thick walls, abundant ammunition. And motivation to protect the CCD from it's enemies had allowed them to hold their place. The secrecy of the facility had kept them from allowing Jacques to know of it's existance, and with the arrival of the VTOL transports and reinforcements that Jacques had been promised, their ulterior motives had been revealed.
The security forces had made a daring break-through of the encircling insurgent forces, and now a convoy of CCD APCs and vehicles made it's way for the airport, and with them came a fresh wash of insurgent forces, racing to cut off the way back to the airport.
The VTOLs had been spotted on their approach, as a pair had circled wide and approached the city from the south, moving to give air support to the CCD convoy and it's high value prisoners. With their ploy given away, the Legion mortars began firing again, banishing any doubt that the fire-base team still held position at the airport, and the city buzzed like a kicked bee's hive.
Satellite imagery revealed the enemy moving at speed to swarm highway 271 and the overpasses onto the airport, and the Legion convoy was forced to try and race them to that choke point.
Pressed now for time, the flanking groups of Legionnaires were no longer granted the leniency of fire-and-movement. Exhausted from their hours running around the city, and running dangerously low on ammunition, spurred on by the sacrifice of Sgt Wilk's stand, teams of Legionnaires began to take and hold ground.
-----
Caporal Bousaid and his squad pounded pavement ahead of the convoy until they reached their destination. The men were exhausted, and two didn't even carry rifles anymore, having long since expended their ammunition. They ran through the parking lot of a gas station, where one man dropped face-first into the asphalt where he stayed, unmoving.
Another stumbled to his body, and with his knife cut free the dead Legionnaire's pack, while another kicked through the glass doors of the gas station to fire up the pumps, and another still began working on the mechanisms, which began to spill gasoline across the ground.
Others moved to circle the building, where they ran into the lead most runners of the approaching rebel groups. They came across each other by surprise, but the Legion men were faster on the draw. Weapons fired, men screamed.
Realizing how little time they had, the Legionnaire with the pack knelt in a rapidly widening puddle of gasoline and pulled free four breaching charges. They were small, meant for blowing locks rather then holes in walls, and had been hastily connected by a length of electrical wire to their detonators.
At their backs, the convoy began to rumble past, Legionnaires staggering to keep up. The walking wounded continued to move on foot, and when their wounds became too great they would stagger and fall, their backs to the airport, their rifles trained on alleys or the highway at their backs, doing whatever they could to keep the enemy at bay. And always dogtags were taken, handed off, pushed to the front of the convoy, the lead most dumptruck where Michael sat.
The numbers of metal chains grew in spurts and trickles; one, six, a dozen. Already a score of them had been pushed forward, and eight more were handed up, the fore-most bearing the name of Caporal Zakariyya Bousaid.
The convoy pushed north, leaving the squad behind. The last vehicle passed, and the distance grew. Fifty meters, a hundred. The last two Legionnaires could be seen in the parking lot, their reflections rippling in the puddle of gasoline at their feet as the rebels grew closer. Blinded by their hatred, a dozen charged the two men, who bore knife and bayoneted rifle, shouting challenges in Arabic at their opponents.
Two hundred meters turned became five, and the Caporal squeezed the clacker in his off hand, detonating the breaching charges that lay scattered in the puddles of gasoline, stuffed into the open caps of the underground tanks. The explosions happened almost simultaneously; the first of the charges and the puddle igniting, the second of the flames reaching the underground tanks. A great plume of flames engulfed the highway and the surrounding buildings, and for a moment, the highway towards the airport was empty.