06-11-2014, 11:55 PM
With the brief respite granted by the detonated gas station, and the stubborn stands of those on flanking streets approaching the airport, the lead vehicle of the convoy plowed through the concrete barricades of the highway, pushing debris and vehicles into the irrigation ditch that ran it's edge and rumbled onto the open ground of the airport proper. It was the final leg, where the mortars would cover their final run to the waiting VTOLs.
But things hadn't gone according to plan. The crashed VTOL on the airport grounds was a subtle hint. As was the disturbing lack of sustained mortar fire.
Their comms lit up in unison. Landwarrior HUDs displayed their CEO and a live feed from the satellites above. Markers tracked the Legionnaires' movement, the fire-base, the convoy, the enemy...and another CCD convoy, moving west towards the entrance to the airport. Their APCs couldn't make their way through the concrete barricades lining the perimeter of the airport.
The Legionnaires on foot staggered, exhausted, across the trench and into the open ground. Glances to their rear showed a steadily dwindling number of Legion markers to their rear; the thin screen of men that had bought them the time to cross the open highway uncontested were holding their ground to the last.
"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."
The quote was of Maya Angelou, a well-renowned African-American writer and civil-rights activist who had passed away in 2014. She had meant for people to stand up and do what was right, but he doubted she would have appreciated her words to be used to bolster men to commit violence.
Waypoint markers began to appear, flagged to certain Legionnaires that still carried explosives. They had brought cratering charges on the drop, carried in case the rebels had proven to have seized combat vehicles, or to create choke points and bottle-necks if it had come to a prolonged but sustainable engagement. That had not happened.
"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."
The convoy of dump-trucks carrying the evacuees continued towards the fire-base, and was passed by a seized bus, in which was loaded the .50 cal teams and their weapons; the mortars were spent, and their operators rode to the line as well with their rifles in hand. The CCD troops were now tasked to secure the fire-base location and the landing zone.
Wounded Legionnaires loaded in the dump trucks stirred; those that could still fight, and many who thought they could, climbed off the vehicles, which stopped briefly. One of Torri's patients were among those grim-faced Legionnaires who seemed willing to set their feet to the task.
Men laid cratering charges, a half dozen in total. Small explosions sounded along the open field from the burning remnants of the crashed VTOL to west of the over passes. Their line would be spread pitifully thin, but they sought only to buy time and hold the widest frontage they could. They needed to buy time, not to win, and so wide a line would keep the enemy from reaching effective weapons range of the departing VTOLs.
Jacques' tone was quiet. Serious. He fought to keep himself from wavering, but tears of frustration, of pride, of great loss, dampened his cheeks. Only those of his men too badly wounded to fight would reach the VTOLs. They would carry the solemn task of carrying word of their brethrens' last stand.
"Battle of Camarón. 62 Legionnaires held 2,000 Mexican soldiers at bay for 10 hours. I ask of you only one."
Into those half dozen small holes, explosives were dropped. Men ducked low and six deafening detonations tore the earth apart, throwing bits of debris high into the air for hundreds of meters in all directions where they rained to the earth sporadically. And into the newly formed craters the Legionnaires swarmed. Into patches of low undulating ground, behind patches of scrub brush or mounds of sand and dirt.
The bus stopped and men clambered out carrying heavy machine guns or just their rifles, and ran at speed to their positions, as delegated by further Waypoint markers displaying fields of fire. The movement of the CCD convoy was indicated by a blue line in the distance, growing ever closer. Other markers tracked the positions of those few Legionnaires that still fought in the city south of the highway, down to less then a scattered handful.
Dogtags were gathered and ran to the lead dump truck with the others. All told, there were nearly two hundred gathered there then, and many more belonged to the volunteers from the fire base, newly arrived to the field with the .50 machine guns.
They would be ready for the enemy when the time came, and the enemy would pay dearly for the horrors they had brought upon the world that night.
"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."
Ian Fleming, a renowned British author and military man, and the father of the iconic James Bond.
But things hadn't gone according to plan. The crashed VTOL on the airport grounds was a subtle hint. As was the disturbing lack of sustained mortar fire.
Their comms lit up in unison. Landwarrior HUDs displayed their CEO and a live feed from the satellites above. Markers tracked the Legionnaires' movement, the fire-base, the convoy, the enemy...and another CCD convoy, moving west towards the entrance to the airport. Their APCs couldn't make their way through the concrete barricades lining the perimeter of the airport.
The Legionnaires on foot staggered, exhausted, across the trench and into the open ground. Glances to their rear showed a steadily dwindling number of Legion markers to their rear; the thin screen of men that had bought them the time to cross the open highway uncontested were holding their ground to the last.
"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."
The quote was of Maya Angelou, a well-renowned African-American writer and civil-rights activist who had passed away in 2014. She had meant for people to stand up and do what was right, but he doubted she would have appreciated her words to be used to bolster men to commit violence.
Waypoint markers began to appear, flagged to certain Legionnaires that still carried explosives. They had brought cratering charges on the drop, carried in case the rebels had proven to have seized combat vehicles, or to create choke points and bottle-necks if it had come to a prolonged but sustainable engagement. That had not happened.
"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."
The convoy of dump-trucks carrying the evacuees continued towards the fire-base, and was passed by a seized bus, in which was loaded the .50 cal teams and their weapons; the mortars were spent, and their operators rode to the line as well with their rifles in hand. The CCD troops were now tasked to secure the fire-base location and the landing zone.
Wounded Legionnaires loaded in the dump trucks stirred; those that could still fight, and many who thought they could, climbed off the vehicles, which stopped briefly. One of Torri's patients were among those grim-faced Legionnaires who seemed willing to set their feet to the task.
Men laid cratering charges, a half dozen in total. Small explosions sounded along the open field from the burning remnants of the crashed VTOL to west of the over passes. Their line would be spread pitifully thin, but they sought only to buy time and hold the widest frontage they could. They needed to buy time, not to win, and so wide a line would keep the enemy from reaching effective weapons range of the departing VTOLs.
Jacques' tone was quiet. Serious. He fought to keep himself from wavering, but tears of frustration, of pride, of great loss, dampened his cheeks. Only those of his men too badly wounded to fight would reach the VTOLs. They would carry the solemn task of carrying word of their brethrens' last stand.
"Battle of Camarón. 62 Legionnaires held 2,000 Mexican soldiers at bay for 10 hours. I ask of you only one."
Into those half dozen small holes, explosives were dropped. Men ducked low and six deafening detonations tore the earth apart, throwing bits of debris high into the air for hundreds of meters in all directions where they rained to the earth sporadically. And into the newly formed craters the Legionnaires swarmed. Into patches of low undulating ground, behind patches of scrub brush or mounds of sand and dirt.
The bus stopped and men clambered out carrying heavy machine guns or just their rifles, and ran at speed to their positions, as delegated by further Waypoint markers displaying fields of fire. The movement of the CCD convoy was indicated by a blue line in the distance, growing ever closer. Other markers tracked the positions of those few Legionnaires that still fought in the city south of the highway, down to less then a scattered handful.
Dogtags were gathered and ran to the lead dump truck with the others. All told, there were nearly two hundred gathered there then, and many more belonged to the volunteers from the fire base, newly arrived to the field with the .50 machine guns.
They would be ready for the enemy when the time came, and the enemy would pay dearly for the horrors they had brought upon the world that night.
"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."
Ian Fleming, a renowned British author and military man, and the father of the iconic James Bond.