08-12-2016, 07:30 PM
Legion Headquarters and training grounds, Sidi Bel Abbès, Algeria
Commandant Tuff stood in his mostly unfurnished new command center. Legion techs sat on the shipping crates much of their equipment had been shipped in. The roar of four 16,000 Watt generators could be heard through the old brick walls of the school-turned-headquarters, powering the Legion's newly acquired telecommunications equipment.
Construction equipment rumbled past outside, a crane working to erect comms towers, dozers moving debris from age-crumbled ruins of the once-dead city. The few hundred people that had still lived in Sidi Bel Abbès had happily welcomed the Legion's arrival. What few young people remained in the city were being taught how to operate the heavy equipment, or how to work with computers or medical practices. The older folks found themselves sought after to instruct Legionnaires on practical skills of their own. Sewing, mending, cooking.
Old women found themselves cooking for dozens, then hundreds of Legionnaires and support staff, and earning good coin in the process. A fresh breath of life was being drawn into the dead city, and everyone, so far, was pleased for it.
The Legion had found a good home in Algeria. The country was on the verge of economic collapse, and the government was eager to throw its chips in with the Legion. The newly formed military force had money, and was not afraid or foolish in how it spent it. Long term gain and sustainable economy was the goal in all things.
The Commandant shifted his attention back to the team at work in the command center. The room would house the Public Relations department, and even as they struggled to get their computers and equipment set up, they were being flooded with messages.
"Capitan Pék. How does the PR department feel on your shoulders?"
He cast a grin to the younger Hungarian man, who returned it with a quiet sigh. He much preferred field command, but he was one of dangerously few ranking officers in the Legion at the moment.
"It is a challenge, Commandant. I am not used to this level of paperwork."
"I suppose you aren't. Luckily, you are a smart man. Now, exactly how has the world responded to his speech?"
He of course was referring to Jacques public address, from the Sierra Leone broadcasting center.
Pék waggled a finger in mock annoyance then keyed appropriate files. Hundreds of applications from around the world had been received within hours of the announcement. They ran the full gambit of what humanity had to offer, and everything Jacques had been asking for. "Not many wanting to carry a gun. We've got doctors, construction workers, fishermen and farmers. Priests, Imams, Rabbis. A sixty seven year old widower from Idaho. She was a nurse during the Ebola outbreak back in the day."
Tuff couldn't help but smile. An honest show of emotion, at least for a moment. The sentimental fool had gone and gotten his hand chopped off, but still managed to rally an army to his banner. Maybe there was some hope for his idealistic fool plan.
"Sir? We have a vid-call here. From Canada. Says he wants to train our men how to use the M777s."
One of the Legion techs addressed the Captain and Commandant, an excited grin screwing up his already goofy-looking features.
"Right then. Put him through to Captain Pedersen. We need those guns operational ASAP." Tuff nodded and glanced to Pék, "I think our young commander will get over the loss of a hand if he gains the use of those guns. I imagine he'll have a few people he wants to talk to."
Outside, a platoon of Legionnaires in training sprinted past in over-weight FELIN Mk2 suits. The kevlar was replaced with metal training plates, heavier then the real thing. Staff, wearing the same suits, training plates and all, sprinted along side, setting the grueling pace.
Commandant Tuff stood in his mostly unfurnished new command center. Legion techs sat on the shipping crates much of their equipment had been shipped in. The roar of four 16,000 Watt generators could be heard through the old brick walls of the school-turned-headquarters, powering the Legion's newly acquired telecommunications equipment.
Construction equipment rumbled past outside, a crane working to erect comms towers, dozers moving debris from age-crumbled ruins of the once-dead city. The few hundred people that had still lived in Sidi Bel Abbès had happily welcomed the Legion's arrival. What few young people remained in the city were being taught how to operate the heavy equipment, or how to work with computers or medical practices. The older folks found themselves sought after to instruct Legionnaires on practical skills of their own. Sewing, mending, cooking.
Old women found themselves cooking for dozens, then hundreds of Legionnaires and support staff, and earning good coin in the process. A fresh breath of life was being drawn into the dead city, and everyone, so far, was pleased for it.
The Legion had found a good home in Algeria. The country was on the verge of economic collapse, and the government was eager to throw its chips in with the Legion. The newly formed military force had money, and was not afraid or foolish in how it spent it. Long term gain and sustainable economy was the goal in all things.
The Commandant shifted his attention back to the team at work in the command center. The room would house the Public Relations department, and even as they struggled to get their computers and equipment set up, they were being flooded with messages.
"Capitan Pék. How does the PR department feel on your shoulders?"
He cast a grin to the younger Hungarian man, who returned it with a quiet sigh. He much preferred field command, but he was one of dangerously few ranking officers in the Legion at the moment.
"It is a challenge, Commandant. I am not used to this level of paperwork."
"I suppose you aren't. Luckily, you are a smart man. Now, exactly how has the world responded to his speech?"
He of course was referring to Jacques public address, from the Sierra Leone broadcasting center.
Pék waggled a finger in mock annoyance then keyed appropriate files. Hundreds of applications from around the world had been received within hours of the announcement. They ran the full gambit of what humanity had to offer, and everything Jacques had been asking for. "Not many wanting to carry a gun. We've got doctors, construction workers, fishermen and farmers. Priests, Imams, Rabbis. A sixty seven year old widower from Idaho. She was a nurse during the Ebola outbreak back in the day."
Tuff couldn't help but smile. An honest show of emotion, at least for a moment. The sentimental fool had gone and gotten his hand chopped off, but still managed to rally an army to his banner. Maybe there was some hope for his idealistic fool plan.
"Sir? We have a vid-call here. From Canada. Says he wants to train our men how to use the M777s."
One of the Legion techs addressed the Captain and Commandant, an excited grin screwing up his already goofy-looking features.
"Right then. Put him through to Captain Pedersen. We need those guns operational ASAP." Tuff nodded and glanced to Pék, "I think our young commander will get over the loss of a hand if he gains the use of those guns. I imagine he'll have a few people he wants to talk to."
Outside, a platoon of Legionnaires in training sprinted past in over-weight FELIN Mk2 suits. The kevlar was replaced with metal training plates, heavier then the real thing. Staff, wearing the same suits, training plates and all, sprinted along side, setting the grueling pace.