05-16-2016, 10:56 PM
Freetown, Sierra Leone. 1520hrs GMT
The first of the Legionnaires tasked to Operation Gauntlet arrived at the ferry crossing and the waiting coastguard vessels shortly after Major Freeman's Sierra Leonean soldiers secured the dock. Armoured Legion SUVs rolled into parking lots crowded with abandoned vehicles and passed fallen fighters loyal to General Wallace-Johnson. They were received with mixed feelings by Major Freeman's forces; they were loyal to their immediate commander, the Major, but the idea of fighting former friends and allies for a foreign force did not sit well with them. Even if it was to protect the people and nation they had sworn to serve.
Some two dozen Legionnaires from across the city of Freetown had received the new orders; they were mostly of CCD, US, and Australian backgrounds; countries with long-standing usage of powered armour technologies. Luckily, the Legion focused heavily on cross training and an intense focus on Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs); every section of Legionnaires tended to do things the same way. The same lingo, the same drills, the same basic tactics. It would allow the men, having been drawn from various different squads and platoons, to function together.
SUVs unloaded their squad members that had been given the task, before the vehicles and their remaining crews spun off back into the city and other awaiting tasks. With the onset of the shelling, and the spreading realization of the bold move by 'insurgent' forces throughout the city (backed by the Legion), the forces loyal to Interim-President General Wallace-Johnson had begun falling back to Parliament or towards the city's outer security perimeter to the south-east.
Columns of smoke once again clawed at the mid-afternoon skies above Freetown; General Katlego's M777 had wreaked havoc across the city with their opening salvo of high explosive shells, and while they had been blessedly reserved in their usage, the barrage had been devastating to the over-crowded city.
Freelance reporters throughout the city were already reporting on the day's activities, and many were finding their recorded broadcasts being snapped up by news agencies around the world for live broadcasts. Images were being streamed to televisions around the world of the fighting in Freetown.
But putting those reports to shame was a constant live-stream from Legion soldiers. Each soldier wore their Landwarrior glasses, and the devices came standard with wireless routers and cameras capable of taking video. Legion techs in Casablanca were hard at work streaming that imagery; there was heavy editing, and some feeds would cut out as the source came upon situations deemed too sensitive even for the Legion's purposes.
Triage points were being set up throughout the city for those wounded by the shelling and fighting. Dozens of Wallace-Johnson's soldiers were taken prisoner, disarmed and incarcerated in whatever building might serve the purpose at their time of capture. The Legion had nothing to hide; they would face their 'crimes' openly, and let the people of the world judge for themselves, rather then relying on governments to filter and twist it to their own agendas.
Mabasi, Legion strike force. 1530Hrs GMT.
14 Panhards and seven out-dated ex-Moroccan military APCs rolled south from Port Loko and through the sprawling slums of Mabasi. The roads were crowded with abandoned civilian vehicles; people from the northern regions who had thought to flee from the Guinean warlords by running to Freetown, mixed with people from Freetown and the outlying regions who had once thought to flee north away from the fighting between General Wallace-Johnson and General Katlego.
The lead Panhard, equiped with a heavily reinforced bumper, rocked violently as it slammed an abandoned van out of the way, the lighter civilian vehicle flipping violently into the ditch lining the west side of the road.
“I dunno know how much more she can take, Cap'n!”
A Scottish Legionnaire, and apparently an avid Star Trek fan, held the Panhard's steering wheel in an iron-fisted grip, fighting to keep the thing on the road. Mid-bounce from the impact with the van, the Panhard crushed over the bumper and trunk of an old car, and again the vehicle rocked violently as its thick rubber tires rolled over the flimsy aluminum framed car.
“Damn it Jim, I'm a rifleman not a fucking Captain...”
Seated next to him and holding the catch bar mounted to the vehicle's dash infront of him, was an American Legionnaire who was, apparently, also well versed on the lingo. He was eyeing the nav system monitor mounted between his hands, which showed their surroundings and possible secondary routes in grey. Their current trail along the highway was a blue line which was being devoured by the tiny black triangle that was their vehicle. Markers indicated the other vehicles of the strike force at their rear, and vanishing off the edge of the top right of the screen were the markers of the convoy's supply trucks, guarded by only two damaged Panhards.
Three vehicles back from the lead Panhard sat Provost Boipello and Sergeant Jackson. The Sergeant sat at the controls of the Remote Weapon System mounted on the vehicle's roof. A pair of .50 machine guns were mounted into the remote controlled turret, and the system's stabilizer fought vailantly to keep both the weapons and the associated cameras steady.
“This shithole is going to slow us down, you know.”
Jackson glanced at Boipello before returning his focus to the RWS monitor, routinely switching between the day cameras and the thermals.
“That's why I said two hours. If the roads were open, we could be there in one.”
Boipello was studying an old-fashioned paper map produced from the glovebox. Their GPS system had been shorted out days ago while passing through Guinea, the system's antennas ripped off during a firefight with Guinean rebels.
“Good call.”
Edited by Jacques, May 16 2016, 10:56 PM.
The first of the Legionnaires tasked to Operation Gauntlet arrived at the ferry crossing and the waiting coastguard vessels shortly after Major Freeman's Sierra Leonean soldiers secured the dock. Armoured Legion SUVs rolled into parking lots crowded with abandoned vehicles and passed fallen fighters loyal to General Wallace-Johnson. They were received with mixed feelings by Major Freeman's forces; they were loyal to their immediate commander, the Major, but the idea of fighting former friends and allies for a foreign force did not sit well with them. Even if it was to protect the people and nation they had sworn to serve.
Some two dozen Legionnaires from across the city of Freetown had received the new orders; they were mostly of CCD, US, and Australian backgrounds; countries with long-standing usage of powered armour technologies. Luckily, the Legion focused heavily on cross training and an intense focus on Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs); every section of Legionnaires tended to do things the same way. The same lingo, the same drills, the same basic tactics. It would allow the men, having been drawn from various different squads and platoons, to function together.
SUVs unloaded their squad members that had been given the task, before the vehicles and their remaining crews spun off back into the city and other awaiting tasks. With the onset of the shelling, and the spreading realization of the bold move by 'insurgent' forces throughout the city (backed by the Legion), the forces loyal to Interim-President General Wallace-Johnson had begun falling back to Parliament or towards the city's outer security perimeter to the south-east.
Columns of smoke once again clawed at the mid-afternoon skies above Freetown; General Katlego's M777 had wreaked havoc across the city with their opening salvo of high explosive shells, and while they had been blessedly reserved in their usage, the barrage had been devastating to the over-crowded city.
Freelance reporters throughout the city were already reporting on the day's activities, and many were finding their recorded broadcasts being snapped up by news agencies around the world for live broadcasts. Images were being streamed to televisions around the world of the fighting in Freetown.
But putting those reports to shame was a constant live-stream from Legion soldiers. Each soldier wore their Landwarrior glasses, and the devices came standard with wireless routers and cameras capable of taking video. Legion techs in Casablanca were hard at work streaming that imagery; there was heavy editing, and some feeds would cut out as the source came upon situations deemed too sensitive even for the Legion's purposes.
Triage points were being set up throughout the city for those wounded by the shelling and fighting. Dozens of Wallace-Johnson's soldiers were taken prisoner, disarmed and incarcerated in whatever building might serve the purpose at their time of capture. The Legion had nothing to hide; they would face their 'crimes' openly, and let the people of the world judge for themselves, rather then relying on governments to filter and twist it to their own agendas.
Mabasi, Legion strike force. 1530Hrs GMT.
14 Panhards and seven out-dated ex-Moroccan military APCs rolled south from Port Loko and through the sprawling slums of Mabasi. The roads were crowded with abandoned civilian vehicles; people from the northern regions who had thought to flee from the Guinean warlords by running to Freetown, mixed with people from Freetown and the outlying regions who had once thought to flee north away from the fighting between General Wallace-Johnson and General Katlego.
The lead Panhard, equiped with a heavily reinforced bumper, rocked violently as it slammed an abandoned van out of the way, the lighter civilian vehicle flipping violently into the ditch lining the west side of the road.
“I dunno know how much more she can take, Cap'n!”
A Scottish Legionnaire, and apparently an avid Star Trek fan, held the Panhard's steering wheel in an iron-fisted grip, fighting to keep the thing on the road. Mid-bounce from the impact with the van, the Panhard crushed over the bumper and trunk of an old car, and again the vehicle rocked violently as its thick rubber tires rolled over the flimsy aluminum framed car.
“Damn it Jim, I'm a rifleman not a fucking Captain...”
Seated next to him and holding the catch bar mounted to the vehicle's dash infront of him, was an American Legionnaire who was, apparently, also well versed on the lingo. He was eyeing the nav system monitor mounted between his hands, which showed their surroundings and possible secondary routes in grey. Their current trail along the highway was a blue line which was being devoured by the tiny black triangle that was their vehicle. Markers indicated the other vehicles of the strike force at their rear, and vanishing off the edge of the top right of the screen were the markers of the convoy's supply trucks, guarded by only two damaged Panhards.
Three vehicles back from the lead Panhard sat Provost Boipello and Sergeant Jackson. The Sergeant sat at the controls of the Remote Weapon System mounted on the vehicle's roof. A pair of .50 machine guns were mounted into the remote controlled turret, and the system's stabilizer fought vailantly to keep both the weapons and the associated cameras steady.
“This shithole is going to slow us down, you know.”
Jackson glanced at Boipello before returning his focus to the RWS monitor, routinely switching between the day cameras and the thermals.
“That's why I said two hours. If the roads were open, we could be there in one.”
Boipello was studying an old-fashioned paper map produced from the glovebox. Their GPS system had been shorted out days ago while passing through Guinea, the system's antennas ripped off during a firefight with Guinean rebels.
“Good call.”
Edited by Jacques, May 16 2016, 10:56 PM.