07-13-2016, 11:43 AM
What the F3LIN Legionnaires lacked in numbers, they made up for in mobility and firepower. What scattered forces Wallace-Johnson commanded near their landing site, already harried by the success of Operation Rien N'Empeche, managed only a token resistance to their beachhead before finally breaking with the beginning of Katlego's artillery barrage.
The battlefield computers of their F3LIN suits, lacking access to satellites, struggled to identify and track inbound artillery, and often warnings would flash on the operator's HUDs scant seconds before a shell would crash into the earth. But after the opening minute or so of barrage and the devastating effect the High Explosive shells had on the densely packed city, the shells that followed were either all duds, or more likely, mere practice rounds. A hint perhaps that the rebel forces were not as well equipped as they pretended to be.
What remained of Interim-President General Wallace Johnson's forces had fallen back to the government district. Katlego's barrage had purposefully avoided damaging that part of the city, important as it was to the running of the country, and had intended to simply force Wallace-Johnson to surrender, rather then having to take it by moving troops into the city. Troops he didn't have, as he had become embroiled with combating Guinean warlords in the north of the country.
Two platoons, some hundred soldiers, were dug in around Wallace-Johnson's headquarters, the Sierra Leonean parliamentary building. They had been digging in for days, and now sat comfortably behind sandbag bunkers and rolls of concertina fencing. Four Rooikat Mk2 IFVs sat behind make-shift run-up positions at the corners of the Parliamentary lawn, earthen ramps that gave the vehicle crews a better view and area of fire, walled in sandbags and loose earth.
Wallace-Johnson sat quietly in the command room of his HQ, mind going numb from the constant stream of reports he was receiving. So many of his checkpoints in the city had been taken, most without even firing a shot. Hundreds of his men, either soldiers or loyalist militia, had surrendered rather then fight. The forces holding the airport had broken all communications with him; they had switched sides, clearly. It had been a struggle to change the encryption on his forces radios to block those traitors out of the loop.
Then there was the artillery; that bastard Katlego had already tried to raise him on satellite phone twice, but so far he had refused to speak to the Temne snake. The man was bluffing; the opening barrage, as terrible as it had been, had probably used up all the HE shells the bastard had. It was a pitiful bluff, one that Wallace-Johnson would make sure Katlego paid for dearly.
And then there were the reports from the harbor. A brief skirmish, the radio-man killed before being able to deliver the full report. They had made contact with an amphibious force, reports of heavy armour. It made no sense, but it was obvious to him that they were more Legionnaires. These ones, likely, coming for their leader.
Wallace-Johnson glared at the pistol that lay on the table in front of him; Danjou's pistol, surrendered so flippantly. "Colonel Doe. Order our forces at the city outskirt to advance on the embassy district, and on the police headquarters as well. Burn them to the ground. That should take the fight out of these bastards."
Colonol Doe cleared his throat uncomfortably, then gestured to a table lined with radios, where all of the operators were busy struggling with antennas or handsets. "We cannot sir. While the traitors at the airport do not have our crypto, they DO know our frequencies. They are broadcasting on all official channels, and filling them with static. We cannot get a signal through."
"THEN USE A PHONE, DAMN IT!"
The Colonol shrugged apologetically, "They have cut the land lines to this district, Interim-President General."
"Then send a damn runner. And if you give me one more excuse, it will be you."
Wallace-Johnson's tone was dangerously low, and he glared at his second in command. It was no threat, but rather a simple promise. And a death sentence for whomever was given the task.
"...yes, Interim-President General. And what about your prisoner?"
"He will order his men to surrender. Tell the guards to make sure of it. Whatever means necessary."
The battlefield computers of their F3LIN suits, lacking access to satellites, struggled to identify and track inbound artillery, and often warnings would flash on the operator's HUDs scant seconds before a shell would crash into the earth. But after the opening minute or so of barrage and the devastating effect the High Explosive shells had on the densely packed city, the shells that followed were either all duds, or more likely, mere practice rounds. A hint perhaps that the rebel forces were not as well equipped as they pretended to be.
What remained of Interim-President General Wallace Johnson's forces had fallen back to the government district. Katlego's barrage had purposefully avoided damaging that part of the city, important as it was to the running of the country, and had intended to simply force Wallace-Johnson to surrender, rather then having to take it by moving troops into the city. Troops he didn't have, as he had become embroiled with combating Guinean warlords in the north of the country.
Two platoons, some hundred soldiers, were dug in around Wallace-Johnson's headquarters, the Sierra Leonean parliamentary building. They had been digging in for days, and now sat comfortably behind sandbag bunkers and rolls of concertina fencing. Four Rooikat Mk2 IFVs sat behind make-shift run-up positions at the corners of the Parliamentary lawn, earthen ramps that gave the vehicle crews a better view and area of fire, walled in sandbags and loose earth.
Wallace-Johnson sat quietly in the command room of his HQ, mind going numb from the constant stream of reports he was receiving. So many of his checkpoints in the city had been taken, most without even firing a shot. Hundreds of his men, either soldiers or loyalist militia, had surrendered rather then fight. The forces holding the airport had broken all communications with him; they had switched sides, clearly. It had been a struggle to change the encryption on his forces radios to block those traitors out of the loop.
Then there was the artillery; that bastard Katlego had already tried to raise him on satellite phone twice, but so far he had refused to speak to the Temne snake. The man was bluffing; the opening barrage, as terrible as it had been, had probably used up all the HE shells the bastard had. It was a pitiful bluff, one that Wallace-Johnson would make sure Katlego paid for dearly.
And then there were the reports from the harbor. A brief skirmish, the radio-man killed before being able to deliver the full report. They had made contact with an amphibious force, reports of heavy armour. It made no sense, but it was obvious to him that they were more Legionnaires. These ones, likely, coming for their leader.
Wallace-Johnson glared at the pistol that lay on the table in front of him; Danjou's pistol, surrendered so flippantly. "Colonel Doe. Order our forces at the city outskirt to advance on the embassy district, and on the police headquarters as well. Burn them to the ground. That should take the fight out of these bastards."
Colonol Doe cleared his throat uncomfortably, then gestured to a table lined with radios, where all of the operators were busy struggling with antennas or handsets. "We cannot sir. While the traitors at the airport do not have our crypto, they DO know our frequencies. They are broadcasting on all official channels, and filling them with static. We cannot get a signal through."
"THEN USE A PHONE, DAMN IT!"
The Colonol shrugged apologetically, "They have cut the land lines to this district, Interim-President General."
"Then send a damn runner. And if you give me one more excuse, it will be you."
Wallace-Johnson's tone was dangerously low, and he glared at his second in command. It was no threat, but rather a simple promise. And a death sentence for whomever was given the task.
"...yes, Interim-President General. And what about your prisoner?"
"He will order his men to surrender. Tell the guards to make sure of it. Whatever means necessary."