11-09-2017, 09:33 PM
The Legion had never been much of one for long logistical chains, confining red tape, or lagging bureaucracy. When tasked to do something, it was always accomplished quickly and efficiently, with a level of autonomy granted to subordinates not seen in standing armies. In part due to the high levels of experience and qualifications of Legion members, and also in part because they weren't shackled with having to stay in line with an elected or ruling government's intents.
The only delay they hit was getting clearance for Jacques' motorcade. When 'VIPs' were moving around the city, the CDPS tended to prefer being informed, especially if said person tended to travel with well armed guards and had already butted heads with VIPs in the city.
Two locally-sourced armoured SUVs escorted the Legion's lone staff car, a 1941 Citroën Traction Avant, were soon directed through into the Kremlin's parcade, and Jacques left his escorts to mingle in the provided lounge for attache's and bodyguards, and was escorted through the winding and lavish courtyards and corridors that made up the seat of the most powerful government in the world.
A government led by what many in Africa considered a god, or perhaps a demon. A being to be feared and never trusted. Many smaller tribal religions or perversions of main-stream ones saw him as a proverbial Antichrist or a bringer of end times. But, those same groups thought the same of particularly wet springs, dry summers, and were often awash with other silly superstitions.
Such beliefs held no sway over Jacques. He knew of them, and would strive to understand such beliefs of course, but only to know how best to correct them, and to track which factions might later prove a danger.
While walking the halls, he quietly chastised himself for letting himself become so distracted with the ongoing issues tormenting Africa, and allowed himself to at least admire the artistry and history found within the Kremlin's halls, at least until he was shown to the door of Ascendancy's office.
Jacques waited briefly as an attendant announced him, and after a short delay was shown inside. He was dressed in his oddly featureless variant of a Legionnaire's dress uniform. He lacked rank insignia's, wore no national flag and instead had the flag of the Legion, and even lacked the white fourragère, a sash marking a combat veteran. His uniform was well tailored and fitted, well kept and clean, and it was that lack of arrogant bragging that set him apart from so many other military leaders in Africa.
His infantry saber had been left with his guards, of course. His characteristic Landwarrior glasses were tucked neatly into a pocket. He stopped a few paces short of the Ascendancy's desk, and offered a casual salute in greeting, his prosthetic hand proving not quite able to properly straighten properly, a rare occurrence that was a result of the technology being a few generations behind what was available in the CCD.
"Bonjour, Ascendancy."
The only delay they hit was getting clearance for Jacques' motorcade. When 'VIPs' were moving around the city, the CDPS tended to prefer being informed, especially if said person tended to travel with well armed guards and had already butted heads with VIPs in the city.
Two locally-sourced armoured SUVs escorted the Legion's lone staff car, a 1941 Citroën Traction Avant, were soon directed through into the Kremlin's parcade, and Jacques left his escorts to mingle in the provided lounge for attache's and bodyguards, and was escorted through the winding and lavish courtyards and corridors that made up the seat of the most powerful government in the world.
A government led by what many in Africa considered a god, or perhaps a demon. A being to be feared and never trusted. Many smaller tribal religions or perversions of main-stream ones saw him as a proverbial Antichrist or a bringer of end times. But, those same groups thought the same of particularly wet springs, dry summers, and were often awash with other silly superstitions.
Such beliefs held no sway over Jacques. He knew of them, and would strive to understand such beliefs of course, but only to know how best to correct them, and to track which factions might later prove a danger.
While walking the halls, he quietly chastised himself for letting himself become so distracted with the ongoing issues tormenting Africa, and allowed himself to at least admire the artistry and history found within the Kremlin's halls, at least until he was shown to the door of Ascendancy's office.
Jacques waited briefly as an attendant announced him, and after a short delay was shown inside. He was dressed in his oddly featureless variant of a Legionnaire's dress uniform. He lacked rank insignia's, wore no national flag and instead had the flag of the Legion, and even lacked the white fourragère, a sash marking a combat veteran. His uniform was well tailored and fitted, well kept and clean, and it was that lack of arrogant bragging that set him apart from so many other military leaders in Africa.
His infantry saber had been left with his guards, of course. His characteristic Landwarrior glasses were tucked neatly into a pocket. He stopped a few paces short of the Ascendancy's desk, and offered a casual salute in greeting, his prosthetic hand proving not quite able to properly straighten properly, a rare occurrence that was a result of the technology being a few generations behind what was available in the CCD.
"Bonjour, Ascendancy."