Jacques Danjou

[Jacques]

Jacques Danjou

Origin: Aubagne, Frace
Currently: Casablanca, Morocco

Occupation:
CEO of Légion Première

Psychological:
Jacques is commonly known as a charismatic and business savvy man. The CEO of a well known mercenary and private security company prevalent in Africa, he is seen by most of his clients in nice suits and well groomed, discussing contracts and the implications of various laws and legislation as they pertain to the employment of mercenaries. To others, he is seen as the life of the party; one to always have a good story or joke, no stranger to the dance floor, and quite the card shark, winning more then his fair share of poker games. To few outside Légion Première, he is seen as a soldier and commander, just as at home overseeing combat operations as a general of more conventional armed forces.

Physical:
Jacques is of average height and slender build, and is quick to smile (or smirk mischievously). He is often dressed in more subdued colours or earth-tones, with an unusual penchant for shades of gray.

Powers and Supernatural Powers:
None.

In the months before mainland Europe decided to join the CCD, the French Foreign Legion and it's benefactors played an expensive and dangerous gambit. Over the course of six months, an entire regiment of the Legion was misplaced, written off, retired, and honorably discharged. Soldiers and equipment were stationed in a French military dockyard in Casablanca, Morocco, and systematically forgotten. By the time France joined the CCD, the 1st Regiment of the Foreign Legion no longer existed on the books.

A week later, Légion Première registered itself as a private security firm specializing in larger-scale operations. Over the past 20 years, most of the original Legionnaires have retired or passed on, but the traditions of the Legion remain strong, making Légion Première an unusually professional mercenary group, with it's soldiers highly sought after by oil, energy, and mining companies all over Africa.

At first glance, Légion Première is a business. Without good profit margins, the company would have gone defunct years ago, unable to keep it's expensive equipment operational or to pay it's employees. However, at it's core, it's a professional military force with long and deep-routed traditions. 'The Legion dies; it does not surrender.' A mentality that has set it apart from similar private security companies, whose members are often drafted from various militaries and are usually hot-shots and glory hounds. Légion Première takes the contracts most other companies deem too dangerous, and it's fees are exorbitant by comparison to others. But, as they say, you get what you pay for.

-----

Lagos, Nigeria, 21 May, 2230hrs, 2041:

The room was deathly quiet. Five men studied each other in silence as they sat around a circular table. A small fortune sat at the table's center; a sea of poker chips, gold watches, car or boat keys. Four of the men were very successful business men; some of the richest men in Nigeria. One was the house dealer, a middle aged Nigerian man who had been working in the casino for most of his life. And one was the stranger to the group. The outsider, the foreigner, and worst still the one doing most of the winning.

The foreigner drummed his fingers on his cards which still lay face down on the table, and eyed the small fortune that sat at the center of the table. He glanced occasionally at his opponents, sporting the ghost of a sly grin, as if he already knew the outcome of the game before the other players.

He'd kept it up the whole night. Whether he lost a hand or won, he took it all with that same grin. One of the older business men cleared their throat impatiently, and the foreigner's grin widened. A quiet chuckle and he waved his hands apologetically, "Yes, sorry friends. It is Mr Dangote's watch. Very shiny, is it not? Limited edition Patek Philippe, right? Yes well. All in."
He casually pushed the large collection of chips and baubles on his side of the table into the center, then looked to his competition, one eyebrow raised and that sly grin back to that dangerous ghostly hint of confidence.

Two of the Nigerian business men folded with little hesitation but no shortage of complaint. The third folded after a few moments later. Mr Dangote was last, and the man shot the foreigner a long, calculating glare before barking a curse, "I call, Mr Danjou. And I swear that if you win again..."


Jacques' grin widened again; he was certain he was going to win, and did so love threats. But before Mr Dangote could finish, the door to the room slammed open, revealing two large black men in the service uniform of Légion Première stepped into the room. Both men had holstered pistols and sturdy black batons, an unusual sight inside the casino, and both sported red sashes on their left arms marking them as the Légion's provosts.

The Nigerian's lept to their feet in fright and anger, the dealer going so far as to thrust a hand beneath his table as if reaching for something. Both provosts had their batons in hand before the dealer could finish the move, and the man froze to the sound of the air-charged rods extended with an audible crack and a more concerning crackle of electricity.

Jacques stood and patted the dealer on the shoulder, "Calm down monsieur. They are here for me, am I right?"


The two men calmly retracted the batons and tucked them away, although one never took his eye off the gamblers and dealer. "Capitaine Danjou. Operation Cold Spirit has met with some difficulty. Your presence is required in Maiduguri, ASAP."


Jacques' frown vanished, as did the casual slouch. He adjusted his bowtie and turned to the Nigerian businessmen he had been gambling with for the past few hours. "Terribly sorry gentlemen, but you heard these armed gentlemen. Time for me to be away."
He turned to leave, then stopped and waggled a finger at the pair of provosts, indicating them to wait a moment.

He reached back, flipped his cards to reveal a winning hand, then carefully plucked Mr Dangote's watch from the pile, "If it is as bad as I think it is, Mr Dangote, you men can keep the rest. Would be like taking the shirt off a man's back, yes?"
Then he walked out, calmly setting the expensive watch on his wrist, the two provosts in tow, one giving the men a curt, serious nod before closing the door to the private room.

(to be continued)

[Jacques]

Maiduguri, Nigeria, 22 May, 0515hrs

Fires still burned in the now gutted regional headquarters of Dangote Industries, one of the largest industrial and mining companies in northern Africa. Jacques stood in the middle of the street assessing the situation, as Nigerian soldiers and emergency services picked through the rubble. Dozens of body bags lay in orderly rows as a pair of Légion Première soldiers walked the line, pulling ID tags from some of the charred corpses, taking stock of their dead.

"Have you found the CEO yet, provost?"
Jacques stood at the lip of a sizable blast crater and eyed the charred ruins of concrete Texas barriers. Terrorists had hit the building with two large suicide-vehicle-born IEDs (SVBIED), one mere minutes after the other. Half the block had been leveled, and the dead was expected to be in the hundreds. Worse still, the CEO had been present, meeting with Dangote Industry's regional head, and both men had brought quite the impressive entourage.

"No, Capitaine."
The provost held out a license plate, which Jacques accepted and eyed it a moment to make out the numbers that were stamped on it. "From the CEO's motorcade. Sapper Aberash found what is left of the Panhard in the Dangote basement."


The five story office building was little more then a skeletal facade; most of the building had been destroyed by the dual explosions, and what had survived that had been lost to the fires that had raged in the aftermath. An open pit led to the basement, where soldiers with dogs poked through the rubble, searching for more bodies.

Jacques nodded and handed the plate back, then turned back to his own Panhard Mk3, a four-wheeled light armoured car, "Consolidate Légion Première forces at the airport. We will charter a plane and return to Morocco as soon as possible. Our contract here is done."


With the CEO and the board dead, he was the senior most member of the company in the region, which placed him in command for the time being. The first order of business then was to return to Casablanca and take stock of the damages; Mr Dangote had already informed them their contract was null and void. Legal and financial repercussions would surely come in the following days. He really hated reading those contracts...

Within minutes, nine Panhards rolled away, as well as two locally chartered trucks carrying the bodies of their dead and what gear they had been able to salvage from the wreckage.


Maiduguri International Airport, Nigeria, 22 May 1310hrs


"Capitaine Danjou."
A Légion Première soldier handed over an outdated military-grade data-pad after saluting.

Jacques accepted it and looked at the displayed information while sipping some tea, then sighed and glanced out the airport window. Columns of smoke rose from the not so distant Maiduguri city; insurgents had launched a coordinated attack on the city shortly before noon, and the highway to the airport was choked with people fleeing the fighting. Nigerian military forces had so far been successful at keeping the airport secure, but it was obvious the situation was getting out of hand. "Any idea how Mademoiselle Brown knew I was even here, Private?"


He had dealt with Samantha Brown before. He had made the mistake of doing one charity case for her, for free, and the woman had been hounding him ever since. He'd arranged for a convoy escort of Red Cross assets in the Sudan a few years ago, and had maybe saved her life because of it. Ever since, she'd seemed convinced that he was actually a good person.

"You were on the local news this morning, Capitaine. At Dangote Industries. Perhaps she saw you on the television?"
The young soldier shrugged, "Your orders, sir?"


Even before the attack yesterday night that had claimed the CEO, it had been readily evident to those paying attention to such things, that the local Nigerian military commander was in cahoots with the Boko Haram, the local breed of Al-Qaeda aligned extremists. That suspicion had become more and more obvious in the early hours of the attack on the city.

Jacques shrugged slightly and glanced at the soldier. "She wants me to set up a defensive perimeter of a womens college, in the midst of an Al-Qaeda-aligned insurgency that is probably backed by the local military commander? We would have to shoot our way off the airport, fight our way down the Kashim Ibrahim Road to the Mai Ibrahim traffic circle? Two blocks from the State Secretariate where the fighting is especially thick, then try to secure seven walled compounds that make the Government Women's College?"


Jacques typed away at the dataslate, laying waypoint markers, penning orders, assigning secondary routes and fall-back points. He handed the datapad back a moment later and downed the last of his tea in one gulp, "Sounds like fun, soldier. And like some very good press."
The two men shared a grin then strolled out of the airport's VIP lounge.

[Jacques]

Maiduguri, Nigeria, 1535hrs

Small arms fire ripped off the hull of his Panhard, although he could hardly hear it for the staccato chatter of the remote-weapon-system (RWS) .50 cal mounted on the roof of the vehicle. Nine Panhards roared through the ditches and yards that lined the side of the Kashim Ibrahim Road, heading east towards the Maiduguri city limits.

Hundreds of now abandoned vehicles choked the road and side streets, left by those who had been lucky enough to make it this far before the fighting had cut off any escape from the city. By all reports, hundreds of insurgents had over-run the city's defenders in a well coordinated attack. And from what he could tell, the local garrison commander had done an excellent job of leaving the back door open, so to speak.

Jacques studied the tactical display mounted on the headrest of the seat in front of him. He wore a pair of Land Warrior glasses, and every time he glanced up or out the window, he was met with a dizzying vista of markers and warnings, where other members of Légion Première had indicated enemy shooters or other problems. To most, the display would make no sense; red and yellow indicators for known or possible hostiles, blues and greens for friendlies and non-combatants. Arrows and motion indicators marked the projected movements of those various indicators, and lines indicating directions of fire from friendly or hostile sources. To him, it all formed a complicated pattern, and he couldn't help but grin. He glanced back to the map, then glanced up with a start, giving the vehicle's driver a sharp slap to the shoulder.

The vehicle skidded to a sudden halt, and Capitaine Jacques Danjou threw open the heavy, armoured door of the Panhard. The other vehicles stopped as well, doors being thrown open as mercenaries dismounted and brought their rifles to bear, firing at rooftops and windows where hostile insurgents lurked.

Jacques strolled through the open, his own rifle slung casually as some of his men thundered past to secure the immediate perimeter. A field reporter, wearing patches and ID that marked him as in the employ of a major CCD news channel, crouched at a low wall, talking into the camera held by his partner. The two men wore bright white helmets and more practically coloured body armour, and nearby was the ruins of their truck. Apparently, they were as viable a target as anyone else around here.

Jacques strolled up as a few rounds tore into the wall they were hiding behind, and a mortar landed a ways off, and the two men ducked lower before even realizing Jacques was there.

"Afternoon, Messieurs. I think you are not safe here."


The reporter balked a long moment, then quickly gestured for his cameraman to turn around, "What are mercenaries doing in Maiduguri? What can you tell us of the situation in the city?"
The man was clearly British, and was about as clued into how much danger he was in as the ants skittering around the base of the wall they were using as cover.

Jacques smiled at the reporter, while two of his men jogged forward to grab the reporter and cameraman, "Well, for the moment, I am pulling your bacon out of the fire, as the Americans say. And you will get a much more interesting story with us then you will dead in the sand here."


The reporter stared at Jacques for a long moment, then the pair ducked lower as a mortar round impacted a few dozen meters away, sending up a cloud of dirt and a deadly spray of shrapnel. Jacques frowned at the pair then adjusted the mic that hung infront of his mouth, "Bombardier Iweala? Would you do something about that? Those fellows are getting rather close."


One of the Panhards sported a MK19 automatic grenade launcher in it's RWS system, and a system used to triangulate indirect fire. The weapon snapped up and spun, then launched a burst of grenades into the air. The dull whup-whup-whup of detonating grenades sounded, followed by a louder bang as a small cash of mortar rounds detonated.

"Now, where were we? Yes, I believe you two were about to mount up, yes?"
The reporter and cameraman shared a glance, then nodded curtly and ran for the waiting vehicles, climbing into Jacques' as he strolled back, his men falling back to their own vehicles in good order. A glance at their surroundings gave Jacques a very satisfied grin. There were decidedly fewer red icons in the vicinity.

That smile faultered slightly when he took into account the mounting bill for expenses. Ammunition and fuel were not cheap, after all.


Maiduguri, Nairobi, Government Women's College, 1650hrs


Panhards rolled into the university grounds and began fanning out to pre-determined positions around the campus, even as doors were thrown open and the mercenaries of Légion Première dismounted and charged into the buildings. A handful of bodies littered the ground already, a sure sign that they might have been too late.

Jacques vehicle took to the center of the courtyard, and he threw the door open and piled out, the CCD reporter and cameraman struggling to follow. Two vans sporting the Red Crescent design had been parked in front of the main doors to the college, and were riddled with holes, a last ditch effort to keep the insurgents out of the building. "Welcome to the Nigerian government's northern-most post-secondary education center for women. My company has accepted a request for help by Mademoiselle Samantha Brown of the Red Cross, to garrison this location until the local situation has calmed down. I suggest you set up over there, and stay out of the way of my men, s'il te plait."


He waved for the reporter to get out of the way, then walked towards the main building as a dozen of his men thundered in the front doors. Weapons fire and screaming could be heard from within as well as the city around them, and he stopped briefly to eye two Nigerian soldiers that lay face first on the steps, both shot in the back of the head. Likely by some of their own people.

He stopped at the top of the steps as his men rushed down the corridor. Two of his provosts were at point, each sporting a ballistic-grade plastic riot shield, behind which the rest of the men formed urban-breaching stacks. Sappers carrying shotguns were next, ready to breach locked doors, should those prove to be a problem, and the rest of the men had opted to leave their FAMAS assault rifles behind in favour of more compact carbines and SMGs, far better suited to the close-quarters fighting they were about to experience.

Jacques glanced at the two vans, then into the building before calmly digging out his Wallet. A few deft flicks of his thumb, expertly executed considering the choice of shooter-gloves he was wearing, and he pulled up Ms Brown's number. It rang twice before she picked up.

"Mr Danjou? Where are you, damn it?! I asked for your help six hours ago! It's a twenty damn minute drive from the airport!"
The woman sounded more angry then afraid. Not terribly surprising. She was American, after all. They were an arrogant lot, and probably had no inclination that she could possibly die here. Of course, the fact that she made a career of working in the shittiest countries Africa had to offer probably had more to do with it. This wasn't the first time someone had been trying to kill her.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Dreadfully sorry I'm late. The roads are quite crowded today. Might I ask where you are at the moment?"
He finally crossed the threshold into the university's main building, falling in behind one of the stacks of his men as they worked their way down the main corridor. A dozen Nigerian security guards lay dead in the foyer, scattered about from a central blast crater; one of their numbers had been wearing a suicide vest, it seemed. Fanatics were a strange sort.

"I have most of the girls in the old gymnasium. A few soldiers are trying to keep these Boko Haram assholes out, but I don't think they're winning."


"Well, help is on the way, Mon Cherie. Your knight in shining armour, as you Yanks say, yes? Sit patiently, s'il vous plais."


A few deft flicks of the eye and a command went out to his men to activate their helmet-mounted cameras. The reporter outside would probably want footage of the daring rescue operation.

It took less than an hour to secure the campus; three Nigerian soldiers were all that remained of the platoon of fifty-some sent to keep the place safe. More then half their number had turned out to be on the corrupt commander's payroll, and no shortage of those ones had been put down by Jacques' men. A simple matter of just shooting anyone with a gun that aimed it their way.

When he walked into the gymnasium, the view was comforting. Some three hundred women and staff were hidden within, although a head-count revealed that many were still missing and probably dead. But, as they say, it could have been much worse. Jacques was met by Samantha only a few strides into the room where she gave him a stern lecture about punctuality. He of course claimed he was just 'fashionably late.'

Aided with a working military radio held by the remaining Nigerian soldiers, he was able to begin coordinating with the Nigerian forces in the city, and with reinforcements that were already arriving. Soon enough, the women's university became a safe zone for refugees and later a command center, where Légion Première was formaly tasked with perimeter security. Jacques was able to negotiate quite the lucrative contract considering the short notice. Two days later the fighting was over and the Boko Haram were in full retreat, with the corrupt Nigerian commander captured and executed within the week.

In world wide news, the insurgent attack on Maiduguri saw little more then off-hand comments. The people of the world just didn't care enough to want to hear about the sorts of troubles that still existed in parts of Africa. Légion Première did receive the positive press they had been hoping for, which quickly overcame the perceived failure of guarding the Dangote Industry's regional headquarters.

With the death of Légion Première's CEO, Jacques was quickly appointed as the new head of the company, a responsibility that has sat surprisingly well on the otherwise troublesome young man. In the few years since then, Légion Première has expanded and won many high profile contracts in northern Africa, spreading ever so slowly eastward, and with the passing of legislation in the CCD to allow energy companies to employ what amounted to private armies, he has begun the exhausting leg work to win their first contract with the powerful companies of the CCD in DV.

[Jacques]

Important NPCs:

Provost Boipelo - Legion Panhard Convoy, near Freetown
Sergeant Jackson - American, Legion Panhard Convoy, near Freetown
Bombardier Iweala - Freetown, Sierra Leone
<del>Sapper Aberash - Freetown, Sierra Leone - Deceased</del>
Capitan Pék, Hungarian - Sidi Bel Abbès, Algeria
Lieutenant Purnama, Indonesian - Legion Panhard Convoy, near Freetown
Sergent Potenza, African - Freetown, Sierra Leone
Toubib Afolayan, African, medic - Legion Panhard Convoy, near Freetown

Captain Espen Pedersen - Swiss, Ex-CCD infantry officer - Moscow, CCD
Caporale Chander Iyer, Indian - Moscow, CCD

<del>Caporal Ime - deceased, DV riot while protecting Julie Reed
Legionnaire 1er Classe Sanna, South African, Jeddah - Deceased
Legionnaire 1er Classe Smit, South African, Jeddah - Deceased
Caporale Novax, Angolan, Jeddah - Deceased
Legionnaire Desta Sizwe, South African, Jeddah - Deceased
Capitaine Henning, Egyptian, Jeddah - Deceased</del>
Legionnaire 2e Classe Lesław, Polish, Sierra Leone
Legionnaire 1er Classe Bartoš, Slovakian, Sierra Leone

Commandant Tuff, British, Legion officer, senior staff at Legion HQ
<del>Lieutenant Afolayan - Freetown, Sierra Leone - Deceased</del>
Capitaine Gordon Antić - Freetown, Sierra Leone
<del>Lieutenant Aaron Kamenashi, Moroccan, near Masiaka - Deceased</del>

Lieutenant Colonel Romanov, CCD officer, prison warden
Mr Dangote - Nigerian, corporate CEO
Mademoiselle Samantha Brown - American, Red Cross

Umkhonto Securities - North African-based private security company
Edited by Jacques, Oct 25 2016, 10:34 PM.

[Jacques]

Ambassador Oluwaseun Stankic, Moroccan Ambassador to Sierra Leone
Esi Knezevic, President's wife - Sierra Leone

<del>General Wallace-Johnson, Sierra Leonean officer, Mende faction leader</del> - killed by Legionnaire Jay Carpenter
Colonel Doe, Sierra Leonean officer, Mende - MIA
<del>Lieutenant Folami, Sierra Leonean officer, Mende - Deceased near Masiaka</del>

General Katlego, Sierra Leonean officer, Temne faction leader
<del>Major Jengo Abrams, Sierra Leonean officer, Temne faction Artillery officer</del> - killed defending M777 battery

<del>Lieutenant-Colonel Ndidi Daugherty, Sierra Leonean Officer, Loyalist -Deceased in Kenema</del>

Zhou Ah Sung, Chinese arms dealer active in Africa


Edited by Jacques, Aug 3 2016, 09:54 PM.

[Jacques]

Legion recruit training facility and HQ: Sidi Bel Abbès, Algeria


Edited by Jacques, Aug 8 2016, 04:49 PM.