Operation Gauntlet

[Jacques]

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."

[Jay Carpenter]

They approached the capital building. Or palace. Or both. The shelling slowed as the general's forces spent their ammunition. It was a final play in the game, a show of strength. Jay and the others put their heads down and followed the map to their target.

The teams approached the walled compound. Their armor could deflect much, but they were careful with their chosen path, and steered to the safety of walls and trees, ducking between abandoned vehicles and skipping over motorbikes.

The plan was to be quick about this. Quick. Precise. Careful.

Jared was well protected, and saved for the severe situations. Shots fired. The lead team dispatched the guards watching the gate. The rest of them quickly filed in and along the inside walls. Firing with sight-guided aim upon Wallace-Johnson's remaining soldiers. They fell like flies. Picked off one by one, and sometimes, in one sweeping arm of firefight.

The building itself was reinforced and their commander laid out three targets: Wallace Johnson himself, his commanders, and finally, Jacques' estimated locations. Jared was to go after Jacques. Jay looked for Wallace-Johnson.

[Jared Vanders]

Jared stuck to his portion of the plan. His team was a rescue team, sent in to look for Commander Danjou. They traveled in a well practice formation, making sure everyone was covered as they worked there way from vehicle to wall to tree, ect. Wallace-Johnson's forces weren't as well supplied as Jared would have thought.

And thus entry into the building wasn't nearly as difficult as it should have been. Jared kept his eyes about him though. He didn't like it when things seemed to easy. "Keep on your guard,"
he reminded his companions.

Upon entering the compound, Jared knelt and began to work with his helmet. A fellow Legionnaire knelt next to him. "Everything alright."
he said as Jared removed his helmet. "You sure that's a good idea?"


Jared nodded. "I'm fine. And no, I'm not sure this is a good idea, but I don't have a choice and we don't have time for me to explain."
Jared said, tethering his helmet to his waist. It wouldn't be ideal, but it was better than leaving the helmet there.

The team worked their way through the compound. Jared took a spot in the second rank. It allowed him to still see ahead, but kept him behind those who were more armored than he was. His team hadn't understood why he had removed his helmet, but then again, they didn't know about his magical abilities. This group was likely to find out soon.

They secured areas that were marked as possible estimations of where Danjou would be held. One by one, they marked off different areas, until they finally came to the office where Jacques was being held. Two non-comms struggled with the Commander and as the group entered, Jared cast his spells.

Threads of air wrapped around the two soldiers and Jared pulled them away from Jacques. Curious, he tied the threads together and was relieved to see that it worked. He didn't have to hold the spell, but he wasn't sure how long it would last. He prepared two more threads of air to gag the soldiers.

The soldiers with Jared were stunned, so Jared issued orders. "Disarm them - weapons and comms. Also tie them up."
He offered a hand to Jacques. "You alright, sir?"

[Jacques]

The assault on the Parliament's outer defenses lasted mere minutes. While granted what were, traditionally, insurmountable advantages being on the defensive, and outnumbering the Legionnaires that assaulted them, even the four light-armoured Rooikats didn't last long.

Equipped with the F3LIN suits, the Legionnaires were armed with far heavier weaponry, were better trained, and were heavily armoured against most of Wallace-Johnson's troops lighter caliber weapons. And while the Rooikats were equiped with anti-armour weapons, those weapons were designed to track and target other vehicles, not highly mobile, relatively small targets like power-armoured infantry.

Legionnaires armed with 25mm 'rifles' made short work on the Rooikats. Tungsten steel rounds punched through the lightly armoured vehicles. High explosive shells tore into sandbag positions before the first Legionnaires had even come into the defenders effective range. Legionnaires armed with modified Mk19 automatic grenade launchers rained shrapnel-spewing death among the soldiers loyal to Wallace-Johnson.

Dozens had thrown down their weapons and surrendered before the fighting was complete. At least, the fighting outside the building.

Even indoors, in the brutally close quarters of the inside of a building, the Legionnaires held the advantage. Thermal imagers built into their helmets revealed enemy forces laying in wait. Controlled bursts from .50 caliber machine guns outmatched anything the defenders could accomplish with their AK74s. Most rounds ping'd harmlessly off the F3LIN suits armour, and those few that found a weak point were fouled up by the soft layer armours. Flesh wounds and grazes were the worst the Legionnaires suffered.

Interim-President General Wallace-Johnson watched his world collapsing from the closed-circuit security cameras around the building. His command staff had flipped tables and trained weapons on the large double-doors that warded his chosen command center from the hallway beyond. As thick and heavy as those doors were, they provide little dampener on the sounds of weapons fire and screams in the hallways as Legionnaires drew closer.

-----

Jacques 'caretakers' took their directive from Wallace-Johnson seriously. Jacques was beaten, the old heavy kevlar armour of his Mk2 FELIN armour was stripped from his chest. Insults and demands and fists were replaced by knives as he refused to break under their less then elegant advances.

When the fighting first started outside, Jacques actually laughed, and offered the two men torturing him to simply surrender peacefully. He had no interest in the rank-and-file men under Wallace-Johnson. They were doing as their General had ordered of them, after all. A poor excuse, but one he was willing to entertain.

The two men had flown into a futile rage, further beating Danjou even as the first crack of gunfire could be heard within the building. Knowing the end was near, one of the two had grabbed a machete, and the other backhanded Jacques before grabbing his right arm and slamming it down against a table.

They screamed at him to order his men to surrender, and Jacques simply shook his head. "Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily. Even should I give that order, they would know it came under duress. And held prisoner as I am, that order would hold no weight. Do as you feel you must."
The quote was, of course, of Napolean. A disturbing thought, perhaps, considering the man's ill reputation and Danjou's current objective of taking over a ruined country.

The man holding Danjou down was surprised to find the young Frenchman was not resisting in the slightest, simply allowing his right hand to be held down, ready for the fall of the machete, and he was quickly caught by Jacque's gaze. A slight smile, an awkward thing on bruised and split lips, one eye swollen near shut. But his remaining eye was clear and focused on holding that man's gaze, even as the machete fell, chopping easily through Jacques' bare forearm.

When his Legionnaires reached his room, Jacques still had some fight left in him. The machete wielder was suddenly kneed in the groin, and with his remaining hand he managed one surge of strength, slamming the one whom held him in place against the table, into the pool of blood that still spilled from his bloody stump.

Hidden behind the two men, the Legionnaires couldn't have seen the state Jacques was in immediatly, but once Jared had bound the two guards, Jacques held his stump tightly, struggling to stem the bleeding, and had collapsed heavily onto the floor to lean against the wall. "I have had better days, Legionnaire Vanders. Might I ask why you are out of dress, soldier?"
A tired, awkward grin, as he fought to hold the bleeding in check. He of course was addressing Jared's decision to remove his helmet system.

[Jared Vanders]

Jacques was in bad shape. Of course he wasn't in bad enough shape that he would die, but damn. One hand was gone and he was bleeding profusely from the wound. Jacques still had a sense of humor though - commenting on Jared's removed helmet.

Jared mirrored Jacques grin. "Add 'cannot see spells through cameras' to my report on magic, Sir."


Jared wasn't the highest ranking member in his group, but the rest had deferred to him. The leadership role was something fairly natural to Jared. Jared nodded to one of the troops who held the first aid kit. He could probably at least stem the bleeding for now. Jared could help more though. His healing skills weren't good enough to completely heal his wounds.

"Would you accept my healing sir?"
Jared asked instead of starting the spell, for some reason, it didn't seem right to force it on someone. "I can't heal all of your wounds, but I should be able to heal some of them. I could also cauterize that for you, but it will hurt like a bitch."


A simple fire spell would cauterize the wound, but damn it would hurt.


Edited by Jared Vanders, Jul 29 2016, 09:52 AM.

[Jay Carpenter]

His team broke away from the others. Their headsets providing advance warning around every corner, the four soldiers worked their way to the upper level of the building with few shots fired.

Jay's heart beat faster and faster in his chest-body fueled by adrenaline and hyper focused on the goal. Outwardly, he was calm. Ready. An arrow aimed by their commander.

Double doors were shut and locked at the end of the hall. He stepped over the body of a dead Leonean, firearm aimed at the ready.

Their headset analysis suggested three men waited beyond. Undoubtedly, Wallace Johnson knew they were coming. They were bunkered down waiting for attack.

They took a formation to breach the doors. Jay was confident the suit would protect him from fatal injury, but they weren't immortals. Weird shit happened. But whatever was unleashed, he was ready.

It happened fast.

The doors were breached. Shots filled the air with ear-ringing noise. Smoke of spent ammunition hung heavy. They moved, bullets pinged suits. From the corner of his eye, Jay saw another soldier stumble, but not fall.

The two behind the overturned table were silent in pools of their own blood. Wallace Johnson roared curses in defiance, but a bullet put him down just as easy.

It was over in seconds. Jay kicked the General's pistol aside and asked whether to take the man alive. Injured, but alive?

The order came through, and Jay raised his own weapon, aimed at the monster's chest, stepped back and hesitated just one brief moment. He was ordered to kill this man. A man that slaughtered children. Responsible for rivers of blood. Jay wanted to see him dead. But an honorable death in battle was different than execution.

"What are you waiting on?" He heard someone ask.

"Nothing," he responded, voice grim.

And with one minuscule movement, Wallace Johnson fell at his feet, dead.

Jay turned to leave the body behind. "Let's go."

[Jacques]

Although it wouldn't be realized for some hours yet, with that last shot fired the entire conflict in Sierra Leone had changed. Wallace-Johnson was dead, the head cut off the snake of the radicalized Mende forces. In his wake, Major Freeman, military commander of the forces at Lungi international airport, would find himself field-promoted to General and commander of the Sierra Leonean military. Under Jacques' direct command, at least until a new and functional government could be instated.

With the death of Wallace-Johnson, the battle against the Temne had lost much of its 'moral high ground.' No longer was it a fight between two factions with a history of hate and blood, but between foreigners and 'freedom fighters.' It would likely fuel General Katlego's cause, if he were given the chance. Something the Legion would not do.

With the Interim-President's death, the few remaining politicians that backed him had lost all control they had over the government, and any protection they had from the anger of the people, and from the nation's laws. They would be rounded up and imprisoned in short order. It would be a total 'clean sweep' of the country's political core. And from that void something new could, hopefully, take root and flourish.

With Wallace-Johnson's death, the Legion had in truth effected a total coup d'etate of a legitimate state. It was, technically, a crime to have executed Wallace-Johnson rather then arrest him for trial. A trial that would have been a waste of time, and money, and would have seen an evil man sitting in a nice prison cell for, at best, the rest of his life. Would have seen politicians and lawyers make millions, the death of countless trees in paperwork and red tape. A total farce, a waste of time, and a spoiling of resources and intent.

Jacques accepted what Healing Jared could offer. The experience was...hard to describe. A bone-shattering chill tore through the core of his being, sap'd much of what strength Jacques had left to him, leaving him exhausted and sore all over. Most of the cuts and swelling across his face had diminished, leaving small scabs and tender bruises. Cracked ribs and damage vertebrae mended. The stump of his right arm was the most serious wound, and the hardest to mend, resulting in Jared resorting to the age-tested technique of cauterizing it. Another, far less pleasant experience then the rest had been.

The Legionnaire with the trauma kit fixed fresh bandages over the stump, and a plasma transfusion was set up to help him regain some strength. He was transferred to a chair from where he sat on the floor, while two Legionnaires took the men that had been in the room with him, after Jared had released them from their invisible bindings. Neither man fought back, terrified as they were from whatever had transpired when Jared had entered the room, and the seemingly miraculous recovery of Jacques.

He sat in silence for many long minutes during the process, asides from a short, pained cry at the cauterizing of his stump. It was a struggle to remain conscious throughout, exhausted as he was, but there was work left to be done and his roll in it was yet to be fulfilled.

After some time, he finally let out a slow, measured breath and straightened in his seat. A glance at his severed hand, which still lay on the table nearby; a disturbing sight, one that was difficult for the mind to comprehend at first. The knowledge that it was his hand that he was looking at, with the spacial confusion of where it sat in comparison to his arm. It held him transfixed for a moment, before he finally banished the uneasy thoughts and forced himself, at least for the moment, to accept the loss and move on.

"Cannot see through cameras. Noted. Important, that. Going to need to get you a new helmet then. Can't have that pretty face of yours getting damaged."
A faint smile, then he signaled for the team medic to unhook the IV. "We had best get a move on, lads. Sounds like the fighting here is all done. Glad to see your new toys work. Can never be too sure with that Chinese stuff, right?"


Old stereotypes died hard, but the Chinese military industrial sector was among some of the best in the world. Especially considering they were but one of four nations left that really had one. Helping Jacques back into his Mk2 FELIN armour, the old and heavy kevlar full body armour that had seen Legion Premiere through the many years in Africa since the dissolution of the mother land, France, was an awkward task when those helping wore some of the most advanced powered armour suits in Africa.

In the wake of the Legion assault on the Parliament, allied soldiers of Major Freeman's command, those that had secured the coastguard vessels which had taken the Legion to Zhou Ah Sung's ship off the coast, finally arrived to secure the area and what prisoners that had been taken in the battle. Dozens of Wallace-Johnson's soldiers and staff had thrown down their weapons after the initial assault, and many of the politicians that had sided with him had been captured as well.

Jacques was not so foolishly proud as to try and walk under his own power, and relied heavily on the supporting grip of one of his Legionnaires as he made his way to the courtyard. Commandant Tuff had managed to spool up an escort for Jacques, mostly in the form of city police and a handful of Legionnaires, which waited to take him to his next destination.

Reunited with his Landwarriors, there was a moment of relief as Jacques was once more connected to the Legion's command network. The news was, initially, heartening. The M777 battery had been captured with minimal damage, and no Legionnaires injured in the process. The guns would fill a painfully large gap in the Legion's military capability. Even sixty years old, the Howitzers were some of the best field guns in Africa, used by many nations in the region. The seizure of ammunition with them was especially beneficial.

As was the fact that they were boldly emblazoned with Nigerian markings and manifests. Ample proof that Nigeria was supporting General Katlego. Evidence that the General's forces were receiving foreign support, despite their very public denouncement of the Mende for being so open to outside influence, would seriously undermine Katelgo's support.

But then came word of the fate of the relief convoy, hardly a half hour from the military base at the airport. And word of the force advancing on the Embassy district. "Alright men. Our work isn't done yet."
He turned and spotted Jay and his team emerging from the building. He only recognized them because of the friend-or-foe markers that came up on his Landwarrior's HUD, with the names and status of each of the power armoured Legionnaires.

"Legionnaire Carpenter. Excellent timing. Miss Grey may be in need of your assistance. A knight in shining armour, perhaps?"
He sounded as exhausted as he looked, but even with one handless arm cradled to his chest, he managed some semblance of humour. "Command of this detail falls to you, Carpenter. Legionnaire Vanders will be your 2 I/C (second in command). Split the detail into two platoons, and make haste to our regional HQ. Questions?"
He glanced from Vanders to Carpenter.

They had proven themselves quite capable over the past few months, and their records from operations before Sierra Leone had been top-notch. In light of the Legion's steady losses since Jeddah, it was time, perhaps, for some promotions.


Edited by Jacques, Aug 5 2016, 05:50 PM.

[Jay Carpenter]

They departed as a group. Behind the mask of his helmet, Jay deeply drowned when he saw Jacques. The man would live, but damn. His face was white as bleached sand, and the others said his coloring had improved after the infusion. He couldn't help but let eyes fall to the stump.

That playboy Jacques was still on his feet and not howling for his mother was shocking. There had been glimpses of genius behind the sarcasm, but Jay was never sure which of Jacques' portrayals was the authentic one.

Now he knew.

But the day was not complete. He hustled over when called.



Glad for the mask obscuring his reaction as anger flared across his eyes. That's where Natalie was. And a couple hundred pissed men were barreling down on her. They certainly wouldn't kill her. Unless she was caught in crossfire on accident. Pretty blonde like her would be an immediate captive, and Jay knew what these savages did to their own women, let alone a foreigner like Natalie. Once they found out she came from money, well, she would never be seen again. Not until they started shipping home body parts. His stomach turned. She was inches from a fate worse than death.

With the command came new details. Uploads flashed across the mask screen: maps, civilians, arms.

"Will do, sir."

He spoke with Vanders briefly, coordinating plans and departed.

The armored Legionnaires moved across town as fast as they could. Roads were almost impassable in places, but their map displays were constantly navigating new directions. They met resistance more than once, but they cut through the rebels last stands like trucks through corn.

Unless Vanders knew how to fly, there was no way they could get to the embassy before the Mende.