The Man in Black
"Paperwork checks out, sir." He said, handing the memo in question to the Lieutenant.
"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir
The HIJ fighter who brought in the RPG was shot dead. He "accidentally" fired the RPG towards the direction of the guard house, barely missing the snipers.
A soldier assigned to logistics ran in to meet with Anderson and apologized for the last notice to hand in the same memo Ronald had seen.
"Alright. Looks like papers are in orders." He thanked Ronald. "Thanks for your help."
Reading tropes such as You Know What You Did
"Roger that, forming up with Trodai Five and awaiting his order to fly in over the HIJ." Brittaney could still feel a little blackout from earlier, and to combat it tried to take in everything around her, piloting the Jaguar in slow, easy arcs, ready to move if need be. At the back of the mansion she could see someone making a break for it, too far to identify whom it may have been and there was no IFF for them on the radar. Before she could report it Brittaney heard the explosion from the RPG and did her best to look, seeing the fallen HIJ soldier before guessing what had happened.
Holy shit. Brittaney felt like she was ripping the flight stick out of the fighter as she took it into a dive.
"Trodai Five, get in there! Provide cover for those snipers now!" Doing her best to keep control of the plane she tried to radio the sniper team. "This is Andersen, duck and cover, I'll try and get the HIJ's attention."
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"HOLY-!"
He instinctively covered his head as he saw the RPG coming towards them. As soon as it passed by, he was beginning to hyperventilate.
Thank God for small miracles. That was close...
A few more controlled breaths, and his breathing was back to normal. The same couldn't be said about his heart rate.
If this is going to happen a lot, I'll die from a heart attack instead of being shot.
He took aim again, trying desperately to control his shaking hand. Despite the sway, he took another shot at one of the fighters.
The Man in Black
Roland nodded respectfully. "Just let me know if you need anything else, sir. I'm going to go make sure that everything's ready for when that team comes back."
"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir
The first two Unibuffels parked in a straight line to form a barricade as infantrymen charged out and used the APCs as cover when four to five HIJ fighters emerged out of the mansion's main floor to engage them.
"Dammit!" Mark grabbed the C4 charges from the makeshift armory and made a mad dash for the main entrance. He saw that the technical's machine gunner didn't notice him since he was clearing a jam from it.
"HAH!" He quickly threw it and ran back to the mansion. But by the time the three fighters noticed him, Mark had already darted back to the house.
"BLOW IT UP!" Mark shouted when he took cover by using the overturned furniture for temporary protection.
A recon soldier with the detonator complied. The technical was then taken out.
"This is Trodai Five." The Jaguar pilot said calmly to Brittaney's comm. "I'll try and do a quick shot from these fighters. Our infantry's already here."
The Indian-made fighter dived a bit down for the fighters on the long driveway to notice him.
"Gotcha." The pilot opened fire with the machine gun, killing three of them. The other two fell down when they heard the loud engine noises.
The armed infantrymen did the same thing when they covered their eyes to avoid being deaf.
"Did you see that, Trodai Three? Looks like one of our guys took out the technical and the fighters nearby. I couldn't take out the other two fighters near the Unibuffels. Too risky. Try doing a quick dive and open fire."
The two fighters began to retreat, switching between shooting the APCs and aiming at the Jaguars.
"Because I think we got their attention."
The recon team inspecting the basement made radio contact with the control tower and informed them that they found hostages.
Lots of hostages.
But they don't have the Singaporean nationals among them.
The last HIJ fighter on the roof was gunned down. He yelled when he fell down from the roof.
If the shot didn't kill him right away, the impact surely did.
Neeson nodded. "Right you are. Thanks for your help."
HMB Abdurashiabon would receive radio transmissions that some of the UH-1H-type gunships and transport choppers have safely returned. Some have arrived while others are already beginning to land on the designated landing zones.
edited 16th Jul '15 5:42:03 PM by Ominae
The Man in Black
Roland glanced at the tarmac, watching the helicopters come in. "Looks like the first elements are coming back, sir. Do you want to take care of it today or let them polish everything up and we can look at it tomorrow?"
"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir
Reading tropes such as You Know What You Did
"I'm over where the hostages were being kept now Trodai Five," Brittaney informed the pilot, changing over to bombs just for the sake of seeing whether she could aim them at the HIJ. "I can target with bombs from where I am but need another minute to peel back and try with the guns." Of course the order was bombs were too much of a risk, her thoughts exactly. "Give me thirty seconds for a good angle, thank you for what you've done." The Jaguar climbed into a vertical split S, and not for the first time Brittaney wondered if she might have been better off on the ground, or coordinating the attack more, the advanced maneuver making her uncomfortable especially given her lack of experience in the fighter. Shaking the idea off she thought to inform, "I noticed someone running away, too far to get an ID but maybe that could be chased down while I handle this."
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Neeson nodded. "Better have that taken care of, then."
At the LZs near the motor pool/hangar, the choppers were now being moved to a safe area inside the hangar with maintenance personnel running to help the pilots get out and get the choppers moving.
The HIJ fighter running kept running as fast as his feet can take him towards the Djiboutian border. He just opened fire at any Jaguar aircraft he can see in the air with his AK-74.
The infantrymen engaged the two HIJ fighters blocking their way. However, one of them was shot in the leg and was moved by his colleagues out of the way.
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Amelia popped open the hatch and kept her ear glued to the command frequency: at the 'negative item' reports she sighed. "Negative on the hostages," she murmured to the vehicle crew. "Right piece of piss, this. Turns out a great bloody motor-rifle brigade with all the subtlety of a rampagin' elephant 'erd ain't the best for hostage rescue, who knew?" There wasn't much their main guns could do for the infantry firefight, not without endangering friendlies. She focused on her binoculars, gloomily calculating distances and ranges.
Then again...
"Command, armor-tha," she said into the microphone. "We're still full up on fuel an' ammo. If we unload a couple of 90-mil shells apiece, we can carry one or two dismounts per car...assumin' we've got a destination in mind."
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.
"This is Ceanncheathrú." Amelia got a reply from the Colonel. "Are you near the mansion? I got reports that Taiscéalaíocht has raided the place and are searching for the hostages."
Eventually, the infantry was able to get rid of the last fighters standing in their way. The wounded soldier was evacuated for medical treatment. The other Unibuffels drove up and parked on the driveway in front of the entrance.
Mark led the recon team upstairs after he got back from taking out the lone technical. He led the team towards their destination, which was a room with two double doors. Two armed HIJ fighters were seen blocking their way.
"Take them out!" He immediately crouched down and opened fire. Another recon soldier crouched beside him and opened fire with his carbine. The two fighters were hit, although one was shot in the arm.
"I'm okay, sir!" The wounded recon soldier grabbed his wounded arm. He couldn't use his carbine, so he drew out his sidearm instead.
Mark gestured to the other recon soldier to prepare and kick the door down on his command.
After he counted from one to three, the two soldiers kicked the double doors down. Using the Surefire flashlights, they found two corpses on the floor of a room that was sealed off with the windows boarded up.
"P...please! Don't hurt me!" The two focused their flashlights on a man whimpering on the floor with his arms covering his face.
"Don't worry, sir. We're here to save you." The ex-special forces officer looked at a photo supplied by military intelligence and checked it against the hostage still alive.
"Good news, everyone." Mark made a transmission to everyone involved. "We got the hostages. But only one of them is alive."
"Understood." Colonel Yepreshias came on the line. "Is it the engineer?"
The recon soldier inspected the bodies and shook his head. He then showed his photo of Yusof Jasman and nodded at Mark's direction.
"Yes, sir. We got him. He looks tired and weak."
edited 29th Jul '15 7:24:24 AM by Ominae
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"I'm not hearin' good reports from the advance team—never mind, new reports, sir," said Amelia, trying to sort through the conflicting radio reports that spread like wildfire. "Pursuit action ain't necessary."
She leaned back as the men and the vehicles swarmed all around, considering her options as the tension drained away amidst the buzz of radio chatter.
"Sarge," she said conversationally, "Help me find the freq for that French airbase, wouldja? Tell 'em thanks, an' we're drivin' home the long way. It'll make it a tad easier to conceal their involvement."
"And we will not have to fly in those coffins again," muttered ag Mahmoud. He drained a canteen of water, wiping the sweat from his forehead and unfastening the driver's hatch. Even the desert was better than the broiling heat in the vehicle.
Another "interim" post for downtime probably on the way.
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.
Reading tropes such as You Know What You Did
As Brittaney pulled up from an attack run on the HIJ she glanced at the figure she spotted, too far away to tell exactly who he was, or even gender, but the former Marine could see that he was now armed and took him for a hostile.
Too far away to be a threat, was her guess, and as if on cue she could hear and feel something hitting the Jaguar and took it as gunfire. Shit!
"I'm hit! Trodai three, I'm hit! Shooter, about five hundred yards from the target area, rear side." Climbing Brittaney switched over to the bombs, figuring he was far enough away, and tried to evade and gain enough altitude to target. "I'm gonna obliterate the son of a bitch, if you want to try and take him alive call back now."
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"This is Ceanncheathrú." Colonel Yepreshias came on the line. "Trodai 3, you're authorized to take him out. Our orders are to take the HIJ base out."
He then ended comms with her before he made contact with Amelia. "Ceanncheathrú to Armúrtha leader. Feel free to head back to base when you're done. I got reports that the Presidential Guard is going to secure the mansion for us."
The HIJ fighter felt very tired, but he was determined to get away from the incoming Jaguar. While he ran, he briefly stopped firing in order to reload his assault rifle.
Mark and another recon soldier helped Yusof down the steps since he looked very tired and weak. A while ago, infantry came in and brought body bags for the two dead hostages.
A few minutes later, the other recon team came out of the mansion with the hostages. They were told to put them in the Unibuffels, accompanied by infantrymen as soon as they were secure.
Jacques received further radio transmission from Colonel Yepreshias that the recon and sniper teams at the guardhouse will be extracted since a chopper was coming to pick them up.
edited 29th Jul '15 7:28:32 AM by Ominae
"Roger that. Over and out."
Jacques got off the radio, relieved.
"Well, looks like we're heading on back to base. Good job ouens(people)."
He got up from his prone position, crouching as he surveyed the scene below him, a sigh of relief that seemed to lift a thousand tons of nervousness off his shoulders.
Phew...it's finally over. For now, at least.
Show an affirming flame
The armored cars pulled back into base in company with the Unibuffels, covered with dust and spattered with mud. Taking a page from unofficial British Army practice, Amelia had scrounged an extra gauze field dressing; she untied it from around her face as the vehicle stopped in its designated parking space, a lot more smoothly now that her driver seemed to be getting the hang of things, and wiped the dust from her forehead.
"Good job on the mission, lads," she said to her whole platoon, unbuckling her helmet and shaking out her hair beneath it with a tired smile. Already there was a bit less formality evident, a little more relaxation, but everyone present looked like they could sleep for a week. She reached an instant decision. "I mean it. Well done. Platoon, take a moment to 'fresh up and 'ave a bite of tiffin. Be 'ere in thirty mikes for AAR."
Already she had some ideas for accomodating dismounted cavalry scouts, especially as their armored vehicles were a lot more nimble than the Unibuffs, and for training. The first action had at least started the process of welding the crews into a cohesive unit; the next few days would see extensive drill, drill, drill to hammer that in. Hopefully, by the next mission, the cavalry platoon would be much less ad-hoc.
"Oh, an' pass the word for the mechanic. I've got some stencillin' to talk to 'im about..."
A bit later
Amelia turned in her carbine, still unfired, at the armory, along with the tracer magazines. For all that, it had been freshly cleaned and oiled. "Compliments to QM," she said to the supply sergeant. "Don't suppose there's any chance we can draw some 90-mil blanks or dummies? Not now, later on."
Paging Norway's bravest son.
Evening, a few days later
"You did what? You were going to drive trucks, they said!"
Abdelkarim winced at the stridency, amplified over the tinny speakers of his cell phone. The moon was out; night sentries patrolled beyond the perimeter, and the firefly glow of cigarette tips stippled the dark. Abdelkarim himself badly wished for one right now, but he didn't have the pocket money to buy a pack, and he was too shy to try borrowing one from someone else. His dark-blue veil stayed in his duffel bag—anything to avoid drawing attention.
"So did I," he said desperately in rapid Tamasheq, "but the job broker lied. They didn't have openings for truck drivers so he signed me up for the cavalry, and didn't tell me until the last minute—"
"Cavalry? Since when did you know how to ride a horse?"
"Cavalry is only what the officer calls it—I'm learning to drive an armored car," said Abdelkarim, still quickly. "It isn't too different from driving Toyotas across the border, but at least it is bulletproof."
"Which will be a lot of good when the jihadis start firing rockets at you, or if you roll over a land mine and lose both your legs."
"Mother!"
"If I had known you were going to be shot at, I wouldn't have let you leave," she continued tartly; Abdelkarim winced again. "You can be shot at just as well here in Mali."
"The lieutenant's been talking about roadside bombs and ambushes and what they'll do to a truck. I'm safer in an armored car."
"He sounds like he knows what he's talking about. Did he also say what it's like to try to get out of a burning tank?"
"She, mother," said Abdelkarim wearily, and braced for the explosion. "The lieutenant's a woman." As it happened Lt. Walewska had talked about the necessity of speed to exit a disabled vehicle away from the direction of enemy fire, with an urgency that made him suspect she was speaking out of firsthand experience.
"A woman? Well...at least she'll take better care of you than some rich officer, although I can't imagine why one would want to be a soldier," said his mother dubiously. "What is she, Kurdish? Or one of those crazy Americans?"
"Australian, I think," said Abdelkarim. "Or something in Europe, maybe Russian. I don't know. Her Arabic is even worse than mine. And she's been having us do a lot of vehicle training for the last several days. Maybe at the end of it I can ask her to let me transfer to trucks, but my contract was for the armored forces and I don't think they will let me change. And the extra pay is very good—I'm looking for a way I can remit the extra money home without the broker taking his share. Maybe you and Father can help rebuild the flock with it," he added. "Look, mother, if I stay and learn what I'm doing here, I can help support the family. Life here is...it's new and it's strange but it's work, well-paying work too, where the officer doesn't steal my pay or demand bribes. Better than anything I'll find back home, or driving for one of the Libyan militias."
"I know, dear," said his mother. A long pause, and she sighed, and it only then occurred to Abdelkarim that she might be as worried as he was. "I just pray for you to keep safe. No amount of money you remit is worth getting you hurt, or worse."
"I'll be all right," promised Abdelkarim.
"Don't go charging off into trouble, don't try to be a hero. And keep the first-aid kit close."
"Yes, mother."
"And be careful what kinds of loose women you visit. They have HIV there, I hear."
"Mother!" Abdelkarim actually blushed.
"But if you do impress a nice Muslim girl with that cavalry troop of yours, bring her home," his mother continued shamelessly. "Harrawian girls are supposed to be as tall and graceful as gazelles."
Face still red, Abdelkarim muttered something indistinct and hung up as soon as he decently could.
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.
The Man in Black
Roland raised an eyebrow as he returned her weapons card and stowed the carbine on the rack. "Someone knows how to clean a weapon. What did you need the rounds for?"
"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir
The last Unibuffels left the compound as the Presidential Guard soldiers were brought in to secure the place. Mark was advised by a recon soldier that he was able to secure a laptop during the raid. The officer told him to bring it in ASAP.
With that, the Unibuffels left and the PGB were deployed in their place.
A UH-1H chopper landed near the guard town. The recon team that accompanied Jacques secured the area and motioned to him to get inside.
As evening came to a close, MP soldiers and jeep came rushing in near the main gate as the Unibuffels were directed to park in front of the motor pool/hangar area.
The MPs assisted the mounted infantry to get the hostages out and into the nearby hospital for medical checkup.
"Right. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is that, as they say."
Jacques got into the helicopter, waiting for the rest of the team.
"Come on! Let's get moving and get back to base."
After everyone was in, he took his seat, sitting and mulling over the events of the day.
My first real assignment...wow. Lot more hectic than I thought.
Reading tropes such as You Know What You Did
Brittaney nodded at confirmation of the kill order and clicked over to the bombs, releasing two when the reticule was over the shooter. In the steep climb to gain altitude so they would be able to reach their target it was hard to see whether or not they hit, but the former marine took it as a foregone conclusion.
"No one could survive that," she said to herself, getting on the radio. "Trodai three, dinged but seem to be still flight capable. Looks like they're cleaning up now, RTB. Will keep an eye out for any hostiles, ETA cruising time.
Back at base Brittaney had taken to chain smoking while going over the mission, an ever present kretek either in her fingers or lips while she went over what she observed went right, and more importantly what went wrong. The technical that had to have raised the alarm, she was fully prepared to take responsibility for that. And thinking up ideas from seeing whether or not the BBC news crew could listen into the HIJ communications whether or not they were on mission to listening for input from the other mercenaries for their thoughts one line of thinking kept coming up.
I need to be on the ground. Well that wasn't strictly true, she was more comfortable as a soldier, or in a instructional role. Brittaney could fly well enough, she guessed she showed that. There were better pilots, much better, question was were there any better here.
"Suppose we'd better go over what happened," she mused, guessing it was a success. Not picture perfect maybe, but they got the prince out and that was good enough, well it might not be for the Colonel or made for good news footage. Somehow despite her misgivings about their actions being reported Brittaney set off to see what the BBC thought of the recent events.
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Armory
"Drill, more drill, an' practice," said Amelia. "I'm fair certain the drivers won't send the cars down into a monsoon ditch most o' the time, an' the gunners have proven they can hit targets provided they ain't movin' an' don't need to aim fast, but for all that the troop's not exactly Buford's finest, yet. Nor even the Panzer Corps," she added, a touch mischievously, when she noticed Guderian's nametag.
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.
The chopper carrying Jacques and the others took off after the last Unibuffels left the premises. Even the Unibuffel that got stuck in the ditch was able to get out safely.
Paramedics were on standby early in the evening when the wounded soldiers were brought into the hospital.
The chopper landed and deposited the airlifted soldiers. So did the last Unibuffels and the last Jaguars that came back.
The BBC crew filmed everyone who had been able to arrive safely. They also reported as part of the news (and later to be included in the documentary) that two Singaporean hostages were found dead.
"Good to be back." Mark said when he stepped out of the Unibuffel. He saw the recon soldier hand the seized laptop to the nearest MP officer.
"Heads up." One of the Jaguar pilots, who appeared to be of Arab origin, told the other volunteers. "The colonel's coming."
Colonel Yepreshias showed up after he stepped out of HQ with his maroon beret on. For some reason, he still wore his shades even when it was dark.
The Man in Black
Roland chuckled. "A history buff, I see. Yes, the same. How many rounds do you expect you'll need?"
"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir
Reading tropes such as You Know What You Did
When Brittaney noticed the BBC news cameras she figured the Harrawi military wouldn't want it's mercenaries to be seen smoking, the idea the country might not want it's mercenaries to be seen full stop did not enter into her mind, and tossed the kretek aside before scowling at the lense. The former Marine guessed they would want a shot of her and gave a vicious half smile, the sort of, "Look out folks, here it comes" look popularized by Hulk Hogan, but otherwise gave the news crew no attention. They could come to her if they wanted, but she didn't need to try and mug for the camera or give her thoughts, though she would if asked.
"Colonel." She stood at attention at his announcement, eager to find out right away, "how are the hostages?"
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"Phew...deep breaths, deep breaths...stay calm...line up the shot..."
His hand was shaking quite heavily, nervous with the possibility of being discovered, especially since there were only 3 of them. He lined up another shot, aiming for the head.
"Mag God my vergewe vir wat ek gaan doen..." (May God forgive me for what I'm going to do.)
Jacques takes the shot.