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Thread
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Rumble in the Jungle
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07-28-2012, 11:30 AM
LowTech
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
20 0500A Mar 20XX
Stalker awoke to the distant sound of rotors. He had ended his shift two hours prior and the first light stand-to was due in half an hour. He still felt aches and stiffness all over from the jump, but the sounds were bothering him. He didn’t like this strange experience of operating without air superiority against an unknown enemy with superior aviation capabilities. He didn’t think the US had ever been in that situation in his lifetime. He quickly packed his sleeping gear and crawled up to his alert position, confirming that Spirit, Outback, Gung Ho, Crazy Legs and Airborne were either in, or moving into position. He scanned the sky, and his jaw dropped.
Lt Falcon and Ripcord turned to look at each other in puzzlement.
“That sounds like heavy vehicles.”
Falcon swung the parabolic mic, and Ripcord put on Peltors. There was a definite sound of diesel engines, and the occasional squeak and clack of tracks.
“It can’t be tanks,” whispered Ripcord. “We’d feel the vibration through the ground.”
Stalker watched six tiny helicopters, each barely large enough for its single pilot, swoop over the camp, firing rockets and machine guns at the huts. Four Hip helicopters landed and quickly disgorged a company-sized group of blue-clad soldiers, along with a handful of Fijians who followed along, seemingly taking notes. An outer cordon quickly isolated the entire camp, and then platoons and sections ruthlessly cleared through each hut in turn. FDLR guerrillas stumbled from their drunken stupor, occasionally returning fire, but mostly dying in the withering crossfire from a weapons platoon, the mini-choppers and the manoeuvring platoons. It was a textbook air assault. Airborne noticed one of the blue soldiers point to the far side of the tree line. He swung his camera in that direction, and started taking photos of four men in ghillie suits, including some rigid pieces, and armed with Dragunovs and P90s, making their way to inside the cordon. They spoke quickly with command team, while a gruff soldier barked orders at two sections that were gathering up all the weapons and crates. The Hips returned minutes later, and everyone boarded. Stalker looked at his watch. The whole operation had lasted half an hour. He turned to Gung Ho when he heard a sound like ripping canvas in the air. He instinctively hugged the ground and the camp disappeared in ground-shaking explosions.
“No way,” Tunnel Rat whispered. Four Harriers screamed over the trees having followed the stream as a navigation point. Rockets hammered into the guard huts, destroying them almost simultaneously. A dozen light tanks unlike any he’d seen before burst out of the bush and started hammering the ADF-NALU camp with cannon-fire. Vamps guarded the flanks, while truck-borne infantry dismounted at the tree line and followed the light tanks. They poured concentrated fire into each hut as grenadiers approached and posted grenades through every window. The assault was complete within minutes, and the soldiers then turned their attentions to rounding up the Vamps and all weapons in the camp. Six figures emerged from the stream, wearing ghillie suits and carrying scuba gear, radios, night vision equipment and AR57s. They climbed into one of the trucks, casually displacing a load of soldiers who scurried to climb into other trucks as the company group pulled out the way it had arrived. Lt Falcon heard the artillery striking the FDLR camp as the armoured company group withdrew from the camp he was watching. Moments later, the fire shifted and the huts of ADF-NALU huts vanished in geysers of mud and steel. After a minute the bombardment lifted. Tunnel Rat spat the taste of high explosives out of his mouth.
“I’m guessing that was six 155mm guns, three rounds each. Bit overkill, don’t you think?”
Falcon shook his head.
“Someone just launched simultaneous raids – air assault and an armour company group – coordinated with air support and artillery. Someone has good staffs, good drills, and well rehearsed troops.” He looked around the clearing. Nothing was left except matchsticks. He looked at his patrol.
“Gear up.” He pointed to Recoil. “You have point. We’re following that column. No one moves vehicles like that through this terrain without decent trails. Let’s see where they go.”
Stalker starred at the shattered FDLR camp. The sheer speed and violence of the assault still numbed his mind. He turned to Gung Ho.
“We stay here for another couple of hours in case they left a lay back OP.”
Gung Ho was nodding when Spirit tensed and pointed to the bushes to their left.
“Someone is approaching.”
Stalker, Gung Ho and Outback were the closest and quickly reoriented, while Spirit, Airborne and Crazy Legs watched the clearing and the flanks. Four guerrillas were running towards the clearing, and stopped, mouths open in shock, when the saw the destruction.
“Drop your weapons,” Stalker hissed in Swahili.
The four turned, still stunned. Three did drop their weapons, but the fourth raised an AK. Stalker squeezed off two rounds from the silenced Ingram, and the hostile guerrilla collapsed. Outback and Gung Ho sprang forward and with a few sharp punches dropped the other three to the ground and zap-strapped them. Stalker looked over their weapons: two AKMs, a Makarov, and a submachine gun he’d never seen before, that looked like a modified MP5/40 with a tubular stock, and custom hand guard. Stalker pulled out his map, and then turned to Crazy Legs.
“Clearing, six clicks north-west. You’re point. Let’s get moving.”
21 0950A Mar 20XX
Aboard the Jane the three FDLR prisoners sat in three separate small makeshift cells. Stalker, Law, and Lady Jaye had been questioning them in turn, under Airborne’s supervision. Hawk and Claymore stood outside, reading over the reports that Scarlett was transcribing.
“I still think reading them their rights was a waste of time,” said Claymore.
Hawk shook his head.
“We’ve got a choice: We can kill them, let them go, or keep them forever. Or, if we don’t want to do any of those, we’re left with the option of putting them in front of a judge, in which case we need to follow certain procedures. The legal status of this kind of combatant is still very fluid, so it never hurts to err on the side of caution. If that happens, everything has to be in order. The rules still apply. Besides, we’re still getting info out of them.”
Claymore grimaced.
“I think we have a language problem. Look, when asked who sold them the weapons they all said ‘the man with the silver head.’ How complicated is it to say ‘grey-haired guy?’”
Hawk flipped back a page, frowned, and then knocked on the door, opened it, and motioned for Stalker.
“The arms dealer – is he white, black or Asian?”
Stalker shrugged.
“I really don’t know, and I don’t think they do either. That’s been bothering me too. They say they’ve never seen his skin. He wears all black, and I think he wears a metal mask.” Stalker held up a hand quickly as he saw the expressions on both faces. “I know what you’re thinking, but I’m serious. It’s what they believe. And he has strong ju ju.”
Claymore swore and turned away.
“If anyone needs me I’ll be in the Ops Room, tracking Falcon’s progress. He’s found a brick road. Stalker found a tin man. These guys believe in wizards. Maybe we’ll find some flying monkeys.”
LowTech
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