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Post by Ignatius on Jan 2, 2008 22:09:25 GMT -5
OOC - Regarding the 'other' storyline in "Paradise Lost", and consequentially takes place in Africa. Red Crescent Resurgent involves the events transpiring in the Balkans.
[glow=red,2,300]Knight International's Mission[/glow]
Knight International is dedicated to the mission of universal security and stability throughout the world, and understands that while we human beings may hope for the best, the best sometimes does not go as planned. We provide the customer with the finest military services that can be purchased on the civilian market, and boast the largest private army and navy in the world.
Customer satisfaction is guaranteed upon a K.I. contract, and all dealings with K.I. are assured confidential. Offices are located in South Africa (Cape Town), Rhodesia (Salisbury), the British Empire (London), and the Southern States of America (Knoxville).
- Philip J. Knight, Founder and CEO of Knight International ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cape Town, South Africa
"Excellent... Excellent.."
From the luxurious office of Knight International, Philip J. Knight was pleased at the recent returns on his latest "investment" into the oil wells in the Black Sea, reaping a massive 4.8 billion dollar return from a bold business venture he had made with the Ottoman Caliph in Istanbul several days ago. Now, with a ludicrously large amount of money flowing through his hands, Knight knew that he could easily be considered the richest man in world, owning one of the most valuable companies in existance. Knight International, an internationally well-known private military company, had its humble origins as a minor mercenary group during the Rhodesian 'Bush Wars' in the 70's, with Knight (a former American Marine) occasionally dabbling in combat roles during his rough start. After several years of hard work, the American managed to raise the relatively insignificant contracting group to new heights, buying out many South African PMC's and civilian companies in a series of audacious investments.
Now, more than thirty years later, Knight International held enormous influence in the affairs of Africa and the Middle East, with Philip J. Knight's company literally 'owning' the government of South Africa with the near endless flood of money it had in its disposal. The South African parliament, a corrupt and totally ineffective political entity, had simply ceased to be the authority figure in the nation, with Knight and his personal board of trustees (the 'Rolex Club') truly running the affairs of the nation from behind the scenes.
"Mr. Knight?" called his secretary from behind his office door, knocking twice on the sturdy piece of wood, "I left several important memos on your desk which you should take a look at, when you get the time.. Of course.."
"They involve your recent business venture with that Caliph fellow..."
"Ah, yes... Thank you Rosa." replied the sixty-eight year old man, rubbing his greying head wearily, "I'll be sure to check these over soon..."
The Caliphate...
Now one of Knight's largest customers, the Ottoman Caliphate had specifically called for his services several days before the bombing of the American embassy in Istanbul, proposing an extremely tempting business deal to the seasoned owner of the world's largest private military. Lured by the possibility of expanding K.I.'s influence to a world power and promises of 'untold wealth', Philip J. Knight had endured a tiring fifteen-hour flight from Cape Town to Istanbul, personally negotiating a deal with the Caliph which ceded massive amounts of Black Sea oil wells to the corporation (and permission to use Ottoman territory). In turn, Knight International was expected to enter into a five-year contract with the Ottoman Caliphate which dictated an eighty percent discount of all goods and services, a price Knight found was more than fair considering the massive leverage K.I. gained from the transaction.
TO KNIGHT:
Your services are needed in Somalia.
- Word Bearers
Folding the letter into a compact wad, Philip Knight calmly pushed the mass of paper into a tiny incinerator positioned just below his mahogany desk, flicking the switch of the machine and watching the wad burn into an inrecognizable pile of ashes. Without a moment's hesitation, the CEO of Knight International promptly reached for the black phone on his desk, swiftly punching in a series of numbers into the phone's keyboard. Tapping his foot impatiently as he listened to the electronic ringing in the ear piece, Knight characteristically cursed the slowness of the other person on the opposite line, loathing any delay in the way he expected business to run.
"Bernadotte?" questioned Knight, finally hearing the voice on the other end, "Get to your damn phone faster next time..."
"I don't give a damn if you're sleeping.. You pick up the phone when I ring, got it?"
"All right, listen up you filthy bastard.. We've got a job in Somalia.. Yes, Somalia! That stinking hell-hole overrun with those filthy warlords...."
"Gather up your men, boyo, and report at headquarters in four hours.. This'll be a big one.."
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Post by Ignatius on Jan 3, 2008 12:43:20 GMT -5
Cape Town, South Africa
God.... I hate this stinking continent....
Clutching his heavily modified G36 assault rifle in his arms, 'Colonel' Pip Bernadotte of Knight International's 8,000 man "Wild Geese" stared out at the dusty airfield in front of him, looking very much the part of a grizzled 'mercenary' commander leading a battle-hardened group of French exiles under a corporate banner. An imposing sight with his trademark red bandanna tied around the neck of his khaki shirt, Bernadotte had once been (in what seemed like a past life) a valued member of Gaullist France's legendary 'Grande Armee', taking part in daring colonial expeditions in the Middle East (Outremer, to be exact) during the French Confederation's heyday. When Gaullism came to an abrupt end and the once mighty French Confederation (the single most influential nation in the world) breathed its last, Bernadotte was forced to either continue his military career under the colors of Canton Rouge (and serve under the hated 'Belgae') or flee with his flock of 'Wild Geese' into the uncivilized rough of Africa. There, a lifetime of African wars followed his already battle-hardened force of exiles, transforming Bernadotte and his men into demigods of battle.
Being the intrepid adventurer he was, Bernadotte preferred the life of a mercenary to an eternity under a "false French" falg.
"Philippe!" bellowed the mercenary commander to an operator of a heavily armored 'Rooikat' assault vehicle, "I say this once and once only: Don't paint 'tits' on the side of one of my killing machines! It's not only fucking vulgar, but it's a terrible display of bad art..."
Popping his head from the turrent of the Rooikat, Philippe Hautecloque, another former French army soldier who had served under Bernadotte's command in the past, flashed a toothy grin at his irked commander, knowing full well the commander's reputation for bad temper in the mornings.
"Sorry boss..." replied Philippe, waving at Bernadotte casually, "But where we're going, I doubt the blackies' are going to mind a bit... especially considering that they'll be on the receiving end of this 'bad boy'..."
The roar of aircraft engines interrupted the pair's light-hearted arguement, with seven Knight International C-130 Hercules transports touching down on the dusty piece of airstrip the 'Wild Geese' were assembling on. Even as the transports were landing, truckloads of Bernadotte's Wild Geese were arriving on the scene, fully decked from head to toe in a bristling array of high-tech equipment and gear. Outfitted with the latest 'Advanced Warrior' system designed exclusively by the tech wizards in Knight International's research department, each mercenary having night vision, audio link, advanced sighting and bullet resistant capabilities, effectively making Bernadotte's men a lethal example of Knight International's full capabilities.
"Boss..." quipped Philippe, scratching his head, "Knight himself told me to inform you that K.I.'s objectives in Somalia are to help the local forces of Islamic Warlord Abu Farrah 'replace' the ineffective government in the area... and aid a current skirmish aganist government troops in the capital city of Mogadishu.."
"Knight's First Fleet is already positioned on waters surrounding the horn of Somalia," continued Philippe, "and we've got orders to personally touch down in an airfield controled by Farrah's forces..."
Taking this into account, Bernadotte waved the other Frenchman aside, swiftly moving towards the line of C-130 transports awaiting the Wild Geese. Efficiently shouting orders to his junior officers through his Advanced Warrior system's audio link, the Colonel coolly walked up the loading ramp of the closest transport, kicking the side of the aircraft to rid his boots of the dust that had accumulated. Passively staring at the throngs of men and equipment heeding his command to begin loading, Bernadotte quietly mused on the nature of warfare to himself, questioning how exactly this band of exiled French soldiers found themselves in the middle of an utterly chaotic continent.
Noticing that several platoons of men were getting close to his location, Bernadotte shrugged these 'useless' thoughts aside, knowing full well that regardless of the reason, this old wardog was traveling again to his natural environment with the finest soldiers in existance... The god of all wars called for Bernadotte once again, with the red African sun rising in the eastern horizon..
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Jan 3, 2008 16:29:20 GMT -5
Off the coast of Africa, Near Somalia
After having been defeated due to the assistance Spain received from the S.S.A. and others, Francisco Franco wanted any chance he could get to have a shot at taking his throne back.
Sitting in the top deck of the ship, they were sailing to the coast of Somalia, Franco peered through binoculars to see the waves crashing for miles and miles. A Sea gull suddenly flew in the way of his vision, ending his attempt at seeing the coast line. He put the binoculars down, and was excited for what was about to happen.
"Hey! What the hell is that drunkard doing down there? He's puking over the side of my ship!" Franco said.
He walked over and exited the headquarters of the ship, took out his pistol, aimed slightly right of the man, and pulled the trigger.
The man jumped, and threw up all over himself out of fright, causing Franco to burst out in a rage of laughter.
"Serves the bastard right...drinking on my ship..."
He then went back inside, and began to radio to try and make contact with a man by the name of Pip Bernadotte. He knew the man was once a valiant leader, and was now part of 'Knight's' army. Franco wanted to enlist him and his 2,000 men and try to do anything to make some money or have a chance at fighting Spain once again.
The knob on the radio turned, and a crackle could be heard as Franco began to speak:
"Hello, this is "Red Bull" I would like to speak with the "Wild Geese"...Hello, this is "Red Bull" i would like to speak with the "Wild Geese".
Now knowing if his ship was able to transmit the signal properly, as it isn't at 100% working capability from his war, he slammed t radio down hoping to get a reply, but cursing his luck at the same time. If nothing would happen, he would have to land and hunt down the man himself if we wanted to speak to him.
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Post by Ignatius on Jan 3, 2008 18:37:59 GMT -5
Cape Town South Africa
C.I.A. Agent Ethan Pinkerton tapped his foot impatiently as he waited outside Cape Town International Airport for his Spanish Contact, cursing the tardiness and inefficency of the S.I.A. agent in getting to the agreed rendevouz point in time. Having spent nearly two hours waiting for the Spaniard to arrive, Pinkerton had long lost all semblences of patience during this lengthy wait, and was furious at having wasted such time when more important matters were at hand. Matters like Knight International's involvement in the tension between the Western and Islamic worlds.
"Jesus Christ..." swore the American, plopping himself dejectedly on a leather seat positioned outside the airport terminal, "Two hours.... Two goddamn hours!"
A relatively young operative who had just been assigned his first mission into the "Dark Continent", Pinkerton was nonetheless eager to prove his competence to his superiors in Atlanta, and had even shown up at the rendevouz point several minutes early. Now, dreadfully behind schedule, the young American struggled to keep his composure within the crowd.
Flight 221 from Madrid, Spain will be arriving late today...
The intercom fueled the young operative's foul mood, and caused Pinkerton to sigh dejectedly in disappointment. Knowing full well that he had several free hours to burn, the C.I.A. agent decided to pay a visit to the nearest airport 'bar' for a drink...
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Post by Canton Rouge on Jan 3, 2008 22:52:30 GMT -5
Somewhere in Mogadishu, Somalia
Gathered in front of a worn out table in a dilapidated building in the heart of Mogadishu were a few leaders of the numerous clans of Mogadishu. Although most of them hated each other, they were drawn together by one commone goal: to remove any foreign presence from Somalia. While some of the clans argued amongst themselves, the leader of the Habr Gedir clan, the most powerful in all of Mogadishu, called everyone to order.
"Silence! Now, we've just received information that foreign infidels are coming to take over our country. Apparently, they think that since we can't rule ourselves, they'll rule for us!" This was met with disapproval amongst everyone inside. He continued, "Furthermore, I know of a few clans that have pledged to side with the infidels, in return for being in the government! This is not only treason, but down right evil as well!"
"I propose that we unite and drive the infidels out of our country when they arrive!" he yelled, anger building up inside of him. "I want the world to know this. Somalia does not belong to a foreign power! Somalia belongs to us, the people that live inside of it!" When he finished, the leaders applauded him, and pledged that until the invaders were driven out, all of the clans inside the meeting would agree to stop fighting each other, so as to unite against a common enemy.
Such was the beginning of the clans uniting themselves for the better of Somalia. If the invaders wanted Mogadishu, they would pay in blood for it...
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Jan 4, 2008 8:53:44 GMT -5
The Airplane: 2 Hours later
The S.I.A. agent, Oscar Garcia, had finally arrived at the airport, but was still on the plane. He already had all of his luggage with him, becuase he did not want to be late in meeting with the American. He sat around, edging into the hallway as if he was going to run off the plane. He was already in a terrible mood at having to be late.
"K'mon, K'mon K'mon!!!" He shouted, only to have a snobby, unattractive 'Airline Assistants' tell him that he needs to be quite or they wouldnt let him off the plane. Oscar about took out his pistol and shot the lady then and there, but the pilot radiod to everyone that they could now leave the plane.
After 5 minutes of walking down the plane and corridors of the airport, he had no idea if the man would still be at the meeting place. There were so many people, all talking differnt languages and having different styles of clothing, he didnt know if it was possible to fin the man. He figured he would have been watching the plane arrivals, so he headed towards the rendezvous anyways...
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Post by Ignatius on Jan 4, 2008 13:59:48 GMT -5
OOC - Knight International is directly aiding a Somali Islamic Warlord gain power in Somalia, Canton, it's not trying to invade or govern the area.. SomaliaAfter a brief three-hour flight over nearby Mozambique and the Indian Sea, Colonel Pip Bernadotte's men finally touched down in the minor town of Mugambe, landing on the dusty improvised runway laid out by Warlord Abu Farrah and soon skidding to a stop. Peeping from the window of the loading bay of the C-130 Hercules, Bernadotte could easily see a welcoming party of turban wearing Somalis armed with AK-47 waving at the painted black aircraft, waving flags adorned with gold Arabic lettering in welcome. Walking off the loading ramp of the transport aircraft, Bernadotte coolly moved towards the Somali welcoming party with his hands at his sides, staring at their dark faces through the black lenses of his designer (self-bought) sunglasses. One Somali, a lean man wearing a green turban, caught Bernadotte's eye, with the seasoned mercenary commander immediately recognizing the aura of leadership that seemed to emit from this particular 'kaffir'. Nodding respectfully at what he took to be the outfit's leader, the Frenchman stood quietly in front of the Somali warlord, cocking his head in a curious glance. "Salaam..." greeted the warlord, bowing respectfully at the auburn-haired Frenchman in front of him, "My name is Warlord Farrah, white man, and I am the Word Bearers' operational branch here in Somalia.. I command the men of the Farrah clan, and intend to finally restore order to this god-forsaken hell hole, finally bringing about the construction of a stable Islamic government that can oversee the rebuilding of the Somali people.." Not saying a word, Bernadotte silently reached into his khaki vest for a cigarette and lighter, lowering his head to light the object with his gold-plated 'Zippo'. Inhaling a deep breath of smoke, the Frenchman promptly exhaled through his nostrils, savoring the taste of the African tobacco and sending several whispy strands of smoke around his auburn-topped head of hair. "I have heard much of you Wild Geese, Frenchman..." quipped Farrah, attempting to make another stab at dialogue with the mysterious white man in front of him, "and have heard of your exploits in Algeria against the Muslim people during the French Colonial period.... Allah certainly has a sense of humor, doesn't he? With an old Gaullist dog fighting in an Islamic Jihad with Muslim blacks... Irony indeed..." Bernadotte remained silent and instead flashed a toothy grin at the warlord. While he could be considered 'good-looking' by most people, all semblences of youth had been sapped from his chisled face by years of countless military service in the 'Grande Armee' and 'Wild Geese', with the battle-hardened thirty-seven year old man looking several years older than he actually was. Disgusted by the lack of conversation, Abu Farrah scowled at the Frenchman's impassive grin, shaking his head in exasperation. "All right, you bastard," muttered the Warlord, pointing a finger north, "your men can billet in those buildings there.. Get your kit and get out of my sight..." Flashing a casual salute at the vexed warlord, Bernadotte wordlessly left the group of Somalis to their own thoughts, motioning for the men of the "Wild Geese" to exit their airborne transports. A stream of heavily armed men and vehicles cascaded out from the C-130 transports, heralding the beginning of the Somali War of Reunification.. ======================== Several Hours Later"Pip... Pip!!!" Swearing loudly, Colonel Pip Bernadotte rose from his cot, rubbing his eyes in annoyance as he scanned the 'room' Warlord Farrah had granted him. While spartan, the room nonetheless provided some degree of comfort for the mercenary commander, and was more than preferable to sleeping on the cold, hard ground outside the building. After several moments of struggling to adjust his vision to the darkness, Bernadotte found an 'Alois Montimire' standing in front of him. "What the fuck d'ya want, Alois?" hissed the angry Frenchman, nearly slapping his fellow 'Wild Geese' comrade in annoyance, "Can't you see that it's fucking 2 in the morning?" "Sorry boss..." muttered Montimire, snapping to attention immediately, "But it seems you've got a message from an avid... admirer just off the coast of Somalia.. A certain Spaniard attempted to make contact with us just as we were arriving into Somalia.. Dunno why he'd want to, but I just thought you should know.." "Jesus Christ!" swore Bernadotte, falling back into bed, "Some rich Spaniard wants to talk to me during a 'job', and you wake the whole filthy unit up? You know that all business transactions are handled by the corporate bigwigs up at Cape Town, not by commanders..." "If that stupid Spaniard wants to talk to me," added Bernadotte, closing his eyes, "he'd better talk to me face-to-face here in Somalia! I've got better things to do than discuss worthless piles of shit via radio with an idiot!" "Go back to sleep!"
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Jan 4, 2008 15:31:25 GMT -5
The Ship
Franco took out a bottle of Vodka and tipped it back taking swig after swig whilst awaiting a response on the radio. The reponse never came, and so at about 4 in the morning, after drfting in and out of sleep, he decided that he would have to do things the hard way.
He awoke everyone and began to take the ship to shore. He hoped that he could manage to find the man, and be included, otherwise another long voyage to South Africa would be next, and would further delay his ambitions.
"All hands on Deck! Get the Hell up you rats!...were taking it to shore...be ready to get this thing movin' in 15 minutes." Franco said in a low menacing voice.
All of the men began to awake from the underbelly of the ship, and the faint black outlines of the men could be seen down below as the sun began to rise. Small voices could be seen barking at eachother, due to a lack of sleep. The many men were scrambling everywhere, trying to get to their spot for the day and get the easy jobs. Not a single man hesitated n getting out of bed for fear that Franco may make an inspection and find them sleeping. Everyman knew that they may take their last breath if that were to happen to them.
I wonder if any of these warlords will even let us get lose enough...we may be in for a skirmish or two. Franco thought to himself, before finally laying back on a makeshift hammock in the command center of the ship. He finished the flask of Vodka he had, and popped a piece of mint chewing gum into his mouth. He then slowly closed his eyes and laid a hat over his head and tried to sleep untill the ship would be docked....
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Post by Canton Rouge on Jan 4, 2008 19:47:30 GMT -5
OOC: My bad, Iggy. The way it was set up made me believe that. I'll fix it with this post.
IC: Mogadishu As the leader of the Habr Gedir clan watched his city, he smiled. He was not about ready to let anybody else but himself rule this city. After all, he had the arms, means, and motive to seize power. All he needed was everyone on his side. And he swore he would do it, either through diplomacy, or through force.
As he was pondering the situation over, an aide rushed in to his office. As he gasped for breath, he panted, "Enemies....in town.....aiding a rival clan.....what do we do?"
The leader smiled, and replied, "Rally our militia and the militia of any allies. Then, proceed and find out where the invaders are at, and surround them. Surely, they won't last long against our brute force." And when the aide replied in the affirmative and left, he turned back to looking at the city. Already, he could see the beginnings of the militia start to congregate at the bazaars and street corners.
"Foolish Warlord Farrah, you'll learn not to mess with Mohammed Aidid. Just like how fifteen years ago, the Americans learned not to mess with me," he said to himself before retiring for a nap. He knew he would be able to acheive the element of numbers, all he needed was for the clans to work together...
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Post by Porcu on Jan 5, 2008 15:07:20 GMT -5
Military Intelligence Sector 6 Headquarters, Rome Director Varus Africanus' office
"Thank God that's done...", Director Africanus said referring to the series of telephone calls he had recently made in order to secure CIA cooperation with MI6 in the Balkans. Africanus used this moment to sit back in his chair and relax. Buzzing his secretary he called for a small glass of wine, wishing to "celebrate" the moment.
"Certainly Sir", was the reply by his secretary over the intercom system. "There is Consul Cicero here to see you as well..."
"Cicero?", Africanus thought to himself. "Why would he come in person?"
"Director? Should I tell him you are busy?", asked the secretary.
"No, no! Please show him in and bring a extra glass of wine for him..."
Only 30 seconds later the door to the Director's office opened and in came the Consul of Rome, sporting a modern style of dress, a suit and tie, as well as the young secretary with two glass and a bottle of wine on a tray, which she placed on the corner of the Director's desk. Looking at Africanus, she excused herself when he gave her a wave of his hand, leaving the two important figures alone.
"Wine, Consul?"
"Certainly...Thank you", Cicero responded clutching the glass tightly as made himself comfortable in a chair directly in front of Africanus' desk.
"Consul", Africanus said opening the conversation. "I wish to thank you and the other Senators again for bestowing the title of 'Africanus' on me. It is truely an honor and I look to live up to the name that other men of history with the title of 'Africanus' set."
"You deserved it, dear Varus..." chuckled Cicero as he held up his glass in recognition.
"What brings you here Consul Cicero this morning and with your modern style of dress?"
"It was actually young Richard Nixon who brought about this change. Hailing from Canton Rouge he was not keen on the ancient style of dress and believed that the modern world called for modern looking politicians and so seeing how we Romans have a wonderful democracy we in the Senate voted on the issue and well, here is the result. One thing though that Nixon does enjoy is true, ancient Roman architecture and is something that distinguishes Rome from all other nations..." Taking a moment to drink from his glass Cicero continued. "Now, I have a proposal for you to consider but it must not leave this room, at least until I create a suitable environment for my plan to be exposed."
Director Varus Africanus sat up in his chair and took a quick drink from his own glass before setting it down on his desk.
"As you may know", Cicero began. "Senate elections are only a week away and while I will have no trouble being re-elected into the Senate I do look to return to my current position, that of Consul. My case for re-election by the other Senators seems solid, even if a major ideological shift occurs within the Senate; however, I have big plans for Rome and I wish to see them carried out. Do you remember the days of your youth when Fascism reigned supreme? Well, as much as that form of government contradicts what I stand for I must give Mussolini credit for creating a superpower out of Rome. I still remember when I was younger, watching him on TV stating how he was creating the 'New Roman Empire' and how everyone cheered him, my were the days...", Cicero said with a small grin on his face.
"Point is...", he continued"Is that Rome under Mussolini held various colonial possessions that he allowed to become sovereign and independent once he resigned, one of which was the coast line of the Horn of Africa, mostly comprised of present day Somalia. I hope that these possessions and more return to Roman hands and seeing how chaotic and divided the land and its inhabitants are it will not be an easy task, just ask the Americans..."
"What is MI6's role in this plan of yours?", Africanus asked clearly intrigued but a little skeptical.
"As I see it now, MI6 will send an agent into Somalia looking for any way that Roman assistance may be given to one of the local warlords in order to help him gain power. In exchange of whatever he needs we ask for partial control of coastal mining towns, where we can tap into their reserves of iron ore, tin, and copper. We also clearly state that Roman citizens still living within Somalia are not to be harmed under any condition. After gaining access MI6 will sabotage one of the mining sites, making it seem that the Muslim warlord has gone back on his word. The deaths of Romans in these mining towns will also further add fire to the situation and full military intervention will seem like a logical response. I plan for this to take place within the next couple of months maximum..."
Director Africanus finished his glass of wine, savoring the few remaining drops, before looking back at Cicero. "Something like this hasn't been done in quite some time and there is always the possibility of a setback..."
"I want to know, right here right now, if you are committed to restoring further glory to Rome!"
"Yes, but..."
"What is your answer then?"
Africanus slowly nodded, knowing full well that he could have been relieved if he did not accept. And so the gears were set in place, beginning to turn the moment Cicero exited Director Varus Africanus' office...
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Jan 5, 2008 17:34:13 GMT -5
The Seaport, 12:00 Noon
The ship had finally reached the port, and all around voices could Be heard, cargo could be seen, and an occasional horn from another vessel could be heard from off in the distance.
"My my my...what a splendid afternoon this is." Franco casually stated while getting up out of the hammock and looking around.
"General, shall we have the ten jeeps and a crew of dirt bikes unpacked for our little hunt then?"
"Ah...yes Ramirez. I take it we never got a response from the Knight International folk eh? Too bad, we'll meet 'em in person to make the 'Dealie O' go down. I just hope that we can find our way around this god forsaken hell hole without getting a fury of angry warlords against us. I don't think they will take to kindly to our expeditionary force do you Ramirez?"
"Uh...well most likely not General, but"
"Shut up! I don't pay you to run your mouth...now get those vehicles off of this ship, and get us a crew ready! I need 6 people in each jeep with a machine gun and a possible grenade launcher equipped on each one. As for the dirt bikes, I want the craziest mother f***ckers you can find on this ship to hop on 'em and have a machine gun as well. I want this crew to be ready for a lot of hostility and not meese out. Now go!"
"Yes General" Ramirez replied as he turned and hastily walked out the door.
Down below about 10 minutes later the first of the lot of jeeps could be seen being prepared and unloaded. They looked like one hell of a force, especially once the roar of the dirt bikes could be heard. The beginnings of a crew could be seen too, and he noticed the drunkard was already hopping in to a Dirt bike. He knew the man would come useful somehow...perhaps the alcohol made him crazy!
Franco went to his cabin and began to ready his belongings for the trip, and polished his own silenced pistol and machine gun. He then made sure he had a sting of grenades to sling over one shoulder and that his sleeveless shirt was ready to go. He then called for lunch to be delivered....
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Post by Ignatius on Jan 5, 2008 18:30:27 GMT -5
Mugambe Somalia
Warlord Abu Farrah's clan owned a sizable chunk of territory located in Somalia's distinct horn, and had been struggling (like any other warlord) against the motley assortment of provincial warlords for control over the nation. Long wars of attrition in which neither side gained anything but casualties were becoming another normal fact of life within the war torn African backwater nation, with the people of Somalia ultimately paying the price for the disunity of the nation. It was no wonder that when the Caliphate of Istanbul personally asked for Farrah's operation to be the 'Word Bearer' extension into Somalia, offering a wealth of resources and the promise of being the 'supreme leader' of Somalia, the battle-weary Somali leapt at the offer. Funded by millions of dollars in aid and the support of hundreds of militant Islamic groups worldwide, Farrah's clan steadily rose in prominence, gaining a distinct advantage in clashes with rival warlords.
Kalashnikovs from Uganda, RPG's from Saudi Arabia, heavy machine guns from Iran, the Farrah clan was receiving an enormous stipend from their umbrella organization for the 'jihad' into Somalia, with foreign mujaheedin flooding in through the Indian Ocean from countless Middle-Eastern countries. Now, with the aid of the internationally feared Knight International (obviously hired by the Word Bearers), Farrah's faction could look to the future of a re-unified Somalia under Islamic rule.
There were, of course, countless other 'bad Muslims' to deal within the country, with the Warlord of Mogadishu preferring to maintain his grip on the impoverished masses of starving Somalis rather than uniting with fellow Muslims to rebuild the Eastern African hell-hole. No matter.. These corrupters of the Islamic faith would be dealt with soon enough, so Farrah thought, Allah always prevails in the end. The Americans were no longer supplying aid to the people of Somalia, and soon enough the people would recognize the need to 'unify' and end the factional violence.
"Boss... Boss..." quipped one of Farrah's trusted lieutenants, a ragged looking Somali clad in a dusty khaki suit, "Our scouts have reported movements of a multitude of rival factions' troops towards our territory.. It seems that traitor infidels in Mogadishu are daring to stand up against the will of Allah, and are moving their own private bands of clansmen by horse and truck in an attempt to ‘invade’ the rightful land of the Farrah clan!”
“Enough!” bellowed Farrah, incensed by this action, “This is exactly why Somalia must be reunited under the Islamic banner… My Islamic Banner! What’s their status as of this moment?”
“At the moment, they’ve managed to take a few villages on the borderlands of Farrah turf..” replied the Lieutenant, “While they outnumber our forces by a decent 2:1 ratio, I am confident that we will nonetheless be able to repel this threat.”
“Get that fucking Frenchman up right this instant!” spewed Farrah in Arabic, shaking his head, “If we act immediately, we can send a message to the rest of those sniveling warlords in Mogadishu…”
“Right away!”
“Also…” muttered Farrah, scratching his beard thoughtfully, “Get me in contact with Istanbul…” ================================================= Two Hours Later
Though awakened from his deep slumber, Colonel Pip Bernadotte nonetheless effectively directed the Wild Geese to ready for battle, immediately strapping on his state-of-the-art battle gear on his lean, hardened body. With Knight International personally having a private fleet several miles off the Horn of Africa, the African Private Military Company had complete control over the skies in Somalia, and would support the relatively small (yet exceptionally speedy and lethal) force in the fighting against a larger, yet poorly led rabble of shoeless gunmen unsupported by armor, air power, or even civilian transport vehicles. Bernadotte’s experienced ‘Wild Geese’, however, were equipped with the finest weapons and equipment Knight International could procure from company holdings in South Africa; heavily armored (yet swift) ‘Rooikat’ wheeled attack vehicles, modern Olifaunt 1B Main Battle Tanks, RG-31 mine protected vehicles, and a German ‘advanced warrior’ system which gave K.I.’s personnel unparallel combat effectiveness against ragged enemies still wielding the crude Kalashnikovs manufactured in the 70’s.
“Wild Geese!” crowed Bernadotte, addressing his comrades from the top of an Olifaunt MBT, “We’ll be jumping back into the shit once again!”
“Honneur et Fidélité!” bellowed the Wild Geese, shouting their old Gaullist motto proudly.
“We all remember our origins as the pride and glory of Gaullist France!” shouted Bernadotte, waving the small tricolor handkerchief he usually carried in the air, “In us, the Wild Geese, the Grand Armee’ lives on here in Africa! Let us teach these unwashed hordes of apes what Gaullist Pride is all about!”
“Honneur et Fidelite!” bellowed the group again, raising their G36 assault rifles in salute. Then, without another word, the men of the Wild Geese swiftly mounted up on their armored transports, manning a bristling array of heavy weapons.
Apparently Knight’s 1st Fleet had already taken the initiative to launch their air support against the Al Gedir clan’s horde of poorly-trained gunslingers, with the black-painted SAAB Gripens roaring over the Wild Geeses’ heads. Not pausing to look up at this spectacle, the 8,000 man force (split into eight sections of 1,000 men) rolled out of the town of Mugambe, lancing out at the enemy forces just several miles from their current location. Alongside the battle-hardened warriors, Farrah’s own militiamen could be seen moving with the force in their battered pickup trucks, armed with an assortment of assault rifles and RPGs for yet another encounter with the rival clans.
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Post by Canton Rouge on Jan 5, 2008 20:19:29 GMT -5
Mugambe
"There, the enemy! Strike him, and show these unloyal dogs that Somalia will be united by the Habr Gedir one way or another!" cried Warlord Aidid. His followers chanted out similar cries of support and death for the enemies. And with that, his army of Habr Gedir soldiers and loyal clan followers set out to engage the enemy. But little did they know, they were heading into a trap.
The Battlefield
It was the army of Warlord Farrah who took the first shot, using his PMC's to fire on the approaching enemies. Immediately, the front line soldiers fell, and the rest scattered to find what little cover they could locate. And then, the bloodbath began as both sides started firing on each other, trying to wear the enemy down to the point of attacking them. But with both sides having the advantage the other side lacked, no progress was being made.
As Warlord Aidid watched the battle, a lowly militiaman ran up to him and said, "Great Aidid, we need reinforcements if we will have any hope of routing the enemy."
Aidid responded, "I do not know if any will come. The warlords of the other clans want progress. And if this continues, we will not receive any help. So just hold back and see what happens." Aidid cursed his enemies, and went back to his command post, hoping that his men would last long enough against the enemy...
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Jan 5, 2008 22:27:40 GMT -5
(OOC: I guess Canton really wants to win! Iggy, I don't know how far away your "Farrah" clan is, but I'm saying its only a few hours away. I can always change this post later if you need to change it.)
The small force of old Spaniards left the ship in their vehicles, heading towards the location of the Farrah Clan and the leader here in Somalia of Knight International. they had all gassed up the jeeps and bikes, and prepared for the worst.
Francisco Franco himself could be seen standing upright, head above the car on the passenger side of the lead jeep. He was looking around, scanning the terrain hoping to see some sign of the villages. He was apparently a few hours away, but with their fast driving, he was hoping to arrive in an hour and a half.
They continued their drive, loud thuds could be heard as they ramped over ditches and plowed through pot-holes. Several men had to swerve out of the way to avoid hitting rocks, and almost crashed into another car. One man had fallen out and was run over by a dirtbike traveling behind his jeep. Another man quickly stood up and took his spot as the machine gun operative.
A large cloud of dust could be seen behind the mass of vehicles as they drove through the dusty terrain, leaving behind a plethora of car tracks. A herd of Gazelles ran alongside of the cars for a mile or two, until they were finally passed due to the speed of the jeeps.
The Spaniards were starring in amazement at the African Wildlife and all its beauty, looking all around them trying to take in the sights. It was truly something out of a picture book and had never been seem by any of the Spaniards before.
"Remarkable sights eh boys?"
"Yes Sir, General" the men in the jeep yelled back
"Keep on driving though, don't slow it up, we need to get there before the sun sets...I want this deal completed before the day is done. I had enough delays with my plan already..."
"Yes General"
And with that the car sped up a little, increasing the lead of the rest of the pack, until the others began to drive faster as well. They would surely arrive at the village soon....
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Post by Canton Rouge on Jan 5, 2008 23:51:58 GMT -5
OOC: There, edited. I thought I made everything clear when I did my postings, but some people can't make heads or tails from it. No wonder people hate my postings.
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