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Post by Ignatius on Jan 17, 2008 19:46:58 GMT -5
OOC - Sorry about not being able to post recently, but I've been extremely busy with real-life. Expect a post on this in one or two days.
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Post by Porcu on Jan 17, 2008 22:37:59 GMT -5
OOC: Real life trumps all...No worries man...
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Post by Ignatius on Jan 18, 2008 20:17:13 GMT -5
MogadishuSomaliaDespite every single bone in his heavily scarred and worn body screaming at him to blow the Roman bastard to hell with a press of his gold-plated AK-47's trigger, Warlord Aidid nonetheless was intrigued by the preposterousness of the MI6 agent's offer, and lowered the barrel of his weapon to better gaze upon the "white boy's" face. Nodding at the rest of his clansmen to follow in kind, Aidid carefully sized up the Roman in front of him, chuckling darkly as he toyed with the trigger of his magnificent weapon. While a bloodthirsty, overwhelmingly violent man, Aidid was not stupid, and knew full well that there would be a catch to the promise of "aid" from the rich whites in Rome. "So....." hissed Aidid slowly, tapping the trigger of his weapon anxiously, "Tell me this, white boy... Why would a blatantly imperialistic and so obviously 'white', Christian nation want to help the likes of a bunch of starving blacks here in the shithole of Africa; especially seeing as these blacks are devout Muslims who have never taken kindly to the very sight of white men for centuries? We are not fools, and we have successfully fought off the so-called 'invincible' legions of America and Europe before in the past.." The Warlord paused quietly in mid-speech, admiring the perfectly forged barrel of his custom made assault rifle. Every Somali in the room seemed to nod his head in agreement to what Aidid was saying, and slowly leveled their rifles back towards the vulnerable-looking European standing before them. "Undoubtedly, your motives for even talking to us 'African dogs' is for the rich mineral wealth Somalia has nearby its coastlands.. Well, mark my words, we Somali's would much rather rot in poverty than submit to the likes of your kind.. This conversation is over, boy, and you have proved to have been a waste of my time..." Snapping his fingers coldly in the air, the scarred Somali Warlord motioned for his clansmen to "officially" train their sights upon the head of the Roman agent, and grinned viciously as he watched a 12-year-old child soldier of his struggle to heft his heavy weapon. "Sorry, white man..." chuckled Aidid, raising his AK once more, "but you know what happens to people who waste my time.. Fire away, bo-" A thunderous explosion echoed throughout the room as (much to Aidid's shock) the building complex directly adjacent to his headquarters collapsed in pieces, ripped to shreds by an artillery shell undoubtedly fired from the outskirts of Mogadishu. Staring out of the window of his headquarters, the Somali Warlord gawked in utter disbelief as the sounds of a heavy artillery bombardment rocked central Mogadishu, blasting pieces of dirt and concrete into massive curtains of debris which brought an ominous shadow over Aidid's last major holding. Obviously, the enemy was here..========================= Outskirts of MogadishuAfter literally moving unopposed through the territory of the numerous Somali Warlords who had sworn allegiance to Abu Farrah's dream of a "Unified Islamic Somalia", the men of Colonel Pip Bernadotte's 8,000 strong Wild Geese managed to secure several major positions outside the city without much of a struggle, arriving to the war-ravaged city of Mogadishu without having been noticed by Aidid's ill-equipped militias. Now, with the advantage of the overwhelming firepower and quality of Knight International's "discount packge", Colonel Bernadotte stood proudly before the city which had so long ago forced the Americans to leave the war-torn region to the Warlords, and shamed many a foreign army into withdrawal. Unlike the nations of the past, however, Bernadotte's men were not limited to the unrealistic "rules of warfare" which had restricted the effectiveness of past nations struggling to bend Aidid to their will. Civilian casualties would naturally be ignored by the battle-hardened mercenaries of Knight's private army, seeing as there was no objective other than the complete capture of Mogadishu to occupy Bernadotte's rowdy force, and no cries of hypocrite nations would interrupt the cruelty of this raw, unbridled show of pure violence that would eventually bring about the end of anarchy and factionism in Somalia. This was war at the most pure level possible, and was what the venerable French Colonel yearned for more than anything else in the world. "Level those buildings, gentlemen..." spoke Bernadotte, his eyes lighting up at the promise of battle, "We don't need to sweat ourselves trying to prevent 'unnecessary civilian casualties' from that nest of unwashed savages.." Stroking the sweat-stained fabric of the red scarf tied about his neck, Bernadotte coldly tipped down the lenses of his trademark sunglasses to cover his steely-gray eyes, enjoying the spectacular sight of his mobile howitzers blasting a swarth of destruction through the city. In the air, several Mi-24 Hind attack helicopters were already moving towards the center of the chaos to deposit "General" Francisco Franco's Spanish mercenaries into the heart of what would be the fiercest fighting, blazing away with rockets and cannon in the process. Obviously, Bernadotte had no qualms in sending his so-called "allies" into the fray before his own men to "test" the situation at hand, and had planned from the very start for Franco's men to lead the intitial raid on Warlord Aidid's headquarters to "spare his own men" from the effort. (K.I. Olifant MBT) "Damn right..." muttered Bernadotte, waving angrily at the swarms of Hinds flying toward the city, "It's about time you showed some use out of yourselves.." On the ground, a sizable force consisting of Bernadotte's own "Wild Geese" and the soldiers of Farrah's Islamic Revolutionary Front (IRF) were preparing for the "real" drive into Mogadishu, massing a respectable quantity of armored vehicles and artillery in the process. While the modern Olifant Main Battle Tank of the Wild Geese made a stark contrast to Farrah's mechanized brigade of antiquiated T-55 (1960's vintage) tanks, Bernadotte knew that in the primitive warzone of Africa, such relics of the Cold War could still be used effectively against an enemy armed with little else than small arms. (IRF T-55) It would be a magnificent fight...
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Post by Ignatius on Jan 20, 2008 18:16:36 GMT -5
Mogadishu Grinning at the fleeing masses of civilians scrambling for cover in the streets of Mogadishu, Henri de’Ath joyfully brought the multiple barrels of his 7.62mm minigun mounted on the door of the Hind helicopter he was riding on towards the fleeing citizens of Mogadishu, sending forth a furious blaze of unparalleled firepower from the door gunner position of his Hind. Within seconds, dozens of starving Somali womenfolk and children were immediately blown to pieces by the thousands of rounds fired by de’Ath’s minigun, with their blood, brain tissue, and bone staining the dirt roads of the city. Aidid’s militiamen, running with all due haste from the interior of their homes, struggled vainly to return accurate fire towards these flying raiders, with a large quantity of them easily being mowed down by the weapons of the flying wraiths. Flashing a heated glance at the squad of Spanish mercenaries gripping the safety rails of the Hind’s transport bay, de’Ath motioned for the pilot of the massive behemoth to touch down on the “cleared” ground below to deposit their unwelcome cargo, and continued to blaze away at anything that moved with his minigun. Swearing colorfully as he watched the donkey of a hapless Somali being ripped to pieces by the M134 he was firing, the mercenary nonetheless snapped at the slightly anxious Spaniards to “get off” the helicopter and “secure the town center for the additional K.I./I.R.F forces waiting on the outskirts of town. Covering the exit of the Spanish mercenaries with heavy minigun fire towards the muzzle flashes of the enemies’ AK-47s , the Hind quickly rose back up to the sky after every Spaniard had exited the transport bay, discharging rockets at enemy buildings as they dashed away from the intense firefight. By now, Aidid’s men were beginning to respond the surprise attack in a surprisingly potent manner, managing to counterattack against Franco’s relatively small “raiding” force with unexpected violence. Fueled by drugs issued from Aidid’s own clan, the militia force of child soldiers and clan gunmen pressed their counterattack fearlessly, massing the fire of their AK-47’s into a particularly powerful firestorm. Utilizing several RPG’s obtained through Somalia’s booming black market, the drug-fueled residents of Mogadishu actually managed to down a Hind helicopter with a well-placed round to the vulnerable underbelly, forcing the helicopter into a wild spiral which eventually cumulated in a magnificent explosion which killed its crewmen and contents. (Spanish Mercenaries) A pair of Aidid’s painted-black T-55 tanks crashed through the plaster wall of a nearby apartment, firing its old 125mm cannon towards the positions of Franco’s Spanish mercenaries. Heavy fire from the tank’s 12.7 mm Dshk machine gun ripped through the bodies of two enemy mercenaries, penetrating through their body armor with the ease of a hot knife through soft butter.
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Jan 21, 2008 13:29:27 GMT -5
The Spaniards were quickly realising that this was not going to be easy. With enemy fire coming from children, then men had no idea what to do. They began to return fire, trying to mame and not kill the women and children. This only resulted in the enemy returning fire untill their death, killing more of the Spaniards. Suddenly, a group of enemies knowcked down a wall at the flank of the Spaniards. A blast of bullets rained down upon the men, killing several of them. They ran away towards the tanks, retreating to safety and regrouping for another attack on the enemy, only with fewer men this time.
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Post by Porcu on Jan 21, 2008 17:58:32 GMT -5
MI6 agent Lucius fell instinctively to the ground when seemingly all hell broke loose. Just a moment before he actually began to worry that perhaps MI6 had sent him on this particular mission knowing full well that it would be one that he would parish in, for a moment ago he had been looking directly into the barrel of Aidid's AK-47 and believed that he would not see his Rosa or Rome ever again.
"God sure is mysterious..., he thought to himself as he slowly looked over at Aidid who wore quite a solid expression of fear and confusion on his face. "It's still not too late Aidid!", shouted Lucius over the roar of the Hinds, whose helicopter blades sent out a loud and signature noise. "All I need to do is make a phone call...The call is up to you and your destruction will be your own doing!"
Just a few houses away the screaming of innocent women and children could be heard every so often over the pulsating rhythm of automatic gunfire, sending chills down Lucius' back and although he had no way of knowing whether Aidid felt the same way he felt that it was now or never for Aidid...
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Post by Ignatius on Jan 21, 2008 21:56:36 GMT -5
Outskirts of Mogadishu
"Damn amateurs...." sneered Bernadotte coldly, setting down the radio link he had to Franco's Spanish mercenary force struggling in the center of Mogadishu, "Mark my words men, these Spaniards may bluster hard and growl loud with their facade of Spanish Pride, but deep down.. in the core, the Iberian race is stupider than the bulls which they so gallantly love to slaughter, and cannot truly be trusted when in the 'shithole'..."
The men of the Wild Geese laughed loudly at their commander's comment, knowing full well that Francisco Franco and his Spaniards had been used as 'cannon fodder' to probe the defenses of Aidid's still-dangerous militia by their cunning strategos, dropped into place to test the resolve of Mogadishu's defense force and (hopefully) kill the Somali warlord in his headquarters before the main scrap with the I.R.F. and Wild Geese was taken to the streets. Franco, in his foolish search for glory, had more than willingly agreed to accompany his own men into the center of Mogadishu, personally riding in one of Knight International's many Hind attack helicopters into the dangerous warzone. Now outnumbered and surprised by the ferocity of the Somali counterattack, Franco was undoubtedly straining to defend himself against the crazed hordes of Somali militiamen in Mogadishu, unwittingly used as a pawn in both Farrah and Bernadotte's plan of battle.
"Sir..." spoke one member of the Wild Geese, lifting his ear from the headset of a K.I. produced radio, "Francisco Franco himself has reported intense enemy fire from the interior of Mogadishu, and regrets to inform you that the enemy indeed possesses armor.. He demands immediate air support as quickly as possible, and has apparently not managed to get within two hundred yards of Aidid's compound.."
Already, I.R.F. and K.I. artillery pieces were thundering loudly several hundred meters away from Bernadotte's current position, undoubtedly delivering hundreds of pounds of ordinance to the heart of Mogadishu's urban complex. The Olifant crews of the Wild Geese impatiently sat idle in the seats of their armored vehicles under the searing African sun, with the commanders fiddling about quietly with the heavy machine guns attached to the top of their hatches.
"Inform the 'Red Bull' that my air support has better things to do at the moment, and that he must eliminate Aidid in his compound at all costs. My Hinds have better things to do than be wasted on Franco's pathetic hide.."
Overhead, the roar of Knight International's countless squadrons of Hind gunships echoed throughout the area, with dozens of the ugly-looking machines swooping down to obliterate every single living thing, hostile or civilian, that ran in its sights. Entire housing complexes could clearly be seen being napalmed into a flaming malestrom by the helicopters of Knight's private army, incinerating countless women and children in the process. While a clearly brutal way of laying siege to an enemy city, Bernadotte nonetheless shrugged off the wanton slaughter of innocents by stating in a cruel mathmatic equation that "the less time worry about 'innocents' equals more enemy dead" and "less casualties for us". Thus, whenever the brutal style of war practiced by this ancient "demigod" of war occured, innumerable deaths of civilians closely followed.
"Order Farrah's men to start the main offensive.." muttered Bernadotte, lighting a cigarette with his stainless Zippo, "and tell the Wild Geese that we'll be sweeping towards the center soon to hopefully 'break Franco' out of his little cage. Kill everything that's not ours, and don't let the men do anything stupid.. like trying to prevent 'unnecessary' civilian casualties.."
Hand motions from Bernadotte's lieutenant promptly spurred the frontmost column of Wild Geese armor (Olifants, Rookiats, and other armored vehicles) to being their lancing movement into the city of Mogadishu, and the armored behemoths could easily be seen rolling aggressively through the dusty ground despite the Colonel's distance. The individual men of the Wild Geese, yanking back the arming catches of their modified G36 assault rifles, swiftly mounted upon their RG-31 mine protected vehicles in record time, and started their advance alongside the mechanized armor.
Enormous booms echoed throughout the area; the dozens of 175mm mobile howitzers sounding the dreadful orchestra of war while sending their lethal packages to bear against their foes. Bernadotte himself, throwing away the Kelvar helmet offered to him by his Lieutenant to instead don a soft 'bush hat', readied his person by charging the magazine well of his respected weapon in a collected manner and replacing the trademark sunglasses which had come to define his character over his eyes.
"Order the Hinds to obliterate Aidid's compound..."
"I don't want to see anything standing..."
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Post by Porcu on Jan 22, 2008 0:10:25 GMT -5
Outskirts of El-Wak, Kenya Air Kenya Flight School
Captain Luco Marcinius stood against the main building of the flight school, which actually was more like a large cement hut having only two windows and no air conditioning. The midday sun was beginning to get to Marcinius as he stared across the large open field, which acted as the flight school's runway and taxi area, locking his eyes onto one of the school's training planes.
Deciding to retire inside where at least the sun's rays could not melt the flesh off his skin directly Marcinius walked through the small lobby area and entered the staff workroom. Rather than forcing his eyes to adjust to the rapid change in light he kept his sunglasses on and peered over at a fellow worker, who was watching the highlights of the Hyrulean Champions League.
"Any word?"
"None", was the quick reply in Latin, the worker continuing to stare directly at the small television screen in front of him. If there was one luxury in the secluded area of the 3rd Air Kenya Flight School it was the television. "Shouldn't we have heard from him by now?"
Marcinius nodded, believing that a vocal response would draw nothing more in terms of a response from a fellow pilot. "Radio the others...I want to be ready..." With that small order, Marcinius left the workroom and headed back outside into the blazing sun. The plane that Marcinius had seen landing just a minute ago had settled down and taxied over to a small hangar, located several hundred meters away from the main building. Marcinius saw another one of his fellow flight instructors walking toward the main building along with a student.
Marcinius stepped out of the way once they arrived, the instructor speaking words of praise in Swahili to the black student who returned the courtesy by smiling at his teacher. As the student was inside finalizing the necessary paper work for his flying license Marcinius awaited anxiously for the call....
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Jan 22, 2008 14:11:50 GMT -5
The Spanish mercenaries were now acclimated to the ferocious fighting that was occuring and were beggining to have an impact. They pushed forward, even though they were outgunned.
Facing death many times over, each man uked the tigger over and over again resulting in another death for the enemy. Everytime a Spainiard died, their grenades and equipment had to be taken by their friends in order for them to have enough ammunition.
The radio from Bernadotte was all that was heard within Franco's head. He knew he had to do something or he and all his men would die or be released from duty.
"Hey, Marco and Oscar, you come with me, and get all the grenades from everyone else. Everyone else, give us cover fire, and try and divert the enemy away from us. The three of us are going to Aidid's headquarters and thowing as many grenades as we can in there and then we can get the hell out of here. We arent getting any help from anyone, so stay alive or we all die. 'Till Death Wins!"
'Till Death Wins!!!" was the reply of the rest of the men, as they continued to shoot at the enemy, keeping both sides in a kind of "Trench Warfare" that was happening in the streets of Aidid's compound.
Meanwhile, Franco and his two aid's went to the flank of everyone, trying to sneak through, and hoping that all of Aidid's men would have all been in one spot, since that was the only place the gunfire was happening...
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Post by Ignatius on Jan 31, 2008 22:41:19 GMT -5
Cape Town, South Africa Knight International Corporate Headquarters
"My name is Richard Roffe.. I scheduled an appointment with Mr. Knight several days ago?"
After confirming his "business meeting" with the head secretary at the front desk of Knight International's Corporate Headquarters, CIA agent Jason Pinkerton was led through a dazzling quantity of corridors, stairways, and elevators with the aid of a very helpful office staffer, eventually finding himself staring down the massive four hundred acre private facility of Knight International's executive center from the twentieth floor of the office building. Despite being hundreds of feet from the ground, Pinkerton could more than easily see the actions of Knight's numerous "employee's" on the training grounds and storage locations below, and noted that the Private Military Company not only possessed several hardened concrete bunkers designed to hold heavy armored vehicles, but had its own minature airfield several dozen kilometers away from the main compound where, as Pinkerton noted, several K.I. Atlas Cheetah fighter jets were taking off for their daily training run.
While Pinkerton knew that Philip J. Knight of K.I. was certainly a very wealthy and influential figure within South Africa, the American could not possibly comprehend (until now) the sheer amount of power this one "businessman" held in the world; a massive conventional army and air force built for the private fantasies of a filthy wealthy Corporate "suit".
*ding*
The elevator doors swung open to reveal a stunning office located at the very top of the massive building, one furnished with countless historic artifacts and expensive decors that must have cost the owner a massive fortune. Entire suits of authentic armor stood like guards on the sides of the elevator door's entrance, brandishing ancient halberds and swords undoubtedly reminiscent of the 14th century. Far away, sitting calmly at rest in a gold encrusted "throne" which Pinkerton strongly suspected to have once been in the service of the English Royalty of old, sat a lean, shrewd-looking businessman clad in a suit of fine Italian silk: Philip J. Knight.
"Welcome, Mr. Roffe..." greeted Knight in an unnervingly cold voice, "To Knight International.... My name is Knight, Mr. Philip J. Knight...."
Flashing a short grin with his perfectly white set of teeth, Philip J. Knight motioned to a slightly less grand-looking seat positioned slightly left of the table, and quietly drained a ruby-encrusted silver goblet of a reddish liquid. Despite being lean and fit for his age, Philip J. Knight nonetheless radiated an aura of coldness and gloom wherever he went, and had the waxy complexion of an unnatural creature of darkness. One small scar on his left brow drew attention to his queerly-colored set of red eyes, a rare genetic trait which set him apart from many of the "lesser" stock.
"Knight International has the proud honor of being the largest Private Military Company in the world, Mr. Roffe.." added Knight, glancing up towards an enormous self-portrait of himself positioned on the marble wall of his office, "but we also have dozens of more.. commercial services that we can provide.. Our recent trade agreement with the Ottoman Caliphate has effectively made us a major 'player' in the oil industry, with us supplying huge amounts of petroleum to dozens of clients in South America and Asia..."
"Manufacturing wise, K.I. has dozens of factories in South Africa, the U.S.A., and Great Britain; with us producing everything from weapons and ammunition to aircraft and ships for our... clients...."
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Post by Porcu on Feb 17, 2008 20:48:52 GMT -5
Mogadishu, Somalia
Lucius had finally had enough and dialed the number that he was given by his MI6 contacts in Rome before he left. Bullets ripped through part of the house and Lucius wished that he could simply melt into the floor to avoid the possibility of being hit. Until just a moment ago the living quarters of Warlord Aidid had been left alone by the onslaught that was raining down from above by the K.I. forces.
The screams of women and children all around the perimeter of the building had sent chills down Lucius' spine but once the cannons of the Hinds were pointed at the building he was in the realization that he might die that day finally hit home. Deciding not to wait for Aidid to answer, additionally deciding to save his own ass, Lucius dialed the number given to him. Despite the roar of the helicopters above him and the raining of bullets all around him Lucius was able to faintly hear a voice at the other end of the line.
"This is Operative Lucius of MI6...We have a go..."
A wave of fear and panic swept over Lucius as the voice on the other end of the line simply grunted and hung up. The comfort that the voice gave Lucius had disappeared in an instant and while Lucius figured that something would happen at some point he also figured that he might not survive long enough to see it. As he was now, Lucius was sprawled out on the floor, given some coverage from sight by the chairs and couches with large pillows and furnishings on them, and when there was a small opportunity for him to gaze about his surroundings he peaked his head over one of the couches.
In front of him were the bloodied remains of two of Aidid's guards, identifiable by the fact that they still clung on to automatic rifles, and the rags that remained of Aidid's window curtains along with the scattered shards of glass that littered the floor of the building. Other than that, the room Lucius was in was completely empty and Lucius felt quite alone in that moment. Gazing out one of the shattered windows Lucius could clearly see the outline of a Hind against the bright African sun and at that point Lucius simply stood up and ran. =================================================== Cockpit of Captain Luco Marcinius' Saab 37 Viggen
"...You two hear me ok?", Marcinius asked his counterparts as all three of them flew over the deserts of Somalia en route to Mogadishu.
"Yes"
"Yes"
"Alright...To make this easy we essentially shoot whatever we can in the amount of time we're given. Live intelligence provided by MI6 shows attack helicopters heading towards the center of Mogadishu and that's where our MI6 caller is...MI6 HQ has assured us that they will handle the rest of this, it's just our job to kick things off..."
The three Saab Viggens cruised towards their targets and within the next 15 minutes Rome would find herself in another fight, one that Cicero had planned from the very beginning...
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