Africa: Pawn of a Cold War [PMT] (IC; Open)

[Lydenburg]

Neu Lydenburg, Republic of Mosambiek

Assembled in the city square of Neu Lydenburg, the Marlinton Security Police units had hastily gathered alongside the BSAP to carry out their defence of the capital. It was now apparent that the force which had so recently broken through into the city limits had split into small groups and was not a large attacking force at all. However, these terrorists were heavily-armed and radio reports indicated that they had carried satchels of something, possibly explosives. The driver of the pickup which had crashed the checkpoint less than half an hour earlier was white, apparently a Soviet advisor or demolitions expert which only made the sabotage team twice as deadly.

So far, the Marlinton Security Police, founded by right-wing Mosambiekan official Ian Barnes as a home guard mainly by foreign volunteers and white men who were exempt from military service, had yet to see action, but then again they were trained in counter-terrorism activities and many had known this time would come. The vast majority were dressed in loose tan uniforms and cork sun helmets, armed with a jumbled collection of hunting rifles, shotguns, pistols, and even a few BM-59 automatic weapons provided by the Mosambiekan military.

Captain Donald Jooste was in charge for the time being, and he gathered with some of the BSAP officers for a quick conference.

"I have a suggestion to make, Rhodies. These Commies are no fools. They haven't simply cruised down the streets shooting up innocent civilians with that HMG of theirs. We have confirmation that at least ten, maybe more, are roaming around with packs of something, possibly explosives. Now, together we are not accomplishing anything by standing around in the square waiting for them to attack. I say we split up into smaller groups and search every street in Neu Lydenburg, if necessary, to stop whatever act of mass destruction they are planning. If anyone sees the blue pickup or one of terrs, they simply radio it in and we'll be all over them. This way, we'll cover a lot of ground and neither of us will get in the other's way. How does this suggestion sound?"

Road to Village One

Second Lieutenant Lewis Wakeford was now the highest-ranking Mosambiekan officer left on the field. Three lieutenants had been KIA so far, including Wilkins, who died before the rebels had even fired a shot.

Wakeford was busy running up and down the perimeter that his men and the Rhodesian reinforcements had set up, kicking troopers back into position and directing the fire of the strategically-placed MG3 machine guns, and occasionally a Rhodesian MAG or M-60 crew.

With most of the rebels now within a hundred meters of the stone wall and the mortars beginning to abate, Wakeford could see that this was rapidly turning into a rifle fight: Mosambiekan BM-59's and Rhodesian FN FAL's against AK's. Even though most of the Communist fighters couldn't have received more than a hasty crash course and were busily wasting rounds by the hundreds as they fired from the hip, men were dropping all around him.

It was the Rhodesian Armoured Cars which finally saved the day, using their turret cannons to pummel the attackers until at last they slackened off and fell back, soon to regroup but at least defeated for the time being.

The Second Lieutenant checked his own BM-59 as he had been trained. Half-empty magazine, round chambered, safety engaged. One full mag remaining. Every officer and available man was in firing positions like he was, rifles raised. There was no difference between ranks now. No one was going to get out of doing his part.

It wasn't long before the Mosambiekan/Zimbabwe-Rhodesian force faced a fresh onslaught and were heavily attacked by at least a battalion-size force of rebels. More mortar rounds landed thirty meters away, dropping dirt and rocks in every direction. The metallic clatter of the MG3's indicated that their crews were still firing away at the new targets, scything them down. Wakeford looked up briefly. The low cloud cover that had arrived in the morning probably would not clear until evening, preventing the MAF and the RhAF from sending any air support. It was a damned shame, but so were a lot of things in the world.

"Pick your targets, draw a bead," Wakeford instructed the nearest Mosambiekan riflemen. He heard full-auto fire from the left and shouted to the offender to stop liberally wasting his precious ammo.

The soldier yelled something about the Communists advancing within three hundred meters. The volume of gunfire increased rapidly. With the mortars abating, the battle once again turned into a good old-fashioned rifle fight.

Finding Major Jameson of the Rhodesian troops, Wakeford grabbed him by the collar and shouted in his ear to be understood over the deafening commotion.

"Listen! We can't hold the perimeter. There's way, way, too many hostiles. We're going to have to pull back to an inner perimeter, about six hundred meters back..."

The Second Lieutenant turned his head to avoid full-automatic fire from an AK-47.

"...I think we can hold there. I'll establish some of my men as a base of fire to cover the others as they pull back; you ought to do the same."

Without time to wait for a response, Wakeford turned on his heels and got a sergeant to report to the fallback position, on the outskirts of Village Three, and another to the firing line. They would help him coordinate the withdrawal.

With the situation under control, he found a gap at the first stone wall and volunteered for the cover group, firing at attackers some one hundred and fifty meters out. Wakeford was jarred by a few occasional mortar rounds and had to duck to avoid AK fire, but selected individual targets well and had shot every one to date. The junior officer was counting ammunition rather than hits, and at eighteen he paused to exchange magazines.

[Kalumba]

Neu Lydenburg

Commander Vimes looked at the MSP Captain and thought about his proposition. "Ok, you split your men up to hunt the terrs and me and my men will secure major public buildings and will do all we can to reinforce the perimeter. Also take a platoon of my men to back yours up in the hunt. Good luck to all of us and may God smite the bastard terrs!"

With that the MSP returned to their own devices while Vimes split his men. 60% of them would secure the Mosambiekan Parliament and other key buildings in the capital. With a platoon assisting the Marlingtons, Vimes had 150 men left to reinforce the perimeter. "Here is how we do it" he instructed his men as he layed out a map on the table before him. Pointing with his stubby fingers he indicated the route to the embattled checkpoints "First we move as one to Constable Els position on the main highway and reinforce, then we move out and gradually seal the entry points to the city. With a ring of steel in place we can then focus on eradicating those who have broken in. The Marlingtons will keep the terrs in trhe city in check until they can be dealt with. Understood?" Without waiting for a response Vimes formed up his small unit and began the march to the checkpoint. As the BSAP troopers marched one by one they picked up the Kum-a-Kye song and were bellowing it out at the tops of lungs. They were scared but this communal act stiffened their resolve.


Road to Village One

Jameson understood the urgency of the situation and the excellent advice the Mosambiekan Lieutenant had given him. "Seargeant Manyaro! Sergeant Mtwetwe!" he yelled to his two most experienced officers and the men came running. These proud Matebele had fought long and hard in the RAR and both had a Bronze Cross to their names. "We are falling back, but we need a rearguard. Pick twenty troopies from our force and hold out with the Mosambiekan rearguard until we get the machine guns clear Ok?" "Yes Sir2 the two sergeants dashed off grabbing troopies as they went. Jameson moved to each MG team in turn and gave them the order to fall back but to keep firing when possible, so the rebels would not know their intentions.

Seeing men with plentiful ammunition falling back he grabbed a number of them and bawled "Give the Mosambiekan rearguard your weapons and ammo so they don't run out!" The men obeyed quickly and fell back with only pistols to fight with but Jameson couldn't watch the rearguard die to save his own men. Seeing Wakeford preparing to stand with his men Jameson dashed over to him, ducking heavy fire as he went. Quickly he unslung his precious M16 and ammo pouch and jammed it into the young Lieutenants hands. "I will want it back when you rejoin us lad" he smiled and shaking the soldiers hands he ran back towards the last line of defence. Manyaro and Mtwetwe would keep the men their until the last moment and should buy enough time for their withdrawal to the new position.

[Lydenburg]

Neu Lydenburg, Republic of Mosambiek

Several armed guards with semi-automatic 7.62mm rifles patrolled the roof of the Strumpher Building, designated meeting place of the Mosambiekan Republic's Parliament and other major legislative bodies since the nation's independence in 1949.

It was a grand piece of architecture, with a heavy iron fence surrounding it and a set of wrought iron gates which had never been closed--until about a year ago. The building itself was impressive, with imposing Greek pillars and the statues of giants and their beautifully sculpted faces carved into the adobe facade.

Until now, there had never been armed guards, just one watchman at the gate. Until now the iron fence had never been topped by razor wire. Until now a military vehicle had never been parked anywhere on its premises.

Sir Matthew Peacock had his offices in the huge west wing of Strumpher, and it was now that, upon being advised of the situation which could likely develop, opted to immediately close up shop in the building early and leave the Marlington Security Police and their BSAP colleagues take charge of security.

One of the MSP officers on the roof of the west wing thought he could see a series of moving shapes on the roof of a nearby structure just beyond the fence. Unfortunately, he had been trained as a policeman and never as a soldier, and was not a young man.

A round from a Dragunov sniper rifle took him off his feet as he fumbled for his spectacles.

Shortly after the sentry went down, a large crowd of BSAP and MSP forces were gathered around the main gates of the Strumpher, sipping coffee and keeping a wary lookout. If they saw any sign of trouble, they would not hesitate to take the proper action.

Unfortunately, it was trouble that saw them first.

A bright flash marked the incoming RPG projectile, but only for a split-second before it impacted a Marlington lorry which had been parked directly in front of the gates, blowing the vehicle apart in a fiery flash and sending survivors of the sudden attack dashing for cover.

The blue pickup truck and a familiar machine-gun mounted in its bed only confirmed the dire situation. It shot around the nearest corner with incredible speed, already accelerating up to seventy-five miles per hour. The driver was a desperate man and one who had never had much experience driving in his life. His battered vehicle swerved with increasing recklessness across the road several times, zigzagging madly before it reached its top speed and barreled directly through the fiery wreckage of the burning lorry, sending the latter crashing through the wrought-iron gates and knocking them down off their hinges. Even as it did so, the gunner in the back opened up with his Dashika while the defenders on either side returned fire with a hail of deadly lead.

Glass erupted from the pickup, but it barely slowed in response to the gunfire. It was only at this moment that an irregular patrol on the roof revealed that every single sentry there had been shot dead at his post, obviously with great precision by someone using a silenced sniper rifle.

Village Three, Republic of Mosambiek

There was no shortage of targets for Second Lieutenant Lewis Wakeford, who remained as part of a cover group at the initial defenses, picking off rebel fighters as they attacked. He could see his troopers and the Rhodesians hurrying on to the outskirts of Village One, the fallback position he had indicated, and was pleased with such progress as they were making.

Dropping his BM-59 to the side for the M16 the Rhodesian officer had so politely offered to him, Wakeford settled down behind the rifle and shot the two nearest assailants, only forty meters out. He made a mental note to himself that the American weapon definitely handled better than the Beretta at closer range.

Someone nudged his shoulder.

"Sir, why are we here?"

Without taking his eyes off the next target, Wakeford screamed in reply, his voice obviously irritated: "The Rhodesian Major needs some cover for the men who are pulling back to the inner line."

"Sir...."

The man was his radio operator, and he wasn't asking an ignorant question. The Second Lieutenant looked in either direction, only to find he had corpses as companions.

"...We're the last one here!"

Wakeford wanted to beat down the men who had retreated without his giving an order, but could see the remaining Rhodesian soldiers leaving with them; obviously the work here was done and the rebels were getting dangerously close. He paused to reload the M16, then tugged on the new magazine to ensure it was seated.

"Ready, sir?"

"Ready! GO!"

Beneath a volume of covering fire, the two scrambled across the open ground between the inner and outer perimeters. They heard an M37 Heavy Machine Gun's distinctive clatter pounding from the porch of a fortified building in the village, obviously a Mosambiekan-manned piece. Wakeford had to jump over three Rhodesian corpses but scooped up a dropped M16 from the bodies en route.

Reaching the next perimeter, they made a leap over another stone fence, this one manned by the RAR. Wakeford did not stop until he had found Major Jameson and offered him back the two M16's as well as all the remaining magazines he had.

"Thank you, sir!" He shouted as he turned away to direct his own men. "As you can see, Lewis Wakeford has a way of repaying double what he owes!"

The M37 Machine Gun was now visible, mounted by several Mosambiekan infantrymen on the raised porch of a stone building nearby, protected by a wall of sandbags and barbed wire. It rattled out a long burst of fifteen rounds as the gunners took aim at the row of enemy attempting to scale the first stone wall of the outer perimeter.

Most of the allied defenders shot quickly but not too fast, keeping their rifles on semiauto. Scoring headshots on rebels trying to climb over a wall was almost easier than trying to hit unmoving targets in a shooting range. Undoubtedly, the Communists were taking extremely serious casualties.

[Kalumba]

Village Three

Jameson was pleased that Wakeford made it back alive, and even more so that Manyaro and Mtwetwe had got back too. The Mosambiekans were clearly now equal to the Rhodesians after many hard months of battle they had been honed to a fine fighting force. When he had first arrived in Mosambiek he remembered pale-faced boys emptying magazine after magazine in the general direction of a rebel, but now these facy had set with hard lines and when a shot rang out a terrorist went down. The Berreta's were no match for the M16 but were equal to an FN and with a trained man behind the weapon a terrorist stood no chance. And that was obvious now. Whenever a terr showed himself he was met by a single shot and never had a worry in the world again.

He picked up the radio and managed to get throught to headquarters at Pretorious Airfield and caught only a few straggled words in reply to his request for reinforcements "Ne... ...burg under att... No reinfor... New Mosambi... ..ack troops en route fr... ...desia". Jameson couldn't decide if this was good or bad news, but he scrambled accross to where Wakefield was directing a deadly hail of fire onto a small onrushing knot of rebels. Before he could raise his rifle the entire group fell dead after a volley from the Mosambiekans, and he smiled with the pride of a soldier who knows he has good comrades by his side. "Lewis! Bad news, the capital is under attack and they have no reinforcements available but Major Valters is returning with his Eland so we will have a single heavy gun to help us. Also i caught some garbled message about new Mosambiekan troops arriving from Zimbabwe-Rhodesia, but i don't know what to make of it. It looks like we will just have to hold on and hope."

Pretorious Airfield

The last Viscounts and Daks came to a stop and the black troops poured out and were quickly formed up into thier units by the white officers and began to march towards their objectives. None of the Zimbabwe-Rhodesian officers new what these were, but hoped the 3000 new troops would help to turn the tide and couldsave poor Major Jameson and the Mosambiekans who were taking serious casualties. But more worryingly they hoped the Mosambiekan Native Rifles could kill all the terrorists currently roaming the streets of Neu Lydenburg. For the hundredth time a mechanic checked the three Viscounts were fully fueled and prepared to take off. These were reserved for the Mosambiekan Government who would be evacuated to Zimbabwe-Rhodesia if neccessary.


Neu Lydenburg

The RPG wiped out 7 of the 20 man BSAP troopers guarding the Strumpher Building and God knew how many of the 'Marlies'. Seargeant Colon rallied his men and they began to return fire, but not much as they only had Lee-Enfields and a couple of Bren Guns. He sent Corporal Nobbs to take four men and a Bren and take up position on the other side of the flaming lorry. With the gates open Colon expected a horde of terrorists to come swarming through and his sole aim was to sell his life dearly and allow time for his men and the government to escape. But no terrorists came just the damned pick up with the HMG. He emptied a magazine out of his Browning pistol to little effect but the sheer volume of fire from the assorted defenders seemed to bring it to a stop but the gates were gone fully now and all Colon could do was pray for a miracle.

Corporal Nobbs on the other hand was enjoying himself. He always volunteered to go on patrol with the 'Black Boots' and only his flat feet kept him out of the RLI. He was in his element and despite only possessing an antiquated weapon he looked forward to the coming fight. The gate may be lost but the terrs still had to cross the 200 odd yards of ornamental gardens and this would be his killing zone. A sniper at heart he had longed for an opportunity to pick off men in open ground like this and he prayed it would come. A shrewd tactition also he had ordered the Bren gunner to lie down and hold his fire so he could aim at men close and exposed, and, he smiled a nasty little smile, with no chance of takinbg cover. His mind went back to the day when he won his Bronze Cross. It had not been bravery but sadism which had led to it's award. He had shot a terr between the knees and left him screaming in a small clearing in the bush, and each time a comrade had come to his aid he had shot them in the knees or spine leaving them immobilised as well. He accounted for eleven terrs and had not bothered to take them prisoner but left them to the hyenas. With this memory in mind he looked forward to the coming fight a lot more than any of the other troopers around him. "Eyes front lads, soon we will have a chance to teach these silly bleeders a lesson. And any illegitimate heathan who shoots wide will feel the butt of my rifle. Got that you sons of mothers you!" A very religious man Nobbs would not swear and improvised accordingly.

[Lydenburg]

Neu Lydenburg, Republic of Mosambiek

The one rocket-propelled grenade had killed or injured eleven Marlington Security Police men. One glance told most of their horror-stricken comrades that most could not be saved; the lorry which had been destroyed by the RPG exploded a second time, completely blowing the screaming injured lying around it into unrecognizable human debris. The only MSP officer who could be saved was a sergeant who had been trying to save one of his badly wounded friends, a man who in turn had been attempting to rescue a fellow torn apart by the RPG projectile before he was mowed down by a hail of machine-gun fire from the Dashika.

The second explosion had occurred within feet of the brave sergeant, and he went down in a tumble. His sun helmet flew off and landed in the flaming wreckage of the lorry as the blue pickup truck sped by, a handful of rebels in the back jeering as their gunner opened up again with his HMG.

The sergeant was screaming in pain and rage, holding his ruined leg with both hands. Two MSP officers promptly seized him by the stitch of his collar, dragging him to safety behind the Strumpher Building's guard house. The others opened up with Lanchester submachine guns, pistols, and a wide assortment of shotguns and hunting rifles. The one man lucky enough to have a BM-59 scooped it up, thumbing the selector switch to full auto. He sent dozens of rounds away toward the blue pickup as it continued its swerving course across the well-kept lawn of Neu Lydenburg's greatest building.

However, it was a far more skillful BSAP marksman who shot the Dashika gunner off the mount. He tumbled over the side of the truck bed, landing in the dust with a resounding thud. Seeing more MSP officers emerging from the side of the Strumpher Building at a dead run, the driver of the pickup swerved crazily to avoid them. An assistant gunner stepped up to the Heavy Machine Gun in the back, tugged on the charging handle, and swung the snout of the weapon directly towards the Rhodesians firing from the gardens to the immediate left. One of the rounds from a Mosambiekan with a good carbine, however, caught him in the back and he sagged, screaming in pain. The driver accelerated again, leaving another motionless corpse in the dirt. His tires began chewing up rose beds underfoot as the truck hurled itself directly towards the great stone steps of the Strumpher Building's ornate arched entryway, as if the madman intended to drive his vehicle right up the steps and into the structure.

It was not to be, however.

At least six MSP militiamen charged out of the front doors, weapons blazing as they prepared to sacrifice their own lives to halt this lunatic's course. The driver, surprisingly, tried to avoid them, lurching his bullet-shredded vehicle into reverse. The MSP lads stood their ground, aiming just above the truck's slitted headlights. At such close range every single round found its mark. The windshield of the battered blue pickup erupted in a blizzard of glass. Struck by four rounds, the rebel at the wheel died almost instantly, and his foot slipped off the accelerator. A passenger took one round through the shoulder and collapsed to the floor of the cab, dropping his folding-stock AKM. One of the two surviving black men in the back, the one with the RPG, recognized their predicament and the futility of further resistance. He took a bullet to the hip but leaped off the truck as it collided with a stone fountain on the lawn, attempting to stagger off into the gardens. His companion, less experienced or more motivated, was hurled directly into the fountain with a splash. Nevertheless, he took cover, gamely attempting to reload his AK-47 when shot in the head.

All in perhaps one to two minutes, it was all over. The killer vehicle which had brought so much destruction and misery continued to take fire for another forty seconds, as if everyone was refusing to believe its occupants were mortal. Its fuselage was soaked with fresh blood.

While the chaos had been going on near the front gates, three Mosambiekans patrolling the other side of the building had spotted three men in civilian dress, acting suspiciously. Two blacks, one white. Their worst fears had been confirmed when they followed them from a nearby rooftop. The blacks were carrying AK rifles, and the white had a good-looking sniper rifle with a fancy scope. In no time, the MSP personnel went into action. Before they could even comprehend what was happening, the trio of troublemakers had been pounced on and their weapons seized. One of the blacks immediately began screaming like a lunatic. He was clouted with a pistol until he finally shut up. The white man was completely unresponsive. He was of slight build, with thinning hair and grey stubble on his chin. An answer to every question asked was a flat, "No information."

They were about to be escorted back towards the front gate when the RPG warhead struck.

Village Three, Republic of Mosambiek

Wave after wave of rebels fell at the first stone fence which had once marked the outer perimeter of the Mosambiekan-Rhodesian defenses. Eventually, those with a brain in their heads used the wall for cover, firing ineffectively back at the defenders.

Still, a few were beginning to get through, although the Mosambiekan HMG and the volume of rifle fire was forcing them to stay as low as possible as they snaked forward on their stomachs, AK rifles at their sides. Whenever one man raised his head or tried to steady his weapon, he was gone.

Second Lieutenant Wakeford snarled with annoyance as the machine gun rattled out another drawn-out burst. He stood up from his firing position and walked towards the pockmarked village building where the M37 was mounted on a balcony. What a pointless waste of ammunition. It was clear that the M37, although doing its job well, wasn't hitting very much with fifteen rounds at a time. Wakeford prepared to give the gunner a good dressing-down, even if he didn't have that authority.

He was halfway up the steps to the balcony when he turned briefly to see an something smoking towards its position. The second lieutenant's eyes grew wide as he screamed, "RPG!"

The warhead impacted near the roof of the building, wounding the M37 gunners and sending Wakeford tumbling head over heels down the steps. He collapsed into a lump at the bottom, unmoving. Several Mosambiekan troopers ran over, fearing the worst.

"He's breathing!"

Everyone gave a sigh of relief. Wakeford was the highest-ranking officer uninjured left on the field. If he went down, the leadership went down.

His eyes flew open, but he was finding it nearby impossible to sit up. "Back hurts like hell."

"Come on, sir!" One of the younger soldiers helped him to a sitting position, then to his feet. Wakeford was obviously in greater pain than he was willing to show, he moved slowly and stiffly. "You're needed!"

"Heavy MG's knocked out but the guys up here are okay," called another trooper from the balcony. "Where did that RPG come from?"

The second lieutenant found his back painful, but kept reminding himself he could still be up and about, so he must be fine.

"All right, sir?" Someone screamed in his face. The sound of gunfire all around him nearly made those words unintelligible.

"The HMG is knocked out, two men down. But most of our troops are still shooting, that's all that matters..."

"Sir?"

"Kept directing your fire. I don't why we haven't gotten flanked by now, but those rebels seem pretty intent on carrying out a frontal assault."

Pretorius Air Force Base

Some of the white veterans stood around at the airport. They wore colorful T-shirts and bush shorts, with long stockings and loud sunglasses. Several were clutching AK-47's in one hand, trophies from previous battles. Others were sipping a can of beer--or two. They were busy recovering from their injuries at the hospital nearby, and were curious to see who--or what would start alighting off the planes.

At first, the white Mosambiekans became convinced these men were more reinforcements from Rhodesia. They dressed like Rhodies, any way, in the foliage-type disruptive patterns that were expedient given that nation's thick brush. All young and surprisingly professional looking, with FN FAL's in good nick.

Only these men weren't from Rhodesia. They were natives, to be sure, and the gold letters "MNR" was embroidered on a brown banner. It was then that they came to the realization that it was Sir Matthew Peacock's infamous "fighting kaffirs" they'd been hearing about lately. Black men trained as soldiers had always seemed a bit repulsive to most of these whites, but when they saw the Rhodesian African Rifles in action, it changed things, somehow....

This time, they gave a deep-throated cheer as the arriving soldiers were immediately organized into groups of two companies each. One was piled into a convoy of jeeps and heavy troop trucks towards the battlefront; these poor lads would be seeing action soon and no telling what would happen. At least two platoons drawn from another company were soon loaded into another set of trucks to be taken to Neu Lydenburg; word on the street there was that some action was going down and all civilians were to stay in their homes, locking the doors. Quite possibly, it was another bomb threat against the Parliament building or the PM's residence....such things were not to be taken lightly with such desperate people around.

"Ah well," sighed one of the older soldiers as he watched them depart. "At least we're giving our black people something to do. The very fact that they're fighting for us means that, if nothing else, they aren't getting drafted into the 'revolution' by the Communists!"

"They're not the half-bad duds I thought Africans would turn out to be in the army," Another man shrugged optimistically. "But I only hope that their arrival isn't too late!"

[Palace Guards]

Moussa Traore turned in his chair to see the senate before him, now that all of the major rebel groups in Mali had either been appeased, or eliminated and the country had finally fully stabilized under his new government. The question had been askedamong the senate of what to do with their agriculture based country even before it had been put to vote today, some suggested war, others on finding some type of resource in the country to exploit, and a few still said the country was fine the way it was and should stay as such. The ruling party's head was the president, so naturally his word was final on all manners of state, although not officially, and the senate was eagerly awaiting his ruling on the question. He had weighed all of the options, and was ready to tell the senate his mandate on the topic.
"My friends" he began " We stand here today for the first time since we have quelled internal dissent among Mali's people. We have fought, died and sacrificed for this day, and we must be prepared to do so again. I will not lie to you my friends, as far as we know our country has no discernible resources, other countries tread on our territory, The people are restless, we must give them something to do, to believe in, and to fight for! I propose a message to our friends across our borders, telling them of the wealth in countries with resources we wish to remove. The added influence of our fellow nations will lead to both our dominance over west Africa and every one who stands with us!" The senate erupted in cheers at the end of the speech. President Traore retired to his well- guarded palace; as he wished to make a message to those who would share in his proposed plan for a great west Africa.

To: Republic of Sevania
From: Republic of Mali
Subject: Greetings

We wish your country greetings as a fellow Republic in the west African area. We believe that with an alliance between our two nations, we could conquer all of western Africa. This alliance will include: A complete north-south split of territory conquered between our two great nations as well as full military support on both sides. Attached is an map of our proposed expansion that we will support for you. Although any additional expansion, if discussed with us before hand we support.
Note: If accepted you may be asked to come to a summit between nations.
Map

[Keznov]

N'Djamena, Republic of Niger

1973

4:00 PM, Army Headquarters, July 9th

General Mobutu and President Malloum both stood over the map of Chad and Niger, the map also had little minitiure figures signifying armies. President Malloum pushed 5 of the Armies to the Libyan border and spoke, "General, we need this land, you must go with the armies and gain it for us, the oil there is vital and good turn us into a powerhouse. If need be, I will supply you with a maximum of 1,000,000 troops.", after ushering these words, the President walked away from the map and left for his Mercedes. General Mobutu continued to study the map, he knew the casulties for this war would be 15,000 at a minimum, but he did not want to fail the President either.

4 Miles South of Libyan Border

3:00 PM, Forward Operation HQ, July 11th

General Mobutu stood on the portable podium, he was about to speak to 600,000 troops, he coughed once then spoke, "The man who has made this nation great asks us to take a nation for him, what shall we do?!?!? WE SHALL TAKE IT FOR HIM!!!!", with that said the troops cheered and Mobutu stepped off the podium, a few words and he had increased the morale hugely. The troops hurried to their positions. A war to be remembered was about to begin....

In Guezzam, Libya

7:00 PM, Outskirts, July 11th

Chad tanks and Libyan troops were in a heated battle in the outskirts of the first major town in Libya, so far the Chadanese were winning. General Mobutu stood at the camp looking through binoculours at the fighting. He smiled seeing a tank blast a little stone house to nothing.

Outside Zinger, Niger

10:00 PM, Chadian Camp, July 11th

The Chadian forces there had been put under Major General Alexander Talobo after General Mobutu's departure for Libya, when orders came through to destroy the Nigerians in Niger, Major General Talobo jumped with joy, he immediatly ordered the 1,000,000 men all along the front he commanded to push forward.

Zinger, Niger

10:45 PM, Outskirts, July 11th

The 56,000 men outside Zinger almost jumped with joy because they were finally going to see more action, they immediatly marched forward and had begun the bombardment of Zinger, they had started marching into the outskirts and setting up snipers and artillery, the center of Zinger was predicted to fall in a few hours.

[Kalumba]

Neu Lydenburg

Nobbs was the only NCO of the BSAP still standing after the original assault from the pick up and quickly rallied his men to the main door of the Parliament building. Detailing half his remaining troopers to guard the remains of the gates, while trying to build some sort of barricade to prevent another suicidal attack like the last. These men went about their buisness with gust hauling chuncks of masonry into the opening and pilling anything at hand on top, not enough to hold a determined assault but enough to slow it sufficiently to allow the defenders a chance to hold their positions and drive it back. With the task complete they dug a couple of slit trenches and dug in to await assistance.

Nobbs and the other troopies helped the Marlies to gather the wounded and Nobbs placed himself and his eleven men under the command of the senieor MSP man. A good soldier Nobbs was not prepared to lead and always deffered to authority.

Village Three

Jameson saw Wakefield go down and felt sick to the bottom of his stomach. If the Lieutenant died his men would surely break and the terrs would be through, not only this but Jameson had grown a strong respect for the young man and willed him to survive. Almost in answer to his prayers the young officer rose and began to redirect his men. Jameson sent his half trained medical orderly to see to Wakefield and returned to the line.

Despite the loss of the last HMG the line was holding, and sadly as men fell their ammunition was redistributed and no man was lacking it. The elite black and white troopies of his unit were carefully picking off terrs and the Mosambiekans were joining them with equal skill. The young boys were not the raw recruits of yesterday anymore, they were warriors forged in battle and none could stand before them. Jameson had taken a ricochet hit to his shoulder and was directing the battle from the stump of a tree but saw now the time was ripe for a counter attack. The rebels now stood on the outer perimeter of the former defensive position and were wavering. Good supplies of ammunition and a few intact HMG remained in that first line of defense and to recover them would be a great help to the defence. Rousing his men with the traditional Matebele, used by white and black alike, he rushed forwards bayonet fixed. His men followed "UT UT UT! Rhodesia!" came the battle cry and it seemed the charge would succeed.

But the rebels held the line and pinned the battlegroup down in the near coverless scrub halfway to their objective. Jameson now with a bullet in his leg dragged himself over to the body of his radio operator. Yelling the codeword down the mike he begged for RhAF or MAF assistance for his men. It was a forlorn hope as the clouded sky offered no respite and there were no reserves. All base could offer was a Ferret from the RhACR but this was little help. With ammo now running out Jameson and his men looked finished.

[Lydenburg]

Neu Lydenburg, Republic of Mosambiek

The Strumpher Building was quickly secured while radio chatter indicated that more Marlington personnel were on the way to secure the scene. Local policemen also offered their assistance, but the carnage at the front gates was enough to turn anyone away; so many good men had been massacred in cold blood by a ruthless enemy there. They were all loyal Mosambiekans who had died a hero's death, if not a very gruesome one: killed by an enemy too cowardly to fight them on the field.

Two of the Marlie officers were keeping watch over the prisoners they'd apprehended, who sat sullenly on the floor of the main gatehouse. One, the RPG gunner from the pickup truck, was covered in scrapes from head to toe; his left eye was nearly unrecognizable. Screaming a string of obscenities, the Mosambiekans had kicked, punched, and clawed at the figure who had so recently cost them the lives of good men. Even now the terrorist received no sympathy as his guards were getting enormous satisfaction from buffeting his head back and forth with the stocks of their rifles or striking his face whenever fancy took them.

The man which received the most attention was the white captive, who continued with his toneless, "No Information" in response to every inquiry. A Marlington sergeant kicked him in the groin for each time he persisted with this answer, causing the Communist agent to stagger, but this seemed to yield little tangible results.

Exasperated, the sergeant hauled the sniper before Nobbs, the leader of the BSAP detachment. He explained that his boot needed a break and perhaps a Rhodesian friend could do Mosambiek a big favour and make this charge talk about what he knew. Nobbs was then presented with the contents of the man's wallet: A Congolese passport, several documents written in Cyrillic script, and travel papers which indicated that the sniper had been flown in from South Africa several weeks earlier.

Village Three, Republic of Mosambiek

The volume of gunfire intensified as rebels drew ever closer to the last-ditch positions held by the combined Rhodesian-Mosambiekan force trying to defend Village Three. A brave counterattack by the Rhodesian soldiers had only resulted in several allied casualties, while a mortar round crashed down atop the stone wall on the outer perimeter, bringing several sections of it down and allowing rebels to flood through, firing their AK-47's on full automatic. There were simply too many targets now, although the Mosambiekan troopers stacked their magazines in front of them and grimly prepared to fight to the bitter end. Second Lieutenant Wakeford was always with them, shouting encouragements and firing his BM-59. He could see plainly that Major Jameson was attempting to call in air support, but a quick glance at the sky told him that no sensible pilot would venture out in that thick canopy. He was wrong.

Several minutes later, two MAF helicopter gunships, buzzing low under the cloud cover, could be heard whining in the distance. Shouts of joy from the Mosambiekans sounded as rockets flew from the choppers' pods and impacted directly in front of the rebel attackers. Many simply threw away their rifles and ran, or fled with their AK's firing backwards. A door gunner was visible now, manning an LMG and finding the range of targets only he could see. Second Lieutenant Wakeford crossed himself, gave thanks to God for the miracle, and screamed out likewise onto his radio. The only responses, however, were puzzled replies: No aircraft had been authorized to depart from Pretorius Air Force Base; the clouds had simply proved too dangerous.

Wakeford simply shook his head in disbelief, but he was not about to speculate on the details now. He worked the action on his Beretta, placed the front sights between a running enemy's shoulderblades, and took the rebel down. One of the massive helicopters had landed on the ground after hovering for a few minutes, and a team of men were spilling out, black men, armed with FN battle rifles. Their uniforms were new and pressed, their weapons clean, and their camouflage clothing seemed to indicate they were Rhodesians. Wakeford didn't even stop to greet them or extend a welcome; he simply rushed up with several of his exhausted white soldiers and immediately distributed the badly-needed new faces along the wall.

By this point, however, the shooting had dropped off. The sudden quiet in stark comparison to the fierce firefight earlier was unsettling, haunting. A few of the enemy pinned on the field were still moving, some were even waving rags and raising their hands in surrender. As the second chopper landed and more black troopers discharged, the second lieutenant could not stop praising the sudden arrival of his allies. He apologized that he had not been courteous enough to extend a formal greeting for Zimbabwe-Rhodesia's troops to Mosambiek, but they had been a godsend.

Catching sight of a white lieutenant, Wakeford snapped to attention, acknowledging a senior officer. But something was wrong. The man.....he was dressed like a Mosambiekan. Armed with a BM-59, as well. How could that be?

Lieutenant Spencer Stakenborg's face displayed only confusion, however. At long last, having finally understood the situation, he clasped the younger Mosambiekan's shoulder gently. "No, you don't understand--Neu Lydenburg did not send us. Salisbury did not send us. You are looking at the Mosambiekan Native Rifles, and a better unit of loyal fighters there won't ever be found."

His dull gray eyes bored into Wakeford's as he intoned, "And, Second Lieutenant Wakeford, these people chose to defy direct orders from Pretorious Command to fly out here and respond to a distress call on the radios. Of their own accord and at their own risk."

[Kalumba]

Neu Lydenburg

On hearing the Marlie officer's proposition Nobbs smiled. This sort of work was right down his street, it was going to be almost as enjoyable as the day he won his Bronze Cross. A shame his enemy was bound and unarmed but it would still be fun. He recovered his kit where he kept all the tools of his nefarious trade, as the unit's interrogator he tried to keep a few items handy. He took the bottle of ginger beer and the glass rod from his pack and pausing only to gather a portable gas stove and a handful of shattered glass he ambled over to his prisoner.

"Well you heathen commie scumbag, you have just one chance to tell me the truth before i play my little game with you. Do you have anything to say? "No information" came the terse response from the bound man. "Well today you learn the ginger beer trick. If you miraculously survive this war you will definatley teach it to your special friends in the Kremlin."

Instructing the two Marlie guards to strip the man and bend him over Nobbs donned a rubber glove and pushed the handful of broken glass far up the man's rectum. "One last chance to talk?" "No information" the prisoner grunted through clenched teeth. Nobbs smiled and removed the wire from the cork, shaking the bottle well he rammed it up the prisoners posterior and waited. Suddenly came a loud pop and hiss. The man let out the most heart-rendering scream imaginable and began to weep uncontrollably. Nobbs gave a little giggle of glee and asked the man if he was ready to talk, "No information" the man managed to gasp between his sobs. "Well you can't say i didn't warn you" Nobbs sed lighting the gas stove and taking the thin glass rod from his pocket.

"Now what i am going to do is insert this up your penis until only a tiny fraction is showing. Now it is made for use on blacks and as such is considerably larger than your miserable little one-eyed maggot, getting it in will be painful enough but nothing compared to what will follow. I will then move the gas stove so it is heating the tip of the rod. Now as an educated fellow i am sure you are aware that glass conducts heat well but slowly. This will leave you in enourmous pain" then almost as an after thought he added "The glass will then of course shatter with a force equivalent to the strike of a bullet. Do you still have 'No information'?" He gave the prisoner a minute to think about his response and sat watching the flame flicker merrily away on the little stove.

(OoC I will let you decide if he talks or not)


Village Three

Jameson cried out in relief when he saw the Hinds buzz in and drive the rebels off. But before anything else he helped attend to his wounded. He felt horribly guilty for launching this stupid charge that had cost at least 20 loyal troopies their lives. Had he waited just five minutes they would all still be here. Ignoring the wound in his shoulder and leg he limped over to the senier officer of the newly arrived troops and saluted. "Major Jameson of the combined RAR/RLI reserve. I still have 46 fit men and they are at your command, Sir!"

[Lydenburg]

Neu Lydenburg, Republic of Mosambiek

The captured sniper's eyes began to bulge with pain and fear, for the first time his seemingly untouchable facade starting to come apart at the seams. Desperate, the white's head swiveled from one Marlington guard to another. They merely showed their teeth in reassuring smiles, indicating that they were savoring in his agony and more than willing to hold him until he was killed by the sadistic Nobbs.

"Mon Dieu! Talk, talk," He finally blubbered, sagging like a pricked balloon. One of the Marlies seized him by the hair, dragged him across the room, and smashed the prisoner's face into the stone wall. The naked, hurting, captive struggled, but this only earned him a fist in his meaty ribs.

"Yes, you'll talk, cunt!" shouted the Mosambiekan, scratching the sniper's face along the rough concrete. "And we will have quite a time with you, all three of us in this room, if you don't say what you know. Begin."

In no time, the detainee was trussed up and sitting back in a chair, gasping out a sob story through gritted teeth. He was a Congolese citizen, he explained, a missionary and aid worker from a prominent Belgique family who stayed on even after the Communist takeover ended colonial rule in that country forever. As it happened, he was a zealous Marxist himself, and an agent who had been accepting bribes from Moscow; missionary work was only a blind. When he had heard that there were freedom fighters in Mosambiek attempting to overthrow a white racist regime, the Belgian agent, armed with excellent references from the KGB (The Russian documents recovered from his wallet) had come to offer his services. Having once been an exceptional sharpshooter with demolitions experience in the Paracommandos, he was promised cash and a position in the new Socialist order.

"You haven't answered what we really want to know about," hissed the second Marlington guard. "What were you doing today outside the Parliament building, bonny lad?"

"Explosive device," muttered the bound Belgian traitor. "Explosive device, many of it. The freedom fighters and their Soviet comrades tell me to help plant powerful demolitions on roof. But too many sentries. I had to kill few first with my Dragunov. Truck with machine gun was distraction to keep men on ground occupied. Once roof sentries dead, we can cross over to the roof and plant device."

Just at that moment, the Marlington sergeant from earlier burst into the room. Giving Nobb's pained sniper barely a glance, he announced loudly, "I've got bad news: It isn't over yet. More radio reports are coming in. We can expect the worst. There are at least four, maybe five, armed terrorists still at large somewhere in the city. Old woman reported watching them from her window, in the eastern districts."

He took a deep breath. "They've got satchels of something, possibly explosives, and they're heading straight for the Zimbabwe-Rhodesian consulate."

Village Three

Lieutenant Stakenborg sighed with relief when he saw how close Village Three came to falling. From Neu Lydenburg one could already hear the clatter of the machine-gun fire. That was how close those Communist rats were to the Mosambiekan capital. That close.

He saluted the approaching Major Jameson smartly, listening with astonishment as the latter explained he only had forty-six able men remaining. "Good Lord! Your casualties must be staggering. We'll evacuate as many of your men as we can, Major. You can be assured that they will be our first priority and will leave with the choppers when they go out again."

Spencer looked back at the modified Mi-24 Hinds which sat resting in a clearing within Village Three's designated inner perimeter. Of the precious few which had been manufactured in Mosambiek (Based on the South African variant designs) four had already been shot down during this horrible war. Either due to pilot inexperience, lack of proper maintenance, or unusual flukes, the MAF had also lost numerous others which crashed while flying recon missions over the southern countryside. God only knew what the rebels had done to their stranded crews.

"Major Jameson," said Second Lieutenant Wakeford firmly, "Your soldiers have done more than enough. There is no reason why they should do much more any longer. Let the men rest, they have certainly earned at least that much today." He then turned to Stakenborg. "There are rebels waiting to be taken prisoner who are still pinned down on that field out there. I would like to request that your men assist us in rounding them up and recovering abandoned equipment."

"It would be a pleasure," replied the older officer, smiling. "After all, they haven't flown out here for nothing, now have they?"

Little did they know that within that hour alone, nearly two hundred enemy fighters would become prisoners, many to be moved to internment camps in northern Mosambiek or Zimbabwe-Rhodesia. Also among abandoned Communist assets recovered from the battlefield would be valuable maps, tons of machine guns, webbing belts, fresh ammunition, automatic rifles, RPG launchers, sniper rifles, and other small arms. The pile of captured gear was to grow so large that Wakeford would accuse the Mosambiekan Native Regiment of hauling it out from an old stockpile merely to impress him. It was a great victory that was won that day over the People's Liberation Force and, in the mind of Joseph Muende, the most damning among his recent series of humiliating military setbacks to date.

[Keznov]

Zinger, Niger

1973

10:00 AM, Village Center, July 12th

All remaining Nigerian Leaders in Zinder were rounded up and put in a line, General Ojukwu being one of them, Maj. General Alexander Talobo stepped out of the truck, he smiled cruelly at the Nigerian bodies and the beaten look on the faces of the Nigerian Leadership in Zinder. "Hello Gentlemen, I am glad you all surrendered eventually." announced Talobo in a loud voice, he pointed to the lower ranking Captains and Majors, and a few Colonels, "Execute them" he said acidly. The Chadian Troops nearest marched them into a house, gunshots were heard. "General Ojukwu and the other remaining leaders will be taken to N'Djamena to be paraded around as a PoWs, good day.", with saying that Talobo got back into his jeep and drove off. The soldiers pushed the rest of the leaders into a truck, after all were in, it departed for the Capital.

In Guezzam, Libya

11:00 AM, Village Center, July 12th

General Mobutu paced back and forth in front of the Village Leaders, "What to do with you people? Hmm? I know, execute the Militant Leadership, let the rest live.", he turned and saw the horror on the Mayor's face, he smiled coldly, he walked off and heard gun shots and cries as he got into the passenger seat of the jeep, he then ordered the drive to continue.

[Kalumba]

Neu Lydenburg

Nobbs's look of glee at forcing his prisoner to talk was quickly snatched from his face when he heard that the Consulate was the target for the terrs. "Sir, permission to take my men to guard the Consulate?" the Mosambiekan officer replied in the affirmative and detached 5 Marlies to assist him. Nobbs gathered his men and their equiptment and ran through the ruined gate. One of the Marlies indicated a right turn and the BSAP emn followed him at a sprint.

This was the darkest moment for Zimbabwe-Rhodesia in the conflict. As yet none of their civillians had been killed and their territory had not been attacked. The cost in lives from the military had been high, pushing 2,000 dead and wounded including the 154 casualties from Major Jameson's reserve unit, but the nation had been suffering military deaths since UDI and while sad this was no great tradgedy. But the consualte housed the small Rhodesian expatriate community in Mosambiek who had not been evacuated and the families of the consular staff. Nobbs knew there were children in the building and despite his sadistic tendencies he was still human underneath and his blood boiled to think men were threatening innocent women and children.

They rounded the last corner only to find themselves staring down the barrel of a Lee-Enfield .303 wielded by a 61 year old veteran of the Home Guard. Seeing the familiar uniform he lowered his weapon and asked what the hell was going on. "We don't know" panted Nobbs. "All we know is that a number of terrorists carrying explosives have been seen in the city and are trying to bomb the Consulate." He turned to stare at the large white building, a relic of the colonial era. Nobbs almost swore, the building was sprawling with blind corners and small entrances easily accesable to a determined man. He would need and army to defend it properly and all he had were 11 BSAP men, 5 Marlies and 20 old veteran troopies and none of them properly equipped for the task. Leaving the old men and the rest of his unit to guard the main doors and detailing a three man patrol to cover the building from inside he selected two Marlies to guide him and grabbed one of the few scoped FNs in the armoury and went out to hunt his foe. He did not know where they would come but using his hunters instinct and his vague knowledge of the terrs wearabouts he climbed into a small apartment building and looked down the street hoping he had been right.

[Lydenburg]

Zimbabwe-Rhodesian Consulate, Republic of Mosambiek

Something just wasn't right in the air. The Marlington officers patrolled the length of the old colonial structure which housed the consulate of Zimbabwe-Rhodesia, rifles and pistols cocked. They had too recently seen what these terrorists could do at the Parliament Building and had no intention of the letting the same happen here. Nobbs, the British South Africa Police leader, had vanished off somewhere, obviously making more security arrangements.

One MSP sentry studied the consulate's courtyard and the surrounding buildings carefully. The dressed white building, the white, green, and red Rhodesian flag flapping happily in the breeze, the cat basking idly in the sun of a second-storey window. What was so out of place here?

It was at that moment that an incoming 7.62mm round dropped him as though he'd been struck with an iron safe. Blood spread out across the man's khaki uniform as he grasped at his side in disbelief, at first believing he'd merely fallen down. Another round tore overhead, apparently aimed at a Rhodesian Home Guardsmen who ducked amid an exclamatory tirade in Afrikaans. His eyes wide, the Mosambiekan looked up and saw a beaten green car in the next street slewing to a stop and disgorging six or seven black men. Each carried an AKS rifle and one or two satchels. They sprinted towards the consulate, fanning out left and right as they'd evidently been trained.

A bullet to the face blew off the incapacitated Marlie's jaw and the world fizzled to a dull cream.

[Kalumba]

Consulate Building, Neu Lydenburg

The Home Guard man tried to drag his Mosambiekan comrade into cover but was cut down by a vicious burst of fire. As he lay on the floor he knew that he was dying, so he pulled the grenade from his webbing and managed to pull out the pin before expiring. He hoped the explosion would attract the attention of the surviving soldiers and they could defend the Consulate.

Nobbs saw the explosion and arrival of the car, at the other end of the street to which he had guessed. By the time he had traversed his rifle the terrs were already pouring into the building. "Bastards!" he screamed and dropped the last two men with chest shots. Using a magazine of his own dum-dum bullets he did not need headshots to kill, the expanding bullets would rip out the lungs of any man. The two Marlies joined him in blazing away at the terrs but they were gone inside the building. Nobbs wept for he knew that nothing could stop them now.

Inside the heavily armed terrorists quickly dispatched the old men with their Lee-Enfields and began to lay their bombs. One Home Guardsmen rushed to the living quarters and yelled at all the occupants to get out into the courtyard, before being cut down by a terrs AK. The women and children screamed as the heavy bullets slammed into their frail bodies, and then it stopped. The terrs had lit the fuses and were running back to their car. Here vengence waited in the form of Corporal Nobbs and the two Marlies. They shot down three of the six terrs and Nobbs stabbed the last to death with his bayonet. With no thought for himself he dashed into the building and despite his orders the two Marlies joined him. In the corridor they found three wounded troops and a lost child. Gathering her up in his arms Nobbs ran outside and was followed by the Marlies dragging the wounded troopers. Turning to return Nobbs was blinded by a sheet of flame as the bombs went off and the white marble crumbled all around him.

Upstairs a Marlie was helping the wounded women and children down the fire escape into the inner courtyard, when he saw the bombs and the fuses burning he quickly rushed towards the pile of rucksacks with no thought of himself. He wrapped his body around the charges while beating at the fuses, but he was too late and his body was torn asunder. His blood a crimson lake and his shattered bone everywhere. But he had saved the last of the women and children and had a last view of the women being hustled to safety by one of his comrades and then the building collapsed around him.

The Herald

Tragedy in Mosambiek!

Yesterday the Consulate Building in Neu Lydenburg was attacked and destroyed by terrorists. Despite the heroic efforts of our security forces and those of Mosambiek an elite terrorist cell managed to plant a bomb in the building and destroy it. All the terrorists were killed but 11 of our soldiers died and at least 7 Mosambiekan troops died. 21 civillians, expatriates sheltering in the Consulate, were also killed and 7 remain missing and are sadly feared dead.

These grievous losses could have been a great deal worse had it not been for the heroics of a member of the Marlington Security Police. A female survivor told our reporter: "He was helping the wounded to escape down the fire escape when he saw the bomb was about to explode and some of us would not escape. He placed my baby in my arms and ran towards the bomb and smothered it with his body. He saved me and my childrens lives." The Prime Minister has expressed the wish to have this man's identity discovered so he can be properly honoured with a memorial statue, which will be placed outside the repaired Consulate when this terrible war is won.

Many would believe such an atrocity would lead us to call for our troops return and leave the war alone. But we have seen war and we know that such an action would be suicide and would cost many innocent lives in Mosambiek. While we do not agree with their minority rule, they are far more just and acceptable than the communist terrorists who would replace them. We can only wish our boys the best of luck in eliminating this menace so we can again stand tall in the sunshine, with the truth upon our side.

[Lydenburg]

January, 1974
Neu Lydenburg, Republic of Mosambiek

Neu Lydenburg had become a city under siege.

The battles on the outskirts of the capital itself and the vicious fighting which had left nearly a thousand rebels and well over a hundred Mosambiekan forces (A figure including Rhodesian soldiers) killed only magnified a new style of warfare emerging, one that symbolized the white government's very survival and challenged the People's Liberation Force of the self-declared "People's Republic of Maputo", a nation already actively seeking recognition from the Soviet Bloc, China, Cuba, and the Congolese Communists.

Over the past six months, both sides had taken the time to entrench themselves and regroup, now the capital city of Mosambiek was the center of a front line stretching from Hadsfield to Fromburg. Skirmishes and minor clashes still occurred between wandering rebel fighters and the military, but for the most part these were not making the headlines. What was making the headlines in Mosambiek's evening news were the mood of anger and defiance which characterized the white population after the recent terrorist attacks on the Parliament building and the Zimbabwe-Rhodesian Consulate. Emigration of white Mosambiekans hit an all time high, reaching a total of nearly 1,000 a month, a figure that could not be sustained. White settlers compromised the vast majority of the security forces and the army, both of which had already lost half their active personnel either killed, wounded, or captured in the nation's bloody civil war. They upheld the industry, staffed the police and emergency services, made up the ranks of government officials/civil servants, and held all the skilled trades. A combination of the war and this emigration had caused Mosambiek's economy to plummet. The government's finances were drying up, and Sir Matthew Peacock was taking the brunt of the blame for it. An critical oil shortage now gripped the nation, and resolving this issue rested on the backs of the 309,369 white people who remained.

Such problems as these, combined with the heartache for all the young farm boys he was having to send off to die, had taken a definite toll on Sir Matthew Peacock. His hair had gone white, his face now held a sorrowful expression. He had lost an alarming amount of weight, but still struggled on with the dogged determination of one who is on a holy mission. And Sir Peacock's holy mission was to save his country, by any means possible. The city outside his window now resembled a warzone. Helmeted policemen enforced the curfew. Soldiers in the beds of cargo trucks crawled slowly through the streets, rifles cradled in hands and machine guns at the ready. Marlington Security Police were now better armed, most of them now carrying bulky submachine guns while others were armed with FN R1 rifles acquired from Zimbabwe-Rhodesia. Metal detectors were installed outside most public buildings; civilians had been informed that phone taps would be carried out and that they could be searched at any time. Idle-looking black men were questioned and removed from the city if they were not residents and could not provide a good reason for being there.

Peacock sighed and retired to his desk, where he found his only comfort nowadays, in letters to Salisbury. Odd as it may have seemed, he sympathized much with Bishop Muzerowa and Ian Smith, recognized the multiracial democracy they had brought to the former British colony of Southern Rhodesia as a rare victory for stability and freedom in Africa. At least he had some good news to tell the bishop now, for the MSP man he had wished to honour several months ago when the attack on the consulate took place had finally been identified. He had no friends or known family, and his corpse, when recovered, was nearly unrecognizable. Still, a quiet burial had been in order for the unidentified, the unsung hero, and no word had reached Peacock of his real identity until now.

To: Bishop Abel Muzerowa
Prime Minister's Offices
Salisbury, Zimbabwe-Rhodesia

Bishop Muzerowa: Today marks a new year, one that has sadly dawned bitterly on me in my capital city, knowing that an unseen enemy is lurking out there in the darkness just several miles away. These people have proven themselves to be unfit to be called Mosambiekans, black or white, and have committed atrocities which I found, personally, hard to come to terms with. But if forgiveness and harmony can at all be achieved, I will give everything I have in the world to see it done. Bishop, I cherish my life dearly but if it has come to that, I will give it up without hesitation should peace be brought to my homeland. And we, the people of Mosambiek, will never forget those who have made that ultimate sacrifice, the ones with whom the minds of our soldiers are always with as they risk their lives in defending this great country. Among these I have mentioned is Werner Von Braun, the late MSP policeman who gave up his life in the Rhodesian consulate to save innocent lives.

Mr. Von Braun was not identified until recently, however, as he was unemployed outside of the Marlington Security Police and had no living friends or family. His only companion in the world, a Mr. Kemp, was one of the first MSP officers killed that day, by an RPG launcher wielded by a ruthless murderer attempting to storm our Parliament, now in custody. Even as this bloody, senseless, conflict drags on, I am holding a public memorial ceremony in Neu Lydenburg for both these brave heroes, one that will be attended by all of my ministers as well as the military commanders. I would like to extend an invitation to you and Mr. Smith to come to Mosambiek and be present here. It is only fitting, and I feel that at a time when resentment is growing in the wake of the terrorist massacres, the two of you should come before the people whom you have so nobly aided, all Africans, and remind them what the meaning of reconciliation truly means.

With heartfelt gratitude for your concern,
Sir Matthew Peacock
Prime Minister, Republic of Mosambiek

Pretorius Air Force Base, Neu Lydenburg

The buzzing of MAF fighter planes returning to the runway after a fresh raid over enemy lines sounded overhead as Major General Gordon Hayman addressed a large gathering of Mosambiekan and Rhodesian military commanders in the large conference room.

"Gentlemen," Hayman announced grimly. "We are in trouble."

He began gesturing to several points on a pinned map of central Mosambiek on the wall as he continued: "Over the past year or so, the rebel advance on Neu Lydenburg has been definitely halted. The People's Liberation Force and their avowedly Marxist leadership have settled down to consolidate their gains rather than make any new offensives, but we can be almost certain that once they get a few more hundred tons of that equipment that Soviet Europe has been shipping them, they will make a try for the capital and its surrounding region again. This must not happen."

The grizzled major general took a deep breath before rubbing his sandy mustache as he continued, "The Mosambiekan Armed Forces has lost a little under half of its combat troops so far, and these are losses that we can no longer sustain. Our armoured battalions and our air force, additionally, have been crippled, probably beyond recovery, and the navy, always small, has been rendered completely ineffectual now that the rebels control all of the major ports and the one significant naval base we did have before this horrible mess. Therefore, what I am putting before you today is an operation, though highly risky, will likely involve all active duty members of Rhodesian troops in Mosambiek and as many reserves as we can call up, especially from the Mosambiekan Native Regiment. If this succeeds, we will be free of the threat posed to Neu Lydenburg forever and gain a crucial amount of ground. In the process, we will also target the rebels' chief strongholds with air support and hopefully capture or destroy them. Should we get that far, their military capability will be destroyed." He stared each and every officer present hard in the eye. "This means, of course, that people will die. I will not lie to you. Many of our fine soldiers will not return, but this ambitious plan, as I said, will have lasting consequences. Furthermore, it is aimed at destroying the rebel army before they have time to regroup for another few months."

Hayman pointed at several marks on a second map, this one with a purple section indicating rebel-held territory. "I propose that at dawn on the day of commencement, elements of the Mosambiekan Native Regiment, probably two to three companies in all, will be inserted via helicopters deep behind rebel lines, near the significant settlement of Sir Hugh's Town, once a coastal rallying point for the Communist revolution and a strong nerve center for the rebel movement. The idea, of course, is to distract and hold up rebel forces in the area, perhaps even capture the town itself. Meanwhile, the Mosambiekan Special Forces units, aided, I should hope, by the Selous Scouts, will land behind the city of Chilukole, which is further to the north."

Seeing shadows come over the faces of several present he nodded slowly. "Yes. Chilukole. Where our combined Rhodesian-Mosambiekan forces were slaughtered by rocket fire from the city limits what seemed like an eternity ago. But this operation, of course, will be much better planned. A battalion of the Airborne Brigade, Mosambiek's most decorated paratroop unit, will be airdropped in Chilukole beforehand, following a massive air strike on rebel artillery and vehicle positions. The main body of attackers will then assault the city in a column of armored vehicles, which I'm afraid in Mosambiek's case, will be mostly unarmored trucks and lorries which will have been custom-fitted with bulletproof plates. Four Daley wheeled armoured personnel carriers will follow. They're slow and outdated, but are equipped with 76mm cannons like the South African Elands and will be an invaluable firepower asset. Mines on the road will be a problem, so we must find a way to clear the highway first before advancing properly. With the Special Forces behind the city, the paratroopers already inside, and the main weight of our troops attacking all-out, we will certainly be much better prepared to deal with the defence effort than we were.....on the last occasion."

Hayman simply shook his head once, sadly, then leaned against the table and gestured at the map again. "Once Chilukole has been cleared we will capture all of the major roads in the region, including the ones leading to Sir Hugh's Town. Bombardment of other cities under Communist control will commence, and warnings will be dropped telling their thugs to surrender or they will face total war." Hayman's eyes narrowed. "And, friends, we will be fighting like lions. This is our last hope for victory, and if all else fails, I am more than willing to kill everyone in Africa to put an end to this mad, mad, conflict of misery and suffering."

Village Two, Republic of Mosambiek

With the three designated villages of the previous year's carnage cleared and under government control following a narrow defeat for the rebels largely caused by the arrival of fresh black soldiers, the Mosambiekan Native Regiment was digging in for the long run, fortifying the area, mining the roads, and conducting daily recon patrols occasionally into rebel territory beyond the hills around Neu Lydenburg. Such patrols were still dangerous despite the decreased threat; one unlucky corporal had already lost his leg due to a cleverly-concealed landmine, another MNR private had been shot and killed by a sniper. After the rebel had been captured and forced to lay down his weapon, he had suddenly pulled the pin to a grenade hanging around his belt loop, instantly killing himself and two white troopers who had been in the process of disarming him.

Now, an MNR patrol was investigating claims of sniper activity in a small clump of houses in the brush just three miles east of Village Two. A previous patrol which had probed the area just four nights earlier had suffered one man wounded, and claimed that they had come under heavy Dragunov and AK-47 fire. Now these men hoped to ferret out the truth. In the growing dusk, it was possible to make out the ruined series of structures, many apparently hit and damaged by small arms. Since there was no sign of life, the Mosambiekan soldiers approached carelessly, but when they made too much noise muffled shouting sounded an alarm, followed by a high-pitched ballistic crack.

"Fan out!"

"Surround the area!"

The troopers quickly returned fire with their FN FAL's, breaking up and deploying into the bush. Bullets struck the trees around them, shredding off bark. The FAL's began barking out as one. Someone screamed and a rifle fell from the roof of the nearest house. A dark shape dragging something out of sight was clipped by a 7.62mm round and went down.

Then it was silent for several moments, the sound of the rifle fire echoing and ringing in the ears of the patrol. Warily, they approached the house from all directions, encircling it. Finding nothing out of ordinary, the sergeant gestured for his men to remain hidden while he braced next to the door. At his signal, the others moved in. The sergeant raised the stock of his FN and smashed at the wooden door. It was locked, and did not give easily. He tried again. The stock snapped off behind the trigger assembly. Its owner snarled a muffled curse, then raised his boot and kicked at the knob with all his strength. There was a splintering sound, and the hinges tore free. The door collapsed, slightly askew. A burst of fire immediately responded, AK-47's blazing on full automatic. The sergeant was first through the door, but as the subject of his opponents' hatred, stood little chance. He crumpled to the ground, covered in blood.

There was a short burst of fire, both sides trading bullets at five meters, but the sheer volume of incoming bullets destroyed both rebel fighter and weapon. The Mosambiekans walked around the sole room of the empty house, kicking weapons away. One man, however, was still moving, cowering. Someone dragged to his feet. He hurled obscenities at his attackers. They cracked him over the head with a pistol and he went down. This was a tall, well-muscled, man with glaring eyes and a shrill voice. What was even more unusual about him, however, was that he seemed to be wearing a full uniform of some sort, leaf-patterned camouflage, even good-looking boots, unusual for a poorly-equipped rebel. A Chinese 9mm PM was found in his belt holster and promptly removed. He sat up, groaning and a nasty welt already rising on the base of his skull. Everyone who could now make out the Communist's teeth noted that they were filed to sharp points, like some fearsome beast of prey.

The prisoner was led away, and it wasn't until nearly forty-eight hours later that his identity was confirmed: The Mosambiekans had just apprehended Comrade Tuzo, right-hand man of Joseph Muende himself and commander of rebel forces during the last attempted attack on Neu Lydenburg. More importantly, they had captured the very man who had planned and orchestrated those horrifying terrorist incidents six months earlier.

[Kalumba]

Neu Lydenburg

Bishop Abel Muzerowa stood next to Ian Smith and Sir Matthew Peacock and watched as the parade passed in front of them. Members of the Rhodesian African Rifles passed before them following a BSAP detachment, then came the Mosambiekan contingent. Members of the hard fighting units that had defended Village Three were followed by a small unit from the Mosambiekan Native Rifles. Then came a group of Marlies, and Muzerowa raised the level of his applause. He would never forget the sacrfiice these men had made to save his countrymen.

Earlier he had unveiled a statue outside the ruins of the the Zimbabwe-Rhodesian Consulate. The statue showed a Marlie carrying a young girl to safety and was dedicated to the memory of Werner Von Braun and his comrades amongst the Marlington Security Police, The British South African Police and the Rhodesian Home Guard. He had given a speech praising the efforts of all Mosambiekans to defend their nation and their freedom. He had also made a pointed remark about the importance of black soldiers in defeating the terrorist threat to Neu Lydenburg and their importance for freeing the rest of the nation.


Pretorious Air Base

Brigadier Charles Aust, the highest ranking Zimbabwe-Rhodesian officer at the meeting, listened with caution. He was a mild man and did not enjoy taking risks. But for once he was prepared. This war had gone on far too long and this would end the war one way or another.

"It seems a decent plan and we need to do something to end this dreadful war. Thankfully the terrible weather recently means that the Rhodesian Air Force is fully ready to support this operation and help destroy the terrorists. In recognition of the importance of this operation 12 De Havilland Vampires have been deployed from Gwelo Air Base. These will operate in much the same way as the Hawker Hunters, in low-level support.

I have been instructed to tell you that both the Rhodesian Special Air Service and the Selous Scouts will be available to operate behind rebel lines with Mosambiekan Special Forces. We will provide as many RLI and RAR troopies as possible and the entire Rhodesian Armoured Car Regiment. Major Valters and his men have worked wonders with the damaged vehicles and will have five Elands and eleven Ferrets available for use. To counter the threat of mines four Pookies will be available.

We will provide what we can in transport for our troops but if neccessary they will march to battle. Gentlemen Zimbabwe-Rhodesia gives it's approval to this operation and we wish it the best chance of success."

[Lydenburg]

Neu Lydenburg, Republic of Mosambiek

In spite of the recent terrorist activity, the people of Neu Lydenburg showed themselves to be in full spirits. While drums beat and trumpets blared they cheered wildly for the brave soldiers marching by, applauding just as much the black recruits as their white counterparts. Men who had served their country well, the amputees and the wounded veterans marched by, decorated with the medals they had been awarded for their courage and bravery. They had the bayonets fixed on their Beretta rifles and marched well, with the bright flag of Mosambiek flying high behind them. The Marlington Security Police appeared in white gloves and blue dress uniforms, and everyone remembered the sacrifices that had been made. Sacrifices which were respected by the statue outside the old Zimbabwe-Rhodesian consulate, at its base engraved the names of every BSAP and MSP officer who had been killed defending the people of both nations.

Bishop Abel Muzerowa and Ian Smith were warmly welcomed by the crowd of Mosambiekans, of whom nearly 10,000 turned out, many white but mostly black, to cheer on their distinguished guests. Sir Matthew Peacock had met the two of them for the first meaningful time in person, and was pleased to see that they felt strongly in favour of resisting the evil tide of Communism in Mosambiek. After they had concluded their speeches, Peacock stepped up to the microphone on the balcony where they had been watching the military parade short minutes earlier, and asked that a moment of silence be observed while every loyal Mosambiekan uttered a prayer for Werner Von Braun and his fellows who had made the ultimate sacrifice. Large posters depicting the only photographs taken of Von Braun, never a particularly popular man in life, decked out in his khaki uniform, smiling from ear to ear as he posed next to two black traffic policemen three days before his death, were unfurled from every building on the street. In German, Afrikaans, and English were the following words displayed: "REMEMBER THE UNSUNG HEROES". Von Braun was an unknown before he passed, but now this was an urge to Mosambiekans to remember those killed for their sakes, fighting for their freedom against terrorists and criminals who murdered innocents in their goal to enslave the nation.

For the first time in months, Sir Matthew Peacock smiled, tears running slowly down his cheeks.

Chilukole, Republic of Mosambiek

The three rebel fighters were sitting behind a ZPU anti-aircraft weapon, a wheeled heavy machine gun with multiple barrels for shooting down airborne targets. It was part of the recent influx of hardware that had been arriving from Hungary, and they were pleased with it. While of course Mosambiekan planes didn't fly over every day, it was certainly good for executing a hundred enemies of the revolution at a time. They'd also heard rumors that tanks were bound to come in from Moscow any day, from ships in the Indian Ocean. So much the better. More things to kill the white man with.

When the distant whine of fighter planes began to reach their ears, the trio showed no concern at first. Dressed in pilfered Mosambiekan military jackets, they simply sat and laughed, toasted to whatever was up there as they let off bursts from their AK-47's and took long swigs from the South African whiskey in their laps. It was only when the whines got louder that they sobered up quick.

What appeared on the horizon was, much to their astonishment, a squadron of MAF fighter aircraft, mainly Jet Provost variants dating back to the late 1950's but especially modified for maximum bombing power. Drunken panic set in as the PLF fighters raised their AK-47's, blazing uselessly away. The incoming noise became deafening as the ZPU gunners expended a total of five Soviet magazines in three minutes. Then they turned and ran, abandoning their piece.

Three minutes later, both the rebels and their gun were history.

"All targets have been lit. Multiple successful strikes, all on target."

"Hits successful. Targets neutralized."

"Targets down! Casualties are high; returning to base."

All across Chilukole, the story was the same: Daley APC's lay smoking in the streets where they had been hit, the blackened skeletons inside all that remained of their crews. Identifiable military targets had also been destroyed, including every single BM-21 rocket launcher position, many of whom had caused such devastating losses among the Mosambiekan-Rhodesian forces before. Totally unprepared for the air strike, the rebels had allowed their most important heavy weapons to be eliminated. The task complete, the MAF squadrons flew back to Pretorius Air Force Base to refuel, while the rebels cowered in abandoned homes, afraid to go into the open.

The first air strikes on Chilukole had succeeded in softening up the resistance; now there only remained to attack and hopefully capture this defiant stronghold of the People's Liberation Force.

Mosambiekan-Rhodesian Lines, Central Mosambiek

At dawn, the majors were moving the assigned units into position outside Neu Lydenburg. Trucks were being prepared to lead those brave soldiers off to war. In the lead was the all-white Light Recon Battalion, along with numerous companies from the 45th Infantry Battalion, the only unit in the Mosambiekan army to be given an unconventional numerical designation, and named so for a much smaller unit in pre-independence Mosambiek which had seen service in World War II. One of the state's most highly-decorated forces, the 45th, which had lost a staggering seventy percent of its leadership during the fight for the three villages around Neu Lydenburg, was more than ready for revenge against the Communists. Also present were battalions from the Mosambiekan Native Regiment, which made up the bulk of the attack force.

Four Daley APC's were brought up and the troops boarded. Numerous cargo trucks, even civilian vehicles which had been protected by homemade armor plates were filled to the brim with men manning G8 general purpose machine guns, or Rhodesian MAGs. Every soldier's head was spinning: Fateful words uttered by their officers still rang all too clear: "Remember, you lads have five hours to prepare your gear, get on your vehicles, and then we're moving south!" The last time those words had been spoken, hundreds of men had been sent to their impending doom. Not even the toughest, most battle-tested veterans could help but remember that tragedy and pray that they would not the same fate.

Engines rumbled to life. Voices, some tense and some joking, echoed across the camps that were being vacated. Would they ever see their homes again?

Meanwhile, Commandant Robert Stratton, leader of the Special Forces Brigade, was already laying out plans for a major attack on the rebel positions south of Chilukole. He greeted several Rhodesian officers from the Selous Scouts and the SAS in his headquarters with warm familiarity, before explaining that he had been allowed to work out the details for the exact operation.

"We will be the first combat troops to touch down behind enemy lines," He said, his eyes watching those of his more experienced fellows closely. "Here are the details: There are two major rebel base camps to the south of Chilukole, and our job is to take them out or tie them up; prevent them from taking part in the action once the battle within the city itself starts up. Our combined forces will be lifted by helicopter to within five kilometers of our target and then we walk the rest of the way. Once in the area, the men will split into assault and fire-support groups. The fire-support fellows shall lay a string of your useful Rhodesian claymore mines along the side of the enemy camp, then proceed to a flanking position. They are armed with mortars and light bren guns."

Stratton looked about again to ensure that everyone with him was still following.

"At the appointed hour the pre-assigned signal men will let off some green flares, the mines would be detonated and the target camp raked with fire, then switched to a secondary arc of fire on the camp’s perimeter. Anybody breaking over this line would be shot down. Once the red flares are activated, everyone in the assault teams will advance and kill the people in the camp or drive them into the machine guns. We estimate that the rebels we are facing are too poorly organized and disciplined to put up much of a fight once we get this started. More than likely they'll run shooting their AK's on the shoulder or do something foolish. After one base is destroyed, we proceed to the other. No prisoners are to be taken except whites, either Russian advisers or other foreign mercenaries, the enemy with real experience who can be interrogated later for useful intel."

The commandant, his basic plan outlined, looked about carefully for approval.

"If there are no objections, we can begin the preparations in a few hours' time, commit ourselves when our operators are ready."

[Kalumba]

Central Mosambiek

Captain Joshua Maganda and the other Special Forces officers returned Stratton's warm greeting and were glad that they would be serving with the Mosambiekan special forces again. They knew that these men were their equals and would be a solid ally to fight alongside. With this in mind they studied the plan Stratton had laid out. Maganda was the first to speak:

"Clearly you have learnt from our methods" he chuckled "The plan seems excellent to me bar one or two minor points. First when we strike the first camp we will still have a long march to the second camp, who may be more alert than the first and we will need all our forces to strike at the second camp. As such i suggest we kill everyone in the first camp and make no effort to take white prisoners, who will slow us down.

Second; we will need air support. I believe enough RhAF helicopters will be available to move a small unit of our forces to lie in wait at the second camp, they can set up a blocking position to stop any terrs from fleeing the main force as it approaches. Also i suggest we employ at least two Lynxs as we may need heavy support at the second camp. These can stay out of sight of the camps and only close up when they are under attack. How does that sound?"


Chilukole

Colonel Abraham N'Duwa stood in the front seat of his jeep and surveyed the horizon before him. It still held nightmares and terrible memories, so vividly did he remember the first time he had fought here. A terrible Mosambiekan plan of action had cost him and his men dear and only the suicidily heroic actions of the MAF helicopter pilots had saved his and his last 60 mens lives. But this time the plan looked better, air strikes would destroy key positions and the city was to be encircled.

The Mosambiekans were ahead of the Rhodesian African Rifles and led along the road by a Pookie and truck full of mine clearance specialists. The advance was slow but safe, very soon they would be upon the city. He spoke into the radio to his battle hardened veterans "Men of the RAR this was the scene of our greatest defeat in this terrible war. Today we shall avege all our fallen comrades, Mosambiekan, Zimbabwean and Rhodesian. White and Black together we shall triumph over Satan and destroy the menace that is Communism. Ut Ut Ut Rhodesia!"


OoC: Sorry this is kinda rubbish but the post i spent ages writing didn't submit and was lost.

[Lydenburg]

Special Forces Encampment, Central Mosambiek

Commandant Stratton nodded agreeably as his Rhodesian colleague pointed out a few details which could obviously be straightened out soon. "Of course, your suggestions will be taken with the utmost consideration," Stratton told Maganda. "The MAF, unfortunately, is stretched to the limits organizing air strikes on Sir Hugh's Town and Chilukole. If any aircraft are used to support our operation, it will need to come from Zimbabwe-Rhodesia, so as long you can clear this with the RhAF I see no problem with this proposal. And most certainly, I fear consequences will be dire if we do not achieve utmost surprise on both camps. Therefore, your idea of dispatching a separate force to cover the second rebel base is a sound one. Most of the enemy fighters are actually in the first of the two target camps, but most to all of the heavy weapons and supplies will, according to our intelligence sources, be stored in the second. Therefore, this makes each an equally important position."

Sir Hugh's Town, Southern Mosambiek

The zone chosen for an MNR assault on Sir Hugh's Town had been scouted well in advance; although the settlement itself had been a major hive of revolutionary activity in the first year of unrest, it was now poorly-garrisoned and ripe for an unexpected attack.

To accustom any rebel forces inside Sir Hugh's Town to the sound of helicopters, air recon flights had been flown by the MAF over its heavily-forested southern limits for several days now. A large clearing, apparently an old field cleared out by some white farmer from days long gone, made an excellent landing area, able to support four or five light transport helicopters at once, each bringing with it more and more members of the Mosambiekan Native Regiment. For now, though, it sat silent, unsuspecting of what was soon to come. When word reached the MNR companies that the attack on Chilukole was underway, they were to launch their operation. It was not as large or as well-organized as the one planned on Chilukole (A major city), but was intended to panic Communist leadership by penetrating deep in southern Mosambiek. This would also prevent any reinforcements from further south to reach their comrades in the north, effectively cutting the territory of the self-declared "People's Republic of Maputo" in two.

Dressed in Rhodesian camouflage, soldiers at the encampment cleaned and checked their FN rifles. White superiors marched from platoon to platoon, ensuring that every NCO was positively certain men under his command each carried three hundred rounds of 7.62mm ammunition and two hand grenades. No one was found to be fearful or terrified of what was to come. These troopers had nerves of steel; harsh training under experienced commanders from Salisbury had clearly left its mark.

As soon as the proper signal was given, they could hardly wait to taste first blood.

Road to Chilukole, Mosambiek

Years of civil war and recent air strikes had left the road to Chilukole in positively dreadful shape. However, it had been a well-paved highway in its time, and even now the excellent pace of their advance clearly demonstrated that the Mosambiekan-Rhodesian force marching on the regional capital was making the most of that fact.

Lieutenant Stuart Westbury, commander of the Mosambiekan Light Recon Battalion (MLR), was supervising the operation from its head: His white troopers were leading the way towards Chilukole, that defiant bastion of international Communism which had cost Mosambiek so dear in such little time. He wanted to see the apartment blocks of the city, the buildings where no doubt rebels were hiding, awaiting their grim fate. Many of his men had lost family members: brothers, fathers, even sons killed in this utter waste of life. At least six had relatives in the Marlington Security Police or had lost a civilian friend during the recent terrorist attacks on Neu Lydenburg. They would not show any opposition mercy or leeway.

Three MAF Hinds flew overhead, the clatter of their rotors like the beat of distant war drums. The aircraft took off for the city, navigating in patrol formation. Westbury was only too happy to have such extensive air support for the attack force.

"Remember," He had remembered telling his brave soldiers. "Once we have breached the city, our main objective is to secure key installations like the post office and Radio Chilukole. Rebel officers and foreign personnel are to be apprehended if possible. We clear a zone encompassing all roads leading in and out, and then move in to secure secondary targets such as the Chilukole Stadium, the railroad tunnels, and the mining complex in the east. Be wary of heavy weapons; although MAF air strikes have definitely left their mark the desperate defenders may still have something to shoot back with."

So far, the Rhodesian mine specialists were doing their job well: They had already uncovered and safely eliminated at least ten land mines, as well as improvised anti-tank devices no doubt planted by amateur enemy units. Still, what lay ahead could not be simply uncovered and disposed of as easily.

Lieutenant Westbury's latest radio reports indicated that the city outskirts were drawing close but the rebels were doing everything in their power to slow the advance. Six burned-out shells of pickup trucks were blocking the road just ahead, along with huge concrete markers obviously concealing waiting machine guns. If the attackers were to progress any farther, that irritation needed to be removed.

Westbury reached for his radio. It was best to reach a decision with the more experienced Rhodesian commander first before the convoy continued. He found the correct channel for Colonel N'Duwa and explained the situation, requesting advice on how to proceed.

[Keznov]

Waddan, Libya

1974

2:00 PM, Outskirts, January 18th

Chadian tanks rode over any buildings and stalls small enough, any Libyan with something relative to a weapon was being shot down, the Chadian legions marched behind the tanks, with big 80mm guns being dragged in by trucks, news had reached Mobutu that negotiations with Nigeria had finally got back up again, with a good deal coming into being. Mobutu smiled with joy when he heard news that Maradah and Jalu had also fallen.

4:00 PM, Center, January 18th

Mobutu hopped out of his truck and smiled at Chadian flag being raised up, the Town Council Chairman was tied up in the back of a truck, Mobutu walked up to him and spoke, "Do you know the location of Colonel Muammar al-Gaddafi, Chairman of the Revolutionary Command Council?", the Town Chairman glared at him and laughed, "I will never tell you scum.", Mobutu briskly took out his pistol, he aimed it at the Town Chairman's head and fired two shots, "Peasant" he said as he spat at the ground. "Colonel Adibo, I want a advance onto Tripoli next, we shall topple this pitiful regime at its roots, then we shall dispatch a force to Benghazi.", the Colonel nodded and jogged away. Mobutu then put on a call to President Malloum, "Your excellency, everything is going ahead of schedule, we expect Tripoli to fall in a few weeks, I will contact you after its fall.", Malloum spoke back, "Good, Don't fail me General. And I will be happy to inform you that Major General Alexander Talobo has been put in charge of the negotiations and Niger Forces.", Mobutu nodded to himself and spoke again" Very good choice your Excellency, Good day.", With that he hung up and sat down in his make shift office under a tent.

[Kalumba]

Special Forces Encampment, Central Mosambiek

Maganda informed Stratton that, the RhAF was fully ready to support their mission and with handshakes all round the Zimbabwe-Rhodesian Special Forces officers left the tent and were driven to their units. The Selous Scouts would deploy near to the second camp where they would both act as a blocking force and if possible use their psuedo-terrorist appearence to cause confusion and prevent those in the second camp from reinforcing the first. Maganda waved to his men as they bordered the Alouette IIIs and climbed into the rear most chopper. Nominally this was a K-Car, but if neccessary he could join his men on the ground. The motors roared into life and the Selousies were on their way.

Elsewhere the RSAS troopies bundling into a collection of RhAF and MAF choppers and preparing for the most crucial mission for a long time. If they succeeded the rebels would have been dealt a huge blow even if the rest of the offensive failed in it's objectives. Even for experienced troops the SAS men were just as nervous as a rookie going out on their first Fireforce patrol. Each man carried out his own little ritual, checking weapons, clutching luck rabbit's feet and all sorts of superstitious nonsense. The rotors started to roar and they were off "To Death or Glory!" yelled a trooper and a cheer rose from the assorted Mosambiekan and Zimbabwe-Rhodesian Special Forces.


Chilukole

N'Duwa left his Crocodile and jogged to where Westbury was stood, returning the young Lieutenant's salute N'Duwa studied the road ahead. "They have a good position to hold our advance there, and no doubt have enough RPGs to drive off an attack by the Hinds. We could bring up mortars but that will take a great deal of time and the rebels will be able to fully ma their positions. We must take quick action. Either we risk a headlong charge at the defences in our vehicles in the hope we punch through and take them from the rear, or we footslog it. We have enough men to overwhelm the defences but it will be a costly buisness. Westbury it is your country and the majority of the troops here are your countrymen. I leave the choice in your hands."

[Lydenburg]

Chilukole, Republic of Mosambiek

Lieutenant Westbury stood out in the dust of the road, the motors of halted vehicles humming all around him. His Light Recon men held his gaze unflinchingly, BM-59's clutched with white knuckles. A few black soldiers from the Native Regiment intermingled with the white troopers, studying his face for any conclusive signs. The Rhodesian commander and his mine clearance specialists watched and waited patiently.

He thought about the rebels that lay ahead, waiting for them. He thought about his brave unit, arrayed in front of him. He looked back at the Rhodesian cars and the veterans that manned them. Finally, he looked at the Beretta rifle he clutched in his hand, and the Mosambiekan flag on one of the Daley Armoured Personnel Carriers snapping in the breeze. Behind it, banners bearing the colours of Zimbabwe-Rhodesia fluttered proudly. The lieutenant knew at that moment what order must be given.

"Major N'Duwa, we are going to advance with the best firepower we have while the rest of the convoy drops behind. My heavy Daleys will pull into lead; your fantastic Rhodesian Elands can provide cover. We'll shoot that roadblock to hell and back if we must, but time is of the essence. The more of it we waste, the more we give the rebels to prepare for our attack. Something must be done and it must be done now."

He reached for his radio and gave the necessary orders. In response, the wheeled Daley Carriers moved to the front of the convoy.

"Roadblock is less than half a kilometer ahead. Get ready. When we make visual contact with the enemy, go into assault formations and blow that rubbish out of the way!"

South of Chilukole

The Mosambiekan Special Forces detachment traveling with the Rhodesian SAS included many familiar faces, such as Boris Feldman and Hermann Ley, now acknowledged as two of the most decorated soldiers in their unit.

Most of the MSF troops were carrying folding-stock BM-59's, prized for their compact firepower, while others were armed with shortened FN FAL's. However, no matter what the weapon, every man carried five fully loaded magazines in their kidney pouches, a 9mm pistol, and two fragmentation grenades in addition to their normal survival kit. Like the SAS troops many were nervous about what they were about to do. The more faithful among them had already spent a sleepless night reading their Bibles in preparation for the taxing day ahead. Now, almost simultaneously, every eye looked up and shifted towards the ground passing underneath them. The pre-determined LZ was in sight.

Although unsure of what their Rhodesian counterparts would do, the MAF pilots personally preferred to fly in a circular route to the drop-off point, in case any rebel patrols or agents had detected them. Before everyone knew it, the aircraft had touched down and the soldiers were unloading. Mosambiekans were divided into smaller groups and assigned to senior sergeants while their appointed leader, Lieutenant Roy Farrel took charge.

"Fan out into patrol formation and start walking west. We have a lot of terrain to cover before the first target is reached. Every few minutes, we will change lead scouts. Remember to stop, to listen. Let the sounds of this bush become your own. Detect any noises that do not belong."

The surrounding countryside was mostly sparse brush with occasional clumps of low trees, but the tall grass allowed some cover should the need arise.

[Keznov]

Tripoli, Libya

1974

3:00 PM, 50 metres West, February 8th

The fourteen 80mm guns were firing at the city non-stop, the tanks and troops were a few metres behind the guns. General Mobutu was standing on a Jeep wearing his classical sun glasses. He looked down at Colonel Adibo, "Its going just as planned, except for one thing, Colonel I need you to find that blasted Gaddafi. Without him and his Revolutionary Command Council wiped out, there will always be a chance of the Libyans rising up. If you dont find him in the next day or two, I will personally find him, and once I have, you can be shot with him, is this clear?", Colonel Adibo nodded meekly and walked away. Mobutu turned back to the bombardment and smiled at his achievement.

1:00 AM, Outer parts of City, February 9th

An urban warfare had broken out between Armed Libyan Citizens and Chadian Troops, the civilians were mainly sniping and firing from the houses, most shots weren't accurate, but when they were, they were fatal. Tanks were also riding slowly into the streets, firing on any houses suspected of being filled with Armed Libyans. The 80mm guns at been moved closer to fire on the inner parts of the City. Colonel Adibo was running through the small winding streets with five or six men behind him, they all wore black, the color of the Chadian Night Hawks, the specially trained troops used to kill or assassinate people not in good terms with the Government. Adibo held up his hand, his men halted. "The Chairman of the RCC must be near in the Government Headquarters. We must act swiftly, we must be quiet until his assasination atleast. Because any noise before could have them set off an alarm, and our target could escape, are we clear?", his men all nodded and they continued down the streets.

1:43 AM, Government Compound, February 9th

Adibo stared up at the 18 feet wall and smiled, this was going to be easy he thought. He threw a grappling hook over the wall, it caught on something and him and his men climbed up. They hurried to a nearby open window, Adibo held his finger over the trigger of his AK-47. His men climbed in first, then him. Inside they found sleeping guards on beds, Adibo nodded to one his men, who pulled out a knife and walked to a nearby guard, he slit the man's throat and proceeded with the next, in a minute or so, all the guards in the room were dead. Adibo and his men silently walked out the room, in the hall they saw a kitchen maid, they aimed their weapons at her, she froze. "Stay quiet" whispered Adibo, once they got close enough to her, the soldier who had killed the guards before stabbed her in the neck, she died instantly. The men continued down the hallway, doing the same to any other servants. Eventually near a passage corner, Adibo stopped his men and peered around the corner slightly, he saw two men guarding a double door entrance. That moment he knew the RCC Chairman was in there. He nodded to one of his men with a medium sized bag, his soldier tossed it over, Adibo opened it and pulled out a nice Libyan Captain Uniform, he quickly slipped it on. He walked into the hallway, the two armed guards turned there heads. He walked up to one and spoke, "I am here to speak with Colonel Gaddafi". The Guard glared at him, "The Colonel wishes no visitors". Adibo pulled out his knife and stabbed the guard in the neck quickly, he jabbed at the other with the knife, wounding the guard in the eye, the guard fell down and stopped squirming in a few seconds, Adibo kicked the lifeless bodies, he then made a faint whistle. His squad came from the passage corner and silently ran to him. He smiled and ripped off the Captain's uniform. He pushed open the double doors and aimed his AK-47 at the man behind the desk, "President Malloum sends his regards", with that him and his men opened fire. They stopped after half a minute. The lifeless body of Gaddafi slumped off the chair, they ran over to the body and one his squad members began cutting the head off, this was done in a minute or two, he then tossed the head in a bag. They quickly ran out into the hall, men were running at them, they opened fire and ran at the same time, they spotted a kitchen entrance and ducked into there, they fired on Kitchen personal without even looking, they then dived out of the little exit there. Adibo ordered one of his men to throw a grappling hook over, the soldier nodded and did so. They quickly climbed up and dived down, they then began there journey to the Chadian Base.

2:55 AM, Chadian Base Camp, February 9th

Adibo and his men triumphantly walked into the camp, the soldiers there clapped, they knew that the Night Hawks had succeeded. Adibo dismissed his men just outside the Main Tent, he then walked into the tent with the satchel containing Gaddafi's head, he dropped it infront of Mobutu, "There you go General, a very successful mission. I have a strange feeling I may not have to call you General or Sir anymore, after this triumph.", General Mobutu sarcastically smiled back. "Well General, During your attack on the Compound, we were pushing forward, And about 20 minutes ago, we captured the Compound. The staff there surrended, that included all of the RCC members, the Minister of War and the General Staff of Libya's Military. So I think you might still be calling me sir.". Mobutu smiled slyly after saying that, Colonel Adibo saluted and left.

3:00 PM, Government Compound, February 9th

Acting Chairman of the RCC, Mahmud Sulayman al-Maghribi was busy announcing the Libyan's Governments surrender to Chad on the radio, as he did this, a gun was being pointed at his head. General Mobutu sat a few metres away with the rest of the Libyan Front General Staff. Once the broadcast was over, Maghribi was handcuffed and taken to a jail cell in the Compound.

[Kalumba]

Chilukole

"Major Valters, you heard the Mosambiekan get those Elands in position" yelled Colonel N'Duwa, and grumbling the grizzled German order hs precious armoured cars into a position from which they could bring deadly fire onto the roadblock. N'Duwa climbed aboard his Crocodile, the lightly armoured trucks that the Zimbabwe-Rhodesian armed forces were finally bringing into the conflict, and ordered the few Ferrets left to the head of the Crocodiles just behind the Mosambiekan Daleys. "Westbury, once your Daleys have breached the roadblock me and the RAR will punch through the hole and secure the immediate area. From there you will send in your men and sieze the key points in Chilukole. With control of the town ours we will flush out the rebels and exterminate them."

With 'The Sweet Banana' song bellowed from the depths of the armoured trucks the RAR began to storm towards the roadblock with 90mm shells whistling past them and the Daleys ahead of them blazing away at the sinister shadow of the roadblock before them. N'Duwa's mind went back to the last time he was here, with bayonets fixed his men had died all around him as they covered the retreat of the rest of the allied force. A terrible day and he had sworn he would avenge his comrades. This was that day and he felt the anger rise in him and willed the rebels to stand and fight so he could close with the bayonet.


Special Forces Rendevous

The RhAF pilots had followed close on the tails of their Mosambiekan counterparts and touched down just minutes later. Spreading into small groups the RSAS men followed the MSF men who knew they terrain better and also the location of the rebel camp. Captain Joshua Maganda had intended to remain airborne but could not resist the chance to join once more in a ground attack. He kept himself as fit as any other Selous Scout man and already was enjoying the thrill of action again.

The Selous Scouts had long believed themselves without par in moving silently through the brush, but they were being matched by the MSF men. This only added to Maganda's delight, these men were true proffesionals and would surely triumph against the indisciplined foe they were soon to face.

After an hours hard trek, the rebel camp was in sight. With a signal Lt Farrel halted the unit and Maganda crept forwards. Each of the 20 Selousies had two claymores strapped to his back and on Farrel's signal they began to crawl towards the camp perimeter. Thankfully the rebels had been lazy and had not cleared a kill-zone around the wire of the camp and the Selousies were able to reach the wire with ease.

But now came the hard part, the wire was swiftly cut and the elite troops crawled in and began to lay their mines. Every minute they had to hide as a sentry strolled past and each time he got a little closer to discovering them. But the mines were set and they were on they way back to the allied force just a few hundred metres away in the bush. "Who are you?" yelled an alarmed voice. A rebel was standing outside the latrine hut and staring straight at the Scouts. With a lightening quick movement a Sergeant slit the man's throat, but not before he had cried out in alarm.