Remnants of Camp Blue, 1 day after SADF and Anowan bombing.
Major James Williams picked his way through the charred crater that used to be Camp Blue. Next to him was Colonel Chikondi of the Zambian Army.
"So. What are we going to do about this?" Chikondi asked. Williams paused, turning to look at the Zambian Officer.
"What I think happened is that the SADF and Anowans bombed a small village, and killed all the men, women, and children." Williams said coldly. Chikondi paused for a moment, then a smile slowly spread across his face.
"Most unfortunate." Chikondi said chuckling, a small grin appeared on Williams face as the two men concocted the story.
Presidential Palace, Zambia
Major Williams sat in a plush chair in a nicely furnished office in a large manor. The Manor just so happened to be the Presidential Palace of Zambia, and in front of him sat President Hakainde Hichilema.
"So, Colonel Williams. I hear that you have a plan to rectify the situation at Camp Blue?" The president said. He had only recently become president of Zambia, so Williams was not certain of how much Hichilema was informed on the current situation.
"Well your Excellency, following the complete annihilation of the camp by Anowan and SADF aircraft, we could easily spin the story that they bombed a civilian village. An official complaint filed with the UN by Zambia, which would naturally be backed up by Bolslania, would do a lot to weaken support for the SAAA."
The President thought for a moment before he began to slowly nod.
"Yes... yes. And the camp was completely destroyed, yes?" He asked. Willaims nodded. "Good, good. Then they won't be able to try and find evidence to deny it. But what about the 4 SADF aircraft that you shot down?" He asked.
"Naturally that would have been the efforts of the Zambian Defense Forces." Williams said, it was true that Zambia and Bolslania had a selection of arms deals so the story wouldn't be too hard to sell.
"Well Colonel Williams, it appears we have our solution." The President said, reaching in to his desk, his hands reemerged bearing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.
"What say we have a toast?" He said, pouring a drink for both men, sliding one towards Williams. Williams took the glass, raising it off the table.
"To future cooperation between Zambia and Bolslania." He said, Hichilema nodded and smiled, and the two men drank.
Camp Green, 15 minutes after SADF assault began.
"Goddammit." Captain Smith swore as one of the PKM gunners took a bullet to the chest. The man was probably still alive, however the 7mm rounds that the SADF used almost certainly broke several of his ribs. He looked around the camp. The FLA fighters had done a good job of finding cover, only their heads and upper chest poking out to fire off a few rounds before they dropped back behind sandbags and HESCO blocks.
The SADF forces in the grass were doing a good job of hiding their positions. They were using flash hiders and were covered head to toe in camo, so it was hard to pick them out in the savannah grasslands, however the relative lack of cover was problematic for the men of 1BLI. Smith popped out from cover, resting his G3 on a sandbag. He had a Z-24 optical sight mounted on his rifle, and he scanned the grass with it. He panned horizontally until he came to a rest on a man speaking in to a radio, sucking in his breath he steadied the reticle on the man's chest. Releasing half his breath he pulled the trigger, the .308 round sailing through the air and ripping through the man's throat, sending blood spraying as he fell to the ground. However Smith was too late to stop the 1BLI soldier from calling in the air strike, the roar of jets being heard over the sounds of gunfire, Smith tucked his knees in and put his hands over his head as autocannon fire ripped through the camp, sending several FLA fighters to the dirt in puddles of blood.
"They're coming back around! Somebody get those Starstreaks up!" 3 operators broke from cover at his command, low-running through the fire towards where the MANPADs had been set up. They began getting their bearings on the turning aircraft.
"Suppressing fire!" Smith called. The FLA fighters, who had previously been more conservative with their bursts, now began spraying into the grass, undoubtedly taking out several 1BLI soldiers, and keeping the rest suppressed. Smith could hear the starstreaks going off, but only one found its mark, a SADF fighter spiraling in to the grass. Luckily for the 1BLI, the fighter hit 50 meters away from their location, causing no injury to the 1BLI. The other SAAF fighters made another pass, killing or wounding more FLA insurgents.
"DAMMIT!" Smith shouted, his yell masked by the sounds of gunfire and screaming. Medics swarmed about the camp, trying desperately to keep as many fighters alive as possible. Smith reached down to his radio, depressing the paddle as he shouted in to it.
"This is Camp Green, we are under attack by SADF ground and air forces over!" He shouted. Soon a voice crackled over the radio
"Copy that Green, we'll try and assemble a QRF ASAP. Hold out as long as possible, Central out."
"Understood Central, we'll do our best, over." Smith said before raising his rifle above cover. He found himself another 1BLI soldier crawling through the grass, putting a round between his eyes before returning to cover.
"Everybody stay in cover, only shoot sparingly, we need to waste as much of their time and ammo as possible!" He shouted. The FLA fighters complied, only firing off two or 3 rounds from their rifles before dropping back behind cover.
Jose Neto scrambled about the camp, a bag with a red cross velcroed on it slung over his shoulder. He was a medic, fighting against the forces of biology and ballistics to keep his comrades alive. He saw one of the machine-gunners take a bullet and fall, sprinting over to him. He slid to the ground next to the man and began to examine him. The situation was grim, the machine-gunner had taken two 7.7mm rounds, one hitting his plate, but the problematic one had hit him in the throat. The man looked around wildly, gasping like a fish on land as blood spurted out of his jugular.
"Jesus Christ." Neto muttered as he sat up straight from the dying machine-gunner. There was nothing he could do to save him, the bullet had ripped his throat apart, severing his jugular and ending the man's life. Hopefully the gunner wasn't in pain, but Neto needed to move on. If his ears told him anything it was that there were more wounded to worry about. He low ran towards a man thrashing on the ground. Taking a knee beside him it was clear as to what happen, an autocannon round from the strafing SADF aircraft had hit the man in the knee, blowing the knee apart and effectively severing it from the man's thigh. Neto reached in to his bag, pulling out a morphine capsule and shoving the needle in to the mans upper arm, quickly the opioid pumped in to the man's system and the thrashing began to calm. Neto then reached in to his bag again and pulled out a tourniquet, which he applied to the man's leg. Now that the bleeding was stopped, Neto gestured at a pair of stretcher bearers, who ran over and loaded the man up, carrying him to the infirmary. Neto ran a bloodied hand over his face before sprinting back into action.
