From:	"Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Airdrops
Date:	Mon, 10 Nov 1997 22:14:47 +0000

>>>>>[And the vultures descend. And don't like where they landed.

+++++begin news article
Gunfire crackles in the background, as a good-looking blonde faces the
camera in rocky terrain. Military vehicles and armed men bustle past her
in the darkening evening light, green pennants fluttering. In the
background distance, a minehead can be seen, surrounded by a hastily-
bulldozed rampart of earth and gravel. Muzzle flashes and tracers wink
to and fro around it. The reporter looks nervous.

"This is Kelly Robson, live from the Republic of Yemen. I'm standing
half a mile from Hawker Mining Camp Two, surrounded by three battalions
- over two thousand men - of Tariq Akbar's Yemeni Jihad. The mine camp
is holding out, offering stubborn resistance to Akbar's forces, but they
are massively outnumbered and completely cut off. With the two other
Hawker mines in Akbar's hands, only this last bastion remains."

The view cuts to Don Greenhaigh in the Turner studio. "Kelly, what can
you tell us about Akbar's force?"

Robson looks even more nervous. "Well, Don, I'm told they intend to make
the Yemen into an Islamic republic, ruling by the law of God and the
Prophet. I'm not qualified to comment further on those statements. They
are numerous, well-equipped and well-trained, though, and have shattered
all resistance so far."

"I understand that the defenders of Camp One retreated to -"

"A few stragglers fled to their last refuge -" Kelly glances at
something to her side - "but they were fleeing the wrath of Akbar and
Allah. It was a rout, Don, the foreign infidels were completely crushed
by Akbar's might. And within days if not hours-"

The faint drone of turboprops interrupts her, as she looks up: so does
the camera, seeing two tiny crucifixes overhead. Black dots drop from
them, growing rapidly: as they near the ground they puff glittering
white smoke. Something small and fast and smoky lashes up towards the
two transport aircraft, before falling back: the SAM didn't have the
fuel to reach its targets.

The black specks suddenly - only a few hundred feet above the camp -
blossom with parachutes, three per pallet: a few dozen feet up, as they
vanish behind the rubble walls, smoke from retro-rockets hides them, and
the eight cargo pallets slow rapidly enough that they probably survive
their encounter with the ground inside the camp.

The last speck, smaller and man-shaped, grows a single parafoil as it
vanishes from sight behind the rampart. Tracers lash out ineffectually
over the rubble.

Kelly looks pleadingly at the camera. "Don, we're losing the link..."
+++++end news article

How sad, too bad. No fun reporting with a gun to your head.

Pity I've got specific orders against getting involved in this one. Her
Majesty's Government doesn't want her reservists turning up in someone
else's war.

Oh, yeah. The lone parachutist was Rusanov himself, come to take
command. He hates losing. Don't anyone forget that.]<<<<<
-- The Mighty Quinn <22:14:21/11-10-58>