| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Re: Imminent Collapse |
| Date: | Sun, 16 Nov 1997 00:36:21 +0000 |
+++++begin trideo
<The view is of Kelly Robson, crouched in a shell crater: she's wearing
a safety-orange flak jacket and helmet both prominently stencilled NEWS.
The tail rotor of a burning helicopter is just visible in the
background.
The deafening noise of a major engagement can be heard: small arms and
heavier weapons, the din of the heavy fighting almost drowning her
voice. The sky is dark and overcast, and she is lit mostly by
intermittent flashes and flares, and the flames of her helicopter.>
"This is Kelly Robson live from the Yemen. The savage battle for Hawker
Mining Base Two has taken a-" a rushing, crackling thunder drowns her
voice and the camera shakes and shudders "_FUCK_! THAT WAS TOO FUCKING
CLOSE!"
The camera settles, to show her, lying huddled against the side of the
crater. "The Rebels have somehow called up heavy artillery fire and
helicopter gunships onto Akbar's troops. Dozens of shells, missiles and
rockets have been falling in the last few minutes, wreaking havoc on
Akbar's concentrated forces where they were massed in preparation for
their final attack.
"Meanwhile-" another peal of thunder - "dozens, perhaps hundreds, of
armoured vehicles attacked from the east, spreading chaos throughout-"
another salvo of shells crash home, _much_ closer, everyone is tossed
about by the shockwave and there is a bright wash of flame from the
helicopter wreckage "-DAMN IT! Throughout Akbar's troops. We can't look,
since we're trapped in the middle of the fighting and our aircraft was
destroyed almost at once, but-" the artillery lands again, further away
this time "-but it sounds like the Rebels are winning, and that they've
been reinforced heavily. I can hear explosions and cannon fire from the
north, where the armoured battle is continuing."
<cut to Greenhaigh in the studio>
"Kelly, could you run over what happened for us?"
<cut back to Robson>
"About five minutes ago, Don, while our helicopter was refuelling,
Akbar's troops began their final drive on the compound."
The artillery is falling further away, but now it's joined by a new
barrage, falling faster and more often without the freight-train roar of
passing shells: probably mortars. The small-arms fire is intensifying
nearby.
"Bulldozer-equipped tanks moved forward to attack the embankment, under
very heavy suppressive fire. The Rebels seemed unable or unwilling to
shoot back, confirming everyone's assumptions that they were out of-" A
grey-camouflaged Ork soldier falls into the crater, barely spares the
newsmen a glance before she crouches at the rim and fires three short
bursts from her Alpha. "Ready to move!" someone nearby calls, then
"MOVE!" As Robson frantically brushes off the red-hot empty cases that
are landing on her, the Rebel is gone into the night.
"oh, frag this... Out of ammunition. And about then, Don, all hell broke
loose. The tanks exploded almost in unison, destroyed by missiles fired
from attack helicopters kilometres away. At that same moment, the first
salvo of artillery and rocket fire crashed down across Akbar's assembly
areas, where his troops had massed for the assault, and it sounds as if
there's a mechanised strike force crossing the plain and assaulting the
camp's besiegers. At the same time, the Rebels within the camp showed
their hand, appearing in unexpected numbers and putting down a withering
fire before moving forward."
"Moving _forward_, Kelly?" Greenhaigh says, disbelief evident.
"That's right, Don, they counterattacked, trapping Akbar's men in a
pincer, and what you see here is the result." Kelly cautiously looks
over the crater rim, motions to her cameraman who rises to get a look.
The rocky plain could substitute for Armageddon at the moment, you
think. Dozens of burning vehicles - trucks, APCs, tanks - shed a
flickering light and smear the plain with oily smoke, and scores of
bodies lie about, some fatally still and others moving fitfully. You see
only one wearing Rebels uniform, and none of their vehicles among the
destroyed. The assembly area is a storm of mortar fire and tracers, very
little return fire emerging from the dust and smoke and fire.
Further in the distance, over a quarter-mile away, the darkness is lit
with flickering fireflies and flashbulb flares, as red and green tracers
dance and ricochet. A rippling cloud of flashes marks another salvo of
bomblet shells smashing down. The cameraman zooms in, and the image
intensifier makes out the sight of the running battle as the Yemenis
flee towards the highway cutting. They're trading fire with the Jaguars
and Merkavas of Rusanov's armour company, taking a steady fire from
missile-armed Scarabs and helicopters on their flanks, and the artillery
still lands among them with killing effect.
They're being slaughtered, it's a rout rather than a retreat: the Yemeni
vehicles are being picked methodically picked off and those troops on
foot are being scattered or killed.
" It looks like Akbar's forces are retreating along the highway, to
where its cutting forms a natural defensive bottleneck. They should be
able to hold there easily against Rusanov's smaller force. I think this
may end in a standoff, even with their artillery the Rebels don't have
the firepower to winkle the Yemeni Jihad out of that position. I'd
expect Rusanov's men to retreat and let the artillery fire grind them
down... can you hear something, Bill?"
The cameraman says something that is drowned in the sudden scream of
turbofans, as a sleek silhouette lit only by twin blue-white spears at
its tail screams low overhead.
"DAMN! Where did that come from? Whose is it?" Kelly gabbles. "We've
just been overflown by a tactical fighter, something - there's another,
there's another, coming in!"
The fighters are visible only by their afterburners and by the flares
they're dropping at irregular intervals, a missile reaching up at one
and veering off to explode near a decoy instead.
"Not only artillery but air power too! I'd love to know where the Rebels
staged this from..." The canyon is suddenly a glittering mass of
exploding submunitions, the fighter smothering the area with a
frightening tonnage of cluster bombs, followed closely by its wingman,
then another, then another...
"Don, we just saw a perfectly executed counterstroke. I think we owe
Rusanov an apology for doubting his word when he claimed he was
preparing 'the mother of all counter-attacks': he promised and he
delivered." Kelly has to shout over the jet noise.
There is a faint grumble of thunder and bright fireflies arc downwards
from the clouds, small undramatic flashes marking their impacts in the
cutting: two Hercules gunships orbiting, pouring thirty-millimetre
cannon and three-inch shells downwards with awful precision. There are
still fighters screaming in to drop ordnance on Akbar's trapped force,
there must have been six or seven strikes by now: each coming in low,
with only enough time between passes to let the debris fall out of the
flightpath.
"Any word on Akbar's casualties, Kelly?"
"Don, I'd estimate a minimum of seventy per cent, including virtually
all their vehicles, and the lack of any counterfire suggests they lost
their mortars too. It could be much higher, there's no way to know yet:
it's almost certain, though, that this brigade of the Yemeni Jihad has
ceased to exist as a fighting unit. Akbar has lost nearly a quarter of
his strength in one single engagement. We'll bring you updates as we
have them."
<Cut to Don Greenhaigh>
"Thank you, Kelly. We'll keep you informed as to any developments. After
the break, the Ian Goddard Memorial Foundation claimed that..."
+++++end trideo
Not quite "about to be defeated", is it?]<<<<<
-- Rebekkah Rosalita Trevilla Rusanov <00:44:26/11-16-58>
Chief Administrative Officer
Rusanov's Rebels
