A Briefing on the edge of Hell.
Sep. 14th, 2011 09:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
first_runihuraThe five officers stood around a campaign projector under Colonel Ibn-Hussein's tent, the amber glow of the holographic map bathing their faces. All of them did their best to appear calm, but the signs were there for anyone who wanted to see. The march through enemy territory had been nerve-wracking enough, but as they approached the moment of crossing into the no-man's land tension had been mounting. Being so close, with only one last obstacle to face, and yet at the highest risk of being discovered was running everyone ragged.
Tarik looked around at his fellow officers. Ibn-Hussein held command of the column, not just because he was the highest in rank, but because his Halqa made up the bulk of it and it had been his leadership that had kept them safe and brought them so close to the human lines. His beard, usually trimmed, had crept up his cheeks over the last few days, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Old Salar looked as craggy-faced and impassible as always, standing one step back and to the side to show just how little he enjoyed the company of superior officers, as a kovnik of the Hunzakut rangers should. Captain Mokarian of the Ghulam infantry regiments, a wiry woman in her thirties with henna-red hair and weary eyes, would lead the column on the final run. And finally, clad in her gray and russet combat uniform, the featureless faceplate of her helmet down, one of the two Intruder commandos was there in representation of the Corregidor Nomads. She had uncloaked the name tag on the right side of her ballistic jacket. If it could be trusted, her name was Márquez.
"So that's the situation, officers. We have watchtowers here and here" Ibn-Hussein's finger touched the holographic map, causing tiny markers to appear on both sides of the chasm. "and the remains of a blown-up bridge here. The rest of the line seems to be made of modular fortifications, lightly manned. Still they would delay us too much and make us easy prey. Crossing the ravine is still the quickest option. There's also a heavily wooded ridge overlooking the ravine from the East, the direction of the nearest Sneak encampment, if the new intel that the Khawarij provided is good. That is where we should be expecting reinforcements to come from, so you will be deployed to ambush them as soon as they leave camp. Also, that ridge looks like a perfect spot to place snipers, so we better send a few of our own hunters to root them out. How long do you think your men will need to set those repeaters in place, kovnik?"
Old Salar tilted his head slightly to the side, scratching thoughtfully at the scraggly beard that covered his cheek. "I would say fifteen minutes from the moment we leave the column, but let's just give it twenty to be sure." Ibn-Hussein nodded and turned to the Nomad.
"How long will your men need, Sergeant?" Márquez's expressionless faceplate remained immobile as she spoke. "They have looked over your plan and I must say it has made you quite popular among the engineers. At least, they laughed quite a bit." There was a wry amusement in her tone. "But they say they can do it in ten minutes if your drivers can do what you say they can. Now, about the armed escort..."
Captain Mokarian typed a quick command on her wrist-mounted comlog. "We have three Janissary HI with fully-functional suits and a fourth whose suit has severely impaired mobility, but could still hold a static position. They are all armed with Bourkan machineguns. We also have six Naffatûn troopers. Their incinerators can clear an area around your position, and they are always good for close-range defense."
Márquez nodded. "Plus a dozen Alguaciles, me and Sergeant Alves." The red faceplate turned towards Tarik and Old Salar. "If your men can keep the bulk of the Sneaks off our backs, we should be able to hold long enough."
It was Tarik's turn. He traced a three-pronged line on the hologram. "We will launch a diversion attack on the enemy camp. My Khawarij's mobility and the camo support of the Hunzakut should enable us to mask our actual numbers and make them believe it's a full-fledged attack, to draw as much of their forces after us, away from the column. By then, hopefully, the repeaters will have relayed my message and we will get some support sent from our lines so we can fall back in with the Hunzakut and steal back to our own lines."
Ibn-Hussein sighed, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his large hands. None of them had got much sleep for the past couple days, but the stocky colonel was showing signs of weariness for the first time. "Fine. We all know it isn't the best of plans. It hinges too much on several groups of men performing bloody heroics, but" He smiled, suddenly, and the bright flash of white teeth amid his black beard had a strange uplifting quality. "I've always said the Sword of God doesn't lack in heroes. Now I want honest opinions, sirs, madams. What do you think?"
Mokarian nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "It's a good enough plan, given the circumstances. Even if everything goes wrong and we can't cross, we can take those towers and hold the ravine until reinforcements arrive. There would be losses, but I can see much worse possibilities if we lag around here. We are getting reports of a large force of Grunts moving in, one day behind us but gaining slowly."
Old Salar shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't know about heroics, but I've seen your Halqa do some hardly believable things with those little tanks of theirs. And if the Red Nomads build as well as they fight, I can believe they will lay that bridge for us."
Márquez pressed a button on her comlog. "You heard it all, sir?" The arm-mounted unit projected a serious, professional voice, all personal characteristics carefully removed from it to make identification impossible. "Loud and clear. Colonel, your plan is what we call a Tomcat job, but considering the alternative it's not like we have much choice. We're in."
Tarik only needed to nod. The Khawarij's role in the plan was dangerous, but it was precisely the kind of work they were supposed to do. Ibn-Hussein looked around at them and smiled again, a smaller, less flashy smile. "Good. You all know your parts, then. Let's get this in motion."
Just as they were leaving the tent, a man in the tan fatigues of the Ghulam infantry approached Tarik. The red half-moon surmounting crossed swords on his chest insignia marked him as a frontline medic. "Amir?" Tarik nodded in acknowledgment. "Some of the wounded men want to talk to you."
Tarik looked around at his fellow officers. Ibn-Hussein held command of the column, not just because he was the highest in rank, but because his Halqa made up the bulk of it and it had been his leadership that had kept them safe and brought them so close to the human lines. His beard, usually trimmed, had crept up his cheeks over the last few days, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Old Salar looked as craggy-faced and impassible as always, standing one step back and to the side to show just how little he enjoyed the company of superior officers, as a kovnik of the Hunzakut rangers should. Captain Mokarian of the Ghulam infantry regiments, a wiry woman in her thirties with henna-red hair and weary eyes, would lead the column on the final run. And finally, clad in her gray and russet combat uniform, the featureless faceplate of her helmet down, one of the two Intruder commandos was there in representation of the Corregidor Nomads. She had uncloaked the name tag on the right side of her ballistic jacket. If it could be trusted, her name was Márquez.
"So that's the situation, officers. We have watchtowers here and here" Ibn-Hussein's finger touched the holographic map, causing tiny markers to appear on both sides of the chasm. "and the remains of a blown-up bridge here. The rest of the line seems to be made of modular fortifications, lightly manned. Still they would delay us too much and make us easy prey. Crossing the ravine is still the quickest option. There's also a heavily wooded ridge overlooking the ravine from the East, the direction of the nearest Sneak encampment, if the new intel that the Khawarij provided is good. That is where we should be expecting reinforcements to come from, so you will be deployed to ambush them as soon as they leave camp. Also, that ridge looks like a perfect spot to place snipers, so we better send a few of our own hunters to root them out. How long do you think your men will need to set those repeaters in place, kovnik?"
Old Salar tilted his head slightly to the side, scratching thoughtfully at the scraggly beard that covered his cheek. "I would say fifteen minutes from the moment we leave the column, but let's just give it twenty to be sure." Ibn-Hussein nodded and turned to the Nomad.
"How long will your men need, Sergeant?" Márquez's expressionless faceplate remained immobile as she spoke. "They have looked over your plan and I must say it has made you quite popular among the engineers. At least, they laughed quite a bit." There was a wry amusement in her tone. "But they say they can do it in ten minutes if your drivers can do what you say they can. Now, about the armed escort..."
Captain Mokarian typed a quick command on her wrist-mounted comlog. "We have three Janissary HI with fully-functional suits and a fourth whose suit has severely impaired mobility, but could still hold a static position. They are all armed with Bourkan machineguns. We also have six Naffatûn troopers. Their incinerators can clear an area around your position, and they are always good for close-range defense."
Márquez nodded. "Plus a dozen Alguaciles, me and Sergeant Alves." The red faceplate turned towards Tarik and Old Salar. "If your men can keep the bulk of the Sneaks off our backs, we should be able to hold long enough."
It was Tarik's turn. He traced a three-pronged line on the hologram. "We will launch a diversion attack on the enemy camp. My Khawarij's mobility and the camo support of the Hunzakut should enable us to mask our actual numbers and make them believe it's a full-fledged attack, to draw as much of their forces after us, away from the column. By then, hopefully, the repeaters will have relayed my message and we will get some support sent from our lines so we can fall back in with the Hunzakut and steal back to our own lines."
Ibn-Hussein sighed, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his large hands. None of them had got much sleep for the past couple days, but the stocky colonel was showing signs of weariness for the first time. "Fine. We all know it isn't the best of plans. It hinges too much on several groups of men performing bloody heroics, but" He smiled, suddenly, and the bright flash of white teeth amid his black beard had a strange uplifting quality. "I've always said the Sword of God doesn't lack in heroes. Now I want honest opinions, sirs, madams. What do you think?"
Mokarian nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "It's a good enough plan, given the circumstances. Even if everything goes wrong and we can't cross, we can take those towers and hold the ravine until reinforcements arrive. There would be losses, but I can see much worse possibilities if we lag around here. We are getting reports of a large force of Grunts moving in, one day behind us but gaining slowly."
Old Salar shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't know about heroics, but I've seen your Halqa do some hardly believable things with those little tanks of theirs. And if the Red Nomads build as well as they fight, I can believe they will lay that bridge for us."
Márquez pressed a button on her comlog. "You heard it all, sir?" The arm-mounted unit projected a serious, professional voice, all personal characteristics carefully removed from it to make identification impossible. "Loud and clear. Colonel, your plan is what we call a Tomcat job, but considering the alternative it's not like we have much choice. We're in."
Tarik only needed to nod. The Khawarij's role in the plan was dangerous, but it was precisely the kind of work they were supposed to do. Ibn-Hussein looked around at them and smiled again, a smaller, less flashy smile. "Good. You all know your parts, then. Let's get this in motion."
Just as they were leaving the tent, a man in the tan fatigues of the Ghulam infantry approached Tarik. The red half-moon surmounting crossed swords on his chest insignia marked him as a frontline medic. "Amir?" Tarik nodded in acknowledgment. "Some of the wounded men want to talk to you."
