Sunday Morning
Cowichan Bay
0520 hours Lima (1320 hours Zulu)

Captain Kirsch never showed up at the Windjammer the previous evening.

The militia seemed to be getting along well; Kelsey was more outspoken and earnest, while Chris was laid-back. After the opening points were made in the debate Chris playfully baited Kelsey by adopting a redneck pose. After getting a little hot under the collar she wised up and stopped being so serious. Everyone was agree that they needed to get the Frogs out of Quebec.

Kelsey introduced herself more informally, mentioning her skills in mechanical repair, electronics and Signals. Chris was more of a jack-of-all-trades, with medical training backed up by knowledge gained growing up in the wilderness: not just hunting, fishing and trapping, but the art of making shelter and foraging for food. As well, he mentioned he kayaked across the Strait over to the Island, so he must be familiar with small boats.

The team called it a relatively early night. They had picked up from the locals in the pub that the famers were worried about this year's crop. Also, rumours were floating around that the Russians up in Campbell River were starving and not in any shape to fight, while contradicting rumours suggested that they were getting ready to take over Port Alberni. But the general opinion was they were little better than a gang of mercenary thugs willing to work for the highest bidder.

Meeting the Captain the next morning before dawn, he apologized for not showing up, explaining that loading had taken a lot longer than expected, and they had mechanical trouble.

"But it's all fixed now! We'll get you across to Vancouver, no problem."

Before leaving port, Sgt. Lee checked the ship's armoury, and verified that the cache of rifles and shotguns locked in the safe were properly registered and stored.

The C6 GPMG and Mk 19 were mounted on commanding positions. The crew tended to keep away from the ordinance. Aside from Captain Kirsch, they also tended to keep to themselves. Work lamps were hung to provide light in the darkness. A pot of tea was brewed, sweetened with honey.

Somewhat behind schedule they slowly chugged past the headlands of Cowichan Bay as dawn broke at 0519. Dirty black smoke laced with sparks marred the blameless blue sky of early dawn.



At a stately pace of 8.5 knots, they were on their way.

Mouth of the North Arm of the Fraser River, off Iona Island
1030 hours Lima (1830 hours Zulu)

It was a gorgeous morning. The water was calm. Gulls wheeled in the cloudless sky.

The first leg of the trip had been careful navigating through the narrow passages between Vancouver Island, Saltspring Is., Thetis/Kuper Is., Galiano Is. and Valdez Is., not to mention numerous small rocky outcroppings and islets in between. The crew kept a sharp eye out for snags and deadheads lurking just under the water.

The many small forested islands had once been home to small communities, hippies and farmers, craftspeople and retirees. Now, active human habitation was few and far between, although they often passed by abandoned cabins and homes merely 50-100m away in the narrow channel.

Once just out in the Straight they saw another fishing boat away to the north, then nothing.

Although the snow-topped coastal mountains had been visible since they left the narrow channels and closed waters of the islands, it wasn't until around 9 or so they saw the green forests of the University Endowment Lands some 15km away. They could easily see the mountains of rugged Vancouver Island behind them.

A ship lay grounded in the treacherous shallow water and salt marsh of aptly-named Wreck Beach to their left, rusted and abandoned but still upright.

They turned to get past the 4km jetty of Iona Island to the right. Across flat Iona they could see "YVR", the Vancouver International Airport on even flatter Sea Island. The control tower still jutted up in the distance, some glass windows intact, others gaping holes.

Just before 10:30 local time, they spotted Deering Island, their destination, up ahead to the left.

Deering Island had been an enclave of one central street bordered by multi-million dollar mansions, waters edge shored up and reinforced by tons of crushed rock and concrete. Just behind and beyond Deering Island on the riverbank lay the quiet buildings and empty docks of the Celtic Shipyards.



http://www.globalairphotos.com...ver/South/2000/273/2

(Iona Is. is at the bottom, Deering Is. is above it across the North Arm, Celtic Shipyards are on shore to the right of it, the downtown with Stanley Park are near the top, and UBC is off the immediate left edge of the photo.)
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:34, Mon 14 Jan 2008.

Lee stands on the port side railing, watching the churning sea for much of the trip. When word is passed that their destination is in sight she moves over to the LAVIII and collects her MP5 from the drivers seat where she left it, slinging it over her shoulder.

Walking over to Fox she asks - "Hey Sergeant. You think there is a big chance someone over there is going to have what it takes to take out a LAV? I mean, you think we'll be ok in it?"

Lee remembers hearing the war stories from the soldiers whose unit she was absorbed into. When the Soviets crossed into the Yukon and landed along BC anti-armour weapons were hard to get, but small groups of tank hunting teams were still able to knock out main battle tanks.

"Sergeant Fox, man the C-6!" Lt Ben called as the island came into view. The machinegun faced port - towards the city while the longer ranged and much heavier MK-19 faced towards the now abandonned airport a mile or more away across the flats.
"McRae. You know how to handle the Mk-19?"
As they were now surrounded by buildings that could easily provide concealment to hostiles, Ben felt it extremely important to be ready for anything, even if the greatest threat they faced was sunburn.
"MacDonald, Champlain. Bow and stern watch! Officer Lee, supervise the unloading if you will."

Orders for the debarkation issued, Ben and his slung C-9 LSW made their way to the bridge to keep watch with binoculars. A couple of years before and he might have been awestruck by the mansions they slowly chugged past with their imaculately manicured lawns and gardens. Now weeds grew where those lawns hadn't been turned to vegetable patches, water barrels and tanks cluttered patios once used for entertaining the rich and powerful of Vancouver.

Fox watching the island come into view looks at her, he speaks slowly "Well... its hard to say really. Nothing as bad as in Germany no doubt. I don't think anyone in the city will have wire guided missiles or tanks eh?" he pauses for a while "Might be some RPGs or something grabbed from the Russians, and anyone can make a molotov right? Just gotta be careful in built up areas."

He looks back out as the building coming out into view, offering more details. "We'll be ok." he concludes.

Digging out his binoculars he scans the landscape. Not for any threat really, but for signs of smoke... fires for warmth, cooking, and light. Signs of life.

When word came to ready for the final approach Robert move up and took hold of the C6. As the distance to the shoreline continued to decrease, he in turn would lower the range on the machinegun's sights. He glanced down at the Militia soldier watching the port side with him. I hope you fight as well as you can talk.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:03, Mon 14 Jan 2008.

MacDonald quickly made his way forward, while Champlain made her way aft. The throbbing of the engines changed in pitch as they slowed.

In the warm spring morning, the expensive mansions of Deering Island looked eerily like an abandoned movie set. The houses themselves seemed intact, but the yards were overgrown with formerly neat-cut grass, ornamental shrubs and once-manicured trees.

There was no obvious sign of life on the island from the river.

As they rounded the eastern headland of the narrow island, the Celtic Shipyard came into view. Looking at the narrow channel between Deering Island and the riverbank, they could see some of the docks were intact. The channel was clogged with half-sunken debris that had floated down the river and become trapped, mostly logs and tree trunks.

One of the docks midway down had a boat tied up to it, a 15-foot aluminum shell with an outboard pulled up and out of the water. The craft was small enough to navigate through the obstacles whereas the larger ship obviously wasn't.

Scowling, Kirsch shook his head and ordered the ship to hold off from entering the channel.

"Too narrow, too many deadheads and snags in there. Far too dangerous"

A man walked out of the house where the dock was. Looking in their direction every so often, he moved down an overgrown flagstone path to the top of the dock's ramp.

He stopped there, watching them.

In the quiet morning, a dog barked, somewhere.

(Edit: I decided the guy's just watching, not waving. That seemed a little too friendly for a complete stranger!)
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:25, Mon 14 Jan 2008.

The man exited the house and walked down towards the dock. Chris' cry alerted anyone who didn't already see him.

"Hey, I got a guy!"

putting down his binoculars, Chris picked up the FN leaning on the rail beside him and slipped the sling over his shoulder.

"I Don't see any weapons!"

He kept the rifle's muzzle down, not pointing directly at the man. The magazine was inserted but no round chambered.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:23, Mon 14 Jan 2008.

Lee notices the man and gives a friendly wave. "Hello." she says to herself. When Chris points him out and picks up his rifle she calls over, "Don't scare him off. He's potentially our first source of local information."

A few moments later when the boat slows to a stop she shakes her head. "I hope this is new information, and not bad intel." she mutters about the lack of a suitable docking site. The VIDF was planning on securing the mainland... but the landing site they sent her team was unusable? Not a good start.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:32, Mon 14 Jan 2008.

Nodding, Chris leaned his rifle back on the railing. Instead, he picked up his binoculars again.

The strong river current forced the ship to keep her stern pointing upriver, and the engines straining in reverse to keep them in one place. The bow was pointed NW.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:28, Mon 14 Jan 2008.

Seeing Lee wave, the distant man returned it. Then, he sauntered down the ramp and started untying the nylon line securing the boat to the dock. They could see he was wearing blue jeans and a "mac" (flannel macintosh shirt). A baseball cap covered his head.

He was about 250 metres away, probably too far for shouting.

http://tinyurl.com/2qo8u9
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:30, Mon 14 Jan 2008.

Fox, standing next to the C6 rests his arms on the ships railing. "Maybe he's coming over to help. He might be able to guide the boat or something." he calls aloud.

"Yessir."

Truth was, his experience with the Mk-19 was limited at best. He'd watched 'em loaded and fired before but he'd never been through more than a dry run with one himself. It can't be too hard now can it? He decided to improvise.

After quickly refamiliarizing himself with the weapon, Andy gazed out across the water at the airstrip. He lifted his binoculars and studied the collection of derelict aircraft littering the nearest tarmac. A few small Pipers and Canadair civil puddle-jumpers were strewn about, a couple with wings tilted at the ground on one side and the sky on the other. None of them had been airborne for years, probably.

Someone had attracted the crew's attention on the other side of the boat. It was hard for Andy to remain focussed on his assigned- and apparently dead- sector. At 250m, he his Parker-Hale could be of use, were it required. Just do your job corporal. He continued to study the airport while listening in on what was happening on the other side of the boat.

"This is your show Lee," Ben spoke over their tactical radio net.
"How do you want to play this out?"

Hidden from casual view up in the bridge, Ben ensured his weapon was at the action condition - loaded and ready to fire, only the safety still engaged. With a little of that luck he'd carried with him to last few years, the stranger might actually be there to assist. On the other hand, karma did have a habit of evening things out eventually so it was more likely they were part of some cunning plan to lure them into an ambush...

Paranoia? No, years of experiencing the worst humankind had to offer.....

Lee makes her way up to the bridge to where Ben was - "Lets hear what he has to say. As Sergeant Fox said, he no doubt knows the harbour. Either that or we go poking around for a landing site and who knows how long that might take... with everyone who still lives along the shore watching."

Looking over at his small boat she continues, "I think we can let him approach. He's either legit.... or an idiot."

If there is no disagreement, she'll walk out onto the deck and make herself visible. She'll offer another short wave if in a gesture of invitation to talk.

As the tide was coming in, the river's current was largely negated. They drifted a little, easily keeping station with the help of the engine.

The distant man returned her wave, then finished untying his boat. He got in, lowered the Mercury outboard in the water and started it up with a few yanks of the starter cord.

After nimbly dodging around the water hazards and entering the main channel of the river, the small boat pulled alongside the Church's port side.

The boat's pilot was a native male, thin, unshaven. He smiled up at them and shaded his eyes against the glare of the sun.

"Hey there! You folks lookin' to put some people ashore?"

The inside of the aluminum hull had somewhat haphazardly-piled fishing gear and sloshed with brackish water. Even from there they could smell the stink of fish, or even just imagine it.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:42, Tue 15 Jan 2008.

As the ship slowly drifted end-on to the Airport, Kelsey scanned the area looking for threats or life. She didn't see anything.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:40, Tue 15 Jan 2008.

There seemed to be no life in the shipyard that was off the starboard side.

Andrew swung the binoculars towards the airport that was now behind them as the ship's heding drifted so that the bow pointed NW.

Aside from the small civil craft including some DeHavilland Dash-8s, there was an Air Canada Airbus 320 and Alsakan Airlines 767 sitting abandoned on different slipways and probably some more closer to the terminal.

Looking closely at the control tower, he spotted movement and possibly the flash of sunlight reflecting on optics.

However, it was 2 kilometres away, and difficult to see any details. It could have been sunlight reflecting on the broken glass.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:14, Tue 15 Jan 2008.

Andy takes a second long look at the tower through his binos. It's probably nothing, but plenty of folks he's known had died thinking just that so he decides to follow up on it. They hadn't really been using their radios much up until a few moments ago, so Andy figures that any potentially hostile lurkers haven't had enough time to home in on it yet. He keys the mic on his handheld,

"Sir, it's probably nothing but I may have some movement in the control tower 2 klicks aft of us. Request permission to head aft and give it another look."

OOC: If given permission, Andy will head aft and higher up on the superstructure to get a different angle. He'll use either his binos or the otpics on his Parker-Hale, whichever is more powerful.