0900hrs, January 20th, 2001
Sienna Grobla District, Free City of Gdansk
Clear, -13^oC

The new day that greets you comes with clear blue skies, but is bitterly cold. The wood-gas generator struggles to keep the athletic building's interior temperature above freezing. The machine isn't meant for a structure this large. And even with a few weeks of repairs and renovations, it's always drafty. Outside there's about a foot of snow on the ground. A lot of ice is built up on the Martwa Wisla river too.

Breakfast was hot, and you've since rested up following almost a solid week of mounted and dismounted patrols. The Mad Dogs haven't fired a shot in anger in weeks. That probably won't last though...

Ferro exits the shower and dresses in freshly laundered uniform. She took extra long in the hot shower. Something told her she might not get such a luxury again for a while. Same goes for washed clothes. As she tied back her hair it was noticed how easier it was now. She got it cut over what amounted to a christmas holiday. A trip to the little cafeteria results in her just getting a few scraps and none of it still hot. A consequence of taking the extra long shower she guess.

Next, Ferro went outside and checked the fuel gauge on Alpha. It still pained her that they had to give up the mangled remains of Lobo. Alpha doesn't have a kevlar liner or bullet resistant glass, nor the memories she had with the better Humvee. Fuel in the vehicle is checked. Ferro then goes to where the fuel supply is stored (outside I expect). She's looking for a combined total to figure how much driving Alpha can do before it's left in the Krok's dust, so to speak. Even if they aren't going to be heading far it would be good to know regardless.

Ferro then heads back inside to see if there's a meeting happening. If it's quiet she'll lay back on her cot for a little while (will post again).

Jake Ward was loaded in his full gear, running and pushing as hard as he could.

Fuck this is harder than I thought it would be... so much for my great ideas.. he thought.

"Hold on Walsh, another turn coming up!" the Medic said.  His hands gripped the wheelbarrow handles tightly has his legs pumped to propel him as fast as he could... at least as fast as he could without completely losing control.

"Have the idlers placed along the rail Mister Allen..." Jake shouted as the pair entered the second turn around the compound.  It was a quote from a book about wooden ships and iron men that Jake had read at Boy Scout camp.  He'd fancied it so much that he'd memorized a few quotes and passages.

Physical Training with the new wheelbarrow... great idea... fucking brilliant...

Jake's legs were steadily filling up with lactic acid.  He was hopeful he could make it at least two laps, but things were not looking good.  If they didn't make this turn, it wouldn't matter though.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:24, Sun 14 Jan.

Varis sits and watches Ward do laps pushing Walsh around the compound. Each time the Americans pass by, he shouts something cleverly insulting (in his own estimation).

"You look like drunk Russian pushing sack of potatoes to collective farm!"

"You would win medal at gulag Olympics!"

"You look like Lenin taking Stalin home from Communist party!"

Varis hopes that Ward runs out of steam before he runs out of material.

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This message was last edited by a game editor at 22:44, Sun 14 Jan.