After saying some words regarding Bears life, Jason notices the newcomer Chopper. Inquiring about his aprehension to bury his friends, he approaches the man, and asks to speak to him in private.

"Jay, I understand you want to bury your friends back home. I respect your choice in this, but perhaps we need to think of their needs. If your friends were of Christian faith, they would need to be buried, so that they may rise again, as did our Lord.  If they were not, lets think long term. Suppose we do find a way home, and they refuse to allow them passage because of space constraints? Your friends would not want you to be trapped in Europe because of their mortal coils. Your friends were sailors no? I propose two other options then. The first, is return them to the sea. That would be the way if they had been on a ship, correct? The other is the way of Warriors of old. We commit their bodies to flame, and then return their ashes to their home. You can carry them with you and their spirits will look over you. Either way, it is better than keeping them in plastic bags. God forbid something happens to the ship, they may end up desecrated in a manner you may regret."

Patting him on the shoulder, he turns to go help with the sandbags. "Think about it, I'll respect your decision."

Mariusz looked at the American sailor, "If you would rather, we could cremate them and seal up the ashes, they would be easier to get home. Whatever you decide, you have my support, you should never abandon a comrade." He looked at the sailor sympathetically and then said to Kasparov, "I'm going to start humping sandbags, is there any way we could rig up wheelbarrows? That would move things more quickly."

Dawid helped dig the graves. He would have rather checked out Chopper's boat for contamination or helped Clarence bring sandbags, but needs must as the devil drives and some respect was owed the departed.

Last Rites already having been said over all the dead, he merely took his beret off in respect. He had nothing to add.

"Jason, you are correct. If they were Christian than their bodies are merely empty shells, now that their souls have gone to their eternal rest."

"As Saint Thomas Aquinas said, "we do not have souls, we are souls. We have bodies." Once dead, the soul is gone and the vessels that held them are empty."

"If they were not believers, then likely to them after death their corpses are merely spoiled bags of rotting meat, nothing special."

He sighed, then lit a cigarette.

"It is probably a useless argument. We can appeal for the rational course, but I have met many people for whom the rational course no longer always holds sway."

[OOC: When this is done Dawid will go check the boat and the safe for radioactivity, then help Clarence.]
This message was last edited by the player at 17:35, Tue 05 Feb 2008.

"Wheelbarrows? Perhaps we could set up tarps, run water down them, and slide the sandbags down from the hill. Let the current and gravity work for us. It shouldn't be hard to run some hoses from the ships bilge pumps, and I am sure Chopper would know how to do so. One group to fill them, one to build the slide and another to stack. What do you think?"

"Why not just empty them out, then fill them here when they are brought? Have a couple people moving emptied bags, and a couple filling them."

"Seems straightforward enough!"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:01, Tue 05 Feb 2008.

Chopper stares at the pilot through a grey cigarette haze. "You're about as freaky as that dude with the knife fetish, flyboy. Don't know about their religion, but I do know their beliefs. They ain't getting buried here, and y'all ain't got no good way to cremate, anyway. That takes a mortuary. All this Happy Hunting Ground and Old Warrior Way crap is getting pretty tiresome. We got a ride waiting at Gdansk. We'll do a burial at sea from there."

"Why not just stack them on the bridge and use the crane on the tug to move them?"

"Im freaky?" Jason says in disbelief, "Your the one hauling your friends around like your girlfriends"

He looks Chopper in the eye. "Check their dogtags and find out their religion." he states to the sailor, "But don't insult the beliefs of others cause you dont agree"

He walks away from the man, before the outburst erupts further, and heads up to help Milk with the sandbags.

Bayer nods to the man. Salvage and metal working wasn't something he knew very much about. During his time in the Army, his Marders came pre-installed with armour protection. Looking to Snowy for added input, he says, "What do you think? How about just some plating? Whatever we can get, leaving enough gas in reserve for future repairs? Worth it or not?"

If Snowy is against the idea, Bayer will drop it and concentrate the team on sandbags and anything else they might come across.

Watching as Chopper and a few of the others talk about the bodies, Bayer adds, "No disrespect for your men, but the Doctor is in charge of these kinds of affairs on the tug. She may not allow for long term storage, body bags or not. Either they are taken care of here, or I'll have to radio back to confirm."

Bayer continues on to set himself up as security.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:49, Wed 06 Feb 2008.

A penitent Tadeuz ferries Adam, wrapped in blankets and supported by Luboslaw and Griet, to the shore to attend the erstwhile funeral services for his old friend Uller and the foreigners who have helped him travel this far on his very personal mission to the ruins of Warsaw. He shuffles slowly up the bank, leaning heavily on the tall boy.

At the graveside, he stands taciturn, jaw clenched tight, as tears stream down his left cheek. Apparently, the trauma to his right eye is interfering with its tear ducts. Griet wraps her good arm around the old man's shoulders while tears of sympathy flow freely from her clear brown eyes. It is a somber sight.

Clarence takes a break from the sandbag shuttle to assist the grave digging detail. As he cuts into the soft Polish alluvial soil with his entrenching tool, he thinks about the men about to be consigned to the earth. They all seemed like decent folk, and they fought hard, and that was about all you could hope from a man these days. Still, they had died violently, thousands of miles from their homes (save the one called Bear) in a Poland that was arguably much worse off than it had been before the war. In that sense, their deaths seemed fairly senseless, and therefore, all the more tragic. But, however faint, hope for a better future for all who they left behind remained.

If Clarence succeeds in his mission, their sacrifice won't be in vain.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:25, Wed 06 Feb 2008.

<quote Konrad Bayer>
Looking to Snowy for added input, he says, "What do you think? How about just some plating? Whatever we can get, leaving enough gas in reserve for future repairs? Worth it or not?"

[NPCed]

"Well, I was hoping to add some more armor protection to the old bird before we ever set sail. Unfortunately, the salvage party ran into trouble at Nowy Huta and I wasn't even able to build a proper barbette for the Vasilek. I'd like to try and recover a bit of that APC's armor while we have the chance. From the sound of it, getting past Tarznobreg is going to make what we've survived the last few days look like a day at the beach. Only trouble is, where do I put it? There are just too many places where it's needed!"</Blue>

John returns back to his sleep area and shakes his head.



John
sleeping
G3/1911

With the temporary repairs to the barge completed and almost everyone ashore either burying the dead, shifting sandbags or keeping sentry, the tug felt very empty. Knowing she was of little use in any of the shore activities, she assigned herself to keeping watch over the opposite bank. If trouble struck, she would be able to raise an alarm even if returning effective fire was beyond her current physical state.

Sparing the odd glance towards the shore parties, she contemplated the multitude of competing needs for the operation and defence of the tug. Although they apparently had enough fuel for the boiler, at least for now, food was quickly becoming of concern. And then there was protection for the crew while maintaining the ability to move quickly throught the vessel. Laying enough sandbags to sufficently protect every position would probably sink the tug. At the very least any movement about the tug would require clambering over piles of dirt filled bags.

Switek is eager to get ashore as he, Tokarski and Kasparov finally begin the interment of their comrade in arms.  Swinging the pickaxe high over his head and down into the damp earth, each thud provides the long overdue catharsis of honest work reminiscent of time spent tilling the fields at the abbey.

They toil mostly in silence and the crew makes swift work of digging all seven holes.  At the end of their effort, only five are filled in, but the row of graves remains a solemn sight to behold.

The monk kneels over Grzegorz's grave in silent prayer, thankful that he has not been pressed into service to say anything for the others in his capacity as Chaplain.  There is nothing to be said, and - on this day above all - he is in no mood for it.  He crosses himself and rises to salute the fallen warrior.  As Tokarski decorates the tomb with the distilled liquid essence of their homeland, he sheds a single tear.

Fare well, my friend.

Switek turns on the riverbank overlooking the bridge to assess the structure that he and his team of partisans had earlier fought so bitterly to destroy.  He had not buried such a great number in a single day in many months and in one morning they have created what amounts to a small cemetery on the site.  Temporarily satisfied with the results of their labor, he vows to return someday to ensure that this resting place remained a monument befitting such heroism.

After the informal services, he takes the American Warrant Officer aside, well out of earshot. "Tell me, Pitchfork." the monk demands of the operative, speaking in a low tone, slowly but clearly, "What must I do to make this sacrifice count?  This has been a most costly endeavor.  I owe the Hauptmann an answer, but before I can commit to the peril ahead I must know the mission."



[Switek]
At the river's edge
RPKM + drum 7.62mmS (75/75)
Interrogating Pitchfork ever so gently
This message was last edited by the player at 05:06, Wed 06 Feb 2008.

Bayer acknowledges Snowy's input, "Right. See what can be done then on the APC." One thing that he disliked was turning down people's advice. However, more times than not on this voyage, there was always many who held opposing views on every action. No matter what decisions he made, he was always going against at least one person's opinion.

Bayer
G36/HK69 (28 rounds)
Near Bridge
Sentry/Radio Watch

Quyen busies herself hauling sandbags down to the beached inflatable. Being after 11:00 her stomach rumbles. "I'm hungry Milk." she says to him after walking back from dropping a couple off. "You think the doctor will brings us out some sandwiches?" she joked.

Squatting down she rests for a moment. She looks around for somebody and then says to him - "Griet has been acting weird, avoiding us. I don't think its because of her injuries." After watching her from a distance she adds - "I think she's pretty cool. Hope she comes around."

Standing up she arcs her back and stretches. Sandbags suck she thinks before getting back to the tiring task.

Once the funeral was over, Mariusz moved over to the sanbagged position and started to help move the sanbags in whichever way people suggested.

Dawid stood on Adam's other side, supporting him as well.

There were no tears left to cry from him.

When the service was over, he trotted back to Chopper's boat to check it for radiological contamination, especially the interior, any safe, and all waste containers (including the head, if there is one; even if emptied, contamination would surely remain if not scrubbed out). Once done, he assisted with bringing more sandbags.


Tantal Wz.88
Stechkin
[Private to Jason Kasparov: At some point Dawid mentions to Jason, "Chopper is clearly insane. That is why I have not argued with him. The story about Tarnobrzeg seems half-plausible, but the other half seems fantastic... like some kind of movie."]
This message was last edited by the player at 16:03, Wed 06 Feb 2008.

Tucker will attend the burial detail and small ceremony before returning back to try and get some sleep.

As no one can agree on a method to make the sandbag transport easier, Jason starts hauling the sandbags down the hill. Throwing one on his shoulder and dragging another behind, he starts moving them under Milk's direction.

Seeing Minh stretching he smiles and asks,"I don't suppose there's a chiropractor on board to tend to everyone after this detail. And I thought patrolling the deck was boring."

Hicks stares hard at the back of the departing CIA man, his eyes narrow and mean. He turns and looks at Bayer, then slumps as the tension slips away. "Ah, fuck it, man, it don't mean nothin'. Don't mean nothin'". He slings his rifle and heads down to the semi-sunk PBR, wading out to climb aboard. He sits on the fantail, shoulders slumped down as he sits and smokes.

"Yeah, a meatball sub would really hit the spot right now. I have a feeling if ya ask the doc to make one though, you'd more than likely get a right hook in the jaw instead. She's definitely got a chip on her shoulder."



"Me too. I'm worried about her- and, like you said, not just about the wounds. But maybe working with spooks so much lately has made me a bit paranoid."

Milk excuses himself as Switek requests a private word. The pair move off beyond earshot of the others and converse at length in lowered voices.

[Private to Stanislaw Switek: "I'm not sure what I should call you... Father, Buddha, Stan? Anyways my friend, we owe you big time. Your man's heroics with the RPG really saved our bacon.

"Man, where to begin? OK, you already know that I'm working for the civilian government of the United States. I won't go into how I got hooked up with them right now. What you want to know is that your sacrifices have not been in vain. I hope not, I really do. When you hear what my mission is, you can decide for yourself.

"I'm carrying something that could literally change the world- make it better. Your countrymen created it but we both know that it couldn't work here- in Poland, I mean. There's just too much fucking chaos- sorry father. Ever heard of Cold Fusion? That pipe dream that people would step up and claim to have discovered every few years, only for it to turn out to be a fraud? Your people did it! I mean, they designed a working cold fusion reactor. We- Milgov SPECOPS actually- stole it- the plans at least- and blew up the prototype before the Soviets got their hands on it. The strike team that did it got bushwhacked though, before they could get it out. No one knows really what happened but somehow, the plans turned up in Krakow and my CIA "boss" got his hands on it.

"I've got it- RESET- the plans for a way to generate almost unlimited clean energy. This could be the key to rebuilding civilization. Milgov would use it to continue prosecuting this war. Civgov will use it to start over. Of course, when this war is over, we'll share it with our friends. I really believe that. I could really use your help right not. We could really use your help. My mission is not over- not by a long shot. If I don't get this RESET to people who can do it- and use it for good- then all of this- your friend's deat, the others... It'll all be in vain." Clarence looks hard into Switek's eyes for a few long seconds before continuing, "That's it in a nutshell."]
This message was last edited by the player at 00:33, Thu 07 Feb 2008.

After the funeral services conclude, the team continues working on stengthening the tug's passive defenses. [Tadeuz, Adam, Luboslaw, and Griet have returned to the tug.]

Snowy lugs the appropriate cutting equipment ashore and sets about dismantling the MTLB. Fortunately, the thin-skinned APC/artillery tractor wasn't fully fueled or loaded with much in the way of ammunition, so it didn't burn. Cutting sections of the armor plate would be difficult and not terribly economical in terms of time or energy expended (from either man or machine), so he starts by cutting away the bolts and hinges that hold the undamaged armored doors and hatches in place. After two hours of work, Snow has harvested a rather heavy pile of armored pieces. It's not the thickest or most hi-tech stuff, but it should stop small arms fire.

OOC: Driver's Plate: Oval 36"x 20", cut of rivets and cut, medium job.
Front vision hatches: 18" X 10" easy job, just cut the bolts of the hinges.
2 x Crew Hatches: Oval, 18"x18" easy job.
2 x Passenger Hatches: Square, 36" x 36" easy job.
2 x Rear passenger doors: Rectangular, 36" x 40".

Several track links are also recovered. Snowy intends to fasten them to the tug's bridge exterior to add some extra protection.

The others, meanwhile, working together in relays, pile a few dozen sandbags on the barge. Most of the mound has already been allocated to the construction of a low parapet for the ZU-23-2. The balance of the sandbags awaits distribution around other parts of the tug.

As the sun approaches it's zenith, final preparations for the Krolowa's departure commence.

Actions?

[Private to Dawid Waldus Piotrowski; Jay 'Chopper' Hicks: Guys, I thought the "PBR" was still 2km downstream from the Krolowa. Do you guys intend to walk or take one of the zodiacs there?]
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:00, Thu 07 Feb 2008.

John continues too sleep. He worked hard!