The alpha brawler finally connects, landing a punch to Jan's stomach. The Czech successfully fights the urge to drop his hands and double over, but the pain is jarring and it takes every ounce of willpower to resist. Blood up, the Russian leader keeps coming. Jan kicks out at his antagonist's legs; he connects, but not with enough force to do much damage or throw the man off balance. The alpha cocks his right arm in preparation for another haymaker. (Jan sustains 4 temporary damage to torso.)

Tucker lashes out at the man standing over him raining down blows. Under the circumstances, it's nearly impossible to focus on a specific target and, sure enough, Tucker misses. His hands and arms are still up and taking a pummeling, but so far Tuck's been able to keep any of his attackers' punches from connecting with his more essential body parts.

Left with one good wheel, Anders' opponent is essentially out of the fight, so the Finn looks to focus his violence elsewhere. Tucker's plight immediately catches his attention. Anders pivots, pushes off, and launches himself at Tuck's attacker, plowing the Russian bully down to the ground and landing in the top position.

Still tasting blood, Craig throws a straight right to the body of his opponent and connects, causing just enough damage to keep the attack window open. Noting the Russian's wide-legged stance, Craig launches a quick punt kick at his crotch. The Russian can't close his legs or get his hands down in time to block the blow, and the toe of Craig's boot crunches up against scrotum. With a gasp and moan, the Russian crumples to the ground, where he curls up and clutches his pulverized gonads.

Realizing the urgent need to swing the numbers in her party's favor, Lizzie follows up her successful second kick with a devastating third. Lashing out with a vicious left round kick, she connects with power, shin against skull. The man instantly goes stiff and falls hard to his side, eyes rolled back into his head. It occurs to Lizzie that she may have just killed the man.

Seeing her teammate go three-for-three with kicks, Ana decides to go for one of her own. In an effort to contain the escalating violence level of the street fight, she dials back on the application of force. Focusing on the man who'd punched her in the fight's opening round (he's currently getting back to his feet after Lizzie's earlier leg kick and Ana's subsequent body check), she aims center mass and focuses on placement over power. When her bootlaces connect with the man's chest just below his left armpit, she can feel his ribs give. He drops back down, gasping, to lie on his right side.

Konrad is laying on top of his opponent, trying desperately to keep him down. The man's fighting back with all he's got, trying to buck the German off and reverse the position, whilst simultaneously trying to get a hold of Konrad's wrists in order to keep from being pounded out. The man is thrashing about so much, that Konrad can't get free to posture up and do some damage with ground strikes. He's effectively locked in stalemate.

Mariusz, knowing his limits, removes himself further from the brawl, instead attempting to make small talk with the Soviet army woman.

Tactical Summary
B1: Currently engaged with Jan; unscathed
B2: Unengaged; down with cracked ribs, courtesy of Ana
B3: Down after kick to groin by Craig
B4: Disabled (hyperextended left knee w/ probable ligament/tendon damage) by Anders
B5: KTFO by Lizzie (head kick)
B6: Tackled and grappled by Anders (formerly unleashing ground and pound on Tucker)
B7: Engaged with Konrad; currently grappled/grappling from the bottom position
B8: Unengaged; guarding his comrades' rifles

---

Jurgen is in a bad mood. He's clearly worried that he's in some sort of trouble with the Soviet garrison, so he's reluctant to speak with Griet, especially in the presence of Red Army soldiers. It takes quite a bit of reassuring to talk him down. Griet leads him to a quiet corner of the dock, behind one of the other vessels moored there.

"You're sure they didn't say anything about me? OK, then, but if I get in any trouble..."

A few more conciliatory words and Griet has the harbormaster refocused.

"Weapons? Like rifles? No. Not a chance. Any deals for weapons are done here- they're not allowed in town, period. Only the town militia and the Ivans are allowed to carry, and only then unloaded. I can get an ORMO rep down here, if you'd like to sell some guns, but that's it."

Seeing Griet's displeasure with this news registering on her face, Jurgen leans in closer and lowers his voice.

"I'm not telling you this, OK? They don't usually pat people down- the authorities, I mean. If you can carry it under your coat, you can probably get away with it. Just don't give them a reason to check you out."

Slightly mollified, Griet follows up by pursuing Scully's line of questioning.

"Pretty much all of the cafes that are still in business are right off the main square in the old town. You can probably watch the place right from the market. There are tall buildings all around the square, but I don't know right off hand which ones, if any, are empty."


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:38, Wed 01 July 2015.

Anders does his best to turn the tackle and grapple in to a stranglehold with his lower arms, to either cause his opponent to submit or to take his lights out without causing too much damage. With the 6' tall and not a featherweight Finn having crashed in to the Russian like a torpedo, Anders estimates his chances of success reasonable due to the potential stun effect on his opponent due to the crash. His arms maneuver around the man's neck from both front and behind, imitating a large constrictor snake.

Spiting the blood that had a accumulated in his mouth Craig looked to anyone who needed a hand. He did not approach the Russian near the weapons as he did not want to give the guy any reason to fire on them. Jan looked to be having an issue with the main dick of the group of Russians and if the leader lands any additional hits on the French guy Craig would step up. He scoops some dirt from the road in his left hand as he moves closer to Jan.

If there was an opportunity to king hit one of the Russians who looked to be getting the upper hand of his team mates on the ground he would. Otherwise Craig looked to see if there little tussle had garnered the attention of additional Russians.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:00, Tue 30 June 2015.

Tucker finally gets some relief from his attacker when a blur of Anders, he thinks, goes by him with the Russian who was trying to whoop the dog shit out of him.  He seizes the break and pushes up with his pummeled arms and body and goes to a standing defensive position.  He looks around to see that everything is pretty much well in hand except for Jan needing the most help at the moment.  He tries to move in close enough to give Jan some relief like he was afforded.  "We done here?" Robert says in simple Polish to the Russian.

Scully stands with Niewiadomska, his hands buried in the pockets of the Polish Army parka he's wearing, the collar turned up against the chill coming in of the river. His makeshift disguise is completed by the Czech camo trousers he'd borrowed from Cerny before the merc had gone ashore.

The SEAL's Polish isn't up to catching any more than a few words here and there, so as the Polish tug skipper provides a translation the tall American concentrates on watching the harbor master, trying to ascertain his mood from his body language, looking for any obvious signs that the other man is lying.

When the Pole pauses Scully nods. He'd hoped for a little more information, but at least they knew a more than they had before they'd spoken to him. And the conversation about weapons had been interesting. The SEAL nods to the harbor master. "Dziękuję."

He then turns to Niewiadomska, indicates with a gesture of his head that they should maybe step back a pace, away from her countryman. "Even if I wear that coat that the Commander found I doubt if I'll be able to hide the fact that I'm carrying a fully loaded battle rifle and Forrest Gump's likely to have the same problem with his Tantal." If she's missed the kid's Empire Strikes Back reference he reckons she probably wont follow the Forrest Gump one either. " Sergeant Phillips." he adds as an afterthought.

"I can take my Mossberg but it's a close in weapon. And I'm light on ammo. Do you have anything smaller we can borrow, that might be easier to conceal? A Skorpion, an AKR, anything like that? One for me and one for Phillips?" He fixes his grey eyes on the Polish woman, looks right at her. "As you're going to be there as well, it's in your interests as well as ours that we're ready for any trouble. And if the shit does hit the fan we're deniable from your point of view - the only person that knows that you are anything to do with us is Jurgen."

He then shrugs his shoulders. "And if you do have any spare weapons I figure you may as well take ol' Jurgen here up on his offer of having someone stop by and make you an offer."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:17, Tue 30 June 2015.

"If you could make the arrangements, I'd be grateful. Tell the rep that he may be surprised by what we have on offer to the right buyer."

Once they were out of earshot of the locals, Griet led the Americans back to the tug, "I'm not entirely sure a couple of hold out weapons are going to help if we get into a situation, but Kaptain Bayer and Commander Kane can discuss it with you. Come with me and I'll show you the weapons locker, knowing its contents will give you more of an opportunity to formulate a plan even if it isn't used."

She opened up the locker to display their collection of weapons, gathered over a series of bloody battles.

"Well, the idea is to not get into a situation in the first place. Believe me, it's not my preferred option, but neither is getting caught walking around town loaded for bear before we even get near the cafe. It would have been better if he had come here." He shrugs as he looks at the collection of firearms. "I'm open to alternative suggestions."  The SEAL looks over at Phillips. "Any thoughts, Sarge?"

"Until we get a crystal ball all we can do is hedge our bets and hope we make the right choices."

She pointed at the weapons, "There are three AKSUs as well as a pair of sub-machineguns, a Heckler and Koch and an Uzi. The sniper rifles all look a little big, even the bullpup SVD and Tucker's ugly ass gun he calls an M14K. We could detach a BG-1 grenade launcher if you want and we have an unattached M203 but I'm not sure how many rounds we have for it. Take a look and you are welcome to base any plans you take to Bayer and Kane on them or anything else you can see in the locker."

Once they had seen all thy needed to, Griet locked up the locker and returned to the bridge, "Griet to Sunray, events are developing here. I need you back before eleven thirty. If you need to abort your mission for that, do so."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:05, Wed 01 July 2015.

"Oh, we're waiting for Konrad.  Gotcha," Phillips said.  He turned and walked back to whatever stateroom they had been assigned and took a nap.  Turns out he was a very deep sleeper.

As Eric snoozed, his Poncho and Shelter-half started to argue about who was tougher.  The Poncho was really tired of the Shelter-half’s shit.  First off, the argument was stupid to begin with because the Poncho was just a poncho, but the Shelter-half was like a warlord, commanding poles, ties, and stakes. I mean, why could he not see that?  It’s because he’s dirt stupid, the Poncho surmised.  The Shelter Half was made of oil impregnated canvas… stupid to the core.  I mean, if you filled your head with petrochemicals, you’d be fuct too.  Not that the Poncho had anything against petrochemicals.  I mean, she was made of nylon, which was made from petroleum, but that was different.  The Poncho was pure and made from 100% nylon. Not some miscegenation of cotton and oil.  That was the Shelter-half’s problem.  It was an abomination.  And now that abomination once again wanted to argue about who was tougher.

The problem with arguing with morons is that they suck you down to their level and then beat you with experience.  He doesn’t even know what tensile strength is but wants to argue about whose tougher.  You have got to be shitting me!

And every time he gets that stupid flat-affect look on his face when I bring up the word tensile.  He still hasn’t bothered to look it up.  Die in a fire you stupid fifty-percent solution!

What Poncho had failed to realize was that Shelter-half only argued with her because he had a crush on her.  Shelter-half was fairly young, having been acquired less than a year ago, and therefore he was somewhat immature.  He felt something for Poncho, but didn’t have enough life experience to express it in a more appropriate way.  So there were going to be a few more arguments in store for Poncho and Shelter-half.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:18, Tue 30 June 2015.

Griet put the radio handset down and poured out some more tea. She added a mug full for Scully an sat down.

She sighed,"Our options are limited at the moment by our engines. We can barely make any headway and are limited to drifting with the current. That doesn't make for much of a chance of shooting our way out if the deal goes south. I don't like the idea of going in without guns and I don't like the idea of hanging yourself out to dry if you are discovered, although it is a noble offer. If we decide that is the best option, I won't like it but I will accept it."

She looked over at the SEAL and sipped some of the weak tea, more hot water than flavour, "The General's messenger had a point, if they were going to screw us over they would have done it by now but that doesn't mean he's not playing some sick mind games with us. So, what options do you think we have?"

"Could we break down one of the sniper rifles in the time we have? That would give you more flexibility. We have a range of smoke grenades too if that will help your planning."

Jan sucked up the pain from the blow to his stomach and tried to dodge past the haymaker his opponent was lining up, intending on throwing back a classic direct bras arrière counter punch in return, the instant the man's defence was open.  His opponent had obviously been drinking and an all or nothing wild swing like a haymaker was liable to open him up to the straight cross punch.

It was a manoeuvre that Jan had taught in classes in the Legion so he hoped that it would connect, though he appeared to be rather rusty at present.

"Jelena", the woman smiled back at him, continuing to watch the fight and wincing at the some of the nastier connections, "I am glad to be of limited assistance".

From the sound of her voice, Jelena didn't sound at all Russian... possibly another Soviet nationality?

When her shin impacts on her target's skull, Lizzie's first reaction is an emphatic oh yeah! that has her basking in the adrenaline fueled glow of successful combat.  That initial reaction is followed half a second later by an oh shit! as the realization of the damage done in the the attack and what the long term repercussions could be.  Drunken street fights are one thing, but actually beating a man to death in the middle of one can only lead to very bad places, complete with attention and revenge.  Her shin throbs in sympathy with the Russian's head.  Bone on bone contact hurts.

Given that it appears that the street fight has tilted decisively into the hands of the Queen's crew, Lizzie drops along side her target and rolls him over trying to make sure that the man is still breathing.  His neck is still moving at all the correct angles, which Lizzie interprets as a good sign.  The impact looks to have knocked him clean out, a serious injury to be sure, but hopefully not life threatening.  It's not that she would feel terrible for killing the guy, it's that life would become that much more difficult.

Lizzie bends over and begins a one arm drag of the man towards the eighth and, for now, unoccupied member of the Russian goon squad.  She doesn't drag him far.  Ten feet maybe, just enough to make it clear he is out of the fight, but not so far as to look like she's making a move on the weapons.

"Your friend is hurt," she tells the last man in crisp Russian.  "He needs your help."  Maybe they won't look like total dickheads for her shot.  She backs away and evaluates the fight, ready to intervene where necessary.

Once again, Jan manages to avoid the alpha brawler's wild, looping punch but, this time, the Czech doesn't squander the opportunity to retaliate. His straight right cross catches the big Russian in the side of the head, just in front of his left ear. The alpha's legs turn to rubber and he stumbles sideways, stunned. Shaking his head and blinking repeatedly, he tries to clear the cobwebs from his rattled brain. He surveys the small urban battlefield. Four of his boys are down and effectively out. Two more are engaged in grappling matches on the cobbled street. Tucker arrives, making it two against one for the Russian gang leader. He's not drunk or concussed enough not to realize that the jig is up. If he doesn't stop this now, he knows that he's going to get his ass kicked.

"Enough! Enough!", he slurs, calling his dogs off.

The leaders' calls slowly register with those of his men still fighting. The two grapplers are somewhat loathe to stop at this point, both just having managed to take the advantage in their respective grappling contests (Konrad's opponent is now in the top position; Anders has just gone from choker to chokee).

As they ease up and look around, it's clear to the Russians that their gang is in no shape to continue the fight, not with any realistic hope of winning it, at least.

At this point, the fight breaks up quickly. The Russians still able to stay on their feet carry/drag their incapacitated comrades over to where their collected rifles are propped, but they make no effort to go for their weapons. There is honor among street fighters, apparently. They mill about in a loose knot, licking their wounds and trying to revive their still-unconscious friend. At least four of them should probably visit the hospital (i.e. blown knee, cracked rib, serious concussion, and possibly ruptured testicle).

Breathing hard, the alpha turns around and steps out of the gaggle of Red Army soldiers, a glinting object in his hand.

"Good fight." he says, holding out a clear glass bottle (no label) of clear liquid. "Welcome to Grudziaz."

Konrad notices that a call's coming in over his radio. Griet's voice leaks from the tiny speaker, "Griet to Sunray, events are developing here. I need you back before eleven thirty. If you need to abort your mission for that, do so."


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:59, Wed 01 July 2015.

Scully's first act on returning to the bridge is press the transmit button on his own radio so he can relay the message to return to the boat directly to his people rather than have to go through the mercs. "Polaris One Six Actual, Polaris Seven Seven. How copy, over?"

He then turns to Niewiadomska whilst he awaits a response from the shore party. "A sniper rifle is a possibility if we can set up an overwatch somewhere. The problem is none of us have had eyes on the ground, so we don't know whether that will be doable or not. Smoke grenades might be useful as well if we need a diversion." He shrugs. "We may need to consider two teams, one in the market, one on overwatch."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:54, Wed 01 July 2015.

"That sounds about right," Griet agreed about the sniper rifle, "It was just one of the options. Whatever is decided we'll make the best of it."

Robert will drop his defensive stance when the Russians all gather back up and the bottle is extended out to the group.  He looks and waits for a second before stepping forward to take a swig from the bottle.  "Da!  Nosdrovya," he cheers them and takes a small swig from the bottle.

Ana is closing on Anders' opponent from behind when the Russian ringleader decides he's had enough.  She does a quick 360º scan to make sure everyone got the message, then innocently makes the still-collapsed baton disappear again.

Confirming that the fight is over and that her partner is unscathed, she steps up beside Tuck and takes the bottle from him.  "Not bad for something you brewed in the back of the garage," she appraises its contents after a sniff and a drink, then grins widely.  "Now, about that lunch one of you was going to buy me..."

Lizzie is taking her turn from the bottle when the radio in her ear chirps to life.  Instead of answering right away, she lets the moonshine burn it's way down her esophagus and hopefully not deposit methanol in her veins.  It's poison, but in the best possible way.  She builds a little distance between herself and any convenient witnesses that might overhear the English transmissions.

"Polaris Seven, Six Actual has you lickin' chicken.  Go." Clearly the alcohol and the fight hit her adrenal system harder than she had figured.  The naval officer listens as Scully lays out what has been going on back at the boat while they shore party has been making friends and influencing people.  More than likely, Lizzie concludes, Griet is filling the Hauptmann in to the same information and telling them to head back.

There aren't a lot of options.  When a Russian general, or any general for that matter, wants to talk, you talk.  If only to find out what a general thinks is so damn important that he needs you to grace his presence.  Same applies to admirals, really.

"Polaris Seven, take Polaris Gump. Recon and secure the site.  We will return to the boat and appraise you of any changes.  I will update King on this end, over."

Lizzie readjusts her clothes to conceal the radio as much as possible, then moseys over to Konrad, still buzzing slightly from the fight.  She gives the man a quick update on her deployment of resources before asking the obvious question: "So if a Russian wants to deal, we deal?"

Tucker enjoys the burning taste of the moonshine liquor from the unmarked bottle and it takes a little of the sting out of his arms and forearms for a second as his body begins to relax.  After she passes the bottle off to the next person, he turns to Ana, "I'm goin' to start hanging out with the SEAL's more.  You two handle yourselves pretty fuckin' good!"

He will then go over to Konrad and help him up and check on him.  "Some fuckin' welcome wagon huh boss? 

Craig waves off the alcohol pointing to his bloody mouth. The sting was not something he was willing to take unless there was a lot more of the stuff. He waits for the others before moving off in search of the parts they need.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:57, Thu 02 July 2015.

"Shit, I'm just an innocent Chicago girl who wanted a comfortable government job with a nice pension plan," Ana rejoins.  "How's the arm?"

"I'm callin' bullshit and the arms are killing me.  Could've been worse."

Scully relaxes slightly. he had been pent up wondering what had been happening ashore, but Kane’s message, both the words and the tone that they are delivered in, serves as a reassurance to the SEAL that everything is under control. Not that he should ever have really doubted that Lizzie Kane and Ana Kovac would not have things under control.

"Understood, Six. Will do. Squelch if you need to make contact. Seven Actual out." Scully pauses a moment, looks out at the dockside. It feels slightly surreal to see a cordon of Soviet soldiers standing guard, and the way that they are positioned suggests that they expect any threat to come from the town rather than the vessel. He shrugs, keys the mike again. "Titan One, Polaris Seven. We got orders. Stand by to move in ten. We’re going ashore. Polaris out."

The SEAL then turns to Niewiadomska. "Apologies, Captain, you're going to have to excuse me. The Commander wants me and the Sergeant to carry out a recon of the meeting site beforehand, so I'll see you later." He places the mug down. "Thanks for the tea."

The tall American then leaves the bridge, makes his way down into the superstructure, heading for the cabin that his team has been allocated. "Hey Sarge" he says, nodding to Phillips. "Boss wants us to take a run ashore. Neither she nor I are overly happy about the idea of showing up to this meeting blind. We’re going to try and get eyes on the ground first so grab what you need and let's go. Let’s stick to our own gear for now, so I'd suggest sidearms only, concealed, unless you’re packing something small and easy to hide?” He grins. ”I would  stick my Mossberg under that Red Army greatcoat that the boss found, but then I’d feel obliged to go running around town looking for Sarah Connor. Oh, and by the way, my Polish is seriously shit so are you OK to do the talking if I act like your ignorant and not too bright buddy?"

While the Green Beret replies Scully begins to put together the kit he plans to take ashore. He’s still wearing Cerny’s Czech camo trousers and his black fleece, over which he’ll don his Polish camo parka. On his head he wears the black watch cap, and his hands and face are still smeared with the oil he’d used to try and disguise himself in the machine shop.

Reluctantly he decides to leave his body armor and assault vest, though not before laying the latter out on the bunk and transferring several items to his pockets. Other items from the vest go into his butt pack, which he intends to take with him. If anyone does query what is inside the pack his alibi – or, more accurately, the alibi Phillips will give – is that he intends to trade what it contains at the market, which, in the case of some of the contents, is true.

The last thing he needs to deal with is his sidearm, for he has no intention of going into some podunk Polish town that is ostensibly occupied by – if not under the de facto control of - the Red Army without some form of weapon, particularly given the harbour master’s information. Scully just hopes it’s accurate as he removes his holster, draws his M1911, places it down on the bunk with its solitary spare magazine. The SEAL looks over at Phillips, shrugs. ”Fourteen rounds. Going kinetic is our last resort, but I guess if the shit does go down we better make every shot count. Take down a couple of Ivans and try and get their AK’s?” It's phrased as half statement, half question.

Extracting an olive drab thermal shirt of the type issued  by the British and Norwegian Armies amongst others from his pack, he then wraps the pistol and spare magazine up in it to try and disguise the shape and bulk, then puts the shirt in the pocket of his parka, gives it a pat. ”I guess that’ll have to do.” he murmurs, before turning to the fourth pack, rummaging around in it as well, looking for more items to add to his impromptu trade pack. Once he’s satisfied that he has everything he wants he slings the olive drab M1967 fieldpack over his left shoulder, turns to the Green Beret. ”We good to go?”

When they disembark Scully wont actively seek any engagement with the Russian soldiers providing the security cordon, but if any of them make eye contact with him he’ll hold their gaze, nod his head and offer up a dobry dzień without stopping walking. His manner and demeanour are confident,  that of a man who has every right to be where he is.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 12:39, Thu 02 July 2015.