Eric kept his hands up and proceeded forward purposefully, but not aggressively.  He nodded at the instructions, but didn't say much at this point.  He was unsure of the tactical situation regarding the flankers and didn’t want to draw them any closer to this group than he already had.

As he approached Bayer, he glanced down at his sidearm and gave another nod.  He knew they would likely disarm him; it’s exactly what he would do if the roles were reversed.  Phillips complied with any instructions given, hoping to quickly pass into ostensibly friendly lines, without getting shot.

"Understood, Hauptmann," comes Thijs' reply.  He then scans the area for any additional activity or presence of potential hostiles.

Mariusz kept in cover as they finished loading up the Princess. The situation a the docks was a little confusing to him. That wasn't unusual. He waited for the others to decide if they were transiting to the Queen or staying put.

"It'll take about ten minutes or more to get to the Queen and unload. Longer to get back. That's along time in a fire fight." He pointed out.

Scully has shifted over to make room for Kane, settled down into a low crouch and using what's left of the wall for cover as she uses his radio to make contact with the unknown vessel sitting in the river, the man from the Monongahela Valley giving the Commander brief updates, both of them working together, as a team, he the eyes, she the ears and voice. His commentary is terse, concise, passing on the information that she needs with the minimum of words.

"Titan has made contact with the tug's shore party." His head moves slightly, enough to shift from the presumed American to his pursuers. "Eyes on three hostiles, others have gone to ground in the woods." They're all out of range of any of the team's weapons of course, so for the moment at least they are unable to do anything more than observe. There is no notable change in Scully's demeanour, but inwardly he is frustrated. If the man calling himself Titan is who he claims to be then he's one of their own. It's their duty to help him. That's the way it works. So the SEAL has gone from being an uninterested spectator to someone with a vested interest in what's going down by the side of the river.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:03, Mon 08 June 2015.

It looked like Robert had done his part and got the pursuers to stop their advance.  He keys up the radio and transmits before moving. "This is Tuck.  Making my way back to the extraction point unlesss you need me here over?"    If not needed here anymore, Tucker will begin to zig-zag his way back to their extraction point stopping about half way to check on any pursuit.

Bayer reaches for the handset clipped to the vest. He didn't need two hands on his weapon with Quyen and Van Lincklaen with him. "King, roger. Hold in position... we will extract with you. ETA three minutes. Out." he says, acknowledging the update. Bayer then crouches back into cover, having gotten the approaching American's attention.



Bayer replies, "King. Copy your last Tuck, but hold position for one more minute then fall back to the boat. Out." Still holding the handset he then transmits a quick message to the other flank, "Jan, this is King. Fall back to the boat in one minute. Copy that?"



Bayer clips his radio handset back onto his vest and then holds the outstretched hand to Phillips. "Rifle... for now." he explains, accepting the weapon when it's turned over to him. He does the same for the sidearm. Bayer then makes a motion back towards the other party, now out of sight, and asks, "Are they with the town over there? Swiecie? Are they from there?" Following Eric's answer, Bayer gestures for the man to follow him through the boat yard and back to the Princess. "Come on... we have a boat. I am Konrad Bayer."

"Quyen with me... Van Lincklaen, keep to the rear."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:37, Mon 08 June 2015.

"Sergeant Eric Phillips, ODA 043, 10th Special Forces Group," Philips says by way of abbreviated introduction.

"The junior varsity team behind me?  No.  They are 2nd PFL, out of Tleń.  There are no forces in Swiecie.  At least not that our intel shop knew about.  That's why I came here.  It seemed like the best place to lay low and figure out what to do next."  As Eric spoke, he fell in with the others as they made their way back to the boat.

"I really thought I lost these guys back in Bedlinki," he added.  He certainly didn't intend to inflict these six numbnuts on the poor villagers of Swiecie.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:47, Tue 09 June 2015.

When the radio call from Titan fades out, Lizzie does what anyone with little tech training in radio operations trouble shooting does: she looks to make sure her radio is on, checks the battery indicator, and thumps the body of the thing against the desk twice.  Just to be sure.  At least Mark is able to fill her in on what he sees happening in the distance and their Spec Ops "friend" wasn't shot on contact with the shore party.

If their position was precarious as it is, she might have been willing to let the situation go.  If they didn't need to get to the Baltic, she might wish Titan all the best and slide away into the shadows.  But she could see Mark working his grinding teeth in that way that indicates that he wants to do something. And they need to be in the north, soon.  For all of that, Lizzie takes a chance.  After all, they have the operating frequency.

"Queen, this is Polaris, I understand you might be willing to help NATO forces.  Are you interested in meeting for a little negotiation?"

Lizzie turns back to the other two people in the hide.  "Wrack your brain people, surely we have something we can offer up in the UAZ.  Other than two sets of great legs and one beef and brawn invasion."

Griet shook her head, you wait around to meet NATO foces for ages and then two turn up all at once, typical, "Polaris, this is Queen. That depends on the help you require. We can always talk about it though. Hook up with my shore party and we can discuss issues. As a hint, food is always a welcome incentive."

Scully continues to watch the unfolding scene as he listens to Kane. He understands her line of thinking, for despite his best efforts to keep it running, the UAZ that they had appropriated was unlikely to get them much more than another five klicks before it gave up the ghost for good, at which point they would need to either revert back to travelling on foot or try and steal another form of transport, each of which had its own drawbacks. But the SEAL also has reservations about the tug sitting in the river.

”They’ve said they’re not ours. Presuming they’re not Russian either that makes them independent.” He’s still watching the riverbank as he speaks. In a best case scenario independent was just another way of saying stragglers, cut off from their parent units and doing what they had to do to survive. But at worst it could mean deserters. Pirates.

”We’ve got jack in the jeep Ma’am.” He lowers the binos slightly, turns his head towards the Commander, pauses for a moment. ”But if they’re freelancers there is a way that we might be able to trade with them if they need more shooters. We could try and market our skills.” Scully shrugs, nods pointedly at his G3. He’s effectively talking about becoming guns for hire, mercenaries. At least until they get a bit closer to the Baltic. ”And then there’s the matter of our friend upriver. But I reckon we should keep that to ourselves for now. We might need an ace up our sleeve for later. Just in case they’re pirates.”

Quyen remains hidden until Phillips is nearly on top of their position. "Here. Just in case." she says quietly to Thijs (handing him the borrowed radio). She then rises and keeps her rifle trained on the man while Bayer accepts his weapons. Quyen then waits until both step off and then she follows, keeping back several meters.

"King.  Jan copies.  Out," he replied over the radio.  It sounded like things were getting interesting over on the other side of the perimeter but Jan waited the full minute in his position, just in case there was something that had been missed.

Once the minute was up he cautiously moved back to join the others, well aware that there was now a serious risk of a Blue on Blue incident if he wasn't careful.  As he started to get close to the ferryboat yard, where he believed the others might be, he made use of the radio.

"Jan to all station.  Approaching landing now from east.  Out."

In reply to Konrad Bayer (msg # 79):

"Good copy King.  One Mike and exfil.  Continue harassing fire or hold?"  If given the green light to continue harassing fire or holds tight and observes the movement before making his way back to the boat after a sixty count.

About an hour passes. During that time...

Tucker watches as the pursuit team on the left (west) gets up and runs away, heading northeast. A couple of minutes later, the second team, out on the right (east) joins them from the woods. Reunited and out of effective small arms range, they slow to a brisk walk and together move towards Swiecie proper, stopping every so often to glass the woods near the river through a pair of binoculars passed hand-to-hand. Satisfied that this small partisan force is no longer a threat to the tug or its Kommando, Tucker heads back towards the riverbank, as per Konrad's earlier instructions.

With the danger diminished, the scrounging team is released to transport the first load of salvage to the tug. Loaded with scrap, only two passengers/crew (maximum) can be accommodated on the trip back. After unloading the construction materials, the Princess returns to receive the second boatload of hatches, roofing tin, and pipe, which, in the interim, the others have managed to carry, wheel, and drag from the ferry boat yard to the riverbank. Gryzyech remains on board to supervise the unloading on the tug end.

After watching the shore party for a while longer, the three American special operators of Team Polaris decide to take a chance and head for the anchorage for a face-to-face meeting with the tug crew, sparing their rapidly draining radio batteries in the process. Nothing about the party from the tug's behavior has given the Americans cause for alarm but it's still a leap of faith. They collect their gear and pile aboard a dented, mud-spattered, rust streaked UAZ-469 which, thankfully, starts (albeit after much protesting). They have to backtrack a bit, driving southwest, towards the river but away from the tug, for about 3 miles, before doubling back and following the river past barren fields for another 3 miles or so to the ferry yard. The needle on UAZ's fuel gauge dips further past empty on the short trip to the rendezvous. Running on fumes, the UAZ pulls into the dirt lot on the east side of the ferry yard (near Jan's OP).

Present Time (1530 hours):

Three not-yet-acquainted groups stand beneath the trees near the riverbank ferryboat yard, sizing one another up. The most recent arrivals have just climbed out of a battered UAZ, two women and a man, Americans all. Across from them, looking on wearily, the bulk of the Queen's Kommando. Although they no longer self-identify as being part of a NATO unit, over half of them originally hail from NATO armies. There's a German (Bayer), the de facto leader, two Americans (Tuck and Minh), a Brit (Sutherland), and a Dutchman (Thijs). Somewhat surprisingly, there's only one Pole among them, a young man possibly still in his late teens (Mariusz), although there may be more still on board the tug. Most unusual are the other non-Polish, non-former NATO personnel, a Czech (Cerny) and a Finn (Anders). This motley crew, although vaguely piratical in terms of outward appearance, certainly doesn't comport itself like cutthroats, although one never can be too sure in this day and age. Somewhat reassuring, there's one woman present ashore, and at least one aboard the tug. The third party, a not-quite-willing guest of the tug crew, consists of only one man, a U.S. Special Forces weapons sergeant by the name of Eric Phillips, until recently attached to the 2nd Polish Free Legion as a combat advisor.

From the tug, Griet calls ashore to advise her teammates to expect company. Towards the riverside quorum the two horsemen from Swiecie Castle, big and little, ride, this time, at a slightly quicker clip. They're still a little over a kilometer away from the landing. You have a few minutes to get acquainted before they arrive.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:58, Wed 10 June 2015.

Jan, like many of the Kommandos, seemed to be extremely well armed and equipped, carrying an AK-74 rifle with an underslung BG-15 grenade launcher and wearing a kevlar vest under a Lifchik chest harness with a grenade belt fastened to it, all of the pouches apparently full of spare mags and grenades.  Attached to the harness was a personal radio of some kind and this was all rounded out with a kevlar helmet.  He certainly seemed to be someone who had done a good job of gathering gear for himself.

From his position to one side of the ferryboat yard where, though he wasn't pointing a his rifle at the latest group of new arrivals, it was clear he was covering them in case something went wrong, Jan studied them each in turn.  They had met a lot of very strange people in their time travelling on the river and he wasn't about to start taking chances and let his guard drop.  More Americans who were still fighting the war could bring a lot of trouble with them.

"Who you and what you wish?" he called out in accented English.  "If you wish trade we have some for trade.  Need food if you have?"

Lizzie knows what her father would say if he was staring at the assembled poster of multi-cultural militarism.  Instead of lowering herself to his abrasive standards, she settles for humming It's a Small World, just loudly enough for her companions to overhear.  The crew from the tug looks rough and hungry, clearly used and cared for weapons available, but not threatening.  That, at least, is a good sign.  The lack of formal uniforms doesn't bother her.  Her little group doesn't exactly follow military standards either. It's the goddamn United Nations over there. A Mercenary UN, she amended.

Mark's reservations are justified.  She doesn't know what the situation with the tug is.  They could be pawns in someone else's game, marauders in disguise, or like her team, deep in their own private mission.  Maybe it didn't matter.  Titan was still alive, by the looks of the mostly disarmed American that was giving her the same appraising glare everyone else was.  Another vote in that the shore party might be trustworthy.  Against her better judgement, and Mark's silent yet emphatic protests, Lizzie pops her helmet off and raises her mirror shades up onto her brown hair.

"I'm Lieutenant Commander Kane, United States Navy," she says, tone light and a genuine million dollar smile plastered to her face.  "I wish we had food to trade.  As it is, we're going to be chewing on tree bark ourselves pretty soon.  What we do have is reasonably recent intelligence on what lies north on the river.  That and a particular skill set for dark and dangerous missions that we might be willing to share."

Her smile gets even wider. "What we need is a ride."

Craig crouches at the edge of the river to wash his hands and remove some of the grime and old rust caking them. The retrieval of the salvage completed he slings his rifle and joins the others to look over the new arrivals.

He stays silent as they introduce themselves and he lets the others do the talking when it comes to negotiating passage on the tug. Once the conversation begins he keeps watch on the surroundings in case the Polish force tries its luck again.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:18, Wed 10 June 2015.

The other woman with LTC Kane is tall and broad-shouldered, with long blonde hair tucked untidily under a Chicago Cubs baseball cap.  The parts of her face visible under her aviator glasses appear to have been used hard and repaired without great attention to detail.  She's wearing faded jeans, a sage green flight jacket in the style issued to several NATO militaries, and a black plate carrier vest with a mismatched assortment of olive drab and woodland camo pouches.  An M4 carbine is slung across her chest but her right thumb is casually hooked into an ammo pouch, keeping her hand in the vicinity of a long-barreled revolver whose butt protrudes from a chest holster.

At the sound of approaching horses, she pivots to keep the tug's shore party in her field of view while scanning for the source of the noise.  The movement reveals a subdued American flag velcroed to her shoulder.  Upon sighting the two riders, she turns her mirror-lensed face back to Kane and whistles the first bars of All Along the Watchtower.

The slightly untidy Finn watched the new arrivals curiously, keeping the PKM machinegun in his hands ready for surprises. A navy blue sweater had only one epaulette left, but it sported two wide gold bands and a narrow one in between them, indicating an officer rank most likely. The sleeve also sported a national flag, a blue cross on a white background. He watched the newcomers, especially Lizzie, raising a brow slightly at the mention of navy. But despite of the inquisitive observing, the man did not seem willing to harm them without a good reason.

Scully stands by the UAZ. An inch under six feet tall, he’s now wearing standard US woodland BDU’s, having donned his jacket before they’d left the factory, rearranging his gear so that his Kevlar armor and assault vest are both worn over the jacket. The Kevlar is OD in color, the assault vest West German flecktarn. He’s chosen not to wear his PASGT helmet, instead attaching it to his vest, its place taken by a faded black ball cap that carries the logo of the Pittsburgh Steelers football team, his Oakley shades perched atop the cap. Anyone close enough to study his fatigues closely would note that they are utterly devoid of any visible insignia other than a lo visibility U.S. flag on his upper left arm.

His G3 rifle with attached grenade launcher is held in both hands, the various accoutrements that adorn his vest showing that he has ample ammunition for both. An automatic pistol sits snugly in a drop leg holster strapped to right thigh, the hilt of a knife protruding from a sheath attached to his vest. The barrel of his rifle is pointed downwards a fraction, his right index finger resting on receiver rather than trigger, a token attempt to comply with the instruction the Commander had given before they’d set off for this little get together to adopt a non threatening posture, but it’s clear from his general demeanour that Mark Scully is wary, and he’s making no particular attempt to hide the fact.

Unlike Kane he’s silent, unsmiling, his expression impassive, no warmth in his grey eyes as they study the other group, moving from one to the other in turn, feeling their own gaze on him in return. Fair enough, that was to be expected. He wonders if any other members of this group of mercs are lurking elsewhere, out of sight, their weapons trained on him and his two comrades. That was fair enough as well. Again, it’s what he would have done if he could.

There’s one member of the other group he holds eye contact with a fraction longer than any of the others though, the unarmed man in Polish camo, the one he presumes to be Titan. He, and he alone, gets a brief nod, a barely perceptible movement of the Navy SEAL's head before he catches Kovac’s movement in his peripheral vision, turns his head to see the two riders approaching. If he’s curious there’s no visible sign of it as he turns his attention back to the group of men and women opposite him.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:13, Wed 10 June 2015.

In reply to Cap'n Rae (msg # 87):

Tucker watches the six-person group that was in pursuit of the lone runner meet back up and move away from the area, obviously disappointed in their failure to capture their prey.  He waits a couple of more minutes, sets the chopped M-14 back to safe and moves off to meet the others on the river bank.

Right before joining everyone, he keeps his rifle slung in front of him and lights one of his cigars as he moves next to his partner in crime, Minh.  He takes a couple of puffs and passes the stogie off to her.  "Never say I don't, 'Puff-Puff-Pass!'"  He addresses Bayer next, "We're all clear Boss.  Six wanting nothing more to do with us or this guy," he says motioning to Phillips.

Tucker wears the well-worn US Army camouflage pattern that has been sewn back together and mended since his last issue.  There's worn insignia on his uniform that can barely make out his (former) rank and unit designation.  He's also wearing standard US webbing, kevlar vest and helmet with a patrol pack.  Slung across his chest is an M-14K, probably a MK-23 in a drop holster on his right leg.

Tucker listens to the Navy Lieutenant sell her and her crew to Konrad and he can only think, "Special set of skills for dangerous missions?  Special Ops, nice!"  He also eyes up the gear that their using/carrying.

Mariusz smiled at Jan's English. The Czech always sounded like Yoda (Mariusz' father had loved the Star Wars films ad had worn out the bootleg tapes they had of them through thousands of viewings). Mariusz had never trusted the little green guy and had always been waiting for the muppet to leap up and tear Luke's throat out.

It had never happened though and now Mariusz was reluctant to speak with a better fluency that Jan as that would make him the group's equivalent of CP-30, the universe's gayest robot.

He rubbed his chin, hoping to find some stubble to rasp against but there was still just a peachy fuzz.

He grimaced at the mention of pine bark and hoped that their luck in finding food would change soon.

"The pair on horseback are pretty unhinged," he said, "the taller man anyway, I think the dwarf's just playing along. The castellan also seemed unhappy about having a German in our group. It might have been my reference to the Teutonic Knights though. I'm Mariusz, pleased to meet you."

Eric Phillips looked out at the at approaching riders.  For a second he appeared deep in thought before saying “Warszawskim Krzyżem Powstańczym,” in Polish.  ”Warsaw Cross of the Uprising,” Eric repeated in English.

”Our file on Swiecie indicated that one of the residents was a decorated veteran of the Warsaw Uprising.  We sent a local team down to try recruit him to the cause, but our scouts came back and said he wasn’t quite right in the head and unfit for our needs.  I always wondered what they meant.”

The man speaking had been the one running.  He was clad in sanitized Polish fatigues.  Indeed all of his gear was standard Polish issue, with the exception of his radio, his NVGs, and three ostentatious rings on his right hand.


This message was last edited by the player at 18:33, Wed 10 June 2015.

Jan nodded at the American woman's comments.  Intel about what was north on the river would be very useful indeed and would be worth giving this group of Americans a ride as long as they were prepared to pitch in and do their share, which they looked like they were capable of doing.  That was presuming that they didn't bring a whole load of extra trouble with them though - the Kommandos were good enough at finding that themselves and didn't need to get into the middle of some live NATO mission, unless the NATO mission had the chance of a big payoff that could get them back to some form of civilisation where they could spend the gold they had looted from the Black Baron and Jan could drink real expresso again.

It wasn't his decision regarding these new Americans though and he glanced sideways at Konrad, unsure whether the Captain wanted him to continue the discussion or take it over himself.

The Bob Dylan riff pulls Lizzie's attention around to the pair approaching on horseback.  It appears to her appraising eye that someone has read a bit too much Don Quixote and might be looking rather intrepidly for windmills to tilt at.  Her answer to Ana is equally stylized: whistling the intro to Fire Woman.  The meaning: take up security.  Lizzie indicates the upcoming pair with a nod of the head.

The young Pole, Mariusz seems friendly enough. Eager in the way that many of the youth in Poland would be if there country wasn't a flaming shithole argued over by two giant pit bulls.  His explanation, although not comprehensive, completes the theory that the person on horseback is probably bugfuck crazy.  Titan's summation puts the final nail in the coffin of doubt.

"Please to meet you, too, Mariusz," she smiles.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 02:07, Thu 11 June 2015.