Yesterday:

Ana tilts her head and her brows crease slightly in concentration as she parses Anders' accent.  Her smattering of Norwegian is as much help as hindrance but she limps through it, then smiles.  "Congratulatons on the series of promotions, then," she says.  "Ana Kovac.  U.S. State Department then and now.  I was more or less at the back of the delegation."  And didn't get much introduction because I was the hired help, she grumbles internally, remembering that particular ambassador.

---

This morning:

Ana grins at Tuck.  "Ammo for a .357 is a bitch this far east, as I'm sure you know.  I cleaned out the armory of every last round when we started this op.  But I'm saving my brass when I can."  She shrugs.  "It's what I originally trained on and it'll punch through that shitty Soviet soft armor better than any nine-mil I've seen.  And I don't have to worry about the slide getting shoved out of battery when I take a contact shot."

She extends a hand.  "Call me Ana.  You got a first name other than 'Sergeant,' Sergeant Tucker?"

---

Now:

The first pass with the soldiers leaves Ana tense with the feeling of unresolved business.  It's not much of a relief when the hail comes a few minutes later, but it does bring a sense of resolution.  She's too experienced to flinch or look to Lizzie for instruction.  Instead, she makes a cautious half-turn to bring the patrol fully into view, mimicking the demeanor of the civilian women she's been observing in the streets.  She keeps her ungloved hands in her jacket's pockets.

Despite her tension, she suppresses a chuckle at Mariusz' friendly-puppy style of diplomacy while watching the men's reactions.  It just may work.  And if it doesn't, she has options other than guns.  Her hands are curled around two of them.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:57, Sun 21 June 2015.

Having successfully bleached her hair, Jelena Tamm proceeded to remove any Soviet insignia from her uniform. Her red tabs went into a bin and she used her knife to remove the patches from her BDUs.

After making her way to the marketplace to grab a quick bite to eat, she started to make her way down the desolate, uncared for street towards the marina, where she could hopefully find a boat that was still working.

Hopefully none of the Soviet troops would recognise her. Even so, she kept her head down, literally and metaphorically.

Scully is still on the bridge. He's still wearing his worn black fleece, but it's paired now with a pair of Soviet woodland camo trousers borrowed from Cerny and his own black wool cap, the intent being to turn him into what he hopes is a fair approximation of a Polish deckhand. So long as he doesn't have to speak to someone. He might be able to wing it with a Russian, but he knows he has no chance of bluffing a native Polish speaker. That was the reason why, with Lizzie Kane's blessing, he's opted to stay aboard the tug.

In an effort to enhance his disguise, such as it is, he's removed his body armor and assault vest, stashed them both in a closet on the bridge, together with his rifle, although he's retained his sidearm and there's also the small matter of the folding knife nestled in the pocket of his borrowed pants. The one thing that probably would be out of place on a Polish crewman is the tac radio which is clipped to his rigger belt, mostly concealed by his fleece, the earpiece in, monitoring the frequency that the shore parties are using.

The SEAL had felt a pang of unease when he'd watched the others go ashore, even although he knew that they could look after themselves without him. After all, it's not like he'd spent the last twelve months attached to Lizzie Kane at the hip. They've split up many times when the mission has called for it. But it still makes him anxious.

After both shore parties have cleared the gangway and disappeared into the town, he turns to Niewiadomska. "I know you told the Commander you wanted me to keep my shotgun below decks, but do you have a problem if I go below and get it? I'd rather keep it close by while we're in port. If the shit does hit the fan and we need it we'll probably need it in a hurry." He shrugs. So far they hadn't seen any obvious signs of trouble, but that could change at any time, and if things did go south he'd rather have the Mossberg close at hand. Just in case it happens quickly.

Frank follow Bayer outside for one request he doesn't think that the Hauptman has asked him for before.  Tucker walks out and pulls out a cigar from one of his pockets and unwraps it ready to hand it to Bayer,

Craig stops with others and looks out over the river as the Mariusz speaks to the Russians. He rubs his hands and blows on them, more to get them out of his pockets and hopefully ease the situation somewhat.

As they waited Craig took the opportunity to get a look at their surrounds and to partially occupy himself and stop him looking towards the Russian group.

When Scully asked about the shotgun, Griet nodded, "The restriction was meant to be when you are off guard. On duty like this feel free to carry it around. The same goes for your long arm. On duty, I would prefer you to be loaded."

She watched the world go by and hoped that everything was going well for the sore parties. She settled in for the long haul and then said to Scully, "So, what's Scully's story? Let's hear the bits that won't compromise security."

Lizzie watches as the Russians approach noting their body language and trying to gauge their intentions.  It could be curiosity, it could be menace.  In either case, the naval officer is not loving the idea of standing in the open without her sidearm.  The effort involved in loading an AK is minuscule should the Russians even need to go that far before inflicting violence and the other party isn't broadcasting companionship.

"I feel like the only girl at the dance without a date," she says to Ana in surprisingly good Polish.  She knows that Ana has the armed thing covered.  For a member of the diplomatic corps, the other woman is walking arsenal of physical violence.  And Lizzie wouldn't have it any other way.

Instead of trying to provoke an action, Lizzie stands off angle to Ana, covering the other side of their party, ensuring that she can overhear what Mariusz is saying in his friendly banter.  But where Ana mimics the women around them, Lizzie stands a bit taller.  A bit more of the alpha radiating from her demeanor.  Should Mariusz need it, she is ready to intervene with words.

They city may not be actively taking a role in the hostilities that are still in their death spasms around it, but that doesn't mean that the NATO soldiers in their group won't be treated to ill will or violence should they be identified.  Lizzie's Russian is good, her accent educated and of the political class, like the defector who taught it to her at the senior Kane's "request."

Following the clarification about the loading of weapons, Scully had excused himself from the bridge for a few minutes, made his way back down to the cabin and retrieved the Mossberg. As it lacked a sling, he's now holding it, his left hand under the barrel, the sawed off stock resting against his thigh, making sure that it's pointed well away from Niewiadomska, the barrel aimed at the ceiling. It's fully loaded, as is the G3 which still nestles out of sight in a closet with the rest of his gear, though he's removed a magazine from his assault vest, slipped it into the cargo pocket of his Soviet pants. Just in case.

He offers a wry grin when the Polish woman asks his story. He supposes everyone has a story of sorts these days. "Not much to tell, Skipper. I grew up in a steel town in Pennsylvania, just outside Pittsburgh, joined the Navy more or less straight from school." The tall American shrugs. "My father and grandfather both spent their whole lives working in the steel mills, but by the time that I left school the economy wasn't doing so good, it was getting harder to get work. I guess that was the same all over.  I did my first three years in the Atlantic Fleet aboard the USS Arkansas, was a Boatswain's Mate. I don't know what the entails in Poland. In our Navy a Boatswain's Mate looks after pretty much everything that happens on deck. General maintenance, running damage control parties, stuff like that. I've done my fair share of time as a helmsman and I'm rated as a coxswain on inflatables."

"I applied for the SEAL's in '87. You've heard of the SEAL's yeah? Sea Air Land Teams." There's another shrug of his shoulders. "Scuttlebutt is U.S. Special Forces aren't too popular on this ship." He pauses a moment. Up until now he's been talking relatively freely, one sailor to another, and talking to her has taken his mind away from worrying about the shore party. Clearly though he's about to slip into the more sanitized version from here on in, much of the detail left out. OPSEC was OPSEC.

"I've done different stuff, stuff that with all due respect I just can't talk about. It's nothing personal, I've said the same to four-stripers in the United States Navy before so I know how that can go down with some people, and I can imagine how your crew are feeling right now if they have had bad experiences with some of our people before, but in my experience running away at the mouth can get people killed."

"Look, I can't vouch for Sergeant Phillips. I've known him as long as you have. But what I will say is that I can promise you Commander Kane is one of the best there is. So is Ms Kovac. We know our business and we're not going to screw you over. We're not about starting shit then leaving other people to clean up our mess. You got my word on that Captain. And if you want us off we're off. It's that simple." His body language is open, his manner attempting to convey sincerity. It's clear when he mentions Kane's name that he will lead wherever she follows. Whether that is a weakness or a strength is subjective.

"So, that's my story." It's fairly obvious where the conversation is going to go next. "How about you Captain Niewiadomska? How'd you end up signing on with Konrad's Kommandos?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:43, Mon 22 June 2015.

"He signed on with me, well, my father originally."

She settled down, she'd expected the sanitised version of his story, would have respected him less if he hadn't, "My mother made her living I Krakow. She was the illegitimate child of a Krakow street walker and a Russian diplomat. She'd been brought up in state orphanages before attracting the attention of some Party Officals and ending up being handed around as a mistress."

Griet looked out into the distance for a moment, staring back into the reaches of the past, "I had a series of Uncles, most of whom I can't remember, but my favourite was a man called Adam Rataj," her face softened, almost dropping the façade built of years of meanness and plotting, "he used to visit even after he stopped seeing my mother. He started my love of sailing because he was ex-Polish Navy, he'd served in British destroyers during the war. He took me sailing and when my mother died of cancer, he sponsored my entrance to the Merchant Navy Academy in Gdynia."

"It was an unusual choice of career but engines make more sense than people, you know what I mean?"

"Anyway, I graduated and made the black crew on a Baltic trawler and Adam dropped off the radar. Later I found out he'd been involved in smuggling for Solidarity. From the fishing fleet I graduated into Spy Trawlers and when the war started I was transferred to the Navy and serviced subs and torpedo boats. Then the F-111s hit Gydinia and I was wounded. I got sent back to Krakow to recover and when the bombs fell I ended up in the ORMO there until it declared itself a Free City."

"I was serving in the newly built River Patrol Force designed to protect riverine trade when I met Adam again. He was trying to convince the Council to fund a trip down rive on the Queen. I wasn't that interested but he sprung a surprise on me. Mariusz says it was an Empire Strikes back moment, whatever that is, and he told me he was his father and the trip was a cover to get to Warsaw and rescue the rest of his family."

She sighed, "Long story short, we found the rest of the family and Adam charged me with getting the Kommandos home. They fought all the way down the river to save people they didn't know and now I want to get them home. Why they want that I don't know, they'll end up fighting and dying in a war that's already lost. Just like you I suppose."

"That's your business though, everyone needs something to believe in, I'm just lucky that what I believe in is small enough for me to understand," she waved her arm, "my world is here."

"As for you lot," she stretched out, not used to speaking for so long, especially about herself, "if I was that worried, you'd be walking. The Queen has survived everything thrown at it and fund some diamonds among the remnants of humanity. My father would have taken you in without hesitation and he achieved the impossible. We'll see what happens in this relationship for as long as it lasts."

She smiled, a gesture that looked as if she'd learned the theory but never mastered the emotions that went with it, the smile didn't reach  her eyes, too much had passed through them to leave much space for joy, "As for not screwing people over, I'm trying to restrict that to my enemies since I found my long lost father, if we keep on each others' friends list we should be OK."
This message was last updated by the GM at 23:40, Mon 22 June 2015.

"We try to save whatever we can.  Not very often we run across good ole .357 magnum ammo anywhere out here either.  Occasionally, we might get some .38 specials or reloads but, still, few and far between.  Stick to what we can get.  I usually only use it aboard the Queen and yes, it does do very against soft armor."

Tucker pushes himself off the rail and turns toward Ana smiling, I do Ana.  Everyone just usually calls me Tuck.  Nice to meet you too," he says returning her hand shake.

Yesterday:

"War does that, Miss Kovac", Anders replied. He had been in active service ever since Finland begun activating its forces prior to the nuclear exchange and earned most of his promotions even prior to that. Had FNS Karjala not run in to the drift mine on its way back from one of the numerous runs of herding merchant vessels from Finland to Gothenburg and back, he would probably have received his own command by now. Yet there he was, stuck in Poland of all places. "Interesting to run in to you here, though", he continued. He was more than likely just as curious about her presence there as she was of his.

---

Now:

Anders waits in the background to see, where Mariusz can take them with only words. If it is not enough, there is always the sailor way - most sailors say, there are few things more scary and dangerous as an angry sailor, except an angry, drunken Finnish sailor.

The leader of the pack of Russian soldiers seems somewhat confused by Mariusz's obsequious diplomatic approach [Mariusz rolls 20 in persuasion/diplomacy/leadership]. The big man snorts through his oft-broken nose and spits. The others eye the strangers, looking for signs of weakness, and mill about in nervous anticipation of their alpha's response. When Mariusz finishes his speech, the head bully smiles.

"You wanna buy us breakfast, eh pretty-boy? I think we'll just take all of your money right now and buy our own instead."

He hands his rifle to his second. The others rush over to the wall of the building looming over the street and prop their AKs against it, detailing one of the smaller soldiers to watch the weapons. The brawlers, seven of them, remove their hats and adjust their clothing as they approach the 7-person party of "merchants". Clearly, despite the party's identical numbers, the Russians like their odds. It wouldn't be the first time a group of macho tough guys has underestimated the fighting prowess of Anastasjia Kovac and Lizzie Kane.

Kane looks towards the marketplace, assessing the possibility of flight. A ninth Red Army soldier has just rounded a corner about 30m up the street and, head down, is walking towards the imminent street brawl. This one, however, isn't at the head of a gang, and by the soldier's shape and walk, Lizzie is almost certain that she's looking at a woman. The soldier looks up, briefly making eye contact, and Lizzie's instincts are confirmed.

OOC: As per last round's IC posts, the PCs in the shore party are Mariusz, Konrad, Anastasjia, Tucker, Craig, Lizzie, and Anders. Jan was instructed to go along by Griet but hasn't posted IC for this round.

On board the tug, the security personnel that elected to remain behind stand at their duty stations or pace around the deck, conspicuously armed. Red Army gawkers appear in twos and threes, most wandering off after a few minutes of pointing and staring. About 20 minutes after the departure of the shore parties, an hard-topped UAZ arrives dockside in a cloud of blue smoke. Three uniformed men emerge (the driver stays seated behind the wheel), one wearing the sheepskin coat of a Red Army staff officer. They march purposefully towards the tug. Jurgen (the harbormaster) intercepts them just out of earshot and an increasingly heated conversation ensues. Jurgen wields his clipboard like a battleaxe, slapping, waving, and pointing it in a display meant to cow. It doesn't work. After a few minutes of loud negotiating, the harbormaster acquiesces and the Soviets approach the tug.

Standing on the pier within leaping distance of the Krolowa, the officer calls up [to anyone visible on deck] in Russian-accented Polish, , "I'm here to see your master." The other two soldiers- presumably the staff officer's personal security detail- are armed with AKs, both carried at the low ready.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:59, Thu 25 June 2015.

"Look like we might be getting some company." Scully says, looking out the bridge window when he hears the Russians hailing the tug. His Polish isn't up to following the conversation, but they look to all extents and purposes like a boarding party. Or maybe a shakedown party, here to see what they can steal.

He turns round, looks over at Niewiadomska. "Do you want me to make myself scarce somewhere below deck or hang around here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 13:52, Tue 23 June 2015.

Jelena saw the group of out of towners, who might well have a means for her to leave town. Of course, she'd have to help them first. Seeing the large crowd of Russians in front of them, she unshouldered her AK-74, held it in her hands in "patrol mode" and yelled at the Russians.

"Oi, stupid"", she called in Russian - her Estonian accent distinctly noticeable, "Ain't you guys got something to do?".

She aimed the AK in their general direction.

"Are you feeling lucky?", she asked in English.

"It's probably best that you go below and wait this out. If I need you I'll bang on the superstructure."
Once Scully had made himself scarce, Griet came out of teh bridge and called down, "I'm Griet Niewiadomska, Master and Commander of the Wistula Queen. You have permission to come aboard. I'm glad you're here, I wanted to speak with someone in authority and this saves me a trip. Come on up and I'll put some tea on." She spoke in Russian that was at least as good as their Polish.

She waited for the party to respond, not assuming that they would ascend rather than calling her down. If they did call her down she would go immediately.

”Aye, aye Captain.” Scully nods, moves to quickly retrieve his gear from the closet he had stowed it in, then leaves the bridge by the inner stairwell, his rifle slung over his shoulder, shotgun in one hand assault vest and body armor in the other.

Taking the steps two at a time he descends down to the tug’s main deck. Emerging into what he takes to be some sort of storeroom, he moves through the galley heading  aft, keeping to the opposite side of the ship from the quayside to try and minimize the risk of being spotted by anyone ashore as he makes his way towards the machine shop at the rear of the tug's superstructure.

Once he's reached the machine shop he'll then look for a niche or cranny somewhere amongst the various tools and appliances where he can stow his rifle, vest and armor. After a moment's hesitation he removes the magazine from the G3, slips it into his pocket where it joins the one already there. That way if things go south and someone else gets their hands on his rifle they won't be able to turn it on him immediately. The grenade launcher is already unloaded. He contemplates removing his holster and sidearm, but ultimately decides to leave them in place. After all, the Ivans had seen the tug's heavy weaponry, so they knew there were guns aboard.

He does remove his tac radio from his belt, takes off the headset, and ensures that the radio is off before stowing both radio and headset back in his vest. An American military issue sidearm can probably be overlooked or explained away as a war trophy, but an American military issue AN/PRC 139 tactical radio is another matter. After looking around, he then makes his way over to the vertical boring machine, places his shotgun on the deck and slides it forward so that it is mostly hidden underneath the machinery although remains close at hand if he needs it.

The SEAL then runs his hand over the oily surface, trying to stain his palms and fingers with the lubricant, before running one hand down the right side of his face, intentionally smearing the oil across his skin and thinking to himself why the fuck did he shave last night. Finally, he picks up the heaviest wrench he can see from a workbench, squats down by the machine, the wrench held in his right hand, the shotgun at his feet, close by but hopefully mostly out of sight.

Should any of the Soviets find their way this far into the interior of the tug Scully's intention is to try and simulate a surly oil stained Polish mechanic who is working on a stubborn piece of broken machinery. Should they speak to him he'll acknowledge them with a grunt whilst continuing to feign working on the it, giving the impression that all of his attention is focused on it and hoping that encourages them to move on.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:42, Tue 23 June 2015.

In reply to Cap'n Rae (msg # 185):

Tucker removes his gloves and smiles when he sees the Russian soldiers place their rifles off to the side and look to have a street fight.  He hasn't had a lot of hand to hand fighting recently but, this may get very interesting quickly.  Being they have females with them, the Russians may get cocky and underestimate their abilities.  Plus, he can get a good idea if they can handle themselves without the SEAL they were travelling with.

Robert does make sure that he can reach his knife easily enough in case it is needed.

Craig continued to adopt the same pose as the Russian group advanced on them. This was no different then any Saturday night in Glasgow or the after match function of a Rangers game.

Once the woman behind the group pulled an AK on the patrol the first thing that ran through his head was that they would not be buying anything from this town. With the advantageous distraction in place he says in a low whisper "Lets move off, fast."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:39, Tue 23 June 2015.

Anders braced himself for the impact - the memories from the childhood Karate practice flooded his mind. He never made it past green belt, but he had at least some idea of how to deliver at least some pain if not prolonged physical injury. Tracking the movement of the others in the shore party and that of the Russians, he was ready for a fight if that was to ensue.

"I am Jan," he had replied, pronouncing it Yahn as he offered his hand in return.  His handshake was very firm, marking Jan as someone with a strong grip.

---

Jan had been happy to let the American officer take the lead in the group he had been assigned to.  She had more people present in the team so it made sense to follow her instructions.  He was also trying to figure out where the second woman fitted in as she didn't seem like a soldier when they were interrupted by the Russian gang.  Discipline seemed to be questionable amongst some of the occupying troops.

"Hej," called out Jan to the leader of the Russian troops in a challenging tone.  "Jak o tymrobimy jeden przeciwko jednemu konkursie na nagrodę?  Ty i ja."

He had taught Savate and unarmed combat in the Legion and fancied that he could handle a Russian bully.  Hopefully the man would take up the challenge.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
"Hey.  How about we make this a one against one contest for a prize?  You and me."

---

In a practiced motion, Lizzie pivots and steps first to the side, and then slightly behind Ana.  The movement isn't particularly dignified, but between the two women, Ana is vastly more dangerous with her fists and whatever unfair advantages she brings to a brawl in mechanical form.  Lizzie's role is to play spoiler, keeping her partner from becoming flanked and getting in any cheap shots she can.

The whole situation is faintly amusing, in a darkly comic kind of way.  The Russian soldiers are scrambling to set their weapons aside, lining up with testosterone oozing out of filthy uniforms.  An unknown factor in the form a woman brandishing an assault rifle and issuing challenges to the would be assailants has appeared in the new found allies six o'clock position, and Jan has called out request for single combat; an honorable move and one that she is curious to see unfold.

Lizzie's instincts tell her that Mariusz should be pulled to the rear before the the fighting really gets going, but she's unsure how much of that is an echo of her relationship with her screw up of a younger brother.  Ultimately, she chooses to hope that the youth has a grasp of his abilities and will put himself where he needs to be.

"Mariusz, Jan, on me.  Tighten up.  Ana, move left, we are clearing a lane for fire."   Lizzie lightly places her left hand on Ana's shoulder and guides her into position out of the center of the narrow street so the agent won't have to turn her attention away from their attackers. "Jan, if he answers, feel free."  The orders come in Polish.  It's chess with people, a knot of contained violence prepared to receive and return an attack.

The phrase clearing a lane for fire prompted Jan to re-apprise the woman with the AK.  He had initially thought her connected to the group of Russians trying to cause some trouble but Lizzie didn't seem to think so.  He nodded in response to her instructions, though he kept his gaze fixed on the talker amongst the Russians, and moved a little closer to the rest of his group, grasping what the American officer was trying to do.

Mariusz moved to where Kane had pointed, as he passed her he whispered, "I'm rubbish at hand to hand, I'll try to keep people off your back so you can do the damage but don't count on too much."

An unpleasant smile creeps onto Ana's face as the Russians set aside their rifles.  This isn't official harassment, just a little bit of corrupt and undisciplined hooliganism in the ranks.  The preemptive disproportionate response in her right pocket is off the table now, but it was really a go-to-hell plan anyway.  Now that the other side has disarmed, she knows where she stands on her own personal use of force continuum --

-- and then another player enters the ring.  She stays focused on her sector, letting Lizzie assess the newcomer's contribution, then murmurs, "roger, moving left."  Matching word to deed, she sidesteps to clear the center of the street but not so much as to hamper Mariusz's maneuvering room.

She straightens to her full height, noting that she's taller than at least two of the poorly-nourished conscript troops, and withdraws her hands from her pockets.  Glancing sideways at Jan, she comments dryly in Russian, "Better you than me.  I'm sure he doesn't want to explain to his sergeant that he's unfit for duty because a girl kicked his ass." Her Russian accent is distinctly not a native Anglophone's - rather, something else Slavic flavors her words (OOC: Anyone who's spent time in the Balkans may place her accent as Yugoslavian).

On the Mean Streets of Grudziaz

The swarm-like, primal drive of collective violence has lent this situation a momentum that can't easily be stopped. The approaching Red Army woman's shouts fail to move her erstwhile comrades- they either don't hear her or they simply just don't care. Furthermore, it's apparent to all present that if she is to make good on her threat to use violence, she'll be opening fire on a crowd of strangers and fellow Soviet soldiers both. Although some of the "merchants" tentatively respond to her call, the Soviet soldiers do not. The net result is the same- in effect, her bluff's been called.

Jan's rather sporting challenge is ignored, but being as he's stepped forward to present himself as champion, he becomes the alpha brawler's first target. Moved by instinct and herd mentality, the others pick their own marks and wade in. The free-for-all begins.

The alpha brawler lunges forward and throws a looping overhand right at Jan. The Czech sees the telegraphed punch coming and ducks under it. With the range between the two men so close now that he can smell the vodka-stink of the Russian's breath, Jan attempts to answer with a almost reflexive elbow strike to the head. However, by the time Jan's elbow comes around, his opponent's forward momentum has already carried him past, and the Czech catches nothing but air. The opening exchange would have been quite comical if the stakes weren't so high. The prospective audience, however, is too busy at the moment to notice.

The alpha's second hears Ana's imasculating aside and veers abruptly from his intended target (Tucker) towards the lippy woman. His straight right punch slips through Ana's upraised forearms and lands squarely on her left breast, driving her back a foot or two. It's a jarring, painful blow, one that she's definitely going to be feeling a while, but not one that's going to take her out of the fight for more than a few seconds. (Ana sustains 6 temporary damage to chest)

Seeing her teammate at the receiving end of a vicious punch, Lizzie launches an instant, one-woman counteroffensive. Trying to keep out of the brute's striking range, she throws a swift side kick at Ana's attacker. The heel of her boot makes solid contact with the man's midsection just above the belt, knocking him backwards, doubled over and gasping for air. With one well-timed kick, Lizzie's taken the upper hand and given her teammate enough time and space to get back into the fight.

Another Russian goes for Tuck. Wild haymakers seem to be the Russian gang's calling card this morning. Tuck gets his hands up in time to catch the full weight of the blow with his left forearm. It feels as though the Russian has hammers for fists. A white hot flash of pain bursts from the impact site; Tucker fears that his forearm might have just been broken. (Tucker sustains 6 damage to left arm.)

Craig steps and leans back to avoid a sweeping right hook thrown at his head. The punch misses his nose by millimeters. On his heels, Craig answers with a left hook that catches his assailant in the side of the head. Craig hadn't had the time to really put his hips into the punch, though, so it lacks power to fails to knock his opponent down or out. The successful strike does, however, buy him the initiative. The next move is clearly his.

Anders assumes a fighting stance and makes eye contact with his opponent. The rapidly approaching Russian drops his eyes, ducks low, and throws a punch at Anders' stomach. The Russian's fist slips underneath Ander's elbows and drives into the Finn's midsection. Fortunately, Anders contracts his abdominal muscles just in time to avoid getting the wind knocked out of him. He is, however, knocked backwards a couple of steps. (Anders sustains 5 temporary damage to abdomen.)

Konrad draws the kicker of the group. The Russian lashes out with his boot and the German can't quite get his left leg up in time to check the kick. The laces of the attacker's boot catch the side of Konrad's left leg just above the knee, the force of the blow almost spinning the German around. (Konrad sustains 3 temporary damage to his left leg.) If Konrad's left foot had been planted when the kick arrived, it's likely that his knee ligaments would have sustained some significant damage. Despite the the shock of the blow, Konrad is pleasantly surprised to find himself still standing. He's wise enough to know, however, that when the adrenaline wears off, his leg is going to hurt like hell.

Ana and Lizzie having drawn (and temporarily incapacitated) one of the seven chauvinistic attackers, Mariusz is somewhat surprised to find himself unscathed and unengaged- for the time being, at least.

---

Wisla Krolowa

At Griet's invitation, the Soviet officer and his two bodyguards cross the gangway and climb the cold external stairs towards the Krolowa's bridge. Three of the tug's four remaining security personnel (Thijs, Minh, Phillips, & Scully) are American, and all endeavor to make themselves scarce whilst still keeping an eye on the Red Army guests.

The staff officer steps onto the bridge and removes his fur Ushanka hat. It's not Red Army protocol. He appears to be in his mid-thirties, slim, of average height. He's balding prematurely, his hairline rapidly receding towards the crown of his head. What hair that remains is combed neatly. His Polish is quite good.

"Good morning, Captain. I am major Yuri Lagunov, 43rd Cavalry Division."

Niceties are exchanged and introductions made. With the requisite formalities taken care of, Lagunov begins to explain the nature of his visit, but not before asking a few pointed questions.

"You are a merchant, no?" he enquires, a hint of skepticism in his incongruously deep voice.

"From Krakow? That is a very long way. Surely, you have braved and bested many dangers on your journey to Grudziaz. And I take it that after you leave Grudziaz, you plan to carry on all the way to the Baltic coast?"

Griet's responses to this opening volley of questions are generally affirmative but noncommittal and completely lacking in any specifics.

"I see. My Commander, Major General Mikhail Zolnernowich, wishes to meet with you. He has a bit of business that he'd like to discuss. A job offer, of sorts."

He pauses, trying to read Griet's face.

"You're suspicious, I understand. You can't have travelled this far without being extremely cautious. And your crew, not all of them are Polish, are they? Perhaps some of them used to serve NATO, even. Yes. Let me assure you, Captain, we have no interest in your employees. The general's intentions are good. If we wanted your boat for ourselves, it would ours already. Surely, you know this. This is simply business, Captain. You are merchants and he has need of your services, that is all. If you'd rather not meet the general at his headquarters, he is willing to come here." He looks around the interior of the Krolowa's bridge, noting the soot stains, bubbled paint, shrapnel scouring. "May I suggest a neutral venue? The general's favorite café is not too far from here. I could send a jeep to pick you up, you and whoever you'd like to bring with you. Lunch will be our treat. Would that be acceptable?"


Your Move.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 17:32, Thu 25 June 2015.