A journey of a
thousand miles must
begin with a single
step.

-Lao-Tzu c.500 B.C.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:25, Wed 25 Mar 2009.

Sunday, October 1st, 2000 -0700hrs.
Just East of Krakow, Poland
50 F
Scattered Heavy Ground Fog, Visibility 25-200m

You sit in the bed of an idle Ural-4320 cargo truck doing your best to stay warm in the chill of the early October morning. Seated on inward facing benches lining either side of the truck bed are several fellow travelers- soldiers mostly- who, like you, have been hired to provide security for a river tug heading down the Vistula towards the ruins of Warsaw. Your new employer, ‘Old’ Adam Rataj is haggling with a Krakow ORMO officer over the legitimacy of a small stack of Rada issued transit documents. Apparently, there seems to be some concern over the number of heavy weapons among the departing party. Based on the amount of pointing and gesticulating going on, you gather that the focus of the controversy is the towed 82mm Vasilek auto-mortar. A couple of bored looking ORMO sentries watch from atop a dug-in Polish T-72 tank. Several more stare out of a sandbagged checkpoint bunker. After a 10 minute wait, during which the ORMO officer withdraws to the bunker to contact his superiors in Krakow by field telephone, the party is unceremoniously waved through the checkpoint and sent on its way.

For the first several kilometers out of Krakow, the Ural travels along a four-lane blacktop road- cratered in places- through fields of winter wheat. Aside from a squad-sized patrol of horse-mounted ORMO soldiers riding alongside the road back towards the city, there are no signs of human life. Eventually, the wheat-fields come to an end and, with the wheat, you realize, civilization itself.

(OOC: This would be a good time to get to know your fellow travellers.)
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:24, Wed 25 Mar 2009.

Parks sits with his pack behind his feet. He's a thin man and his weathered tanned hands and face show his age. He's wearing a camo bandana and worn US issue fatigues with no insignia of any kind. A large soft looking pouch is around his waist and a gilly hood is tucked in behind it. He constantly repositions an AKR resting on his lap as the jarring potholes keep bouncing it around. A well maintained and camo'd SVD with a large scope leans against his shoulder with it's butt on one of his boots. Its held with a firm hand against rattling around.

Parks looks around at the others."Well gents, I for one will welcome a nice smooth boat ride after this kidney jarring trip. Any of ya seen this boat yet? I'm hopin' to get one of tha rooms with a balcony overlooking the pool."

John will look over and smile at the man with the sniper rifle. He will then adjust the pack at his feet that carries all that he owns in the world. He will make sure the pack is secure under his feet. He will then move his attention to his Rifle and do a once over in his mind to ensure that nothing has change with its condition. The rifle will lay in his lap with both of his hands on it. He will stare off into space and think of the warm wind on his farm back home and the sweet taste of a watermelon.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:53, Tue 29 May 2007.

Snowy looks over at his new companions and says in a nasal Australian drawl.

"G'day fellas, I'm Trev' 'Snowy' White, ACS. Just call me 'Snowy'."

He leans back against the side of the vehicle and looks around again, just a little sweep of the surroundings, much like everyone else is doing.

To Gunny he says "I'm with you there mate, I've been ashore for way too long. Me n' 'Bluey' 'ere," he gestures to the big Australian with him, "feel like we've walked here from Oz."

Snowy is wearing Aussie bunnycam in woodland hues, and cradles a tactical M4. What looks like a Glock (you're right) and a baton hang from his webbing belt. His helmet isn't military but rather police issue, and he has four, count them four, water bottles - although he's storing two in the Australian style smoothie pack at his feet.

"I'd kill for a cup of tea."

The big Australian sitting next to Snowy chimes in "You can have your tea Snow; me, I'd kill for a beer.  A nice, ice-cold, Cascade Premium straight out of the fridge at the Steyne.  Sportsmans Bar, of course."  He removes his helmet to scratch his head revealing his red hair.

"Staff Sergeant Thompson, Royal Australian Engineers, I'm hoping for a room on the Lido deck.  Something overlooking the pool."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:55, Tue 29 May 2007.

"Normally mate, I'd agree with you. But I've got me mouth set on a cuppa."

Snowy is significantly shorter and slighter than Bluey, and has brown eyes and short brown hair. He fidgets a bit and looks over at the ORMO dicking around.

"Geez, you'd think these guys could do a search and question a bit faster, we'll be here until the next war at this rate."

Sitting on the end of one of the bench seats closest to the rear of the Ural is what is becoming an unusal sight.  He's compact, solid, stout.  Not defined in a musculer way.  Just sturdy.  It's an unusual look.  Most people that survived the war, and the elements, have lost that healthy kind of body type by now.  Most people are leaner.  Or skinny.

The guy on the end peaks out and checks the happenings with Old Adam, before leaning back in, and speaks to no one directly.

"Well, weathers picked up at least." (he shoots a quick glance at Parks, Snow and Blue - those that have been thinking of how much use the pool will get on their cruise)

Old Adam seems to be getting his point across, they're worried about something, likley the Vasilek.  Maybe they don't want to loose it from their town defenses.

(after Snow questions the speed of the "search and question" by the guards)  "They're just enjoying their moment in the limelight (smirks, pauses) they're jelous of the pool".

(looking at Snow and Bluey who recognise his Australian accent quicker than the others), "Yep, I'm Australian too.  Name's 'Max'.  You two guys must have been with the Peace Corps, eh?  I never seen you around though.  I dont know how many stayed in after last week.  Silly buggers.  Seems we're on the only boat out of here."

Max pulls his jacket collar up around his ears and sinks his head down, seeking shelter from the weather just outside the tarp.  His jacket is dark green and looks in good shape.  On the jacket shoulders there are small holes where the name and rank of its owner has been picked off.  Max has drab olive cargo pants on, faded terribley.  He searches around in one of his jacket pockets and pulls a thin black beanie out and slides it over his head.

An AK-74 with BG-15 sits facing the roof.  Scuffed black steel cap working boots rest along side its stock.  Max's backpack rests on the floor between his feet and legs.  A 30-06 civilian rifle is strapped to the outside of the large backpack that is the norm nowadays.  It runs the length of the pack and points towards the roof also.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:58, Tue 29 May 2007.

Blue looks over at the other Australian "Strewth mate, another bloody Aussie, Snow and me self where with the UN before the war.  So where ya from?"

Sitting with his side pressed up against the cab, and looking somewhat uncomfortable with his position in the vehicle, is a man dressed in dark blue jeans and a dark brown, sheepskin-lined, leather jacket. You wonder if his apparent discomfort is a result of how there's still an olive green military style rucksack strapped to his back, forcing him to sit on the very edge of the bench seat.

Except for a pair of well-worn combat boots, he's dressed as a civilian. But, he isn't likely ever to have passed for one in war-time Krakow. Clarence is an African-American, and quite dark-skinned at that. Furthermore, strapped to his right thigh, in a tactical holster, is a large automatic pistol- a modern .45 by the look of it (it's a SOCOM, Mark 23 Mod0 to be exact). Cradled on his lap is an AKSU-74. From the hints of grey in his closely cropped hair, he looks to be somewhere in his late thirties or early forties.

"As long as they have room-service." His lips part to reveal a pearly-white smile, but his brown eyes belie the expression."Name's Clarence Milk. It's just good to hear English again. It aint what passes for English back in Chi-town, but I gotta say, it aint never sounded so sweet."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:26, Tue 29 May 2007.

Robert Tucker sits (wherever there's room that no one has claimed) and has a large MOLLE back pack and a large OD green duffel bag just about filled to capacity next to him or on the floor of the truck next to him.  Tuck cradles his M-16A2/M-203 combo next to him on the seat making sure it doesn't bump into anyone (or anyone bump into it).

Surprised to finally hear some 'United States' English, Tuck sits up when the soldier with the PACT sniper rifle and the other soldier with the chopped AK-74 speak up.  He sits up in his seat and says to all, "You ain't shittin' Clarence!  Name's Robert Tucker, friends call me Tuck.  I guess we all had enough of scenic Krakow huh?  I'm just looking forward to sleeping someplace rather comfortably where no one's going to steal me or my shit with me in it!"

Tucker is wearing well-worn American issue BDU's with no identifiable unit markings except for where his shoulder patches used to be.  He's wearing a MOLLE grenadier's vest and kevlar helmet and vest are also worn.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:00, Tue 29 May 2007.

   Parks listens to each and takes a good look at each of their gear and set up. "Names Parks but most call me Gunny. Either is fine. I was a scout sniper before all hell broke loose.
   Well, we have some firepower for this trip and the Captain has payed a pretty penny for it no doubt. I'm guessing we are in for some shit before it's over. From the looks of us, that isn't anything terribly new." Parks turns to the big Aussie." If you get the only room overlooking the pool, I'll duel ya for it. Two thousand paces sound fair?" Parks smirks.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:02, Tue 29 May 2007.

Wedged between Gunny and John sits a small woman, no more than a few inches over 5’. Her brown eyes sparkle as she looks between the men as they talk, one would have the impression of an imp looking at her with the small grin on her face. The helmet and pack are both embellished with a red cross which would indicate she was a medic.
But even as a medic she was armed, an Uzi was slung over her shoulder and cradled in her lap. ”Well since we are doing the introductions, my name is Anneka. Originally from a small settlement in the Gaza strip and now enjoying my posting here as my horizons are widened.” Her grin only got broader as she shook her head from side to side. ”So if any of you boys cut yourself shaving, I am the one you come to see. It would suit me down to the ground if we encountered nothing worse than splinters.”
The smile dimmed a little. She had seen so much bloodshed already and knew it was always dangerous, always a risk of getting wounded or killed. She looked at the faces again, the smiles and various expressions. How many of these would come back to join the others in her nightmares. Or would a bullet stop her own nightmares. She shook off the feeling and forced the smile back on her face. ”A cuppa. Me, I would kill for a hot bath. Whatever that is.” she laughed.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:04, Tue 29 May 2007.

Max looks up at Snowy
"Yea?  I figured you were with the Peace's.

(Glancing at Blue, then back to Snowy) You were with Blue?

I was there too, though you may not have seen me.  I worked permanent nights in a fire team, on the transport trucks.  We transported processed goods out after sunset to the outreach locals, then brought raw materials back in before daybreak.  It was the day shift guys you were probably used to, seeing transporting engineers around during the day to the outreach areas.

I preferred the night work.  I was never comfortable sleeping at night, too many people fall asleep or at least doze while on the night watch.  So I got to sleep during the day, when security was tighter.  I guess I worked there 6 months, since coming back in off "the line".  Then there was that trouble last week, and here I am."

Max speaks quietly, loud enough for those listening to hear, but not loud enough to disturb anyone in there own thoughts before the truck moves off, and the job begins.

Max speaks up a bit louder
"Um, anyone know if we're heading up river or down river?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:06, Tue 29 May 2007.