Andy was awoken only to realise just how cold and wet he was. He sat, dripping and cursing as he refuelled on rations, chomping them cold and then he looked at Chris, "OK, mate, we'll hear off for Whiskey Cove now, we'll do a straight recce of the place and then set up an OP to wait for the rest of the team. Let's do this carefully. I don't want to start mudslides or break any ankles. Let's go."

The pair moved like dripping, soggy ghosts away from the community and toward the RV. Stay alert Andy boy, he thought. Just because the weather's too bad for horses doen't mean a son-of-a-bitch Spetsnaz NCO wouldn't have his team out scouting.

Kelsey wakes from yet another catnap to find the weather getting worse.  She runs out antenna in the club for long term setup, then runs breaks and grounds so that lightning won't fry her radio.  This allows her to set up in a dry spot instead of out in the elements, and really pay attention to her broadcasts (less outside noise)  Paying attention of course to her own team channels (especially if she has more than one radio, one will stay on team freq) but also watching the channels id'd as the town's, and those for the local authority, but less often.

The Club was a place full of amenities and certainly a place that will cause much blushing to any Officers Pavillion back in the Motherland. Taras just needed one of those comfy leather sofas where lay down and get some sleep. A short walk in one of the halls brought him some catchy music. Some militia guy was probably rescueing some old record for R&R. A nice song that wouldn't be easily recognized across the Iron Curtain. Taras couldn't help but to stop in his tracks killing all the rattling caused by his equipment:

Moses went walking with the staff of wood. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Newton got beaned by the apple good. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Egypt was troubled by the horrible asp. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Mister Charles Darwin had the gall to ask. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Hey Andy, did you hear about this one? Tell me, are you locked in the punch?
Hey Andy, are you goofing on Elvis? Hey baby, are you having fun?
If you believed they put a man on the moon, man on the moon
If you believe there's nothing up my sleeve, then nothing is cool.

Man on the Moon, man on the Moon. If you believe...

Shevchenko crashed nearby. Not exactly in the Moon but in a well furnished lounge. Removing the vest and placing the Smith & Wesson under a fluffy cushion, by the time sleep was creeping in, R.E.M. could still be heard:

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night.
The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago,
Turned around backwards so the windshield shows.
Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse.
Still, it's so much clearer.
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge.
The moon is low tonight.

The recce team wolfed down some cold IMP (Individual Meal Pack) foil entree pouches. Andy ate Navarin (lamb mutton vegetable stew) while Mac had Cheese tortellini in Marinara sauce. IMPs were made by "Freddy Chef" and bore their logo; by some accounts marginally better than US MREs but with a serious flaw: no individual heating tabs.

Cautiously the pair made their way around and down, lightning flashing above in the black rain clouds, occasionally striking the mountainsides not too far off. The crashing thunder was loud enough to make them jump.

Working their way along wasn't too easy, but finally they were across the Upper Levels out of sight of the roadblocks. Gleneagles Golf Course had been planted with crops, as this was probably the only real area cleared of thick forest or developed for single-family dwellings. It was outside the defensive perimeter, so basically abandoned for the night.

There were large and expensive houses secluded in the trees, all dark and empty.

Leading down to Whiskey Cove was a narrow ravine leading down through the trees to the water, swollen creek rushing at the bottom. Erosion had claimed the narrow path beside the creek, so they carefully made their way down next to it on a wider but still narrow grassy hillside cleared of trees, also heavily eroded with runoff.

The rocky beach was littered with driftwood (including logs) and the immediate area was clear.

The cove itself was long and narrow, and they could see big but dark houses along both sides, among the trees. There were more houses on the hillside and narrow beach leading to the left, as the right side was steep slope or sheer cliff into the water. However, there were concrete wharfs on the right side with solid stairs leading up, one even had a small derrick of some kind. There were large houses almost at the waterline on the left with short stairs leading down to the pebbly beach, but the stairs looked wrecked.

Over the next couple hours they worked their way along and cleared the houses overlooking the water on both hillsides without incident. Then the next order of business was to find a dry place to either wait out the storm or reposition themselves.

---

The electrical storm was playing havoc with reception at the Marina. Static burst and hissed. The FM signals from the North Shore were frequently drowned out. Rain continued to pour down.

Although there was a generator to power up batteries, most light was by oil lamp and candles. The flames cast a cheerful yellow glow, and one of the Club's keepers lit a fire in the magnificent stone fireplace to keep away the chill.

Dinner had been delicious pizza, cooked in a wood fireplace on a slab of slate. Cheese, tomato sauce, green and red peppers, ham, salami, prosciutto, washed down with cold clear water. The UBC's reaction team dozed, while others patched up the damaged whale-watcher boat.

The Militia and their RCMP non-coms talked about the injured Militia, the one who'd gotten a crossbow bolt through the throat. Her name was Meaghan Barnes. She'd come as a refugee to UBC a couple of years ago, and was well-liked. Apparently the Stickmen had come at them out of nowhere like banshees, and the two crew that were uninjured were still a little shaken, but putting the previous night's harrowing experience behind them.

[OOC: okay, that's it for the 0000 turn.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:49, Mon 14 Apr 2008.

Andy checked the RV area carefully and then looked around for somewhere to wait out the storm and still make a good OP.

Lee awoke staring at the marina ceiling. She listened to the quiet voices and Fox's slow breathing. After a couple of minutes laying completely still she got up. Watching the storm from a window she eventually wandered over and ate. Many thoughts raced across her mind as she ate quietly. The strangest one being the one she dwelled on the most... how the their LAV was.

Finished, she returned to her 'spot' and laid down. After lying on her side listening the storm, the voices, and Fox, she got up again and went to the window. She could see some activity out around one of the boats, but wasn't sure exactly they were doing.

Wandering over to Champlain she asks "Anything going on?"

Kelsey was finished with her set up, and she gave a hand with dinner, as long as she could stay close to her radio.  She definately looked into getting her radio close enough to the fire to.. ahh.. keep it dry.  Ok, she wanted to be warm, can you blame her.. but dry is good for radio as well as operator.
She complimented the cooks excessively Possibly the best meal I have had in years, even before the war"

When Rachel came up she was dozing by her radio, though during the period she had been still trying, resting on the unit channel with one, with the other scanning known and unknown for traffic, still.

Rachel, though, starts her into another check, she pushes the everpresent headset closer to the one ear she keeps it on, then rips it off, cursing under her breath colorfully.

"Great Fogs Filibusterin Fajitas!  That lightning can ruin your hearing."
*She shakes her head at her and sighs*
"Nay a thin, this lightnin has got me about dead aired... how about you, what you doing awake?"
*She looks honestly concerned, still sitting with her bedroll partly about her*

Ben had spent most of the day resting, trying desperately to let his injuries heal up as much as they possibly could before the following, early morning mission to the north shore. Although nearly twelve hours of medically induced sleep helped, it was a toss up whether it was that or the pain killers that had the greater effect.

Finally hauling himself upright, Ben tried to shake the fog from his mind as he noted that outside the sun had long set. A glance at the bedside clock barely registered the early hour - just past midnight. Definately time to be up and sorting through the previous 24 hours of intel.

Ravenously hungry, he threw on his spare uniform - the first having been mainly destroyed by fire - before attending to his urgent bodily needs. Then, slightly refreshed but still a little muddled from the drugs he'd been given, he made his way to find out what had been happening.

"What's new?" he asked, entering the area set aside as the "operations room". Most had gone to bed long ago, but the radio, as always, was manned 24 hours without break.

'operations' got moved to someplace warm, and cozy.. Kelsey being rather possessive of her radios, besides, she knew how to sleep and watch from long experience.  She looked up as yet another joined her and she smiles.

"Good to see you up and around.. not much though.. the lightning is fouling reception badly"

The RCMP Corporal (David Blaine) in charge of the UBC reaction team chatted with Ben over tea about what Amber 1, the boat, had gone through.

"When you left them, leftenant, it was quiet for about a half-hour or so."

After the signal flare went up, Molotov cocktails came out of the woods at the top of the cliffs. One hit the boat, and as they were trying to put it out Meaghan was sniped by a crossbow. At that point under covering fire from the Mk. 19 they took off for the middle of Burrard Inlet, where they extinguished the fire in relative safety. Out of radio contact and with someone critically wounded, then headed back to the marina to get the injured medical attention ASAP. They might have bagged a couple Stickmen with 40mm grenades, but of course they weren't sticking around to find out.

The RIB's Kevlar-fabric cells were fireproof, but there was other flammable material onboard (like the fuel lines, controls, weapons, ammo, people) that could have been damaged. So far, it looked like the boat would be ready for transport in the next few hours, as luckily the actual damage seemed superficial.

Giving her compliments to the chef, Mike Consuela, she found out he had been the head chef at Joe Forte's on Thurlow, a well-known high-class seafood and steak restaurant before the war. He was a cheerful sort in his 40's, widowed in the attack on the city, and hopeful that someday he could continue his chosen avocation for more people than the people at the Yacht Club, the odd traveller, and the UBC militia.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was homey and intimate, lit by candles. Kelsey got the feeling he was maybe interested in her, but not really making a move.

---

The south arm of the land bordering Whiskey cove was a low rocky tree-covered hillside. On the north, it was an uneven cliff, again with many evergreen trees. The beach itself was narrow and rocky, with a swath of sand by the water and littered with driftwood and logs. Behind the slender shoreline was a small grassy sward with a couple of park benches, littered with fire pits. Looking uphill from the beach, the heavily wooded gully and stream was on left along the side of the wooded cliffs, eroded cleared slope ahead, thick forest on either side (houses among the trees on the right).

Houses were more common on the south shore, as the hillside was part of what must have been an exclusive neighborhood. There was even one or two large houses just above the south end of the crescent-shaped shoreline.

There were no houses above the beach on the north cliffs; the rocky bluffs were too rough and heavily forested and dropped straight into the water, although there were some houses further out near the far point of land, built on a lower part of the bluff and connected to solid concrete wharfs by stairs.

Back-tracking up the slope, past the tennis/ball-hockey court at the top of the low hill there, the recce team went around to the south where there was more likely shelter. The houses were large but oddly not built out from the cliff on stilts but conventionally-built split-level structures.

Clearing the last place on the south side, they found that there was a dry rec-room overlooking the cove and the narrow crescent beach. The inside walls were covered in mildewed and peeling wallpaper, while outside the trees and landscaping had gone wild. Silver DVDs and CDs littered the soggy moldy floor around a dead entertainment centre in the corner, smashed wide-screen TV and overturned stereo lying in a pool of water dripping from the ceiling.

Settling in amid the musty leather couches and spotted carpets, the waited for the dawn to shine through the smashed French sliding-glass windows.

[OOC: Sorry, my initial post was rushed. I added a bit of detail for clarity.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:57, Thu 17 Apr 2008.

Fox continues to sleep. The smell of food woke him at one point, but he didn't get up.

Strange, Andy thought to himself as he kept a watch over the cove, I'm lying in the midst of more wealth than I could ever have hoped to accumulate as a soldier and now its worthless, all that's left is the strength of your arm and the skill that guides it. He hoped that what they were doing would help rebuild the country, not to make the rich rich again, but to protect the weak from the strong, to allow communities to grow and thrive instead of cower under tyranny or hide from it in godforsaken corners of the earth.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:29, Thu 17 Apr 2008.

"I thought I was only up for the moment. But I guess its later than I thought. I'll relieve you on radio watch." Lee responds. She digs into her pocket and pulls out her balaclava. Rolling it up halfway she wears it like a toque, and sits down next to the radio and Champlain.

Kelsey winks, hands her the headset, then rolls away, curling up closer to the fire, pulling her 'fart sack' closer up around her, watching Rachel for the moment from the floor

"Cool, thanks, some real downtime would be great.  So, you hear anything about our Russian talking to their Russian yet?  Seems like a killer idea to me, and he seemed to know him or something, good or bad?"

It was almost midnight when Taras woke up. He got up stretching the arms, arching the back and relocating the manhood without a hint of decency in this very last movement . He reached for the grey 9 mil compact and returned it to the holster clicking the thumb release into place. He decided to take a walk and have a chat with the radio operator. Still excited as he was, he couldn't help the excitement of the last voice heard on the ether.

I can't believe it... But it was him...It was like nothing had change...

But something was intriguing him even more. The radio picks were poor and far between. Something strange. No radio findings on the airport or any other area nearby in the city. No broadcastings about any possible checkpoint or watch tower. Before entering into the radio comms room, Shevchenko took a few minutes to sort out the contents in his backpack. Some of the stuff was in need to be removed. He decided to keep a low profile and whatever the contents of the pockets, if found out by the inhabitants of the North Shore, they will tell tale a lot of critical information. In a plastic bag labelled as "London Drugs" he deposited a number of paper wrappings and small tools. They will be returned to the safety of the UBC grounds before departing.

Shortly after he stopped by a door knocking gently...

Good evening ladies! How things are progressing? I hope I'm not disturbing your assignment...

(OOC quick.. landlines will lower radio msgs, thought he caught the partial transmission on them working on fixing them?)

*Kelsey rolls over and looks up, with a big grin*

"Well speak o the devil, just was talking about you... so when you callin the other Russian.. you guys friends maybe?"

The voice that I heard yesterday...I'm very positive is that of a good friend. Also he appears to be in charge of some sort of militia up there that displays the canadian flag in their uniforms and even call themshelves Police...They are defectors for sure. The guy, Bulat, is a veteran and knows what he wants. If we can get to talk with him that would be great.

Shevchenko sitting over one of the chairs next to the radio set added:

Any other transmissions so far?

*All smiles then, confirming that*

"Then we should be contacting him, yes?  It could save lives, make us friends, and give us intelligence, yes?"




*She shakes her head*

"No I think we got lucky because their land lines went down.. those are always safer, you know.. standard procedure for a unit is to put in land lines at any bivouwack site.  I am betting they have some handsets and probably a switchgear at least for their OP's and CP's.  It's only smart... that, and they are probably still listening to that radio, you can count on that."

*She shrugs and grins some more*

"So, whatcha think, we give your friend a call say.. oh six?"

Taras acknowledged the good skills shown by the soldier.

Very good. I really was expecting some more traffic. I'm aware of landlines. Is standard for..."us" too...We have to remain in attention. Any mobile patrol should have portable radios and that is what calls my attention...Respond units you know...

Scratching the back of his head he resumed his train of thought voicing his concerns:

0600 to 0630 is good time to make contact. We can make it in a couple of hours max to the North after that. This will prevent the set up of any elaborate ambush from them or any other group that may intercept radio traffic or just see us crossing the waters. Also I may have to come back to UBC to pick-up some items that I want to carry with me like paperwork and so. I wonder if you can write an official message with our intentions and I will add my greetings at the end. Meaning business first, of course.

Finally he added:

We should take advantage of the contact to gather info on the Stanley Park problem and see what we can do. Please contact Belanger and lets have the reaction team ready as well.

*She grins wider at that, unabashed*

"Oh and atmospheric conditions are currently unfavorable..."
*She pauses as a flash of lightning lights up the closest window, and a rumble of thunder follows shortly thereafter*
".. for radio reception."



"If weather conditions are favorable.. aye.  I do recommend we transmit to them from either a remote antenna, a relay, or a bit in the field and then bug out fast.. just in case they have the equipment to triangulate our position."

*She sort of mock salutes at the last bit*

"Sure.. I will give you a draft for approval."




"Suuuure, sounds like a good idea, glad ye thunk it loot, I think waitin on Belanger a good idea for the time being, but soon early"

*She winks, but will do a break or two to see if Belanger has his ears on*

It was quiet in the hours after midnight. Dark too since there was little need to waste valuable resources on lighting. Only a few hardy souls stirred, most assigned to guard duty out at the various checkpoints, a few more on roving patrols between them and throughout the campus. The rest were like him, either slept out, working very late on some vital task, or monitoring the radio and telephone networks.

The sound of rain beating down and the flickering of candles lent a cosy feel to the room, reminding those few awake lucky enough to be inside of a better life before the war. It was a good time to catch up on paperwork and read over the days reports, a task he settled into after exchanging a few pleasentries with those on duty and getting their verbal update.

"Seems there's been a little progress while I was sleeping," he declared quietly so as not to wake anyone. "Not as much as I'd hoped for, but more than I expected."

"I like the idea of radio contact before meeting face to face, but I think that should wait until our people are on the ground."

Bens arm hurt even with the rest and painkillers he'd had poured into him by the medics. Although he really wanted to join his team, there was still a very good chance he'd have to stay behind. With his arm in a sling, he'd be more of a hinderance than help if trouble struck - firing his weapon might be ok, but reloading, or even moving as quickly as needed would be next to impossible.

Sliding a notepad across the table towards him, he cradled a pen in his good hand and began to write. At least he could still do that much...

*The Radio op cocks her head at that comment*(

"On the ground where?  Are you proposing we do a special deployment for this contact?  Or are you proposing we risk an incident or injury?"

"Oh," Ben started, not realising Champlain was still awake.
"No, I'm thinking of landing the team on shore and having them establish themselves on the ground before transmitting. I'd rather avoid them knowing we're coming until after the fact."
"Naturally the actual landing will take place out of sight of the locals."
He didn't intend on giving no notice at all, just delaying contact until the locals wouldn't have any opportunity to set up an ambush as they landed. They'd all seen how badly things could go if they were caught at the shoreline with nowhere to go.
"You'd better get some sleep. Reveille is at 0400." Just a few short hours away....

"Yeah.. sounds sensible.  I sleep poorly in the field, you know..."

*She laughs and curls into her bedroll, drifting off to sleep again*

The room suddenly appeared to burst with some activity. The entrance of Jagelis put everybody in a mood. His condition awoke mixed feelings to the occupants of the room. Decission making sometimes comes with a hefty price. The sling was a pictorial reminder of how costly it could be.

Shevchenko was caught by surprise by the idea of sending the team inland before making radio contact;
Lieutenant Jagelis, are you aware of the consequences of landing a team on the shore prior establishing radio contact?

He didn't want to appear confrontational about mission orders at first. This time, and against all the military doctrine that he was taught in the Soviet Union, he decided to hear from the young officer.