"Now, cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good,
When the levee breaks, mama, you got to move.
All last night sat on the levee and moaned,
Thinkin' 'bout my baby and my happy home."

-When the Levee Breaks, Led Zeppelin (1971)

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This message was last edited by the GM at 03:30, Sat 06 Oct 2018.

Sunday, July 14th, 2030
1100 hours
83F, 75% humidity
Wind 5mph out of the southeast


The team leaves Gould with nothing but a box of tampered-with mail and a lingering sense of unease. The townsfolk's wariness, in some cases bordering on passive-aggressiveness, remains unexplained.

And so it's on to the next town. The convoy rolls west to Pendleton, a village on the west bank of the Arkansas River, and site of the only bridge spanning the Arkansas between Pine Bluff and the waterway's confluence with the Father of Waters, the mighty Mississippi (the next bridge is approximately 80 miles downriver).

The three-vehicle convoy rolls through flat farmland, a scattering of fields fecund and fallow. VOAR plays the Allman Brothers' 'Ramblin Man' (Skillins cranks it up). Workers- locals and transplanted refugees- are out doing what they can to salvage the rain-lashed crops of soybeans, rice, corn, wheat, and cotton. An old man waves his straw hat in greeting as the ASDF vehicles pass. If he hails from Gould, he must not have received the memo concerning fraternizing with outsiders.

Sierra sees the first evidence of flooding where the highway veers sharply around an oxbow lake (Silver Lake). The detritus-strewn asphalt here is split and warped, chunks washed away. In places, Rios has to set the pace at a crawl to proceed.

The village of Pendleton is trying to dry out. Sandbagged ramparts ring some of the houses, still holding back ankle-deep water in a few places. Clothes, furniture, and other sundry household items are parked out of doors, drying in the hot summer sun. A man tosses a sodden roll of torn-out carpet out of his front window. The state flood control system was supposed to prevent this sort of thing from happening, but the poorly-maintained dams and levees failed to fully contain the rain-swollen Arkansas River during the most recent hurricane tailing rains.

Pendleton is bisected by U.S. Route 165 (which crosses the Arkansas just north of town, passing into Mississippi). The west side of Pendleton was inundated by one to three feet of water; the east side of town was largely spared. As a collective, the locals are markedly more approachable than those encountered in Gould, although many express strong dissatisfaction with the state government- a couple of particularly distraught folks harangue the STAR team, identifying them as representatives of said. The State House is blamed for the disastrously decrepit condition of the dams both upriver and down, and the resulting flooding. During conversation with various, more level-headed townsfolk, the Sierras learn the following:

A couple of bloated bodies have washed ashore on the muddy riverbanks near town over the past couple of days, one partially clad in the distinctive orange remnants of a prison jump suit. Two men wearing white jumpsuits were seen by a couple of kids, tubing past town on Saturday morning.

During the height of the flood, a stray river barge impaled itself on one of the bridge pilings near mid-channel, possibly damaging the load-bearing pylon. Preliminary attempts to dislodge the stranded barge with cables and winches have so far failed. The barge is proving too heavy and too well lodged to be budged by such means.

The hydroelectric power plant five miles or so east of town has been inoperable since shortly after the Thanksgiving Day Massacre. The Army Corps of Engineers declared the dam sound but, apparently, no one's even looked at the generators and transformers, let alone attempted to repair them, since a survey team from the local power company performed a cursory inspection shortly after the nuclear strike on El Dorado. If the electrical equipment could be brought back into operation, the resulting power would be a boon to Pendleton and other nearby communities (including Gould).

Locals complain that a Mississippi State Guard checkpoint* at the far (east) end of the bridge has been shaking down travelers, demanding payment of a toll (the guardsmen apparently call it an "interstate commerce fee") before allowing passage. Furthermore, some accuse the detachment of looting several Pendleton homes and business during the height of the flooding. The detachment reportedly consists of between six and ten armed guardsmen. In addition to their personal weapons, the MSSG troops have a machinegun, a couple of trucks, and a motor boat. Allegedly, they used the latter to cross the river and access the flooded west side of town while the homeowners were seeking shelter on higher ground; warehouses at the barge loading docks to the east of town were also raided. Some of the more sanguine Pendletonites want to confront the guardsmen, but now that the STAR team is in town, they've asked Sierra to do so instead. A Mississippi state flag can be seen flying from a pole at the north end of the bridge.

*Apparently, the last squad to man the MSG checkpoint enjoyed good relations with the people of Pendleton. The new, current group took over shortly before the storm.


Your Turn.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 05:03, Mon 08 Oct 2018.

Lauren walks across the parking lot next to the bridge, making for where their three vehicle convoy is parked in the eastern corner. She's just spent five minutes talking with a small delegation of townspeople who had been eager to tell her about the activities of the Mississippi Guardsmen on the other side of the river. They had been animated on occasion, angry about the looting - alleged looting the Air Force Captain reminds herself - with one of them repeatedly belabouring the point that the 'Government had left them in the wind'.

As she rejoins the rest of the team at the vehicles it becomes evident from comments that the others have also heard that dissatisfaction with the State Government in Little Rock is a recurring theme. Clearly it's going to take some work to win some of the hearts and minds here. But at least people are engaging with them, unlike their last stop.

"Looks like we've got a few problems we can help with." Lauren remarks, reaching for her hydration bladder's drinking tube so that she can take a sip of water. Recognizing what appears to be a low threat environment she's bare headed, having taken off her helmet shortly after she'd stepped down from the JLTV, secured it to her LBE. It now rests against her left hip. Similarly, her carbine is slung over her shoulder. She's even told the JLTV crew it was OK if they all dismounted so long as one person stayed close to the vehicle at all times.

"Cute," Saul comments to Cao.  "Resources go down and we turn into crabs, pulling each other back."  His eyes track across the bridge to the Mississippi and the potential raiders/militia on the far side.  "Course the last time this fair Union was split, Arkansas and Mississippi were fighting on the same side."

He's not surprised.  Give people a little bit of power, a whole lot of boredom, and more than a little need, and you'll get situations like this.  Saul doesn't doubt the shake-downs.  The odds that the fee is state sanctioned is rather small, but government looks different these days.  The stories of theft and a little harder to credit, especially with cons on the loose (exhibit A: bloated drowning victims).  Doesn't mean folks from Mississippi didn't engage in a bit of midnight requisitions of course.  Just means proof might be a bit hard to come by.

"Why don't I take a little stroll across the way," Saul says to Cao with a tilt of his head across the bridge.  "I can go light prior to the official entourage and get a feel for what's going on."  The distance isn't that far.  The hip should hold up and he's fairly certain Car's marksmanship can at least make somebody thing twice about sticking a head up from here.  "A couple of us can go halfway, maybe have Ms. Murray take a look at that bridge pylon at the same time."

"Miz Murray," Xandra retorts without looking at Saul, "is already looking at that bridge pylon and grinding her teeth in the way the dentist told her not to."  She lowers the borrowed binoculars, relents, and grins at him.  "Also, this river?  Still waaaaaay beyond adult swim levels."

She points to a faded set of markings on the bridge's far abutment.  "The top line just below the deck?  That's the 1927 record.  I guess some dumbass wanted to issue a challenge.  You can see from the high-water mark that the flood crest didn't get near it this time, but it's still going to be most of a week before the lifeguard says the pool's open again.  Water's too high, too fast, and carrying too much debris."

She paces over and hands the binoculars back to Cao.  "I don't love the idea of leaving the barge there but there's no way to shift it with the equipment we have on hand.  Give it that week and it'll be a lot easier.  The problem between now and then will be keeping pieces of trees and houses from accumulating on it.  Too much of that will put more pressure on it and that might be enough to sweep the pylon out from under the bridge, like whoosh."  She makes a sweeping motion with her hands in the general direction of downstream in case the explanation isn't clear enough.  "I'd feel better rappelling down there to take a closer look if I could be sure the neighbors weren't going to start taking potshots at me."

Scott approaches the salvage colloquium with the vague and ragged hope that the technical side of the operation is looking better than the political one.  He's spent the better part of three hours exercising his verbal judo skills on behalf of the Right Honorable And Totally Not Here Steve Ralford and the beginning of a screaming stress headache is forming at the base of his skull.  Truth be told, a lot of what he's heard has been people venting problems they know are insoluble to a new and captive outside audience, but there are some valid complaints mixed into the bitching.  In particular...

"I think public sentiment is running about fifty-fifty between getting the barge out of there right the hell now and blowing the bridge to deter an invasion from the Jeff Davis Cavalry Legion over there."  He tosses the Civil War history allusion and a tilt of the head in the general direction of the erstwhile Mississippi troops.  "This is probably a stupid question, but how much does that thing weigh?"

"There are no stupid questions, just stupid managers," slips out before Xandra can adjust her filters.  She decides to drive straight on and hope no one remembers the indiscretion after the data dump.  "Erm.  Between two-fifty and fifteen hundred, likely more toward the high end."  She shrugs.  "For some reason known only to Poseidon, the cargo covers stayed on that thing, so I can't tell how it's loaded from here.  There aren't any HAZMAT placards on it, which is about the only good news.  But the fact that the covers are on it and the way it's riding low in the water tells me it's carrying something.  Finding out what's in there and figuring out how to unload it, if we can, are right up there with doing a better structural assessment on the bridge itself."

Scott flips through his possible responses and decides that he actually is too tired to make an issue of it right now.  "Yeah, so let's defer further stupid management until you get us that information.  I'm going to guess we don't want to try to put the hydro dam back online while the river's above flood stage, either, but put surveying that on your to-do list as well."

He adjusts his gunbelt and turns to Cao.  "Captain, the stories Rios and I are getting are consistent enough to strongly suggest the guys over there did take advantage of the storm to enrich themselves.  I've asked the mayor's chief of staff -" a tongue-in-cheek title for the mayor's husband, not doing much in the way of teaching graduate anthropology courses these days - "- to pull together an inventory of what was taken, starting with the supplies from the warehouses.  And to differentiate eyewitness accounts from 'we came home and the family silver was missing.'  We're supposed to have that around dinnertime."

Cao takes her binos back from Murray, takes a moment to consider the options that are being put on the table. "I agree with Mr Noble that we should try and reach out to the Mississippi State Guard people at the other end of the bridge." She looks over at Saul. "I'd be happy to come with you if you want to take a stroll. Representing the Federal Government so to speak." The implication is that the Federal Government - as embodied by the Military Government of the United States of America, not the traitors in Omaha - might carry slightly more weight than the Arkansas State Government once they'd crossed the State line and were no longer actually in Arkansas. Maybe.

"I think we should talk to them before we try to deal with the barge and / or send Miz Murray over the side of the bridge on a rope." She inclines her head in Xandra's direction. "If they know what we're doing and why we're doing it that should prevent any misunderstandings. After all, presumably they'd prefer to keep the bridge in one piece as well so it's in their interests not to interfere with any potential salvage operations."

She then nods when Guillory brings up the alleged looting. "Noted." It's a non committal reply, brief. Maybe even slightly defensive The idea of the military stealing from the citizens that they are supposed to be protecting does not sit well at all with the Air Force Captain, but thus far all they have are allegations. Without any proof it would be one person's word against another if accusations started to get hurled about. And they could hardly demand that the Mississippi Guardsmen submit themselves to a search. "We may need to escalate that one up their chain of command." That presumes that their chain of command aren't also involved of course, which is a disturbing thought for a professional military officer and service Academy graduate like Lauren.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:07, Sat 06 Oct 2018.

"Xandra then," Saul chuckles. "And I know better than to tell a woman her business, what with three daughters and all.  Forgive an old dog."  He actually tips the brim of his ball cap at the engineer a bit.  A few stretches to crack his back later, motion limited by the cocoon of body armor encapsulating his bones, and Saul reaches for his walking stick.  He'll play up the cripple angle a bit, even if the ache is real.

"Okay Captain, let's go meet the neighbors."

Duane, eavesdropping on the conversation through the J-LTV's open driver's side door, asks, "Want me to park Razorback on the ramp, where them Mississippi boys can see her? Flex on 'em just a little."

-

Cao pauses, considers Skillins' suggestion. On one hand it would be a show of force. But on the other it could trigger an escalation. And if things did spiral out of control and bullets started flying in either direction then calming the situation down again would likely be a major challenge.

After a moment she looks  towards Saul. "It would save a walk if we take the JLTV half way." After all, it's a hot day. And there's Saul's leg to consider.

Skillins chauffeurs the contact team to a point just shy of the midpoint of the bridge span. "Maybe we shouldn't put our weight on that pylon 'til Miss Murray's given it a look-see," he suggests.

With the reassuring armored bulk of Razorback standing sentinel behind them, Cao, Saul Noble, and Murray begin walking towards the north end of the bridge. Murray stops well short for a bird's-eye view of the stranded barge. It must have hit the stanchion side-on. The impact assuredly split its hull and sprung some of its internal bulkheads, leading to flooding. As well as any cargo in its holds, it's weighed down by several thousand gallons of river water. As feared, debris has already begun to stack up against the barge's bent beam. Perhaps a couple of well-placed cutting charges could break the barge up, allowing the current to tear the resulting pieces free and carry them away, or at least make them manageable enough to be moved with cables. From the present angle, Murray can't see enough of the pylon to properly inspect it for structural damage. There are no visible cracks in the segment that she can see. The asphalt beneath her feet, at any rate, isn't cracked or warped in such a way as to suggest an impending failure of structural integrity. Murray judges that this particular stretch of bridge can probably handle 14,000 pounds of J-LTV, but she won't really know until she can get up close to the piling/stanchion.

[OOC: I'll leave whether Murray stays put or goes along with Cao and Noble up to y'all.]

The envoys crest the apex of the span and begin the shallow descent. It's a long walk on the hot, painfully exposed bitumen. The MSG checkpoint is just off the right (east) side of the ramp, situated on its reverse slop. It consists of a small sandbag revetment built up around a couple of concrete Jersey barriers, topped by a collapsible awning. A half-dozen yellow ADOT crash barrels are set up on the road so as to slow and channel incoming traffic. It's oriented towards the Arkansas side of the river. A pickup truck painted in a non-regulation woodland camouflage scheme is parked on the far side of the revetment. A boat sits on its unhitched trailer nearby. There are a couple of civilian camping tents set up under some trees on the east side of the road, about even with the bottom of the ramp.

A camo-clad man steps forward, carbine slung across his chest, left hand raised. In greeting? In warding? It's hard to tell at first. A red, white, and blue Mississippi state flag patch is clearly visible against the muted greens and browns of his ball cap.

"'Morning! How can we help you?" he calls in a thick delta drawl. The Sierra dismounts are uncomfortably aware of another guardsmen leaning over an ancient M60 machinegun in the revetment. It's pointed in their general direction, but not currently being aimed per se. Still, there's no cover on the elevated roadway. If the gunner has a mind to, he won't have much trouble at all cutting the envoys down. A quick glance over their shoulders reveals the unreassuring fact that the curve of the bridge is masking the Sierra team from the protection of Razorback's heavy machinegun.


Your Turn.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 04:48, Mon 08 Oct 2018.

Just another walk through Memphis, Saul tells himself as he and Cao leave the relative safety of the JLTV behind.  It is not an unfamiliar sensation.  Nearly thirty years of work in some of the roughest neighborhoods Memphis has to offer has prepped him for this kind of work.

"So it's like this," he says to the Captain.  Or perhaps more to himself, to organize his thoughts. "We have to put aside judgement for a little while.  Doesn't really matter if they're our raiders or not.  Not yet.  We want to collect information and see how they react to things, not push an agenda or a response.  The word of the day is 'friendly.'"

A twinge of pain pulls the former police officer from his thoughts, causing him to grimace a touch but not break his admittedly slowed stride. "A friend of mine once told me about the two types of adversaries you deal with.  On one hand you've got Good-Bad-Guys, the GBGs.  These are the guys that are crap humans, to be sure, but you can sway to your side with the right incentive.  Then there are Bad-Bad-Guys.  BBGs...well BBGs there's really no hope for, so you have to figure out how to neutralize them and take them out of the system. What we're hoping for here, is some self-centered GBGs.

"Or," he amends, "some simple miscommunication.  Although..."  The thought trickles off as the duo gets closer and closer to the machine gun nest. Experienced eyes take in the the camp, the organization level, the general cleanliness of the area.  The folks from Mississippi are in a good spot and they seem to know it.  The only "cover" to be had are the construction barrels and they probably aren't rated for 7.62mm.  Instead of keeping his hands near the shotgun strapped to his chest, he pulls off his ball cap and rubs the sweat off his balding head.

"Morning," Saul calls back cheerfully.  "Gonna be a hot one on the bridge today.  Hope you fellas got some more shade to go around."  He stops walking far enough back not to be directly threatening, but not so far that they're going to be shouting at one another.  "We just wanted to let y'all know were going to be doing some work on the bridge here over the next day or so.  Heard you folks got some pretty serious rain around here and Little Rock sent us down to see what we could do to help out.  Got a barge pinned up against a pylon that we need to get free before it cracks the bridge.  That'd be a disaster for everyone."  He's all genuine smiles, but he's watching the man's eyes carefully, waiting to see what the mention of Little Rock does.

See, we're helping.  Not interfering.  Not yet.

Lauren tries to look non threatening when she climbs down from Razorback and onto the bridge. Non threatening. It's a relative term. Her helmet is still off, attached to her plate carrier vest. Her carbine is slung in front of her, across her chest, though the barrel is pointing downwards at a forty five degree angle and her right hand is resting on the butt rather than anywhere near the trigger. After all she figured that the Mississippi Guardsmen were likely to find it more unusual if she's not carrying a long arm.

She falls in alongside Saul, matching her pace to his as they move across the bridge, listening while he speaks. The Vietnamese part of her upbringing has taught her to respect old people, to listen to their wisdom. While Mr Noble is closer in age to her father it reminds her a little of talking with her grandfather.

"As you say, could be a miscommunication." She offers as the checkpoint grows larger, eyes that are still hidden behind Wiley X Valor sunglasses taking note of its various features, most notably the machine gun that's not quite aimed at them. Diplomacy, it seems, is definitely the order of the day. And if the Mississippi troops are indeed guilty of looting she sincerely hopes that diplomacy can resolve it, that as Saul says they are GBG's.

Lauren has had ample time over the last day or so to reflect on her actions the night they rescued the Alamo survivors. Especially what happened at the pig farm. When she ordered what was, in effect, an execution. It hasn't been mentioned since. Probably better that way. But if she could have that moment again she wouldn't change a thing. Convicted murderers and rapists had died and she had brought all of her people home. But this is a completely different situation. The man that's just challenged them, the man behind the machine gun, they're wearing the same uniform as her.

And her uniform carries the railroad track insignia of her rank, although at this range the Guardsman likely can't tell that. So when Saul finishes she adds her two cents' worth.  "Captain Cao, United States Air Force, out of Little Rock AFB, supporting State recovery efforts." She's trying to keep her tone friendly, not make it sound like she's throwing her weight - or rank - around. And she's purposely not mentioned which State - or States, plural - recovery efforts she's supporting. "Like he said, we're here to help. Who's in command here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:23, Mon 08 Oct 2018.

"That'd be me," the bearded man answers. "Lieutenant Miles Seeger." The man looks to be in his mid-to-late thirties, right around the senior cut off limit of the last draft. Seeger cocks his head towards his right shoulder, looking past the visitors, at the grounded barge. "Yeah, saw that. Real fuckin' mess. Sent word up the chain of command 'bout it, but I hear Jackson's busy with other crisises [sic] at the moment. Anything we can do to help you Little Rock folks, though, just let me know. I can spare a couple guys if you need 'em. Got a boat too, but I'm sure y'all got yer own."

A man emerges from one of the tents under the verge at the base of the ramp, stretches. He's barefoot, wearing ACU fatigue pants and a brown t-shirt, sports a thick black beard, non-regulation long. Noticing the Sierras, he ducks back into the tent. The man behind the M60 relaxes a bit. He's bare-headed, relatively clean-shaven, wearing an ACU top with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders.

The man reemerges from the tent looked markedly more alert. He's put on a fatigue shirt, boots, and an OCP boonie hat. A shotgun dangles from his hand.

"Hey, you had any trouble with the locals?" Seeger asks. "Someone took a pot-shot at us last night, right around sunset, from over yonder." He points towards the east side of Pendleton. The machine gunner takes a swig of something clear from a gallon jug.

There's a muffled gunshot, from far off enough that neither Cao nor Noble even flinch. Seeger explains, "Jackson don't really feed us out here- got to take care of ourselves." Apparently, the outpost has a hunting/foraging party out in the woods.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 23:12, Sun 14 Oct 2018.

Scott has developed (through painful experience) enough self-awareness to know when he's not in the right mindset for diplomacy.  Technically, he probably should be over there with Cao, but this is one of those times, so he wasn't eager to protest his exclusion.

That doesn't mean he's not minded to help out, though, so he busies himself with the admin box in the back of the Suburban.  Not coincidentally, that puts him within arm's reach of the unlatched gun case containing his Remington.  A glance at Carissa shows that the team's primary long rifle is also casually ready for immediate use.  Just in case.

Xandra trails along behind the negotiators, watching for - well, she's not exactly sure what, but she supposes she should be watching for something.  While Captain Cao and Saul do the talking, she looks over the checkpoint and camp, trying to figure out how many occupants it has and if they have any useful skills beyond working on their tans.  It also gives her an excuse to assess the Mississippi Guardsmen from behind her shades, to see if they're reacting to her and the captain as members of the same uniformed tribe or as women.

"Wouldn't happen to know where to scrounge a Cat D9 and a driver," she not-quite-asks when there's a break in the conversation.  She jerks a thumb at the barge.  "Could use a little leverage."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:30, Tue 09 Oct 2018.

"Can't help ya there, Miss," Seeger answers. "Nearest town on this side of the river is 10 miles north of here. You ask around over there yet?" he asks, gesturing to the south side of the bridge. "Or they bein' assholes to you folks too?"

Murray can feel Seeger's eyes give her the ol' up-down. More than once. The other guardsmen as well. They're trying to be sly about it, but a girl knows.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 01:26, Wed 10 Oct 2018.

Saul's eyes track the entire exchange.  He wonders, briefly, if the jug the machine gunner is drinking from is water or moonshine and identifies the bearded man in the sleeveless top as the alpha-killer in the proverbial room.  It's hard to tell if he's being played or if this group of militiamen are actually okay.  They are decidedly no standard, but then again, so is his team.  Having given the Arkansas side of things the benefit of the doubt, Saul is acutely aware that he has allowed "his team" to control the narrative. That's a rookie mistake there. "Saul Noble," Saul introduces himself. "Memphis PD and USMC.  Retired from both, sadly.  Our engineer extraordinaire is Xandra Murray," he adds with a grin and thumb over the shoulder.  Deescalate and humanize.

"Alas, the powers that be sent us down here without a boat, so we might just have to take you up on that offer."  He nods slowly.  "We've just come down the road from Grady and they've had a bit of a problem with a prison take over and bunch of escaped violent cons.  The prison has been re-secured, but if you've got folks in the woods, you might want to have them be careful.  We saw a couple of bodies washed up on shore sporting the finest in penal wear."  There's your hook, here's your bait. "Seems like folks on the other side of the river have had some problems with raiders during the flood scooping up some belongings from some homes.  Figure cons are the most likely culprit.  Probably took the pot-shot at you, too.  Everybody here being on the same side and all."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:41, Tue 09 Oct 2018.

"Nice to meet you, Lieutenant." Lauren is fine letting the lack of a salute slide. She'd become used to that while fighting the Allianza. Granted, she doubts that there's a Venezuelan sniper lurking in the trees but she'll give Lieutenant Seeger a pass on that one. She might not have been quite so relaxed if he'd been enlisted.

She lets the fact that the machine gunner might be swigging locally brewed hooch slide as well, although she's less happy about that. It could be water. But even if it isn't, tearing the trooper a new one in front of his CO is likely to start all manner of shitstorms. A quiet word with Seeger would probably be the most appropriate response. But right now it looks as if Seeger might be part of the problem not the solution.

"If you can spare a couple of men that would also be helpful." She smiles, keeps her tone relaxed. Maybe getting a few of them away from the main group - and the likely ringleaders - will be beneficial.  "And as Mr Noble said there's a number of cons in the wind, some of them armed." Lauren smiles again. "Mind giving me a tour of your defenses? Maybe we can help you out a bit. How are you fixed for ammo?" Her tone is casual, one military officer simply asking another - lower ranking - military officer for the quick tour while they're in the neighborhood as a matter of courtesy, an implied offer of sharing resources thrown in for good measure. The Air Force Captain is already walking - slowly - towards the revetment.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:32, Tue 09 Oct 2018.

Carswell's stance appears casual. He's leaning against the SUV's hood, arms folded, one foot resting against the front tire. Appearances can be misleading though. He might look relaxed but eyes that are hidden behind polarized lenses are alert as they watch the far side of the river. Hanging around like this waiting for something to happen is making him more than a little antsy.

Seeger's face shows concern at Noble's mention of a mass prison-break and the possibility of convicts still on the loose.

"Good to know."

He steps aside for Cao to pass. The machine gunner ducks down, moves something noisily before reappearing at his post. Cao looks over the sandbagged wall, into the revetment. She doesn't smell hooch, but the machine gunner clearly hasn't washed in at least a couple of days. His pungent funk seems trapped underneath the pop-up awning that provides shade. Inside the ad-hoc bunker, Cao sees a couple of lawn chairs, a camping lantern, and an Igloo cooler which also serves as a small table. Atop it are a pair of binoculars and a couple of old Field & Stream magazines, which don't quite conceal the X-rated porno mag hastily tucked underneath. Sunflower seed shells litter  the dirt floor of the revetment. Cao spots a single ammo can- 7.62mm linked- resting at the foot of the M60. A short belt- 50 rounds, maybe- is hanging from the weapon's feed tray/receiver. The gunner seems particularly nervous now, but perhaps he's just embarrassed.

"We're OK on ammo, but if you're giving it away..." Seeger smiles. He walks over, sits on the Jersey barrier.

"Yeah, as soon as the hunting party gets back, I'll brief all my guys about the prison break. You need to borrow our boat, no problem. Marty used to work on the river, few years back." He glances briefly at the man down by the tents. That must be Marty. "The river," he adds. He must mean the Mississippi. "What's your plan for getting that thing off the bridge?" Seeger asks, pointing towards the barge.<Purple>

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This message was last edited by the GM at 01:43, Thu 11 Oct 2018.

Chevelle's torso protrudes from Ace Hardware's open roof hatch, a pair of binoculars held up to her brown eyes, shaded from the midday sun by the brim of her USAF-issue patrol cap. She'd removed her blue beret when the captain had instructed her to remain behind, but she still sported a USAF security police arm brassard, its big block SP prominently and proudly displayed.

"Everything looks friendly enough so far, from what I can see," she reports, studying the unit's MSG counterparts on the far bank. The bulk of the bridge blocks her view of the left side of the ramp, opposite.

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This message was last edited by the player at 02:24, Wed 10 Oct 2018.

Lauren nods, takes another look at the revetment then steps away, trying to ignore the smell of stale sweat and body odour that threatens to assail her nostrils. The porn mag also goes unmentioned as she makes her way over to the barrier that Seeger has perched himself on. Cao doesn't sit, instead stands next to him.

"I'll see what I can do." Her reply is non committal with regards to the supply situation, although it's said with a brief smile. When the conversation then turns towards plans to shift the barge the Lauren leaves that one to Mz Murray, continues to stand next to the barrier, occasionally casting her eyes around the camp.

Xandra waits for the nod from Captain Cao.  "First step is to rope down and find out what the load is and how much more incidental damage it and the bridge can take."  She gives Seeger a moment and a my eyes are up here stare until he focuses on her face.  "Past that, depends on what I see and what we can come up with in terms of tools.  Best option is to get cables on it from heavy equipment and do a controlled pivot off the pylon, then let the current do most of the work to ground it on the bank.  Worst option is that it works loose on its own and keeps smashing other shit downriver.  Breaking its back and sinking it in the channel is sort of a middle ground that'll be a short-term fix with long-term consequences."

She shrugs.  "I mean, yeah, job security, but I don't want to have to come back out here in a couple of years and unfuck my own work when it's time to open up the shipping channel again."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:24, Wed 10 Oct 2018.

"Gotta be tough out here," Saul says after Xandra finishes.  A sigh and a lean means taking a non-professional moment to rest his body against the barrier.  It's part calculated ease and part pain relief.  He'll leave which proportion is which as an exercise for the observer to complete. "Especially if back home isn't throwing a lot of support your way.  And you said the my fellow Razorback fans are being a little less than hospitable?  We'd sure like to figure out a way to get the bridge operational and get both ends of it on the same page."

"Sounds good to me. I have no idea why they've got a stick up their butt over there, but I'm willing to forgive and forget... long as they are."

It's an interesting take, one that raises more questions than answers. What do the townsfolk need to forgive and forget? The Sierra envoys have seen no evidence of pilfered goods being in the possession of the MSG detachment- no jewelry, spirts, tools, or other items mentioned by the residents of Pendleton as having been stolen. Then again, the Sierras haven't been able to inspect the guardsmen's campsite. By the same token, the Sierras managed not to tip their hand, giving the MSG detachment no indication that their ASDF contingent is aware of any reported theft. For the time being, the matter is moot.

The envoys return to the center of the span, above the stranded barge. Murray slips into a rappelling harness (Skillins, apparently having slept through the whole #MeToo movement just over a decade earlier, winkingly offers to assist her) while Cao and Noble begin securing a rope to the bridge's crash barrier. Murray slowly rappels down, focusing first on the stanchion. She notes a significant crack in the reinforced concrete pylon  several meters above the wreck, passing almost through its entire circumference. At present, there's little risk of a collapse, but if the pylon sustains another heavy impact, or sustained lateral pressure, the odds of a catastrophic failure rise dramatically.

Next, Murray lowers herself to the upper deck of the barge. Whatever cargo it carries, if any, must be contained within. She gingerly sets foot on deck. It doesn't budge- it's lodged firmly against the piling. She could jump up and down and it likely wouldn't move an inch. Several hatches provide access to the interior of the vessel. All are covered by large, one-piece clamshell doors fashioned out of heavy-duty plastic. All are padlocked. Murray's come prepared. She brought a pair of heavy bolt cutters. She pops one of the locks and lifts the hatch up enough to get a glimpse of what's inside. Water- quite a bit of it- but, partially submerged and already beginning to rust metal pieces as well, I-beams and other structural components for some sort of construction project.

No one from the MSG contingent arrives on site to assist the operation.

Meanwhile, assisted by Kabua, Doc Carswell sets up a tent in the lee of Ace Hardware to act as a walk-in clinic. Every other building in town is either still partially inundated, suffering the lingering effects said floodwaters, or is currently double or triple-occupied


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:04, Fri 12 Oct 2018.

"Hey D, how am I supposed to murder these M, I, crooked letter, crooked letter, I, crooked letter, crooked letter, I, humpback, humpback I, assholes if we don't have Capitol of Peru, Trash Grouch on Sesame Street, Sierra on the OPFOR," Cole said as he saw the team disappear from LOS around the curve of the bridge.  He figured he'd give Skillins the ending of LOS, because who knew if PBS was available in whatever bum-fuck Arkansas village Razorback's driver had grown up in.

"Let's shift positions and see if we can find a place we can track the .50 cal from.  If that's not an option, I'm either going out with the SAW and GL, or rigging a sling for hip firing the .50 cal, like I saw on Youtube; you know, before TDM broke the Internet worse than any of Kanye's shit" Anderson said.  He'd see if Duane could find a firing position that would provide overwatch on the team now chatting it up across the river.  If not, he'd dismount and get ready to play rock, scissors, M60, M320...
This message was last edited by the player at 16:38, Fri 12 Oct 2018.

It takes Duane a minute to put the pieces of Anderson's phonetic puzzle together, but when he finally gets it, he laughs out loud. Anderson, he's concluded, is one funny dude- funny ha-ha and funny weird. Either way- both ways- Duane finds him quite amusing.

"Roger that, Sarge." he replies, putting Razorback in reverse. He backs up a few meters, then turns the wheel a bit before slipping her back into drive. He advances and pulls the J-LTV up tight alongside the right-hand guard-rail, but again stops short of the potentially damaged pylon.

"I ain't gonna put this thing's weight on that pylon- not 'til Miss Murray gives us the go-ahead."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:13, Sat 13 Oct 2018.

Razorback's slightly revised position gives Anderson partial LOS to the MSG position. He can now see most of the revetment and the edges of the tents peeking out of the trees to the east of the bridge ramp. If he wants LOS to the entire north end of the bridge, he realizes that either he or Razorback will have to advance to the crest of the bridge's gentle hump.

-

Hanging halfway between the bridge deck and the rushing water, Xandra whistles to herself, the Five Finger Death Punch cover of Want You Bad playing in her head.  Duane hadn't quite known how to react when she suggested that he might be a better candidate for being tied up with the rappelling gear.  Between that and watching her don her wet suit, she's pretty sure a breaker has popped in whatever passes for the boy's tiny redneck brain.

She eases her patrol pack around, withdraws a spray paint can, and tags the concrete with a few acid-green reference marks.  If there's further damage or movement, that'll help her identify it through binoculars without having to come back down here.  Ever so carefully, she swaps the can for the team's irreplaceable digital camera, looping its lanyard around her wrist before shooting a good dozen photos of the damage.

She stows everything and double-checks that her ruck is zipped shut and carabinered to her harness before descending the rest of the way to the barge.  Touchdown is anticlimactic.  She unsnaps the retention strap on her holster before walking to the nearest inspection hatch on the cargo cover and violating the crappy Master padlock.  She lets her Nighthawk and flashlight lead the way inside - she's not so worried about human threats, but she's seen snakes and larger wildlife get into some damned odd places.  The sloshing knee-deep water in the first compartment is more of a concern, validating her expectations of some sprung hull welds.

"Looks clear," she reports over the borrowed radio clipped to her harness.  "Leakage is stable.  Cargo looks like a few hundred tons of structural steel.  Give me sixty feet of slack for entry."  She waits until Saul pays out the line, then checks her knives in case she needs to cut away and eases inside.

She finds the plastic pocket where the cargo manifest should have been.  It's empty, of course.  It would have been convenient but she wasn't counting on the job being easy.  So she does it the hard way, working her way through the barge, taking notes and photos on every marking that's still spraybombed or chalked on the steel, looking for damage to the vessel, listening and feeling for the signs that distinguish a hull at rest on rough water from one that's about to try to kill her, checking in with Saul every five minutes to confirm that she hasn't run afoul of bad air (though it's not like anyone's equipped for a confined space rescue if she goes down).

It's been more than an hour by the time she emerges into sunlight again.  She secures all her gear, double-checks it, double-checks that, gives the slack rope on the deck its own inspection, and finally signals for Duane and Cole to winch her up (she appreciates that Cole is probably erudite enough to make the "winch the wench" joke while being too subtle to actually say it).

She stands behind Razorback to avoid giving the Mississippi Mouthbreathers a free show and unselfconsciously changes out of the wet suit while she breaks it down for Captain Cao and anyone else who wants to listen.  "Right now, the bridge should be good for normal traffic up to the posted limit," she points at the somehow-un-shot-up road sign on the Arkansas side, "but I wouldn't want to overstress it.  If it takes another hard hit or if the barge keeps grinding on it, that goes out the window."

She hands the camera to Saul.  "The barge has some sprung seams.  It's still leaking, and if we don't do anything, it'll probably sink in a week or two.  So that's Option One, which would kinda suck.

"Option Two is that I go back down there with most of our demo to break its back and split it around the pylon.  If I don't fuck any of that up, the halves will get swept downriver and sink.  Probably in the channel, where they'll be hazards to navigation.  Assuming they don't stay afloat long enough to beat the shit out of anything else.  Also, there's the risk of collateral damage to the bridge because I'll be setting off a bunch of fucking bombs right next to it.

"Option Three is we scrounge some heavy equipment.  I'd want to do it with three pieces - excavators, cranes, bulldozers, whatever we can get.  We put tension on the barge to pull it off the pylon, then ease it over and let the current do the work while we guide it to shore.  It'd be best if we unloaded the six hundred tons of steel that was supposed to go into Lock Number Three up at Huff's Island, but shifting the load might let the barge work loose, so I'd want tension on it before we started that process anyway."

She realizes she's almost relaxed.  It's the first time in months she hasn't desperately needed a cigarette.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:27, Sat 13 Oct 2018.

Lauren had tried not to pace about too much while Xandra had been on the barge, had spent most of the sixty plus minutes hanging around - not, obviously, in the same sense as Xandra - waiting, trying to make small talk with the rest of the team to pass the time. Skillins hadn't said much, perhaps still recovering from the sight of Xandra getting changed. At least she and Cole could swap Air Force stories and Saul had plenty of tales to tell. She'd interspersed that with the occasional walk over the roadway to look downriver as well as upriver. A qualified diver herself, having completed the USAF combat diver school at Panama City before she'd washed out of the CRO course, Cao didn't doubt that Murray knew what she was doing. Still, the regular radio checks were reassuring.

CRO. Combat Rescue Officer. That was one part of her career that hadn't gone according to plan, a career that she had carefully mapped out. Failing at something hadn't been part of that plan. Dropping out of CRO School still stung. Badly. Sometimes she wondered where she might have been now if she had made the grade, had won her maroon beret. Europe probably, or maybe Korea. Or dead.

"She's coming up." Lauren is sitting in front passenger seat of the JLTV when she hears the call, writing up her report on Gould. She's literally writing it, the old fashioned way, paper and pen rather than using her iPad. Guillory would have his report as well of course, and his would form the official record for Team Sierra. The one she's writing would find its way to the DIA office at Little Rock AFB, go through military channels only. She's got no reason to think hers will be any different from Scott's.

Slipping the notebook back into the cargo pocket of her pants, Cao swings her legs out of Razorback's open door, steps down onto the asphalt. As a concession to the rising temperature she'd taken off her fatigue jacket about half an hour ago, now wears a coyote t shirt under her omnipresent plate carrier vest.

Moving around to the back of the JLTV in time to get an eyeful of what the Mississippi Guardsmen are being denied the Air Force Captain stands, her arms folded, her eyes hidden behind her shades listening while Xandra brings them up to speed on the state of the barge, her expression unchanged as she watches the shorter woman wriggle out of the wetsuit and a random thought passes though her head. Nice ink.

"If I had to choose I'd say three, one, then two in that order." Lauren offers when Xandra finishes speaking.  It's not her call of course, this isn't a problem that falls within her remit. Unless Seeger's men start shooting at them as they try to do whatever they ultimately decide to do. "One and two both mean we lose the barge and its cargo and two sounds like it has a lot of additional risk attached, especially to the bridge. And if it also means using up most of our demo..." the Air Force Captain lets her voice tail away without finishing the point. We might need that another time.

"But that presumes we can lay our hands on heavy equipment." That would probably be easier said than done.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:32, Sat 13 Oct 2018.

"Thanks man." Carswell says to Kabua when they've finished setting up an impromptu field clinic. The sound of the VOAR radio can be faintly heard coming from Ace Hardware, playing The Weight by the Band. Kinda appropriate. It's not Nazareth that they've pulled into, but it doesn't look like a man would be able to find a bed here.

Hopefully the clinic will get some traction, might even go some ways towards assuaging some of the complaints that they'd heard during the course of the morning about lack of help from the State leadership in Little Rock, although that was a fringe benefit from the paramedic's point of view. He's not doing this to make the Governor and some other politicians look good, he's doing it because it's needed. Besides, it had been kinda funny watching Scott wriggle a little trying to cover for Team Ralford.

Mike's ex wife is on that Team as well of course, works for the Governor's office. Yeah, Mike had wondered from time to time if that means she's banging Ralford. Or one of his Team. Which includes Guillory. Amongst others of course. Not that it's any of his business anyway. He and Luisa got divorced five years ago.

But yeah, looks like Team Ralford has taken a hit here. Maybe the Sierras can stick a band aid on it, in Mike's case perhaps literally. The paramedic calls over to Guillory. "Hey, Scott. I'm gonna go have a word with her honor the Mayor, see who the usual go to Doc is here." He would have done it sooner but the Mississippi stand off had precluded it. Given that it looks like things on the other side of the river aren't about to go south he's relaxed a bit. "If I get any customers in the meantime tell them I'll be right back."

His carbine slung over his shoulder Mike sets off for what is likely to be a bruising - but hopefully brief - encounter with Pendleton's Mayor, hoping she can point him in the right direction to speak to whoever usually looks after the town's medical needs. He's never quite sure what that will entail. On previous occasions it's ranged from a couple of pre med student to a retired Harvard trained cardiac surgeon with arthritis. And in some cases it's been nobody and communities have just had to make do the best they could.

Saul dutifully plays out line and follows Xandra's commands without complaint.  He knows when he's outside his wheelhouse and when it's wise to bow the knowledge of the expert.  Still, knots are knots whether someone is rappelling or rigging a truck and his hands seem to know what to do even while his mind tries not to wander from the task at hand.

Something odd is occurring here, to be sure.  The opposite sides of the bridge have opposite ideas of what's going on.  Which is pretty standard in any kind of complex situation, but Saul is not used to one side being accused of straight up asshole-ness then have that side turn out to be, at least on the surface, relatively okay.  No one is ever as clean as they would have you believe, a fact that Saul ran into in Memphis day in and day out.

When Xandra arrives back on the bridge, Saul feels the muscles of his back unwind, bleeding out tension he hadn't been aware that he'd been holding.  While the young woman changes, Saul gentlemanly averts his eyes, focusing instead of coiling the rope and stowing the gear used for the expedition.

"Steel might as well be gold," Saul says to the options presented.  "I'd hate to lose the resource if we can get a hold of it.  It's not worth spending an life to get it, but it is worth some risk.  Maybe substantial risk.  Especially if it can go to use at the dam."  The former Warrant Officer removes his cap and rubs the sweat off his head with a forearm in the common gesture of farmers since time was young.

"We could interview chuckleheads North and South and see what they can come up as far as knowledge of heavy equipment near by.  I can turn Car loose on finding us a spot to clean up for camp, that girl is resourceful as can be.  Might as well settle in here.  Make nice-nice with and for the neighbors."

"I saw one of those big tow-trucks- the kind that can haul a 16-wheeler- back in, uh, Gold or whatever," Duane offers, trying to be helpful. "I don't know if it's got enough cable to reach that barge, but those things got heavy duty winches, and a lot o' horses under the hood too."

The others remember seeing a Bobcat (a very small front-end loader) being used for flood clean-up in west Pendleton. That's probably the extent of "heavy" machinery in a settlement of Pendleton's size. Perhaps the grain-loading stations a little ways downriver have some construction vehicles on site.

-

"That's... not a bad thought, Duane," Xandra admits.  "We can splice a longer cable if we can't reach with what it has on board.  Did it look like it was in running condition?"

She drapes her wet suit over Razorback's pushbar for a little bit of air-drying.  "The Bobcat will be good for hauling cable but that's about as far as it goes.  We'll need operators, too.  I can do the rigging but I haven't driven a lot of the equipment we'll need.  Wasn't there a retired Army tank guy back in Grady?"

"It was clean as shit," Duane replies, oxymoronically. Idiomatically, he means it looked to be in very good shape, at least externally.



"Yeah, I think so," Duane answers. "And I can drive a Bobcat no problem."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 18:50, Sat 13 Oct 2018.

Pendleton's acting mayor is Wendy Thomas, a retired nurse practitioner and the town's only health care professional. She's currently apprenticing a local teenager, a tomboyish young woman with a mall punk hairdo (currently undyed) and a nose ring. They've been doing the best they can with what little they've got, but that consists mostly of dispensing sound medical advice. They have no proper medicines to speak of, save a few over-the-counter analgesics and antacids, only folk remedies crafted with local flora.

Mayor/Doc Thomas introduces Carswell to her latest patient, a senior citizen with a wounded heal. He stepped on something sharp concealed under the knee-high floodwaters, cutting his heel to the bone. Thomas has cleaned it as best she can, and sewed it up, but it's already showing signs of infection, and the old man can't remember the last time he's had a tetanus shot. Another patient also took a tumble whilst traversing a flooded yard, twisting an ankle and breaking a wrist.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:51, Sat 13 Oct 2018.

Scott frowns in thought when Xandra finishes speaking.  "Okay.  Couple things here.  First, river traffic is going to be a while getting back online.  Whether it's the Corps of Engineers or someone else, the channel's gonna have to be dredged anyway, and I'm sure there's a lot of other stuff that's sunk in the past couple of years.  So if we have to add one more item to the salvage list, that won't break the project."

He holds up a hand to forestall protest from the engineer, who obviously doesn't like the idea of leaving an untidy work site.  "This bridge is critical infrastructure, and keeping it standing is the number two priority.  Doing whatever we do safely is number one, if for no other reason than to not look stupid in front of the neighbors."  He tilts his head eastward.

"Having said that, I also recognize that no one's going to be making any more barges for a while, and if it came from the Huff's Island project, the state or the Corps will still need the cargo eventually when someone gets around to finishing the repairs on that lock.  So if we can do it safely, and do it before the accrual of debris breaks the bridge anyway, then I say we go for Option Three."

He flips to a fresh page on his own notepad and begins scrawling.  "So.  Tentative plan.  As soon as we're done here, I'm going to write two orders for that wrecker.  First is a contract in case the owner-operator is still alive.  Second is a requisition order to use if it's unclaimed or if no one is willing to run it for us.  Rios will take Skillins and Watkins up to get it and bring it back here."

"Meanwhile, we'll also put out a survey team downriver to see what we can find there.  I'm thinking Kabua, Saul, and a couple of locals who can navigate and make introductions as needed.

"The rest of us will hold here, continue the hearts-and-minds work, continue to work the allegations of looting, and try to get the Mississippi troops on side for the recovery operation.  Xandra, I want you to start working up three action plans.  First is for your Option Three if we can find a crane capable of handling unloading.  Second is Option Three without a crane, having to shift the barge and its load at once.  Third is a contingency for leveraging the barge off the bridge and letting the current take it if all we have is Skillins' wrecker and whatever we brought with us."

He raises his eyebrows at Cao.  "Captain, are you good with that?"
This message was last edited by the player at 13:42, Sun 14 Oct 2018.

"So what's your name?" Carswell asks his new - and very temporary - assistant as they make their way west along Miller Lane on foot.

"Maggie." The teenager with the nose ring replies.

"Maggie. Cool. I'm Mike." Maggie nods. They're doing house calls to the two patients that Mayor / Doctor Thomas had told him about. Both of them having foot injuries it seemed to make more sense than making them hobble along the road to Ace Hardware. And it isn't as if he's going to have access to more facilities at the truck. Everything he has is in the black 5.11 Rush12 backpack that he's currently carrying.

"This is Mr Kowalski's house." Maggie announces after a few minutes, indicating a house on the left hand side of the road. They're dealing with the twisted ankle / broken wrist first. The damage the property has suffered in the storm is evident . Walking up to the porch the medic notices a service flag with a blue star in an intact window. "His daughter. She's with the Army in Europe." Maggie adds, unprompted. Mike nods, walks up to the door, knocks firmly, calls out. "Metro EMS!"

It's already a squeeze inside. Carswell counts five adults, ranging in age from around twenty to what looks like nearer fifty, and two kids and that's before him and Maggie enter with assorted medical gear. And a longarm. Space is made to examine Mr Kowalski's wrist and ankle, the medic making small talk as he does so, much of it innocent enough although he does make sure to ask them about the troubles they've been having with the guys across the bridge on the Mississippi side. And once he's taken care of Mr Kowalska he'll pack everything up, move on to see his next patient, the old guy who had cut his heel.

Carswell
Administering medical assistance
Attempting to discretely get more info about what's happening in town by talking to townspeople (Interrogation / Persuasion?)

"No major objections here." Cao says in reply to Guillory. This is his show to run. "Although I'd prefer to put more people on the survey team. Just to be on the safe side. Either myself or Sergeant Anderson." There's still a number of escaped cons in the wind so she wants to make sure that if they're sending people out on patrol they'll be able to look after themselves if they run into any trouble.

Bourbon Street

Rios, Guillory, Watkins and Skillins pull into the garage parking lot in Gould. The signage on the storefront reads 'Zo's Tow & Automotive'. The garage bay doors are open. A man and a boy turn away from an exposed truck engine to eye the visitors. It's not likely that they get a lot of new customers these days.

The man is missing a hand. In its place is a elaborate mechanical hook. Flecks of grey peek out from under his trucker hat, more grey in his close-cut beard. He identifies himself as the titular Zo (short for Alonzo).

Rios and Guillory explain that they'd like to hire Zo's wrecker and that they can pay him in cash. He's somewhat skeptical when they describe the job.

"Serena's not a crane, you know. I don't know if we can do what you're askin'." He slowly wipes his hands with a rag, asks, "How much money we talkin'?"

Razorback

Cao guides the M1278 down the riverside road to the first grain storage/barge-loading facility. The vehicle heavy but agile, powerful yet responsive, unlike any wheeled vehicle the Captain has ever driven before. It will take some time for Cao to get used to operate the armored truck. She takes it slow and steady, easing into the job. Trees line the river, providing concealment to any would-be sniper. However, the roots of some are still underwater, eliminating them from contention as the likely hide sight. Unless the aspiring sniper was particularly sloppy, it will take a skilled tracker to identify sign of recent occupation.

The first grain storage/barge loading site comes into view. It's tall silo would make a good sniper's aerie, but probably three-quarters of a mile separate the structure from the north end of the bridge. Cao stops to have a look around. The facility shows clear signs of disuse and neglect, not to mention various attempts at salvage. Floodwaters have damaged some of the riverside structures, probably beyond repair. There are no obvious signs of human habitation. A raven watches the humans from atop the silo, cawing to a distant companion.

The next such site, though a bit larger, is in much the same state as the first, abandoned and decaying, slowly breaking down under the ungentle ministrations of time and the elements. It's just over a mile, as the raven flies, from the crossing, and trees block line of sight from the silo to the north end of the bridge.

The party proceeds towards the dam, curving away from the river, cutting through heavy woods. They haven't gone far when a treefall bars their way. It's possible that the J-LTV can climb the obstacle, but this will certainly test Cao's driving skill. Alternatively, it can be dragged out of the way. This will be easier, but take longer. The team's chainsaw and explosives are currently on board Ace Hardware.

Ace Hardware

Carswell wraps Mrs. Kowalska's sprained ankle, gives her a few anti-inflammatories for the pain and swelling. Ice would help, but for most folks these days, it's just a pleasant memory. When asked about the alleged thefts perpetrated by the MSG contingent, Mrs. Kowalska replies, "Someone emptied out my jewelry case, but I didn't see who did it. Some folks are saying those Mississippi guardsmen came over in a boat during the storm but I don't know. I mean, you'd have to be crazy to cross the river when it's like that. It's possible sure, but it seems unlikely to me. I hate to say this, but I think it was probably someone local. I don't have any suspects, though. It's just a hunch."

Maggie takes him to Mr. Morley's place. The old man's cut heal looks pretty bad. It's inflamed, hot to the touch. Carswell cleans the wound, doses him with antibiotics. He'll need to wait for the swelling to go down a bit before he can sew it up. Morley can't remember the last time he's had a tetanus shot, but he reckons that it's been well over five years since. If he's contracted the bacterial infection, there's not much more that can be done, besides symptom management.

Murray meanwhile, works on a plan for removing the stranded barge's heavy metal cargo and removing the vessel from the damaged stanchion. Saul notices a couple of figures on the bridge where Razorback had been parked earlier. He studies them through a pair of binoculars. Two men, crudely uniformed, carrying long-arms, red-white-and-blue patches on their left shoulders.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:56, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

Lauren applies the brake, takes a moment to figure out how to put the JLTV in to park. It would be fair to say that she's finding mastering the skill of driving big armored vehicle to be hard going, as evidenced by the way that she'd jolted everyone about in their seats before they'd even cleared Pendleton's village limits, forcing her to raise a hand in apology to the others at the time. She certainly doesn't relish the possibility of trying to drive over the fallen tree that's blocking their path and potentially damaging their most valuable asset. That would not look good.

She could tell Anderson to chew it up with the Ma Deuce but she doesn't know how effective that's going to be, and besides, fifty cal ammo is too precious to waste just to save them from some manual exertion under the hot Sun. Ditto a forty mike mike HE. "Looks like we're going to have to haul that thing out of the way." The Captain says to the others in the vehicle. They've got a cable onboard that should be able to handle the job. "Unless anyone has any other ideas?" She turns in her seat, looks around at the other faces in the JLTV. "I'm open to suggestions."

Having done as much as he can for now – he’ll need to revisit Mr Morley before they go, otherwise Nurse / Mayor Thomas will need to take care of it if they don’t stick around long enough – Carswell walks back to Ace Hardware. Maggie stays with him. Maybe it’s the fact that something a little different is going on to break up her usual routine.

The conversation with Mrs Kowalska has cast the matter of the missing items in a slightly different light. The medic has to admit, the lady had a point. You’d have to be pretty crazy to come across the river in a boat in the middle of the weather that they’ve just had.  Maybe some folks prefer to blame the guys across the river rather than think that one of their own might be stealing from them. Maybe Rios and Guillory can sort it all out when they get back. If the thief is a local then maybe they’ll be able to recover the gear. Maybe.

Arriving back at the truck in time to see Saul observing something on the bridge, Mike turns to Maggie. ”You best wait here for now, Maggie."

The young woman shakes her head. ”Uh uh, I want to see what’s going on.” Her face looks set. Carswell decides there’s no point in getting in to an argument over it, especially as he’ll likely lose, walks over to Saul, Maggie in tow. ”The Mississippi boys finally decided to send someone to help now that there’s no work to be done?” he asks the former Marine / cop ironically. "Oh, and this is Maggie."

Maggie smiles at Saul. "Hi."

In reply to Good Ol' Rae (msg # 43):

Tori looked around the shop and at the wrecker.  Her keen eye, honed by two years in highway patrol, took in every possible infraction and citable offence.  She scanned the inspection sticker date, the licence plate renewal tag, checked every headlight, tail light, and blinker with a quick glance to make sure they were all sans damage... a tall bar given the whole "Apocalypse" that was going on.

She'd hate to have to impound this vehicle; but she would. First however, she'd let Scott play the good cop.  And if that didn't work....
This message was last edited by the player at 12:35, Mon 29 Oct 2018.

It's a good old Deep South Scorcher out here in the sun, Saul thinks to himself from the side of Ace Hardware.  "Probably hot on those Mississippi boys, too," he says to no one at all while lowering the binoculars from his eyes.  Maybe talking to himself more is a sign of impending old-age.  Not that he would have called fifty plus old in the days prior to the war.  Hell, he was just hitting his stride.  Sure.

It's not exactly a critical puzzle to figure out what the folks on the bridge are looking at.  Probably trying to figure out most of what the Arkansas team had already discovered.  Or at least trying to look like they could figure it out.

"Well hello, Miss Maggie," Saul says to the newly minted Carswell tag-a-long with a wide grin and a bucket of charm. "Saul Noble, nice to meet you."  Weathered fingers tilt the brim of the baseball cap he's wearing.  His brain has been slow roasted in enough theaters that the former Marine figure he's earned the right to doff the Kevlar bowl in more secure areas.  Mike gets a more subdued nod of the head and an offer of the binos.

"Looks like they're trying to figure out what we're up to," Saul says about the Ole'Miss brigade.  "Course, it didn't look like they had a brain like our Xandra on that side of the river to cook up a solution to this bridge mess."

Saul takes in Maggie out of the corner of his eye, making sure not to stare.  Mohawk or not, Saul knows better than to pay too much attention.  Gauging maybe.  It's not hard for him to picture Carissa in this girl's shoes not that many years ago.  "Miss Maggie, perhaps you could help an old man out.  Those boys over there seemed to think that they had some issues with the people of Pendleton.  Any reason why that might be?"

Scott grins.  "Well, initially, I was gonna ask what your usual rates are, but you're right - this is a little bigger than righting a rolled semi.  More of a maritime salvage operation, really, which is what my engineer used to do.  So I asked her what her heavy equipment engineers used to charge when she subcontracted out."  It's only a slight exaggeration of Xandra's prewar status.  Scott checks his notes and names a sum as an opening salvo.  "It's a state job, so we'll indemnify you for any damage or losses out of Guard assets.  If you get down there and it turns out to not be something we can do safely, we'll still cover your time and expenses."

He shrugs and thinks back to the mail censorship and the town's general wariness.  "And if there's other support you or your neighbors need, maybe we can throw you something there as well."

"Remember that sniper in Saving Private Ryan?  The one who kissed his crucifix, quoted some biblical passage, then killed Nazis with his bolt action rifle?  You know, back when killin' Nazis was what Americans did.  Anyway, that dude plowed through Krauts until a tank showed up.  That tank ruined his whole day.  Wonder what he'd have given for a big enough tree to throw down in front of any approaching armor," Anderson speculated out loud.  It was a very roundabout way of saying, fuck getting out of the vehicle right now.

Cole started to traverse the turret, looking for likely hide sites for any marksman.  Maybe they didn't have enough ammo to waste on a tree, but he wasn't above some recon by fifty-cal fire.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:02, Tue 30 Oct 2018.

Lauren’s never actually seen Saving Private Ryan, although she has – vaguely – heard of it. The reference, though, is lost on her. The fact that their path is being blocked by a tree that may have been put there intentionally is not. Realistically though it’s unlikely that they’re going to catch the sniper without getting out of the JLTV. That’s presuming there is a sniper. Not that there’s any reason for the Mississippi personnel to lie about having coming under fire. But what his – or her – motives were is, at the moment, a mystery.

”We can back up, come back with the chainsaw.” The Air Force Captain muses. She’s thinking aloud rather than outlining a specific plan of action. Inputs are not only welcome, they’re encouraged. ”Or we can try the path further south.” As yet she didn’t know whether that path was wide enough to take the JLTV. ”Either way, we’re still going to have to get rid of this thing eventually. Which is going to involve getting out.” It could just be a roadblock, with no one watching it, rather than a potential ambush site. Lauren looks out of the armored glass. They have no way of knowing right now.

She turns her head back towards those inside the vehicle. ”If it is an ambush site then we have an advantage of sorts. Rather than having to track the sniper through God knows how many miles of forest we have a rough idea of where to look for him. We can head back to Pendleton for now, put the drone up, and see if we get anything with the IR and thermal sweeps, concentrating in this area.” Provided the trees didn’t get in the way too much. ”Then we can come back in, either mounted or on foot. Or both.”

”Thanks man.” Carswell takes the offered binos, raises them up so that he can observe the men on the bridge, realizing as he does so that he’s looking at the two Mississippi State Guardsmen as though they are some sort of enemy soldiers, encroaching on his territory, not two Americans who just so happen to be from the neighboring State. How the fuck did we get to this place? The medic thinks to himself. It’s rhetorical of course, he knows the answer, knows that it all started long before the War. Knows who was responsible. But still...this is fucked up.

After watching them for a moment longer the medic lowers the binos, looks over at Maggie. He still has to bring Saul up to speed on what Mrs Kowalska told him about the thief maybe being from this side of the river, but he’ll wait until the teenager has answered Saul before saying anything.

"Damn good idea Captain.  Better safe than sorry," Cole said, still scanning the area.  "There are no coincidences, only the illusion of coincidences.", Anderson said, quoting one of his favorite movies.  The one he watched the day after Donald Trump was elected as part of a double feature.  The second movie had been "The Manchurian Candidate", with Denzel Washington and Liev Schreiber.

Bourbon Street

Alonzo ponders Guillory's offer. "I'll take a look. If I think Serena can handle it, then you got yourself a deal. If I ain't possible, we're free to go, right?"

Guillory's nod is subtle, arguably non-committal, but the wrecker operator interprets it as assent.

"I've got some things I've got to take care 'round here before I can leave. You're welcome to wait for me here, or I can meet you in Pendleton in an hour or so."

With Zo's assurance that he'll be following along shortly, Bourbon Street rolls east out of town. Just past the outskirts, flashing blue and red lights appear in Rios' rearview mirror. Gould's police SUV is behind, closing. Apparently, its driver wants the former Arkansas State Police SUV to stop.

Razorback

The forest road is narrow, hemmed in by trees on either side. Cao has to back and fill a couple of times before the L-LTV is turned around. During that time, Razorback is vulnerable, unable to quickly maneuver out of danger. Up in the gun turret, Anderson does his best to cover all the angles, but it's a Sisyphean task. Fortunately, for everyone on board, no ambush materializes. Either there is no sniper lying in wait here, or he/she didn't have the nerve to attack the armored beast. Cao drives back to Pendleton, then proceeds through the tiny town to a cutting that the locals had told her about- an alternate route to the dam. The lead doesn't quite pan out. The cutting is a crude, unpacked dirt track, still sodden from the heavy rains. Even a relatively inexperienced off-roader like Cao can adjudge the risk of getting bogged down on the muddy path as fairly high.

Ace Hardware



The teenager opens her mouth to reply, hesitates. "I don't know." she finally answers, her cheeks, still retaining some of the soft contours of stubborn baby fat, flushing. It's clear that she's holding something back. Carswell and Noble prod, gently, the medic projecting a cool older guy vibe, Saul a fatherly forbearance. The teenager's resolve finally cracks. "Someone may have shot at 'em," she admits. "I don't know who, though," she adds, almost too quickly.

The two Mississippi State Guardsmen, mill around a bit on the bridge. They look down at Pendleton, see Saul and Mike glassing them. One of the men waves, then both start heading back the way they came.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:34, Thu 01 Nov 2018.

”This might be an option if we can borrow some ATV’s” Lauren muses as she looks at the southern track. Having established for future reference that doesn’t appear to be suitable for the JLTV, Lauren then steers the armored vehicle back towards the car park.

”OK, let’s dismount.” She announces when they have rolled to a halt on the asphalt. ”Sergeant Anderson, can you take care of getting the drone up? I'll go check back in with Mr Noble then come back over and we can review the feed. We’ll brief in -” she looks at her watch ”- thirty minutes. We should have the drone’s take by then. Kabua, Ms Noble, you can stand down until then.” She tries to keep the frustration out of her voice at being effectively back where they started without having made any progress as she gives the order for everyone to get out of the vehicle. Impatience is a trait that’s cost her dearly before, most noticeably at Carthage. Only there it had been called recklessness. Amongst other things.

But that doesn’t stop her lingering a moment in Razorback after the others have dismounted to gather her thoughts. When she does step down from the air conditioned coolness and back into the heat,  she walks over to where Mr Noble and Carswell are standing watching the other side of the bridge, accompanied by on of the locals, nods to the three of them. ”The road’s blocked.” She offers by way of explanation for their early return. ”And there may or may not be hostiles in the woods so we’re going to put the drone up before we go back in.”

The Air Force Captain turns her attention to the other side of the bridge. ”Anything happening over there?”
This message was last edited by the player at 12:00, Thu 01 Nov 2018.

"That's too bad," Saul says shaking his head at Maggie's words.  He gives the militiamen on the bridge a friendly return wave.  "This world is hard enough without people taking pot-shots at each other.  Leaves me a little worried, though.  My daughter, Carissa, has been looking for the source of the gunshots." Saul motions to the folks dismounting from Razorback. "You remind me of her quite a bit.  Wanting to carve out your own path.  That's her, in the black ball cap, you should chat with her if you get the chance.  You'd probably get a kick out of her."

Saul stretches a bit, holds a finger up to the approaching Captain Cao in a subtle signal to hold back a second.  "Don't tell her, but I hate seeing her out here, sticking her neck out. I don't want her, or anyone else to get hurt.  'Course she's worried about me being out here, sticking my neck out.  So I guess we're even, right?  And then we both pretend not to worry about each other."  The former cop and father of three daughters shakes his head and laughs. "Listen to me rambling.  I'm sorry.  If you find out anything about who might have taken the shots, do me a favor and let me know, okay?"

A nod tells Cao she's clear to approach, but he doesn't quite dismiss Maggie.  He turns his body just enough to include her in the conversation as an equal and like the grown up she's been forced to become.  "Makes sense, ma'am.  No need for reckless behavior."  He wants Maggie to see his acknowledgement of Cao's command. "As for the maybe friendly neighbors, looks like they wanted to see what we saw.  They gave us a wave, so that's probably a start.  If we can settle this problem with them taking fire, I'll hobble on over and try to patch things up."

"Huh."  Scott looks over at Rios.  "Am I the only one getting a bad feeling about this?"  He checks his holster and is suddenly glad he hasn't taken his plate carrier off yet.  "May as well just stop.  Not like there's enough traffic to need a place to pull over."

As the lieutenant brings the Suburban to a halt, Scott swings his door open and steps to the rear of the vehicle.  He pastes a noncommittal smile on his face and raises his left hand in a casual wave - one cop acknowledging another, not a suspect being contacted in a traffic stop.  His right thumb is hooked over his plate carrier's magazine pouch, putting his hand in each reach of his holster or the array of grenade loops over his side plate.  If anything comes out of that SUV that isn't the known local authorities with a sudden case of helpfulness, he's ready to fling himself behind the Suburban's right rear quarter panel for cover.

"Off we go, into the wild blue yonder," Cole muttered with feigned enthusiasm as he hand-launched the Raven DDL.  Sadly, the small drone comprised a much larger percentage of the active U.S. Air Force now than it did when it was manufactured.

"Alright, setting waypoints and bringing the sensors online," he said as he switched to the control console to guide the craft.

"We're low vis, so they may not know we are Police," Tori remarked.  She was about to fix that.  She flipped on the strobes and lights, activating Bourbon Street's visual system.  The siren stayed off for now, as Tori's eyes moved between the rear view and side mirrors to monitor the response.  She slowly started to ease off the gas, eventually stopping, assuming there was no change in behavior.

"Fuckin' cops," Duane remarks, a wink in his tone. He removes his hi-cap .45 from it's holster, flicks the safety off. "Just in case," he explains, trying reassure his teammates that he's not about to do anything stupid.

-

Chevelle looks sidelong at Skillins, not quite convinced by his assurances. "Stay cool, Skillins," she urges, trying to sound calm. At the same time, she works the safety on her 12-gauge Remy. If things go sideways, she won't be caught out.

-

Bourbon Street

The front doors of the Gould PD SUV swing open. Officer Wilkins emerges from the driver-side, Chief Wayne from the passenger's. Both mean are wearing black or dark blue plate carriers emblazoned in yellow with POLICE, AR-15-style carbines in hand, held at the low ready. Wilkins hangs back as Chief Wayne walks towards Bourbon Street.

"Heard you made a business arrangement with Zo Morris- something about a river barge. That so?" the chief asks as he approaches. Wilkins has taken a few steps to his left, clearing a direct line to the pulled-over Suburban.

The back doors of the Gould PD SUV open. Two more men step out, both in plain clothes, both wearing aviator shades, both armed. One wears a bulletproof vest (not a plate carrier), holds a tactical shotgun. The other is armed with a sub-gun, an MP5 it looks like. They stick close to the flanks of the Ford.


Ace Hardware & Razorback

The drone rises into the sky, low-vis gray against an expansive backdrop of Robin's egg blue. The feed from its imagers is coming in five-by-five. Anderson and Cao watch as the drone retraces the J-LTV's tracks. The curious ravens alight from the first silo, falling into formation behind the curious creature.

The cameras don't pick up anything of note. It's on to the next loading station, for more of the same, and then to the road cutting across the peninsula to the bridge. Anderson zooms in on the area around the fallen tree. Nothing. He switches on the thermal. Nada. He orbits the area, moving further from the treefall with every circuit. There! A heat signature, hot white against the relatively dark, ambient cool of the shady wood. It's about 50m east of the obstruction, 50m south of the roadway. It's shapeless, a blob. Whatever it is, it isn't moving. Anderson zooms in. Not much better. He cuts the thermal and the heat source disappears beneath the dark green canopy.

Map updated.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:11, Sun 04 Nov 2018.

There's an old cop saying... you might outrun my car, but you can't outrun the radio...

Seeing that the trailing vehicle didn't get spooked, Tori brought the FAV SUV to a stop using the breaks.  Instinctively, she reached for the rover.

"Ace Hardware, this is Bourbon Street.  Be advised we are being pulled over by the Gould PD, As Rios recognized the Chief and his minon emerge, she added that.  "Looks like Chief Wayne and Officer Wilkins, plus two pax.  We'll check-in in five mikes, over," Tori said.  She left unsaid that if they didn't check in five mikes or longer, who might be the prime suspect in their disappearance.  Victoria kept the handset in her lap, her armored vehicle door closed, and the engine running and transmission in drive.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:23, Sun 04 Nov 2018.

Lauren leans back in her seat in the JLTV, looks at the screen that just shows trees again now that the thermal view has been switched off. "Well, someone's out there." She remarks to Cole, fingers rubbing her neck as she speaks. Her first thought that springs to mind is that it might be one of the Varner escapees that are still at large, although it seems improbable that one of them would loiter in the woods. Still, it can't be ruled out.

"Could be someone that just wants to stay off the grid." She's thinking aloud, throwing options out there, seeing what might stick. "A prepper maybe, that wants to be left alone." She takes a sip of water. It's cool, refreshing. The air con in the JLTV is a justifiable luxury given that it helps keep the vehicle's various electronics cooled. "Or it could be a lookout for a larger group." Some sort of militia group maybe, decked out in multi cam and red hats.

Cao turns in her seat to face Anderson. "I think we need to go back in on foot, try and catch this person -" her finger doesn't quite touch the screen as she points towards where the blob had been "- so we can question them, find out who they are, if they're alone."

The Air Force Captain is about to tell Anderson to extend the orbit of the drone further east, towards the dam, to see if they can detect any other heat signatures when she hears Rios' voice over the radio. Hold that thought. If their people are in trouble that takes priority.

"Can you revector the drone towards Gould, try and get eyes on Guillory and Rios?" She asks Anderson before scrambling forward, bumping against the Sergeant as she wriggles into the front seat and reaches for the radio mic. "Loba, Falcon, we're redirecting the drone to your location." To be sure, there's risk involved. If things go south the drone might be shot down. But they have three more, so it's replaceable. And the Gould PD people can't know that the drone is unarmed. "Do you want us to roll Razorback to you? Over." If the local PD are playing games Lauren is going to be seriously pissed off. They have other things they could be doing right now instead of getting into it with a podunk local cop. Like finding out who's in that forest.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:19, Sun 04 Nov 2018.

"Yep, I'm on it," Cole said as he started to mark up a new set of way points.  He'd just started on the second one when Cao bumped against him and reached for the mic.  "Easy there Captain," was all he got out before realizing she was already talking on the radio.  He'd been about to add some qip about not needing a SHARP accusation in his file, but it was both OBE and something he now thought better of, especially considering what it implied about that brief physical contact with his CO.

Scott keeps one ear tuned to the preparations occurring inside the Suburban.  The better part of his mind is assessing the amazingly shitty odds.  It occurs to him that although Cao is probably right about helmets in unpacified areas, this was supposed to be at least a nominally friendly area.

"That's so," Scott confirms with a nod.  "Barge is hung up on the 165 bridge in Pendleton.  We're going to shift it loose before it does any more damage to critical infrastructure."

He flicks his eyes toward the two men remaining at the Ford, gauging angles and ranges and whether the majority of their focus is on him or on Wayne and Wilkins.  His tone lowers, just enough that he won't be audible back at the other vehicle, and cools about twenty degrees.  "I don't believe I've met your associates before, Chief, and you're loaded a bit heavy for a casual chat.  Is there something Captain Cao and I need to be aware of?"

Chief Wayne smiles without warmth. "Only that I make it my business to know what goes on in my town. As for the boys," he hooks a thumb over his shoulder, "I ain't be tryin' to roll up all hard on ya- it's just, these days, it's better to be safe than sorry, that's all. I'm sure you understand."

Wayne gives his men a curt wave. They climb back into their SUV. "Zo will be along shortly. One of my men will accompany him- security. Please undertand, Mr. Guillory, it ain't that I don't trust you- it's just that I don't trust nobody." Behind mirrored shades, Wayne's eye fix on Guillory's for a few beats. His lips smile again. "Sorry for the inconvenience, here. Y'all have a nice day. And good luck with the barge."


-
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:29, Sun 04 Nov 2018.

Carissa ambles over to her father and the small group he seems to be holding court over after settling her heavier gear and getting a refill of her water bottles.  The humid heat wears hard and fast and leaving the AC confines of the JLTV isn't exactly a refreshing change.  Not that she'll show any discomfort.

"Old man," Carissa nods to her dad with a smile.

"Daughter," he returns.  You good?

"We didn't see much out there.  I guess we'll see what the drone finds.  Miss anything fun here?" Sure.

"Nah.  The boys across the bridge got curious.  Mike brought Maggie here over to say 'hi.'  She's the local you."  Saul gestures to the girl with the punk hair cut that has been hovering at the edge of the conversation.  She's got that fighter look about her.

Carissa raises her sunglasses and peers at the teenager with her naked eyes.  Maggie doesn't really flinch, even if she doesn't really know what to do.  Carissa isn't that much older, but she is a lot bigger. "I assume you mean that in a good way," Carissa drawls out slowly.

"I absolutely do."

"Rodeo?"

"Medic and resident tough chick."

At that Carissa smiles. "Nice," she says and offers Maggie a set of knuckles to bump.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:05, Mon 05 Nov 2018.

"'In God we trust; all others, show me your hands?'" Scott quotes rhetorically.  He flashes Wayne an equally cold smile.  "Trust is the basis for the civilization we're trying to preserve, Chief.  I hate to think of an Arkansas where trust breaks down so far that coercion is the only mechanism of governance.  Saw enough of that in New Orleans."

He pauses for emphasis.  "But I'll admit the roads probably aren't as secure as we'd like.  So, yeah, sending one of your men along to ride shotgun for Zo sounds like a good idea.  Might be even better if we waited around to give him an escort."

"Roger Falcon.  Sexton's talking with Wayne right now.  Su cara parece un culo abofeteado," Tori said into the radio, the last sentence spoken absently as she looked in the mirrors at the Gould PD Chief.  Realizing she was talking out-loud and in Spanish, she quickly added, "More in five, Loba out."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:23, Mon 05 Nov 2018.

Sierra reunites in the shadow of the southern bridge root. It's about half-past two in the afternoon. The sun is still high in the sky. Heat radiates off the cracked macadam of the parking lot. There's not much of a breeze, the stagnant air is heavy and damp. The elevated bridge ramp provides some respite from the baking rays of the midday sun, as does the tent anchored on Ace Hardware's right flank. Even in the shade, though, it's sticky hot.

If Chief Wayne's assurances are to be believed, Zo's heavy-duty wrecker (which he calls Serena) should be arriving shortly, with a Gould peace officer riding shotgun as "security". There's been no sign of the reported sniper, although teenaged Pendleton resident, Maggie Long, has more or less confirmed the mystery shooter's existence. His or her identity, and motive are still, as of yet, unknown. The MSG contingent has displayed some curiosity regarding its Arkansas counterpart's activities, but not overmuch. At the moment, they seem content to mind their own business on the Mississippi side of the river.

Carswell's done what he can for the village's sick and injured, receiving a jar of pear preserves as a thank-you for medical services rendered. (Carswell -2 doses anti-inflamatory/pain reliever, -1 suture kit, -1 dose injectible wide-spectrum antibiotic, 1 sterile bandage) He's also taken down another complaint about the MSG's checkpoint's toll-collection operation, this one from a middle-aged widow who has family on the other side of the bridge.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:04, Sat 10 Nov 2018.

The Pendleton Sandbar Restaurant and Bar might have been a popular spot before the War, right on the river, with views of the bridge. Now most of its furnishings have gone, presumably repurposed, the flood waters have clearly only just receded, and there's not a single window remaining, leaving it little more than a shell, although a few reminders of its previous life remain, most noticeably - and perhaps incongruously - the intact albeit no longer functional jukebox.

Today it's serving as a temporary briefing room, one where Lauren Cao is about to run through her plan for this afternoon's anti sniper activities. Without the benefit of a power point presentation or whiteboard. Or even a flip chart."Good afternoon everyone." The Air Force Captain says when the last of them have filed in. Maggie Long is no longer with them, although Cao has the feeling that she would have been if they'd let her. "And welcome back to everyone coming back from Gould." She nods in Guillory's direction. They could talk about Gould and whether or not there's a problem with its law enforcement later. After they've dealt with their current problem. After all, no one from Gould has shot at them. Yet.

"Now, let me bring everyone up to speed with the situation here." Eyes flick to a notepad held in her right hand before looking up again. Her left thumb wants to press a button on a laser pointer. "When we took the JLTV out earlier headed for the dam the road was blocked by a fallen tree. Aerial reconnaissance -" this time the nod goes to Anderson "- carried out by Technical Sergeant Anderson has identified heat signatures in the woods close to the tree that are consistent with one or more individuals." tl;dr, there's someone hiding in the woods.

"We have no information as to the identity of this individual or individuals but it is the assumption that they are connected to the shots that were fired at our colleagues on the Mississippi side of the river." It's a gentle reminder that they're all wearing the same uniform and that allegations of theft are just that, allegations, and the Mississippi troops are entitled to the presumption of innocence until proven otherwise "Therefore we are going to launch a two pronged operation that will go into the woods and attempt to detain them."

She looks at her notepad again. "Myself, Ms Noble, Sergeant Anderson and Specialist Kabua will form one element, call sign Sierra One. Mr Guillory, Lieutenant Rios, Mr Carswell and Private Skillins will form a second element, callsign Sierra Two. Mr Noble, Sergeant Watkins, and Mz Murray will stay here as Sierra Base." If she could she'd have tactical icons on a whiteboard.

"Sierra One will enter the forest on foot. We'll leave at dusk and move in under cover of darkness using NVG's." Best case scenario they have better night vision than whoever is in the woods and they have an advantage. Worst case they're evenly matched. "I need those with NVG's who are not going in on foot to hand their NVG's over to anyone in Sierra One who needs them." That is clearly not a request.

"A drone will be up." Anyone close enough to read the notepad she's holding in her right hand would see that part says Air Support and is underlined. Twice. And then circled. "I need two volunteers from Sierra Two. Sergeant Anderson will give you an introduction to the basics of drone operation so you can control the drone and guide us on to target. Specialist Kabua will give the other one a crash course on firing an M2 machine gun." When she'd rehearsed that part earlier in the privacy of what had been the women's restroom with just a curious bird for company she'd had it the other way round before she realized a crash course in drone operation probably didn't sound encouraging.

"Once we have visual on whoever is in the woods we'll signal Sierra Two. You then enter the woods along the same road we took this morning.  I want you to run with headlights on but everyone stays within the vehicle. Your mission is to divert their attention and be ready to support us as we attempt to capture them." Lauren pauses, looks around each of them in turn.

"I need to stress we do not know who this person is or people are or what their motives may be. It's possible they are just trying to be overly zealous in protecting their property. Therefore lethal force is only authorized if you feel your own life or that of others is in danger." It's a polar opposite of the orders she gave the night of the pig farm. She knows that, no doubt everyone else will recognize it as well. "This is a civilian matter -" At the moment goes unsaid "- so any prisoners will be placed into Lieutenant Rios' custody." Cao nods to Rios.

She has to hope for the best outcome but plan for the worst though. "Everyone check weapons before we leave, for those in Sierra One make sure you have a full load of ammo and enough water and food for an eight hour foot patrol. Body armor, helmets -" she can't help but glance at Guillory "- are mandatory for everyone. That's not a request. Full camo protocols for everyone in Sierra One. I also want everyone in Sierra One to draw a flash bang grenade."

Lauren pauses, looks at her notepad one more time before flipping it closed. If this was a power point she'd be on her last slide. "Does anyone have any questions? Comments? Concerns? The floor is yours ladies and gentlemen."

'Well, that's why we brought more than one,' Cole thought to himself at the prospect of training someone else to be a competent drone operator in the next few hours.  It wasn't that the system was especially hard to manage, indeed the drone software did its best to keep the Raven in the air.  It was just that experience helped in planing the routes and when and where to stall out the drone for the system's purposeful crash landing.

Anderson briefly wondered who he might end up training.  The left hemisphere of his brain was telling him that Murray's  engineering background made her the best choice, while the ride-side was playing a modified version of Luis Fonsi's Despacito where he was grinding against Rios whispering 'slowly' while she held the drone controller, danced, and spoke breathlessly in Spanish.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJQP7kiw5Fk

'Get your shit together Airman,' he thought to himself.  He'd be going out on patrol shortly.  Devoting bandwidth to this was unproductive at best and self-detrimental at worse.  'This is the Captain's fault,' some part of Cole told himself.  Another part told him he was being a dick for blaming her for his reaction.  Finally the voice who'd told him to get his shit together told the other two to stow it.

Carswell had finished the last of his 'house calls' before Guillory and the others had returned from Gould, politely declining the offer of the pear preserves. He knew it was well intended but they were the Governor's Task Force, and as such the medic wasn't sure that it was appropriate for him to accept gifts. And besides, stuff like that could be spun by those who might have an agenda to do so. Unfortunately EMP hadn't meant the end of fake news, it had just forced it to look for other outlets. Still, the fact that Twitter hadn't survived the nuclear exchanges had brought one clear benefit.

Filing in to the former restaurant with the others, Carswell leans against one wall, listened as Cao ran through her plan. There isn't a great deal for him to add when she opens up the floor. He's comfortable with his own part in it - sit in the JLTV, get out if someone gets hurt. Sounds straightforward. Hopefully no one will get hurt. Well, none of them anyway, so he only has one thing to offer. "I've had some basic training on a fifty cal, enough to be able to handle one."

Scott closes his eyes for a moment to review Cao's tactical dispositions.  Nothing seems out of place, and it's her operation anyway - a sniper hunt is most definitely military.  He opens them again just in time to catch the tail end of the captain's not-quite-a-glare at the mention of helmets and suppresses a chuckle.

"We probably want to deconflict with the Mississippi force," he points out during a break in the discussion.  "They're not as well-geared as we are and I don't feel good about their trigger discipline and enthusiasm if there's surprise gunfire, even if it's all on our side.  I'm less sanguine about giving the local citizens a heads-up; our suspect might have a friend in town."

Xandra raises a finger to catch Cao's eye.  "I'll take a free drone lesson."  She glances at Cole, decides to poke him a little, composes an innocent poker face.  "It's pretty much like flying a Hornet in Star Citizen, right?"

OOC: Xandra has Computer 1/8 and Pilot [Fixed-Wing] 0/5 (0 rating cascading from a 1/6 in Rotary-Wing).
This message was lightly edited by the player at 22:27, Sat 10 Nov 2018.

Lauren nods in Xandra's direction. "OK, Mz Murray, you're drone operator." The Air Force Captain then looks over at Carswell, nods again. "And Mr Carswell, you're on guns."

She briefly looks down, leans her notepad on a slightly bent right knee and scribbles in it before straightening up, turning towards Guillory. "Agreed." She replies without hesitation. Her head turns towards Saul. "Mr Noble, can you take a trip across the river and give Lieutenant Seeger a heads up? No need to get into specifics, just tell him that we're taking part in an anti insurgent sweep. If he presses for details tell him we think that some of the Varner escapees may be hiding out in the woods. Share a radio frequency with him for Sierra Base. That way if he has any concerns after the operation has started he has a way of communicating with you. And you have a way of getting hold of him. All comms with Mississippi go through you until further notice. Sergeant Watkins can give you a ride over after we've wrapped up here."

Chevelle frowns inwardly, upset that she didn't volunteer first. She didn't join the Air Force to fly, but this girl still has dreams...

"Yes, Captain," she answers, when assigned to take the senior Noble across the bridge to advise the Mississippi boys. Hopefully, she'll arrive back in time to sit in on Anderson's drone flying lesson with Murray. It couldn't hurt for Sierra to have a backup to the backup drone operator.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 21:50, Sun 11 Nov 2018.

A jolting blast of airhorn signals the arrival of Zo's behemoth wrecker. It sounds like it's on the other side of the highway, at the vehicle laager- which is currently unmanned. He's probably wondering where the Sierras are.

The sun won't set for another five hours, at least.

-

"Of course, Captain," Saul says to Cao's suggestion that he reach across the river and let the Mississippians know that the Sierras will be operating in the night.  Truth be told, he wants to get their take on what's going on here.  Too much not adding up. "I'll talk to a local or two as well.  Someone might know something."

The air horn blast interupts anything else he might have to offer.  "I guess that's our sign?"

"Absolutely." Cao nods when Saul mentions talking to the locals. It's part agreement, part assent. He's absolutely right of course. Someone might know something about what's going on. Whether they'll talk or not is another matter of course, although from what she's seen so far, if anyone is likely to be able to persuade them to open up it's likely to be Mr Noble.

The blast of the air horn then fills the room. "OK, if there's nothing else, let's get started. Mr Guillory, how do you want to handle the wrecker's 'escort'?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:35, Mon 12 Nov 2018.

Scott smiles grimly.  "You mean the political officer?  Take him at face value, act like everything's cool, remember that he's reporting on us as much as we're reporting on him, and watch Zo for signs he's under duress.  If Wayne's guy walks away to take a dump, maybe we'll have a chance to get Zo alone and ask him, but let's not overextend ourselves to create that opportunity.  I think we all suspect something's wrong there but it may just be small-town insular crazy."  His expression leaves no doubt that he doesn't personally believe the convenient explanation he's just put on the table.

The planning meeting is adjourned. The Sierras cross the road to the vehicle laager. Zo is there stretching his legs, accompanied by the boy from the garage, and his personal security detail. Unless aviator shades count, the Gould minder isn't in uniform, not even a PD badge on display- just jeans and a tight New Orleans Saints t-shit; an MP-5 variant hangs from a 3-point sling. On his right hip, a holstered Glock; on his left a police radio. He's inspecting the ASDF vehicles, but keeping a respectful distance.

"Deputy Grisham," he says, introducing himself. He already seems friendlier than the other Gould PD personnel the Sierras have met. "I'll try to stay out of your way."

Watkins asks Rios for the keys to Bourbon Street, lets Saul know she's ready to roll when he is. Before leaving the parking lot, Watkins touches base with Anderson and Murray, "Hey, uh, would you guys mind holding off on that drone lesson 'til I get back? I'd like to sit in on it, if its OK."

The drive over the Arkansas is short and just a little nerve-racking. Intellectually, Watkins and Noble know that if the bridge can handle the weight of the 3-ton M1278, it can handle the 2-ton Chevy. Then there's the guns pointed at them. The guardsmen manning the revetment watches the approaching SUV over the iron sights of his aged M60. The other guardsmen visible also assume postures of preparedness. Watkins stops Bourbon Street about 50m from the checkpoint. Flashes the lights once, and opens her door. Saul dismounts as well, and limps ahead, waving his cane and calling out a friendly greeting; Watkins remains behind, standing by the open driver's side door. After establishing his bona fides, the senior Sierra informs the outpost CO of the impending anti-sniper sweep.

"Thanks for letting us know," the CO replies. "You catch this guy, watcha gonna do with him?" Before Saul can answer, the guardsman continues, "'Cause my guys wouldn't mind having a few words with him, if ya know what I mean." The comment is probably meant to be playful, but it comes across as creepy. "Oh, and my offer still stands. You need a couple extra hands to help with that barge, just holler."

Meanwhile, Anderson preps the equipment to give Murray a crash course- perhaps an inauspicious idiom- in drone operation.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:16, Fri 16 Nov 2018.

Xandra flips up her sunglasses and grins at Watkins.  "Yes!  We are totally gonna be the experts at unmanned flight."  She pauses to see if anyone gets the joke.

"Alright, given that you're an engineer, and Watkins is also Air Force, I don't expect this will take very long," Cole said nodding to Murray first as he opened up one of the Raven DDL zero cases.  "I mean, for fuck sake, they give this system to the Marines, so it's pretty much a no-brainer for anyone who doesn't eat crayons," Anderson added as he started to pull out various system components, including the operating manual.

"First, we need to setup the antenna," he said, as he started into the meat of Raven 101.

https://www.marines.mil/News/N...-qualify-with-raven/

https://imgur.com/gallery/DULyC
This message was last edited by the player at 15:35, Thu 15 Nov 2018.

"We may take you up on that, Sir," Saul grins.  He may not particularly like this guy, but since when has that mattered?  It's times like this that he's grateful for sunglasses.  "If nothing else, it would probably be handy to have a few of your boys out there in the boat as a safety.  Can't afford to damage ourselves or the gear these days..."  He lets it trail off knowingly.  "Might tighten up some relations between y'all and the folks yonder, too."

"Still, I've got to get my driver here back for some support ops.  We'll be in touch soon." Saul tips his cap before moving to walk away, only to stop as if an idea has suddenly struck his mind.  "Oh hey Sir, about this tariff thing you guys have had to put forward."  Might as well pretend to give the Mississippians the benefit of the doubt.  Never hurts to have an out.  "Is that orders from on high or something you've had to do to support yourselves out here on the fringe?"

The former cop takes his hat off and dramatically wipes his brow. "I only ask because there's a whole town over there that could probably use your help and vice-versa, what with all these cons sniffing around.  Maybe I can help work something out."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:48, Thu 15 Nov 2018.

When the briefing breaks up Lauren leaves the former restaurant with the others and walks back to the vehicles. "I'll leave the meet and greet to you then." she says to Guillory, nodding towards the Gould PD representative, that being, in her judgement, more of a civil matter than a military one, and besides, she has a patrol to prepare for, although she makes sure to stand by the JLTV for a moment and have a good look at the man that they've sent before she starts getting on with her preparations.

Her weapons are the first thing that she deals with, disassembling both her issue carbine and her grandfather's Colt and giving each a thorough clean before putting them back together again. After that she checked over all of the electronics that the foot patrol would be using, rounding up NVG's as required and making sure that they all had a good charge on their batteries.

She had no way of knowing who they might find in the woods of course, so she was planning for a worst case scenario. Maybe it would just turn out to be a homesteader being overzealous when it came to protecting his or her property, so she also checked that her taser was functioning properly. If that was the case then hopefully it could be resolved peacefully.

Finally, in the last hour before dusk the Air Force Captain settles down with her make up compact and a tube of camo cream and begins applying mottled streaks of black, brown, and green to her face, using the compact's mirror to ensure she covers all the exposed skin before getting her gear together. By the time she calls the patrol together it probably looks as though she's preparing for a patrol on the Poland / Belarus border, not rural Arkansas.

"Yeah, we can definitely do that," Lt. Seeger replies, agreeably. "No problem."



Seeger seems taken aback by the question, or caught of guard maybe. His body language, formerly relaxed and open, changes subtly. The MSG officer now appears tense, guarded. "Uh, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Noble. Tariff? What the... [brief, awkward pause] What's that?"

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:05, Fri 16 Nov 2018.

Well now, that’s a reaction, Saul muses.  Or maybe he just used to big a word.  ”I don’t want to make accusations if my information is wrong.  Life is hard enough, you know?” His hands come up in a calming gesture.  ”Folks over there were complaining that they have to pay a toll any time they cross the bridge.  Maybe ‘tariff’ was the wrong word.  The old brain ain’t what it used to be.” The language is calm, the demeanor still casual, but Saul watches his counterpart carefully.  Him and anyone in earshot.

Seeger frowns, his face reddening. "I don't what those people's deal is, making all this shit up about us. No, we don't make 'em pay a toll. We check for contraband, but that's it. They're fuckin' lyin' to you, 'bout tolls and lootin' an' all that shit, but don't ask me why." He kicks at the ground in frustration, but the gesture seems calculated, dramatized. The man behind the M60 wears an expression of genuine concern.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:13, Fri 16 Nov 2018.

Standing next to Bourbon Street, 50m or so removed from the MSG checkpoint, Chevelle can't hear the entirety of the conversation, just bits and pieces, and mostly only the MSG officer's side (since is speaking quietly and facing away from her), but she can read the Guardsmen's body language. She doesn't like it. It's not aggressive, or threatening, but there's a distinct and sudden increase in the tension there. In law enforcement scenarios, this usually signals a suspect's imminent felonious flight. She's not sure whether she should slowly retrieve her Remington from the Chevy's cab, or climb back behind the wheel. For the time being, she opts for neither. The- former? still?- USAF Security Force non-com keys the PTT button on her radio,

"All units, this is Cleveland. Looks like Mr. Noble might of hit a nerve with them Mississippi boys. Am monitoring the situation. No assistance is requested [yet], but stand by."

Oh shit! Chevelle thinks, a sinking chill cascading through her body.

Does Saul have a radio? She can't remember.

Is it on?

Did they [the MSG] hear that?

-
This message was last edited by the player at 03:39, Fri 16 Nov 2018.

The radio bud in Saul's ear crackles with Watkin's transmission.  He tries not to flinch, but he's glad the girl has eyes.  Too many years on the streets of Memphis has taught him the importance of quiet radio communications.  He takes Seeger's little show in of petulance and flicks his eyes back and forth from the CO to the machinegunner who can cut him in half with a few pounds of pressure on the trigger.  Not all that different from standing across from six gangbangers who aren't really happy with their rivals, Saul considers. Pity it's come to this, but not really a surprise.  Be nice if we could remember we're all supposed to be Americans.  But no.  We've got to posture and pretend.

"As I said, sir, all I've got is words, and I'm sure you would agree it's my responsibility to ask the questions.  I'm not making accusations and y'all ain't been nothing but hospitable to us.  And that goes a long way."

There's bad blood here.  And I don't know why.  And whether it's Seeger or Maggie, somebody is going to have to come clean.  This bridge isn't the place, though.  Not with belt fed 7.62mm NATO pointed at his chest.  It could be as simple as Sierra are the new tough kids in town and Seeger and his people figure if they place nice, they can go back to general problem making as soon as Sierra moves on.  Maybe.  Probably not.

"We all appreciate your offer of help.  You see us head up here with a tow truck, feel free to put your boat in the water and come lend a hand.  We've got a couple old schools CBs around, and we can hit you up on channel six."  Saul looks around one last time, feels the bull's eye on his back.  "You boys have a nice afternoon."

He turns and begins walking back to Chevelle.  One hand reaches up to his PTT.  "Gimp's coming back in.  Rawhide, you and Doc see if you can round up Maggie.  I need a chat."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:45, Fri 16 Nov 2018.

Carissa is prepping her gear for the upcoming hike in the night when Watkins' radios that her dad might be in trouble.  It doesn't take much more than that to put her in motion.  She stands quickly, ignoring the body armor and gear spread out around her.  Instead, she grabs the hunting rifle/now sniper rifle they've brought along and starts moving towards the door with her radio and a pocketful of bullets.  It's a hell of a long shot, but maybe if she gets to elevation quick enough... maybe she can do... something.

Her father's transmission doesn't still her response, but it does vent a little of the fear that had coiled around her guts.  I need a chat.  She's heard that before.  Usually in the face of some ex-boy friends or someone else who had done some wrong.  She's been on the receiving end of a few of those chats herself.  Not particularly pleasant moments.  Several had ended with both Nobles screaming at each other.

"Rawhide, copy," she intones into her mic.  Carissa still looks for some elevation.  She wants to know the old man is safe.  But she'll start looking for Maggie as soon as their vehicle is in motion.

Lauren looks at the disassembled parts of her M4 when she hears Watkins' transmission. Shit. She hadn't expected things to go south on the other side of the river, not after their previous encounter. She was trained to deal with military problems. Civil affairs was turning out to be more challenging than she had expected. Admittedly the Mississippi Guard were military, but they were intersecting with civil problems in her mental Venn diagram to create an 'I said, you said' situation, one that would have to be resolved before they could tick the box that said 'mission accomplished' in Pendleton. And then there was the cop that might or might not be running his own little fiefdom in Gould. Wayne's World Carswell had quipped at one point. Lauren hasn't seen that movie either.

The Air Force Captain reassembles her carbine as quickly as she can, hands going through well rehearsed drills to slot the various parts back together into a lethal weapon, keeping an ear out for the radio traffic as she does so.  She'd need to have a discussion with Sergeant Watkins later about radio protocols, particularly duress codes. She'd try and put a positive spin on it, not make Watkins feel like she was getting a bawling out. The non com came over as enthusiastic, which wasn't a bad thing and Lauren didn't want to make her think she had fucked up. That would be counterproductive.

Besides, things seem to be under control she thinks as she slots a magazine into the carbine then double times over to Carissa Noble's position. Guillory would probably be amused to see that she hasn't had a chance to put her helmet on as she jogs up to Carissa. "Everything OK?"

Carswell is midway through his refresher course in M2HB heavy machine gun operation when the airwaves spring in to life. "OK man, we're good, I got it." he says to Kabua. He has operated a Ma Deuce before, actually put some lead downrange during a familiarization session conducted by the State Guard up in Little Rock when he had first volunteered for the Governor's Task Force. 'Just in case' someone had said.

Climbing down out of the JLTV's turret the medic walks over to where people are beginning to gather. He doesn't run but he's not exactly idling either as he joins the others who are monitoring the situation on the other side of the river. Just in case.

Then

Saul's reassurances seem to mollify Seeger. The MSG officer pouts a little, showcasing the hurt apparently caused by the indirect aspersions, but lets the matter go without further protest, even promising to put a spotter team in the water during the barge salvage operation. Saul takes his leave without incident, and Watkins ferries him back to the Arkansas side, apologizing profusely for the radio protocol flub on the way.

---

Now

Saul's second attempt at gentle, avuncular persuasion meets with more stonewalling. He changes tack, adopts the stern, knowing, no-bullshit demeanor of a veteran cop. It works. Maggie breaks down in tears.

"It was Simon," she blurts out, sobbing. Saul dials it back. He's a dad now, reassuring the scared teenager. After a few more tears and a couple of ASDF-issue tissues (a rarity in 2030), she elaborates. Simon is a friend, maybe more, 16 years old, a local. "His place got cleaned out. A couple folks said they saw the Mississippi soldiers in a boat during the storm, breaking into houses. After, a few people walked across the bridge to ask for their stuff back. The soldiers called his mom a bitch. Threatened her- his whole family, if they didn't drop it and leave. He was fucking pissed. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen. Please. He was only trying to... I don't know. I don't think he was trying to hurt anybody. He's really a good guy." Wiping the tears from her reddened cheeks, she asks, "What are you going to do to him?"

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:53, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

"A word, Saul?" Lauren says quietly after Maggie has finished talking. The Air Force Captain has questions for the teenager, but she doesn't want to interject herself directly into the conversation. She's not the one that's building the relationship here.

Once she's steered Mr Noble a few steps away from Maggie, Cao expresses her thoughts. "I'm happy to buy this Simon being the gunman that took a few pot shots at Seeger's troops." She begins. After all, it sounded like a plausible explanation. "That being the case I'm sure we'd all like to resolve this without causing too much distress." In her mind he had fired on United States military personnel, as such was legally an insurgent, could be taken into Federal - i.e. her - custody but Lauren had no appetite for where that particular course of action might eventually lead. Besides, in Arkansas the lines between the Federal Government in Colorado Springs - she didn't think of it as the Military Government, for in her eyes it was the legitimate Government of the United States, it just so happened to consist of Generals and Admirals - and the State Government were more blurred than they were in some other locations. "Maybe Mr Guillory could work out the details. I'm happy to turn him over to civilian custody."

She looks over at Maggie, runs a hand through her dark hair, pulled, as usual, into a tight bun. Her helmet was attached to a free MLBE loop on her plate carrier vest. "But I'm struggling to think that the kid has gone to grounds in the woods and set up a road block so that he can ambush traffic." It isn't impossible. But it strikes her as unlikely. "In which case there's still someone else out there." Or the fallen tree was genuine happenstance, one that had set them back by hours.

Lauren pauses, thinking aloud for a moment. "The Mississippi troops say they haven't stolen anything. If there is another group in the woods maybe they're the thieves." She shrugs. "Just a thought."

"For now can you ask Maggie if Simon is hiding in the woods? If she says he is I may need to revise my tacplan. Maybe she can come with us, try and persuade him to give himself up. But if she says he's not in the woods then we have another problem on our hands." Or she's lying of course.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:09, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

"It's possible," Saul says as he leans heavily back on a folding metal table, chewing on Cao's words. "But those guys are covering something.  Maybe it's just they've been through the wringer with accusations and who knows what.  I'm not buying that quite yet.  They are willing to play nice-nice, so for now I suggest we go along with that route.  At least until after the salvage op.  It buys us more time to figure out what's going on around here." 

A weathered hand comes up and rubs the stubble starting to grow back on his cheeks this late in the day. "Maggie's a good kid, so I'll take her at her word that Simon is all right.  I'll want to chat with him as well.  We should probably try to round up his mom when we get back to get some verification of all of this.  I want to know who saw the Mississippi folks in the water during the floods."  Frankly, if the Jefferson Davis Brigade did what Maggie says they did, I don't blame the kid for taking a pot shot.

The police work actually feels good.  Digging around and trying to solve a problem instead of just sitting on his hands.  "Let's hold off on trying to figure out whose custody he belongs to until we get him back in.  I don't know what we can pin on him and what we can hope to get out of the process in any case.  He might just be scared and hiding.  Or, as you say, he's going all Wolverines out there on his own."  Experienced eyes go back over Maggie who is sitting in a chair sniffling and staring at her hands.  Breaking the girl down is kind of reminiscent of kicking a puppy.  "I think she'll help us.  It'll be good for her, and good for the town to see how carefully we're willing to handle this."

Saul coughs softly to announce his return and hands Maggie another tissue and a cup of water.  "All right Miss Maggie," he starts, leaning back in a chair next to hers after moving it from across the table.  "So we need to find Simon and bring him in so we can talk to him.  And we need to do it safely.  I don't see a whole lot of jails around here and nobody got hurt, so I think we can smooth this thing over, but to do that, we have to put all the pieces of this puzzle together.  And right now, there's a lot of pieces.

"You're a tough girl.  I can see that.  And you're doing the right thing here.  What I need you to do now is just to continue what you're doing and be brave.  This is a momentum thing and you're already on the right path.  I need, I'm asking you, please, to come out with us and help us talk to Simon.  Lead us to where he is if you can.  Let him know we're not interested in hurting him.  He doesn't know us, and if he sees Cao over there coming at him in the dark, somebody's liable to get hurt.  And we don't need anybody to get hurt."  Saul doesn't go in for the pat on the shoulder.  He squares himself up a bit and talks to Maggie like an adult.  "So Miss Maggie, what do you say.  Are you willing to help us and help Simon?"


This message was last edited by the GM at 05:32, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

Instantly, Maggie appears to regret divulging the identity of the shooter. She starts sobbing again. Saul continues with the gentle approach, with disappointing results. She cries so hard that she starts shaking, nearly to the point of hyperventilating. "Maggie!", Saul says suddenly, forcefully. "That's enough. Take some deep breaths and tell me where Simon is." For whatever reason, Maggie responds better to the gruff cop than the understanding father figure. She stops sobbing, gets her breathing under control. This takes a couple of minutes. "Go on." Saul prompts, firmly.

"He took off right after you got here. On his [motor] bike. Said he was going to stay with a friend in Back Gate 'til y'all left. That's everything I know." Her shoulders sag, chin sinks to her chest- she won't make eye contact- a posture of defeat.

A glance at the map shows that the hamlet of Back Gate is a little over three miles south of Pendleton. When asked if Simon might be hiding out in the woods northeast of town, Maggie pretty emphatically claims that he's not. "No, I saw him leave. He didn't go that way. Besides, he's not really into camping- not alone, at least."

The investigation continues. The Sierras learn the identity of one of the eye-witnesses to the MSG looting- an older man, mid-to-late 60s. He's questioned. He claims that he was up in his attic on the last day of the storm, prepping it to shelter family in the event that the flood waters continued to rise. He heard a boat motor, looked out of a louvered ventilation window, saw a small boat puttering around in the flooded quarter of town. He counted two or three men in the boat, wearing camo- couldn't see much else because the rain was still coming down pretty hard then. He didn't have a very wide field of view from the narrow attic vantage either, so that's really all he saw. He heard the boat engine off an on for at least a half-an-hour. But after the storm passed the houses near where he'd seen the boat were found to be missing various items left behind when their occupants evacuated. He's pretty sure it isn't a coincidence.

Simon's mother confirms Maggie's story. She, Simon, and a couple of others crossed the bridge and asked for their (allegedly) stolen items back. The MSG men didn't take it very well, cussed them out, made a veiled threat to the effect of, "You better shut your fuckin' mouth and walk on back across this bridge right this second, or you're gonna wish to God you did." She denies that Simon would ever shoot at anybody, let alone armed soldiers. She claims not to know where he is, but confirms that he has a friend in Back Gate. Everyone that Sierra speaks to that's attempted to cross the bridge since the current MSG contingent settled in at the checkpoint confirms that they've been charged a toll, and weren't allowed to pass without paying.

No one knows anything about someone hiding out in the woods between Pendleton and the dam.

Meanwhile, Anderson instructs Murray and Watkins in the operation of the Raven drone. Each woman successfully completes a brief training flight. Kabua starts prepping the unit's dinner. Zo, his young assistant, and Deputy Grisham walk halfway across the bridge to take a closer look at the job site. Guillory and Skillins tag along, in case the MSG boys show up and butt in, and to get a better feel for the Gouldites. Zo seems confident that Serena can lift the I-beams and other construction materials out of the barge, but he's not sure if he has enough tow cable to reach into the hold (if he does, it's just barely)- an extension of some sort is probably going to be necessary. He suggests that a log or section of wooden telephone poll be strapped to the guard rail to act as a buffer against friction damage to the cable (or rail), since the wrecker's crane probably can't extend much past the rail line. Zo is a little frustrated that work won't start until the next day. He wasn't planning on spending the night in Pendleton. Grisham shoots that idea down right away. "We ain't stayin' the night- Chief won't have it. We'll come back in the morning. You're still payin' for our time [today] and gas, though."

The sun will be setting in just a few hours.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:27, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

Lauren doubts that Maggie is lying. Which means that they do have another problem on their hands. It also means that her plan doesn't need to be changed. The foot patrol will go in first, covertly, then Razorback will follow overtly. The idea that these men may be the ones responsible for the thefts from town is firming up in her mind. Maybe they're connected to the Mississippi Guard troops, but she suspects not. More likely the townspeople saw some men in camo, put two and two together and got five. That doesn't mean that Seeger's men aren't running some sort of shakedown at the bridge - she's beginning to think that's a given - but she doesn't think they're the ones that came across on a boat.

Which leaves the question of who is in the woods. She hasn't totally ruled out escaped cons, but thinks it's highly unlikely. Military deserters? Maybe. Or some sort of Militia or Survivalist group. After all, military issue camp fatigues were easy enough to come by before the War. You could even buy them on eBay. The question was whether they had any military level training. So before they set out Lauren went round each member of her team, both Sierra One and Sierra Two, made sure they all got the same message. Don't take any chances.

Scott returns from liaising with Zo and Grisham, keeping a tight lid on his frustration.  Grisham's presence has had a chilling effect on the wrecker operator and even the brief unescorted moments of the ostensible deputy's bio breaks haven't provided much opportunity to start gently extracting information from Zo.  That only heightens his belief that something unsavory is happening with Gould's power structure, but he still lacks enough evidence (or even eyewitness testimony, unreliable as it is) to do a damn thing about it.  The only bright spot is that, despite both parties' unwillingness to stay overnight, Zo at least has turned his mind to the salvage operation and has provided a few refinements to the plan without pushing any of Xandra's buttons.

The briefing from Cao and Saul does nothing to improve his mood.  He listens to Saul recount the take from his interrogation of Maggie and the subsequent interviews.  When the elder Noble is done, Scott realizes he's fiddling with his holster's retention hood and forces himself to stop, folding his hands across his armor's mag pouches.

"So there's a sliding scale of shitbag, and we have a fairly strong consensus that the Mississippi boys are at least on the low end of it," he comments at length.  "Also, they have the skill set to cross the river in flood conditions.  'Marty used to work on the river, few years back,'" he quotes back at Cao from her earlier briefing after making initial contact.  "On the other hand, if we have an unknown third party out here, I'd like to know if they're stirring shit for lack of productive work, or if they're actively trying to provoke an interstate incident."  He looks at Cao. "Keeping our people safe stays top priority, but I suggest that we break out whatever we have left in the way of less-lethal options and try to take our sniper in talking condition if we can."

Lauren nods. "I've already issued our entire stock of flash bangs, so everyone in Sierra One will have at least one. And if we can get close enough I can take a shot with this." A gloved hand lightly pats the M26 Taser that sits snugly in a non issue multi cam MLBE holster attached to her plate carrier vest.

After dinner- a surprisingly delightful concoction the manifestly talented Specialist Kabua whipped together from party stores- the foot patrol heads into the woods.

Piloting the drone at night is a lot more challenging than doing so under the light of the sun was. In the pale white light of the nearly full moon, almost every visual frame of reference is ambiguous or obscured, save for the broad strip of black water that is the Arkansas River, glimmering with reflected moonlight. Infrared isn't much better. Only with the thermal imager can Murray find her companions, but it's not easy to keep them in frame as she orbits. Any time she moves the drone out of sight of their glowing signatures, she has trouble orienting herself, so it often takes her several seconds to find them again. It's a frustrating experience.

Under the trees, it's oppressively muggy. The air is thick and still, heavy with the loamy smell of damp earth and leaf litter. The earth underfoot is soft, and sometimes squishy. The undergrowth is thick in places, necessitating numerous minor course corrections, and the team's disembodied aerial guide (Murray) is having a hard time giving accurate directions. Hordes of unseen insects produce a constant, high-pitched cacophony of sound that surrounds the interuding humans. Mosquitos search for openings in the patrollers' clothing, homing in on exposed flesh like tiny guided munitions. Enough moonlight reaches the forest floor for the teams' NVGs to amplify, but, in particularly thick patches, contrast is diminished, reducing effective visual range to under 30m. Where there's less overhead cover, contrast and range are significantly greater.

Sweat flows, drenching the patrollers, but failing to cool them perceptably. It's slow going. Along hard-packed trails, and keeping a relatively brisk pace, this would be an hour-long hike. The dismounts have been in the woods for over two hours.

Searching ahead of the foot patrol, Murray spots the mysterious heat signature, more or less where Anderson told her to expect it, south of the pale line of track cutting through the forest in a straight line towards the dam, not too far past where the wide path bends away from the riverside. The glow is about 120m ahead of the patrol, on their current course and heading (moving roughly east-northeast). Once informed of this, Cao slows the patrol, trading speed for stealth. The team moves deliberately, cautiously, senses alert for any sign of danger. They hear nothing but the white-noise sounds of a rural southern summer night, but a certain musky odor sometimes stands out above the pervasive smell of damp earth and plant life. According to Murray, they should be on top of the heat source soon. Cao changes the formation to a skirmish line, leads the advance. The target is less about 30m dead ahead. Under a patch of thick underbrush rising from the slightly uneven forest floor, Cao sees a hint movement, small, furry bodies wriggle for a second, then become still. It's not what she expected to see, so it takes a few moments for the image to register: it's some sort of... nest. She signals the others, points at the midden. Now that they're looking directly at it, Carissa and Kabua notice the nest, but Anderson sees only a low mound of forest debris.

Murray doesn't spot the new heat signature until it's almost right on top of the patrol- under 30m. It's coming at them from behind, moving fast. At its current speed, it will be on top of them in two or three seconds. The Sierra's hear the rustle of brush behind them, the snap of a twig. Compared to the noisy but lulling ambient auditory backdrop, this new sound is like an approaching freight train.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:21, Wed 21 Nov 2018.

Adrenaline surges through Carissa.  Not “we’re headed into combat” adrenaline, but “oh, we are truly fucked” adrenaline.  She’s grown up in Arkansas.  Spent time in the woods hunting and exploring.  And if what is coming up behind them is a dip-shit with a gun, she’ll eat her helmet.  There is, after all, a reason the football team mascot is the Razorback.  It’s because boar the size of fucking cows live in these woods.  Bad tempered, evil things with tusks.  And the patrol is standing next to a nest, so that’s probably really bad.

Carissa spins in place, towards the noise flicking the selector switch on her rifle to burst.  If this is a boar, this could be pointless, she thinks.  Small rounds.  Still, maybe she’ll hit a leg.  Her eyes track down, looking for a four legged creature instead of one with two.  If it’s a man, she’ll take her chances.  Stealth protocol goes out the window.  She’s seen the wounds these things can inflict and she’s pretty sure she’d rather take the chances of getting shot in the chest than getting gored in the thigh.  Finger tightening on the trigger she looks for the target.

Carissa
M4 SOPMOD with IR laser 30/30 6 mags remaining
NVGs
If it’s a boar, she’ll yell “boar!” and shoot it, diving out of the way after one burst if possible.
Human, she’ll go armed melee with a rifle butt swing
This message was last edited by the player at 16:12, Tue 20 Nov 2018.

Xandra's frustration is staying in check only because she feels like she's starting to get a feel for the degree of finesse the Raven requires.  Its flight dynamics are nothing like the S-76s and JetRangers in which she got occasional stick time over the Gulf.  She can feel the beginnings of a nicotine headache and is about to offer the controls to Watkins when she spots the new hotspot in the corner of the thermal imager.  Suddenly, she needs three hands to work the Raven and the radio simultaneously.  Comms protocol goes out the window.  "Fucking goddammit.  Behind you, guys, coming in fast!"

The JLTV is technically better-suited to the current mission but Scott's subconscious is telling him that he's just a visitor in the light armored vehicle and he should wander back to his cruiser (never mind that his cruiser is about twenty years away in the wrong direction).  Unable to see the Raven feed or the contact team, he's reduced to standing outside the truck and staring at the surrounding humid darkness.  Against all good practice, he's carrying his Beretta with a round of birdshot chambered and another two in the tube before the usual buckshot, in the vague hope that a good hit with the #8 pellets might stun someone long enough for the team to subdue them.  His chest rig is still set up for AR support, though, and the rifle is resting in the JLTV's passenger-side footwell.

At Xandra's radio call, he presses up against the JLTV's corner and orients on the approximate direction of the patrol.  He can be in the vehicle in a handful of seconds if they need to move, but right now his best option seems to be to stay off the radio and see if they flush someone.

Anderson shifted a few meters to the side of the team to get a clear field of fire.  He then took a knee and lifted the M249 up to his shoulder, as he focused on the mound ahead of them, which Cao had pointed out.  After switching off the safety, he was ready to light the area up on the Captain's orders.  That's when the loud sounds to the groups rear caught his attention.  Anderson pivoted, switching from right knee town to left knee down as he swung the M249's barrel around as he turned to face the new oncoming threat, careful to ensure that no friendlies were in his new, rear facing field of fire.

The point of suppressive fire was to degrade the performance of an enemy force below the level needed to fulfill its mission.  It was achieved by threatening casualties to the individuals that exposed themselves to it.  Whatever was approaching behind them, would now face that threat as Cole opened up using his belt fed weapon system's full rate of fire in two long bursts.

Cole Anderson
Moving 3 meters right to the team to establish a clear field of fire.  Then turning 180 degrees to face the new threat.
M249 PIP SAW [100/100]
2x10-round bursts toward the rear attacker.

Lauren shifts her attention away from the lair that's in front of her, shifting her focus to what's behind them as she hears whatever it is barrelling its way towards them through the forest. The northern California native has no personal experience with the wildlife of rural Arkansas. But she's heard stories.

Her carbine, already at a low ready position comes up to her shoulder, the barrel swivelling in what she thinks is the direction that the inbound threat is approaching from, her finger poised on the trigger, although she will wait to try and get a visual before she opens fire. If, as she suspects, their attacker is of the four legged variety she'll squeeze off a short burst at it, opting for volume over precision. If it does turn out to be two legged he - or she - will be yelled at to get on their knees and get their hands in the air.

Lauren
NVG's on
Attempting to get visual on target. If target is animal will open fire with 1 x 3 round burst. If target is human will order target to surrender
M4A1 (30/30)

Carswell slowly swings the barrel of the M2 towards the forest when the JLTV rolls up to the roadblock, aiming the heavy machine gun in what he thinks is the approximate direction of the heat source that is lurking within, although he makes sure to keep the barrel elevated skywards for now. Indiscriminate gunfire into the woods while their patrol is on the ground doesn't seem like a particularly smart move. Instead, the medic / stand in machine gunner limits himself to watching the forest for any sign of movement that might be visible without NVG's.


Carswell
No NVG's / Heavy Gun WeaponLight currently off
Observing
M2HB (105/105*)

*I can't find a number for how many rounds the M2 is loaded with so I'm presuming it's a full belt

Almost as one, the four foot patrollers spin around, weapons at the ready. Their adversary is a blur, but time seems to slow down, revealing a startling amount of detail. The beast bursting from the sparse undergrowth  is the stuff of nightmares- squat- about waist-height compared to the tallest of the dismounts- powerfully built, fur crest brisling between muscular shoulders, blunt nose, nostrils agape, tusk-like canines protruding from a gaping mouth. All of this visual input is received and processed in under two-and-a-half seconds, prompting nervous responses that occupy the grey area between reflexive and voluntary.

Noble, Anderson, and Cao all open fire in concert, Kabua a beat behind, turning the peaceful country night into a bizarre outdoor disco with a quartet of strobing muzzle flashes. Misses kick up little fountains of earth and leaf litter; puffs of dust erupt along the beast's hairy length- multiple hits- but it keeps coming, heading straight at Carissa. She sidesteps to her right, barely avoiding its desperate bite as it brushes by her left leg. The razorback takes a few more strides past the human interlopers before collapsing and skidding to a halt on the forest floor, about halfway between the Sierras and the animal's presumed nest. Lying on its side, the feral hog thrashes violently a few times, perhaps trying to get back to its feet. The wounded animal quickly seems to accept the futility of these exertions, lying relatively still, save for the occasional twitch or wiggle. The Sierras can hear its gasps above their own nervous breathing- grunting, labored. And something else, maybe- a soft, plaintive squealing coming from the thick undergrowth towards which, a few seconds before, they'd been advancing.

C. Noble -3 rounds; Anderson -10 rounds; Cao -3 rounds; Kabua -3 rounds (all 5.56mm)

The vehicle-based team, manning the dismounts' attackers' namesake, hear the brief fusillade, the sharp edge of the gunshots softened by the vegetation and humid air. They're alert, ready for an ambush, although said doesn't materialize.

Murray watches this all unfold on her drone operator's monitor. She adjusts the Raven's orbit to increase her sight picture. No additional heat signatures are visible in the vicinity.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:02, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

"Shit," Carissa exhales nervously. The farmgirl, recovers for the near miss drive-by-tusking and walks over to the wounded animal.  With a precision based on anatomy, she places the barrel of her rifle against the dying animal's side, right behind the foreleg and a little towards the center.  Her finger twitches twice, blasting two rounds through the beast's heart and putting it out of whatever pain its brain is still capable of dealing with.

"Long walk for dinner," she says, voice still shaking a little.  The boar meat isn't great.  Oily and gamey, but here in the apocalypse it's protein and that can't go to waste.  Even if it's just to feed the other animals.  "Must be the den," she adds, pointing at the source of the mewling sounds.  "If we leave'em they're predator bait.  If we take the piglets, maybe the locals can use'em."

With stealth out of the picture for the immediate future, Carissa takes a satisfying ten seconds to slap the shit out of a few mosquitoes that have been buzzing around her neck particularly persistently for the last ten minutes.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:31, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

Xandra flinches as the screen erupts in gunfire, followed a second later by the distance-delayed noise of the shots.  "Shit," she says, unconsciously echoing Carissa.  She gives it a minute to ensure nothing else is sneaking up on the team.  "Um.  Hey, Chevelle, I was gonna say before that happened... you wanna tap in?  My eyes are starting to cross."

She hands off the controller, stands up and arches her back, then freezes as a thought strikes her.  "Shit.  Hey, guys, if that was all just swine, our shooter's still out there."

"Uh, yeah. Ok," Chevelle replies, somewhat reluctantly. If the sun were still shining, it'd probably be a different story, but right now, in the dark of night, she's nervous as hell, afraid of fucking up and losing one of the team's biggest assets.



Chevelle's almost completely absorbed in taking over flight ops- it takes Murray's comment a few seconds to register, a few more for her to formulate and deliver a response. Once she's relatively confident that the drone is not in imminent danger of crashing, she says, "I thought the shooter was a local kid, laying low in another town south of here."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:59, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

Sudden terror has been replaced by the euphoria of survival. The young Marshalese-American looks down at the dead sow- a 400-pounder, at least- and smiles.

"I know some killer pork recipes."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 20:13, Fri 23 Nov 2018.

Lauren lowers the barrel of her carbine slightly, her heart rate gradually returning to something more resembling normal as her left hand shifts from her weapon's foregrip to her radio. "Sexton, Falcon. We've just had an encounter with the local wildlife. Situation under control. Break." The frustration is probably evident in her voice. The situation does appear to be under control. But if there are any people hiding out nearby they must now be aware that the JLTV isn't the only interloper. If there are any people out here. It is entirely possible that they have just wasted a day chasing down a heat signature that turned out to be a den of wild pigs. That's a day that could have been spent working on the bridge.

The pause before she continues speaking is slightly longer for it has just occurred to her that she has no idea what Xandra's radio call sign is. If she even has one. "Murray, are you seeing anything else out here? Over." When the response is in the negative, Cao acknowledges. With no heat signature to guide them they've nothing to bear down on. They could spend all night searching these woods and not find anybody. Maybe there's no one here to find.  "Keep looking. Let me know if you find anything. Out."

The transmission concluded, she looks over at Carissa. "If we take the piglets with us are we going to get every razorback for a five mile radius coming after us?" Lauren's experience with animal behaviour doesn't extend much beyond what she's sometimes seen on NatGeo but she does know that some species can be very protective of their young.

The Air Force Captain then turns to Cole Anderson. "Unless the drone picks anything else up we may as well RV with the JLTV and head back to the ville." They wouldn't all fit in the vehicle but at least they could take the road out. As she speaks to the Tech Sergeant she slaps absently at a particularly annoying mosquito.

Xandra nods, realizing it's pointless while Chevelle is focused on the screen.  "Yeah, but I was kind of hoping the heat trace was him so we could lock his ass up and be done.  Knowing he's out there puts an itch between my shoulder blades whenever I'm on the bridge."

Cole nodded in agreement with Cao.  While they hadn't found the hermit who might be living in the woods, the now dead wild boar was a lot of good protein to take back.  It would feed plenty of folks and was a suitable substitute for success in this case.  Also, if there was a uni-bomber wannabe hiding out in the woods, he'd seen be denied this bacon-on-the-hoof, along with her offspring.

"I'm gonna police up this brass really quick," Anderson said as the team started to make preparations to link up with the JLTV.  "Whoever's out there might have heard our weapon fire, but there's no need to give them any more information than that," Anderson said.  If Cole had any paper on him, he might have left a message pinned to a tree inviting the wayward soul to come back into the fold.  But Anderson hadn't seen his notebook since the team left Little Rock.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:57, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

Watkins orbits the area around the foot patrol and the waiting J-LTV looking for additional heat signatures and finding none. Advised of the results, Cao decides to end the mission, having successfully accomplished the primary objective, albeit in an rather unexpected way.

After the shooting site is policed up, the dead razorback sow is dragged to the road and strapped down atop the J-LTV's spare tire. It takes several people to lift it into place- the animal must weigh close to 400 lbs. The piglets- four of them (a fifth is recently dead)- are small, squirmy, probably just a week or two outside the womb. They're not particularly happy about being handled, but there's not much they can do about it but squeal in protest.

+4 piglets; 200lbs. [initial guestimate] uncooked pork meat

In the meantime, Covered by Carswell up in the M2178's turret, Skillins hits the headlights and sets about cutting the fallen tree into more manageable chunks. The chainsaw seems especially loud at night. If and when the vehicle team returns this way, it'll only take a few minutes to clear the path.

Razorback returns to Pendleton, carrying its eponymous cargo of wild pork, the tired dismounts hitching a ride back tankodesantniki-sytle.

Surprising herself somewhat, Watkins successfully brings the Raven drone back to town for a decent nighttime landing. The mix of nervous and elated adrenaline, and staring at a screen for over an hour, keeps her wired awake for several more hours.

Back in town, several teammates have to help Kabua hoist the prize up from a sturdy tree branch so that he can gut and dress it. This he does efficiently, with the expertise of an experienced cook. The team does have a bit of a quandary, though: what to do with the carcass in the absence of effective refrigeration? It's too late to ask around town for a smoker and the team doesn't have nearly enough salt to preserve the meat, but in the humid heat of the summer night, the uncured pork will start to spoil quickly. Cooking the meat will take all night, and only delay the inevitable for a little while.

After a watch schedule is set, the Sierras settle in to their parking-lot camp and try to get some much-needed rest. The piglets sleep next to Carissa, calming from her reassuring warmth. Watkins volunteers to take the first shift. Kabua racks out near the pig, hoping his presence will keep racoons or other nighttime scavengers away from the carcass.

---

Monday, July 15th, 2030
0930 hours
80F, 75% humidity
Wind 5mph out of the southwest


It feels like dawn breaks prematurely. The Sierras rise with the sun and start prepping for the day's tasks. Kabua wakes to a couple of ravens hopping around nearby, investigating the hanging pig. He shoos them away, eliciting a flurry of black feathers and angry caws. Heckle and Jeckle retreat to just outside stone-throwing range, perching watchfully on the bridge railing. They're soon joined by another pair, and buzzards begin a surveilling orbit above the scene.

The Sierras break the fast on fire-roasted pork and chicory coffee (the latter a gift from Grady's Captain Franks). The meat is a bit gamey, but tasty, and not quite as tough as anticipated. Most of Kabua's morning is going to be occupied with cooking the balance of the mean in batches.

Back behind the drone controller, Anderson overflies the vehicle patrol route, discovering a couple more trees lying across the access road to the dam. Like the first, they're probably casualties from the recent storm winds, not man-made obstacles (based on color and lack of foliage, one is clearly deadfall). The thermal imager detects no human-sized heat signatures anywhere along the track, or around the dam.

Watkins chauffeurs Saul back across the bridge to brief the MSG leader on the results of the night patrol (Saul says nothing further about the shooter investigation, though). The envoys present sack of roast pork as evidence of the reported encounter, and a gesture of good will. Seeger accepts the gift gratefully; his air of hurt wariness falls away quickly. Almost cheerfully, he orders his men to start prepping the small boat in anticipation of the day's salvage operation.

Alonzo et al return in the wrecker, arriving right on schedule at 0900 hours. He's eager to begin work. Murray's already on the bridge, rigging her rappelling equipment. Watkins is close by to assist and provide security.

With Skillins behind the wheel, Cao, Anderson, and Carswell set off for the dam. The first fallen tree, pre-cut last night, is quickly removed. They approach the second with caution, Cao and Carwell dismounting under Anderson's watchful eye to clear the immediate area. Skillins cuts the tree in half, then opens a gap between the two segments using Razorback's forward two winch. This process is repeated at the next deadfall, clearing the path to the dam. The team arrives on the west bank of the Arkansas, just north of the hydropower generating station. Skillins slows to allow his passengers to take a closer look at the facility through their various optics.

After Watkins brings Saul and Bourbon Street back, Rios drives the Nobles, Guillory, and Maggie to Back Gate to retrieve Simon the shooter. The teenager guides the Sierra cops to his friend's double-wide trailer, just off State Route 165. Rios pulls off the road about a 110m from the driveway, screened from the trailer by a stand of trees. "He might run if he sees you," Maggie says.


You're Up.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:51, Sat 24 Nov 2018.

"I smell like pig," Carissa says into the occupied space of the vehicle.  Sleeping with baby boar hasn't done much to improve the must of sweat and dirt filling the airspace.

"It's gamey," Saul pipes back at his daughter, smiling without turning his head.

"Thanks dad, just what every girl wants to hear."

"I think you're pretty, too."

"Shut it, old man."  There's a smile in her voice, too.  Saul knows Car doesn't mind the scent.  She likes animals.  Even if their ultimate destiny is to become stew meat.

Saul looks at the double-wide down the road and rubs his chin thoughtfully. "So Miss Maggie, you say our friend Simon is a runner, huh?  That's better than a killer, for sure."  He stares thoughtfully for a few minutes.  "Well, we'll play this really cool.  Try not to spook anyone.  Last thing any of us wants is for anyone, and I mean anyone, to get hurt."  He tries to sound reassuring.

They'll have guns in the trailer, that's for sure.  And he can't let Maggie run up alone, or he'll lose control of the situation.  Last thing he needs is a panicked teenager doing something stupid like taking up a hostage.  "Here's how I see our play.  Car, you step outside and flank around the back of the house in case he takes a runner out the back door.  Far enough distance to chase, not close enough to provoke fire."

"Okay."

"Ms. Rios can stay here with the battle-wagon, ready to move for support, and Miss Maggie and I will stroll up the road and see if Simon will come out for a chat."  Saul turns around and stares Maggie in the face, hard.  The gentle routine hasn't served well until after she's broken, so he plays the professional card here.  "Maggie, I need you to understand this: we're not handing Simon over to the guys on the bridge.  He's not going to jail.  We're not going to punish him.  Scott and I want to talk to him, get his side of what happened, and make sure he doesn't do it again.  We view this as a stupid mistake, but one that didn't result in anyone getting hurt.  That makes this way easier to deal with.  We do need to talk to him, though, and I need you to get him to come out.  I won't be hiding, I'll be standing right next to you."

Saul lets the words bounce around in Maggie's skull for a few minutes and turns to his daughter.  "You got cuffs?

"Yeah," Carissa says, patting her vest. She quickly stows her assault rifle so it will be secured while she is gone and checks the load on her pistol, making sure one is in the chamber.

"You said-," Maggie starts, when she sees the weapon in Carissa's hands.  "You said you wouldn't hurt him."

"Maggie," Saul says with a tone meant to cut off debate, "that doesn't mean we're willing to let him shoot us.  It's protection, nothing more."  He's not sure it gets through, but they're doing this anyway.

"Questions, concerns, comments?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:47, Sat 24 Nov 2018.

"OK, just ahead and then take the first left. We'll look at the dam first." Cao instructs Skillins. That should take them up to the first structure that sat on the river*, one that forms a bridge to a small island, beyond which was the dam itself. At least that was how it looked from the drone overflight. It looked as though there was a roadway that led all the way to the island, but the drone couldn't give any sort of indication of how stable that roadway was - or, for that matter, whether the engineers that had built it had ever considered that it an armored vehicle might one day drive over it - so she intends to take the JLTV in as close as possible to the first structure. From there they can advance on foot, check out the dam.

The Air Force Captain doesn't intend to spend a particularly long time here. For one, no one in the JLTV is an engineer so none of them are qualified to make any sort of detailed assessment as to the condition of the dam or surrounding structures - the best that they can hope for is 'it looks OK' or 'it looks fucked'. And for two, the other side of the river is forested. Aerial reconnaissance hadn't detected any threats, but looking at the woods on the other side of the river through the armored glass of the JLTV there look to be plenty of places for a shooter to hide if he wanted to take pot shots at them.

So it's going to be full battle rattle when they dismount. Helmets, body armor, weapons at the low ready. No doubt Guillory would think it was overkill. But Lauren isn't taking any chances. "Sergeant Anderson, you're with me. We'll clear those buildings ahead of us then move up to the dam, check it as best as we can, then come back and have a look round over there." She points to the right hand side, where two roads lead off from the road that they're on.

"If we do come under fire from the other side we go to ground and return fire. Full auto. Then we fall back to Razorback in leaps and bounds. You go first." She's not about to order him to cover her ass while she gets out of harm's way. "Mr Carswell, you're on the Ma Deuce. Same orders apply. If we take fire from the other side hit them hard. Skillins, manouever as you see fit."

"Any questions? If not, let's get moving."

*Per google maps / street view that appears to be the Hydropower generating station. Plan is to move through there, checking for signs of habitation / damage then follow the road to the western edge of the dam proper. I can't tell from maps whether you can actually cross the dam on foot or not  but even if you can, she won't cross at this stage.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:35, Sat 24 Nov 2018.

Scott has his mildly-annoyed-DA face on for the morning's antics.  He's deliberately ignored Maggie during the drive, letting his presence and occasional side comments to Saul and Rios emphasize the severity of the trouble Simon might be in if he's uncooperative or mouthy.

For this contact, he's equipped as lightly as he has been since rolling out of Little Rock, going with what would be Class Cs if he were still a street cop.  Khaki 5.11 pants, FBINA polo, Point Blank soft armor already clammy as the Under Armour base layer T-shirt futilely wicks sweat away to nowhere.  He'll let Rios and the bulk of the Suburban make the point about the amount of force the task force could bring to bear if needed.

He gives Saul a nod.  "Just a chat, not warrant service."  Yet.

Looking over the bridge railing, Xandra suppresses the juvenile urge to spit or drop something just to see the splash.  It probably wouldn't do much for Zo's confidence in her ability to run this operation.

She turns away and futilely slaps at a swath of rust flakes ground into her Shrimpin' Ain't Easy T-shirt.  Her PFD is on the ground at her feet, under the chipped metallic blue hard hat she found aboard the barge.  For this, she's more worried about shit falling (or being dropped...) off the bridge than anything her issued ballistic helmet might stop.

The big wrecker's cables will reach, just barely, but there's not a lot of margin for shifting the load for the best access.  Since breakfast, she's been working up her unload plan, figuring out the order in which to remove the lock and dam machinery while keeping the barge in trim and preventing tons of metal from shifting or toppling.  This isn't the worst job she's worked, not by a long shot, but she sure as hell wishes she had at least one member of her last crew here to keep an eye on events up top.  And maybe a couple more pieces of heavy equipment, and a fucking cigarette.

With no questions to ask, Carswell hauls himself up into what is becoming the semi familiar surroundings of the JLTV's turret and orientates himself so that the barrel of the M2 is pointing across the river, to the Mississippi side, the medic judging that if there's going to be trouble that's likely to be where it comes from and that will allow him to cover Cao and Anderson as they advance on foot.

"Let's do it," Cole says, checking to confirm an APER round in his M320 and that the belt of ammo in his SAW was clear of obstructions.  Lastly, he tightened up the cinches and velcro on his body armor and helmet before giving a quick nod.

The Dam

With Carswell providing over-watch from Razorback's machinegun turret, Cao and Anderson proceed towards the hydro plant on foot. The main gate is wide open, the chain securing it has been cut. A car in the parking lot has been stripped down to its chassis- a clear sign of extensive looting. This doesn't bode well for what's beyond the small parking lot.

Debris is piled up against the vertical concrete wall of the nearest dam segment - mostly branches and vegetation, a few man-made objects, mangled beyond recognition, and a couple of bloated animal corpses wedged in among the detritus.  The spillways, strung out across the main channel, also appear beset by a thin scum of flotsam.

The doors to the two buildings presumably housing electrical equipment have been jimmied open. Inside the first of the structures, however, the machinery appears largely intact, despite being unmaintained and quiescent for nearly three years. There's no sign of fire, just dust and cobwebs- it’s a promising sign.  The door to the second building is already ajar. Through the gap, wasps enter and exit at will. There must be a pretty big nest inside, because Cao and Anderson can hear the buzzing from outside.

The big transformers- or whatever they are- atop the near section of the dam, also appear undamaged. Perhaps some sort of failsafe system prevented the equipment from frying itself when the Chinese viruses commanded it to do so. Or, maybe the shutdown was caused by EMP, although the nearest strike that the Sierras know of was on the refineries at El Diablo, nearly 100 miles away from this hydro plant, as the crow flies.  Speaking of crows, even the birds have forgotten what these pieces of electrical equipment used to do. There's a rather large nest high up in one of them. Neither Cao nor Anderson know enough about electrical engineering to determine whether the plant can be made operational, or what it would take to make it so, but based on the condition of the visible hardware, a layman could reasonably conclude that  it is possible, given the right expertise.

The Bridge/Barge

After briefing Zo on her plan of attack and fitting an extension (from the STAR Team's own stores) on to Serena's tow-cable, Murray rappels down to the wreck. As she descends, she can feel the circling Mississippi Guardsmen's eyes lock on to her ass. She alights, unclips from the slack line, and gets right down to work.

Murray opens the cargo hatch cover, descends into the partially inundated hold, selects the nearest piece of lock equipment, and attaches the cable as securely as she can in the cramped, wet confines of the compartment.  She climbs out of the hold and signals Zo's young assistant (acting as relay) to start the winch- slowly. Watkins and the Gould minder watch from the railing. Murray stands by the hatch, guiding the heavy beam as it rises ponderously towards the open hatch; the beam is longer than the opening is wide, so she has to tilt it a little to get it out. Once the beam is hanging free, she twirls her finger, indicating that Zo can pick up the pace a little bit. A couple of seconds pass as the message is relayed. The beam rises a bit faster now, increasing its tilt as it approaches the bridge railing. Without warning, something gives- cable, fastener, fly wheel, who knows? It all happens so quickly that Murray doesn't have time to work it out. A sharp, cracking sound and the beam is falling, end on, towards the open hatch. Murray barely has time to dive out of the way. She lands hard, rebounds against the warm metal of the deck as  a metallic BANG blasts her eardrums . When she comes to a rest, lying prone, the deck is still reverberating beneath her.  Something shifts, the deck begins to list. Murray's  ears are ringing, but she can still make out the grinding of metal on concrete. Is the barge breaking free?

Back Gate

Carissa slinks through the trees, crosses through the neighbor's back yard, and sets up- as far as she can tell, undetected-  just northwest of the  double wide trailer. A dirt bike is parked right outside one of the back bedroom windows, near an above-ground pool, about 20 meters away. About 20m beyond that, Carissa sees a woman's back. She appears to be tending to some animals. A brief whiff of goat confirms their suspected identity.

Meanwhile, with Rios standing by behind the wheel of the team's police SUV, Saul, Guillory, and Maggie stroll down the right shoulder of the 165, towards the driveway of Simon's friend's house. Besides the double-wide (trailer home), there are two smaller structures on the property- some sort of covered animal pen, and a small shed/workshop. Through gaps between the  buildings, Saul and Scott spot a woman tending to some animals. She's not facing the road, so she doesn't immediately notice the visitors.  The Sierras and their teenage ward reach the end of the dirt driveway; the woman turns from her animals and sees the trio of pedestrians approaching. From a distance (about 60m), she studies them warily. After a few seconds, she recognizes the girl.

"Maggie? What's going on here?"

Maggie looks up at Saul inquiringly.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:48, Thu 29 Nov 2018.

Lauren has gradually relaxed a little as she moves about the hydro plant and no immediate threat materializes. Or at least no man made ones, for she doesn't plan to go too near the wasp's nest and disturb them, signalling Cole to also give them a wide berth. If she'd had spray paint she would have sprayed some sort of hazard warning on the door, much like she'd seen FEMA people do after the nuke strikes, but she doesn't so the best that she can do is jot down in her notebook that any recovery efforts here are going to have to involve a plan to deal with this natural threat.

By the time they've finished their examination her carbine is slung over her shoulder, although she's still wearing her helmet, armor, and ballistic glasses as she stands on the asphalt and looks out at the dam, her gloved hands wedged into the sides of her plate carrier vest as she speaks to Anderson. "I don't think there's much more we can do here. Mr Guillory can file a report with his people up in Little Rock. Maybe they can find some people that used to work on it before the bombs fell. If they're going to try and get it back on line I'll recommend the State Guard sends a detachment down to provide security. She looks across the river towards the Mississippi side for a moment. "Anything else you want to check out here or shall we take a walk across the road and check out the other side then head down to the water?*"

*Per google maps, there's two turn offs on the right. One leads to what looks like some sort of pylon farm, the other looks to lead to a car park (?) then down to a body of water (I'm not clear whether it's a separate river / lake or some sort of offshoot of the Arkansas)

Saul looks at Maggie, the woman, and the distance between them.  60 meters is a good long distance.  One that's kind of hard to project charm and reassurance across.  Still, she isn't looking at him down the barrel of a 12 gauge.  Which is a start.

"Morning ma'am," Saul says, dredging up as much country charm and respect as he can manage.  "We do apologize for dropping in out of the blue like this, but hopefully bringing Maggie here along can go some distance in reassuring you our intentions are friendly."  The retired cop takes a few steps forward, maybe six or seven in all, while playing his limp up heavily.  He makes a show out of resting on his walking stick and uses his left hand to momentarily key up his mic to let Carissa know he's engaging in conversation.

"My name is Saul Noble and this is my associate Scott Guillory.  We're down from Little Rock on a tour of the area to see what folks need and how they're getting along.  Hopefully we can get some help headed to the folks that need it the most."

"That's well and good Mister Noble, but what are you doing on my property.  Last time I checked Little Rock was a long way away and they never bothered much with folks like us anyway.  Even before..."

No arguing with that, Saul muses while the pregnant "before" hangs in the air. Validate, then work.

"No ma'am, can't imagine much they did."  He gives a head shake that should be noticeable even from the distance between them.

"So..."

"well, ma'am.  We've heard on our trip into Grundy that the Mississippi boys on the other side of the river have been acting up and Maggie's friend Simon and his mom got treated real unfair by those fellas.  We're here because we need to talk to Simon.  And I want to stress here, ma'am, the 'talk' part.  We want to hear his side of what happened and what those boys said."

"Simon's not here."

Saul watches the woman for a few moments as her hands tend to her work.  "I understand you might be nervous around us, and protective of who Maggie here tells us is a real good person.  Given the work we've seen this young woman do, I see no need to doubt her word.  About Simon or about anything else."  Saul takes a few more steps, trying to gauge the body language of the woman before him and hopes that there's not a deer rifle trained on his chest from some window in the double-wide.

"We'd sure like to talk to the boy, and I'm happy to have you and Maggie at his side to make sure we don't do anything you don't like."

Carissa finds a nice cozy spot to observe the trailer, looking for a few blind spots she can get use to get closer.  20m to the bike is a ways, especially with body armor on, but the cowgirl figures she can make it in less than ten seconds.  The question is, how fast can Simon get out the window and on the bike?  Even if he uses the dirt bike track she kneeling on, she'll only get on chance to grab him and hopefully not break him badly putting him on the ground.  A dicey situation at best.

Soooo...what would dear old dad do?  Or maybe WWSD?  Saul was always telling her to try and put her head in the place of other people.  Try and anticipate what a scared teenager would do.  Well shit, she'd never been a normal teenager.  When she got scared she got mad.  Simon got mad enough to take a pot shot at the Mississippi assholes, but hadn't been serious enough about it to aim well.  The bike was in a position to grab heading out the window.  So he's planning on running.  If they trust what Maggie said.  This shit gets exhausting.

The radio in Carissa's ear purrs to life for a second or three and she can hear Saul's voice call out to the woman in the garden.  There's a eerie few moments where she can hear him from a distance in one ear and clear as day, but a fraction delayed in the other.  The radio cuts out again leaving her in peace.

Okay, first Simon goes to the window.  Why?  Because he has the hots for Maggie and wants to see the trouble she's in.  Figure a bit of time for that while everyone in the trailer looks at dad.  Simon waits to see what happens, sees if he's in trouble too and- fuck this you're wasting time.

Carissa scoots forward, using the above ground pool as cover, trying to get as close to the window as possible.  If she can, she'll disable the bike, nothing permanent, just pull a fuel line or unplug the spark plug.

Let's see if you're a hero Simon.

Carissa
Sneaking up to disable the bike.  Will go combat mode if people start shooting at her dad.

"Fuck me with a baseball bat," Xandra mutters as she pushes herself up and off the rust-flecked steel.  That wasn't what she had in mind when she put on the hard hat this morning.  She shakes her head to clear it, clamps the headware back atop her bandana, and presses her fingertips to the deck.  She's not a diesel-whisperer like some of the guys she used to work with, but she's been around (and on) enough distressed machines to become amply familiar with their feel.  The barge is singing to her, now, not in the descending tone of a vessel taking on water, but in the laconic grind of one that's finding a new equilibrium after a load shifts (mental flicker of the worst load shift she's ever seen, 747 stalling at Bagram, seconds of flight stretching into unrecoverable eternity, and she once again is thankful her work is marine rather than aviation, and that there's nothing flammable aboard this job).

The fingernails-on-chalkboard-writ-large squeal isn't just tinnitus, she realizes.  The barge is moving laterally against the bridge pillar.  She rises to a crouch, grabs her own line but doesn't hook in just yet.  One hand on the rope, one hand on the rail, ignore the distant shouts from above, give it thirty seconds to find its new balance...

"Yeah, maybe the State can do something with this," Cole said.  He thought about getting the model numbers off the transformer, but he didn't have notebook.  Beside, he wasn't here for that.  Anderson hoisted the SAW up and endorsed Cao's other side plan with a nod and a heel pivot.

The Barge

Murray keeps her cool, trusts her engineering instincts. The barge shifts maybe a couple inches, rotates a degree or two, then stops moving. The dropped beam is resting at an angle, half in the hold, half leaning out. A length of cable, one end still fastened around the  beam, is coiled on the rusting deck nearby. Apparently, the splice gave way.

The MSG spotter boat makes a close pass on the upriver side. One of the guardsman is trying to stifle laughter, the other calls out, "Are you OK, miss?"

Watkins, Alonzo, his young assistant, Reggie, and the Gould Minder are all looking down with concern from the railing.

Back Gate

Saul's attempt at diplomacy seems to have a somewhat positive effect. "You can stop right there, Mr. Noble," the woman calls. "Maggie, you better stay put too. Simon's pretty scared. I'll go talk to him."

Holding the feed bucket against her chest, the woman starts to walk, unhurriedly, towards the back door of the double-wide. Guillory is watching the trailer's front windows, spots a fleeting shadow, there and gone.

Carissa, meanwhile, makes her way to the back of the house undetected. She crouches next to the dirt-bike, under the window, fiddles with what looks like a critical component on the exposed engine. She hears movement just inside, withdraws her arm, flattens herself against the exterior wall. The window screen above her head pops out, hits the ground next to Carissa. A teenage boy's leg swings out of the open window, sneakered heal bumping loudly against the outside paneling. The subject is straddling the windowsill, half-way inside, half-way out, when he sees the would-be saboteur.

The Dam

Cao and Anderson begin walking across the 350 meter-long footpath that runs above the main dam's spillway. The steady susurrus of water rushing by below their feet approaches a low roar. A cooling fog of water vapor rises from below like a gravity-defying curtain.

Looking to her right, Cao spots a man standing on the east bank, a little over a kilometer downriver. He appears to be fishing. He's looking back at Cao, starts reeling his line in a litte faster.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:39, Sat 01 Dec 2018.

Cao watches the fisherman on the other side of the river. He's too far away for her to call out to so she judges that there's not really much that they can do about him. Besides, he's not actually doing anything suspicious. "You reckon he'll head straight to Seeger or whoever's running the State Guard mission on the Mississippi side and tell them someone's been taking a look round here?" She remarks to Anderson, her shoulders wrinkling into a semi shrug. The speed he's reeling his line in certainly suggests that he's in a hurry to get somewhere. Or maybe he's just shitting himself that Carswell might light him up with the fifty cal.

"I'll put it in my report." she adds, giving the fisherman a wave as she does so. After all, he's clearly seen them. May as well let him know they've seen him, try and look friendly. Hearts and minds. "Let's go check out the other side of the road."

"Yeah, probably.  We continue to be the most interesting thing these yokels have seen in months if not years," Anderson replied.  "Ever seen Deliverance?" Cole asked rehotorically.  Before Cao could answer, he started to whistle the dueling banjo tune.  After a bar, the Tech Sergeant stopped and shifted to a more serious tone.

"Ok, let's take a walk.."

Strictly speaking Lauren should reprimand Cole for referring to the local population as yokels. After all, they are supposed to be here on a hearts and minds mission. Winning friends, flying the flag for the State Government in Little Rock. But they are both active duty Air Force and he is a Special Missions Aviator, so that cuts him enough slack for her to let her slide. And she hasn't seen Deliverance. She's more of a Hunger Games girl. Although she gets the reference.

The dark haired Air Force Captain shrugs, shifts her carbine so that it is cradled in her arms as she walks back towards the JLTV with the Tech Sergeant. "I suppose they have to do something now that they can't watch HBO." No one could. Lauren would never find out whether it was Sansa's grandaughter or the long lost Mariella Lannister who won the War of the Queens and ruled all of Westeros. "Or Keeping Up With the Kardashians." Her expression makes it clear she doesn't consider that to be a bad thing.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:24, Mon 03 Dec 2018.

Xandra probes her mouth with her tongue and determines that none of her teeth are loosened.  "Livin' the dream," she yells back.  Turning away, she mutters, "nightmares are dreams too."

She fumbles in a cargo pocket for the fresh pack of Nicorette she stashed there this morning, pops a piece of gum into her mouth, and closes her eyes as she waits for the first chemical hit.  Then she raises her arms, waits for Zo to acknowledge her, and makes the rigger's hand signal for "more slack."  It's going to be a long goddamn morning...

"Movement, Alpha side, window three," Scott says quietly to Saul, and to his lapel mic.  He takes a few idle steps to one side and hooks his thumb into the front pocket of his 5.11s.  Coincidentally and innocently, his hand is that much closer to the Nighthawk 10mm now.

Carissa freezes, already mentally kicking herself for calling this one backwards.  There's a better than average chance that she's going to be having a long and fairly uncomfortable chat with her father when they get out of here.  But all that's in the future, at the moment, she eye to eye with a scared teenager who looks more than a little surprised to see her standing there.  So now what?

Grabbing the kid is an option, probably a bad one.  WWSD?

Fully aware that she is neither a gorgeous woman nor radiating the charisma that her father possesses in spades, Carissa tries a smile.  Leaving her hands clearly in view and moving slowly, she leans into the body of the trailer trying hard to look casual in her battle-rattle.

"Oh, you must be Simon," she says lightly.  "I'm Carissa."  She tries the grin again.  "Tell ya what.  How about I stay right about here with my hands where you can see them and you stay right about there?  And we work this out like grown-ups?"

She really wants to key her radio, but figures that's just going to spook the kid worse.

"That's fine with me ma'am," Saul nods easily.  "We're happy to stay right here."  He answers Scott's update with a tilt of the head, waiting for Carissa to acknowledge.

And waits.

And grows a little concerned by the silence.

You there, girl?  Saul knows intellectually that if Carissa isn't answering, there's probably a good reason.  There's been no shouts.  No gunfire.  Still, being a father isn't easy, and he can feel his stomach sinking.  He wants to intervene.  Wants to sit on his hands.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:07, Sat 08 Dec 2018.

Tori stayed with Bourbon Street, ready to use it as a ramming vehicle, ballistic shield, or pursuit car depending on the situation.  She estimated that the heavy SUV would do considerable damage to the double-wide if things went truly south.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:30, Wed 05 Dec 2018.

Barge

Murray's second attempt is much more successful than the first. She resplices the extension to the wrecker's own tow cable. This time, Serena successfully lifts the heavy part up to the bridge, where Zo and company secure it. Murray, meanwhile, contemplates her next move. After a few minutes, Zo leans over the railing and calls down,

"You said the bridge is damaged? We probably shouldn't transfer any more weight up here. I'll have to take this piece to the lot, drop it off, and come back!"

He's got a point- safety first. However, this somewhat clunky back-and-forth relay system is going to prolong the salvage operation considerably.

Dam

After having inspected the catwalk atop the spillway, Cao and Anderson walk down to the oxbow lake. It's a partly natural, partly man-made feature. Nature would have finished the job eventually, but construction of the dam pinched it off before its time. It looks like the recent flooding temporarily reunited the curvy body of standing water with the river, but since the road to the hydro plant clearly wasn't washed out, the new junction must be at the other end of the elongated, tilted C of the lake. When they climb back up the bank, the Sierras note that the fisherman is gone.

Back Gate

Simon starts, falls back inside the trailer with a loud thunk. Carissa ends up delivering most of her appeal to the just-vacated window. The boy, now unseen, gives no indication whether he heard her or not. Back to square one.

Simon's host- Maggie knows her only as Sam's mom- jogs the last few meters to the trailer's back door. The two women make fleeting eye-contact. Carissa smiles, but there's fear in the elder of the two's eyes. She throws open the back door, then slams it shut behind her.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:23, Wed 12 Dec 2018.

"Well hell," Carissa mumbles.  Instinct has her moving away from the wall and back into cover in the tree line before a shotgun blast can exit the vinyl siding of the mobile home.  Simon and friends know she's out here now, which should, hopefully, maybe keep him from taking a runner.

"Rawhide to Gimp, I'm made in the back.  Simon's bike is disabled but they know I'm out here, over," she transmits.  Her voice is thick with self-recrimination.  While she waits for a reply, Carissa's eyes track for movement and she checks obvious lines of fire towards the tree she hopes is wide enough to block for her.  And all I brought to the fun is a pistol.

Despite the contents of the message, Saul's unclenches at hearing Carissa's voice on the radio net again.  Maybe, he considers, running ops with your daughter is not the wisest use of your capabilities.  Or it doesn't matter, because he's out here anyway, and she's going to be out in the field, too.  Might as well look out for each other.  And it's not nearly the first time he's watched her put herself in harms way.  Probably not even the 300th.

"Gimp copies.  Rawhide, are you covered back there?"

"Covered enough," comes the reply.  "I'll keep you posted."

"Copy, Gimp out."

Saul sighs.  He can hear how angry Carissa is at herself in her voice.  A father knows these things, although he doubts the others will pick up on it.  They'll have to have one of those half-conversations later about operations going to shit and all of that.  But for now, he has to focus on Simon and whether or not this is going to go peacefully or not.

"Okay," he says to Scott and Maggie. "We'll give'em five minutes and then bring Rios up in the battle-wagon to remind them we're still here.  A minute or two after that and I'll limp up to say 'hi.'"  He doesn't bother to ask Maggie if they have guns in the house.  It's the apocalypse.  Everyone has guns in the house.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:13, Mon 10 Dec 2018.

”I think we’ve done all that we can here.” Cao remarks to Anderson as they stroll back to the JLTV, the Air Force Captain’s pace leisurely. It’s an observation rather than an order, an implicit invitation for Anderson to comment if he thinks that she’s missed anything. ”I guess Mr Guillory will need to get on to his friend the Governor and see if they can get together a team to come down and have a proper look at it.” She shrugs her shoulders as Razorback grows larger, returns the wave that Carswell gives them from his elevated position in the gunner’s turret. ”Who knows, maybe there are people in Pendleton who worked here before the War.” She’d mention that to Guillory on their return, maybe he could ask around.

Once they’ve reached the JLTV she slings her carbine over her shoulder, opens the front passenger door, leans in to speak to Skillins. ”Can you pass me the map please, Private? You can take five to stretch your legs as well if you want.” When Skillins hands her the Rand McNally Arkansas State Map she unfolds it. Being clearly too short to be able to see it properly if she spreads it out on the vehicle’s hood, she instead adjusts it so that she can hold the section that covers the area that they are in in one hand holding it so that Anderson – and Skillins if he is so inclined – can both see it if they look over her shoulder while the index finger of her free hand jabs at the area around the dam.

”OK, so we’re here.” This would be a lot easier if Google Maps was still a thing. ”If we go any further south we’re going to come to the where the river comes back round then have to come back. If we head back to Pendleton we can take the 43 south along the river as far as Red Fork.” She’s probably pushing the parameters of their patrol, allowing some mission creep to find its way in. ”Opinions? Concerns? Private Skillins, any local knowledge that you can share?”

Saul uses time as a tool. Two minutes pass. The sun is still quite a ways from its apogee, but the temperature seems to be rising unnaturally fast. Maggie looks up at Saul, offers, "Let me talk to 'em. They don't know you. They're prolly just scared. They're not gonna hurt me."

There's flashes of movement inside, a silhouette in the window, there and gone, visible from the driveway. Then again at a different window, or the pane set high in the elevated front door. Carissa's confirmed that Simon's inside; the Sierras have all seen his friend's mother. Assuming that said friend is also inside, that makes three occupants. Considering the area, there's likely more than one firearm in the house, including Simon's scoped 30-06 which the boy's mother couldn't find at home.

-

Anderson shrugged.  He didn't have any concerns about pushing the boundaries of the patrol.  That's partly why they were here.  To show that the State Government was still in charge.  Plus they might find something else of interest to report.

"If you know of a good moonshiner in these parts Duane, now's the time to share."

Instead of answering Maggie right away, Saul chews the inside of his cheek for a few moments, thinking and weighing the possible risks and benefits of sending the girl forward.  He didn't think she'd join in the shooting, should it go to that, but it'd be real easy to hit her in a crossfire.  A few beads of sweat run down the man's back under his body armor and takes a moment to look up at the sun.  It's going to be hotter soon, and the longer they stand here, the less effective they'll be.

"Okay," Saul finally says slowly.  "Okay, yeah.  We don't want them to make the mistake of thinking you're our hostage."  Saul lifts his sunglasses and turns to the teen girl, sees the frustration, fear, and dislike warring in her eyes.  "Here's the deal Miss Maggie.  You can go talk to them.  And you have my word we just want to talk to Simon.  That's it.  Talk.  But," his finger comes up, pointing to the sky to list the point, "you need to understand, they need to understand, if they start shooting, we're going to come in and come in hard.  If that happens, you get down on the ground and you stay down."

The fear in Maggie's eyes intensifies and Saul tries to take a more reassuring tone.  "So let's make sure it doesn't get to that point, okay?  You tell them we can talk to Simon out here, in there, wherever they want.  We're not hear to hurt anybody, okay?"

Maggie swallows deeply. "Okay Mister Noble."  She sounds skeptical.  At best.

"Maggie's coming up!"  Saul calls out the trailer.  "Alone!" he adds before turning back to Maggie.  "Go on then Miss Maggie," he says and nods his head toward the trailer.

As soon as she's out of earshot, Saul drops in sunglasses back into place and says to Scott, "Really hope I didn't just kill that girl."

"Not the first time either of us has had to send a CI back into the snake's nest to do a deal," Scott replies softly, his eyes still on the windows.  "Probably not the last, either.  I kinda feel like we're still in the prologue of some real Heart of Darkness shit."

He turns to Saul, eyes still hidden behind his own Oakleys.  "However, if that kid points a gun-shaped thought at any of our people, I will drop so much rule of law on him that the ACLU will sit up in its grave.  We don't have time or bandwidth for speedbumps like this."

Duane doesn't mind the idea of a detour. Being behind the wheel of the air-conditioned J-LTV is a lot more appealing than hauling barge cargo in the hot sun or tracking down some teenage dickhead.

"Naw, this ain't my neck of the woods. Wouldn't mind a bit of 'shine, though."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 20:57, Sat 15 Dec 2018.

Pendleton

Dripping with sweat, coming down from the adrenaline rush of her near-crushing, buoyed by the success of her second effort, Murray ascends to the bridge, confers with Zo. A plan to transfer the barge cargo to the parking lot under the bridge root is worked out. It will require Ace Hardware. This task Murray assigns to Kabua, with Watkins providing security. The Marshallese-American cook has built up some goodwill with the locals through his generous wild pork distribution. A few locals volunteer to help with the heavy lifting.

Murray and Zo, along with the latter's minder, take Serena up to the Riceland Foods distribution center for a little shopping. Together, they find the parts to construct a heavy-duty A-frame and crude pulley system. It takes an hour to find the pieces, another hour to assemble them. By this time, Ace Hardware is emptied and its cargo tarped under the shade of the bridge root. The investment of time and energy pays off. Murray returns to the barge. Zo lifts its cargo with Serena's crane, then transfers it to Ace Hardware's empty bed; Watkins then ferries the cargo to the lot where Kabua and his gang unloads it with the A-frame/pulley system. It's a simple system, a bit clunky even, but it proves surprisingly effective.

Back Gate

Carissa scampers back to the trees, relieved not to have taken a bullet in her back on the way. She can cover the entire rear of the trailer from here. Simon's not going anywhere on his bike, leastways.

On the other side, Maggie walks towards the trailer, is admitted. Guillory spots a pistol in Mrs. Cleve's hand, lowered. Five minutes under the midday sun feel like at least 20. When the teenager exits, Saul and Guillory can read Simon's answer on her face. Head down, she walks back to deliver her report.

"They didn't believe me. You, rather. I mean, they don't believe that you just wanna talk. Said it don't make sense you come all the way out here for a little chat. I told 'em that you're good people, been helpin' out in town, ain't working with the Mississippi boys but they ain't buyin'."

Saul and Guillory are on the verge of concluding, separately, that it's time to go back to the drawing board, but Maggie's not quite finished.

"Mrs. Cleve said she'll talk to you, but Carissa's gotta come out font here. And just you, Mr. Noble, inside, and you gotta be unarmed. That's their conditions."

Razorback

Skillins chauffeurs Cao, Anderson, and Carswell back to Pendleton, where Watkins briefs them on Murray's construction project (Ace Hardware is being unloaded and the wrecker is on its way to the Riceland Foods depot). From there it's east to Red Fork, on an elevated road that rides a levee along a series of oxbow lakesides. Razorback passes a few tiny, rundown homesteads on the way, including a shabby double-wide with a sign reading Little Zion Church fronting the road. Red Fork turns out to be an intersection. There's not a soul or structure to be seen. Skillins laughs, turns up the radio. A man is singing,

"We're on a road to nowhere
We're on a road to nowhere
We're on a road to nowhere"

"Heh. How 'bout that?"


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:20, Sat 15 Dec 2018.

Lauren just sits back in her seat. It's clear from her expression and body language that she doesn't share Skillins' amusement. A quick look at the map would suggest that if they cut to the south they'll come to a ville called Watson in a couple of miles, but they're starting to stray further off reservation, get further away from the main body, which means they may not be able to support each other in a hurry if they have to. Besides, Watson is probably just another blot on the map. The term podunk could have been created especially for here.

"Just take us back to Pendleton." She says to Skillins tersely. "And turn the radio back down."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:11, Sat 15 Dec 2018.

"On this list of things that don't make sense," Saul says to Scott, "we're just barely scratching the surface.  But at least we're negotiating now.  Nice work Miss Maggie.  You might have a future in hostage negotiation."  The retired cop looks at Maggie, looks at the trailer, and looks back at Scott.  The sun is beating down on him and sweat is starting to run like a river out from under his body armor. "Helluva day," he says to no one at all.

He sighs again and tries to put himself in Mrs. Cleve's head.  They're surrounded and strangers are asking for her son's friend.  She wants, scratch that, needs some power over the situation, something to bleed pressure before the whole thing goes purple.  That means Saul.

"All right, Mr. Guillory.  The way I make it, I'm not in any more danger in there than I am standing right here, what between heat stroke and a high powered hunting rifle."  That's probably a bit of a stretch, but not greatly.  Hitting him at this range wouldn't take much more skill than the average twelve year old around here.  "Pulling Car is a non-starter." Hands start removing his sidearm from it's holster and handing it over to his new partner is civil law enforcement.  He makes a big show of it.  One that can't be missed at distance.  "Y'all might as well find some shade."

"Gimp is going in," he says on the radio.  "Action code is 'we can think this through rationally.' Come in hard."

After that he starts walking forward.  After standing still for so long, he doesn't have to play up the limp.  His hip stiff in a way that makes him want to chew Motrin like candy.  Not that there's a lot of that around anymore.  He get's within about twenty meters before Mrs. Cleave calls out to him.  "That's far enough Mr. Noble.  You unarmed?"  He can hear the anger and worry in her voice.

"That I am, ma'am.  Not so much as a pocket knife." Saul says.  He raises his hands high, one still clutching his walking stick and spins in a slow circle before standing still again.  "I'll leave this here stick on your porch, don't you worry, but it's long walk with a bad hip."  A blind twelve year old could hit him from here.

"That girl of your's gone?  I ain't seen her move."

Saul doesn't believe in lies.  Not in situations like this.  "No ma'am she is not.  She's still back there."

Mrs. Cleave's tone sharpens abruptly.  "Then you can march right back.  We ain't talking."

"Ma'am, you and I both know why she's there and why she's staying there.  We're not leaving the back door open.  That dog don't hunt. I'm here, I'm unarmed, and I don't think y'all are all that interested in actually hurting someone."  He's stating facts, not making threats or demands.  Just telling her how it is.  Saul swallows hard.  Doesn't give Mrs. Cleave a chance to respond, because he's owning this situation now.  "So you might as well open up that door and pour some sweet tea, because I'm coming up to have a chat."  Saul starts walking.

The afternoon melts into a blur of rigging.  Xandra's world smells of river muck and sweat and rust and, when the bridge diverts the faint breeze into a downdraft, the occasional whiff of machine lubricant carried from the wrecker.  The Casio dive watch strapped to her wrist chirps, reminding her to pause and take a drag off the hydration bladder attached to her PFD.  Going down from heat exhaustion would not be an optimal outcome of the day's labor - among other things, no one else on the crew is really qualified for rope rescue, so she'd have to depend on the not-so-tender mercies of the Mississippi troops.  On the plus side, the novelty of watching her ass has worn off, and they can't see her chest under the bulky flotation vest, so they've given up on burning fuel to ogle her in favor of lounging around their boat on the far bank.

The barge is riding higher in the water now that it's half-empty, and getting the accessible cargo first means each lift takes a little more time.  She raises her face to the bridge and signals Zo's kid - who arguably has a pretty good view down her cleavage but is being more surreptitious about it - for another ten feet of slack in the cable.

"Someone better have thought to rig a fuckin' shower up there," she grumbles as a trickle of sweat escapes her bandana and unerringly finds the abrasion that her earlier escapade left on her cheekbone.

"For the record, I am not in favor of giving a hostage to a textbook case of inadequate prefrontal cortex development," Scott remarks darkly.  He exhales sharply.  "Your decision.  Don't do anything I'll have to explain to your daughter."  He looks warily at Saul's Glock and carefully empties a cargo pocket before sliding the pistol into it.

A stray guinea hen wanders up to him and eyes him inquisitively before resuming her hunt for ticks.  "You looking for a job?" Scott asks her in a sudden fit of whimsy.

"Stop. Right. There." Mrs. Cleve practically shouts. She raises the pistol in her hand- a small automatic, which seems to weigh disproportionately heavy in her hand- but doesn't quite point it at Saul. She's standing mostly behind the door jamb, which is elevated about 2-3 feet above the ground (there are no stairs; apparently, this entrance isn't used as such), only a thin strip of her right side visible from outside. Guillory has a shot, but it'll take him a second to draw his sidearm, and Saul is standing roughly between him and the target, so it'll be a difficult one at best. The thin walls of the trailer may or may not be able to stop a .45 caliber FMJ round at this range (almost 40m). Furthermore, Guillory can see the silhouette a long rifle or shotgun barrel, held almost vertically, at the edge of the window to the right [his right] of the doorway. Breaking the tension just a bit, Mrs. Cleve speaks,

"You want us to trust you, you gotta earn it. Get that bitch out back where I can see her right now or you're not comin' in. That's non-negotiable, you hear."


-
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:09, Sun 16 Dec 2018.

Saul stops.  Considers popping a molar at how hard he is grinding his teeth.  Don't say something stupid. Don't say something stupid.

"Ma'am," Saul manages, through clenched teeth.  "First, I'd really appreciate you to use some other language when describing my daughter.  I haven't threatened your son, nor brought him into this."  He lets that shot land for a second. Wasn't too stupid. "Second, we been nothing but polite.  We walked up to your house.  In the daylight.  Asked to speak with the boy.  Brought Maggie to vouch for us.  Third, I don't like that word, 'non-negotiable.'  We ain't there.  We're still talking.  Non-negotiable is what comes next, so we want to make sure we don't cross that line.  Trust is me standing here with nowhere to run.  Dead to rights.  You've got three people, maybe more, in that trailer.  You want eyes on my daughter?  Look out your back door.  I'll be happy to have her wave."

Saul's left hand moves up and hovers over the PTT on his radio.  "Simon in there, seems like he shot at some folks that were rude to him and his mom.  Looks like they might have stole some stuff, too.  In my book that pretty much buys him out of whatever 'crime' them Mississippi chucklheads think he should be charged with, especially since no one got hurt.  Nobody has time for that kind of nonsense.  But we are the government here. That means we have to talk.  Make sure he understands real well that we can't spark the next civil war.  He wants to stop them thieves?  Okay.  We do too.  Maybe Simon there has something to tell us that can help.  Maybe he can't.  But we've got a job to do." 

A pause and Saul shakes his head.  "You invite me in, this is over in twenty minutes. You tell me 'no.'  And we walk away."  He doesn't add the threat.  It would be pointless.  "Your call Mrs. Cleve."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:47, Sun 16 Dec 2018.

Mrs. Cleve doesn't answer for several, uncomfortably-long seconds. Finally, "OK, Mr. Noble. We'll talk. First, tell your daughter to stay right where she is. She gets any closer to my house, there could be a misunderstanding."

She waits for Saul to comply, then invites him inside, "Come on inside. Slow. Door's right around back. Just follow the path. And keep your hands where I can see 'em." Saul follows the path, climbs the short stairway to a stubby annex protruding from the main building and opens the screen door. A boy stands at a window on the other side of the room (the kitchen), hunting rifle in his hands. He's probably keeping an eye on Carissa. The boy spares Saul a quick glance before returning his attention to the backyard. Mrs. Cleve is there too, standing at the tile/carpet border to the living room, pistol held at waist level and trained on her guest. She doesn't let Saul get close enough to touch her. As he slowly passes the woman, hands raised, she says, softly, "Sorry I called your daughter a bitch."

Saul steps into a spare but tidy living room. Another boy, looks about to be Maggie's age, is kneeling by the living room window, holding a shotgun. "Have a seat," Mrs. Cleve says, pointing to a an easy chair. Saul can see why the woman demanded Carissa move to the front drive. The trailer's three occupants are hard pressed to cover the front and back yards of the trailer, and their guest inside, simultaneously. "Simon, can you hear Mr. Noble OK?"

"Yeah," the boy answers from the kitchen.

"OK then. Go on, Mr. Noble, ask your questions."

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:23, Sun 16 Dec 2018.

Saul sits heavily in the well used La-Z-Boy that Mrs. Cleve steers him into.  The chair has clearly seen better days, it might be on its third owner even, but it still the most comfortable thing he's had under his butt for weeks.  The ache in his hip recedes from a sharp roar to a dull mumble with the cushioning.  His eyes slip back and forth from Mrs. Cleve to the boy who he assumes is her son.  They are tightly wound, tension flicking off of them in almost visible waves.  Well if they can't be relaxed, he'll just have to be calm for them.  With one leg crossed over the other, Saul sighs audibly. "If it's all right with you ma'am, I'm going to radio my people real quick to let them know I'm okay in here. Want to make sure we don't have any misunderstandings." There's a euphemism for bloodbath.

Taking silence to be acceptance, Saul carefully raises his left hand to his PTT and depresses the button.  "Gimp to all.  I'm good in here, gonna get this sorted out soon.  Out." Instead of putting his hand back on the arm rest, he hooks his thumb into his body armor near the PTT and lets hand support his arm's weight.  Just to be safe.  Mrs. Cleve just looks like she wants to chew a hole in her cheek.

"All right Simon.  First, let me say you've got some real good friends here.  Both Maggie and the Cleves.  People who will go to bat for you.  That tells me your a decent guy, and that's what I'm hearing from everybody in town, too.  But I need to understand what happened out there."  When Simon doesn't bother to respond, Saul clears his throat.  "What I understand is that those Mississippi boys took it upon themselves to do a little raiding during the storm and when y'all confronted them, they told you to go pound sand.  That about right?"

Simon grunts.  "They did worse than that, they-" The boy's voice raises in pitch and in cadence as he answers.

"Easy Simon," Saul says, sliding back into the conversation.  "I get it.  Them boys aren't the most popular folks in town and I understand why."

"You know what they said to my mama?"  Rage leaks out of Simon's voice.

"Yes I do, son.  People like to push buttons like that.  And your mama doesn't want to see you hurt.  She wants you home."  Saul sits quietly for a moment.  "So what I hear is that you took a rifle up that night and took a pot shot at the fellas.  That right, too?"

"I was angry," Simon says, "I-"

"I'm going to assume," Saul's eyes find Mrs. Cleve's, looking for an ally if Simon doesn't get it, "that you weren't really trying to hurt anyone.  That you were just blowing off steam.  Trying to get your point across."

"I...they..."  Saul hears pounding, probably from Simon punching a wall or something else hard.  "You know what they did?  They stole from us.  They charge-"

"Yep.  And I'm not defending them.  But you can't go shooting at them."

"They deserve that and more."

"Maybe, Simon. But they also have heavy automatic weapons that can send a lot of bullets back this way.  And they don't care about angry shots in the dark.  You have friends and family in that town.  Maggie.  You expose them to a lot of danger.  Guys that come over to raid might not need a lot of help to cross over into the revenge business.  You hear?"

"So they just get to take from us?"

"I hope not, son.  I'm hoping we can do something about it before we move on.  But they want you brought up on charges.  Charges that we're not going to bring.  We're not going to arrest you.  But I'm gonna need you to come in here, look me in the eye, and tell me you understand why you can't do that again."

Mrs. Cleve, closely monitoring proceedings, gently prompts Simon, "Come on in here. I'll watch out back. You got this?" she asks her son, still at the front window. "Yeah," he replies, reporting, "They haven't moved at all."

Simon enters the living room. He's a handsome, strapping young man, with dark hair and brown, puppy dog eyes. Maggie's probably not the only Pendleton teen who's taken a shine to him. His gaze meet Saul's, holds there. A tear wells up and dribbles out on to his right cheek.

"I know I done wrong. I just wanted to teach 'em some fuckin' manners, ya know? I wasn't... I don't think I was trying to kill anybody." Tears are flowing freely now, but the kid does a manful job holding it together; his voice barely cracks. "It was a mistake. I swear, Mr. Guillory... I swear on my mama, I won't do that again."

He wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand, sniffles. He looks like a little boy. Then his visage hardens again. The protector returns. "But if they come back to Pendleton, that's self defense. They're not gonna steal from us any more."

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:28, Fri 21 Dec 2018.

"I believe you Simon."  Saul smiles at the kid.  Sees a lot of other people he knows in Simon's eyes. "Now, do me a favor and help me out of this chair.  We'll call it a handshake and then me and mine will be out of here."

With Simon's assurances of good behavior, the Sierra LEO element returns (with Maggie) to Pendleton, mission accomplished.

By nightfall, over half the barge has been unloaded and its cargo deposited in the parking lot at the southern foot of the bridge. Zo et al return to Gould, promising to return the following day, bright and early, to finish the job. Before he leaves, the wrecker owner/operator hands Murray an invoice for the day's work.

After sundown, Anderson performs an overflight of the MSG checkpoint with the Raven. The IR camera doesn't reveal much. The thermal imager displays a dozen heat signatures (in descending order of brightness)- a campfire, ten humans, and the boat's outboard. Two guardsmen man the revetment on the bridge; the others loaf about or sleep in their camp just under the eaves of the wood east of the 165.

---

Tuesday, July 16th, 2030
1300 hours
86F, 75% humidity
Wind 7mph out of the east


Serena arrives about an hour-and-a-half after sunrise and unloading of the barge resumes. Lt. Seeger appears on the bridge, visibly agitated, asking for a word with Murray's CO. When the Sierra command element arrives, he confronts Cao and Guillory about the nighttime drone visit. "What the hell you tryin' to do, spyin' on us like that?" They calmly and patiently explain that their team is still looking for the mystery shooter. The MSG chief seems to buy this explanation. He returns to his base and the MSG spotter boat is back in the water shortly thereafter.

The barge is 90% unloaded by noon. It rocks and yaws a little with the current now, but remains firmly affixed to the cracked bridge pylon. The remaining cargo is completely submerged in the flooded corners of the hold and, for all intents and purposes, inaccessible. With the help of the MSG boat detail, Murray strings a cable from the barge to the bridge pylon directly south of the damaged one, then instructs them to try to push and/or pull the barge free of its current anchor point. The three-man crew enthusiastically complies, but the small vessel doesn't have the power or mass to accomplish this task alone. Continuing to improvise, Murray rigs a quick-release device for Serena's tow cable, and asks Zo to tow the barge laterally from the roadway above until it's detached from the pylon. Zo's reluctant at first, but Murray's praise of Serena's raw power, and projected confidence in the scheme eventually wins him over. Between the horsepower of the wrecker and the persistence of the plucky MSG boat, the barge comes loose, spins slowly around the damaged pylon, and floats free. Murray activates the quick-release mechanism (it  works perfectly) and the barge begins drifting downriver, slowly picking up speed as it follows a quarter arc towards the south bank, until it reaches the end of its tether. With the sound of straining metal, the barge jolts to an abrupt halt- the second most nervy moment of this particular phase of the operation- but the steel cable holds. The rectangular, slab-sided vessel rocks and rolls to a complete stop at the eastern end of the breakwater (possible running aground on its partially submerged terminus). The barge can be anchored there, out of the way and no longer a threat to the bridge, or the dam downriver, or Murray can attempt the procedure again to bring it ashore on the south bank (although several homes line the riverside for at least 375 feet.

A small crowd of about a dozen Pendletonites cheers from the riverbank.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:34, Sun 23 Dec 2018.

"Fuck me, it worked," Xandra mutters from her perch atop the bridge.  No way was she going to be aboard the barge for this phase of the operation.

She wrinkles her nose and winces at the sensation of skin drawn taut and hot by a two-day sunburn.  "Nice job, Zo," she says in a more conversational tone, offering a fistbump to the tow operator.  "Is that a new weight record for your girl?"  She gives Serena an affectionate pat on the door.

"Anybody got a beer?" she asks plaintively.

"Probably," Zo answers. "I've hauled a few boats before, but nothin' like that, that's fo' sho'." Zo smiles for the first time Murray can recall.

"I say y'all earned a beer," the minder says. "But then we gotta settle up and head on back."

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:32, Sun 23 Dec 2018.

Lauren had come down to the riverbank to watch the conclusion of the salvage efforts, stood slightly apart from the small group of Pendleton residents that were also watching. The Air Force Captain appears to have relaxed slightly when it comes to threat postures. Her helmet, body armor, and LBE are all stowed aboard Razorback. She's taken her jacket off as well on account of the heat, has left it in the JLTV as well, is just another t shirt clad observer for a moment, albeit one with an M4 carbine slung over her shoulder, for she's only prepared to go so far when it comes to taking a less aggressive stance.

Walking over to where Xandra is talking to the Grady people, she nods to those that are gathered there, eyes hidden behind her shades glancing briefly at Murray's exposed tattoos before the Grady cop - or at least she presumes he's a cop - mentions beers.

"You need to speak to Mr Guillory about payment." Lauren says to the maybe cop. "He's the one that signs the checks." She smiles briefly. "Beers sound like a good idea." Technically she's on duty, as are all of the other military personnel. Technically. But a beer wouldn't hurt. She'd just have to make sure that none of the Air Force or State Guard people got carried away.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:43, Sun 23 Dec 2018.

"Save me a beer for later." Carswell chips in. "I want to do follow ups with the people I saw yesterday first, make sure they're all good."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:52, Sun 23 Dec 2018.

When word reaches the townsfolk that beers are called for, a grateful Pendletonite produces a six-pack of homebrew. A motley assortment of reused beer bottles is passed around.

"They ain't cold," the gentleman explains, but these days, that's a given. "You can set 'em in the river for a bit to cool 'em off a little, if ya like."

Zo shares his beer with his early-teens assistant. The minder takes one too- he doesn't seem to have a problem with drinking on duty. The beer itself is warm and strong, with real bite and a bitter, lingering aftertaste from the hops. Still, victory brews always seem sweet.

Carswell's follow-ups with his patients show that they are already progressing. The signs of infection in the senior citizen's heel wound have faded somewhat, so the antibiotics appear to be working. If tetanus toxins are present, though, there isn't much the Sierra medic can do for the man. As of yet, he's not displaying any symptoms of lockjaw.

Zo hands Guillory an invoice for services rendered- time, fuel, and labor. It comes to an even $1000. The minder, still sipping his beer, looks on.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:38, Sun 23 Dec 2018.

"Can I get in on that?" Duane asks, rhetorically, as he helps himself to one of the beers. The team mechanic hadn't done much to assist with the barge rescue, but he figured he'd earned the drink just by putting up with people. He takes a long swill, swallows with a grimace. "Ooh-ee! That's some pretty strong stuff." To Duane, raised on Natural Light, Budweiser was craft-beer. This stuff nearly has the bite of whiskey. He lifts his bottle to Murray, flashes his winningest smile, "Nice work, Miss Murray. I didn't think it could be done, but you did it." Usually, Duane has a pretty good sense when his country boy charm was having the desired effect- more often that not, it did. But he's having quite a bit of trouble reading the team engineer.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:24, Fri 28 Dec 2018.

With celebrations in what passes for full swing these days, Saul takes one more walk (well, one short drive with his somewhat agitated daughter and an even shorter walk alone) across the bridge to talk to the Mississippi boys.  He doesn't quite close the whole distance to the armed positions, just hangs out far enough away that the men in the fighting positions won't be able to hear what he has to say.  It doesn't take all that long for Lt. Seeger to make his appearance.  Seeger looks tired, although Saul can't say whether or not it's because of Sierra team, the heat, or maybe just his assignment.

"Your boys did good work today," Saul says with a smile.

"So your CO said," Seeger returns warily.  "Due respect Mister Noble, you didn't come all this way in this heat to say that."

"No, sir, I did not," Saul says honestly.  He digs around in his gear and offers up a small mason jar he scrounged to pour a pint of Carissa's bourbon stash into.  "Bit of a peace offering first."

Seeger looks at the jar and then at Saul.  Repeats the process two or three more times.  "That the good stuff?"

"It is Lieutenant.  I wish I could offer y'all a little more, but I don't know what we're going to run into next.  Might be I need to drink to forget.  Might be we need to keep up more good relations."

The jar moves first into Seeger's oversize hand and quickly disappears into a small pouch on the man's LBV.  "You said that was the first thing?"  Saul notes that the man's tone is a little better, a little more open.

"Yeah.  Number two is your shooter situation has been addressed.  The person involved has been identified and held accountable for his actions."  Saul is carefully neutral there.  "I don't believe he'll be spreading trouble your way anymore.  Handled it myself."

"Good to hear Mister Noble.  We wouldn't a minded a few chances ourselves, but we appreciate you handling that issue."  Seeger stares at Saul for a few more seconds.  "That gonna hold if y'all pull out?"

"I do believe it will."

"Good.  Good.  Well if that's all..."  Seeger turns about to leave, forcing Saul to interrupt his exit.

"Sorry sir, that's not all."  Saul takes a deep breath.  Sighs.  Looks back and forth across the bridge.  "This world of ours, all of it, has pretty much gone to shit.  Would you agree?"

Seeger's eyes narrow, suspicion returning to their previous caution.  "If you say so..."

"I do.  Sierra Team is rolling out tomorrow, maybe day after and Pendleton will be looking out for itself again.  We'll be back, and Little Rock is doing it's best to reach out, but they could probably do with some help."

"After everything that-"

"Those fingers point both ways Lieutenant.  And that's not an accusation.  It's an invitation.  You and your boys are on the fringe here, away from home and reporting to a governor that might as well be on the California coast.  I'm not asking you to defect.  Your loyalty should stay to Mississippi.  I'm asking you to help build some community here.  Do what you can and make this world a little bit less shitty.  Remember that we're all Americans.  Y'all need friends, too.  That's all I'm saying."

Seeger looks at Saul hard for a few more seconds.  "We're not the bad guys," he finally offers.

"I think most people are good and doing the best they can.  Your people and theirs.  Sometimes we all just need a reminder that we're on the same team.  And I don't offer good bourbon to shitbirds." Saul looks around one more time and offers Seeger his hand.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:48, Fri 28 Dec 2018.

Lt. Seeger looks at Saul's hand for a few seconds, then looks the grizzled lawman in the eye. Taking the proffered hand, and trying hard to maintain the eye contact, Seeger says, "Whatever happened before, far as I'm concerned, it's water under the bridge. I'll make sure my boys behave themselves. If they took anything, I'll make sure it gets returned. You have my word, Mr. Noble- as an officer and a Southern gentleman."

-

Xandra clinks the neck of her bottle against Duane's.  "Sláinte," she responds, using the only polite word of her grandfather's Gaelic she remembers.  "Let's hear it for the backwoods chemical industry."

She leans in a little and lowers her voice conspiratorially.  "To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure it was gonna work.  I'd usually do this kind of thing with a few hundred tons of heavy equipment and a whole crew of riggers who know how to tie things up correcly."  She grins and takes another drag at the bottle, leaving it to Duane to figure out if she's complaining about Zo's splice job or trawling a double entendre in front of him.