"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.