The rain never really let up. It just died down for a bit last night and started up again about two hours before dawn. A cold, stinging rain that comes in gusts that occasionally rock you on your feet as it hits you from the side. Even as the sun came up you don't think it really warmed up, it must be hovering around 10ºc and even less with the wind chill. Despite your rain gear you're soaked to the skin again and your feet are covered in thick mud up to your knees.

There's that smell that never really left you from this place. Everything is burnt. The buildings are burnt, the ground is burnt. The fucking mud is burnt. Even the air is burnt. Even more so now the nuclear firestorm swept across the landscape. You feel the air is burnt because there's still smoke everywhere.
Over to the east, right in front of you through the ruined buildings, you can hear sporadic shooting; shots interspersed with bursts and punctuated by the occasional rattle of explosions. It does your head in, NATO is far to the west. There's no one here to shoot.

You've been moving cautiously over Highway 7 and its surrounding shattered buildings, trying to get in closer to the city, hop a bridge over the river and into the open country on the wrong side where your options should open up. The road is really badly battered, this place looks like a cross between Stalingrad and The Western Front from World War One. Flooded trenches cut across the road in places and it's obliterated by sees of craters in others. Here and there the burned out wrecks of vehicles dot the area in little groups. There's long stretches of concertina wire poking out of the mud and rubble next to collapsed trenches, driving is hard going.

And of course there's all those empty windows in the shattered buildings. Who knows what's out there and who's doing that shooting. They could be watching the vehicles now. Thinking that you've given up on the highway and drifted south, trying to skirt around the citadel of Fort Szczęśliwice where all that trench fighting took place back during the Siege, keeping back from the fallen-in trenches and their old wire entanglements, their blown-in bunkers and weapon emplacements. Any of these could seriously ditch one of the vehicles. About noon a halt is called, Fat Ass is running hot and needs to cool down.

Suddenly, about two hundred metres to the east in the ruins of Fort Szczęśliwice light weapon fire starts up and you clearly hear women and children screaming over the rain and wind . .

In reply to GM (msg # 1):

"What do we do LT?"

"In this slop, everyone will be dead by the time we'd get there."

In reply to Alex Edgars E4 (msg # 2):

"Men's screams were bad enough, but hearing children and women screaming make me sick. Thanks for making me the bad guy, Edgars."

I scramble up into the commander's position in Fatass to take a look around. I fumble for the binocs with my chilled fingers to see if I can locate the source of the screaming or gunfire.

"Well, you might be right about that Edgars, but when we do get there, we can make sure they don't do it again. It's probably just some local tough guys intimidating the locals."

Karol Zalewski left the back of the 'jankee' APC after the halt was called, moving to pull security amid the devastation of the Warszawa suburbs.  Since they were not under fire, he moved without haste, taking more care to adjust his poncho than looking for the enemy.  The sounds of small arms and screams moments later changed that.

Zalewski oriented himself toward Fort Szczęśliwice and took a knee behind some rubble.  Moving the two hundred meters through this hellscape would hard.  The debris, mud, flooded trenches, and the other obstacles meant that just getting eyes on what was happening would be ugly.

Of course the whole bloody war had been ugly.  Why expect anything more?

Still, the cries of men in battle wasn't what they were hearing.  Those were women.  Those were children.  Screaming in the rain.

Sure, the American's had brought some women with them, as did the Soviets, but children?  These people were likely Polish - his people.  Even those misguided enough still support the communist deserved to live if they did so in peace.  While women and children often suffered in war, that didn't make it right.

"I volunteer, please," Lolek said as he looked back to the Lieutenant.  Zalewski was a survivor first and foremost, but his conscience wouldn't, nay couldn't, let him turn his back on the screams being carried on Włochy's fell winds.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:54, Sat 24 Apr 2021.

Since Lt. Burris is in the commander/gunner's position of the APC, Richard 'Dick' Cox was kind enough to sit down in the troop compartment to give the LT room.  Being restless by nature, he wasn't keen on just sitting on his haunches waiting for something to happen.

Looking to the rear of the APC where Karol had exited to provide security with the rest of the group, he felt compelled to give him a hand.  Tapping the side of his M16's magazine, it felt full and he made sure the safety was on before he looked up at Lt. Burris.

"If Karol is volunteering to go have a look at what's going on, Dick will go with him."

Giving his rifle's magazine another tap just to be sure, he looked through the open door.

"Dick wants to see what all the hollering is about anyway."