In Poland, the US 5th Infantry Division is pushed back and then crushed at Kalisz, the survivors fleeing into the woods. The final order from HQ is short and to the
point: “Good luck. You’re on your own now.”

There PCs will be among the survivors in the woods (i believe to the south of Kaliz) in the days following the defeat of NATO forces. The things that i anticipate happening here are as follows:
1. the PCs form a group of survivors
2. the PCs get equipped as a group
3. the PCs establish a survival strategy for the group
4. the PCs establish a few NPC connections relating their survival strategy
5. the PCs come with their personal goals and determine how they all know one another
6. the campaign moves forward w/ the GM inflicting devious plots against the party

Kaliz, Poland is 205 miles east and about 20 miles south of Berlin, Germany. The game begins in April. The weather is still quite cool, upper 40s by day, often down into the teens at night. The weather tends to be windy with rain and occasional spats of snow about 1 in 3 days.

The party will be starting out in a small camp of survivors of the battle of Kaliz and refugees from the city. It will be a temporary home to around a hundred people that include military and civilian, old and young, healthy and injured, sane and mentally broken, etc.

Your gear and supplies are reason enough to hunt you down and finish you off. Not to mention the fear of organized resistance. Take a moment to hash out an idea of what the PCs feel is important.

The fires were dug in the fashion that the American soldiers called Dakota holes. They gave of a lot of heat, little light, and light smoke. And they burned a lot of wood fast. That was fine, it gave the boys of the camp plenty to keep them out of trouble.

The retreat had been particularly hard on the troops of H platoon. They had first attempted to ambush the Russian unit they had been following. Knowing full well that it was a sham, a nomenclature given to cover the movements of nearly one hundred fifty veteran Soviet Spetsnaz special operations troops.

The Soviets had been armed with an unexpected number of RPGs and PKMs. They traveled in older BRT 70 armored cars armed with a mix of KPV and DSHK-38 heavy machine guns, AGS-17 grenade launchers, and at least two had been outfitted with Konkurs anti-tank guided missile launchers. It had been a noble effort.

What followed was a night of rolling engagements as the Spetsnaz troops kept pursuing and reengaging H platoon. More personnel were killed, many went missing. Despite the thought of deserters, many preferred to think of their friends as such instead of the more likely reality. That those missing in action had been captured by the Spetsnaz to be tortured for information.

The HMMWVs had been pulled in close with a series of tarps strung together them to form a tent of sorts between wide enough for a person to lay down and rest. The low branches of nearby spruce trees helped conceal the monstrosity of tarps and trucks. inside the last men and women of the platoons composite military support and intelligence personnel. And its last two vehicles.

They could hear the sounds of fighting in several directions during the night. Some of the refugees had told tales of fighting in other locations that had forced them to flee. Once they had received the message that the 5th had been defeated, that it was every man, or woman, for themselves, they began to truly grasp the severity of the situation.

They took stock. Of everything. Every bullet. Every meal. Every drop of water and fuel. Now all that remained was to decide what to actually do. There were NATO forces 60 kilometers away to the southwest, and nearly 150 kilometers due west.

Listening to the last transmissions as flee NATO forces, the remainder of the 5th infantry, the news was a bitter pill to swallow.

"...moving south along supply route four." A radioman was saying. "Rear guard elements have gone radio silent."

"Baker six-one, Baker six-actual, over." A stern voice said. No response followed.

"...Chappie, four bandits to three o'clock at six seven zero meters." A woman was saying. "swing your Bradley about to our nine and fine a hole to hide in. Don't engage before they cross eight zero zero meters. Buy us some time."

And on it went. They even intercepted a Soviet transmission.

"....Zultan, the Major is on my back again." And deep voice said tiredly, "Get those cannon cockers to dial in their barrages or I'll come down there and shoot several of them."

Sleep. The sort of dreamless, unreachable unconsciousness that was the result of complete mental and physical exhaustion. There were stories about men in World War 2 sleeping straight through artillery barrages or sleeping as they marched, and now, Sean Cave believed them.

He awoke wrapped in his sleeping bag, his poncho folded beneath his head like a pillow. And even before he got his bearings in terrain he had not seen by daylight, the incredible weight of all that had transpired the day before settled on him like a physical thing.

The Colonel was dead, along with well over half the Platoon. That was the rough figure he had settled on before he had collapsed the night before.

The chain of command was broken, the plans they had poured over for long hours together now largely worthless.

They were possibly surrounded, or at least under threat of being carried behind the enemy lines in the coming days.

As at least nominally, he was in charge.

He took a deep breath, fought of the urge to fall back asleep, and forced his eyes open. Forced himself to get up.

His legs protested, as did his back from where he had been sleeping on the forest floor. He smelled the faint combination of gunpowder, his own natural odor and a tinge of blood that wafted up from the bag.

A few were already stirring in camp, the majority still fast asleep. Huddled figures against the morning chill. He would let them sleep, they would need it.

But for himself, he needed breakfast, a warm drink in his belly...and he needed to start planning his briefing. Through his drowsy haze he recognized the importance of getting this new day started on the right foot. Of having a plan despite their recent defeat, and of the importance of utilizing the available experience on hand to formulate and then to execute that plan.

All of their lives might depend on it, and despite the shock of yesterdays rout, it was his good fortune to still have some eminently qualified individuals left among the survivors of H Platoon.

Fedor squatted nearby and watched Captain Cave struggle to wake up. There were those who held the man in low esteem. Most of them were dead. Anyone who could survive last night was warrior enough for the big Russian.

He ate from a steaming MRE pack that smelled vaguely of actual food.

"He is awake Ogienya."

His voice was flat, sort of quiet and emotionless, and loaded with a ton of "Moose and Squirrel" inflection. A lot like the enemies that they had fought all night.

The name was a nickname for Cecylia Wojcik, a play on the Polish word for Fire, and he was clearly speaking to her. The woman was a long time friend and fairly constant companion since their involvement in the war.

Mike scratched at his chin and then spat on the ground, hacking up a big lump of something horrible. He looked and felt tired, having stayed awake on sentry duty while the others slept. Someone had to do it and as the senior NCO left in the remnants of the Platoon he had taken it upon himself to keep watch. Could you even call it a Platoon any more though? That seemed to be rather overstating their numbers somewhat.

Others were starting to wake up around their hastily set up camp and he spotted the Captain moving so he hefted his rifle over his shoulder on its sling and made his way over to him. He wasn't certain that he was the best person to be using an M203 grenade launcher but grabbing Christopherson's rifle instead of his own had been the right thing to do. It was too valuable a weapon to leave behind and Christopherson, unfortunately, had had no further use for it. Mike didn't have much more than familiarization training on the M203 though so he was going to have to learn on the job as such. There was a lot of that going around these days.

"Morning Sir," he said to Sean as he crouched down beside the Officer, trying to sound as positive as possible despite their rather fraught situation and the chill in the air. "Hell of a mess with them Spetsnaz buggers but we're gonna have to make the best of it now. At least no one here has any injuries more serious than a few scrapes and bruises. And maybe some of our stragglers will turn up and stop being MIA, you never know." That was probably a rather forlorn hope however. Continuing he pulled a notebook from a jacket pocket and showed a page to Sean. "I did an ammo count last night before anyone crashed out so that's where we're at. I'll do the same with rations and other gear once everyone's awake. You got any thoughts on what to do now? Escape and evasion but fully armed and in HMMWVs."

Noticing that Sean was getting himself a warm drink, Mike then added, "If there's a brew going Sir then I'm in for one before I do another lap of the perimeter."

"Morning Mike" Sean greeted the senior NCO warmly, breath fogging in the frigid air. He could not manage a smile, not after the thrashing they had taken the day before, but his voice still carried some strength.

He listened to the brief report, well aware that the Sergeant was likely almost dead on his feet from having stood post for a good part of the evening. He addressed the question about the coffee first, and poured the lions share of his precious, recently  mixed instant coffee packet into Mike's canteen. The life giving substance shooting forth a jet of steam as it was transferred. "First things first..." he said in a low tone as they shared out the beverage.

"I appreciate it...We'll brief within the hour, then you can hopefully nap for a bit while everyone else preps." he began. He knew Mike was one of those hardened souls that seemed to be able to fall asleep anywhere at any time. Sean used to joke that it was part of his "special police training"

"We'll get the input from the spooks, but I think we're gonna' be here for a little while longer..." he admitted with a sigh and took a sip. "Some are gonna' want to go right back out and start getting payback for last night, and others will probably want to pull up stakes first thing and make a bee line for the nearest friendly's, whatever the risk." he mused to his sole confidant. The privileged relationship between an Officer and his most senior non-com. ​

He cradled the warm canteen in both hands. "But either way we need intel. So recon is probably going to be a priority for the day." he glanced behind him at some of the others still stirring. Fedor crouched by the fire like a foraging bear. Cecylia not far off.

"Thanks Sir," replied Mike with gratitude in his voice as he accepted the coffee. He poured a little back into Sean's cup so that it was a more even split. "You need it as much as I do," he muttered in explanation before taking a sip. "It's probably unpatriotic of me to say it," he continued with a grin, "but I'm starting to prefer coffee to tea. I used to think that nothing would ever beat a good brew of tea but when I first had coffee in the States it totally opened my eyes. I would never have said that before I first went to the States but what I've come to realise is that coffee isn't a shit drink, it's just that coffee in England is a shit drink. Every place you go in the States has coffee way better than you can buy in England. I was in Fort Bragg one time, sat in a First Sergeant's office, and his coffee was just amazing. Making it was like a ritual to him. And then there is this diner in Crete where I was a Cop that always had incredible coffee so we always made sure that we went there at some point during our shift. Apparently cops and coffee and doughnuts is a Canadian thing not an American one but I was happy to make it part of my routine. Simple pleasures back then." Wistfully he took another sip of the coffee Sean had made and then looked at the contents of the mug. "This ain't as good as that but it's still a hell of a lot better than English coffee."

Conscious that he had been talking a lot, and slight embarrassed as a result, Mike glanced at Sean. "Sorry, I'm rabbiting on. Some recon of the immediate area sounds like a good idea. I'm pretty sure that we still have some neighbours in these woods. Either refugees fleeing from the sporadic firefights that we could hear last night after we stopped or other stragglers trying to decide what to do next. We need to keep an eye on our gear as people are going to start trying to steal stuff from us if we're not careful."

Not far from where Sean and Mike were talking, Gretchen was just coming to after a cat-nap. She was used to working on very little sleep, and had learned a long time ago the trick of falling asleep whenever and wherever possible, so she felt... if not rested, at least not exhausted. Not physically, anyway.

Emotionally, she was spent, but emotions hardly mattered any more. She was a survivor at heart, and would survive to feel another day.

Standing, she took a quick inventory of her possessions. Once she was satisfied that everything was present and in place, she stood straight, shoulders back and head high, and turned slightly to face Sean. He would notice her when he was done with his NCO. Until then, she would wait.

Thomas woke up as he started to hear movement around him. On auto pilot, he got out of his sleeping bag and immediately stowed it away, visually checking his gear was ready to move if needed. He put on his webbing and helmet, grabbed his weapon and moved over to Mike and the Captain. He flashed a grin at Mike and said "Glad your still with us" before turning to the Captain. "Sir, I had a quick run around here, and there are no serious injuries I found. Most likely anyone seriously hit was left where they fell, over night..." He trailed off, looking back in the direction they had come from before adding "I'll need.... We'll need to go back and account for them. Some of them might still be saveable."

For the briefest of moments, she forgot about the where and why. She woke to the smell of wood chips and pine, with a cold soothing breeze blowing across her face. She enjoyed the moment, however brief and fleeting it was, curling up inside the wool cover she didn't remember wrapping herself in. Nearby, she felt a presence, something heavy and quiet; something safe. Cecylia sighed, then made something between a yawn and a grunt as she stretched her sore body. Even with the mat and the poncho, sleeping in her clothes on the forest's floor hadn't done a miracle on her muscles. She sat up, with some difficulty and looked around her, eyes small and puffy, peaking between long curls of fiery red hair.



She yawned again, smiling at Fedor. All night, he had been by her side, putting a reassuring hand on her every time she jumped at the sound of distant gunfire. He had done it, like a mother with her babe, until she had fallen asleep, and had he not been there, Cecylia knew she wouldn't have caught any rest. With the blanket still around her shoulders, she wrapped an arm around his and leaned her head, resting it on his shoulder. Although affectionate, the gesture didn't feel romantic in any way.

“Yea, me too...,” she said in Russian. She closed her eyes and almost falling asleep again.

When she finally opened them again, she released Fedor and started tucking red curls away from her face. She glanced at the opened pouch of food the big Russian was shoveling into his mouth.

“You sure that's food?” she asked with a smirk as her nose wrinkled itself at the thing's smell. She sniffed a few times, finally hooking her collar and sniffing herself. “Oh god... I think that might be me... I might have to save my coffee packets for soap.”

Nearby, Sean, Mike, and Thomas were talking, with Gretchen standing idly a few feet away. She couldn't really hear them, but they looked like a mix of tired and tense. And maybe a little bit thankful.

“I dreamt last night,” she said, her soft voice sounding distant. “We got to the Cote d'Azur. The water was so blue. We had this little bar right on the beach. You were making cocktails with little umbrellas.”

She looked at Fedor and smiled broadly, chuckling at the idea. “I'm sure you'd look dashing in a floral shirt.”

Stretching once more, she finally rose to her feet, the wool blanket still wrapped around her. She was fully aware that “breakfast” should have been her first order of business, but she had never been one to rise and eat. She did feel like tea.

“If you don't have any daiquiris ready, I might make us some tea.”

Seamus Murphy awoke at around the same time. For a few seconds he forgot about what had happened to his tank. Then he remembered and it wasn't pleasant. A hit by an anti-tank missile that had somehow gotten through the armour. The bailing out and the machine gun that opened fire... then jammed. It was only by the fact that the weapon had jammed that he was still alive. The others weren't.

He looked around for whoever was in charge. There hadn't been a lot of time for introductions the previous night when he had stumbled in and been allocated a sleeping spot.

Identifying Sean, he walked over to him and placed himself conspicuously in his eyeline, waiting for the Captain to identify him. A trick he had used at many a pub over the relatively short time he'd been in the British Army.

But with this war, those few years felt much longer...

He smiled his twisted and scarred smile. It was not unheard of for Fedor to pass an entire day without speaking but with Cece he was, sometimes, downright loquacious.

"Tea is good. Wery civilized."

"Was going to share. Is supposed to be Bigos. Is not Bigos. I will protect Poland by eating this all myself. If I meet man who wrote "bigos" on package I will stab him."

He finished whatever was in the little bag and buried the bag in a shallow scrape.

All the while he never moved his eyes from the rising Captain's gathering.

Sean smiled softly at the anecdote about Mike warming up the coffee in America. It was nice to remember that things were different back home, and that in no small way Mike was representative of that. Home and the special relationship between the U.S and the U.K.

He acknowledged the other three with a nod each as they queued up.

"I hear you on securing our current inventory. The Humvees are obviously not going to hold everything and we are dealing with all sorts of unknowns. Some of which might get desperate soon." It was handy to have a police officer in the ranks. They thought about these things.

"Brainstorm some ideas for getting things secured, I'll do the same, and we can touch base later tonight."



"Well likewise Tom, you holding up alright?" He asked in return, and listened to the status update on their wounded. He flashed Gretchen a patient look, knowing she had been there first, but he nodded to Tom. "Well at least everyone left is mobile then, that's something. I'm hoping to brief here within the hour, and once that's done we should be able to send some people back the way we came. If that happens I'll make sure your among them, in the case anybody managed to hang on out there. Good work." he punctuated his complement with a nod to the medic.

He looked back to Gretchen and Seamus, but first to Gretchen. "Morning Miss Cole, you get any sleep?" he asked her as a sort of invitation to step up and speak her mind.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:22, Wed 11 Aug 2021.

Filling up part of her mess kit with water from her canteen, Cecylia put in a few tea bags she had saved from her past rations. By themselves, they tended to make a weak cup, but if she “skipped” a few full meals, she usually found she could brew a decent few cups.

“At this point, I feel being civilized is all we have left,” she said, watching the water boil over slowly.

She looked around her slowly, peering down into the woods, finding it hard to believe things were this calm. Through the night, they'd listen to the near-constant staccato of gunfire, punctuated by explosions and booming of rockets. And now, nothing. The snapping of twigs and hushed conversations was all the soundtrack they had. Cecylia wondered briefly if the birds had been scared away by all the fighting, or if they, like the rest of them, were just too shell-shocked to sing.



“Very altruistic of you,” she said, slowly turning the teabags around the boiling water with a spoon.

Across from them, she saw a young man in a British uniform walking over to Sean. She had briefly glimpsed him last night as he had wandered into their group; almost getting shot for it. He looked so incredibly... young.

“Looks like we picked up a stray puppy,” she said to Fedor, jerking her chin in Seamus' direction. “He's so young,” she added after watching him for a time.

She kept stirring the tea. “They're all so young...”

Smiling softly at Fedor, she poured him some tea.

Fedor's smile disappeared and he turned to face the new voice from outside the camp, AKM in hand.

"Someone comes."

A well camouflaged man knelt in the low spruce pines. He was meant to be visible from the side opening of the shelter. He was holding a shrouded M16 and slowly, almost casually, waved a soft cap with Airborne and Ranger tabs sewn over the bill as a form of friendly recognition.

It took only a moment to make out the forms of two other men, equally well camouflaged, behind him. The other two where situated to look outward in opposing directions creating a 360 degree field of view for the trio. They seemed calm and taciturn, despite last nights battles.

"CENTCOM NATO (NATO central command) has established a collection point. It is located outside of a town, Krosnice, some sixty klicks southwest of here. They will be there for," he checked his watch, "about nineteen hours or so before they will have to pull back. There is a line infantry battalion, a transport company, and a heavy maintenance company assembled and waiting. All NATO forces are order to make all due haste to make the retrieval."

The man didn't wait for any form of response, or even a formal acknowledgement, before he signaled the others. The trio simply slipped off into the forest and quickly disappeared into the depths of the shadows and trees. Their direction of travel made it obvious they were heading towards another encampment a few klicks away in the forest.

It was just an odd occurrence in a war full of them, but it was disconcerting to realize that all the help that they could receive was couples hours drive through unknown terrain with the enemy at their heels.

The sudden arrival of the Ranger's, their message, and their sudden departure in the wake of all the other events of the previous 24 hours just seemed to add to the chaos.

In the thirty of so minutes that he had been awake the intel had suddenly shifted again. Now instead of taking stock and getting a handle on their current situation...they were faced with a sudden decision. A serious shifting of gears.

"Alright, let's rally up." he called out conversationally to those who had not already approached him, their meeting point between the two HMMWVs. The piney scent of fresh cut vegetation still lingered in the air from when the camouflage materials were hacked from the trees the evening before.

There were only eight of them left, so this would not take long.

And while Fedor, Cecylia and Aleksy finished up whatever they were doing, Gretchen and the young man behind her still held Sean's attention.

Kicking himself for not getting someone else to replace him on sentry duty while he spoke to the Captain, thereby allowing three heavily armed soldiers to approach their small campsite, Mike pondered the information that the leader of the scout patrol had imparted. Luckily they had been allies but it still made Mike feel old. War is for the young, he'd once read, though he had no idea who had actually written it. He rubbed his face, trying to alleviate a little of the tiredness there.

The collection point at Krosnice sounded promising but the journey there didn't. Sixty kilometres across unknown terrain in nineteen hours was going to be a push unless they just got onto the main road network and drove like they were on a Sunday school outing, ignoring the risk of ambushes and other hazards. The whole area had been a mess of sporadic firefights the previous night, with only West and South West remaining quiet. That was several hours ago now though and there was every chance that Soviet units were actively patrolling around, trying to scoop up stragglers like the remnants of H Platoon.

"I'll talk to the new guy," Mike said to Sean with a nod at Seamus as he moved over to him to engage him in a conversation, leaving the Captain to talk to Gretchen.

Approaching Seamus he gave the young man a smile as he started speaking. "OK, looks like we've got a spare seat in a vehicle for you but give me a quick summary of who you are and what unit you were with so we can work out the best spot for you? Name, rank and so on."

Tom was as surprised by the Rangers as everyone else. He realised that was their skill set, and he tried not to think about what enemy forces might still have that skill set.

AS he waited, leaning on one of the Humvees, for the briefing, he pondered the information. 60 Kays in 19 hours, didn't seem impossible, until you figured in the likely tactical speed of the Humvees, which added up to - not much time to go back and check for survivors. He hoped the brief was quick as they need to start that ASAP

Gretchen was just about to speak to Sean when the men delivered their message. Suddenly, making the offer to scout the area seemed less important. She shook her head just enough to communicate to Sean that she had nothing to add, but didn't move. Whatever happened next, she wanted a front row seat to the decision making process.

Fedor lowered his rifle, letting it fall on it's sling, and accepted the tea.

"Spaseebo."

His face remained hard and he sipped the boiling hot liquid without a perceptible reaction.

"It is excellent."

Like most, Cecylia was briefly startled by the event. Where most around her reached for weapons, she simply stood rooted in her spot, half decent brewed tea in hand. As far as she was concerned, if this was it, this was it.

She felt her heart start beating again when the soldiers left.



“Thank you,” she said softly, eyes still looking towards the retreating silhouette. She hoped they would be alright.

She picked her pack up and, still holding her tea, walked over towards Sean.

“Well,” she said with a nervous chuckle “that almost give me attack of heart,” she added, her Polish accent dripping heavily on the English words. “We should move soon. Krosnice is not far, if we take road, but roads are probably very dangerous.”

Cecylia looked around her, glancing up at the trees hovering above them. “This is nice place. Maybe we come back some day. Have camping trip, yes?” she said, smiling earnestly at Sean.

“There is much farmland between here and Krosnice. Twenty kilometres South, terrain is more woods. More cover. Little backwoods roads. Probably not maintained but drive-able,” she continued, shrugging at her own words. “Hopefully drive-able.”

“I still have photos with me. Outdated positions. Not best but better than blind, yes?”

"Way better..." Sean replied in a somewhat distracted way, agreeing with her sentiments about returning some day under better circumstances while he unfolded a topographic map along with a copy of their recent operations plan.

He glanced up again as he took stock of who was nearest at hand. "Alright...let's brief real quick and then we have some choices to make" he said loudly enough for everyone in the camp to hear As he marked their approximate current position and that of Krosnice with pins for easy reference.

"Good morning." He told them all with an obvious weariness that they all shared. A sort of gratitude for still being "switched on" after the previous days events.

"We all heard the Rangers, and as you can see on the topo, trying to make it to Krosnice within the 19 hour window is potentially viable." he said as he traced the distance between the two on the map with his fingers.

"But in order to close this distance without lingering on the nail roads for very long, we would need to prioritize speed over any kind of recovery efforts where we are. This would include rescue efforts, salvage, or any kind of rest period...among other things."

He looked back at the assembled. "So with these things in mind, I'd like to hear from each of you, and your professional opinion, on if you would feel it more prudent to dig in here, recover, and to wait for another window...or if you feel the risk in trying to reach Krosnice if worth the gamble of an an immediate push."

He gestured to Cecylia. "Miss Wojcik has some fairly recent Intel of the area, and we are going to be taking that into consideration. But I would like to get some general opinions before we move forward."

With that he looked around, an invitation for anybody to speak their mind.

Fedor finished his tea in a gulp and slipped the cup back into it's carrying pouch.

He had nothing to add and so he simply listened.

Thomas looked around at the the others before pushing himself forward off the humvee he was leaning on and saying "We need to look for survivors before anything else. We owe our muckers that much at least."

"If I understand the tactical situation correctly," commented Mike as he glanced around the various intelligence experts present, "Soviet forces are still driving our forces back in a generally westwards direction. As a result I presume that we're now one of many straggler groups behind enemy lines, based on the you're on your own now message we received. That retreat and pursuit westwards will probably be a stop start affair and that will spread out the Soviet supply and communication lines as it continues.

"Trying to make it to Krosnice in the given time frame is going to be both difficult and dangerous and even if we make it there what are we going to find. It's going to be a confused mess with someone trying to organise a lot of jumbled up and panicked units into a more orderly withdrawal. That's going to end up as a slow moving convoy and it will become a prime target for any Soviet forces assigned to mop up stragglers.

"It also won't be the only opportunity to link up with NATO forces again. If we keep monitoring the radio I'm sure that there will eventually be comms about further collection points further back towards Germany. Those Rangers won't have found every single group of stragglers to give them the message and there will be groups who don't make it to Krosnice who they'll still try to recover. Those Rangers themselves aren't going to make it to the RV in time so they must have a different plan.

"I therefore think that Tom is right. We need to go and have a look for any other survivors from our platoon before we make any attempt to get to Krosnice. We owe it to aour friends and comrades. It will probably mean that we don't arrive in Krosnice in nineteen hours but I don't think that that is a major issue. We will link up with them eventually, not necessarily in Krosnice but at the next collection point. In the meantime if we come across any small scale Soviet forces we can hit them back to keep things disrupted in the Soviet rear. That will tie up more of their troops and reduce the pressure on ours.

"The major constraint we have is fuel so if we decide to not gamble everything trying to get to Krosnice quickly then as well as going to check for any survivors from our platoon we need to try to recover any fuel we can find. Food and water we can forage for but fuel we can't."

He then turned to Captain Cave. "So my thoughts are Sir that we check for survivors first and then head towards Krosnice at a sensible pace, avoiding the risks that a mad dash entails. Once we're there we can have a look and see if anyone is still there and then decide where to go next. To put it another way, I think that calm and considered is going to win this race."

Tiredness was making him waffle again so he left it there, giving others the opportunity to speak up.

In reply to Mike Thompson (msg # 20):

Seamus nodded.

"Seamus Murphy, Private, Queen's Royal Irish Hussars. Challenger tank gunner. Currently unemployed. My tank brewed up, you see..."

****
Seamus listened to the whole scenario and then added his own two pence.

"Look for survivors, I would say... but don't spend too long about it. A few hours at most."

He drunk from some water he'd been provided. It was a bit brackish, but still drinkable.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:41, Fri 13 Aug 2021.

The serene quiet of the forest was suddenly shattered by gunfire nearby.

Those people with time behind iron sights were quick to place three distinct sounds; the chatter of M16a2s firing three round bursts in rapid fire, the chug-chug-chug of AKMs, and a long burst from an M249 squad automatic weapon. The sounds were close, despite the thick forest. The fight had broken out less than two hundred meters from their little pow-wow.

It sounded as if the Rangers had crossed paths with a Soviet force. The gunfire was dense, but the Rangers seemed to have engaged first. The Soviets, to their credit, responded immediately.

That distance and the direction of the fight could only mean one thing; the Soviets where hunting down the stragglers in the forest. AKMs and stealthy, hunting troops would tend more towards the skillset of the Spetznas than the category B troops commonly equipped with the older weapons. If it was the Soviet special operations troops, they were probably hunting down H platoon.

One of the MIA's had been broken. That, too was within the skillset of the Spetznas. It was most likely the same Soviets they had fought during the previous day's battles. Now, it would seem they were coming after the Intelligence gathering platoon.

To be hunted down like a prized lion was a chilling thought.

The first reports that echoed through the wood caused Sean's head to perk up, and the fire that replied urged him into motion along with the rest of the group.

He exhaled sharply, put his cup of coffee on the map to hold it in place and snatched up his M16. "Well let's go help them our...form up and follow me." he said to the group as he urged the charging handle on the weapon back and confirmed the glint of brass down the in chamber. He unconsciously pressed on the assist after he had done so, and taking the weapon by he balance, he began to move off towards the fire fight at a pace that kept his load bearing gear from bouncing too wildly.

Fedor moved a bit and put a hand on the Sean's shoulder. The grip was such that it would take a real effort to shake it off.

He spoke somewhat quietly but directly into the other man's ear.

"Keptin, Rangers fire first. Enemy responds. Rangers will break contact and fade into forest. Draws enemy toward Rangers, away from us."

"If we make fight...we cannot all break engagement. Some do not know how. Some die. Enemy takes our vehicles and equipment and kills our friends."

"Enemy has already overrun wounded. We cannot help."

"We should go. Take vehicles and go to Krosnice."

Caught off guard, Cecylia jumped briefly at the not distant enough gunfire. The past two days had been hell, and she was in no hurry to have a second go at the experience. They had set off with 44 people, and they were now 7 of them left, with 1 straggler. If being afraid to die made her a coward, then, Cecylia was definitely a coward. When Fedor spoke up, her opinion was only cemented. She had been through thick and thin with him, and he had pulled her out of dangerous situations more often than she dared recall. And, contrary to her, he knew this. He knew combat, he knew the army. He knew the Soviets and NATO. All she knew was the history of Polish opera houses architecture and how to look good in a ball gown.

“Fedor is right,” she said quickly behind the big Russian's words. “There's only eight of us, and not all of us can really fight. This is not what we do.”

She gestured towards the gunfire “Those are Spetznas. They're killers. This is what they do best. They've already chewed us up. Look at us. Look at what is left."

Still talking hurriedly, Cecylia had begun to back off from the group to grab her pack.

“Captain,” she said, flashing bright blue eyes at him, “I understand how you feel. I know you want to help, but if we go out there, we're all going to die.”

"Captain," Mike added to the advice being thrown at Sean, "I think that Fedor reads the tactical situation correctly. I think that the Rangers have probably engaged to draw them away from us and any other groups of stragglers they've found. They are geared up for hit and run tactics and my guess is that they're already withdrawing. It's what I would do. Hit the enemy hard and then run. I think that they are buying us a window to get the hell out of here and we need to take it. Even if it was an accidental contact we need to make use of it. The noise of our vehicles will attract attention so we need to pack and go sharpish."

He then turned to Thomas and Seamus. "This means we can't go searching for survivors. That window has passed unfortunately. Grad your gear and get mounted up." He looked to Sean however to confirm what the plan was however.

Sean wanted to fight, the glint in his eye made that obvious enough.

When he had spoken early in the morning about people wanting vengeance, he had likely unconsciously included himself among the number. He wanted to kill them for what they had done to his friends, his brothers and sisters in arms. He wanted to feel the gentle kick, the watch them crumple, the smell the burnt powder and to feel the barrel grow warm. He wanted it so badly it hurt.

But the others were right, and he had to admit that, as difficult as it was in that moment.

"You're right." he said generally, including the three in a general sweep and looking mournfully towards the gunfire. "Let's load up." he said bitterly, looked about and around at his feet for a moment, and then with a last glance over his shoulder, went to gather his things.

When the firing starts, Tom hunkers down in a crouch with his weapon pointed vaguely in the direction of fire. He looks alarmed when the Captain starts heading towards the firing, but prepares himself to move - there could well be casualties.

When the captain does a double take, he is visibly relieved, but shakes his head when Mike says its time to bug out and leave the others "Thats the wrong call, Mike. What that tells me is next time I hear someone call Medic, I think 'Fuck em, we're leaving you anyway'. That ends us as any any sort of unit. We HAVE to go back and at least try. If we run into trouble and have to bug out thats one thing. But just writing them off, and not even trying?" He looks down and shakes his head again. He looks up again, looking Mike square in the eye and says "We shouldn't do that. I WON'T do that."

Fedor picks up his pack and moves to one of the Humvees with Cece in tow.

"Is orders Thom. Move ass. The living need you more than the dead."

In reply to Thomas Carter (msg # 36):

"Tom," replied Mike, following on from Fedor's comment, "sometimes hard decisions have to be taken. That's called the burden of leadership. It don't have to feel right but that is what we have to do. And we're still observing ranks so it's Sergeant or Sarge but not Mike."

The SAW gunner in the not to distant firefight suddenly punctuated the conversation with what had to have been half a belt. The non-stop hammering of the light machine gun was a clear cut signal to the men who had time in similar positions; the Rangers had initiated a break contact maneuver.

As soon as the SAW stopped firing an single M16 began hammering away. There return fire was significantly less, but several AKMs fired as well. The M16 suddenly stopped as the magazine ran dry. A moment later there was the boom of a fragmentation grenade.

Tom looks at Mike, then Fedor and says "Bullshit." He starts moving towards the humvees, grabbing his kit, talking loudly so everyone can hear "The army I joined didn't leave people behind. I spent my time in helicopters over here proving that. If we leave them behind, then its all bullshit. And so are orders and rank." He climbs into the humvee he's been assigned and looks for the Captain before adding "Tell me I'm wrong Captain"

"I can't" Sean replied honestly to Thomas, with a glance back as he shoved his backpack into some of the scant available space in the same vehicle. "It's bullshit that the Reds can't leave these people in peace. And it's bullshit that we're being forced to leave our dead, and maybe even our wounded out there." he admitted with a sigh.

"But if we want be around to try to make it right in the days to come, we don't have much choice." he set his M16 barrel down in the front passenger seat of the standard HMMWV. "I'm not going to force you Carter, I can't, but I hope you come with us. I think you could do a lot of good, and we sure could use you."

He looked over at their newest addition. "Hey! Can you run that fifty?" he asked with a gesture towards the uparmored HMMWV, then he looked around to see how close they were to getting on the road.

"Most certainly can, sir!" Seamus replied and clambered into the gunner's position. He was feeling a tad nervous. He had never liked it when the Challenger wasn't buttoned up, because someone could drop a grenade inside when you weren't looking. Now he was exposed to a sniper. Well, he figured that he'd nearly died once today, so he'd probably used up all his bad luck allocation for the day.

Waiting for the others, he started to scan the horizon.

In reply to Seamus Murphy (msg # 42):

The so-called up-armored HMMWV was little more than and under-powered wannabe armored car. The .50 machine gun wasn't anything to laugh at as machine guns go. But, it didn't have the punch of a Warrior's 30mm. Or even the American LAV's 25mm.

Mounting the vehicle and sliding in behind the M2, Seamus took a good look out into the surrounding forest. The night had been tiring, harrowing, and confusing. Now that he had a moment to look around, especially after those Rangers had stirred up a fight nearby, he was liking the closeness of the terrain. It would be an unmitigated terror for tanks in this close country.

(Seamus: Make a recon check please.)

Fedor stood in the rugged American vehicle and, after checking to be certain that Cece was aboard, looked over the M60 gpmg. The Americans sometimes called the weapon a "Pig" and while he wasn't sure if it was due to the weight or it's capacity to eat ammo he agreed it was a fitting name.

He flexed the machinegun on it's mount checking to see that it was still mobile.

Recon roll: 8

Seamus saw something in the forest...

Seamus was looking about.

The battle had been a long series of engagements over a considerable distance the night before. When they finally called a halt and set out the tarps everyone was simply to tires and to stressed to care about much more than drinking some water, taking off their boots, and getting some sleep.

But, such lax standards in such a dangerous situation could be fatal. He scanned their back trail and sighed. Their tracks were like a set of railroad tracks leading right to them. No wonder the Rangers were waiting on them. That said a lot about the night before too. Even with a desperate order to deliver the Rangers had waited until they began to stir. It occurred to Seamus that they must have had a rough go of it during the night as well. Probably needed their own time to recover.

Looking in the direction of the fight, Seamus looked to where the Rangers had revealed themselves. Doing the logical connect the dots in the direction of the firing it occurred to him that the Rangers had veered of course a bit, maybe cut the Soviets' trail and tracked them down.

It would explain how they got the drop on the Spetznas so quickly.

Then, that would mean the Soviets were moving towards the HMMWVs. A little more connecting the dots sent Seamus looking off into the forest between their back trail and the fire fight. And then something moved. No, not something, but some one. Then another someone, and another. That was all he saw, but they were moving like men accustomed to such a task moving toward the sound of gunfire.

Suddenly they stopped. A man with what was obviously and AKM in his hands and wearing those camouflaged parachutist smocks knelt and took up a position less than thirty meters out. He was looking toward the fighting. So, four at least, most likely eight. Another Spetznas squad probably.

The morning suddenly began to feel like the night before.

Mike slung his gear into the back and then climbed into the commander's seat of the up-armoured HMMWV. Glancing round he was about to ask Seamus how experienced he was with the .50cal but something about the man's posture focussed his attention.

"Seamus. What it is?" he called instead to the man stood up in the rear of the vehicle. "You seen something?" As he spoke he glanced around, surveying the surrounding trees for anything out of place.

Seamus was professional and called down to Mike without taking his eyes off the new contact.

"Nine o'clock. Roughly 30 metres. Four Russian Spetsnaz, possibly more. AKMs, parachutist smocks. Standing still, looking towards our 11 o'clock. Orders?"

He was perfectly willing to shoot up some infantry after what had happened earlier.

Sean glanced in the direction Seamus had indicated, his eyes roving for a half a second before he replied without looking. "If they spot us, light 'em up" he replied, then climbed into the drivers seat of the HMMWV with the M60.

"Last call...we're movin' out." he told their little group, then turned over the engine, put it into gear and began to creep forward, taking one last look around to make sure that everyone was loaded and moving.

"If they look like they're about to engage us then open up and don't hold back," Mike replied to Seamus. "We outgun them with that fifty cal so they need to decide whether they're being brave or just a recon team." Sat in the commander's seat of the M1114 HMMWV Mike unlocked the upper half of the side window as he answered Seamus' question and lowered it down to give himself some kind of firing port. He then moved his M16 around so that he could fire through the partially open window should it all kick off. The underslung grenade launcher made it more difficult but there was enough room.

He also peered through the window trying to spot the people that Seamus had noticed himself. Hopefully though they would just decide to report in rather than engage.

Once Gretchen was aboard Mike then turned to Aleksy. "Get us out of here. Head south to get some distance between us and them."

Thomas sat in his seat, his weapon between his legs, and when they mentioned possible enemy he tried to manoever it out the window to fire if needed, though he reckoned all he would be adding would be noise to the situation given the circumstances. More importantly, he started watching that arc for anything that might need communicating to the others. HE may be a medic, but he at least knew that as many eyes as possible were good

The HMMWVs fired up their V8s on command, almost in unison, and in seconds were pulling away into the trees. The rumble of their motors wasn't excessive, but 't go unnoticed. The lone Soviet that had a line of sight to the vehicles suddenly turned his head and began yelling.

It surprising how fast he brought his rifle around, firing in a fanning arc even as he slew it around towards the HMMWVs. 5.45mm bullets cracked Spruce wood, clipped low hanging limbs, speared earth sending out cascading dirt clods, and sent tracers towards the M1114. Even as he warned his companions, the Soviet soldier knew he was facing certain death this close to his enemy.

For a moment, as she stood there holding her pack and swallowing down the fear, she looked at Sean with something other than fear stuck in her throat. She wanted to reach out and touch him; put a hand on his shoulder and tell him it wasn't his fault. She wanted to bring some sort of comfort.



She moved toward the vehicle Fedor had already climbed in, taking the seat next to the drive and squeezing her packing in front of her. Leaning forward, she cupped her head within her hands, closing her eyes and taking in a few deep breaths. Outside, Thomas and Sean were still arguing, their conscience in agreement but their responsibilities at odds.

She thought about the bomb she had planted in Moscow before leaving with Fedor. She remembered how startling large the explosion had been, even after she had walked a full block away. She had glanced back only to see a body topple down from a window, flailing as it momentarily escaped the blazing inferno she had set.

When Thomas finally get into the HMMWV, sitting behind her, she glanced back at him, wondering what his opinion of her might be if he knew the things she had done.

Cecylia turned into her seat, reaching an arm across the space to put a hand on Thomas's knee. She felt like she needed to say something. “I'm sorry, Private,” she said in her accented English. “For what it is worth, I do not think any of us are happy with doing this...”

It wasn't much. It wasn't really anything at all. It was just worthless words to make herself feel better...

As they renewed their flight towards some hope of rest and safety, Sean guided the HMMWV south through the forest that has sheltered them the night before.

The urge to push the peddle a little harder, to gun it and to escape the rounds whizzing by them was strong. The barrage of rounds, even a lucky ricochet, might be the death of any one of them, or might cause a wound that they would need to contend with when they already were being pushed to their limits.

But to wreck a vehicle now would be a lethal mistake. These trucks were tough, true, but they could still high center, could still snap an axle or wind up nose down in a ditch.

The engine growled and the suspension rocked them this way and that as they cleared the remains of a large rotting log, soil, leaf litter and bits of decomposing wood spraying behind them as they tried to gain distance.

Fedor swung the M60 toward the Spetsnaz and cut loose with a medium sized burst.

"More leaving!"

13:15, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 16 using 3d6 with rolls of 6,4,6.  M60 autofire dice.

13:14, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 2,5 using 1d12,1d6 with rolls of 2,5.  Firing M60 at Spetsnaz.

Thomas looked back at Cecylia and opened his mouth to reply, when they were rudely interrupted by Seamus yelling. Thomas eyes widened, and he briefly tried to look over his shoulder behind him, before giving up and going back to watching his arc, and making more of an effort to point his M16 out the window to fire. He held on tight, and silently prayed no one started playing his song....
This message was last edited by the player at 20:56, Tue 24 Aug 2021.

Cecylia quickly withdrew her hand as Fedor let loose a burst from the M60. From this close to the machine gun, the sound felt deafening and she found herself wincing. Tucking her head between her shoulders, Cecylia made herself as small as she could, putting one hand out to steady herself on the dash of the HMMWV as Sean began to drive them forward.

21:37, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 3 using 1d6.  Hit Location. Torso.

21:37, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 3 using 1d10.  Critical Hit.

As tracers arced back towards the Soviet from Fedor's return fire the man made a pained face and gripped himself just inside the right hip. Falling to his left, the Spetznas trooper fell from sight as bullets kicked up debris. A faint glimpse of motion and a bright point of a muzzle blast signified that the other Soviets were moving towards them. Tracers arced back at the HMMWVs, striking the M998 ineffectually along the rear quarter panel, and reminded the departing party of just how close to danger they were.

With the commencement of firing, Seamus ducked very slightly swung his weapon in the direction of the tracers and looked for a target. He could fire blindly, but it was frankly better to aim at something...

As they started taking incoming rounds, Mike brought his M16A2 up to the window hatch beside him and fired at the area the tracers were coming from, aiming for the lead enemy soldier who was firing at them. He rapid-fired his assault rifle in an attempt to gain fire superiority, squeezing off several short bursts, for once grateful that he had this rifle rather than his old SLR from when he was with 2 Para. That had packed a bigger punch, as it was a 7.62 round, but it was a big and bulky semi-automatic rifle and would have been a bitch to move around inside the HMMWV.


Mike
Commander's seat on Armoured HMMWV
Firing M16 at lead Russian
M16A2 (21/30 rnds) - 9 rounds deducted for current attack
M203 (1/1 HE)


OOC
22:10, Today: Mike Thompson rolled 11,6,9 using d12,d10,3d6 ((11,6,4,3,2)). - I believe that this is a hit on the lead Russian who initially engaged us with 3 successes and has used 9 rounds.

The 2 extra successes can convert to damage meaning that the total damage inflicted is 4 which is over the critical threshold for an M16A2 of 3 so I believe that this is a critical hit.

22:29, Today: Mike Thompson rolled 1 using 1d6 ((1)). - I believe that this is a hit on the legs

22:31, Today: Mike Thompson rolled 7 using 1d10 ((7)). - I believe that this is a "Thigh Gash"

Tracers arced into the trees as Sergeant Thompson did his best to live up the legendary submachine gun of his namesake and unleashed a hail of bullets into the trees. He wasn't completely sure but it looked as though one of his tracers may have made contact with the Soviet soldier that had fired at their departing vehicles.

Already wounded from Fedor's return fire, Thompson was pretty sure they had little to worry about from that particular Soviet soldier. He only hoped any nearby troops had opted for more cover and less direct action.

Seamus also fired in the general area where the tracers were coming from, determining that suppressive fire would be the best option now. He fired a light burst.

Seamus Murphy
Gunner's Seat on Armoured HMMMV
.50 cal machine gun
Firing at the Russian on the right



22:53, Today: Seamus Murphy rolled 9 using 2d10 ((6,3)).
22:55, Today: Seamus Murphy rolled 11 using 2d6 ((5,6)).
I make that two successful rolls using 11 rounds.
22:56, Today: Seamus Murphy rolled 4 using 2d6 ((1,3)). Legs and torso.
OOC: What damage have I done?

(OOC: Shooting this guy with a .50 heavy machine gun will definitely have two benefits. It will ensure that this guy is so dead that only a zombie apocalypse will do anything for him. And it add the general sense of 'keep your head down or get it blown off' that these Soviets are currently experiencing.)

Seamus touched off a burst with the Browning Machine Gun. The reports of the M60 and M16 had been loud in the close terrain of the forest, the big .50 just boomed. There was no other way to really describe it. The report was oppressively loud under the trees of the forest blocking out all sound for several seconds.

The HMMWVs rolled away without taking further enemy fire. But, their position and direction of travel was most likely already being reported. They would have to put some distance between the vehicles and the forest soon.

Fedor concentrated on replacing the pin holding the M60 in place as he returned to facing forward.

"Hothead should not haf fired at us."

"Fuck, there goes my hearing - again" Tom muttered, as Fedor let rip, keeping his weapon out the window, and trying to keep his eyes on his arc as the Hummer bounced around. He heard the return fire, and wished he was sat in the front...

The pair of HMMWVs wove through the trees until they came upon a two lane road. Taking advantage of the paved thoroughfare they rumbled out onto the road and accelerated. Soon enough they detected the sounds of conflict ahead and cut off road into the thick forest once again.

Fearing another dangerous run in with the Soviet forces in the area, the vehicles slowed to a mere ten miles per hours or so. Crossing another road the HMMWVs eased through a slim stretch of forest along the edge of a wide right of way for a local multi-lane highway. There wasn't much traffic save for a few civilian vehicles trying to get southwest like themselves.

Waiting and watching the time had come and the pair of vehicles accelerated into the clearing. They were nearing the highway when an older BMW station wagon came barreling along. Horns blared as the trio of vehicles came within close proximity of one another. As the speeding BMW neared it suddenly burst apart in ball fire as an orange-white streak passed through the car.

Something approaching a mix of panic and relief, as one emotion, gripped the crews of the HMMWVs as they sped bumping and bouncing across the highway accelerating towards forest on the far side. Seconds felt like a life time as the trees drew near. Looking to the northeast along highway they could see a Russian T80 tank rolling towards them. It's turret tracked along and there was a sudden ball of fire at its muzzle.

A split second later another tracer round passed between the trucks a yard behind the M1114 and only three yards ahead of the M998. It was so fast, a glow and a shriek, there wasn't time to panic or react. The vehicles simply continued on into the forest.

The tracers had been armor-piercing, fin-stabilized, discarding-sabot, tracer rounds fired from the T80's 125mm main gun. Super high velocity and very flat shooting, the ideal thing for long range shots on moving targets or heavy armor. But, as the HMMWVs slowed and began entering the forest at the other side of the highway there was another flash at the muzzle of the tank's cannon followed in mere heartbeats by an explosion just twenty meters away from the HMMWVs. The Russian tank crew had changed to firing high explosive rounds. A shower of debris dinged off of the M1114 while a hand full of gravel, shards of wood, and a single piece of shrapnel came through the side of the M998 and rattled around a bit.

Hearts beat wildly, sweat soaked t-shirts, and at least one person experienced a little flatulence as the HMMWVs disappeared into the forest. But the relief was short lived. To soon the vehicles came to a halt on the edge of the forest. Looking out into the distance they could see open fields, miles of open fields.

(OOC: check the new map to see the route. you can check google maps for an idea of where you are headed. Please hit me up with questions, ideas, plans, etc. in OOC chat. No need to rush into anything. Afterall, its your decision. I'm just pursuing you with around 25,000 soviet troops with tanks, APCs, scout vehicles, armored cars, a stickload of trucks, and some really bad attitude.)

Tom relaxed a little as the shooting died down, and when they came to a halt he leaned forward and said "Cap - can you check if anyone got hit? That was all a bit lively."

"Everyone ok?" Mike called to the other members of his vehicle (Aleksy, Seamus and Gretchen). It had been a bit of a hairy encounter with the Soviet tank and Mike wasn't convinced that it was over.

He then started glancing at his map again, double checking where he thought that they were on it, and then pressed the transmit button on his radio. "Hotel Five to Hotel One. I think that we need to keep heading south west across country to try and get clear. What do you think? Over."

Seamus Murphy had been holding onto the spade grips as they had bounced along and had probably been a bit flatulent himself; in the Challenger he was at least protected by the armour of the tank. Or had been. Here, a stray shot could ruin his day - and his life.

"I'm fine," Seamus replied. ""But I need to visit the little boy's bush. Can someone cover me while I do that?"

Once someone agreed to cover him, he would head for a tree to do his business.

As Hotel one eased to a stop with a slight squeal of the brakes and the diesel engine continued to thrum Sean plucked up the mic to respond. "Hotel One, affirm...lets put on some miles while we are on their radar anyway, any wounded over there?" he asked, talking a little too loudly after the bout of gunfire.

As part of the social norms, he glanced in the rearview mirror to look at Mike as he spoke and saw Seamus dismounting. Taking a moment of his own he looked back into the interior of their own vehicle. "How we doin guys? You alright?" he looked around and then up through the hatch to Fedor.

Once everyone was mounted back up he continued onto the little spur road with the intent to glass the small town at the upcoming intersection and the feasibility of simply cutting across the field towards the east/west road that ran through Kaliska and avoiding the town all together.

(OOC:outstanding come back guys. For now consider Aleksy and Cecelia as part of the crew. I will reach to them.)

Seamus quickly dismounted to relieve himself as the radio and personnel checks were conducted. He found a conveniently concealed position that would allow him to whip out little Seamus without drawing the attention of the women in the crew. As he relaxed with the dwindling of the pressure in his bladder, Seamus looked back along their course through the forest.

He could hear the faint sound of grinding. Straining the hear beyond the hissing splatter of his urine and the thump of his pulse in his ears, he could just make out the sounds of metal grinding on metal. His heart rate leapt up a bit with a new surge of adrenaline. The urine flew from him as his flight or fight response began to kick in. Then he heard it more clearly. Not grinding, but a squealing clank metal on metal. Then a deep rumbling noise off in the distance.

The conclusion struck him like a knife in the back. That damned Russian tank was in the forest and searching along their backtracks for them.

The others waited, talked, and generally tried to bleed of the tense energy of the morning. It had been hectic and dangerous. The run in with the Spetznas troops that were actually looking for them, crossing paths with that tank on the highway, and now they were facing the prospect of traveling tens of kilometers across open field lands without any support or intel on what they were facing ahead.

Fedor simply flashed a thumbs up and continued to watch their back trail, and attempt to watch all the other directions as well.

As they weave their way through and out of the woods, Cecylia couldn't quite make her mind up about how she felt. Being stuck inside the vehicle made her feel overly self-aware of how vulnerable they were, yet, she found some comfort in moving quickly away from immediate danger. Ever since the war had started, ambiguity had been Cecylia's daily bread. Everything about this new world she lived in made her feel ambiguous. The danger had turned from exciting to terrifying to sometimes mundane and then terrifying again. She had begun in love and patriotic, and now, she simply wasn't so sure anymore. The number of shades of gray that tinted her world was becoming nauseating.

When the HMMWV came to a stop, Cecylia was busy fighting the urge to simply vomit on the dashboard. She had been shot at, numerous times, but not by a tank. The suddenness and brutality of the explosion that engulfed the civilian car had stunned silent and as the radio crackled to life she could barely hear it above the heartbeat in her ears.



She licked her lips, tasting something salty in the back of her mouth. A loose curl of bright red hair had fallen across her face. She pushed it behind her ear, nodding at Sean's question.

“Yes, I am o-kay,” she said, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt.

Fishing around her vest, she went through the various maps she had until she found one of the local areas. She had penciled in as much data as she could before and during their failed operation, and although Intel wasn't anything she was short on, nothing was current. She laid her compass on the map and tried to orient herself as best as she could.

OOC: Navigating offroad using Map and Compass, 09:34, Today: Cecylia Wojcik rolled 7,8 using 1d10,1d8 with rolls of 7,8.
2 Success

OOC: 09:36, Today: Cecylia Wojcik rolled 1,5 using 1d10,1d10 with rolls of 1,5.  Historian Talent: area coming up on them.
0 Success

Looking at the name of towns and villages that surrounded them, Cecylia couldn't help but frown. She had spent her entire life in large cities around the world, not in the countryside, and even less in the Polish countryside. Nothing jumped out at her here. All she could hope was that it didn't show too much on her face. She was supposed to be the “local guide” after all.

Cecylia took a small paper notepad that was covered in a tiny polish script and started to compare it with her map. She frowned for a beat before sighing the frustration out. The only friendly spot she could find, anywhere close to them, was almost 15km away... much further than she had hoped.

“It is not directly on our route, Captain, but the was a FOB set up about 15 km West from here,” she said, the words clipped by her accent. “It was maintenance company for vehicles. It is not big detour if you want us to have look at it. It might still be there. Might not. There might be ammo for big guns or parts for repair. Or maybe fuel.”

She put the notepad away inside her jacket before flashing bright blue eyes Sean.

“Or maybe there is full Soviet tank battalion and we all die,” she added after a moment.

Sean was grateful in a way that his position as driver only allowed Cecylia to really get a good look at his face. The consternation, the fatigue, the anger were all there to see in various degrees.

He looked over at her suggestion, glanced at the map, seemed to find his bearings.

He was silent for maybe fifteen seconds. "Sounds like a plan to me." The vehicle crept forward a few feet. "Do me a favor and see if you can plot a course for us...and call it into Mike when you get a chance, let him know what we're up to."

As soon as the new arrival, Seamus had been his name, the tanker was back. They could continue to work on expanding the narrow gap they had earned that morning.

Seamus returned to his mounted position for another ride being the proverbial sniper bait. The T80 was a big concern to him. He hadn't exactly had the time to exchange insurance details with whatever had destroyed his Challenger, but if a Soviet tank could do that to his old vehicle, then this Hummer was a deathtrap if got hit.

If he spotted it, the best he might be able to do is warn everyone to bailout...

Tom sat back into his seat when it was confirmed no one had been hit. At least that was a blessing. He looked at the countryside ahead of them and kept quiet about how far away they would be visible to anyone, including the enemy. They had no real choice.

When Cecilia piped up, he leant forward to listen, and nodded to himself. As Cecilia tried to plot a route, he said "Can we go via a Service station, please? I'd rather not pee in the bushes.. This mystery tour is tough on the bladder." he smiled at his weak joke, and then sat back again, keeping his arc watched

Mike replied to Sean across the radio. "Hotel Five to Hotel One. We're all good here but we need to get moving again. That tank's looking for us I reckon."

He then turned to the other members of his vehicle. "Seamus and Gretchen, keep an eye out for that tank. Alesky, get us moving slowly while the Captain and Cecyila work out where we're going." Mike then added his eyes to those scanning around for any enemy threats.

Aleksy rolled the M1114 forward at a walking man's pace, eyes searching the approaching edge of the forest. He was nearing the the open expanse of fields ahead when he cat the HMMWV right to run east just inside the edge of the treeline.

Mike was watching the forest to his side of the vehicle and keeping an eye to the other vehicle as they pulled off to take the lead. The vehicle was moving so slowly that Gretchen was literally able to step out of the truck, turn her rifle about, and get back in with it pointed such she was able to close the door with the muzzle sticking out the window. Seamus looked back nervously, often, worried the rumbling T80 would come smashing through the trees for them.

In the other HMMWV Sean was looking over his map as Cecylia and he compared noted for their upcoming jaunt across the open fields of Poland while Soviet armored forces bore down on the remnants of the 5th. Fedor manned the M60, cool and alert in his accustomed manner. Carter waited, anxious after their near miss with the Soviet tank, and considered simply pulling out to follow the other vehicle while the spook and Captain compared notes.

It was Aleksy who spotted trouble first.

It started with a tree that was leaning from its roots just ahead and left. He thought that unusual. Then he saw the bark skinned away from a tree opposite of the leaning tree and it dawned on him. A tank had passed through the tree line. He quickly spotted a deep track-rut at the edge of the field.

Aleksy turned in his seat to warm the others saying, "Tank to our...."

The burst of machine gun bullets from the commanders heavy machine gun struck the M1114 from a little over one hundred meters away in the field. The leading bullets smashed out Aleksy's door window and struck the man in the chest, neck, and head. His body sort of rolled over on its side in his seat like a discarded rag doll.

The remainder of the burst passed in front of Seamus' legs, one actually ripped his pants leg a bit, and struck Gretchen as she turned to look at Aleksy as he called out his warning. Heavy machine gun bullets struck the woman in the shoulder and neck. The remainder of the burst thudded heavily into the inner lining of her door. She slumped back gasping for air.

In the field the gunner of a T72 fired. The 125mm high explosive round passed over the vehicle so closely that the cracking sonic boom of its passage ruffled Seamus' clothing. It had all happened too suddenly for the young tanker to realise just how close he had come to sudden death in that instant. Twice.

The high explosive round continued on into the forest for another thirty meters or so before it passed through a tree and exploded. The forest echoed with its booming report. The crew of the M998 were caught completely off guard. They had no forewarning, so the burst machine gun fire striking the other vehicle followed by the immediate crack-boom of the cannon shell left them shocked.

(OOC: Aleksy and Gretchen both had to drop for RL reasons, and oddly both requested a cinematic death to their characters. Opting to make new characters should they return in the future. I hope this seems cinematic enough. Everyone else needs to make rolls versus coolness under fire. Roll you dice for coolness under fire and unit moral, target number six. After the previous events current unit morale is a B. This is to see how well you guys react to the sudden attack that has caused further loss of life.)

ooc
So If I understand right

Toms CUF is D (= D6) plus Unit Morale B (=D10)

14:18, Today: Thomas Carter rolled 5,5 using 1d10,1d6.  CUF+Morale.

Target is 6 - so thats a pass?

What does that mean? What does a fail mean?

thanks

OOC: The Dice aren't added together. Rather they are considered seperately and a number of "successes" is generated. 6-9 is 1 success, 10-12 is 2 successes.

So your rolls of 5 and 5 equals a fail on this roll (no successes).

A fail in this case means you are suppressed and can take no actions (normally you would fall prone as well but you're already seated).

It could also cause Thomas some Stress dmg due to the shocking deaths but that is a GM call.

21:52, Today: Seamus Murphy rolled 12 using 2d10 ((3,9)).

I make that one success and one failure?

In reply to Seamus Murphy (msg # 84):

OOC: Yup! So it's a Success.

EDIT (added Color and my CUF roll):

OOC:

17:34, Today: Cecylia Wojcik rolled 10,5 using 1d12,1d10 with rolls of 10,5.  CUF + Unit Morale.
2 Success (since a 10 counts as 2)

Cecylia is, apparently, Cool as a Polish Cucumber?
This message was last edited by the player at 21:35, Thu 09 Sept 2021.

"We must go now Keptin! If we stop, we die!"d

Fedor turned the M60 on the T-72 and opened fire. A stream of tracers quickly marked the location of the behemoth and the sound of futile ringing came back to them as shots bounced off the big AFV.


19:41, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 4,5 using 1d12,1d6.  Hvy Weapons. Aiming at a Tank that is 2 successes.

19:42, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 23 using 6d6 with rolls of 6,1,4,6,3,3.  RoF Dice.

The M60 cannot pen a tank but it could affect their aim or potentially damage certain components (exposed crew etc.). The hit will be Dmg 6 if such a target is available.

19:47, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 1 using 1d10.  Tank Component roll.

19:47, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 4 using 1d10.  Crit roll if applicable.

That's a track hit so likely no effect.

As their HMMWV started to slow Mike clocked that both Alesky and Gretchen were either dead or dying. Even if they weren't yet dead then only major trauma surgery would have a chance of saving either of them and that wasn't very likely in their immediate future. He seemed to have luckily escaped unhurt however, apart from a small scratch across the back of his left hand where one of several fragments flying glass or shrapnel had hit him.

"Seamus, are you hit?" he called to the man behind him, tension and stress clear in his voice. "Alesky's dead so help me pull his body into the back so I can drive."

He then started trying to pull Alesky's corpse out of the driver's seat so that he could push it into the rear of the vehicle. The HMMWV continued to slow as he did so, allowing the tank to close of them if the commander wish to. It also made them an easier target to fire at, which was more worrying.

When the firing starts Tom is taken by surprise "FUUCK! Get us out of here" he virtually screams "Start fucking driving, come on" as he speaks he seems to shrink down into his seat, obviously hoping the door will protect him.

Seamus moved back inside the cramped vehicle to move the corpse out of the way. At some point, they were going to need to give tbeir two dead comrades at least some final rites in this world. Chucking them out of a moving vehicle was impractical and Seamus liked to think he still had some standards left in this wrecked world.

In the distance, the loader's and driver's hatches on the T72 opened. The driver was shouting at the tank's commander as he ducked down behind his hatch. The loader reached across the top of the turret to shake his commander, trying to bring the man out of his funk after Fedor's bullets riddled and ricocheted about him.

From behind them, close enough to be heard but not yet seen, came the crack of trees under the weight and roar of the T80 that had been on the highway. The engine was loud, revving high, but the clank of the tracks was slow. It was working hard to force a path through the forest in their direction, no doubt in contact with the T72 in the field.

Having yanked Alesky's corpse out of the driver's seat and into the rear of the vehicle, Mike took his place, quickly trying to get the HMMWV under control and moving again.

"Get back on the fifty and give that tank something to think about," he yelled to Seamus as he started trying to drive in an erratic pattern designed to make them harder to hit. His worry wasn't really the main gun of the tank but the machine guns. Tank ammo was very valuable so they were less likely to waste that on a HMMWV but the 12.7mm machine gun on the top was designed for engaging vehicles like theirs.


OOC - GM - do you want a driving check from Mike? If you do then are there any modifiers to the roll?

Seamus moved rapidly back to the gunner position and swung the weapon in the direction of the tank. He aimed at the driver's hatch, hoping to hit the driver or cause a few painful ricochets, and opened fire...

22:46, Today: Seamus Murphy rolled 10,7,17 using d10,d8,4d6 ((10,7,6,3,4,4)).
This message was last edited by the player at 21:47, Sun 19 Sept 2021.

Seamus quickly slewed to M2 around and hoisted the sights onto the driver. Mostly aiming at the central mass of the T72 below the line of the turret ring. Tracers raced across the open space as the booming muzzle blast of the heavy machine gun buffeted both vehicles with the tree line. The heavy slugs pulverized saplings, low hanging limbs, and the driver's shoulder.

Riding the recoil and raising his aim, Seamus walked the tracers up the left turret face and over the top of the dome-shape. The loader suddenly grasped his throat and fell from his turret hatch back into the tank. The remaining tracers in the burst shot over the turret and arced off into the horizon.

Thomas accelerated to catch up to Captain Cave in the M998. The vehicles moved slowly, working their way through the trees. Soon, they were forced to cross into the open country. And accelerate. The HMMWVs had been running at nearly fifty miles per hour across a broad field when a 125mm tracer passed overhead to impact nearly a mile ahead of them. There were no rounds following the first.

But no one doubted that they would soon be encountering more of the same.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:22, Mon 20 Sept 2021.

In both her musical and academic career, Cecylia would have never called herself anxious or nervous. When she taught in Moscow, in front of hundreds of students, she got never got butterflies in her stomach. When she rose to her feet to play as first violin in Krakow, with members of the European parliaments in attendance, she didn't get stage fright. Even when she had driven up to the open window of a staff car, riding on the back of a motorcycle that Fedor was driving, and chucked a grenade at some Airforce Colonel about a year ago... she hadn't felt nervous. Scared? Maybe a bit. Nervous, no.

She had discovered, through all these experiences that Cecylia had her own way of dealing with the fear and anxiety of her life: she put it off for later. She held on to the seat and dashboard as the vehicle bounced them around, wondering if every second was her last and wondering how it was possible she wasn't in the same state as Carter. But she would get there. The moment they would stop and be somewhat safe, she'd have to open the door and puke.

There was no stress like post-stress.

She did her best to control her breathing, to steel herself, as she reached for the radio. Her voice sounded calmer than she expected; almost detached.

"Hotel One Hotel Five. You oh-kay?" she said, turning around in her seat to look behind them.

"Good shooting Murphy!" called Mike as he drove. He hadn't seen what had happened but the Tank hadn't fired again so he was pretty certain that Murphy had had a hand in preventing that.

Multitasking, Mike grasped the HMMWV's radio handset to reply to Cecylia. "Hotel Five here. We're in a bad way. Still mobile but we have two fatalities on board. We need to find somewhere suitable to stop to resolve. Over." He didn't say who was dead but it wouldn't be difficult for the others to figure it out. Murphy was firing the fifty cal and he was able to use the radio so they were clearly still alive.

While driving he then started looking for a patch of trees that was large enough for them to pull up in briefly and bury Aleksy and Gretchen. There would probably only be time for shallow graves but they should try to do the right thing.

As the rounds from the hummers were fired, Tom shrank even smaller, if it were possible, and didn't look up until the firing had stopped. HE was wide eyed and scared, and looked out the window to see what was happening. He was starting to calm down when the tracer went overhead, which gave him the jitters again

"Fuck don't these guys ever give up?" he said, shrinking down a little more.

At the sound of the radio, he perked up "Ask him if hes sure they're KIA - I might be able to save them" he said.

A farm collective came and went on their left. Six houses and two barns. All of the structures had suffered from what looked mortar fire or a rocket attack in the night. There were two corpses laying in the muddy tract leading to nearby fields. One was a man the other a horse. Fires were still burning in one house and one barn. Another house had taken a direct hit and was blown to rubble.

They didn't stop. There was no need to. If it had been so accurately hit during the night then there was no reason to be spotted at a known target during the day. At least there was no sign of enemy within a few kilometers.

Cecylia knew the second HMMWV had been hit, but somewhere in her heart, she had been hoping that against all odds, no one would've been hurt. As Mike's voice came through the radio, she held the handset close to her chest and simply cast a long glance at Sean. Leaving the Rangers to fight for themselves in the forest had been a hurdle for him, and now, with two dead added to his conscience...

She swallowed with some difficulty, finding her mouth parched and throat tight. Thomas' voice finally brought her out of her daze. She nodded a few times, composed herself, and keyed the handset again.

“Copy. Are you sure they are KIA?”

"Fourteen point five millimeter. They are, how do you say it?...Dead As Fried Chicken."

She peered over her shoulder.

"There's always a chance," said Cecylia in Russian, her voice sounding entirely unconvinced.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and letting out a heavy sigh.

"Keep an eye out for some cover," she said, switching back to her heavily accented English. "We should stop to check on them and vehicle, Captain."

The day rolled on, just like the rumbling vehicles, until they came to a cross road where two country roads met. The roads were not shown on their maps. Though in all fairness the roads were little more than dirt tracts that separated broad swathes of former wheat fields. A guess would put the width of the lanes at that matching the width of an Ursus tractor.

The real utility of the road to the soldiers and spies, however, was their dept. The dirt roads had sunken roadbeds about two feet lower than the fields. Add in the height of weeds, grasses, and brush in the fields and they found a place to hide all but the very top of the HMMWVs from view from most angles.

"Pull up here." Captain Cave said, unceremoniously, over the radio. He seemed distraught. "Let's see to our people."

Seamus had spent a rather long time with a corpse in close proximity and was glad to be rid of it. The best they could do was given these people as decent a burial as possible in the circumstances and leave God to sort it out.

When they came to a halt, he clambered out the roof hatch and then moved to start hauling Aleksy's corpse here.

"Need a hand with these. Can't lift these poor b******s on my own. Not without putting my back out, which you probably don't want."

Earlier:


"Yes. Hotel Five out," Mike had replied simply to Cecylia over the radio. He was certain that Alesky was dead but he wasn't quite a certain with Gretchen. Her wounds were terrible though and it would have required immediate major trauma surgery to even give her the slightest chance of survival. That they didn't have available and it was better, in Mike's judgement, to just let her go, presuming that she hadn't already gone.

---

Now:


When Seamus started moving Alesky's body Mike climbed out of the driver's seat and helped.

"I think that we have long enough to treat them with respect as long as we move quickly. Fedor. Cecylia. You two keep watch while the rest of us sort them out." His tone was business-like. Efficient. Emotion could follow later as his duty was primarily to the living.

Once Alesky and Gretchen's bodies were laid out, Mike did what was expected of a senior NCO, removing one set of dog tags if either of them was wearing them as well as any personal effects and useful gear that either of them had. Any useful gear was split between the two vehicles while the dog tags and personal effects went into a cardboard box in the back of his HMMWV that held a number of similar items, all that was left above ground of several fallen comrades. He had no idea who to give these to eventually and the contents just steadily grew, each of them accompanied by a small, handwritten note of the date of the person's death and the location of their grave.

If Fedor heard Mike he gave no outward sign. There was also no sign of any emotion due to the loss of Aleksy or Gretchen, despite the fact that he and CeCe had worked closely with her.

What he did was stay on the gunners deck of the Humvee and scan the surrounding area with his binoculars. Well if he was honest he couldn't remember who's binoculars they were. He had taken them from a Russian but they weren't Russian. He knew this because he could see clearly through them.

14:20, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 5,5 using 1d12,1d12 with rolls of 5,5.  Recon(Pushing).
14:20, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 4,2 using 1d12,1d12 with rolls of 4,2.  Recon.

When the vehicles stopped, Tom got out and helped remove the bodies, checking for vitals, though with the time gone by and a visual inspection he was sure he was just going through the motions.

He got out his e tool and started using it to slash at the shrubs, to clear an area big enough to bury them

ooc
Does the vehicle tools include anything along the lnes of machetes, shovels, and picks to speed this up?

Cecylia smiled at Mike in a way that said “of course”. She did her best to avoid looking at both bodies, hoping that she would at least be able to remember them in more intact way. She had seen her share of dead bodies and had even worked at producing some herself, but it still made her... uneasy. Death had never been a part of her life until the war had started, and she hoped that if things ever ended, it wouldn't have to remain a constant part of her reality.

Somewhat clumsily, she clambered on top of the Humvee, taking up Seamus' recently vacated position. Glancing at Fedor to see where he was looking, she began scanning in the opposite direction with her own binoculars.

17:35, Today: Cecylia Wojcik rolled 7,12 using 1d12,1d12 with rolls of 7,12.  INT+Recon+Binoculars.
3 Successes

Bringing down her binoculars briefly as she heard Thomas begin to hack at the shrubs, she leaned down from her perch.

“Private Carter,” she said to catch his attention “there was axe tied to Aleksy's pack. You could use that, maybe,” she added, smiling something sad at him.

Up until a few hours ago, she had found some solace in the fact she wasn't the only Pole left standing in their team. Now, she was it.

Seamus starts to take some equipment from the vehicles for himself, leaving the others to do the digging. He'd already moved them out of the vehicle... and he needed a personal weapon in any event.

OOC: Seamus takes the following:
HK MP5SD3 (Integrally Suppressed, Retractable Stock)
9 x 19mm NATO SMG
6x magazines (30 rounds each, full)
1x Backpack
1x LBE
1x Magazine Pouch
1x Equipment Pouch
Pocket Knife
1x US GI Sleeping Bag
1x Canteen
1x Toiletries Kit
1x Foot Powder

Fedor was beginning to think he should have stolen a pair of naval ship-to-shore binoculars. He re-adjusted the focus on the pair of field glasses the 'Agency' had seen fit to provide. Maybe he was just agitated. Then again, maybe there just wasn't anything to see out there.

Carter used Aleksy's hatchet the clear away an area to dig. Using his e-tool he was relieved when the earth came away easily. The dirt was rich and smelled of vegetables. After he had retrieved a dog tag from each man, Captain Cave came over and began another hole next to the one Carter was working on. It hadn't been all that long, days in fact, since they had dug similar holes while building defenses to counter the Soviets that they were now running from.

Cecelia looked away from Carter, she was glad the Captain was helping, but she didn't want to look towards the bodies any longer. It was terrible. She resumed looking out over the countryside. Following the line of brush along the crossroad to the one the trucks were parked on she spotted motion. Then suddenly a troop of men on foot began walking along the side of the road.

It was undoubtedly a patrol. Eleven men, a staggered column, one man carrying a radio on his back, one man with a squad automatic, and all of it Soviet. She gauged the range at a might over six hundred meters. The patrol was approaching from the southwest and moving to their northeast along the top of the sunken road's elevated shoulder.

Seamus was working a quick as he could. Taking the equipment off of a body was quite a bit more challenging than he had expected. And much of it had to be wiped down; the heavy machine gun bullets had produced a lot of blood splatter.

Thompson was working along with Seamus. Organizing and stowing the dead men's equipment. He would go over and help out Carter and the Captain in a moment. But right now there were pertinent details that needed an NCO's professional eye for them.

Something tried to come up from the pit of her stomach but got itself lodged in the back of her throat. Her mouth went dry and, even halfway concealed by the Humvee and the tall wheat, she felt suddenly painfully aware of how exposed she was. Instinctively, she bunched her shoulders in and tried to make herself as small as she could, but then, she realized that at this distance, without anything to help them, the odds of them actually seeing her were next to none.

Coiled upon herself in the roof hatch, she made a sort of “tsk” sound between her clenched teeth to catch Fedor's attention. As he looked at her, she pointed at her eyes and then in the direction the patrol was before leaning down from the Humvee towards Sean and Mike.

“Captain. Sergeant. Soviet Patrol. On foot,” she said in a whisper, even though the odds of anyone but them hearing her was null.

She raised herself just enough to peak again through the binoculars, holding the direction just long enough to get a count.

“Eleven. Coming this way. Maybe... Maybe half kilometer?” she added, realizing quickly she wasn't that great at estimating ranges.

Fedor shifted so that he was looking the same direction Cecylia had been.

(OOC: so, Cecylia has the Intelligence specialty. that requires me to divulge some statistical data on the bad guys she is observing.)

Fedor looked out in the direction of the advancing Soviet patrol. Men on foot didn't just wonder about the countryside looking to stir up trouble. Where there was a patrol and army was not far behind.

Cecylia noticed and resumed her observation of the patrol. Taking a little more time to pay attention to the advancing line of soldiers she noticed several details this time. They seemed to be moving with good discipline; proper spacing between soldiers was maintained, weapons didn't stray across bodies, heads were help erect, they moved at a good pace but without straining to keep it, and they traveled without talking.

She sighed, that probably meant seasoned soldiers, veterans who knew their job well enough to stay in contact with their platoon and company formations. They seemed to be equipped in a routine manner, her binoculars showed her what she thought were assault rifles, a machine gun, a man-pack radio, and maybe a pair of disposable launchers. She wished she had more powerful binoculars for greater clarity.

Damn, this would be a tough fight if it came to it.

By now, Cecylia was almost laying flat on the roof of the Humvee, whispering to herself as she watched the patrol slowly, but surely, approach them. She felt movement behind her and, upon turning to glance, saw Mike take hold of their sole long gun.

“Sergeant...” she began, in a tone that was halfway to pleading, “we don't need to do this... We can just leave... They are more than twice our number, and they are combat troops.”

She looked at their rapidly shrinking band. “We can all fight, but we are not all fighters Sergeant.”

Seeing Seamus approach the Humvee, probably intent on taking back his gunner position, Cecylia smiled a little sadly at him before jumping off the vehicle. Her boots hit the dirt road with a light thud, kicking up dry earth.

“Patrol has launchers. If we are not lucky, they maybe shoot trucks. Then we have big problem. And they are screen for bigger force,” she added looking a Fedor for some sign of approval that her deduction was right.

“Maybe I am coward,” she added while shrugging and looking back at Mike, “but I not see gain in fighting men there. We can just leave. We have time.”

By now, Mike had the Dragunov in working order, had chambered a round and was adjusting the scope. Cecylia took a few steps towards him and gently took hold of his arm. “Please,” she whispered to him, “Sergeant, let us just go...”

"600 meters. They do not know we are here...yet."

Fedor watched the patrol through his binos. The big Russian's voice carried but in that low grinding way that always seemed like he did not enjoy speaking aloud.

"They will not be so far ahead of main force that they won't hear Ma Deuce singing."

"We can leave."

It was his assessment. Not an argument.

Seamus returned to the gunner position, using what little extra height he had up there to monitor the Soviet patrol.

"Heartily agree. Let's put as much distance as we can between us and the b******s. I've had my maximum number of firefights today and Mama won't be happy if I have any more."

Of course, he wasn't sure if Mama was still alive; it wasn't like he could pick up RTÉ out here. If it still existed. It might. But he hadn't found a suitable radio to try.

The Soviet patrol stopped. Men along the line of march knelt as a single man, most likely and NCO walked up to the man with radio and began making speaking into the handset. He was looking vaguely in the direction of the HMMWVs but did not seemed focused on them. The men of the patrol showed their discipline by keeping alert and watching the area around them. No one talked, smoked, or broke discipline. Not even for a drink of water.

Using the range finder of his binoculars, Fedor judged the range to be very close to five hundred and sixty meters. Long range, indeed, for a gunfight. The real threat to them at that range was the machine gun, but only if they had a tripod to mount it on. On the bipod the machine gun would do two things; dig into the soft ground as it fired and be incapable of plunging fire into the sunken road bed.

"We need to hurry this up." Cave said after a moment. "Sergeant go give the others a hand tactically. I'll help get this done."

Tom noted the movement, but no one seemed to be rushing, so he carried on with his task. At least they could give some of their buddies a decent burial. No one was talking much that he could hear,but he did sense that things were getting a little more hectic. He straightened up, and went to call up to the others what was happening, but had enough sense to realise that might not be a good idea. He moved towards the Hummers with his gear and tools and knocked gently on the roof next to Seamus "Whats up?" he asked

Fedor put his binos away and spoke to Cece and Mike as he brought the M60 to his shoulder.

"These soldiers are good soldiers. No time for funeral. Must leave now."

Mike's initial inclination was to engage the enemy patrol briefly at range, hopefully inflict a few casualties and then run for it before they were able to respond. Classic hit and run guerilla warfare tactics. Cecylia had a good point however and maybe avoiding an unnecessary contact was more important at the moment. They still had two bodies to bury however.

Glancing again between the other survivors around him he decided that discretion was still appropriate. "OK, the enemy patrol seems to be taking five so here's what we'll do. The Captain and Thomas keep burying our two fallen comrades, while the rest of us keep watch. Fedor, Seamus and I will keep watching them and it they start moving like they've spotted us then we'll engage. I'll take the patrol leader, Seamus the man with the machine gun and Fedor the radio man. Cecylia, you keep scanning in other directions, just in case someone is coming to meet them there but not from the same direction. Any questions?"

Thomas looks at Mike "We can bury them someplace else, Mike. How about we load them into the back and just bug out to somewhere less busy? They're not bothered where we bury them, but I don't wanna get shot whilst doing it. We can roll them in their ponchos for now."

As if the morning hadn't been dangerous enough, the Soviet patrol leader casually tossed out a colored smoke grenade. It was a bluish color and billowed with the breeze carrying the smoke high to the east. Every infantry trained soldier in their midst felt a pang of angst in the pit of their stomach.

That Soviet soldier had just thrown out a recognition signal. To punctuate their thoughts there was the drone of rotor blades from the northeast. (From the direction of the fighting around Kalisz) The sound wasn't loud, yet. But noone ever won a bet taking odds against the arrival of helicopter when an infantry patrol dropped smoke on their own position.

"Sergeant, We must leave now."

Fedor let go of the machinegun and looked down at Cecylia.

[Speaking Russian]

"Agreed," replied Mike with a nod to Fedor. The situation was very different now and they needed to put some distance between themselves, the smoke and the approaching helicopter. "Cecylia, you'll need to navigate and keep us updated over the radio. You can lead."

He then helped to quickly load the bodies up, one in the back of each vehicle, before grabbing Thomas. "Carter, you're in with Murphy and me now." They needed to even up their numbers and that seemed the simplest solution. Taking the driver's seat Mike then started up the engine at the same time as Captain Cave before picking a direction that took them away from both the infantry patrol and the sound of the helicopter, expecting the other HMMWV to overtake them and take the lead as soon as navigation was required.

Tom grabs his webbing after the bodies have been loaded, and heads to the vehicle assigned,
going to get in the back, before whispering to himself "shotgun" and getting in the front. He is uneasy about leaving the rest of his gear in the other vehicle - thats not how he was trained, but he realised they were in a hurry.

He glances back at the body behind them, not sure who it is, and then looks around the cab for a map, so he can try and work out where they are and at least try and keep tabs on that when they start moving. He says to Mike "Home James, via the scenic route if you please" Before adding "I guess I'm on comms as well?" gesturing at the radio

Cave moved with efficiency and without questioning the situation. It occurred to Thompson that the man seemed to be coming out of his funk.

The Soviets across the fields seemed to be alert but unaware of the two vehicles. A fact that made Fedor more restless. The HMMWVs would have move out of the low ground of the road bed at some point. And a helicopter didn't have to worry about intervening terrain.

The machine gun position on the vehicles put the gunners higher than anyone else. It was plain to see that soon they would be visible to the patrol. The machine guns weren't the stabilized guns of IFVs or MBTs. Firing on the move at anyone, especially troops gone to ground or a chopper buzzing about at a hundred fifty miles per hour would be a tough engagement from a moving HMMWV.

And it wasn't lost on anyone that a radio call would put their little convoy on the Soviets to do list.

As she stood with her hand on Mike's arm for a moment, Cecylia quickly felt the group dynamic change around her. They hadn't all been military, originally, but they had all been working as a unit for some time, which meant that a hierarchy had been established and followed since the beginning. Everyone had their fields of expertise and jobs, and those niches were acknowledged and respected.

Things were different now. Days ago, an officer or senior noncom would have made a call, and things would have begun moving. And although she wouldn't have said that they were currently arguing, she could see plainly that the group wasn't unanimous in their drives anymore.

Cecylia felt a bit ashamed at her own reaction to the situation. She had never considered herself callous but she felt like a hardened shell was starting to form itself around her. She had tried her best to hold on to her upper crust and high society manners, pushing a semblance of civility on the chaos that surrounded them, but she now felt tired... And as Fedor spoke to her, she flashed bright blue eyes filled with sadness at him. Was this really what they were coming to? She agreed with him, that burying the bodies didn't have any value beyond symbolism, and that traditions weren't worth losing what little life they had remaining.

And it all made her wonder: why? Just why were they doing all this? Fedor was Russian. She could easily pass for Russian. She had the fake papers back up their claims. They could head East, sneak across the lines again and just live out peacefully somewhere in the woods of Siberia...

She was about to speak up when Mike answered Fedor, and Cecylia felt her hearth get lighter. A knot untied itself in her stomach. If Fedor had tried to simply take the vehicle, she would have left with him, but part of her doubted the others would have simply let them go. Sean might have come with them, maybe even Thomas... but they would have broken the group. If they all split up now...

She shivered at the thought.



She nodded at him and immediately moved back to the HMMWV, doing her best to hide how relieved she felt. Taking the map out and sitting back into her place, she talked in a low tone to Fedor.

[Speaking Russian to Fedor]

She turned in her seat to look at her friend.

[Speaking Russian to Fedor]

Fedor knelt on the gunners platform and growled affectionately back at Cecylia.

"Если мне позволено выбирать, я выбираю их. Если я вынужден выбирать, я выбираю вас."

Seamus, back in his machine gunner's position, wondered when he was going to get a break from the array of excrement that was coming his way today. He really would like a nap; a few hours where he wasn't in this terrible situation and could dream of better times.

That would have to wait though as he remained on lookout.

To the northeast the drone of rotor blades became louder as a helicopter came into view. It was a Hip in NATO parlance, the ubiquitous Mi 17 transport. It was sporting manned machine guns to either side, most likely PKMs, though that seemed to be all.

As the chopper swooped into the area of the fields it made a straight approach towards the smoke trailing into the sky. But, on the ground, several of the troops in the patrol began to react to the bobbing sight of the HMMWVs as they sped away along the road to the northwest. It wasn't missed by Fedor or Seamus that one of the Soviets was pointing in their direction as another ran to the patrol leader in the middle of the line of soldiers.

"Can you see if that helicopter is following us?" Mike called out to Seamus and Tom in their HMMWV as he pushed it to its limits with his driving, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the enemy troops. At least it wasn't a heavily armed model of helicopter and, with a bit of luck, Seamus would be able to use the fifty cal to dissuade them from following.

Seamus made a quick vocal acknowledgement and turned to take a look. He choose not to point the machine gun in its direction; this would be a provocative move and he didn't want to start a fight if they didn't have to. They could probably take the Hip, but if the shooting brought company along.

So he waited for them to do something aggressive, so he wouldn't feel as bad about killing them.

The helicopter came in quickly and landed a short trot from the Soviet troops. To their surprise the machine did not immediately take off again. The patrol moved over to the helicopter but it was unclear what was happening due to the terrain. What was clear was that the Soviet forces in the area had air superiority if they could send out troop transports without escorts.

Tom fiddled with the vehicle radio trying to get comms with the other hummer "Mork calling Orson come in orson" he tries

In reply to Thomas Carter (msg # 132):

"Technically they are Hotel One and we are Hotel Five," Mike said to Tom, a half smile appearing briefly on his face of concentration as he drove. "Personally I don't give a damn about using official callsigns but are you sure that Cecylia will get the Mork and Mindy joke?"

Tom Shrugged "Ok. Maybe it was Morkovitch?" he tried again on the radio "Hotel One this is Hotel Five. Comms check. Over"

The helicopter suddenly began building power as the rotors kicked up a cloud of dust. In moments is was airborne with its nose pointed in their direction. Stomachs lurched, palms began to sweat, and possibilities began turning over in everyone's mind.

Fedor stomped the plywood gunners position floor.

"Грёбаный helicopter is coming right for us!"

The helicopter was still too far away for Seamus to effectively hit it; he'd need it to get with 450 metres to have a decent chance. The closer the better... but that of course factored back in the same way for them.

"Engage at 300 metres!" he cried out.

If the helicopter gets within 300 metres, Seamus will open fire at full automatic, aiming at the cockpit.

The helicopter gained speed, buzzed in close, and at around two hundred meters it arced back to the northeast. No shots were fired and no markers were dropped, although a Soviet soldier sitting near the rear of the chopper waved.

The HMMWVs made good time on the road, but their course would have to be altered to get to the meet. Coming over a rise the fields finally began to give way to less settled areas of vegetation with more forest ahead. There was a small village off to the northwestern edge of the road. It looked to be made up of around two dozen buildings. There was a Polish flag flying over a central building.

Seamus had been about to fire when it became clear to him that the Soviet helicopter was probably not and he held off. Once they moved off, he was massively relieved. They had engaged in enough fighting today.

As he saw the village on the road ahead, he took a look to see what state the Polish flag was in. If it was fresh, there was more likely to be some form of life there and a diversion from their planned route would be more worth their while.

"Now maybe we get some decent Bigos."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:21, Sun 31 Oct 2021.

Mike started to slow the HMMWV and waved at Captain Cave to do the same in his vehicle, aiming on stopping some distance from the village so that they could decide on their next move.

"We need to work out what we're doing next," he announced initially to Tom and Seamus but eventually to the others when they stopped as well. "Anyone fancy going and saying hello to a village that's flying a pre-communist Polish flag? From memory, I think that that means that they're allied with the Polish factions that have sided with NATO. Who knows if that's right though. And it would be a great way to set up a trap to sucker any NATO stragglers that were looking for somewhere to hole up. Anyone got any thoughts on what to do?" He addressed everyone, not just their commanding officer.

He also didn't reference the two dead bodies that they still needed to bury.

Captain Cave pulled up alongside the other HMMWV. He looked better than before. The last two days had been extraordinarily hard on the officer, it had frazzled the man for a moment. He still looked tired.

"I agree, Sergeant, we need to work out a few important details." Cave replied. "There hasn't been radio contact with NATO, US, or allied forces in nearly three hours. It's like they just suddenly fell off the planet. We don't know that we are still driving into a safe harbor or that the extract is still possible. And lastly, we have no way of resupplying fuel, ammunition, meds, etc., ect. without contact to a chain of command. So, what do we do?"

"I think that we need to bury two bodies quickly," replied Mike to the Captain's questions, "and then continue with Plan A if we can. We need to get to that Supply Depot ASAP and take a look at it. The lack of radio comms sounds bad but we need to check it out for ourselves, just in case. If there are other NATO troops there then great but if we don't like the look of it then we're moving on to the Rally Point to take a look at that. The lack of radio comms also raises a concern with that location." He then glanced at the Polish woman. "Cecylia, I've lost track of the distance to either of them though. Were you managing to map read while were driving? Do you know where we are?"

While Cecylia did some calculations Mike continued. "We also need to do a fuel check though and work out how much we have left. As there are only six of us now we could look to top off one of the HMMWVs with all of the fuel, cram all of us into it and then ditch the other. That would be really cramped and we'd probably have to dump some gear as well but it would give us more range if Plan A is screwed and both the Supply Depot and the Rally Point have been overrun."

He then nodded in the direction of the buildings to the north-western edge of the road. "With regards to the village I think that we bypass it. I think that making friends with the locals is Plan B and sticking with Plan A is still the objective for the moment."

Maybe that way he, and hopefully all of the others around him, would make it back to friendly lines.

Fedor nodded.

Peering back the a peeling helicopter, Cecylia reminded herself there were others like herself in this war; people who weren't in it to fight. Sure, she preferred her country not be under the thumb of a despotic regime, but she wasn't driven by some bloodlust either. She had met her share of Soviet soldiers who thought like her: they had either been conscripted and had no chips in the fight, or they just wanted some sort of security steady employment would give them and their families. Maybe, she thought as she settled back into her seat. Maybe that's how we beat this... We just stop shooting at each other long enough no one feels like fighting...

The rest of the drive was spent in utter silence, her attention alternating between the map spread across her lap, her compass and the scenery around them. Navigating had never been her strong suite, and even with the tips and tricks she picked up along the way, she was still better with a violin than with a map.

As the two HMMWV came to a stop alongside each other, Cecylia opened her door to stretch her legs outside.



Cecylia smirked. “Do not get hopes up too much... I see many cans in future for us.”

"Cecylia, I've lost track of the distance to either of them though. Were you managing to map read while were driving? Do you know where we are?"



She nodded quickly a few times, reaching back into the vehicle to get her map. Folding it a few times, she laid it partly on the hood.



“O-kay. So. We are about 25-30 kilometres from depot... and almost 40 from rendezvous... If I know what is name of village, we can have better range,” she added, shrugging. "I am sorry Sergeant, I know map reading from when being tourist..."

She folded the map back up, looking off towards the village. “It is looking peaceful; no reason to disturb them,” she said, turning to look at Mike. “I agree with you Sergeant.”

As the rest of the group weighed in, Cecylia briefly reached into the back of the HMMWV, grabed something and went over the second HMMWV, standing by its side, next to where Seamus was sitting in the turret.

“Private Murphy? It is Private, yes?” she said with her thick accent. “Before, I see you not take this,” she said, handing him a small IFAK she had grabbed. She stood on her tiptoes to reach him. “I hope you not need it, but safe is better than sorry, yes?” she added with a warm smile.

She was about to turn around and head back to her own vehicle before she stopped, seemingly remembering something. Reaching into the breast pocket of her civilian shirt, she pulled out a wrapped Pańska Skórka and handed it to Seamus. “Here, little sugar rush for road.”

Thomas had been trying to work out where they were on the map with little luck. When they stopped and Mike spoke he shrugged "Yeah, Plan A sounds good"

He tried to peer over Cecylias shoulder as she did her map reading, so he could update where they were on his map before they moved off.

He looked at the map and then up at Seamus "Murph. You got any binos? See if you can make out a name plate for the village so we can work out where we are" If Murph doesn't have any he'll get some for him

"No, need to borrow some," Seamus replied. As he waited for Thomas to hand him some, he asked another question.

"Now, I may not remember all my flags of the world, but how exactly is a pre-communist flag of Poland different from a communist flag of Poland? Pretty sure they're both white and red..."

"Well, the Poles, no offense Miss Wojcik, of the 1930's were, umph.." Cave began as he pulled a body bag from the HMMWV. It hit the ground hard, making him wince in regret. ".. a hardworking people with a very agrarian culture of small..."

Cave suddenly just fell. There was the hypersonic crack of a bullet to accompany as well. Before anyone could look, or even respond, his body fell to the mud next to the body bag he had just unloaded. As a grim reminder of fate's cold heart, Cave had been shot through the head with his helmet riding in the seat he had vacated when got out of the vehicle. Hearts restarted, there was a muffled muzzle blast heard to the northeast.

(OOC: Need some Recon rolls please. Gunner's make this roll without modifier because they are up higher and on the look out. Everyone else makes this roll at -1 since they were caught off-guard and close to the vehicles.)

22:58, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 2,2 using 1d10,1d8 with rolls of 2,2.  Recon.

Geez the RNG hates Fedor.

So Thomas has Recon F and Int B so I make that just 1d10 roll?

09:14, Today: Thomas Carter rolled 6 using 1d10-1.  Recon -1. - which is one success?

22:01, Yesterday: Cecylia Wojcik rolled 2,3 using 1d10,1d8.  Recon at -1.
That's a big fat no hits for me :)

@Thomas
Yes, you would be defaulting to your Attribute alone for the roll. On the other hand, modifiers (+ and -) denote "stepping your dice up or down", meaning that it becomes the next dice type up or down the line. So a -1 to an Int B roll would make your Int C, meaning you'd roll a d8 instead.

Thanks Cecylia

rolled again - still one success


10:25, Today: Thomas Carter rolled 6 using 1d8.  Recon -1.

OOC: Am I correct that the -1 modifier applies only to the skill unless you don't have the skill, in which case it applies to the Stat? I have the books now but not the time to look it up!

Mike has D10 Int and D8 Recon so I think that I'm rolling a D10 and a D6:

11:51, Today: Mike Thompson rolled 12 using d10+d6 ((6,6)).

If I'm correct then that's two successes for Mike.

(OOC: Good job guys, great teamwork to figure it as well.)

Cater happened to look towards Captain Cave as he was speaking to the group. While he didn't see the bullets impact, when the Captain turned towards the other body Carter happened to spy a faint reflection in a distant corner of a field. Then the Captain fell.

Thompson had just extended his entrenching tool and stepped towards Cave and the body when the Captain fell. It was a shock. But, in the back of his thoughts the soldier in him noted the angle of bullet's trajectory and immediately sent his ears searching for the rapport. It came a heartbeat after the fall of the Captain's corpse. Maybe two, two and half seconds. If it was a Dragonov, which it sort off sounded like, then it would be around eight hundred meters out.

Before everyone could really get moving in response to the attack another bullet cracked through area. It passed Thompson, reassuring his previous summations, and smacked into the side of a HMMWV less than a hands breadth from Cecylia's head.

This message was deleted by the player at 13:55, Wed 03 Nov 2021.

Thompson pointed in the direction he had seen something and yelled "sniper". AS he did he crouched and moved low over to the Captain to check him out, though first glance was that the Captain was KIA

Seamus was waiting to hear the response to the actual question when Cave went for a Burton.

He instinctively looked towards the village, lowering himself down slightly to minimise his target size... and was ready to unleash heavy weapons fire against the person responsible for yet someone else dying near him today.

Seamus Murphy rolled 1 using 1d10.  Recon with no modifier.

It was a whole jumbled mess.

If asked the exact order of events, Cecylia would be hard-pressed to retell the events. She felt happily coy at the gesture she had just done; bringing, she hoped, a glimmer of levity to the day they were enduring. She had felt the wind blow through her hair and smelled the wet grass close by. For anything but a moment, she had ever so briefly forgotten everything. The war, the death, the suffering, the fear. It had all been pushed to the back of her mind as she had stood there, on tiptoes, giving her favorite polish hard candy to a British soldier. A little gesture from a local to a man who had come to protect and liberate a country that wasn't his.

Everything and nothing happened all at once.

She saw Sean fall but didn't understand why he had fallen.
She heard the crack of the rifle but didn't connect it to Sean's fall.
She heard Thomas yell, but the words meant nothing.
She turned, dreadfully slow, and watched something ooze out of Sean's skull.

Something white and grey gleamed in the sunlight.

The color reminded her of the foam, coming off the waves from the British Channel as she stood, ankles deep in water, just off Portelet Beach.

Something hard smacked next to her face and she felt a cold mass drop down into her stomach. Immediately, she threw herself to the ground, not so much dropping prone as she simply smashed herself into the ground.

Her breath quickened, faster and faster, and she laid on her belly, watching blood flow from Sean's half-cracked skull. Half of his face was gone. The other half, eye open, stared into hers.

“No... No no no no no no no!!!!” she began frantically as the reality of the situation set in.

She crawled to him, and somehow, couldn't control the tears that began to flow freely.

“No, please no! No!” she kept saying.

Her hands trembled and hovered about the lifeless Captain's body, as if her mere presence could somehow put the pieces back together.

Fedor grabbed Cecylia by the back of her LBE and dragged her back to the cover of the vehicle.

[Polish]"He is gone Ogienya! Joining him solves nothing."

He hefted his AK/GL combo in his other hand and shouted to Thomas, "IS SNIPER IS OBVIOUS! TELL DIRECTION! DISTANCE! POINT WITH BULLETS!"

Thomas was knelt by the dead captain. He had seen many dead, but it always struck him how strange it was. The recently talking, moving person was gone, and all that was left was a body. As Fedor yelled, he looked up and pointed in the direction of the shot, shouting "that way. Didn't see enough to get a range." Pulling his own weapon round him, he crouched up behind the vehicle trying to peer in the direction the sniper was without exposing himself too much, to see if he could narrow down the direction for Fedor

She sat pressed against the back wheel, where Fedor had pulled her. The PM-84's receiver was digging into her ribs painfully. All she could do was look at Sean's lifeless body, just within arms reach. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking until she began looking at them. She ran the back of her sleeve across her face, clearing her vision only for a moment.

Around her, she could hear voices but they felt muffled, distant. It was like being underwater. She looked at Sean again and felt a wave of sadness and anger wash over her; something hot and boiling that made her face flush.

Reaching with her right hand, she felt her way to the door handle and threw it open so she could crawl inside and reach for some of the gear they had stowed away earlier. She rummaged around for a moment, doing her best to keep out of sight until she had found what she was looking for. She crawled back out of the HMMWV with one of Aleksy's smoke grenades.

She sniffed loudly, tears still streaking her face as she looked at Fedor briefly.

She nodded at him, pulled the pin, and threw the grenade so it would, eventually, conceal their vehicle from where they thought the sniper was.

Fedor took a smoke grenade from his own vest and tossed it to add to the smokescreen.

"I would like to kill him but if we can leave, is enough."

With his hiss, smoke started to build up near them. Instinctively, as if the sniper could hear them, Cecylia spoke in a whisper.

“Aleksy's rifle is in the back. He had a spotting scope as well...” she told Fedor.

"When is enough smoke I will borrow it."

Another bullet cracked through the space between the vehicles. Everyone ducked reflexively. The fire was coming from the northwest, across the open fields to their five o'clock. It was smart. The sniper had let them get into position with the forest and the village looking equally appealing as cover and concealment. The supply depot was straight on down this road for around ten kilometers and then a let turn for maybe three more klicks. Everyone began spinning their own doom and gloom calculations for an ambush. But, were any of them right?

(OOC: Everyone can make two rolls. One is a Recon roll to pick up on a few details about the current situation. Intelligence, Investigator, Scout, or Historian can be applied here. The other is a Command roll to get a bit of insight into the situation at large. Front Line Leader or Tactician can be applied here. The smoke is quickly billowing out, but there is a mild wind that will blow out across the fields in less the five minutes.)

OOC
11:45, Today: Cecylia Wojcik rolled 12 using 2d10 with rolls of 4,8.  Recon

That's 1 success, and Cecylia has both Historian and Intelligence


11:47, Today: Cecylia Wojcik rolled 3,4 using 1d12,1d6 with rolls of 3,4.  Command.

And that's a big fat 0 hits on Command. Man, I was really betting on that d12 :P

14:02, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 8,4 using 1d12,1d8 with rolls of 8,4.  Recon.

1 Success.

21:15, Today: Thomas Carter rolled 4 using 1d8.  Command.

21:14, Today: Thomas Carter rolled 10 using 1d10.  Recon. 2 Success
This message was last edited by the player at 20:30, Sun 07 Nov 2021.

Thomas Carter:

21:14, Today: Thomas Carter rolled 10 using 1d10.  Recon. 1 Success

10+ is 2 Successes.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:41, Sun 07 Nov 2021.

tar Fedor. Edited

21:06, Today: Seamus Murphy rolled 2 using 1d10.  Command.

21:04, Today: Seamus Murphy rolled 2 using 1d10.  Recon.

Fedor slid the Dragonov from its travel case. The weapon had a loaded magazine seated but not a chambered round. A quick motion that required less thought than ingrained habit changed that. As he turned, Fedor removed the scope's lens covers. It occurred to him that this other sniper was better than they were betting on. He was firing from a prone position against a long, narrow angle down hill. He had to have this area staked out, they would need to look for something the man was using as range markers. Walk them back to the man and they would know where he was and how far away he would be.

Cecylia was looking about. Hoping for a safe egress route to take away from this latest threat. They had already run into a tank patrol, a tank on picket duty, a roving infantry patrol, and now a well positioned sniper. It was too much. Almost like, then it hit her; this land was traditional farmlands. Heartland farms known for dark, rich soil and ample water. It was also the only place in the region still in the farming business. The Soviets where trying to ensure it stayed in their hands. The land here also ran southwest into a broad plateau that was known for scattered woodlands.

Carter sat up against the side of the M1114. He hoped that Seamus wasn't presenting to much of a target crouching down behind the heavy machine gun. A memory struck him. A year ago in a similar situation. They were stopped, dealing with a man wounded as their unit pulled out of action. A sniper had began his grizzly work on them. Keeping two their vehicles pinned down while the others fled. The medical truck and a single scout car, the one he was a crew member to and the other was the crew of the wounded man. Several people where hit and one was killed by the sniper. And then the real attack came after several crews with wire guided missiles set up and ambushed them.

Thompson was searching for the sniper's position, preparing to call them out the moment he was was certain. Seamus was baffled. The sniper had caught him well and truly off guard. He was having a hard time figuring out where to point the .50 machine gun for effective suppressive fire.

Every second that passed seem to stretch on the silence. All she could hear was the hiss of the two smoke grenades and her own heartbeat in her head. It felt agonizingly long, as if, at any moment, another shot would ring out.

She watch Fedor get the Dragunov out and immediately regretted suggesting it. Now matter how this unfolded, someone was getting shot again...

“When we move, we have to move southwest... It's heavier with woods there...” she said, feeling the pressure to break the silence. “I... Is there anything I can do?”

Tom started looking around at the others "When we bug out, we need to be alert - the sniper might be driving us into an ambush. SO Maybe don't go the obvious way?" he said, to no one and everyone. HE gave up on his weapon and slung it before trying to reach the Captains body to drag it in so they could load it up before moving out. As he moved, he was very careful to try and not expose himself to any fire

"Right," called Mike as he moved again to try to spot the sniper. "Who's going to drive the Captain's HMMWV when we bug out?"

The Captain had been a good guy, and his loss was a blow, but at least they could all fit into one vehicle now. Mike pushed that thought away though, conscious that it was a bad one to be having.


OOC - I don't know if it's too late for the skill checks but:
Recon - 16:11, Today: Mike Thompson rolled 17 using d10+d8 ((9,8)). - that's 2 successes and he has Intelligence specialisation as well. He's also trying to spot the sniper so does that check cover that as well?
Command - 16:13, Today: Mike Thompson rolled 7 using d10+d6 ((5,2)). - no successes

Fedor lay behind the back of the hummer looking under it into the distance.

Through the scope of the Dragunov he had found the man that had killed Captain Cave...and almost killed Cycilya.

He was camouflaged in a good position but Fedor could see him, knew where he was just over 700 meters away.

Offhandedly he whispered a response to Cece,

"Da..."

He exhaled slightly with the word and then held his breath and pressed the trigger.

14:45, Today: Fedor Ovcharenko rolled 5,6 using 1d6,1d12 with rolls of 5,6.  Tough Counter-Sniper Shot (-3).

1 Success. Dmg = 3. Location = Arm. Crit Roll = 2

He saw the puff of red mist as the bullet hit but at this range noone could tell the full effect.

In reply to Mike Thompson (msg # 175):

Seamus didn't answer about the driving. He wasn't the world's best driver; he'd gotten a couple of minor faults on his civilian driving test, although he could probably give the vehicle a driving in a pinch.

And it wasn't like speeding tickets were a thing now.

But he was needed to be a gunner. He heard Fedor's shot and looked in the direction of the village to see if that brought about any response. Hopefully someone falling to their death from a window. That would be nice.

Time passed by and no more shots came their way. Everyone was still in cover. But, they had the same hope; Fedor's shot had struck home. Fedor had a good feeling about the shot. The trigger squeeze had broke with a bit surprise and that was good sign. His grip and cheekweld had held solid letting him keep an eye on the target letting him see that there was an impact. The firer had pitched to the side in sort of roll into more concealment.

While it didn't have the inherent range and accuracy of a solid bolt action rifle, the SVD was a very functional weapon. And one he enjoyed firing. A thought cross his very Russian mind; was it a coincidence that fun and functional shared a root word in several languages.

Carter couldn't help but to keep checking their flanks. Those long, open, ground covered fields offered a lot of opportunity to a well trained crew. He gritted his teeth fearing an AT missile would suddenly come rocketing their way.

Seamus kept his eyes on the village. (OOC: I have confused Seamus, and maybe a few others. the sniper in not in or near the village. sorry to confuse you. the sniper is sort opposite the village. i will try to get a map of the area up soon.) He watched as shutters were closed. Probably in anticipation of a firefight. Then, did they know something he did not?

Thompson was looking about the area, keeping out of the line of sight of the sniper even after the mad Russian spy had taken his shot. He couldn't help but notice a stand of distant foliage. It just didn't jive somehow with the rest of the field. He couldn't put his finger on it. What Carter had warned them of stuck in the back of his mind, so Thompson stayed in a position that allowed him to look towards where the sniper fire came from as well as turn his head and watch that odd bit of foliage.

Cecylia was gathering herself emotionally. The last seventy-two hours had been very difficult on all of them. But, she was feeling it particularly close. Since the war had brought them to this area their little group had become very tight, close in a way she had never expected. And now each loss was like losing a relative. Maybe she just needed a few nights of sound, and safe, sleep.

"Cyan go now Sergeant. Should go now."

He continued to watch the area where the sniper had been and it's nearby environs. The narrow relief of the scope made searching difficult but he had a point of reference and limited his scan to it.

There was crackling, static riddled radio message. Or part of one.

"...two klicks due east of Slawin. The last helos will be pulling out at twenty-three hundred hours." A deep, and tired, woman's voice was saying. "All NATO district.." Static drowned out the voice, "are to proceed south along route..." her voice cracked, modulation differential during a frequency hop, " are advised to avoid conflicts with local forces that are also fleeing the advancing Soviet units..."

There was a whip-crack of static and squelch and the voice disappeared as suddenly as it had came over the radio. All that was left was faint whistle of the wind across the ground. There was the faint sound of insects in the distance.

Seamus heard the radio broadcast and continued to look for the sniper. It was entirely likely that the sniper had gone, one way or enough.

"No sense sitting round here waiting for him to set up again", he suggested. ""I do not fancy being the next person to die."

"Right, we need to get moving again," commented Mike. He glanced again at Fedor. "Fedor, you sure that you hit the sniper? And we either need another driver or we're condensing into one vehicle now. Any volunteers?"

Tom Looks up "I can give it a go if you like."

"Hit Da, kill Nyet."

He popped to his feet, still crouching somewhat in the shadow of the HUmvee, and tossed the SVD into the back seat.

"We go. I drive."

He opened the door for CeCe, leaving it open, and then bundled Capt. Cave's body into the cargo area (making sure to get the captain's weapon). It was perhaps a bit disturbing to watch as it was obvious Fedor has handled bodies by himself before.

Last he swung into the drivers seat and started the vehicle.

Getting moving again, the group picked themselves up. The radio message had been as unexpected as the sniper attack. But, it did make for a good reminder that Soviets have radios too. Fedor had just settled into the driver's seat and was about to start the HMMWV when another message came over the radio.


"Hold down the fort.  I'll be back if this doesn't work out," a man, an American, said. The transmission came through loud and clear. It was close, maybe within twenty kilometers.

What fort? Who was holding it down? Where was it? And just what was he about to do?

Several minutes later there was another transmission from the American in their area, and it wasn't what they wanted to hear, "Ragnarok six to any available NATO mortar or artillery battery.  Immediate suppression, Grid 697751, Soviet motorized rifle company in the open...
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:45, Tue 16 Nov 2021.

Tom sat in the vehicle as they bounced along, bounced again out of their position, and still unable to deal honourably with their dead, or even catch a breather.

When the radio sparked, he picked up the handset, looking at Mike and asking "Do we wanna respond to that? I'm not too hot on comms proceedure."

ooc
Not to sure what the comms system looks like for these Hummers, I am imagining a CB type thing, but I suppose it might be a head set plugged in somewhere?
This message was last edited by the player at 13:15, Wed 17 Nov 2021.

When the shot rang out, so close to her, it snapped Cecylia out of whatever reverie she had been in. She became acutely aware of the tears still stinging her eyes and how cold they felt as they rolled along her cheeks and down her neck. She sniffed too loudly for her taste and try to brush them off her face. She didn't feel ashamed by her display of emotion, simply caught off guard by it. Although much younger, Sean reminded her... had reminded her of Jules, in a way.

She watched Fedor put the lifeless body of the Captain into the HMMWV and felt something welt up again in the back of her throat. She took a deep breath, which she let out with a shudder of emotion.

Goodbye Sean. You got us this far.

This was life, now.

She smiled briefly at Fedor, a silent thank for his opening the door for her. She climbed in.

Like they had done so often before, Cecylia sat in silence next to Fedor, looking at the map in her lap now and again, making small notations. She glanced back at the mounted machine gun.

“I guess you're gonna have to show me how to use that at some point in the near future...” she said in Russian.

Even though Mike, Thomas and Seamus were just a few meters behind them, for a moment, Cecylia almost forgot about them. It was, for all intent and purposes, back to how things had been: just Fedor and her. Just the two of them, on the move, with no destination but West. Now that they had a vehicle, fuel, supplies... they could just hunker down somewhere and let the war roll over them. Grab a little farm along the way and just live there. Just forget everything.

“What if we manage to get to that NATO evac point and it's the real deal? You wanna go?”
This message was last edited by the player at 00:54, Wed 17 Nov 2021.

In reply to Thomas Carter (msg # 186):

"Not yet," replied Mike as he slowed the HMMWV down, looking for somewhere that they could park up for a few moments. "We need to work out where that grid is on the map and avoid it. Write it down for me please. I think that he said 697751."

Once they found somewhere to stop Mike got the map out and consulted Cecylia, trying to work out where they were in relation to the grid reference. If they could quickly bury at least one of the bodies then even better.

Tom had been trying to keep track of where they were on the map, so he "helped" when they tried to locate it on the map. Once they had it he looked in that direction, to see if there was any sign of incoming in that area, or even if they had heard something that could have been it.

"Sounds like that area may be getting hot, if its not already. So If we head there we won't have long to restock - assuming they let us, or haven't bugged out."

"I go where you go. There cannot be worse than here."

Fedor looked up at the mirror.

"They are stopping. Should we stop?"

Seamus heard the discussion about the incoming artillery strike and hoped they weren't close enough to the impact spot for it to hurt. For his part, he was still manning the gun, although crouched down a bit behind the shield in case a sniper decided he was next on the menu. Quite possibly literally in this day and age.

As they stopped, Seamus scanned the area for any bushes of the 'am' persuasion.

23:31, Today: Seamus Murphy rolled 10 using 1d10 ((10)).
This message was last edited by the player at 22:31, Thu 18 Nov 2021.

"You've never been to diner with my mother," she said with a momentary grin.

She hadn't thought of her parents in what felt like forever. The last time she had spoken with them, they had been in London. The last time she had heard of London was when nukes had begun falling on it.


She rolled her eyes and snorted a short laugh. "We better. What if they find some Bigos and we're not there?"

As the vehicle rolled to a stop, she took the map from between their seats and grabbed her compact SMG.

"Come on," she said, putting a hand on Fedor's shoulder. "Let's get through today."

The drive, even with Sean's lifeless body in the back, had allowed Cecylia to work back some semblance of composure. She climbed out of the HMMWV, map already half-folded out in her hand and walked up to Mike's opened door. They conferred briefly about the grid and radio call the whole team had heard.

“Grid is little northwest of depot,” she said glancing in the depot's direction as if she could see it. “It might be not related,” she added with a frown, not believing a word of it herself.

“If artillery would have answered on radio, we would hear, yes?” she said to Mike. “We are already close to depot. If there is Soviet, we can leave. If there is no, we get supplies.”

She folded the map and slipped it into her load-bearing vest. Leaning down, she put an arm on the opened door to support herself, a thick curl of bright red hair falling from her ear and to the side of her face. “We might not make evac point. Or maybe we make but no one there. If we need travel far, we need supply. Food. Water. Fuel. Parts for vehicle.”

She held Mike's gaze for a moment before glancing to Seamus and Thomas.

“You are CO of H platoon now,” said Cecylia, looking at Mike again. “I am just Language and Cultural Specialist,” she said with a shrug. “Depot might be dangerous, but I would like to see this NATO Culture for supplies,” she continued with a smirk.

She jerked her chin towards the radio. "Should we tell American we are close? Maybe he come to us? Maybe he tell us where Soviet is?"

Mike looked at the map and confirmed where the grid reference pointed to. He then tried to work out where they were now. "Cecylia, where do you think that we are?" he asked, cross referencing his opinion with hers to be certain. He didn't reply to her comment about him now being the CO of H platoon. He knew that and he felt the weight on his shoulders that this responsibility came with. He was far too old for this.

"I want to look at the supply depot but it might be best to go on foot once we're quite close as that's what we're trained for," he explained to everyone. Well, some of them were trained for recon work. "I also want to start burying the bodies. Let's dig a single grave initially, just to try to get someone in the ground. Tom and Cecylia, you start doing that. Fedor and Seamus, you two keep watch. I'll try contacting Ragnarok Six and see what that gets us." Ragnarok Six. Probably an officer, quite possibly a REMF Supply Officer who was going to take command even though they didn't know what they were doing. Mike hoped not.

"Ragnarok Six this is Hotel Five, SITREP please." he broadcast. Hopefully the officer would give him a load of information at minimal risk to the remains of H platoon.

Tom nodded at Mike and said to Cecylia "So our first date is digging a grave. Am I smooth or what?" and grins sheepishly, before getting a shovel from the hummer and after choosing a likely spot starting to dig.

He muttered to himself "I wonder how many of these we are going to start before we manage to give these guys a decent burial..."

There was an unexpected explosion.

All heads turned, whipping towards the blast. For Seamus and Thompson it was clear what had just happened because both had been on a battlefield where wire guided missiles had been used often enough. And one just land about one hundred meters short of the M1114 when it ran out of guidance wire. Fedor didn't have to guess to hard to understand that an attack on the HMMWVs with an ATGM had just occurred. It was something he had done at a previous time in his own life.

A few seconds later came the sound, a sort low rumble caused by the missile's passage through the air. Fedor recognized the sound, a KONKURS. The missile's contrail come from the edge of the tree line to the east, nearly two kilometers away. Probably a team working with the sniper earlier. Carter nearly dropped his shovel even as he lunged for the first scoop of earth. Cecylia's reply fell unspoken from her thoughts. She was just glad that they hadn't chosen to drag the bodies off the HMMWVs yet.

Thompson was standing at the side of the M998 and about to say something that every NCO should say in such an event, stopped, and decided it just wasn't needed. He turned his head, realizing everyone had just unassed the vehicles making them a stationary target, and opened his mouth to say something when there was what sounded like a double squelch on the radio. His head turned, again, and he looked at the radio. Now what?
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:22, Sat 20 Nov 2021.

Seamus swung his heavy machine gun towards the direction of the contrail to see what anything was visible. It was tempting to just blast the area with automatic fire, but at that range, he wasn't very likely to hit anything. And he didn't want to find out what had engaged them from two kilometres away. Because it could easily engage them again.

"Is Goddamn anti-tank missile KONKURS!"

Fedor beat on the hull of Seamus' humvee with his palm.

"Shoot! Shoot! Goddammit, they do not know you can't hit them!"

He hustled around to the drivers side of his own vehicle and swung into the drivers seat. He started the vehicle but waited for CeCe (and anyone else who is getting in) to get in before he moved.

"Mount up and let's get the hell out of here!" Mike called to everyone as he hurried back to his own vehicle and climbed into the driver's seat. When Carter climbed in next to him he turned to the medic. "Keep listening to the radio. That bloke Ragnarok Six sent a double squelch so he's alive but having to keep quiet. My guess is that he's at the supply depot and it's currently being approached by enemy forces."

He then started driving away from the direction the missile had come from before, after he was sure that they had put enough distance between them and whoever had fired it to be unobserved, turning in the direction of the supply depot.

"God damn Russians are well equipped," he muttered to himself as he drove. "First helicopters and now they're firing a bloody anti-tank missile at a HMMWV. Enough munitions to blow them on us. And we had reports that the Soviet vehicles were using petrol not alcohol in their counterattack. They must have had massive reserves that they just cashed in. And they ain't stopping."

In reply to Fedor Ovcharenko (msg # 198):

Seamus yelled back.

"I am not wasting good ammo on a target I have no chance of hitting!"

As they drove away, he continued to keep an eye on the direction the missile had come from, but doubted he was going to get anything at the moment. He wished he was back in his tank.