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.