Schwerpunkt '89 | IC Thread

[ze_kraken]

Marcellus;Quicksand;LB;

4 March 1989 - Just Outside New Hanover

There were few times when Ewan Roberts wished he was crammed tight inside of a Bradley - a vehicle too loud for reconnaissance, too small to adequately transport troops, and too lightly armed to be an armored fighting vehicle. But as he looked out over the cupola of Wojtek - Ranger Team 1's affectionate name for their looted T-34 tank - watching as their HMMV escort drove ahead of them along the lonely stretch of highway, he reflected longingly back on the days when he had been a cavalry scout. Even when Wojtek had been in full working order, it was more temperamental than a Bradley ever had been and twice as loud. Every crank of the transmission or stuck gear shift shuddering at the brute-force grip of its driver drove nails in his ears, but he was more pragmatic than to let the vehicle's shortcomings distract him from the fact that a tank was still a tank. Even if that tank only carried four shells.

Not that the space where ammunition might have once gone was loaded with supplies, either. Ranger Team 1 traveled light, and though Wojtek had been retrofitted with a proper two-way radio (something its former Soviet engineers had decided was a luxury reserved only for officers) and extra stowage both inside and outside the tank, precious little save for a week's worth of rations and empty canvas sacks were to be found. The bow gunner's seat now housed a small repository of various personal effects and the crew's kit, including to Otto's request a coffee grinder on the off chance they stumbled upon a bag of beans.

Roberts scraped a bit of remaining white wash from the ring of the commander's hatch. With the worst of winter passed, the team had washed off their winter camouflage from both the T-34 and HMMV but had been redeployed before being able to paint on a new scheme. Ashen greys and browns were in style now - a far departure from the standard NATO forest green, black, and brown Roberts was used to but then again it was well-suited. Outside of Wojtek the world was dreary, even for an overcast early morning. Grey clouds hung low, blotting out much of the dawn light and leaving the highway in an eerie subdued patchwork of orange and pink. What trees there were along the road were mostly bare - either dead or slow to readopt their leaves after the long winter.

What else there was to look at was as washed out and desaturated as the sunlight was. Burned out, rusted hulks of cars dotted the road. The grass was a pale, dead straw-like color. Even the buildings, where once there might have been bright coloration, were faded. Roberts, to distract himself from the all too familiar bleakness of early morning trips such as these, fetched his map from where it rested folded by the commander's seat and stood back up, unfurling the map over the top of the tank's turret. On Ranger Team 2's return from the field, they had reported a concentration of movement around the city Magdeburg of unknown affiliation. They'd claimed to have spotted a tracked vehicle, though admitted it may have been a BTR. Now Ranger Team 1, on its rotation out in the field, was en route to Harz where they were to park their vehicles and use the mountain to investigate the valley below, report back what there was to see, and engage only as a means of last resort.

The winter had been remarkably quiet, which did not give Roberts high hopes that their luck would continue into the spring. Spring always heralded violence when the snow drifts cleared and the ice thawed, groups would take back to the wastes and forage for what they may have missed the year before. This year would likely be no different, which is why he sat now in Wojtek and had not insisted the team all try and cram into a HMMV. His eyes drifted to the vehicle ahead, catching a glimpse of electric-blue hair from the edge of the turret hatch of the HMMV. With an agitated snarl, Roberts fetched the radio from the commander's seat.

"Abbot," he said, hailing the team's part-time passenger and doctor. "Tell Weber if I can still see her damn hair when we turn off this road that means every God-damned bushwhack sniper can, too."

He shut the radio off without waiting for confirmation and slipped back into the relative warmth of the tank's interior, shutting the top hatch behind him. He nudged the driver to get his attention. Without turning, the driver acknowledged with a grunt, cold wind still streaming in from his open driver's hatch.

"We're taking the next exit if it's clear, then it's a straight show down the road to Harz," Roberts explained. "I'll go notify the HMMV to run ahead and scout out the way along the road."

---
​

The last hour of the trip went just as uneventfully as the first had. Their pace was frustratingly slow on account of wrecked vehicles and a desire to both remain relatively obscured and conserve fuel. It was just before 10:00 in the morning by the time they arrive at the base of Harz. There the team dismounted, casting camo nets and bits of tree branches over their vehicles and fetching their personal kits. The tank's driver remained as an outpost guard at the base, instructed to watch over the tank and the HMMV and notify them of any attempts to flank from the rear. Roberts carried a plain hunting shotgun fitted with a scope, sidearm holstered at his hip, and a radio set tucked in his pack. He chided Weber again to cover her hair before leading the time up the mountain.

Their climb took the better part of the morning to complete, putting them at its summit by noon. The sun now was bright enough to cast more than a hazy glow over the countryside, but it made the world no less drab. From their vantage point they could see much of the same as had been on the road - a desaturated landscape dotted with the remnants of the world as it had been.

The team was situated in a treeline atop a ridge of the mountain, granting them a clear view of all the roads about them as well as a relatively unobstructed view of Magdeburg below, enough that a vehicle would be clear to them in any case. Otto took up overwatch along the ridge while the others set up their operating post. They set up a small card table and began fetching kindling to make a fire if the situation allowed for it, planting Roberts' radio atop the table as well as a handful of other personal effects. Their bedrolls were laid out behind the treeline by the ridge, and stones and branches were co-opted to improve their concealment where there were open spots along the ridge.

The afternoon sailed by as dully as that day had. A few team members traded shifts on watch while the others busied themselves playing cards, recounting old stories told now a dozen times over, or piecing together Finn's joke book from cards they had found in various department stores, pharmacies, or supermarkets. All was well until about 16:00 when Roberts, on watch duty, spotted movement in the remnants of the city below the mountain. Smoke from a vehicle's exhaust became clear in the fading light of twilight - and was only visible against its grey backdrop on account of the amber-hue the haze of the city below took on.

"We've got motion down below," Roberts reported. "Looks like Team 2 had it right. We'll take the evening, plan our approach and keep an eye out then set out at 'o-six-hundred tomorrow. Otto, Abbot - you're up."

Roberts consulted his map, comparing their ridgeline to the relative distance down to the city below.

"If anything gets within about one klick of the ridge let me know - if they get within half a klick you drop 'em," he said. "Weber, Wei, and Baguette you three make for that treeline just below there and watch our western flank. Stay concealed, don't fire unless immediately threatened. Report back here at nineteen-hundred."

 

[Dakota K5]

Otto White

Interaction: Tom Abbot @Kuno
-----
The snipper looked at the map himself as he did some quick math in his head, with the limited ammo he was rather sour on the idea of taking shots out to half a kilometer. He ran his thumb along the top of his tomahawk in thought before letting out a click with his tongue as he began to check his weapons as he prepared for the overwatch. His rifle was always in working order, even when he hadn't needed to fire it he went over it piece by piece every night before he slept, something he had picked up in the humid jungles of Vietnam when thing went wrong more oft than not but what he truly focused on was the Browning Hipower he had gotten just before the initial push back into the soviet lines and well before the bombs fell. The twenty round magazines he had made post-war by a smith in New Hanover, rough-looking but functioned just as if the factory had made them, the gun itself had blemishes and scars from combat and just general wear.
He moved off to Tom's right side. "Anywhere in particular you want to set up Tom?" Otto asked, his voice coming out smooth and baritone rich like coffee or chocolate, the type of voice you expect on a musician, not a man of war but the dice didn't shake out that way. Otto looked on to the good doctor while the sling to his rifle let it sit and hang across his stomach as the sling pressed into his shoulders, he figured he'd let Tom chose their little waiting position since Otto was used to sitting still for long periods of time comfortable or not and he'd just as soon plop down on a particularly shaded rock for all it mattered in the long run for him.​

 

[Kazama]

Day One...

Finn Wei, mid 20's and in need of a haircut and a shave, pulled the collar of his jacket closer over his neck and blew air into his hands. Even in the passenger seat of the HMMV, the chill came right through the vehicle's hull and nibbled at their fingers. The cheap faux wool on the popped collar brushed up underneath his chin and he rubbed his arms, dragging pale, calloused hands across the fabric, and over the Ranger Team 1 patch that had been sewn over the shoulder.

It had been a particularly brutal winter, even for New Hanover. The snow was clearing away, but the chill in the air still stung. He could still see icicles hanging from underneath old porches, faded street signs, and replacing the leaves on dark tree branches. They were caught in that awful purgatory between the white, snowy winter and the inevitable green bloom of spring. The trees and foliage wouldn't start coming back for some time yet, but once they did, they'd turn the barren grey into a wild land; with new problems and new dangers. Spring meant warmth. Warmth meant wolves and bears. And other people.

He pressed a heavily modified map against the dashboard of the HMMV, rolling his thumbs over the edges to keep them flat. Notes and scribbles covered the map, streets and town centers had their names covered up by arrows, x's, and rough drawings. A slew of warnings and notes traveled across the map.

'COLLAPSED BRIDGE/DETOUR THIS WAY ->'
'RUBBLE ON ROAD - NO CARS PASS, WALKING/BIKE OKAY'
'PASSAGE FLOODED - CLEAR - FLOODED - FROZEN, PASSABLE, GO SLOW'
'BEAR.'
'CAMP: CIVILIAN, SMALL GROUP (HAD HORSES AND GUNS - NO CONTACT MADE)'

Keeping these maps updated was part of his job. Roberts had a copy of the map Finn was scribbling on now, but the original stayed with Finn and even if the map was only a few weeks old, the world outside New Hanover's walls changed constantly. Details on a map were only ever accurate for a few weeks, sometimes a few days. And winter always put them behind the curve when it came to pathfinding. The ice and snow made it difficult to travel, he could make maybe half the scouting trips he usually could, and even then, only go half as far.

"Watch this turn here, I think this was all covered in ice last time." he warned the driver, looking up from the map and craning his neck to look ahead.

He had never been to New Hanover before the war, but he'd always meant to ask if it always got this cold in winter. He was from New York. He thought he knew what cold was, but winter in New Hanover had taught him just how bad it could really get.

"I guess not anymore," he said as they came to a sharp, narrow turn between a pair of crumbling apartment buildings. He crossed something out on the map and wrote a new note, one hand idly playing with the piercing on his upper ear. He'd forgotten to take them off... again. Oh well.

...

The vantage point saw a little more updating to the maps, but more relaxing than anything. This spot was familiar to Finn, he'd come up here on his own a few times doing recon. It was a good spot to set up temporary camp. You could see a lot of the surrounding region from here, and it had a lot of trouble seeing you from down there. There was a road nearby that posed a bit of a concern. It was clear of vehicles, with mostly good road condition, and had a lot of cover from both sides. It wasn't uncommon to see travelers on it, usually just people moving from place to place. But bigger, militarized groups tended to use it too. You might catch a trail of exhaust or hear something heavy roll over a bump from time to time.

Most of the day was spent wasting time. Playing cards, cleaning his weapons, listening to stories about memorable fuckups for the fifth time, and making a little sketch of the camp in a journal. At one point, he and Sabine managed to sneak off to the edge of camp. He kept a couple of pre-rolled joints in a cigarette case; little brown paper stems worth their weight in gold. That was the highlight of the day.

Later that night when the order came to keep watch near the tree line, he clicked his tongue with a grimace. Orders are orders, but he'd been looking forward to sleep.

As they packed their stuff to set up down by the trees for the night, he half-joked to Silas and Sabine, but within earshot of Roberts, "And if we see that big grizzly bear do we just scream really loud or tell it to report back here?"

 

[Kuno]

DR. TOM ABBOT

The absence of snow and frost upon the ground was utterly deceiving. Vestiges of Old Man Winter still held the landscape in its gnarled clutches, and the cold nipped at whatever skin was woefully exposed. It was thankfully too warm to allow frostbite to be a concern. Yet old habits die hard; Tom's toes wriggled consistently within his boots, and his hands rubbed together every so often, the friction leaving transient warmth in its wake.

Doctor Abbot was a man of functionality. Pragmatism was championed over vanity, which was why he did not seem to mind that he was beginning to resemble a bear that had just crawled out of hibernation. It never ceased to surprise him how quickly his hair grew after a good cut and shave, as if the entire process was borne out of spite. The cold had given him no reason to contend with it, and now he was left with the results: thick hair and growing beard that he - if left unchecked - was quite sure would dominate his face.

Today, however, it appeared to serve its purpose. Indeed, it was a cold and dreary morning. Miserable, as they all tended to be. Tom's eyes swept over the barren landscape as the HMMV roared down the road. There was a sense of eerie foreboding in the stiff lifelessness that pervaded their surroundings - and, of course, some relief. New Hanover and its denizens thrived in the land's stagnation. With Mother Nature's return came the inevitable march of activity. New growth meant movement, and movement more people. More threats. More headaches.

"Abbot."

Tom snapped to attention at once. Their leader's words spilled through the radio in a comically peeved fashion, and the good doctor's eyes crinkled with the barest of smiles. He radioed in confirmation that he'd heard Roberts before sitting back against his seat, eyeing the aforementioned Weber with a knowing look.

It was a conversation they'd had already. Multiple times.

"A good 'ead scarf'll do ya good, love." What might have been a joke was deadened by his dull tone. "Roberts says ya 'ead's visible. Keep 'er down low, yea?"

-------------

The first leg of the trip arrived with little fanfare. Work was scant; once camp had been made and posts eked out, there wasn't much left to do but shoot the breeze.

Tom wasn't much of a card player, and he certainly had no, say, herbal modes of distraction to pass the time. Once conversation had lulled into restful silence, he'd been left to his own devices. He decided to tackle his latest project: The Count of Monte Cristo - a bloody behemoth of a novel that was frankly more trouble than it was worth. But Tom both welcomed reading and challenges, and so set himself to task with all the enthusiasm his stoic nature could muster. Edmund Dantes was in the throes of betrayal when he was abruptly called to action. The large book was left behind in favor of his shotgun, and he came up alongside Otto with a slow, leisurely pace.

The man was quick to move to Tom's right side before speaking, something the doctor noted with a small, grateful nod. At his inquiry, caramel eyes drew up, scanning the desolate mountain ridge.

" 'ere's a spot over there-" His finger lifted, pointing at a fairly level, bush-laden patch near the edge of the ridge's center. His head turned, and his finger with it. "Or down there, by the-"

"Thomas, eye's peeled, ja."

Interrupting his stream of words was a familiar feminine voice. At the same time, his elbow was squeezed lightly, and Tom swiveled, his eyes immediately accosted by brilliant blue.

"Don't fall asleep old man, ok." Sabine teased.

He couldn't help himself. The grunt that followed was equal parts dismissive and confirmative, and as the young woman turned and went away, he called after her, rather naggingly, "You bettah cover that hair, alright?"

Barring any further interruptions, he turned his attention back to Otto.

"Sorry. But yea - either or, or a spot of your own. Doesn't ma'er. I'll follow suit."


small exchange with @Applo

 

[Applo]

---

"Ja!"

From behind lazily licking flames, a tattooed arm lazy punched the air at Robet's order. Curled cat-like on her bedroll, Sabine had been dozing in the pool of warmth around the campfire as she paid the not all that steep price of the dutch cigarette she had shared with Finn. Now she propped herself half upright so her face was visible above the flames, or at least would have been if a swathe of blue hair hadn't fallen across it like a curtain.

"You know how much I love to lie in the dirt and stare at trees."

Despite the sarcastic grumbling at Ewan's orders, as Sabine swept the errant hair aside, her face was revealed to be spread in a wide lazy grin. Once on her feet, the east german moved with an unhurried gait that matched the expression as she dragged her bedroll back to its original position and started to pull her gear together.

"And if we see that big grizzly bear do we just scream really loud or tell it to report back here?"

Looking up from the magazine she was inspecting for what had to be the one-hundredth time, Sabine stared at Fin quizzically for a moment, one solitary eyebrow raised.

"If we see the bear, you two can play ermm..

A fist balled up at her side and shook up and down rhythmically and the somewhat confused expression morphed into one of dark glee.

"scissor, stone and paper to see which one of you has to get eaten first. While the bear is busy, I'll come back to let everyone know what happened like a good soldier."

For a split second the malevolent stare held before Sabine cracked, laughing quietly and sticking her tongue out at the American.

"If you are ready, go. I'll catch up to you"

Dropping the mag into her pack, Sabine stood up, grey eyes canning the clearing until they fell upon a familiar sight. Tom was already making plans with his assigned partner by the time she had crossed the camp to get to him. Sabine didn't wait for a gap in the conversation.

"Thomas, eye's peeled, ja."

Gripping the doctor's elbow, she squeezed slightly. The gesture conveyed a simple message the words could never do justice to. And then with a blink of her grey eyes, Sabine let go.

"Don't fall asleep old man, ok."

The grunt that she got in response was enough, it carried just as much meaning as her slight embrace had, and Sabine spun on her heels.

"You bettah cover that hair, alright?"

Unseen to the doctor, grey eyes rolled at the admonishment. By way of a response, Sabine flicked her hair into the air so that just for a moment the world around her head was an electric-blue explosion. Point made, she broke into a light jog to catch up with the rest of her team for the afternoon.​

---

 

[HiveFleetDelicious]

Silas was not particularly excited about pulling overwatch duty in the snow. He was used to the desert and could bear the heat quite well, but the cold was a new and untackled threat as far as Silas was concerned. Then there was the matter of his fireteam members. Silas was new to Ranger Team 1 and so was unused to his new comrades which made him wary, granted Ranger Team 1 had a good reputation and Silas rationalized that anyone out here was proven in terms of competence and reliability. Also he figured the cold would have killed him by now if it was going to at all and being miserable still beat being dead.

Silas methodically checked his gear making sure his sling was properly tightened and in place, checking that his rifle was properly sighted in, and verifying his flashlight had good batteries and the red light filter was in place. as he also shed his repair kit as it would only prove an encumbrance while on watch. He then made his way to his companions meeting up with them just in time to hear some talk of bears, particularly ones not native to Europe. Silas saw this as an opportunity to ease a few concerns

"This is Europe, we don't have ze large American bears. Here the bears are much smaller and are fearful to approach groups of humans, so a game of Rochambeau wouldn't be necessary." He paused, hoping to build a bit of tension. " 'Owever with the winters lately, ze tigers might have spread west from Siberia."

Silas chuckled to himself as he headed off towards the edge of camp stopping to spot a good place to keep a lookout while maximizing concealment.

 

[Kuno]

EAGLE EYES

Otto let out a breath as he looked at the few spots Tom had pointed to while he spoke to Sabine, electric blue caught Otto's eye out of the old habit of looking for things out of place. If one thing he never would lose it was spotting things that didn't occur naturally and Sabine's hair was one of them for sure, he'd have made an admonishment of the girl if he wasn't sure no one was keen on using the ammunition they really couldn't spare on her just because she presented herself so brightly as it were. The thoughts led him to rub his hand against the 10 extra rounds of 308 he had tucked away on him for his rifle and the little room for error he had should he need to fire, as the thoughts drifted away from his mind like so much exhaust from their vehicles Otto made his way to a spot a little ways between the first one Tom had pointed out, a large flat stone jutted from the ground about the size of a motorcycle that was still partially covered in snow that'd provide a good rest for his rifle looking down into the pathways up should he need to fire, he assumed Tom would be following without it needing to be said so Otto made his position as he liked before setting his rifle across his lap and pulling out his binoculars and putting a small piece of snow into his mouth before scanning the valley below.

Loosely mirroring the other man's position, the Brit settled a yard away. He, too, fished his binoculars from within his pack, though he stopped just shy of raising them, instead letting the object fall against the gun in his lap.

It wasn't the worst assignment. Desolate corpse of a city aside, the view from atop the ridge was in itself a spectacular sight for the eyes. He supposed a sort of somber beauty could be found in the buildings themselves. Inspiration for the budding artist within, perhaps, in another life.

"Nice view, yeah?"

Tom's breath cooled and curled away in the cold. He glanced aside at Otto.

"Been up 'ere before?" He asked.

Otto handed a small bit of snow to the Doctor.

"Put this in your mouth so your breath doesn't rise, we might not be the only ones looking."
Otto spoke quietly as he put the binos down and thought on the other man's words

"Not up here specifically no, at least that I can recall, the layout of the land feels familiar to me but I couldn't tell you for sure."

Otto peered through again looking for any movement that might catch his eye, it wasn't much to look at in Otto's own opinion but he wasn't going to voice that. Land and nature was something Otto had appreciated in his youth but no longer.
"You'll have to forgive me Tom, I ain't much of a talker, kinda comes as a habit now a days."

Otto patted his rifle to indicate what he meant as he continued to look on.

It was an old military trick - one that Tom may have forgotten...purposefully.

He was a compliant teammate. The icy snow pressing against his gums kept the man occupied while Otto continued his watch, and he listened attentively to the American.

The latter statement came as no surprise to him. If there was one thing he'd come to learn about Otto, it was that he liked to keep to himself. Quiet as kept. A military man through and through.

"Understood," Tom murmured. He shifted so that he leaned down even lower on the rock, though he kept his right ear facing Otto. There was a hint of humor in his voice as he added, a bit ruefully, "I'll cut down on the cha'er. Don't want to be a bovah."

His own binoculars came to meet against his eyes.

"What say I keep eyes on the west, you on the east?"

Otto grunted in affirmative to Tom's suggestion though not without some words.

"Not a bother, I just prefer to listen then talk. Mostly in times of mission."

Otto's words came out slightly slurred as the cold snow melted in his mouth obstructing his speech as he settled in to watch the eastern approaches, silence and the wind being the prevailing companion to the two men.

And prevail they did for a moment longer. Tom allowed the solemn quiet of their watch to continue seconds more, brown eyes peering through his old, weathered binoculars. There was of yet no movement - he thought he spied a bird picking about the dried hull of a shopping cart, but at second glance it was revealed to be a trick of the eye. Bits of rubbish were picked up and carried about in the slight wind.

Tom's voice was low, petering out into the silence much like the far-off debris in the air.

"I'll tell ya what, Otto." His eyes remained glued to his side of the perimeter, through the binoculars lowered. "I agree with ya. Though 's bit of a boon when larkin' around in times like these. Good for makin' the watch go quicker."

He crooked a brow at Otto.

"Makes a watch go quicker but also distracts from the objective."

His voice came quick as Otto looked on, he set his binos down.

"Look Tom, if you want to talk we can talk but I ain't able to sit here and have an in depth conversation."

It might have sounded cold or impersonal but it was neither, he just didn't want to miss things that might need to be seen. He fiddled with his tomahawk a little, flicking his nail against the head of the blade, a light sound ringing out and getting lost in the wind each time, an unconscious action on Otto's part.

Motion caught the sniper's attention, down in the village below them. There was no trace of the exhaust from whatever vehicle they had spotted earlier that day, but Otto could make out a trio of armed men wandering through the wreckage of what might have once been a gas station, its sign hanging along loose threads of wire that once carried power to light the corporate logo. There was no mistaking their uniforms, tattered though they were.

As Otto adjusted his scope to hone in on the three men below, he spotted the trademark khaki uniforms and wide-brimmed helmets of the Volksarmee. Though they looked to be clutching firearms lined out in wood, the exact make and model of their weaponry was difficult to ascertain as they spread out over the wreckage and took up concealed positions in the structure. Had Otto not spotted them and known where they sat, they might have been impossible to pick out from their distance.

There the three men waited, and through his scope Otto could spot the third of them bringing out a card table and a crate. He set the table up and sat by it, hoisting something from his back and planting it atop the table. There he remained, fussing with the device atop the table.

"Head's up Tom, three foot mobiles. Their Volk units, armed with rifles of some sort, might be old Mausers but I can't quite tell."

Otto's scope focused on the man with the device at the table before he relayed more info to Tom.

"Old gas station, they're taking up defensive positions around the third with something on a fold out table down there. Might be a radio or some sort of transmitter but I can't tell that either."

Otto moved so he was laying flat on his stomach rather than sitting as he had been and braced himself and his rifle against the rock to steady his sight and aim.

"I need you to spot for me Tom, your binos got a better magnification than my scope."

There was a slight scrape of leather against stone as Tom angled his body to face the direction where Otto looked. He hunkered down, raising his binoculars to his eyes.

There was the old gas station, as he'd said. For a moment, Tom struggled to discern where the trio of men were positioned until he adjusted the lens. He let out a soft sigh.

"I see 'em."

The clunky helmets were a dead giveaway for the trained eye, and he panned his view intermittently from the two soldiers hidden within the ruins to the third, a man who was currently busying himself with…

What the hell was that?

collab with @Dakota K5

 

[Applo]

All Quiet on the Western Front?​

---

"I guess Robert's wanted us here?"

Punctured daylight cast slight shadows as it shone through the edge of the forest that had provided the group with cover so far. Beyond, the valley stretched out before them in all its muted glory. Sabine could see why their 'superior' had sent them here. Anyone approaching the camp from this direction had nowhere to hide. Unfortunately, being on the treeline meant that wind she had so far been sheltered from stole away what little warmth the blue-haired punk had managed to hold onto so far. Sabine could already feel tingling in her toes and she stomped her boots a few times to try and drive away a little of the cold.

"How much do you wanna bet it's just some travelers or something?" Finn rubbed his hands together.

Finn was back to pulling the furred collar on his jacket up over his neck and fighting to keep it there now that the cold had found them again. Silas' apparent lack of concern over big American bears got a scoff out of him. He gave Sabine a knowing glance.

"Okay well, about that," he began, picking a tree and setting his pack down at its base, "You know Makar, that guy with one arm? Slavic dude, works in the kitchen? Big scar on his cheek, like this," Finn drags a finger from the bridge of his nose to his cheek, "Has he told you the story about how he lost that arm?"

As he began to go into the story, Finn made himself comfortable, settling himself next to his stuff with his back to the tree.

"So, around two years ago...ish he was one of the scouts. His patrol routes were sort of northwest of the town, around where that big cemetery is. And around that time, and in that area, we'd been getting reports of a bear. But not just any bear. A grizzly bear," Finn held his hands a few inches apart in front of his face, "A seriously big one. It was mostly just rumors, and we didn't really think it was real till a patrol ran into it."

"Makar was taking point, and the way he tells it, they ran into it just outside the cemetery on their way back to the camp they'd set up. It was right on the camp, just sort of nosing around their stuff. When it sees them, rather than get all cautious like the other bears we see, it gets aggressive and starts snarling at them. So they shoot at it."

He paused for dramatic effect.

"They lit this thing up with rifles and all that did was piss it off. It charges, Makar's on point so he's in the way, and this whole time his squad's still shooting at it. It gets to him, swipes with a big paw and he tries to back up but it kinda catches his hands and his gun. According to him, it hit him so hard it broke his wrist right there. After that it pounces on him and gets that arm in its mouth and just goes to fuckin' town."

"This thing mauls the shit out of him and it probably would've killed him if somebody hadn't run up and shot it in the eye. Only then does it run off. They rush him to town and he just barely makes it. He lived, obviously, but they couldn't save his arm."

"After that there was a big hunt to try and kill it, but nobody found it again. Everyone just started calling it the Grizzly. It's still there, someone sees it every now and then. Dunno where it came from but, there's a reason some of the guys on the patrol teams take mace and bear repellant and stuff."

"I think they would be better to take peanut butter." Rolling her eyes at yet another rendition of Finn's favourite story, Sabine flicked down her gun's bi-pod legs. The unwieldy instrument of death down was placed next to a tree so that its trunk would hide her. A fallen branch, heavy with pine needles, was used to cover the ground. Sabine dragged it some twenty meters from where it had fallen before she settled behind the stock of her well cared for bren. "It is probably just hungry like all of us, ja. And we keep taking all its food."

"I'm pretty sure we're its food." Finn said, watching her set up.

"You smoke too much." A flurry of blue hair ended with a tongue pointed at Finn. "It is probably nicer than Roberts."

Her taunt was met with an extended middle finger as he paused his check of his gear just to rebuttal, "You smoke way more than I do."

Leaned up against a tree with what he'd call his fireteam, Silas listened patiently and intently to Finn's story carefully considering what he'd been told, but remaining silent for a spell while choosing his words.

"Mon cheri frère..." Silas began speaking in an almost metered way "I want you to carefully think about the kinds of stories people tell you concerning bears that can survive sustained automatic weapons fire from multiple sources… After surviving a nuclear strike."

"Maybe the fallout gave it powers like in those american comics." Resting her chin on the butt of her gun, Sabine tried to recall a character from the few non-soviet comics she had seen back before the war. The subject was entirely absurd, but watch duty was boring and from where she was lying right now, this particular watch looked like it would be incredibly boring. Any subject that would help to pass the time was welcome. "Perhaps it is a spider-bear now, perhaps that is why our guns can't hurt it?"

"You mean like Spider-Man?" Finn said, catching her train of thought, vague as it might've been. After you spend enough time with the likes of Silas and Sabine, you tend to get better at interpreting their jumbled half memories of American junk.

"Maybe," he chuckled, polishing the wooden handle of a stiletto boot knife with his thumb, "Maybe Makar has bear powers now and he just doesn't know it yet. We should see if he can catch some fish with his mouth or something."

The rest of the watch proceeded in a similar vein, with idle chatter flowing back and forth amongst the trees as the sun dropped steadily towards the horizon. By and large, nothing much of interest happened. The world beneath the groups' mostly watchful eyes was still. Save for the odd bird swooping on some small creature that was now it's dinner and the gentle sway of trees in the wind, nothing was moving. It wasn't until the sun was halfway beneath the horizon and the world was bathed in a deep orange light that there was anything worth reporting back on.

"Eh, you see that." Pointing in the general direction of the abnormality that had drawn her eye, it took a moment for Sabine to realise what it was she was seeing. The shape of the vehicle was hard to make out through the long shadows that stretched across the valley. It was the motion more than anything that made it stand out at all; certainly whoever was driving it had been switched on enough to leave the vehicle's headlights switched off as they cautiously rolled towards the village that the New Hannovian's position overlooked, stopping by some trees just on the outskirts.

"Either of you two have a telescope? I think Rogers would like to know more about that, ja?"

Finn had seen it around the time Sabine pointed it out, "Not me," he said, his eyes narrowed at the vehicle, "Can't tell who it is from here though. Definitely a military truck though." Just because they had their lights turned off didn't mean they were malicious. It just meant they were smart. Could be travelers who'd managed to nab military gear, could be a holdover military group.

In the distance, the vehicle's doors swung open and a pair of stick-like figures slid from its interior. For a moment the pair seemingly paced around their mechanical mount and then they were gone, vanishing among the tree.

"I saw two, I think." Looking away from the new focus of her attention, Sabine's gaze switched between her two compatriots. "Is that someone else on the roof or a radio?"

"Keep an eye on it, I'll go back up and tell the others." he said, his pack and rifle already over his shoulders.
He'd be better at getting back up the hill than the others without being seen. The drivers in the truck may not necessarily be that paranoid, but it never hurt to be careful. He tugged the ghillie tarp out of his pack, hanging it over his shoulders before he headed back up the hill.

Silas slowly laid prone, pressing himself against the hard ground. He gestured for Sabine to do the same, hoping to reduce their profile and remain undetected. The fact that his team was down a member, and that they were out of earshot of reinforcements weighed heavily on his mind.

"My kingdom for some comms and, a quiet night." he muttered to himself

Never before had Silas more desperately wished for a radio, possibly even more than he wished for the peaceful intentions of the unknown contacts in the streets below them.

Settling down onto the ground, Sabine reached forwards and pulled back on her bren's charging handle.

---

A collaboration with @HiveFleetDelicious & @Kazama ​

 

[ze_kraken]

Marcellus;Quicksand;LB;

5 March 1989 - Harz

Sunset gave way to night as Ranger Team 1 discussed their options, rolling out one of their many scavenged maps that detailed the immediate area about New Hanover. This one in particular had once belonged to a Soviet tank commander and detailed the plans of the assault on Old Hanover, still scrawled over with the commander's personal notes in red and blue pencil. Ranger Team 1's own notes had been written over top the now yellow and crumbling paper with a black felt marker and extreme care, detailing road closures, ambush points, and team lingo for navigational landmarks.

Roberts' finger tapped the village on the map, a roll of parchment stuffed with tobacco in a crude handmade cigarette clutched between steady knuckles. He brought the cigarette to his mouth, but refrained from lighting it, instead fetching a pencil from the interior of his coat and prodding the map in the same spot with its eraser end.

"So," he said through the cigarette dangling between his lips. "We know there's three of them here at the gas station - and further up the road due west about fifteen hundred meters is the unidentified vehicle."

He traced the pencil back to their current position atop the mountain.

"Way I see it, we leave our kit here, and split up. One group'll cover the flank while a few of us go for the Ossis in the gas station. Hit them at 'o two-hundred, 'o three-hundred and observe them a bit closer. No reason to get aggressive if they're just passing through. We'll record what we can, and if there's an opportunity to nab one for questioning take it. Report back to Harz by 'o seven-hundred ready to debrief. If shots start flying, we run for the tank due south and gun it back to New Hanover after losing whatever tail we pick up. I'll notify our outpost guard to be ready to crank the tank if we need to make a quick escape."

Roberts shifted, staring at the cigarette for a moment before deciding against it and stuffing it back into the front pocket of his coat. He nodded to Finn and Sabine.

"You two will come with me to the gas station since Finn's the least trigger-prone and Sabine speaks enough real German - Baguette, Otto, Tom you will stand lookout here," he jabbed the point of the map with the pencil, roughly 500 meters due west and 100 meters due south of the gas station. "Keep that rifle handy, and keep your eyes sharp, doc. Silas, see if you can use some of that engineer knowledge in your head to rig up something to stall that vehicle along the road there. All clear?"

After receiving acknowledgment from his team, Roberts nodded and dialed up the radio to inform the outpost guard back at the T-34 below of the plan. He acknowledged, and Roberts nodded to himself. He took up first watch with the Soviet boy, taking up the position Otto and Tom had and keeping an eye on the gas station and approach to the mountainside below. He then told his team to grab what rest they could - it was going to be a long night.

Hours passed by in tedium, with Roberts killing the time by making a game of how many times the man on watch made a lap around the gap in the ruined gas station wall. The second man on watch was better than the first - he had managed to beat his previous counterpart's total in just the first half hour of his watch, but seemed to grow tired and sit by the fire. There he remained still and motionless, occasionally fiddling with either his rifle or kit Roberts could not tell.

When at last the time came, Roberts began rousing Ranger Team 1 from sleep, instructing them to grab what kit they needed and to bury and conceal what else they could. While the work was underway, he resumed looking over the valley below until the sounds of soldiers in motion abated and were replaced once again with the still sounds of night. Boots crunched every so often in the gravel underfoot, but the sounds of crickets, owls, and low whine of wind prevailed for the most part. Roberts nodded to his team - they knew their assignments, knew what to do if shit hit the fan, and so he kept the ceremonies short and to the point.

"Let's roll."

 

[Applo]

---

It was strange how much you could get used to when you thought about it. In that first year after nuclear fire had all but ended the world, sleep had been an elusive beast. The merest of errant thoughts could send it scuttling out of reach; the slightest disturbance shattering it like a rock through glass. Now though, now sleep seemed easier to find. It came when called; almost as if it had been domesticated. The fact that, given where Ranger Team 1 was and the task they had ahead of them, she had slept at all was proof enough of this theory for Sabine. Idly she began to wonder if Tom had experienced something similar in the army. As long as she had known him, the brit had slept like the dead, silent and still. Had it ever been different?

The exploration of this mental avenue was cut brutally short by a terse glare from the squad leader. Something else that Sabine had mostly gotten used to was that she never really owned her time anymore. There were moments where she could borrow it, but generally, someone or something else had designs on it. Strange flights of fancy had to be pushed aside. Saved for a rare free moment. This one was no exception. It wasn't until the group was descending into the valley that what was expected needed so little thought that her brain had time to idle, but by then other things were occupying the blue-haired punks mind.

When it came to Robert's plan for how to engage their mysterious counterparts, Sabine was fully in agreement with the man. She hadn't joined the Ranger teams to kill people. Hopefully, whoever these people were, they wouldn't be spoiling for a fight. Even if they were, a friendly approach might persuade them that it wasn't needed. Every bullet fired was one that had to be replaced; doing that got harder each year so why fire any at all if it wasn't needed. To that end, even though her preference would have been to stick close to Tom, Sabine understood why their leader was taking her with him. Her job was to look and sound friendly. There was only one slight flaw with the idea. That flaw was three feet or so long and currently weighing down her arms like a sack of bricks. As much as Sabine was loath to be parted from what was almost a prized possession, she knew her Bren needed to go. She also knew where it should go.

"Hey Thomas." In the moment when the party paused as the two groups prepared to go their separate ways, Sabine struck. Before her friend had a chance to think she had thrust the heavy gun into his arms and took a step back. "Look after he- it for me. It is too threatening I think. Besides, it will hit better than your gun from back there. Ja?"

She was met with a low snort. Amusement twinkled in Tom's eyes, and he shook his head a bit as he turned to face her.

"We'll see," came the characteristically dry reply. The good doctor grunted as he shifted the gun against the crook of his left shoulder. A shaggy brow raised as his eyes scanned Sabine's face quickly. "Don't be a bovah to them, yea? Watch that 'ead of yours."

And in a rare, distinct show of affection, Tom's hand rose and squeezed her shoulder firmly.

"Get any rest, love?"

"Enough." Shrugging slightly, the east german native squeezed her friend's hand between her shoulder and her cheek for a few seconds before her eye lit up with playful malice. "And I am never a 'bovah' to anyone but you!"

The stolen word was alarming out of place in Sabine's mouth and sounded almost nothing like Tom's

"You watch your head too, ok?"

"Mm. Sure."

Releasing the young woman from his hold, Tom hefted her trusty Bren up and against his body. Truth be told, he would have rather not be bothered by the cumbersome gun, but Sabine was right; better it be on his person than hers. It wouldn't really make for a good, welcoming first impression now would it?

Besides. Let the Volksarmee try anything rash, and he was sure he'd find a bloody good use for it.

His hand rose in a languid wave as he turned away.

"Cheers."

A feeling of nakedness washed over Sabine as her friend strode away into the darkness. Impractical and heavy as it was, her gun was nearly always in her hands or at least nearby. Without it, she felt exposed. The pistol tucked into her waistband was a comfort, as was the rest of the team; but still, Sabine felt the same sense of vulnerability as if she had forgotten to put on a shirt. A slight shiver traveled down her spine and butterflies started to flutter in her stomach as she turned to face Roberts and Finn.

"If you are ready, I am. Let us go?"

The final approach to the strangers' encampment was an ever increasingly slow one. They wanted and needed the element of surprise on their side. As such, the party of three spent more time lying flat on the floor to avoid detection the closer they got. With every stop, Sabine's nerves stretched a little thinner. Eventually, when they were so close they could practically smell stale cigarette smoke she couldn't take it anymore.

"Should I go and say Hallo, Roberts?" Blue eyes swiveled to glare at the squad leader with the barely audible whisper. "Or can I take a nap here while we wait?"​

---

With a little help from @Kuno

 

[Kuno]

DR. TOM ABBOT

"Raindrops keep fallin' on my 'ead...And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his...bed! Nothing seems tah fit! Those raindrops are la di dah dah…"

Click! With a firm thrust of Tom's palm, the magazine clipped into his gun.

"Raindrops are la di dah dah…"

Much of the doctor's soft, cheery song was carried away into the wind, the notes running and falling flat against the whistle of mountain air. It was too low for anyone who wasn't directly besides him to hear. Even still, singing switched to humming then to whistling, and the shrill notes pierced the air as he slung his loaded rifle across his back.

Tom marked a pale silhouette against the blackened mountain ridge. The man appeared largely unbothered - well-rested, too, despite the scant hours of sleep he'd gleaned. Nights like these could be rough on the unweathered mind. Platitudes were often served to calm others; for someone like himself, the simple song, perfect in its simplicity, was a good enough balm for the adrenaline running through him. For others? Conversation worked. Simple, too - so long as it distracted the mind, if only momentarily.

Briefly, the doctor's eyes darted towards where Finn stood with Sabine and Roberts. Unreadable, they lingered a moment longer on the younger man before drifting away, back to his own business.

He couldn't but be curious after him. Everyone had skeletons in their closets. Some were wont to haunt the mind in their sleep, and Tom had gotten quite good at spotting the ones who'd sleep had been disrupted so. No amount of chipper attitude could disguise the tension and lingering fear in one's eyes. Finn had been in such a state earlier; no amount of aimless conversation could have dispelled it, and Tom wondered just how long he'd been plagued from night terrors.

And just how long he would continue to repress the memories that caused them.

Ah, but hadn't it been that way with Sabine, too, in the beginning? That stubborn girl. How many nights had terror-filled screams roused him from sleep? How many nights had he spent not in his own bed but on the floor besides her, lingering just until the girl had calmed enough to fall into a light slumber? He, the ever stoic and dry good doctor, compelled to sing the girl lullabies of sorts like the song he hummed now. Sabine had asked him who had sang that song once. And in a rare moment of silliness, he'd said-

"Oie. Don't you know? Quite the singer, I was, back in the day. Bloody well wrote the song, ya know."

Songs and idle words. Whatever got a body through the night.

Clack!

Sabine's bren smacked against his rifle as that, too, was slung over his opposite shoulder. With a final glance over of his stock, Tom gave a hard sniff and sauntered off towards his assigned vantage point. Slowly, in tandem with his steps, the song quietly picked up and continued.

"Raindrops are la di dah dah…"