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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."
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