05 MAY 2003 / 1040 HOURS
[Berger]
[OOC]
He paused, then looked directly at Robbo.
"Whatever went down with MAJ Tyler, and the dozen-odd people that
were absent from Camp over the last 24 hours or so. Look, I don't
care what you did. I'd rather *not* know. But here you are Robbo,
and there's no MAJ Tyler and his Band of Merry Airborne Rangers, no
CPT Panoke, spooky CIA ATF NSA DIA guy who's now MIA, that guy Reb
O'Herren, decent, honest, smart, and just decorated as a bona fide
freakin' HERO... Hell, they're not here, can we assume they're dead,
or missing, or did they hop the fence along with Stryfe? Do we have
to consider them as threats?." (yawn)
Berger shuts up fast, realizing in his sleep-induced paranoia, he's
said alot. Perhaps too much.
"Look, this covert shit makes my head hurt. I'm tired. If I can be
excused, I'm going to bed. You guys sort it out, and after I get
some shuteye, I'll leave for Scranton, and get us straight with HQ..."
Without being granted permission to be excused, let alone to go to
Scranton, Berger hefts his Garand over his shoulder, and trudges out.
[Robbo]
"I can say that there is next to zero chance that anyone who went
missing on that raid last night is alive. Reb is dead, I saw that for
sure. He was cut down literally before my eyes. I'm pretty sure that
Captain Valdez and Sgt McCain are dead, but I can not confirm that
they were dead. Last I saw of Major Tyler was him charging into a
building packed full of people that wanted us dead. The 163, and all
persons inside were destroyed, not much left above the torsion bars at
all."
Robbo paused, looking directly into the faces of all present.
"And as to Stryfe being a traitor, I knew nothing of this until I got
here. Can someone fill me in on whats happened in the 24 hours I was
off trying to blow up fuel tanks full of water? I've been a little out
of the gossip grapevine out there."
[Lt. Jackson]
That said, Wiz leaves Berger. As little experience as he has, he knows he
can ill afford to let Berger do as he pleases. He also knows, that if he
is going to survive at all, he is going to need Berger...tough choices.
Wiz returns to headquartes to hear the rest of the conversation about
radios and hqs. "Robbo, I need you and Wu to do what you can to make sure we have
two portable radios that work. Cunningham, you will, depending on Berger's
decision, accompany him on a mission to verify the radio message. You are
welcome to my dirt bike, or whatever vehicle we posess that you want. I
suggest you secure a vehicle, whatever supplies you need, and get some
rest. You're leaving at dusk. Wu," he says turning to the private, "Work out
some new, secure codes with Sean so we can communicate with him if need be." He
looks at the men and dismisses them. He then turns to Sherman. "If you
all are half correct about Stryfe, then we need to move, and move soon. And
wherever we move to, we need to be sure it is completely securable...I
don't want another battle like yesterday. You use whatever resources we have and
search for a new location to move to. Look at the maps, talk to the
natives with us, whatever it takes...if all falls through with hq, we are moving
immediately." Wiz lets out a deep breath...it was exhilerating giving so
many orders. And still more to do. "I'm going to make rounds through the
new camp. Right now, I guess I'm the closest thing to a leader there is,
might do them good to see me, shows I care... Meet me about an hour before
supper, we are going to question the prisoners." Wiz gives Sherman a final
nod, then heads out to check on the camp.
(Sean)
(Sherman)
Berger stopped at the doorway of the Nature Center, which now served as
Command Center for the few loyal remnants of the 3/103, an Armored Battalion of the 28th "Keystone" Division. The sign on
the door said so.
Armored Battalion, thought Berger. Shit, this Armored Battalion's only
armored vehicle is that M113 out in Lot 2. The scurvy bastards across the River stole all the freakin' good stuff. [ooc:
reminder - A Co. deserted & went North, B Co. is youse guys, C Co. is the mutineers.]
Wiz had a few private words with him, but Berger seemed more agitated after
hearing them than he was before. He pulled away from Wiz, wheeled around, and in turn, looked each one of the
assembled group in the eyes as he spoke. He didn't sound like he would crack up, actually, he started to sound more like
Cunningham.
[ooc- well, maybe that was a poor example. Cunningham was about as close to crackers as anyone else in the
Camp! ;) funny GM yeah right! )
More accurately, his anger would remind the casual observer of Sean Patrick
Cunningham, minus the Spud accent and the extended obscenities. And he was louder, like Cunningham. Finally the
eye contact just turned to a nasty glare, mostly in Wiz's direction, but somewhat toward everyone else, even his good
friend Mike Wu. He clearly had been pushed way beyond his limits over the last day. Come to think of it, everyone
had...
[ooc]
Conversely, those skills that you are really superb at (an 8 or 9!) run a
higher chance of outstanding success, which can be say, you recruit twice as many civilians as you thought you might
and/or they are die hard loyal, or you gun down not only the big badguy charging you from across the room, but also two of
his bigger badder buddies behind him...
[Berger]
Berger turned again to Wiz, glaring.
"You know, I have family here in this camp. A damned nice wife and two
great kids. I'm damned lucky to have them -- most families have lost several members, some nearly all. I'm nuts to go
anywhere that I don't have them in sight. They're my (yawn) responsibility, even though the Army with it's needs
technically outranks and outweighs them. When I said I was going, I didn't mean going for good, or going AWOL either. I
meant I was going to (yawn) HQ to get us straight with them, and then hopefully come back, and make some sense out
of this whole goddamned mess. (yawn) I don't know how we manage to feed everyone, let alone fool ourselves into thinking
were some kind of combat effective unit. Other than a few of you professionals, like Robbo or Sherman, we're a
goddamned bunch of (yawn) civilians, dressed up and playing soldiers. But the stakes are pretty high. You can expect to
loose some of us cut-out, insert Tab A into Slot B soldiers, but there are alot of civilians around, and yes Sean, I'm
sure Stryfe and his thugs are just plotting and planning on how they're gonna (yawn) hit us one final and knock us off
this mountain, like a farmer flicks a dead gnat offa his arm..."
Berger made the gesture to make his point. The room was quiet.
"I know the area and the path better than most anyone here, and I'm one of
the last people that were actually put on the computer before things all went to Hell. So if they did a core dump like
they ordered us to do, then they can verify who I am, I hope. Now whether they believe me (yawn) when I tell them I'm
loyal and haven't gone Rogue or anything, well... Yeah, I'm punchy, and yes, you can bring me up on charges, or
throw me in the pen, but I'm going. I know if I don't get back you'll take care of my family the best you can. (yawn)It's
not far, really, but I guess it'll be three days -- one each out and back, and a day stopover. If I can make it. No,
you're not sending anyone else. You'd send someone up RT 80 & then 81, or out RT 6 from Mansfield. You go that way,
and you'll die. (yawn) We tried before. Probably was the Bucktails. [ooc- nickname of the Northern Tier Militia.
An actual unit which fought at the RL Battle of Gettysburg. Mountain Boys. Good with rifles and sneaking. In RL based
in Mansfield and Wellsboro. Yep. ] I know a way to go that might work. Don't forget, I've lived in this area for the
last 20 years. If Cunningham wants to come along, that's fine."
No one had seen or heard Berger act or talk this way before. Yes he was
sarcastic at times, and swore at times. But he was generally good natured. A friendly chemistry teacher who just happened
to like blowing things up, either with his Civil War reproduction cannon, or with nasty stuff he cooked out of
bleach... Actually at this point, the brawny pony-tailed guy looked as if he might pop the smaller framed Wiz in the
mouth. At least he didn't for the moment.
"So if you wanna lock me up, fine. We might not make contact with HQ ever,
then. At least I'll be close to my family. And at least I'll get some fucking sleep."
[Lt. Jackson]
"Mr. Berger," he said, stepping up to the challenge, "I have given my orders.
You will go with Mr.Cunningham at dusk, or you will not. If you choose not
to go with Cunningham, i will give orders at midnight that you are to be
shot on site. If you are not with us, you are against us. I don't lie
when I say you are unmeasureable in your value to us, but i can not, will not
stand for insubordination. Those are my orders, I give you the choice to
follow. I hope you will find it in you to follow my lead. Please."
(Sherman)
Sherman looked to Wiz to see how the young officer would handle it. He took
Berger on by the horns. What really caught Sherman off guard and no doubt
everyone in the room was Wiz's reply of having 'Berger shot'. Talk about
fueling the fire, this sent alarm bells ringing. Sherman's eyes widened in
absolute surprise. Things could really turn nasty at this point.
Sherman acted and moved to position himself between both men. Adressing
each in turn.
"Sir. I am sure Sergeant Berger has understood your orders and will carry
them out."
"Sergeant you are dimissed. Get some sleep and report back here at 0600."
The next few moments Sherman thought would decide the fate of the 3/103rd.
[Sean]
===============================
Behind the Scenes II
"So let me understand this, then. You're saying 50,000 plus a full tank up
for all of our vehicles, plus you're supplying the munitions? Where'd you get 81mm
around here? It's as scarce as hen's teeth..."
"Yes, that's the deal. Nevermind where the stuff comes from. Are you in, or
not?"
The first man turned to his friend behind him, consulted for a moment
non-verbally, and turned back to the second man. "Yeah, it's a deal. The 81mm is
Guvment stuff, right, not somethin' someone came up with in their garage, right? I got
crews to protect."
"Look, if you are not interested, we'll shop elsewhere..."
The first man was quick to close the deal. "We're in. Now show me where the
target is on the map again..."
Final details were settled, including number of rounds, time, and route of
approach. After the first man and his smaller group departed, the second man smiled ever
so slightly to his assembled advisors. He asked for comments and opinions. One of the
men spoke up, although hesitantly.
"Most unusual, sir, to give away the ordnance, despite us not having anything
to throw it with..."
"Yes, CPT Rich. But as you said, we have no tube for the 81, and while we
could disassemble the rounds for their components, this seems like a more direct
and timely answer. Remember, we're only giving them 24 rounds. Just enough to cause
trouble for those who oppose us. Thus, we will have plenty more for our own purposes in
the future."
Another man, much younger, with a patch over his left eye, voiced his
concerns.
"COL, can they be trusted? Will they do it? That was almost one-third of
our cash, and this whole deal sounds like a real gamble! They might just back off a klick
or so, and start shelling us, now that they have the money!"
"Yes Higgans, it's a gamble, but one I'm willing to take. We cannot afford
the manpower another attack would take, not after everything else that happened this week.
So we'll bide our time, and let others do our work for us. As for the money, yes, it's
alot, but honestly, what would we spend it on that we can't just go out and take, anytime
that we want it...."
"Yes sir, of course, sir..."
The men enjoyed some of the newly "liberated" coffee, and a tasty, yet tough
steak. It might be wild grazed beef, although probably from the gamey flavor, it was
horse. It was no matter. A bellyfull of meat was a luxury many could not afford at any
price.
End of Scene........
===================
[Robbo]
Robbo took the explanation of the probable reasons for the horrible
ambush that had killed off so many of his new friends pretty much in
his stride, especially with exhaustion taking the edge of just about
everything for Robbo by that time of the day.
What was worrying Robbo was the tension in the CP at that moment, as
tired and stresses men began to clash. Robbo knew that nothing he
could say would calm the situation, and would probably only serve to
inflame the situation, so he kept quiet. He just hoped that one of the
two men would back down just a bit, so that there wasn't a firefight
in the CP. That would only serve to help Col Stryfe, and that was the
last person he wanted to help, unless it was to meet his maker.
05 MAY 2003 / 1800 HOURS (dusk)
Berger and Cunningham had gotten some sleep, and then had packed and
organized things for their trek to 28th Division HQ at the Scranton Airport. For security
reasons, Berger had told no one of his intended route. He had arranged a series
of contact times and code words with Mike Wu, to handle such things as
reaching HQ, being ambushed along the way, and so forth. There were also some
codewords for use in the event the 3/103rd relocated while Berger and Cunningham were
gone.
Berger was by his nature lousy at apologies, but LT Jackson did find a
hastily scrawled note from him, mostly illegible. Wiz could make out a few bits and pieces,
such as "worried about the wife and kids... sorry... so little sleep... I haven't given up hope
yet, don't you either... I gave my word I'd be loyal...., and that stinking bastard Stryfe....."
Much of the radio traffic from the courier mission would have to wait until
the two reached the more powerful transmitter that HQ had atop Montage Mountain, near
the Scranton-Wilkes Airport. Their little set that they carried would perhaps carry them
thru the morning, and then be out of range. Berger's eyes seemed to be burning holes in
the map that he continuously consulted, figuring this, and estimating that.
Finally all the planning that could be done in the limited time had been
done. All that was left was for people to do their jobs. Berger said goodbye to his wife
and kids. The kids started crying, and then the wife did also. Berger turned and
complained about someone's cheap-assed tobacco smoke going in his eyes, as he patted his
two dogs affectionately on their heads.
He had left his favored M1 Garand with his eldest son, a boy barely in his teens. Instead,
he carried another "retread" weapon from WWII -- an M3A1 Grease Gun that he had
"liberated" from one of the attackers last night. It would be handier to use from
Cunningham's sidecar. Besides, Sean carried that 30-30 for long distance work, and
ultimately, neither man wanted to get in a firefight on this journey -- it reduced the
already-slim chances of either of them returning.
A few hasty goodbyes were said, and Cunningham and Berger were off.
05 MAY 2003 / 2040 HOURS (dusk)
Things had more or less settled down after the couriers had left. Camp quieted down, and
people got some much-needed sleep. Guards were posted, and various SGTs made
rounds, keeping people on their toes, warning them not to let up at all, just because they
hadn't been hit didn't mean they wouldn't get hit...
There was noise ahead of the SW observation post. Then a shape (or two) became visible.
The two young privates there were about to start capping away, when the third man in the
OP, an older guy, balding and with a beard, gently pushed their rifles down, and placed an
upward-pointing index finger to his lips. In the heat of the moment the two younger men
had forgotten the weapons-tight order, but the older fellow reminded them that sometimes
it was better to wait and see how things play out...
Yes, there definately were two shapes. Both men. They approached to within 30 meters
of the OP, actually just a little more west, than south of it. It seemed both were armed with
rifles, although even at this range, it was tough to tell exactly what type in the shadows and
thick cover of the pine trees. The OP commander tapped a few dits and dahs on the
crudely improvised telegraph key, and within 32 seconds, Sherman was appraised of a
contact at the southwest OP, about 200 m down the side of the mountain from where he
had been resting. The action continued there.
[first man] (not very quietly)
[second man]
They traded comments back and forth for a half a minute...
"You sure this is south? I think it's north! I'll be damned - I cain't see the moon or the
stars"
"Shut the f--- up. We're going south."
"No. We're definately lost. If this shit don't stop itchin' me, I swear I'll shoot myself."
"Good. You'll save me the trouble. Now shut the f--- up. They're bound to be close by."
The two were about to carry on their not-too-quiet jabbering, when the second man's foot
became caught on a small length of fishing line. Ordinarily, it would be no problem,
perhaps only tripping the man for a step or two. Except this particular fishing line was
attached to the spoons of three linked home-made grenades, which were in the tree
branches above both men, spaced at roughly 10 meter intervals, 30 or so meters out from
the frontage of the SW Observation Post.
The results were interesting to say the least.
A single grenade 5 meters from Jim sputtered and sparked, but failed to explode. Jim
freaked immediately and threw himself down to the ground, covering his head, as if that
would do much...
A second grenade, 1 meter from Fred, exploded. Fred now had no head... Jim took a few
fragments, and yelled out.
The third and final grenade was 12 meters from Fred, and 20 meters from Jim. Fred's
remains were further chewed up some, and Jim took some more fragments.
The second young PVT in the OP began rapid-firing his M1, emptying all 8 rounds into
the night, until the ejected empty clip went pla-cling! off a nearby tree. The other PVT
and the older guy held their fire...
The two exploding grenades and panic-y firing were heard by all who remained in the
camp. A little commotion ensued, and then was followed by general panic....
===============
Halfway Dam Recreation Area
Command Center
"OK, so there's no way (yawn) we can respond to HQ without tipping
Stryfe off as to where we are. And what Sean says is right -- if
we came up with this mountain as being the safest place to go after
a 10 minute decision, Stryfe probably got there in about 2.2
minutes... HQ in Scranton was alive and well 18 hours ago. My
ill-informed opinion is, (yawn) and pardon me all to Hell for
breeching whatever "Unit Security" exists or existed, but I think
last night's raid on Lewisburg was payback for my Team's little
jaunt into the woods a few days ago, or..."
.... when Berger and a few others eliminated some OPs NW of Norry
and Sunbury, shortly after von Fischer, Panoke, Cunningham, and
Whittaker joined 3/103rd ....
Robbo looked around at the group, feeling the sudden distance grow, and
everyone asked themselves questions.
Wiz sits and listens to Berger's speach and rushes through the other's
little thoughts before standing up from his seat. "One moment," he
commands before leaving the room and following Berger. "Berger, come here," he says
with more command then he has used so far. He leads Berger aside from the
rest of camp and begins to speak. "Look, I wish that things weren't the
way they are...I wish I didn't have command, but I do. I need you to help me,
not rage against everything, we must support the very essence of the United
States, or else what are we fighting for? So, I am going to ask you to
either stay with us, and don't let your emotions run wild with you, or
leave, I am giving you the choice. If you stay, I am going to send you to
find the source of the message. But you aren't going alone, I'm sending
Cunningham with you as well. I could really use you on this. If you plan
on going, you'll leave at dusk...get your supplies together and meet at the
command center. If you aren't there, I will assume I'll never see you
again.
Sean nods to himself..maybe this Wiz guy will be an ok leader after all, at
least he is showing some balls! "My Hog will be fine for transportation, I
will gather up supplies and be ready to go by dusk. Wu, lets grab a cup of
coffee and talk about some new codes, have ya ever been to Ireland??? Maybe
some good ole' Pub Slang will work for our porpuses! Oh and Wiz..." Sean
paused for a moment and looked the man in the eye, "...Way to grab the bull
by the horns!"
Acknowledging his orders with a curt "Yes sir." Sherman sets about his
task. Gathering up some of the area maps, Sherman lays them down on one of the
tables in the Visitor Centre and spends some time marking out what might
make suitable positions. A couple of the nearby state parks could be well
worth checking. Sherman notes them down Hyner Run, Ravensburg, Bald Eagle
and Poe Paddy for starters. Local knowledge of the area's concerned was
really needed to make the best decision. Sherman will ask around the camp
trying to find out what he can and note any relevant details. He will start
with James De La Croix or Big Jim as many call him. Supposedly amongst
other things he was a trucker before the troubles. And might prove a useful
though somewhat shady source of information.
In gamer terms, Wiz boo-booed his Leadership roll! Badly! But it also
serves the story.. This is a good time to illustrate a T2K game concept, and I'm chatty tonite, so... For your
benefit, remember, those skills that you have a lower number in, like a 1 or a 2, run a higher chance of having a
catastrophic failure, (kindof like a fumble in D&D and other games. You dump your weapon's last magazine in some rhodadenrun
bushes just as the enemy patrol closes in)
enuff!
"Robbo, I'll fill you in. (yawn) I think I know exactly what happened.
That complete bastard Stryfe concocted some raid on Norry, with all of you combat veterans on the mission. He must've been
waiting for this chance for awhile, and figured he had to play his hand once more and more of you experienced
soldiers started finding you way into Camp. Remember that day he left the LT here in charge, when we all damn well know
he was playing poker with the rest of the officers. (yawn) I'll bet he was just feeling them out, looking for
weaknesses. Well, he certainly did that all right. And when your mission when sour, he probably just had to get word
out that you were on the way. You walked into a fucking ambush, and I'm damned sorry about that. Reb was such a decent
guy, and MAJ Tyler a valuable asset that we just can't replace (yawn). Not to mention the vehicle. The M163 was the
closest thing we had to some mobile muscle, and that bit it. Stryfe knew what he was doing alright. He fucking
chopped us off at the knees. You say the tanks held water? Well, I thought it was supposed to be fuel or something,
that's what the gossip said. Fresh water is valuable, but in that quantity? Hell, they've got the whole River right
there. I dunno what that's about..."
Wiz had never taken backed down from a fight in his life. He grew up
in the backwoods of Alabama with three brothers, he knew how to stand up.
Sherman listened to Berger, obviously he was tired and it was showing. A
cop for eight years John knew the signs of trouble, the raised voice, the
aggressive body language. Jack Berger was definately a man at the limit of
his tether. Bergers outburst was not unexpected, sooner or later someone
was going to crack. Strange it wasn't Cunningham but then he was perpetually
angry about something or someone. So much had happened in the last 24
hours, from the relative safety of Lewisburg to the current situation everyone now
found themselves stuck in. Berger vented his frustrations not just at Wiz
but at everyone in the room.
Sean watched the exchange with interest, and caution. He slowly slid his
.45 out of the back of his waist band, cocked it, and kept it at the ready
behind his back. He sure as hell wasn't going to be caught off guard if
this became a close range firefight. As to whom he would shoot...the jury
was out on this one.
05 MAY 2003 / 1900 HOURS
Lewisburg, PA
05 MAY 2003 / 1800 HOURS
Halfway Dam Recreation Area
Command Center
Halfway Dam Recreation Area
Command Center
Halfway Dam Recreation Area
Command Center
"I'm tellin' ya Fred. THIS IS INSANE."
"Shhh, Jim! You'll get us both kill't"
