The reconnaissance mission to Radom ended with the ZOMO and Soviet garrisons on alert. The team decides that further provocations may not go in their favor until they’ve had more time to prepare. Instead of keeping their focus east, they head south, intending to survey and map more of the area past Opoczno (and perhaps see if the ZOMO are probing westward).
After their last encounter with the ZOMO, there was some discussion about having a stealthier point element. Minka is the one trained horsewoman on the team, but Miko is a decent natural rider. Minka selects Kinga for her own mount and puts Miko on Tobi. The rest of the PCs going on this op – Magda, Leks, Red, Pettimore, and Zenobia – load into the UAZ-469.
[ A note here because I’ve failed to introduce some not-quite-NPCs. When the PCs captured their initial five horses, I rolled their appearances and qualities on my vehicle generator. The player behind Minka fleshed out their descriptions and personalities for us. I’ll post her work later, but for now:
Kinga is a black-and-white pinto mare. She’s loyal, fearless, and calm – good qualities in a scout mount.
Tobi is a dark bay gelding with white socks. He’s moody but intelligent, strong (+5 encumbrance units of cargo capacity), and trained to ignore gunfire if prepared or prompted. ]
The team heads out, moving cautiously once they cross the highway and head into unknown territory. The forest here is dense, and despite the lack of clouds in the sky, little sunlight penetrates to the twisting, unpaved road they’re using. Magda, navigating from the UAZ’s front passenger seat, is having trouble keeping her bearings. Miko, ostensibly the point man, is very out of his comfort zone – he’s on horseback for his first real ride, he can’t see more than twenty meters through the foliage, and this is about as far from his familiar urban environment as one can get in Poland. The wolf howls in the distance aren’t helping his composure, either. So it’s a surprise even to him when the road widens out into a cleared area.
At least, it’s a formerly-cleared area. The old-growth forest (which Zenobia does not remember being this dense before the war) was, at one point, cut back in an area about 500 to 600 meters across. In that area stand the remains of a small village – a lumber town, judging from the decrepit sawmill. The place looks like it’s been abandoned for a half-century: new trees sprout in the former fields, roofs have collapsed, rusted-out trucks sit on flat tires, birds nest in exposed structural members. There’s no sign of human habitation.
Most of the team dismounts, with Leks staying on the UAZ’s PK for overwatch. Minka, more attuned to spiritual elements than most of her companions, gets the sense that the place wants to be hospitable… but it’s forgotten how. She mentions this to Magda, who wonders if whatever effect is making people forget things is also making places forget things.
[ At this point, I may or may not have PM’d Magda’s player to award bonus XP for this insight. ]
The team pokes around in the ruins a bit. Miko unearths a chainsaw, broken and badly rusted but probably repairable. Zenobia takes a closer look at the vehicles parked along the village’s single paved street and realizes that while they’re in advanced states of decay, most of them are 1970s to 1990s production. Minka finds the village’s cemetery, which has nearly 40 grave markers with dates in January and February of 1998 – presumably victims of the first winter after the nuclear exchanges.
Pettimore walks a bit away from the rest of the group. One of the POWs who elected not to stay with the team was a fellow Kentuckian, and he offered to take a message to Pettimore’s family if he got home first. Thoughts of home have been weighing on the scout-sniper even since. He heads to the village’s church (Catholic, as it happens). Its condition is just as bad as that of the other buildings, with the steeple collapsed onto the roof and the roof more holes than wood. The doors protest a little, but yield to Pettimore’s arm. He steps inside, finds a box of candles, lights one, and kneels to pray for his brothers – and for the inhabitants of this village, wherever they may be.
A pair of songbirds flutter in through the holes in the roof and alight on the altar. A sense of peace suffuses Pettimore. He rises and turns to leave.
“We found one of your people, Bearkiller,” says a voice next to him.
Very slowly, Pettimore turns. Filip gives him a slow nod.
“Someone from the Fifth? Where?” Pettimore asks.
“West of here. She wandered into our territory, badly wounded. We have her at a mining village we use as a waystation sometimes. I was going to come north to find you, but since you’re here…” The Bracia Wilkow leader kneels and sketches a quick map in the dirt on the floor. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Thank you.” Pettimore runs for the door, yelling to the team to get ready to move.
The road climbs out of the old-growth forest and into wooded hill country. The town they’re approaching is eerily familiar to Pettimore – but for the language on the signs, this could be any one of a hundred Appalachian mining towns he’s seen over the years. The mine here extracts iron rather than coal, but it’s still the same rows of simple houses, the same general store, the same tool supply store, the same heavy bunkers for storing mining charges… the same story, the dark earth willing to exchange a ton of stone for a pound of flesh.
Three more Bracia Wilkow are waiting outside the small infirmary. Filip steps forward, meets Pettimore’s eyes, and shakes his head. He steps aside and gestures to the door.
Pettimore looks to Red. “Doc?” he says hoarsely.
An awkward silence descends over the rest of the group as Pettimore and Red push into the clinic. On the bed nearest the door is the body of a dark-haired woman wearing the remains of an olive drab flight suit. It doesn’t take Red much effort to determine what killed her: slow internal bleeding from a deep shrapnel wound in her lower back. Her dog tags – one around her neck, the other laced into one of her boots – identify her as First Lieutenant Danielle Flores, US Air Force. Pettimore recognizes an insignia on her flight suit: she flew for AFSOC.
(No one has seen an operational helicopter for two years. When Pettimore was doing Broadstreet’s work alongside the 5th Infantry Division, though, he heard rumors that U.S. XI Corps still had a small force somewhere for exceptionally high-priority special operations work. If Flores was part of that, someone back west had a strong interest in something in this patch of Poland…)
Flores’ personal effects are piled on a table across the room. There’s an aviator’s survival vest containing a couple of signal flares, a VS-17 marker panel, an M11 and a couple of spare magazines… and a knee board. One side is covered in math that Pettimore doesn’t immediately recognize.
The other side is a clear acetate sleeve containing an aviation sectional map for the area west of the team’s current location. Grease pencil markings point out two sites.
Outside, Filip’s two followers are not quite trying to stare down the rest of the team. Filip notices this behavior and says something that sends them slinking away.
A few minutes later, another of the Bracia Wilkow emerges from the nearby residential area with two freshly-snared rabbits. He presents them to Minka and Magda, then stares at them as if he’s trying to figure something out. Eventually, he finds his words, haltingly welcoming them and inviting them to prepare a meal.
Magda checks out the kitchen, such as it is. The Bracia Wilkow seem to be ignoring any kitchens in the houses around them, preferring to use an open-air fire pit with a rudimentary camp kitchen. While Magda is looking through the team’s travel rations to find something to make the meal more palatable, the rabbit hunter comes back with an ancient, battered leather case, which he proudly displays to her. “We use this. For… feast nights,” he explains. Inside, in padded compartments, are a dozen glass vials of seasonings.
This breaks the ice. Three more Bracia Wilkow arrive, including the first woman the team has seen among the partisans. They’re bearing hand-woven baskets full of mushrooms, nuts, and berries from the forest. With the aid of a couple of laconic helpers, Magda sets to work.
Leks has been standing back, observing the proceedings in his self-assigned role as security (and playing staredown games with the younger Bracia Wilkow). As he watches, something half history lesson and half cultural memory is simmering in the back of his brain. “Forest Brothers?” he muses in Estonian.
Filip looks up and raises an eyebrow. Leks repeats himself in his fragmentary Polish.
“We know the name,” Filip acknowledges. “The legacy.” He scrutinizes Leks. “I think you would have done well among them.”
Red and Pettimore emerge from the clinic, Pettimore bearing Flores’ remains wrapped in a sheet. They brief the rest of the team on what they learned from their examination.
Filip nods. “We found her unconscious. Blood trail from the west. Not our territory. If you’re going there… the one who claims that place won’t care, so long as you respect the land.” He looks sidelong at the UAZ. “No vehicles. But his followers are more territorial.”
The team discusses plans while they eat. The Bracia Wilkow are attentive but have little more to say. As things conclude, Filip clears his throat. “Bearkiller. I see you taking her back for your rites. Would she object if we sang for her?”
Pettimore, who’s been silent since reporting out on his and Red’s findings, manages, “I think she’d be honored.”
Filip nods. Gestures to the Bracia Wilkow. As one, they stand, pull the hoods of their cloaks over their heads, raise their faces to the sky… and howl a dirge.
As the team prepares to pull out, Filip pulls Leks aside and claps a hand to his shoulder. “If you grow tired of fighting for the world that was – the world that is dying – find me.”
It’s after dark by the time the team rolls back into Ponikla. Wilhelm and Leonard are waiting for them. Wilhelm goes stiff upon seeing the shrouded body in the back of the UAZ. He does a quick count, sees that all the PCs are accounted for, and asks, “who?”
Pettimore grits out a summary. “Can you find Father Maciej?”
Leonard nods and slips away to locate the priest. Red takes over and works out the details of storing Flores’ remains until the team can arrange a proper funeral. They have more pressing business to attend to.
As word spreads, a growing crowd (such as it is for a village Ponikla’s size) is gathering. Staff Sergeant Scott, still trying to function as the village’s most-senior NCO, pulls Red aside to get a briefing. When Red is done, Scott frowns and asks to see Flores’ knee board. “These are fuel calculations.” He traces it out. “They were planning to burn more fuel on the way out than on the way in. Could’ve been expecting a headwind but I think they were supposed to pick up a fair amount of cargo.” He scratches his head. “Big bird with long legs, too. I was a Blackhawk crew chief but this was something with a lot more fuel load. Maybe a Chinook or an Osprey.” He looks at Red. “If you’re going back out in the morning, I’d like to tag along.”
After a short night’s rest, the team turns right around and heads out. With five trained riding horses and a sixth who’s wagon-trained, there’s enough literal horsepower that no one has to walk – though Minka has her hands full keeping the less-experienced riders in their saddles.
Retracing yesterday’s steps is uneventful. They return to the mining town, which is now deserted – the Bracia Wilkow have discharged their obligations there and moved on. Distant wolf howls make it clear that someone’s keeping an eye on them, though. With the aviation sectional chart and Magda’s navigational skills, they’re able to make good time westward, heading for the nearer of what they presume are two marked LZs. There’s a paved highway which the partisans indicated should be safe.
About ten kilometers past the mining town, as the team approaches a crossroads, a figure detaches itself from the overgrown field to one side of the road. It’s the woman from yesterday. In a voice rusty from disuse, she advises them that the way ahead is clear as far as the river, but the Bracia Wilkow can’t say what lies off the road. Message delivered, she disappears into the terrain as effortlessly as she arrived.
The team moves on. As the afternoon winds down, they’ve gone as far west as they can reasonably travel on the highway. Magda turns them south, heading off the road about a kilometer short of the Pilica River.
Miko smells the smoke first. It’s harsh and acrid: burnt metal and petroleum fuel. The team spreads out, dismounts, and moves forward cautiously.
In a small clearing lie the crushed-dragonfly remains of a large helicopter. Red, Pettimore, and Scott recognize it as a Pave Low, shot to hell and almost certainly a total hull loss now.
The team moves in cautiously. Up close, the damage appears to be from a mix of small arms and light autocannon fire. The pilot is still strapped into the right seat. It looks like he was killed instantly by the autocannon hits; there’s no way he was involved in this landing. The starboard M2HB is trashed, with blood spray all around the gunner’s station. The ammo box at the rear ramp suggests a minigun was there, but the gun mount is sheared off. There’s a second M2HB on the portside mount, this one damaged but intact. From the amount of empty brass still strewn around the rear compartment, the aircrew gave a good accounting of themselves.
Miko and Pettimore begin a spiraling search pattern, working outward from the wreckage. At the edge of the treeline, Miko finds the body of an enlisted airman. He has a few shrapnel and bullet wounds, but his death was probably from a fall. Broken tree branches indicate that the MH-53 didn’t quite clear the canopy as it came down.
The ground is dry and the light is fading, but Pettimore finds tracks leading northwest. As best he can tell, four survivors left the crash site.
Scott finishes his survey and shakes his head. “You’re not gonna get anything out of the avionics but parts. Everything’s trashed. Both engines are fire hazards and all the fuel tanks have leaks. There’s a hole through the tail rotor drive shaft – I guess a fuse malfunctioned and a shell went all the way through. I don’t know how this girl didn’t burn. I dipped the tanks with a washer on a string and there’s like thirteen hundred gallons still on board.”
The team quickly strips the wreck of salvageable parts, including the remaining M2HB and all the ammo. Leks spends a moment cooing appreciatively to the battlebox next to the minigun mount, which contains close to 700 rounds of belted 7.62x51mm that his MG3 will happily digest. Miko claims the pilot’s bloody helmet and the miraculously-functional night-vision goggles clipped to them. There’s a brief discussion of tossing a thermite grenade into an engine and letting the whole wreck burn. Scott doesn’t say anything but his expression makes it clear that this is somewhere between cannibalism and desecration of a corpse to him. Greed wins out and the team decides to leave it for now and come back with a hand pump and a bunch of empty drums.
The final thing the team removes from the helicopter is a small red wooden box with a Plexiglas front, which was screwed to the forward bulkhead next to the flight engineer’s station. Inside is a bottle of Jack Daniels. In careful hand-lettering, a sign reads, “Break Glass In Case Of Peace.” Pettimore chuckles grimly, extracts the bottle, and passes it around.
In the last light, the team wraps the bodies of Major Gary Allen and Airman Alex Harris and loads them into the wagon. With Pettimore tracking on foot, they head off on the trail of the missing crew.
The trail ends at the eastern abutment of the bridge over the Pilica. There’s evidence of a lopsided but intense firefight. Whoever had the light autocannon must have brought it along, because the trees here show ample evidence of hits from it. It’s impossible to reconstruct details, but the team infers that the survivors ran into whoever shot them down, and this is probably where Flores started heading east. Pettimore can’t find any blood trails – but it is full dark by now.
While the team is halted, Minka has a crawly feeling of presence. Out in the darkness by the edge of the trees, about a hundred meters away, she can just make out a tall, spindly shape. It appears vaguely-humanoid, but it’s tall – well in excess of two meters – and the proportions are all wrong, too slim and with horribly-elongated limbs. She avoids looking directly at it, but as the team heads back south to make a cold camp at the crash site, she quietly leaves an offering: a jar of fresh plum preserves (Magda’s been supervising the harvest).
As the team sets watches, Minka pulls Magda aside. “Please don’t think I’m crazy…” she begins. She explains the barest details of what she saw, concluding with, “please, whatever you do, if it comes back, don’t let anyone shoot at it.” The two women agree to each take a watch… just in case.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click... Miko is taking the first watch with Pettimore and Magda. It’s really an excuse to play with his new toy.
Click, the NVGs switch back on – and something is standing there, maybe a hundred meters away, well inside the clearing. It’s close to three meters tall, horribly thin and elongated, and it has antlers, a huge, branching rack reaching for the sky.
Miko freezes. Click. He can’t see anything – the green phosphors have trashed his night vision.
Click. And the tubes power on again to reveal… nothing. Whatever he saw is gone.
“Hey. Hey, Pettimore. I just saw the weirdest deer…”
The not-so-whispered conversation quickly rouses the whole team. Minka and Magda firmly admonish Miko not to mess with what he saw. Pettimore and Red forcibly remove the flight helmet and NVGs from his possession.
The rest of the night passes uneventfully.
Dawn comes far too early, and yet takes far too long to arrive. Amid silver-blue fog, Magda arises and heads to the wagon to prep the camp kitchen for breakfast. On a nearby flat rock, she finds an empty jam jar.
This session had a couple of obscure references which only those deeply-marinated in Twilight: 2000 fandom will get. One is a nod to the long-lost Black Winter.
This was a wholly non-combat session but, as is evident from the account above, contained a whole hell of a lot of plot. Pettimore got the lion’s share of coverage here but all of my players were heavily engaged. This group is an absolute joy to run for because they will lean into just about anything I throw at them and their characters are far more than the sum of the numbers on their sheets.
As proof, I offer the sketch Minka’s player drew of what she thinks she and Miko saw (and, yes, she did get bonus XP for this!):
