As our table gears up to resume play after a lengthy hiatus, the player behind Pettimore and Alexei sent me this slice of Pettimore’s pre-campaign back-story. Posted with author permission.
I don’t recall much of what happened after Krakow, honestly. Most of it’s a blur. I remember bugging out, the team going their seperate ways. I remember Broadstreet handing me that file, looking like the Devil himself had walked on his grave, then he ducked down an alley never to be seen again.
After that, I guess I just sort of drifted. Headed north for a spell. No reason why, just kinda picked a direction. After a while, I wound up in this little town called Ponikla. Seemed like a quiet place to stop. Folks were wary, but friendly. Lot of them gave me the side eye when I spoke Russian, but nobody was outwardly hostile. Met the local padre, fella named Frankowski. Man plays a mean game of chess. He pointed me at this little cottage on the village perimeter, been abandoned since the owner never came back from the front ten years prior. Spent about a week repairing the floors, patching the roof and the like. After about two days my grub was running low, so I went hunting and brought down a buck. I’d just started dressing it out when I heard a branch snap behind me. I drop and turn, next thing I know, my sidearm is leveled on a damned kid! Boy couldn’t have been any older than 14, maybe 15, with an old varmint gun pointed at the ground. Kid was white as a sheet and shaking, probably though I was gonna end him right there. Nobody said nothing for a sec, then the kid dropped the rifle and raised his hands.
The kid’s voice shook as he said “Please, no shoot. I go!” All the time, though, his eyes were fixed on that deer.
“What’s your name, boy?” No response, so I switch to Polish.
“Jak masz na imię?”
“S-Stanislaw.”
“What were you going to do with that rifle, Stanislaw?”
“I am hungry. My friends are hungry. I was trying to find something. Maybe a squirrel, or a rabbit.”
Kid looked half starved, clothes patched up, but he was clean and that rifle was well cared for. Beat all to hell, but oiled and cleaned. Jesus, it was like looking in a mirror.
I lowered the pistol.
“Pick it up. SLOWLY. Good. Now unload it and hand me the rounds.”
The kid reluctantly followed my instructions, then slung the rifle. He only had two rounds in a 5 round mag.
“Pockets too.”
“I only have two bullets.”
“Only two?”
“Tak. One for each squirrel.”
Damn.
“What about later?” I asked.
The kid shrugged. “I make a spear. That is for then. We are hungry NOW.”
Fair enough.
“Come here, kid. You got a knife?”
He slowly pulled out an old pen knife and offered it to me handle first. Again, old but well cared for.
“Help me dress this deer. We’ve got about half an hour till sundown, and about 5 klicks to cover.” I held out the knife. He just stood there. ”You wanna eat tonight? Then get to skinning.”
To his credit, the kid wasn’t bad. Probably never handled anything bigger than a woodchuck, but he had the basics. When we were done, the kid grabbed the bones and wrapped them in an old pillowcase he pulled out of his jacket. ”For soup.”
After, he slung his load and we started off. Kid kept up, didn’t complain either. When we got back to the village, I gave him half the meat, and his rounds back. ”Fair’s fair. You helped you get half.”
He straightened up, lifted his eyes and offered me the knife.
“For the meat.”
“Keep it. Man needs a decent knife, and that’s a good one.”
“Nie. I cannot accept charity. I owe you for the meat.”
Damn. I knew that feeling, all right.
“Tell you what, kid. You know anything about the woods, the area around here?”
He puffed up a bit. “This is my home. I know everything for kilometers around.”
“Then draw me a map. Better yet, show me. I’ll need the lay of the land if I’m staying on here. Do that, and we’re square.”
I extended my hand. “John Lee Pettimore.”
He slowly smiled, and took it.
“Stanislaw Jablonski.”