The team spends a couple of days in Kamiensk – resting, healing, repairing their gear, brewing fuel, helping out with the local harvest, and analyzing the take from their raid on Shotkin’s headquarters. They can’t stay indefinitely, though. Winter is closing in and they’re only halfway to the expedition’s destination.
The sky is low and sullen as the team loads up. Most of the village turns out to see them off. Father Miroslav leads a prayer for those who still hold faith and blesses the team’s vehicles. With a last round of farewells, they mount up and roll south.
Their first destination isn’t far away. During their route planning discussions, someone suggested a quick stop at Radomsko’s airport to see what else might be salvageable – particularly in the control tower, which seemed to have somehow resisted the decay that’s otherwise widespread in the ruined city.
The trip in is without resistance, though some changes are evident. Over the last couple of days, the team has heard occasional gunfire in the city. They’ve assumed it’s Shotkin’s subordinate bands settling the new pecking order now that the warlord is out of the picture. As they pass the farming collectives on the city’s north side, the locals are out and about, gathered in small groups. There’s quite a bit more curious interest in the convoy than Radomsko’s citizenry has displayed before. No one flags them down or fires at them, though.
The airport is quiet as the team pulls up. Betsy, Erick, and Hernandez take security on the south side with the UAZ. Betsy stays in the gun ring with the M2, while Erick and Hernandez set up the SPG-9 on its tripod. To the north, Ellis, Bell, Ortiz, and Octavia remain with Comms. Cowboy, the team’s resident electrician, heads up to the tower to rig a pulley. Cat remains at ground level with Industrial Light and Mayhem to receive and stow salvage. Miko veers off to investigate the rest of the terminal and admin building, looking specifically for a microwave – Cowboy has plans. Pettimore climbs the control tower for an elevated lookout position.
An hour’s work yields a good haul of electronic components, two console-mounted aviation-band radios, and a semi-portable weather station. Cowboy is lowering the last load to Cat when Pettimore calls an alert. Two civilian cars and a BRDM-2 are heading toward the airport from the southwest.
The team tracks the incoming vehicles but doesn’t want to make the first move. The small convoy pulls onto a taxiway and heads straight for the terminal building. The Polski Fiats peel off, each disgorging a trio of riflemen behind cover. The BRDM parks in the open, swinging its gun to cover Comms. Over a loudspeaker crudely welded to the turret, someone begins making demands in Russian for the team to leave their territory immediately. The gunner squeezes off a warning burst over Comms.
Pettimore’s patience expires first. He’s been holding aim on the BRDM, and its vision slits are open. He squeezes off seven rounds from Thoughts and Prayers. The loudspeaker emits a wet sound of impact and a crackle of static, then goes dead. The scout car holds position for a moment longer, then executes a J-turn and begins withdrawing in the direction from which it arrived. The six dismounts appear to be confused and dismayed by this unexpected turn of events.
Pettimore whistles down to Miko to get his attention, then tosses down the arrow from Rasputin’s bow that he’s been carrying since it went through Ellis’ arm. Miko takes the arrow and Shotkin’s Nagant, moves up through the terminal building, and tosses them out onto the tarmac. There’s a brief grinding sound as six paradigms abruptly shift, and then the remaining marauders are backing away toward their cars.
[The team had gone in hoping to not have a fight on their hands, so I was not planning to run one. This was supposed to be a tense but non-combat encounter to illustrate the disarray of the local marauders in the post-Shotkin power vacuum. It nearly turned into “we have an SPG-9, your argument is irrelevant.]
Having pushed their luck enough, the team packs up and withdraws. Once outside the city, they go cross-country, circling to the west. A freshly-adorned hanging tree demonstrates that at least one of the local farming collectives has already taken marauder removal into its own hands.
The next major obstacle is the Warta River. Due to some navigational difficulties along the way, the team doesn’t make their way back to the main highway until late in the afternoon, and dusk is falling by the time they’re approaching the bridge. Even from a couple hundred meters out, Betsy can tell she’s got her work cut out for her. The bridge deck is more crater than intact roadway.
At least some tools are available. It appears someone had staged the equipment for an attempt at a repair. A crane is parked on the north side of the span, along with a pile of repair materials and a couple of shipping containers. Farther off to three east, a scattering of derelict military vehicles – an MT-LB, a BTR-70, and a T-55 – suggests a possible reason for the interrupted work.
Looking around, the area is actually somewhat resource-rich. A highway maintenance garage stands about a hundred meters to the north, and there’s a sand pit with a derelict front-end loader a few hundred meters to the east.
The team sets a perimeter and dismounts. Betsy begins assessing the damage. It appears someone who knew what they were doing set a cratering charge on the bridge deck. There’s also some spalling on the support pylons in the middle of the span, and their steel reinforcements are cracked and rusted. If the team can get the crane running again, Betsy thinks she can get the bridge in good enough shape to take the UAZ-469 and Comms… but Industrial Light and Mayhem is a beefy 10 tons unladen, and closer to 15-18 tons with its current load. It’s going to be dicey, and it’ll take a few days. But the alternative is to continue following the Warta south and hope to find another crossing point somewhere in unknown territory. The team sets up camp for the night.
The weather the next morning improves somewhat, with the clouds parting to reveal stray patches of blue. After breakfast, most of the team sets to various tasks – repairing the crane and converting it to run on alcohol fuel, setting up the still, inventorying construction materials and running very rough math on what will be required for field-expedient repairs.
Miko sets off on his own to explore the surrounding area. He’s about two hours out from camp when he spots the first sign of company. Three horsedrawn wagons, accompanied by a half-dozen or so people on foot, are rolling along a farm road, heading generally south toward the river.
Miko watches for a while, then decides to make contact. It doesn’t end in gunfire, but it doesn’t go particularly well. Miko is well-adapted to solo survival, but the price of that is a certain lack of social graces. To the merchant caravan, he looks like a distraction for an ambush, and they warn him off not quite at gunpoint.
When Miko reports back in, Ellis and Pettimore exchange looks. They’ve been working together long enough to have the same thought: we need more intel. Within an hour, they’re eastbound on foot, carrying a heavy load of trade goods to reinforce Ellis’ legend.
Pettimore has no difficulty picking up the merchants’ trail. The duo catches up to the convoy shortly before nightfall, encamped in an abandoned farm. Pettimore finds a good overwatch position and settles in with Thoughts and Prayers. Ellis sets his appearance to be that of an itinerant trader and heads in on foot.
Initial contact is relatively smooth once the initial awkwardness of an unexpected visitor passes. Ellis introduces himself as Maksim Kuusik, layering an Estonian accent over his Polish (from Miko’s earlier report, the traders’ spokesman “sounded like Leks,” so Ellis infers that the man is likely from one of the Baltic republics). Maksim is a merchant himself, currently trafficking in luxury foodstuffs and liquors. The traders’ leader, Gabor Vanags, offers him the hospitality of the group’s temporary hearth and a chance at commerce.
Over a meal – lubricated by a bottle of the good booze from Ellis’ pack – Ellis learns that the merchants are partnered with a team of salvagers somewhere up north (Gabor is understandably a bit vague on the subject of exactly where he’s getting his supplies). The rest of the group is a mix of Poles, Baltic ex-Soviets, and a couple of Finns, and appears mostly civilian. Gabor’s crew is headed south to Krakow with a load of winter clothing. Is Ellis/Maksim interested? Oh, yes.
Ellis’ alternate persona works out a deal for enough winter clothing to equip the entire expedition. As he’s inspecting the wares, though, he notices that one of the wagons holds something else under its load of coats and socks. It’s a large mechanical device, disassembled and packed down, along with a couple of old and weathered wooden cases. Ellis has suspicions.
As he’s wrapping up the deal, Ellis blinks, as if a thought has occurred to him. “Oh, there’s just one more thing…”
Gabor turns. “Hmm?”
Ellis pulls out his notepad and quickly sketches an annotated map that gives the approximate position of the 124th Motor Rifle Division. “Here – for free,” he says, handing Gabor the note and watching for a reaction.
“Huh.” Gabor looks at it. Looks back at Ellis. Passes the paper to the Finn who seems to be his second. “So it’s like that, then?” There’s a general stir as the group realizes what Ellis/Maksim just did. Their wary/curious slider moves back toward the wary end of the scale.
Ellis cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you mean by, ‘like that.’ If I’ve done something to offend… I believed sharing the location of the 124th would be beneficial… especially considering how things went for us,” he states, indicating the Baltic heritage Maksim ostensibly shares with Gabor.
“Not a lot of literate men out here these days,” the Finn says slowly, in heavily-accented Polish. “Where’d you learn to read?”
Ellis shrugs. “Primary school, mostly, but if I’m being honest, I was reading before starting school. But you’re right. Not a lot of literate folk these days.”
“Seems rarer since the war,” Gabor states. “You’ve probably noticed that. Lots of blank spots on the map, too.”
“True statements… I had a good feeling that reading wasn’t an issue for you and yours, though I didn’t think extending that trust would be seen as potentially unsettling. Forgive me for taking that for granted.”
“Some people around here have been unfriendly to anyone who seems to know too much,” Gabor says. He takes the sketch-map back from the Finn and rests his finger atop the dot labeled Radomsko. “Your kid had something to say about that.”
“Ahh… yeah, that’s true, there are definitely folks who are not very kind to those who still have their letters.” Glancing at the map, Ellis nods again. “Yes, the Warlord and his personal gang have been killed as I understand it. Shotkin was very much against reading, and when I dropped in a few weeks ago to try to trade, no one there could either read or write… nor wanted to trade much.”
“Well,” Gabor muses. “Maybe the neighborhood is less unfriendly, but I think it’ll be a while before we try our luck in Radomsko again. We had similar results a few months ago.”
Ellis smiles. “I’d give them at least a month to let the gangs finish killing each other off. I have a good feeling that there won’t be systematic destruction of books, magazines, presses, and maps now that Shotkin is out of the picture.”
The exchange of oh-shit glances among the traders confirms the suspicion Ellis has been harboring since he spotted the hidden cargo. He maintains his deadpan expression.
“Huh. Let’s hope the new management is friendlier, once they’ve sorted things out.” Gabor scratches his beard. “Well, then. If we keep you much longer, your friends out there might get concerned. Safe travels, Maksim.”
“Likewise, Gabor. Safe travels.” With that, Maksim/Ellis hefts his overloaded rucksack and begins heading back out to the road – and the “friends” he’s implied are waiting in the dark in case he suffers a misfortune.
He’s taken a few steps when Gabor calls out. “Oh. Maksim?” He waits for Ellis to turn back, then tosses him something small and metallic.
Ellis catches the object and holds it up to examine it in the dim light from the group’s cookfire. It’s an iron disc about the size of a large coin, evidently hand-stamped. One side bears the Polish double-headed heraldic eagle; the other, a cross.
Maksim waits just a beat too long, watching Ellis reaction, then nods as if he’s satisfied some sort of curiosity. Or as if Ellis has passed some sort of test. “For luck,” he calls.
“Thanks, Gabor. We can use all the luck we can find out there.” Ellis pockets the coin and moves out.
Pettimore is waiting down the road and transfers some of Ellis’ load to his own ruck while the intelligence officer unpacks his interactions. “Huh. Iron. Cold-forged, I reckon. Man thought you weren’t exactly human, huh?”
“Huh… they’re more read-in than I realized. Interesting crew, those folks. Reminds me of some other folks,” Ellis replies.
“So any idea of what was in that wagon?”
Ellis chuckles. “I’d bet nickles we don’t have to dollars we can’t spend that it’s a printing press for a secret buyer in Krakow.”