Dartmouth Dust IC

[Bonecrusher Doc]

It's Market Day in Hanover. In an earlier era, that would have described a bustling, cheerful scene; a crowded marketplace full of neighbors happily gossiping as they shopped for whatever might catch their eye.

On this late summer day in 2016, the weather is beautiful, but the few people wandering around the courthouse square are deadly serious. With winter only a couple months away, getting some good bargains could mean the difference between adequate rations and near-starvation.

Most of the merchants are farmers, with animal-drawn carts of farm produce, both plant and animal. Buyers carefully eye tables of junk parts, keeping careful poker faces to avoid betraying their excitement at finding the serpentine belt they needed. A middle-aged man dressed in buckskin slowly takes a gold band off his left hand and, after the merchant's careful examination of it, exchanges it for two large bags of salt that he puts across his horse's back. George the miller and his son George Jr. arrive late, sweating under their rucksacks full of bags of flour for those who don't grind their own. The scene would look charmingly quaint if it weren't for the rarity of smiles and the abundance of paranoid glances, even though most of the folks know each other on a first-name basis. One beat-up card table does elicit a few grins as two young boys (one still losing his baby teeth) try their most dramatic sales pitches in an attempt to barter away some old books and papers.

The nurse practioner and the dental hygienist (known as Doc Morgan and Doc Sanders) have lines of people in front of their home/offices, in prime real estate on the court square, as does the gunsmith, Blake Lewis. There really aren't many folks who live more than two blocks from Court Square in Hanover anymore - the rest of the town is empty buildings, long since ransacked for anything useful. Folks out on the farms don't leave their homesteads much, so they use Market Day as an opportunity to see the professionals and craftsmen they need in town, with baskets of eggs and handfuls of .22LR ammunition as payment.

[IonDragon]

Victor Mathers

Victor sidles into the square, trying hard to look like he's not there. He walks stiffly, and quickly from one stall to the next eying the wares and running his fingers through the collection of nick-nacks he may be able to hawk in his pocket.

He is dressed in what was once black jeans, and an off-brand black t-shirt. The jeans are torn and frayed almost up to the knee, and now more dirt than black.

I've gotta find some food or something. My supplies are all but gone, and there's no chance I'm going to last the winter without coming up with some more.

He looks up, scans his surroundings and sees...

[JettWilderbeast]

Jimmy Savaloy

Market Day, one of Jimmy's favourite days of the week, it was the day he could stock up on essentials and look for exotic unusual food to supply his passion, not that exotic meant much anymore...
Today Jimmy is dressed in a flanel shirt, jeans and has an apron tied round just his lower half of his body. The Apron is flecked with flour.
Jimmy loafes around the Market taking his time over each stall, he's not much else to do this fine morning, he spies a scruffy looking younger man he doesn't recognise;
"Mighty fine morning sir... hey there, I don't recognise you do I? You new round here or just passing through?

[Gunther]

Wayne and Johnny Boy, they're doomed, they're doomed to wander, wander far and wide~

Wayne huffed slightly as he worked. He had set up a small, impromptu mini-clinic outside of the doctor's office. It was a bare minimum, really. Just a couple planks set up on sawhorses for an operating table, piece of PVC piping, impaled with a nail, plugged into the ground for the catheter bag to be held upright. There was also a bit of bedsheet he had bartered for to cover it, and the doctor took whatever payment he could get. His son helped him, and though the boy had a good heart, the remains of their darker days could still be seen in him.

"So why are we helping them again?" Asked the young man, as the doctor improvised a cast out of the remains of a wooden plank. The slivers of wood would help the leg set, but as it was the wasteland doctor was still running off bare bones surgery.

Ha. Bare bones. Oh, that was a good one.

"Because," He said, "I need you to finish up here. I'll see if the doctor inside can spare any medical supplies."

The young man let out an impertinent sigh as his father stood back. The boy had learned a bit from his father's work- they hadn't scrounged up enough to get a more permanent residence set up, but here, on Market Day? Well, it was as good a place as any to scrounge what they could from the farmers, see if they could get any bullets forged by the gunsmith for the coming winter. The bandits always came around that time of year, looking to take what little they had. His son had suggested joining them a handful of times, but it was half-hearted- neither of them had the will to return to that degree of viciousness anymore. Death had taken enough people at their hands.

Walking in, he politely tried to edge around the crowds, looking for the doctor. He hadn't spoken with the man since they set up shop, and he hoped that he would be willing to just give them some supplies- especially since they were lightening his work load.

[Adlan]

Barcham marchin' down from the mountain

At the same steady pace that had let him cross half the continent, Barcham came down the road into the market down. He had a few odds and ends to trade, 8 empty cases he wanted reploaded, and a prosthetic that he would like to get checked out, just a check up.

New commer's always get odd looks, but Barcham might have got odder looks than before, the spring in his step a literal one, the buffalo cap on his head, and the bandolier of rounds glinting in the light.

He made his way over to what looked like a doctors, or what passed for the doctors. Dropped his bag at his foot, and stood at a position of ease.

'I say Doc, would one be able to make an appointment?' He said, his upper class british accent clear and polished, perhaps a little too polished to help reassure the yanks he met of his good intentions.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort's Seat of Law:


Stationed in a sturdy reclining lawn chair, dark green uniform jacket, tan slacks, and a crisp state trooper's hat, Beaufort Mayville surveyed the populace with a patient gaze. The traditional county sheriff's uniform that Beaufort had once worn became ravaged in his escape from North Haverhill. But the six pointed star which identified his authority was clean and gleaming in the light over his left breast.

Market Day posed great interest to Beaufort, though not for the reasons that it did for other citizens. The verbal agreement that he had made in Hanover stated that he would provide peace-keeping law enforcement in exchange for weapons, munitions, room, and board. But while he could gaze with clarity down the lane between the now defunct parking meters, Beaufort hated to leech.

Two wooden crates sat on the far end of the table beside him each one full of canned food. Dan Dirk, a former Hanover police officer, had helped him with the table which now housed a stack of paper, pens, and a large number of spent bullet casings in need of primers that he had found. No price or barter tag came from Beaufort's table as he kept eyes between both sets of work. Being a public notary was an endless job and the county sheriff could see a number of faces in the market that he had drafted birth, marriage, or death certificates for.

It amused Beaufort endlessly to think that most of the pack animals were now tied to the parking meters.

A few new faces caught the sheriff's interest. He did not recognize them from the nearby areas of Norwich, Wilder, or Etna. None appeared immediately dangerous, but most of the individuals at market seemed to favor a public display of firearms.

While making an effort to smile under his thick white mustache and raise a hand to those who acknowledged him Beaufort continued to attend the local business.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Doc Morgan pokes her head out of her office and raises an eyebrow at the newcomer with the artificial leg.

"You take him, Dr. Richardson. I've got no experience with prosthetics."

She ducks back inside, then a moment later tosses a small bottle toward the visiting sawbones.

"Tincture of benzoin. In case his stump is getting blisters. Make sure I get a cut of whatever he barters with."

[The Anarresti]

Jamerson "James" Buchanan
James wandered the marketplace, looking not at the wares on sale, but at the people. He needed to leave the town, and for that, he needed a traveling partner.
Scanning the area, he noticed a boy of about nineteen, sitting at a surgeon's table. The boy looked like he had been on the road for a while, but without sucess: James noticed the boy's eyes were like deep holes, a sight far to common outside the saftey of the monastery.
Walking up the boy, James planted his oak staff in the dust of the road, and crinkled his warm brown eyes at him.
"Excuse me, son, do you and your pa need a guide?" James asked.

[Gunther]

Wayne nodded back to the doctor as he left, "We could use some extra splints if you have any! And something for an anesthetic, if God is willing enough to provide. I've had enough screaming to last me a lifetime with some of them!" He added a chuckle at the end, re-emerging before offering his hand to the man with the prosthetic.

"Good afternoon! I'm Doctor Richardson- you can just call me Wayne, though. What can I help you with?" He asked, "It's not often we get many foreigners around these parts."

Outside, John looked up from his latest patient, turning back to see his father speaking with the man in the doorway. Rubbing his eyes of a bit of stray plaster, he shrugged. "I leave most of that sort of stuff to pops- for the time, we're just staying here, I guess. Why, where do you usually ferry people to, sir?"

[The Anarresti]

Jamerson Buchanan
"To wherever they need to go, usually. I'm from Eastern Tennesse myself, and I've been traveling on foot for as long as I can remember. I've been walking the Blue Ridge for so long I know it like the back of my hand. Any kinda rocks or mountains, and I can take care of them. Just wherever y'all need to go, I'll take you there."
James sighed, and looked the boy straight in the eye. His voice lost the boasting quality it had, and hardened.
"In all honesty, I've offended the Abbot of that monastery over yonder. I need to skip town, but 'taint bright to go off on foot without no traveling partner. I wouldn't be askin' much fer my services but y'alls company, and help when I need it. Don't worry, I'm a harmless old man, ain't but some dispute over the nature of God. I understand if you need t' talk to yer pa first, but I just wanted you to understand where I'm coming from."

[Bonecrusher Doc]

At that moment there is a tremendous blinding light - filling the sky, but originating from the southwest. It is not accompanied by any sound or shock wave...yet. In an earlier era this would have been a mystery, but almost everyone in Hanover instantly knows it for what it is - a distant atomic or nuclear explosion.

[Adlan]

Barcham
'Well Doctor, I'm glad to meet you, I've been wandering your fine country for a while now.'

He shook the doctors hand, with a firm and calloused grip.

He opened a side pouch of his bergen, and took out a plastic bag, one of the cheapest, most useful, plentiful bits of refuse that was reused by nearly everyone.

'I have walked from the Cascade's to here, and isn't often I get to see a Doctor what with you American's not having an NHS' He smiled at his lame joke.

'So I'd like a check up, see if you can catch anything before it goes wrong, I got a little cash...'
By which he meant the gold and silver coin's that were the only form of currency to retain value, rather than the worthless paper.

'...or I have these,' meaning the bag 'Beaver Glands, They seem to do the trick as a painkiller'

He turned as the explosion filled the sky, this was the closest he'd ever been to one.
'I say!'

He looked at the Doctor, to see what the reaction was, while following his standard NBC procedure's, mayhap there was a bunker or shelter here.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

"Poor bastards." Doc Morgan jumps up on a box.

"No need to duck and cover folks, that was pretty far away."

She gets down, but motions to the sheriff and Dr. Richardson. She confers with them quickly in hushed tones; only those standing around the medical area are able to hear:

"There's no immediate danger, true... but we're screwed. That fallout is going to travel this way on the jet stream in a matter of days, or even hours. I've got enough Potassium Iodide tablets to protect everyone from most of the harmful effects initially, but... the food, the water in this area... could be like Chernobyl or New York City all over again. God help us, I don't know what kinda folks set off weapons like that when everyone's on the edge of starvation to start with."

[IonDragon]

Victor Mathers

Victor had been searching through a pile of nuts and bolts when he had been addressed, and it had taken him a while to realize that the comments were directed at him. He jerked his head up with a start, looking for the source of the voice right as the bomb fell.

Crap. As if things couldn't get any worse... Well, I guess it's not just me now.

He felt some kind of sick pleasure at knowing everyone was in the same boat as he had started in, but at the same time he realized things were bad. This was worse than when people had started leaving, it was worse than the first fallouts. Yeah, he could go hide in one of the lecture hall basements again, but he didn't have the supplies to out last the radiation again. It was time to move, what with winter coming and everyone running out of food...

*A string of explicative followed by* Would it be trite to say 'looks like we're screwed?'

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort And Reckoning:


Still in conference with Doctors Morgan and Richardson, Beaufort pronounced in an airy but emphasized tenor pitch, "Everyone will be coming here. Between I-eighty-nine and ninety-one we won't be able to get out of the way fast enough. We need to evacuate the town fellows out from under the cloud and off the main road fast...preferably onto a fallow area several hundred feet above sea level.

Noticing that Dan Dirk had moved into the little social conference circle while he was speaking, the sheriff conveyed quietly, "Dan, please grab the evacuation stash and the water tanker for the civilians. I'm going to take my pemmican, weapons, and maybe some volunteers north for a raid and see if I can loot my old ranch and gun shop.

"Going too far north is winter-suicide. I would prefer not to make war with Vermont or Canada if it can be avoided. But we need a meeting point after my raid. Any thoughts?" At his question, Beaufort's green eyes and ears take in the little group that has collected around the doctors and the male amputee.

[Gunther]

Wayne's smiling demeanor at the newcomer vanished as he saw the distant atomic fire begin to build up. His face turned into a horrified frown as he realized the full implications of this- someone, somewhere, had not only got their hands on one of the deadly world-ending devices, but had detonated it! Madness did not begin to describe what happened, and as he instinctively looked over to his son, he saw the boy was as slack-jawed about the whole affair as he was.

"The beaver glands will be nice..." He said somewhat lamely, taking a deep breath. He had survived the apocalypse once, and even as the growing mushroom cloud prompted him to run back home , he forced himself to remain rooted to the spot. Running wouldn't set a good example for John, nor would standing there like a blubbering idiot.

"I suppose I'll join the raid to the north. I can't speak for my boy, but if one of you gets hurt or takes a wrong step, we'll need every able body we can to survive. I only ask that we take a stop at any hospitals along the way to stock up on supplies- we may have radiation medicine, but with an influx of people running our way, we're sure to get plenty of other problems springing up."

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Doc Morgan
"If some of you are going on this raid right away, I can tell the rest of the town and the farms that we'll have to abandon the area. Who's going? Sheriff, what should I tell the Judges when they show up?"

Doc Morgan's coworker, a midwife everyone calls "Margaret," shows up with a plastic basin full of sandwich bags, each of them containing a half dozen pills. A nod from the nurse practitioner, and Margaret passes them out. Doc Morgan takes a pill out of her bag and gulps it down dry, then adds,
"One per day taken orally until they're gone, preferably with plenty of water."

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Finally the rumbling sound of the explosion is heard, like thunder on a summer night without rain. Barcham does some quick thinking, digging deep into memories from his university days and military training, but also drawing on his experience as an outdoorsman.


Barcham's internal monologue, or something like it:
It's really impossible to tell precisely where the fallout will be in significant concentration - that all depends on the weather. But he figured that explosion was pretty far away - probably D.C. or Baltimore. And of course the jetstream is variable, but with the prevailing winds and a bomb that size... ye gods. Two hundred... better make it 250 kilometers to be safe.

Barcham awarded 1 Action Point for use in a Science/Engineering scenario.

[Adlan]

Barcham had been counting the seconds between flash and bang, and now had a guess at the power of the bomb, and it's distance.

He couldn't help but overhear the sherrif's conversation. And he Spoke up.

'Sherrif, my good fellow, I know I'm missing a bloody limb, but I'll march as quick as any bloke of yours can, I can shoot straight and move quiet. I was a Light Dragoon in Afghan, and I have 50 rounds of 45-70. You know 45-70? It'll drop a Bison at 700 yards.'

Barcham worked the leaver of his rifle, the custom action opening to reveal a round as big as mans pinky, the gleaming clean action set into a curly walnut stock. At the end of the Barrel, one could notice an eared foresight, in addition to protection the iron site, it became clear that the nose cap also held a bayonet lug. If one was up in British Military Equipment, you could see the sheath of a 1907 pattern sword bayonet, strapped to the side of his Bergen.

'I've just crossed the mountains west of here. I reckon I know a Valley, year round flowing water, abandoned town and a good bridge still. It should be out of the danger range of any fallout. I studied nuclear weapons at the old Alma Mater.

Barcham was still a powerful man, entering his early thirties, and though worn and scarred, and missing a leg, was no helpless cripple.

'If you have whatever you fellows use instead of ordnance survey this side of the pond, I think it's a few hundred klicks north west of here.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort:


Having taken a long moment to look at Margaret's medicine before he took it, Beaufort closed his eyes and swallowed. Whatever the images were displayed to his mind's eye, they did not appear to soften his face. In order, he answered the concerns which came more quickly than he wished. A certain ease came into his voice, "Thank you, Doctor Richardson, your presence would be appreciated."

To Doctor Morgan, his tone edged, "Tell them to do what Deputy Dirk tells them to do. Commandeer every riding animal and vehicle you can for law enforcement. Then move north with the water tanker to Haverhill. There are three railroads leading out from there and almost no one will use them. If the bandits aren't dead by the time you get there, you'll have to fight anyway.

"A military man from across the Atlantic Pond? My lad," Beaufort rested a hand on Barcham's shoulder, in turn, while still not properly introduced, "I can tell that you and I are going to get along famously." A lively smile spread up the sheriff's face before ending the gesture, one which lit his green eyes with the light from the sky.

Trying to be polite, but efficient, Beaufort Mayville hopped up with a slow leg onto the same utilitarian platform that Doctor Morgan had used. Not to his desire, the sheriff of Grafton County raised his arms in an orderly fashion.

"If I could have everyone's ears for just a moment. Do not panic. It has come to my attention that it is necessary to evacuate the city of Hanover. To do this you will need a knife, a canteen, and a means to make fire. Following that, concentrate on weapons, ammunition, non-perishable food, and cold-weather gear. If you have any questions please consult with one of our judges, Doctor Morgan, or Sheriff's Deputy Dirk.

"In addition I am looking for a number of able-bodied volunteers to move north in order to secure food. Any soul courageous enough to accept this task should follow me north where we will depart shortly. Bring anything that you would need to survive in the wild. Those who participate will have my sincere appreciation."

Stepping down carefully, but with outward calm, from the box, Beaufort Mayville patted John Richardson's shoulder as he passed him. "Don't worry about this," he said on his way to pick up the supplies from his table. "All we have to do is find a better place to live."

[The Anarresti]

Jamerson Buchanan
"I don't like the sound of this," said James. "I'm going to head to the mountains on my own. May our paths cross again, and God bless!" And with that, the aged janitor picked up his bag, and was gone.

[Gunther]

Wayne felt mildly reassured as he saw authority taking hold once more. Seeing John's similar reaction was also reassuring- though he sincerely wished that the boy wouldn't, he knew the young man would volunteer to help scavenge. Their hard lives had given them experience with rustling up a meal, even at another's expense- finding food for more than themselves would be a bit of a task, but certainly not impossible.

As John approached, toolbox in hand, he nodded to Beaufort, his rifle slung over his shoulder, "I'll help you out, sure 'nuff- but if it's possible, I'd like to get my hands on some tools while we're out. Torch canisters are scarce enough to trade for, but if we run into any machine shops I'd like for us to take a peek."

Wayne, as he followed in his son's trail, laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, shaking his head. "If we find any shops- I'll take a look. I want you staying with whatever supplies we pick up- keep 'em safe from anyone that might try to sneak up on 'em while we're scavenging. No ifs or butts here- you stay with the goods." He declared, fixing the young man with a withering stare. The sort of stare only a resolute father can muster.

The young boy simply buckled with a nod, both of them waiting for the directions to leave.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Despite the respect Sheriff Beaufort has in the community, he gets no volunteers among the market-goers except for three visitors from out of town: the doc and his son, and the Brit with the prosthetic. He supposed it made sense - the visitors had nothing binding them to Hanover. Everyone else had homes, farms, businesses, family that they had to attend to at this moment of crisis.

Beaufort briefs his new posse on his plan and they set off to the old ranch and gun shop that was last seen inhabited by a group of antisocial brigands who were known to shoot first and ask questions later.

1 action point for Beaufort to be used in a Leadership situation.

[IonDragon]

Victor

Victor grabs a baggy of pills as the nurse comes by with the tray and stuffs it into his pocket of nick-nacks. He gives one last furtive glance around the town square and ducks down an alleyway, clambering over a pile of fallen stone and mortar. He grabs his bicycle from where he had locked it to an overturned dumpster in the shadows and rides home as quickly as possible.

'Home' was the same place that he had lived since before the first bombs fell. While many others had opted to move closer to the town center, into larger, nicer places, or out into the country to farm he had elected to stay right where he was. It was where he was comfortable, and besides all his stuff was already right there. There were no moving trucks so he would have to carry everything by hand. It never occurred to him that he could simply use things people had left behind in the area he was moving to. It would be like... living in someone else's house, never knowing when they might show up at the door.

This was just too much. He pulls a warm coke out of the nonfunctional refrigerator, and sits on the couch in front of the nonfunctional TV. He sits for a moment, sipping coke as the reality of what was happening comes crashing down on him. He has to leave. He had to leave 10 minuets ago, and he could only take what he could carry and wouldn't slow him down. He jumps to his feet, sending coke spilling across the dirty carpet.

It didn't matter.

He runs to the bedroom and pulls the 'spam can' of surplus USSR ammo out from under the bed and dumped out what was left. A good deal, at least something wasn't going horribly wrong today. Without pausing to count he guesses about 60 or so, wrapped with paper in packets of 10, several were broken and had split in the case. He piles it all into the bottom of his backpack, wondering briefly if water would damage the primer or if the jarring might set one off right into his backside.

No time.

He runs out of the little college student's style flat, not bothering to stop and lock the door for the first time. He fumbles with his keychain and drops his keys. Picking them up, he unlocks his bike.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Half an hour from when the bomb fell, he rides into the town square, now deserted, and looks around. He'd missed them. But he knew where they were headed. If he hurried he might still catch them.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort, Roads, And Trails:

Once again Beaufort is struck by the utility of the rescue trailer behind his ATV. Keeping his belongings on the trailer had allowed him to forget the batch of homemade soap that he had made in Hanover and had brought it along all the way to North Haverhill. The trip was an unmolested one, passing through Oxford and other small communities along the turnless journey before leaving Route Ten in favor of the flat dirt trails east of Haverhill. Beaufort made every attempt to avoid the crime gang which may not have evacuated from Haverhill and remain away from whatever foot patrol they might manage on the paved roads further north.

Dismounting at the very southern edge of his historic property, far and away from the domestic house further northwest, Beaufort did not expect company. Nearby should be his family's emergency root cellar, diesel cache, and spare truck and trailer both surrounded and covered by brush and trees. The gun shop and his library, he reflected briefly, would be part of his neglected house at the front of the tree-secluded property.

Without fuss, the sheriff of Grafton County eyed the ranch and its surrounding tree lines while waiting for the few volunteers to arrange themselves.

'Three years,' Beaufort thought. 'The squirrels had better not have learned how to burrow through the walls of that celler.'

[Adlan]

Barcham
The Veteran had kept up better than the others had expected, more cheerfully too. He had quieted all his gear, and moved with barely a sound now he was dismounted.

'What's the rough layout, estimated target numbers, and relevent info Sherrif? He asked quietly, his words not a whisper, because a whisper is not quiet. "Or are we gonna cache our packs and take a little recce?"

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Beaufort

"I was just about to say that we should stop here... we're getting close to my old property. Further to the northwest are my old house and barn. Within sight of those are a biodiesel tank and where I used to park my old truck and trailer. But our closest objective, about half a mile through the trees, is my old "root cellar." It's a hidey-hole built into the side of a hill, where I stored guns and supplies. At one time it was well hidden, but there's no telling how many ne'er-do-wells have taken up residence here and possibly found every last bean and bullet that I stashed away."

[Gunther]

The doctor emerged from the vehicle, fixing his son with a stern glare- leaving the boy to stay with the vehicle to stand watch. Looking towards the property, Wayne listened in on the conversation, readying his hunting rifle.

"If you like, I could take a peek through my scope and have a look for anyone inside." He offered, "I'm not a master sniper, but I could probably keep their heads down."

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Wayne finds a vantage point on an old overturned tree, covered with moss. He and the Sheriff take turns looking through the scope to see anything they can through the trees on the property.


[roll0]
[roll1]


After Beaufort points it out, Wayne sees the camoflaged entrance to the sheriff's "root cellar." With some concern, Beaufort remarks that it shouldn't be so easy to spot - perhaps his camoflage netting has been disturbed.
They can just see the top of something red, which Beaufort says is his biodiesel tank. The contour of the land prevents them from seeing his barn and house at this point, and they see no sign of movement other than birds and squirrels. The air here is fresh and rich with the smell of the trees at their heaviest foliage this part of the year.

[Adlan]

Barcham
'So, whats our scheme of manouver' Barcham said, just audible to his intended recipients, Movement by the numbers?

He elaborated briefly,
'That's 1 person moves while the other two keep watch.'

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:

"Exactly right," Beaufort confirmed with a serious eye on Barcham while speaking at his volume and still not properly introduced. "My rifle makes almost no noise so I will take the rear. Cheerful lad, you're in front. It's obvious I don't have to tell you how to be quiet. Doctor Richardson, keep low and cover each of us as we move. I'm sure you can hit what you shoot at, just find cover before you aim.

"...we do not have time to piddle. If it points a weapon at you, kill it. If you can knock it out, do it, but be quiet. Everyone except ourselves are trespassers."

Armed with his ArmaLite model Fifteen, custom-made noise suppressor, magnifying optics, and sub-sonic ammunition, Beaufort Mayville briefly enjoyed the sound of the trees as he leaned over one of his favorite reading spots and waited for the two men to set out.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Just then there is a sharp whistle from John Richardson, back with the ATV and the bicycles. A young man in dirty black clothes with a Mosin-Nagant slung over his shoulder comes biking along the dirt trail, and as he turns the corner, finds himself staring down the business end of John's firearm.

[Gunther]

As Wayne nodded at Beaufort's orders- full well knowing that the man had a sound tactical mind for things like this- he heard his son whistle. Having spent so long tending patients and other 'soft' duties, he was caught slightly off-guard by the armed man his son was pointing a gun at.

Had these been the wilder days, where everyone was an enemy, that likely would have got the good doctor killed. Not to mention his son as well. Sluggishly, he tried to bring his rifle up, attempting to sight the man down the scope in case he tried any funny business with his boy. He would not lose his son, not after coming this far.

"Don't move!" He screamed at the man, seeing his son's silent, steady aim. The boy hadn't stayed soft, like his old man: He had still retained a wastelander's heart. That would serve him well...

Hopefully.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort And Surprise:

"Put your hands up," Beaufort roared from behind his rifle. It had already been seated against his shoulder as he did so and the unfamiliar face near John Richardson was not given a serving of mercy under the aim of the weapon. "Get off the bicycle! Now!

"Down on your knees!"

It was a strange and unconscious comfort for the County Sheriff, repeating words that he had said hundreds of times, both in and for the department's Special Emergency Response Team. But the heat and animosity in the sheriff's voice came naturally. Beaufort, like most intelligent fellows, did not like to be followed or approached from behind while engaging in clandestine law enforcement operations. It reminded his instincts too much of the Connecticut River Dispute.

[Adlan]

Barcham
Things had happened very quickly, and the brit felt left out. Everyone had a gun draw except him.

Of Course, shooting off a round early would be a sucidally bad move. Bring down the whole passel of ruffians if anywere about.

So it was with a quiet shink of draw steel, he drew his Sword Bayonet.

'Gentlemen, put up your arms. One Shot and the whole state will know we're here.
He nodded at the young man held up at gun point.
'Besides, weren't you at the Doc's Table in town? His Boy?'

[IonDragon]

Victor Mathers

Victor pulls up short, slamming on the rusty brakes on his bicycle. He slowly puts his hands up, leaning on his left leg. "Umm... Hi there guys," He reaches up to push some loose hairs out of his eyes, but stops half way there when he sees a threatening twitch from one of the many guns pointed at him. I am. Er, was on my way to help. He gives a small grin that looks forced and fake. I had to go home to get some things first, he continues is a small voice.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


"Off the bike," Beaufort was completely undeterred, repeating what the target at the end of his weapon should have done immediately. No law enforcement officer ever wanted hear a suspect's story until after they were compliantly on the ground. This one, Beaufort admitted to himself, looked vaguely familiar and might have been in Hanover once. But the seasoned department head saw no reasoning to blindly trust any person who approached from behind, whatever their claims.

But neither did the county sheriff possess any fear of the small amount of noise which his weapon would make, unlike the Richardsons' rifles. "Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head.

"Search him for identification."

[IonDragon]

Victor

Though complying, Victor looks kind of like a cornered animal. Glancing back and forth between the speaker and the person going through is pockets as he sits there on the ground, Hey guys, you know this is hardly the way you'd want to treat help...

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Although there was no signal from his father, John Richardson is the first to show deference to the sheriff, and starts to search Victor. Victor tells him which pocket to check for a well-worn wallet, in which John finds an expired Dartmouth student ID with Victor's face and name on it.

John (flashing the ID card at the rest of the group)
"He's from around here."

[Gunther]

Wayne nodded to his son, letting his rifle's aim lower as he nodded to his flesh and blood. He'd have to berate the boy later for volunteering to search the man: He had seen men rigged with hand grenades to their pockets after being dosed up with LSD by raider groups. Hell, he had even used that tactic before with a bit of sodium thiopental and a few captives. Volunteering was for other fools to accomplish.

"Right, well, you're more than welcome to move up with the others- I'll be working overwatch with John here." The doctor said, sitting down once more.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


Beaufort allowed his assault rifle to slide down into the high ready position as the information was revealed. With a second glance the investigator of several decades confirmed that the bicycle had once belonged to the Hanover Police Department.

"Alright, Doctor, if that is the meal you want to eat. You and your son have the honor of not shooting us when we come back. If the cellar is clear, you can drive the ATV and bikes where we'll load up."At this the county sheriff's eyes passed over John also, "But if there's anything chasing us, you have my personal permission to kill it dead as a tombstone."

"As for you, young man," he began to verbalize directly toward Victor in his airy and tenor voice. "I am sorry about that. I apologize. You can stand up." The lively green eyes of the county sheriff wore less scare than a few moments previous. The trim of his snowy mustache was still fairly strait as he gazed and considered the new-comer's actions in the past few moments.

"These days most people change their morals more often than clothes," Beaufort explained. "I hope that you'll understand that I wanted to be certain of your intentions." The senior male took a moment to sidle up to Victor, not even bothering with introduction. The expression on his face was as sincere as he could make it while the words fell out of his lips. "But, I appreciate the help. Your hands are welcome here. If you will kindly decide whether to stay with the supplies, or to follow this fine English gentleman, we will sort out this supply situation very soon."

Having gestured helpfully, and as politely as Beaufort could manage toward Wayne and Barcham, the peace officer added in a serious tone, "But if you're ever shot at...hide behind something first. Then shoot back."

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Beaufort, Victor, & Barcham proceed on foot, one man moving at a time with the other two in overwatch, until they end up on the doorstep of Beaufort's hidey-hole without any sign of another human having been by any time recently, at least not since the last rain. But even though the door is shut, Beaufort does notice that the camoflage is not in place the way it was when he had to leave.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


Beaufort Mayville quietly informed his unlikely companions, "It's been tampered with. Let's look carefully." As per his order in the line of movement, Beaufort dutifully took a position covering the door in the hill. The fourty-five degree slope made for an interesting finagle, but the county sheriff was more interested in the fluffy and pressed grass around the edges of the door under the camouflage net.

Of most interest were details about the net and the door itself...

[Bonecrusher Doc]

The camoflage net is intact but not arranged the same way as Beaufort left it. There is no pressed grass showing signs of a person being there recently.
The door is closed, but the lock is destroyed - there are tool marks, such as might have been left by a crowbar.

[Adlan]

Barcham
'Right then Sherrif, whats the plan? Go in quiet, hope no one's home? Barcham checked the Stock of his rifle, for the quick reloads, and his bandolier for the rest of them. 'Or, do we go in hot, kick the door down and clear this place room by room?'.

The Grin on his face showed which he'd prefer, as he drew his bayonet once more, and clicked it silently home on his rifle.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


A wry twist turned up the sheriff's mouth, unwanted, but decidedly a smile. He answered in the same quiet tones that the Englishman seemed so familiar with using. "Rapid stealth movement. We're not at war yet, but we may be very soon. There is only just a tunnel and a room at the end." The question gave Beaufort more of a moment to think and with it the opportunity to make a better decision. His eyes slipped from Barcham to Victor and considered all of the little information he knew about the volunteer. The non-suppressed weapon which Victor carried came into the county sheriff's vision again and flattened his smile into seriousness, "Brave soul would you kindly help remove the camo net and then stay here to watch for patrols? I'd prefer to make prisoners quietly."

[Adlan]

Barcham
'Quiet work is it then?' Barcham unclipped the bayonet with the same quiet metallic noise, and slung his rifle, cinching it tight. From a beaded sling, he swung round the small forest axe he had there, and checked the leather covering the blade. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the swirling green leaves that covered his arms.

'Always wondered why they made us crawl through plastic tunnels at Sandhurst' He said, as he crouched at the entrance, and made his way in, past the camo netting.

[Gunther]

Seeing the others stand around at the door, Wanye couldn't help but curse to himself about the situation. Drifting his scope over the compound, he took a mental inventory of the situation. With them waiting around, that meant something was wrong here. Darting his scope over the windows, he tried to get a peek at anyone that could be thinking of jumping out to drop grenades or other deadly items on the ground below. He was certainly not a fan of remaining inactive for so long: Usually, he had already blasted someone's head off after holding his rifle for this damned long.

"Come on..." He coaxed to himself, "Just get in and out already, will you? That radiation is creeping closer and closer."

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Barcham and Beaufort are first to enter the hidey-hole. To their relief, it is unoccupied. They pass through an antechamber and through a second door (open) into the storage area.

The underground miniature log-cabin looks completely sound structurally, but Beaufort's stores have been ransacked. Victor pokes his head in curiously from outside after he hears no sounds of a scuffle, but Beaufort asks him to step back out of the way to let some sunlight into the room.

Beaufort's weapons, ammunition, and MREs are all gone, as are miscellaneous durable goods such as first aid supplies and gardening tools. Any locked cabinetry that had contained them has been destroyed, disassembled, or carried off.

Almost all of his dried food, herbs, and water are missing, though the dried pine needles in vacuum-sealed bags remain, and there are some bags of pemmican on the floor in bundles of five 10-oz bags. Each bundle has at least one damaged bag, but there looks to be about 40 pounds of the calorie-dense food that is unspoiled.

The compensation prize for Beaufort, however, is his wife's herbal medicine kit. It sits untouched, as if it had somehow been overlooked despite its prominent location on a shelf.

[Adlan]

Barcham
'Shall we get the kid to take this back to the car?' Barcham asked, spearing a fragment of the open Pemican on the tip of his bayonet, and examining it. Not very air damaged, and obviously freshly split, Else scavangers would have had it away.

'We gonna check out the rest of the Property, they must have taken this stuff someplace else'

He looked at the smashed gun lockers 'Whats the way you yanks phrase it?'

'Lets pry them back from their cold dead hands'

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort's Dreams:


It was not for the psychological impact that Beaufort Mayville was shocked into silence. It was the unbidden images, the memories, which entered his mind. The few places on the inside of the cellar, the round log walls particularly, that remained unbroken brought sensations and emotions to the sheriff that he had not felt so intensely for two years.

The laughter of his grandson. The smile of his daughter. The quirky way his son-in-law would eye him when discussing survival or firearms.

A large lump formed in Beaufort's throat and he struggled to put it down while thinking of the dreams and wishes that he had made with his family with the food in the cellar. Enough food to feed a single person for decades.

"No," Beaufort whispered thickly to Barcham's lively suggestions. Taking careful hold of Clara's herbal kit, a collection of pine needles and one bag of pemmican, the county sheriff ground his teeth together in order to keep his composure. A wave of physical numbness struck him as he tried to lift so much at once, including his rifle which he had slung to his shoulder. "Let's get this loaded up. We'll meet at the ATV. ...I want the camo net to come with us too."

Following those words, Beaufort wasted no more time. He exited the cabin storage room decidedly more emotional than any man with a military mind should. His lean frame passed through the full-size tunnel which he had dug out and lined himself. Briefly, his eyes glanced and lingered on one of the logs in the wall. Fourty-four years ago, Beaufort had carved a set of notches into a tree that had become part of that wall. Underneath those knife notches were a separate set of names which had been carved sixteen years later.


Beaufort + Clara

Spencer + Brenda

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Victor sees Beaufort coming out of the hidey-hole, his face white as a sheet, with Barcham behind him. Barcham does not look similarly shocked, but has a strange facial expression nonetheless.

[Adlan]

Barcham
As Barcham Walked, his arms full of Pemmican, and over his shoulder the Camo cloth slung, he actually put more weight on his prosthetic, almost a reverse limp, making full use of his artificial sinews.

His face was clouded with though, plotting the lie of the land, and the best way for four bolt action rifle men to pick off an unknown number of bandits. Riflemen Barcham was sure could not manage the mad minute he could with an old SMLE, or his smoke pole lever action.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


Arriving from between the trees, Beaufort did not have an assuring expression on his face for Wayne or John Richardson. Almost hollow, but thoughtful, Sheriff Mayville hoisted what he had carried away from the cellar onto the trailer of his ATV. Knowing it was nowhere near the size that he had hoped for, or enough to sate the volunteers that had joined him, Beaufort quietly moved out of the way for the men behind him.

Framing his shoulders to include the small posse, the widower uttered, "I am going to go kill trespassers. If any of you want a legal experience ending human life, you're welcome to move with me in formation. For those that don't, you're welcome to take my share, but you'll probably have to fight in Haverhill anyway.

"...there's a big red barn down that way," Beaufort pointed with the finger of his left hand, certain of the direction down the hill. "There were over one hundred guns in all kinds of calibers and no one would want to haul them all away. I plan to look at the diesel stock, if any, then make way to the barn. Hopefully, some of the dozen dirt bikes will still be there."

[Adlan]

Barcham

'Won't be the first time' Barcham muttered about the Invite.

'These Bandits, they are inconviencing our way, might they beknown to hit travellers? And we've got a whole town headed this way?'

He shrugged, and began checking over his gear, and camming up. Odds and sods of vegitation went over his clothing, and dirt did duty as camoflauge cream.

Lets clear them out'

[Gunther]

Hearing Beauford speak of bandits, Wayne nodded to his son before rising. The young man, keeping his rifle in hand, dismounted from the trailer as the two of them turned to Beaufort.

"Well, I take it we've got a lot to accomplish here." Wayne said eventually, "But if you don't mind my asking, just where did you get all of this stuff?" He inquired, to which John could only nod.

"Sounds like you've got enough stuff to supply a small army, to be honest. Why didn't you nab this stuff for the town earlier?" The younger man inquired a bit pointedly.

[IonDragon]

Victor

Standing alone out in the sun was not his idea of helping, but when the Sherif came out looking like he did, he was glad he hadn't seen what was inside.

While killing people for trespassing seemed not only hypocritical, but an effort in futility, Victor thought about the rules that had kept him alive this long; Rule 6: Travel in a Group. So, he would wait and see where the largest group went and he'd go with them. He's pretty sure it is going to be those going after whoever had done... whatever they had done inside though. He slings his backpack around, into the crook formed by his elbow and pulls out a handful of bullets quickly stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans in case he needs to get at them quickly. His motions are jerky, and it is obvious he is scared.

He'd used the gun before of course, but mostly on targets, the occasional wild animal and to scare away potential bandits. He wasn't the best shot, but the Mosin had plenty of bark, and that was usually enough. He once shot at a rabbit a couple times, and missed but the poor thing died anyway. It had been so scared it had a heart attack. It was probably a good thing he had missed too. He later hit one square on and there wasn't enough meat left to eat.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


Reaching around to procure his keys, Beaufort is taken aback by the Richardsons' questions. A pursed and uncomfortable looking formation settled across his cheeks and mouth before he answered.

"The gang that's in Haverhill raided in right before the End," the sheriff explained heavily. The lightness of his tenor voice was breached by emotion along with his veneer of authority. "They wear red headbands and my family and I were there at the time. We were forced to leave south to escape. ...and if my family had survived I'd have come back much sooner."

Swallowing another large lump from his throat, Beaufort Mayville added, "I was a gunsmith even before I was made County Sheriff. Never could let it go. Some of the best rifles in all of New England were in that shop...and who knows where they are now. But I promised you boys supplies. And that is exactly what I aim to deliver."

Toting himself to the ATV, the widower straddled the seat and sat. Resting his assault rifle under the handlebars in a makeshift holster, Beaufort goaded the engine to start. His eyes fell on Barcham and the obvious preparations. "My lad, feel free to make as much noise as you want," he said with a tone voice that was not used for the other males. It carried a simple sense of acknowledgement. Beaufort pointed in the direction of the red metal container, and not the barn, that he had pointed out earlier. "The diesel is that way."

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Hope you don't mind that I railroad your characters a little bit to keep things flowing.

The noise of the ATV starting up in the wilderness is shocking to some of those present, especially in contrast to Barcham camo-ing up for stealth. In an earlier era, the distant drone of an engine would not have drawn any notice, but that would be a different matter now. Still, it wasn't as loud as a gunshot, and Beaufort assured them that the noise wouldn't carry to his old house, almost a mile distant.

Beaufort explains that he wants to get the ATV further off the road, and drives it as far as the hidey hole, where he kills the engine and dismounts.
Barcham suggests to the others that they hide their bicycles and other burdensome gear, which they do, laying them in a ditch and covering them with foliage. They then catch up with Beaufort.

"Cover me - I'll check the diesel tank before we head for the barn."

Beaufort leads the way on foot to his old biodiesel tank, weapon at the ready. He keeps his head down as he crests a small rise, but is briefly able to see his house and barn. There is smoke coming from the chimney of the house.

He gets down behind a big downed tree until the main party takes up their positions behind him on the crest of the hill. They also notice the light smoke, but otherwise the coast is clear. Beaufort proceeds to the diesel tank without incident. His old truck and trailer are nowhere to be seen. He reaches down, grabs a small rock, and taps the tank with it. Still full. The fuel probably has some impurities in it by now if it hasn't been maintained, he thinks, but it may still work.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

A little more info since not everybody knows the backstory.

Beaufort's emotional behavior only makes it easier for doubt and suspicion to grow in the minds of those who have only just recently chosen to cast their lots with him. His stockpiles seem almost the stuff of fantasy in this time of scarcity. A dozen dirtbikes? A hundred firearms? Pallets of food and huge tank of fuel? The only times you ever heard of someone so well prepared was when they were able to somehow pounce upon the resources of the failing government, or when they had been both exceptionally wealthy (before the crash of currency) and remarkably foresighted. Usually organized crime was involved - the mob had been one of the few entities to flourish with the fall of modern civilization.

[Gunther]

Wayne and John, considering their past lifetimes, simply kept smiles as they went alongside Beaufort. Talking amongst themselves on the side, they kept their voices low as they conversed.

"You know, if he is with the Mafia..." John began, looking back to Beaufort.
"Then we're probably in for one of two things: Either he shoots us all in the back with some buddies, like you and I used to, or we can end up getting in with it deep." Wayne said, "They always do need doctors to patch up their thugs."

"And electricians to make sure those electric fences keep running." John replied, his face splitting more fully into a smile. He held up his fist to his father, smiling as he did so, "Play it cool?"

"Play it cool." Wayne agreed, bumping knuckles with his son before returning to the group, relaxed in posture. Keeping his rifle in hand, he nodded to John, who kept a scope peeled at the house distant.

Approaching Beaufort at a steady trot, he kept his hand on his sidearm, looking out for any ambushing thugs. If this was a Mafia hideout, it could stand to reason that they probably would need men like himself and his son. If worst came to worst, they could always offer up their services in exchange for their lives. That was what they had done before, and Wayne would be damned if he wasn't up for doing that again.

[Adlan]

Barcham

The old skills were not dulled by time, or loss of a limb. Barcham moved from cover to cover, along ditches and behind banks as fast as a quick trot, but keeping his eyes open for a target, and any more visable signs or tracks.

He belly flopped into the cover overlooking the arn, round in the chamber, finger on the trigger guard, waiting for a target of opportunity.

[IonDragon]

Victor

Completely out of his element, he shuffles along behind the group his rifle across his chest pointing up just like they taught him at the safety classes. Crawling up to the log, he doesn't even bother lining up the gun. He's not the best shot, and a barrel sticking over the lip would more likely give away their position. Quietly, So, if we're after a cache of guns... That means whoever we're after has all those guns? Doesn't this seem like a bad plan to anyone else?

[Adlan]

Barcham

'Boy' Barcham spoke, 'If they've got the guns, they'll hit the locals, so we hit them first.'

Stay Low, Shoot when I shoot, Run when I run, Try and Keep up with a cripple and you'll probably be fine'

He crept out of sight and close to the Sherrif

'This what you were expecting Lawman? How'd you want us to take it'

Barcham eyed the ground looking for the best ground way. With eye to Two fixing and two Flanking to catch any opponents drawn out in a deadly crossfire.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


Having liberated a rather wickedly sharp looking knife from among his kit bags, Beaufort looked across the long rectangular grounds of his lands which were still surrounded by a thick swath of trees. Large and empty squares of fields shared the middle of the land, side-by-side, until giving way to the barn and finally the brick house painted with white trim. It was pleasant to see that the green arbors of grapes and other vines still decorated the field fencing, along with now grown wild flowers. Pretty as they were, they would provide cover as well as the natural landscape and the long grass which appeared uncut from over several months.

Even more pleasant and reassuring were Barcham's instructions to Victor and a detached kind of smile slipped up onto his face.

"Looks just like I remember it," Beaufort answered the second question. "The house has a back, side, and front entrance. The front side of the house is a wall of windows so don't go up there. All we're after is the barn and a distraction to draw them out of the house."

To the first question, he posed, "And I'll have you know that a gun doesn't make a man. We're going to catch them by surprise, by speed, and sheer force of personal morality. If we don't do this, a lot of innocent people are going to suffer for it. And that does not sit with me."

Investigating the remains of his personal property, Beaufort resigned himself to be thankful for the measure of bravery that the volunteers had displayed thus far. "My suggestion is that the English lad and I are in front, you brave soul, will be right behind him giving cover, and Doctor Richardson and his son will cover us all from the rear." The bright green eyes of the County Sheriff passed over to Barcham and alit there, both studious and careful of the other male's obvious experience. "Does that suit you?"

[Adlan]

Barcham
'Suits me to a T sheriff' Barcham replied. 'Just Doc,' he shifted his gaze and point of conversation.
'If we come in, Hell for leather. You and your boy ain't gonna run untill we reach you, and even then, only if we're still going. We might play a long game of a fighting retreat'

He condisdered for a momentary while.

'And we need somewhere to RV, in case we split up or get seperated.'

'Back at the truck should do.'

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Just then the a house door opens - the one directly opposite the barn - and a woman about 5 feet tall with dark hair exits and starts walking casually towards the barn. She is not holding anything in her hands or wearing any equipment, but it is impossible to tell if she is armed under the baggy flannel shirt she is wearing, which has the sleeves rolled and the hem untucked, reaching to her knees.

I need to know how far away you are. The perimeter of the trees is 100 meters from the barn and house, but there are some concealing locations (not cover) if you want to try to sneak up pretty much as close as you want - overgrown bushes and weeds, with bare ground in-between that would take you 3-5 seconds to run across. And is anyone using a scope or binoculars?

[Gunther]

Wayne, seeing the woman emerge, almost instantly leveled his rifle at her, jamming the scope up to his eye. He hadn't lived this far into hell by being a proper gentleman, and as such he quickly took aim at the center of her bosom, looking over for any bulge of possible weapons. "Heads up, everyone, we've got company!"

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


Roughly three hundred meters from the cover of the barn, Beaufort did not even bother to speak following Wayne's quiet exclamation. The sheriff's fingers remind him that the safety feature of his rifle is disabled while his eyes and torso movement adjust to examine the woman. Unlike the other rifles, Beaufort's firing would not attract attention from any of the other trespassers on the property.

"She's too young to be local," Beaufort informed under the ambient sound of the ranch. "Young lad, sprint when she can't see the house!" And the elder male, behind his rifle, prepared to do exactly that as he tried to discern the temperment and disposition of the woman. A moment later, his real eyes, then telescopically magnified, swept over the four visible windows of the brick house, searching for occupants.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

The woman turns a little as she goes into the barn, and the Dartmouth party gets a better look at her face. Despite her short stature, she appears to be in her mid 30s. Which means, having been through these hard times, that she's probably actually in her late 20s. By her features she appears to be Latina.

The clucking of a hen emanates from the barn.

[Gunther]

"You know her?" Wayne asked, his finger curling around the trigger of his rifle, ready to add a nice layer of paint to the barn she walked out of. At this range? A shot to the head would cast so many little brain and skull fragments out, her body would spasm a bit before dropping forward. She might even do a little jerky dance if she saw them at the last moment, her muscles tensing to try and avoid an inescapable bullet- only to release their premature motion with the sudden death of the brain. If she was leaving to go to the bathroom, he knew- from a medical standpoint- her bowels would probably unclench at the moment of death. She would soil herself posthumously, but her organs would stay preserved for a bit longer. If they could find some ice, and he could discern the woman's blood type, they might actually be able to get some spare organs out of this whole affair.

"You know what? I think I'll save you the problem." He said, the last thought striking him as tempting. Unless told otherwise, he pulled the trigger on the rifle, ready to give her brain a new breathing hole and a quiet, unseen death.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


Beaufort was so taken in with examining the ranch, the red brick house, and the smaller red brick pump house nearby it, that he completely missed the implications of Wayne's question.

A very rich and antiquated kind of verbal gnash came out of his mouth at seeing Wayne's preparation. Rushed, Beaufort turned the aim of his rifle in the direction of the female and used the mounted optics to make certain that she was put down if she was shot at.

"Hold your fire, Doctor," the sheriff half hissed and half growled. "We don't want them to know we're here yet! It'd be nice if they came out of the barricaded brick house first!"

[Adlan]

Barcham

Keeping low to the ground and as out of sight as possible, Barcham leaned over, resting his hand on the barrel of the rifle in the doctors hands.

'What say I and the Boy go cause a little rucus? If me and he take the left flank while you and the doc wait here, if there's an outbuilding or summit, we'll start that burning. Or just suppose we take any shots of opportunity.'

With his free hand in diagramed in the air.

'That way we avoid getting them pinned on our initial location, and you can take them with enfiendalading fire.'

[Gunther]

Wayne lowered his rifle as asked, but kept his finger hovering over the trigger guard. "Right." He agreed, before looking to his son with a nod, "You two are more than welcome to flank them if you like. Me and my son will cover the entrance- if they come out hollerin', you're more than welcome to hit the deck when me and him make it a crapshoot."

That said, he gestured ahead, as if waiting for the two men to take up whatever positions they wanted. "Of course, if you both liked, we could probably see about smoking them out of cover with the ATV. If there's as many vehicles as you say there are in here, we could probably draw them out just by crashing it into one of the buildings, and pick 'em off during the ruckus."

[NeoRetribution]

"No," Beaufort said firmly, rising into a low crouch. "You're the rear. Sit and shoot after we shoot. The ATV is our gather point. I'll get them out of the house." Not content to rest while being unobserved, the Grafton County Sheriff gave a glance to Barcham and Victor. "Come if you want, lads. Now is the time."

With no more words, Beaufort rushed carefully and speedily between covers, sometimes near the fence greenery, and made his way toward the barn. It was an exciting kind of business that Beaufort had not felt since Orange County, in Vermont, had tried to attack Hanover in numbers. The scuffle had not been large enough to merit the term war, but the conflict had ignited Mister Mayville out of his personal sorrows.

Trying to make as little noise and target as possible, Beaufort had made it as far as one of the large wooden barrels used to hold grapes during harvest season in the past.


[HR]

Evident or not, this is roughly Barcham's diagrammed plan, I think. I hope I did not mis-interpret.

Where the barrel is located is up to Bonecrusher Doc, probably somewhere between zero and one hundred meters ( tree line ) from the barn.

In addition the quad-bike ATV and bicycles would have already been used as an approach / attack method if not for previous GameMaster ruling. Playing hopscotch on the battlefield is a quick way to get noticed and shot.

[Adlan]

Barcham
The Veteran kept up, a bound behind the sherrif, doing his instinctive best to cover him while he dashed, and wishing he had a couple of squaddies with him.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

The Latina comes back out of the barn, holding a few eggs in her hanandinds. She returns to the door she exited, and bangs on it with her elbow, being unable to use her hands to open the door. Another woman of about the same age in appearance opens the door and reaches out to take some of the eggs. It is difficult to see her as she is not completely standing out of the house, but she is about 5 foot 4, with hair that could be described as "half-blonde"... hair down to her shoulder blades which was once bleached very blonde, but half of it is unbleached new growth and brunette.

[Adlan]

Barcham
He hit the dirt with hardly a sound for such an impact, getting into cover with Beaufort.

'I have yet to see raiders with women folk along willingly, who'll go unarmed. Are you sure they've not moved on and some other folk come into your old place?'

Barcham recalled what happened to one party of bandit's he'd encountered. the woman's protector, husband, or partner had been killed in the fight. A few day's down the road he'd encountered her beaten, raped and dieing of internal injuries.

[Gunther]

Keeping his finger hovering over the trigger of his rifle, Wayne heard his son approach behind him, the young man crawling on his belly up to the father before taking aim as well.

"So, why haven't we drilled holes through their foreheads yet, big guy?" John asked, his rifle aimed solidly at the latino woman.

"Because we've been asked not to." Wayne replied, using his left hand to put finger quotes in the air on the word 'asked'. "Plus, there might be more of them."

"Well, if there's more of them, why don't we just lure them out?" John asked, his rifle scope drifting slightly towards the crack of the woman's ass. "I'm sure she'd squeal like a little pig with-"

"That's enough, son." Wayne replied, keeping his rifle butt stuffed against the crook of his arm, "We agreed to play by their rules for now- and so long as those two are in the field, closer to the barn than us? I'd rather not risk them getting all pissy and running into an armory to tear us to tatters with."

"And you really think that barn has all the guns this guy says it does?" John inquired with a cocked eyebrow, turning away from the scope.

"I don't really think it does- but if it does? I'm not going to risk it after getting this far."

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


"The information is only two weeks dry," came the sheriff's mutter as he huddled behind the barrel next to the green fence to his right. The leaves brushed against his arm and back as he answered Barcham, "My neighbor, Emmet, was shot and killed across the road and there's never been a kinder man. The information came through the sheriff's department. It has to be accurate.

"Their skin's too dark and I don't like the hair. No one knew about my stocks here outside my family so they have to be organized crime," Beaufort said. In the intensity of his eyes the elder male's mind turned with the possibilities. He corrected himself a moment later, "But maybe the girls are prisoners or...But why haven't they evacuated?"

Fighting against the sour scowl building on his face, Beaufort held a brief and serious gaze to Barcham, "There's a loft in the barn that will let you shoot out all four directions. We get in there, clear it, and set up our distraction. Maybe I'll just lose my mind in a few minutes and announce that we're law enforcement."


[HR]

The following post is made assuming that previous private messages from the GameMaster are the current law of the game.

[Adlan]

Barcham

'You're thinking like a Copper there,' Barcham tried to spot anyone with a weapon, anyone he considered a valid target. He wasn't big game hunting anymore, though the human creature was the finest sport he'd ever found, in a macabre fashion, he was thinking like he was back in the stan, under the old Rules of Engagement.

'We don't want to fix ourselves in position.

[IonDragon]

Victor

Gestures to the others to hold their positions.

Standing up, and waving: Excuse me! Ma'am?

With a big goofy smile, leaving his gun behind the wheelbarrow he jogs forward, his hands out. Clearly unnamed.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Both women are obviously startled and scream as they duck inside the house, slamming the door. In their haste they drop and break all of the precious half dozen raw eggs on the threshold, worth a day's labor in some places.

[Adlan]

Barcham
'Oh well, that makes it simpler' Rules of Engagement. Any Target that has fired upon you, or is about to fire upon you, or on innocent civillians. Couldn't get more innocent than one so clearly unsound in the brain pan as the dam fool running forwards.

Barcham dug down into the undergrowth, and sighted down his rifle, keeping both eyes open and waiting for a valid target to enter his view.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort's Worries:

"Oh no," the County Sheriff groaned quietly. In a rising sense of dread, Beaufort watched as Victor Mathers rose from his position. Before he could speak, however, the youthful soul was already announcing his presence. Biting against the urge to swear, Beaufort threw the butt of his rifle against his shoulder and watched the painted white door of the house and the curtained glass pane that had shuddered with the slam.

"I hope you live to see tomorrow," he muttered sincerely.

[IonDragon]

Victor

Standing bemused in the clear space between the barn and the house, he is careful not to put his hands in his pocket or move too quickly. Getting his back up against the barn is the first matter of business. After that, he produces a mostly full, though battered pack of cigarettes from his pack along with a Zippo. A treasure, to be sure. He holds the unlit cig in his mouth without lighting it for a while, gazing at the house.

Laddies? I'm unarmed, I'm just looking to trade for some foodstuffs.

In a voice he hoped would carry.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

After a long hushed moment, a female voice replies to Victor.

"Go around to the front door. We can trade through the mail slot."

[NeoRetribution]

"Well spank me rosey," Beaufort muttered in surprise. The impressive weight of his awe shone clearly on his face while crouching in the tall grass. To himself, and for the English veteran beside him, Beaufort surmised, "Brave soul, I think you just became our distraction."

Clenching his teeth briefly, the county sheriff rose enough to dash while crouched, and stepped over Barcham's prone form. He reached down to pat the able man's shoulder before moving quickly and lowly to the rear side of the tall red barn while keeping some of his attention peeled on the rear side of the house. Far from the red brick walks and the over-run flower gardens behind the homestead, Beaufort reached the unlatched set of double doors and prepared to enter himself inside.

[Gunther]

Wayne, seeing Beaufort dash around, rose as well. He was tempted to shoot the young man when he went up shouting like that, but he'd hold off for now. The sheriff seemed to have a solid head on his shoulders, and he could understand why the man was sprinting around like he did now. Those women were more mouths to feed and bother with- in the doctor's eyes, they had enjoyed their last meal from the plate of another.

It was nice that they kept things running for them, though. Keeping his rifle in hand, he tapped his son on the shoulder, pointing to the door to keep it covered. John simply nodded as his father went running, crouched low to present as little a target as possible as he attempted to cover the Sheriff's entry with a solid scope on his back.

[IonDragon]

Victor

Slowly lighting the cigarette, he walks to the front of the house, sparing only the briefest of glances back, showing naked terror like a horse about to bolt for a brief second. He puffs softly, letting the aroma of the Marlboro tobacco waft about. He is careful not to inhale the smoke, but rather holds it in his mouth as with a cigar, making pleased noises. When he reaches the front of the house, he stands perpendicular to the door, "Hello? Laddies? I didn't mean to frighten you, you must get very few visitors up here. My supplies are running low and I could use foodstuffs, both fresh and preserved if you have it. I've got a couple things worth having I could part with. A token of good faith, for the eggs wasted," he drops a single cigarette through the slot.

[Adlan]

Barcham
That tap, on the shoulder, would mean many things to an infantryman in the right context, which beaufort didn't know, and if Barcham had been an infantryman, and not an officer, then he would have the drills programmed into his very nerves. As it was, he began to start forwards, then stopped, and gave the sherrif overwatch. Then he ran forwards, zig zaging to catch up with the lawman.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

The half-blonde woman answers Victor with a Brooklyn accent.

"Wait a minute, I'll get you some MREs."

Beaufort peers into the barn. Nobody in there but some chickens that he can see. And guns! Everything seems to be the way he left it, with only a few items moved or missing.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort's Arsenal!


Already racing, Beaufort Mayville's heart leaped at the signs of the dozen green and brown dirtbikes which scattered around the barn floor in between the standing ranks of wire chicken cages. Straw and other filth littered the floor in places, but the light BMW motorcycles appeared as up on their kick-stands and ready to ride. Two of them still held their emergency rescue trailers attached just like the one following Beaufort's all-terrian-vehicle.

Carefully, and sharply, Grafton County's sheriff sidled himself inside with a growing scowl on his face. Inwardly he knew that such a trove would already have been used, or at least soiled, by road-wise bandits. The barn door ceased to squeak in protest as the elder male stepped into the wood building. Directly, the law enforcement officer of four decades noted that the double doors opposite the near entrance were closed and that the angled stairway to his right appeared vacant. The trap door at the top of said stairs was closed, much to his surprise.

Just behind those stairs and to the right of the far double-doors lay a red wooden wall that bit inward into the barn. At the corner of that wall an open doorway stood and clearly displayed the inside of a gunsmithing shop. The door of the entrance hung on its hinges against the wall and had been chewed through the middle with what looked like a chainsaw. Behind the hulled entrance rifles and other firearms laid about from being left in the shop three years prior.

Briefly, Beaufort wondered how many of them had been handled since his unwilling vacation out of Haverhill.

Step by step Beaufort entered the gunshop unopposed and found his library collection missing a few books. Most of what hung off of improvised shelves on the walls were paperback novels of many genres or ringed binders filled with comic books. The larger stacks of weapons manuals and related material also seemed ordinary as they laid or leaned about in their corners and shelves. A little surprisingly, Beaufort discovered that his polished wood trophy case appeared unmolested as it contained awards from gunsmithing to marksmanship. Among them were all of his President's Hundred tabs.

With a deep and burning scowl on his white covered lips, Beaufort Mayville ignored the large mounted deer head which hung from one wall of the light stained wood interior. 'It's wrong,' his mind screamed at the room in general as he found none of the obvious and working weapons stolen or missing. The investigator inside Beaufort swallowed corrosively at the non-incriminating evidence.

Among the weapons was an impressive list of history. Some oddments were still in disrepair, lying or standing open on the workbenches adjacent to a large metal lathe. But those in good order were prominently displayed in racks of hunting rifles and shotguns. Some carried optics or chokes, but those were common firearms. The real treasures remained hidden away in five-inch-steel safes which contained rifles and shotguns including Fabrique Nationale, Heckler & Koch, Steyr, Remington, Mauser, Mosin, and Winchester. The types varied from black powder, to bolt action, to lever, to rolling-block, to semi-automatic, and to full automatic. All had been left empty without ammunition.

The other safe contained pistols: Walther, Luger, Beretta, Browning, Colt, Glock, Koishikawa, Steyr, Smith & Wesson, and Webley.

On the opposite side of the room were stacked the notorious Lewis Mark V .30-06, Maschinengewehr 42 7.92mm, Bren L4 7.62mm, and Nambu 96 6.7mm machine rifles. Under those on another shelf laid a General Motors M-3 "Grease Gun", Heckler & Koch MP5, Kalashnikov 47, Colt M-16, and a "Thompson" sub-machine gun. All of these weapons were heirlooms once owned by Clive Salter the man who had taught Beaufort how to smith.

Passing absolutely everything that remained in easy reach Beaufort trotted to the middle of the far wall. Under the racks laid a large, square, wooden, and heavy-looking sitting bench that the sheriff immediately inspected and found to be without flaw. Straightening himself, the county sheriff cast his eyes back to Barcham and grimaced the most surly that the retired captain might have ever seen him.

"My fine English lad, the fourty-five seventy is in the cabinet and clearly marked. Choose your poison if you want, but I need to sort out this mystery with the girls."

[Adlan]

Barcham
An officer is never the one first through the door. Too risky, or, as some would have it, too much fun. This was why Barcham's was rusty on his door entry work, not that single man entry work was really drilled for anyway. What kind of soldier wouldn't bring his mates with him when the FISH and CHIPS are served up.

But, while Beaufort checked his property, Barcham swept the room, Rifle Shouldered, making sure that they weren't being observed from some hidden corner.

'No, we stick together, You forget we're not bandit's either. No looting till the fightings done. He said in response to the sheriff. 'What's up this staircase?' He asked, completing his circuit of the buildings interior.

Fighting in Someone's Home, Causing Havoc In Peoples Street

[IonDragon]

Victor

Outside, Victor grinds the cigarette out on the heel of his boot, gently tapping it back into place in the pack, careful not to spill any. There is at least half left, if nothing else it would add a minute to a fuse, but he had a suspicion he would be able to trade it away. Those poor souls hooked on nicotine from when it was readily available were hard pressed to find their fix, especially in the colder climates.

He leaned against the door frame, hoping it would steady him some. He was shaking like a leaf.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:


"Alright," Beaufort answered crisply. "Empty loft, hay, heirlooms, spare parts, and my grandson's fireworks."

Shouldering his rifle as he spoke, the county sheriff retrieved a red colored chainsaw with a long snout right from where it lay next to the door outside the gun shop. Hefting the mechanism, Beaufort gave it a look-over and determined that it retained fuel. Leaving the barn by the former entrance, the front-man peaked around several times, including around the out-sides of the barn, before bolting.

At a flat run the enforcement officer neared, but did not explicitly use, any cover-providing paraphernalia as he approached, trod, and passed the large beds of flower and vegetable gardens that were now over-grown with weeds. Carefully slapping the chainsaw down on the red brick path nearest the house, Beaufort yanked on the starting rope. To his complete and utter astonishment it worked at first pull!

Hefting the tool again, Beaufort stepped to the left side of the house's back door, revved the motor, and plowed the snout of the saw to the left side of the glass pane in the door. Top to bottom, the machine roared and spit saw dust across the brick and Beaufort's boots until the tool was pried free, turned off, and gently tossed aside onto weed-filled soil. Unslinging his rifle with two kinds of cover at his back, Beaufort crashed the door in with one kick and pronounced in his loudest shout, "This is the Sheriff's Department! Throw down your weapons and surrender!"

[Bonecrusher Doc]

Beaufort's demands are apparently unnecessary as he discovers both the Latina woman and the Caucasian "half-blonde" woman are 1) unarmed and 2) weeping with fear under the dining room table. Not exactly the behavior expected of anyone (man, woman, or child) who has learned to survive these days. A .22 rifle leans in the corner near the door but it is well out of reach of the women. The sheriff and Barcham scan the room, and, still covering the women with his weapon, the Sheriff unlocks the front door, more to allow himself an escape route if necessary than to let Victor in.

[Adlan]

Barcham
He Kept up with the sherrif at a jog, though he didn't know what the sherrif was upto taking off with a chainsaw, he had a fair idea.

'Well, Normally I used a Flashbang Old Chap' He said, following Beaufort into the room, rifle cradeled in his arms. 'But the chainsaw seems to have been just the ticket'

Barcham advances into the room, carefully avoiding the women, and the door way, till he springs to it. Singleman room clearing is risky, but pity the soul who leaps on Barcham. The BBayonet is slung at his side, but the eared front sight of a 45-70 is an effective weapon, and the round that would follow is even better.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort's Reasoning:


A quiet kind of snort came from the sheriff at Barcham's witty rapport. If the Englishman could shoot a weapon as well as his mouth, then Beaufort felt no reason to be afraid. However, he gave a long and measured look to the former military officer before calling out, "Brave soul! This is Sheriff Mayville! I'm opening the door," and doing exactly as he said.

Immediately afterward his steps carried him to the beloved dining room set of Clara Mayville. The collection had been a wedding anniversary gift from him to her and he crouched down near a strewn chair where the two heads of the tearful women laid. Cautious, he tried to speak as clearly and non-violently as possible.

"We don't have time to piddle with you," Beaufort scowled a little in thought as he garnered their attention. He drew forward his extremely sharp and long cadaver knife and set it on the hardwood floor between their gazes. His airy tenor voice stated, "There is a huge cloud of nuclear death right on our heels and we need to evacuate. We need food and someone to carry it. So which-ever of you kills the other first...wins." Standing up the sheriff backed away three steps as he observed the women and calculated behind the unreadable green in his eyes. The aim of his rifle lowered, intentionally, as he waited, keeping a fixed hesitance in order to bring it up if necessary.

[Bonecrusher Doc]

The women stare blankly at Beaufort as though he were speaking a language from another planet.

There is as yet no sight nor sound of another person in the house.

[NeoRetribution]

Beaufort Mayville:

"Well I'll be pink and snookered," the law enforcer waited just long enough to gauge the women's reaction. "Boys, we have ourselves a pair of civilians," he glanced up at Barcham with a quick and tense smile, then back. His face turned hard while watching the females' collective reactions as he retrieved his post-mortem tool. "They don't like killing people. Do they."


With the Stern Father Face that Brenda Mayville had seen so many times, Beaufort pulled the weight of his authoritative experience, "Your hesitance to end human life earns you the honor of keeping it yourselves. You have two choices: Stay here and be poisoned by radio-active dust, or help us evacuate and we will protect you. No, I don't expect you to trust me after that little puzzle I just put you through, but I've been Sheriff of this county for fourty years. And if you respect human life, I'll try to respect yours."

Completely turning his attention away from the cowering women, Beaufort addressed his comrade(s), "Let's take everything we can find. Try to focus on water, food, tools, and the means to make fire. We can load it on a trailer in the barn. If these ladies want to join us, it's their choice. They can carry food also."

With a meaningful glance to Victor, Beaufort Mayville began to search the cute and astonishingly clean interior of his home, starting with the rifle and the library.


[HR]


Not exactly sure how Bonecrusher Doc wants to handle this. I am assuming GameMaster rolls for how many MREs and pounds of food that the characters find.

In terms of books and things Beaufort knows exactly what he's after.

Also, there is a liquor cabinet, if the other players are interested.

The property has a water well in the form of a brick pump house which is visible through the wall of windows in the front of the house. So any amount of water which can be carried should be freely available. It can be assumed that Beaufort already told all of the characters about it while traveling to the destination of his ranch.

[Adlan]

Barcham
'What a strange fellow' Barcham muttered too himself, as the sherrif strode off to asses what he could salvage from his house.

He slung his rifle over his shoulder, and walked over to the shiocked women.
'Look, I'm sorry about that, this is his old house.' He slipped into recon mode, one of the key skills in the stan is asking questions and getting answers. It's a pretty good skill in the PAW too.
'How long have you been here? Any sign of Bandit's or Such like? If you've got boyfriends or companions hidden about somewhere, best Tell us, don't want there to be a misunderstanding when we find them' There was no need for a significant glance at a weapon, the meaning was clear.

'There's a Nuclear cloud on it's way, I would say, trust me I'm a Doctor, but I never did my Chemistry Phd. But it's comming, and we have to get out from under the dust cloud. Stay here, and the Rads will kill you. Survive the Rads, the damage to crops will kill you.'

He stood up, leaning on his good leg for one of the few manouvers his prosthetic couldn't cope so easily with.

[IonDragon]

Victor

Shocked silent by the Sherif's callous threat, he revives himself with a sharp shake of his head.

"Oh thank god, I thought you were really going to make them kill each other..."

Kneeling down to where the girls are, he produces the pack of cigarettes again.

I'm a man of my word, I'm willing to pay for what we're taking, and it sounds like you can come with us.

He pops out the half smoked cig, and offers it to them filter side first, his eyes wide and compassionate.

Where are the MRE's?