This is actually the hook for the campaign I am starting as soon as 4th Edition rolls out (yes, I expect to plan out the whole campaign by the time it gets released!). Since I served in 1/10th SFG(A) in the 90's and speak Russian (and have visited the country many times, working for a Belarusian company for almost 10 years!), I hope I can make it feel authentic.
Red Light, Green Light
Spring, 2000
Situation: What’s left of Operational Detachment Alpha 024; 1st BN, 10th Special Forces Group (Airborne) is hunkered down in the basement of the ruined ancestral home of Thaddeus Kosciusko, Kosava Palace, in what was once Greater Poland but is now deep inside Belarus. The ODA was dropped behind enemy lines a little over three years ago; of the original twelve members, only four remain. The tactical nuclear exchange began almost two years ago, and the Team has operated independently for more than a year with little to no contact with an operational command, only sporadic communication with other ODAs deployed throughout the region.
Mission: The Team’s current, if outdated, mission is to maintain eyes-on reconnaissance of routes P85 to the north and the railroad and E30 highway to the south. The E30 was the main highway from Moscow through Minsk and Brest to Warsaw. Troop movements are to be reported as noted. Additional duties include supporting the local resistance (such as it is) and direct action when possible, particularly against rail logistics. Even more important lately are finding food, ammunition, and medical supplies, and not getting caught.
Characters: The remains of ODA 024 – Team Leader (Warrant Officer), Team Sergeant, Communications Sergeant, and Weapons Sergeant, plus a couple of local Belarusian resistance fighters.
Introduction: The team is finishing up a late dinner of rabbit stew and potatoes and planning the next day’s activities. Since Moscow and Warsaw ate nukes for breakfast a couple of years ago, the logistics chain between them has been pretty ineffective. Although supplies occasionally come down from Vilnius or up from Kyiv through Minsk and move down past Brest toward the nearly-nonexistent “front,” tomorrow will be focused on gathering food – raiding the freshwater fish farm to the southwest near Syalets. The conversation is broken by a call from the guard up top in the hide site, concealed in the ruins of the nearly 200 year old building.
The Team grabs their weapons and runs out the escape holes into the ruins, which have been reinforced in places to provide solid cover as well as good concealment. They see an old
Moskvich pulled up onto the grass in front, pointing north, by the boulder that commemorates the birthplace of Kosciusko, still running and with its headlights on. “Help!” someone calls from the car in American English, “It’s zero nine six! Help!”
ODA 096 – that would be the sixth ODA in Charlie company from 3rd BN, 10th SFG(A). The Team Sergeant looked at the Chief for confirmation, then nodded to the Weapons Sergeant to give him cover. He ran out the south side of the ruins to avoid the light and crouched low in the brush as he moved up toward the back of the car. It looked like there was only one person inside, with his forehead pressed against the steering wheel. Switching from his AK-74 to his pistol, he crept up and reached in through the car window, putting the Makarov against the head of the driver.
“Who are you?
Kto vuy?” he asked, in nearly fluent Russian.
“It’s Davis, Sergeant Davis, help me.” The Team Sergeant shined his flashlight quickly into the driver’s face. He recognized him from 3rd battalion! He gave a low whistle and could hear the rest of the team scrambling to get out of their positions and over to the car. He opened the door, reached inside, and took the keys out of the ignition, shutting off the lights and the engine. Davis collapsed against him as the Commo Sergeant got to the car and they both lifted him out. His midsection was covered in blood, so they laid him across the hood of the car. The Chief, who doubled as their medic, turned on his light and started looking at Davis’ wounds. The Team Sergeant flashed his light quickly around the inside of the car to see if there was anything else in there. There were two dead bodies – both looked American – and a couple of AKs.
“Stop, stop… there’s no time!” Davis groaned, trying weakly to push the Chief away. “They’re not far behind us, maybe five or ten minutes. It’s the MVD. You have to get out of here.”
“What the hell, man?!” asked the Chief. “Why did you lead them right to us?”
Davis tried to sit up, his hand slipping off the hood in his own blood. “We’re the last team – 096. We have the Green Light. It’s in the trunk.”
The Team Sergeant and the Team Chief looked at each other. They knew what he meant. The last numbered ODA in each Special Forces battalion was the highly-classified Green Light team. They had the backpack nukes that had been turned in back in the 80’s but reinstated a couple of months before the Cold War went hot. The Team Sergeant still had the car keys, so he went back and opened the trunk. “Chief, you’re not going to believe this…” He trailed off as he looked at the heavy, drum-shaped pack.
“Please,” Davis went on, “you have to complete our mission. I wont make it. We just got word that there’s a fresh motor rifle division in Minsk moving this way by train tomorrow. They’re not weak like everything else around here, they’re at full strength with a mix of veteran reserves and decimated Guard and VDV units. They’re going through Brest to Wroclaw, to push into Germany at Dresden.”
The Team knew that with the rest of the Soviet and NATO divisions barely able to scrape together a battalion’s worth of armor and maybe a regiment of straight-leg infantry, a full-strength veteran Soviet motor rifle division would slice through the NATO units like a hot tuna noodle MRE through a grunt’s stomach. And who knew whether any of the allied units were even still there. There had been rumors of a major US pullout circulating for more than six months.
Davis coughed. Blood came out his nose and mouth and sprayed the dressings the Chief was still applying to his abdominal wounds. He spoke to the Team Sergeant.
“That’s a Bravo Fifty Four nuke. It’s 'just' a kiloton. There’s a rail bridge across the Bug River in Brest and you have to blow it up. Or get it within a couple of hundred meters anyway. It’s a nuke, after all.” He laughed at his own joke, then coughed again, spewing more blood. “The troop train should cross around noon. If you can catch them on the bridge, that would be best.” He looked at the Team Sergeant steadily then closed his eyes and passed out.
That meant that they would have to leave someone behind to set it off manually. Someone close enough to crisp in the blast. A suicide mission for at least one of them.
The Weapons Sergeant, who had stayed on security with his sniper rifle and starlight scope, called out in a low voice. “We have vehicles approaching from the village. Sounds like trucks. Maybe an armored car in there too. Two or three minutes.” The Chief felt for a pulse on Davis, then shook his head.
“Alright,” said the Chief, “go get our truck and transfer the Green Light to it. We need to be out of here in two minutes. Grab your rucks and get on it. We’ll trash this car on the way out. Now move!”
Less than two minutes later, the Weapons Sergeant tossed their last thermite grenade into the decrepit
Moskvich and jumped onto the back of the truck where the rest of the team was already sitting on their rucks. The Team Sergeant knocked on the cab window, and the Chief nodded back. The old ZIL-130 truck took off with its lights out, the driver using precious batteries to power his PVS-7 night vision goggles so he could see where he was going. Lights were coming up the road to the south and they couldn't afford to be spotted. They would head north for now, but they would have to turn southwest to get to Brest by morning. Whatever was going to happen, they knew they would complete the mission, or die trying.
Referee Notes: The Green Light is the McGuffin for the mission. The MVD is hot on the Team's trail and led by a heroic adversary. They'll have to work with partisans and infiltrate the famous fortress in Brest (now a monument to Soviet heroism in World War II) to get to the rail bridge. Once there, they will have to either leave someone with the detonator or set a timer or figure out another way to prevent one of their own from dying in the blast. After that, they'll have to move through Poland toward Germany and friendly lines or to a functioning port or airfield where they can get back to Western Europe and maybe even the United States, since the MVD will be after them even more ruthlessly once they set off a nuke on Soviet soil.