The ensuing combat encounter lasted 15 rounds. For the sake of clarity and flow, I’ve narrated the battle slightly out of round sequence and omitted most of the rules-speak. The linked map might also help the reader visualize the combat.
https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/ed...5I&usp=sharing
July 29, 2000
Pole Position races north, up the paved road to the poultry farm-cum-POW-camp, at barely safe speed. Grease is pushing the Polish-made APC to its limit. Besides Honeybear (standing in the gunner’s armored cupola), all of the other passengers are seated and holding on for dear life inside the troop compartment.
One of the sentries posted at the back (east) gate- an ad-hoc contraption consisting of sawhorses, lumber cross beams, and copious tangles of barbed wire- notices the AFV approaching from the southeast. He stares at the unexpected vehicle for a few seconds before concluding that something about it is off. He shouts a warning, echoed by his just-arrived replacement.
Bird, watching from the wooded area 200 or so meters east of the camp has the alarmed sentry in his crosshairs. He squeezes the trigger and the target’s head practically explodes. The second sentry watches his comrade’s nearly headless body drop limply to the ground. Frozen in place by shock and fear, the second sentry makes himself an easy target. Bird doesn’t miss. The second sentry falls, also shot in the head.
Just outside the cottage that the prison guards are using as a barracks, a shirtless soldier is taking a leak in the garden. He hears his comrade’s muffled shout, a gunshot, then another. Not even bothering to shake, he stuffs his pecker back into his trousers and hollers, “Stoy! Stoy!”
Pole Position still has a few hundred meters of road to eat up before the turn on to the dirt track leading right up to the chicken farm’s back gate. Grease pushes the 14 ton APC like it’s a 1.5 ton stock car.
Alarmed by the commotion, a guard at the northwest corner of the cement wall encircling the henhouse where the prisoners are kept leans out from cover. He spots a whiff of dust kicked up by Bird’s second shot, takes aim, and squeezes off a long burst. Rounds snap overhead and smack into the trunk of the fallen tree that Bird is lying prone behind, spraying him with bits of bark and splintered wood.
Several guards emerge from the farmhouse southwest of the ersatz POW camp, scrambling hither and yon to prepare some sort of coherent defense. The sergeant in charge of the Soviet squad gesticulates emphatically as he shouts orders. Two of the guards start working their way east along the southern wall. Another runs north to join his comrade at the northwest corner of the compound wall.
Pole Position disappears into the small wood east of the camp, slowing just enough not to roll as Grease makes a hard left turn onto the dirt farm track. When the APC emerges from the trees, the two Soviet soldiers posted behind the farmhouse’s low brick wall open fire with their assault rifles. Bullets ping off the OT-62’s armored hide, hindering it not one bit. Still on the move, Honeybear returns fire with the APC’s heavy machinegun, but his long burst is so wild that neither shooter bothers to duck behind cover.
The dirt track angles northwest; Grease steers Pole Position towards the back gate, moving the APC into cover behind the compound wall, then curls left and brakes hard so that the SKOT’s nose is pointed at the southeast corner of the compound wall.
The dismount team (Sarge, P.R., Sandy, Deacon, Mathews) hops out the APC's rear doors and heads towards the prison compound’s back gate. While Sarge and P.R. cover the inner courtyard, Deacon attaches a tow rope to barbed wire-wrapped gate.
In an attempt to dissuade anyone looking to interrupt the breaching op, Honeybear sends a short preemptive burst past the southeast corner of the perimeter wall.
The two guards approaching said corner can’t help but notice the roar of the Dishka and the stream of large tracers that just hissed past. Stopping a few meters short of the corner, one of the guards preps a frag and tosses it over the wall. It lands roughly between
Pole Position and the dismounts near the back gate. No one is hurt by the ensuing explosion, but everyone outside the safety of the APC’s armor hits the dirt, voluntarily or not.
Overly optimistic about the effect of his comrade’s hand grenade, one of the guards leans out from the wall to assess the damage. Seeing the OT-64’s snub nose pointed in his direction, he reflexively shoots at it. Almost simultaneously, Honeybear squeezes the DSHk’s butterfly triggers, producing a spray of pulverized concrete and human gore where the shooter had stood just a split second before. Seeing his comrade’s torso abruptly reduced to bloody chunks just a couple of meters in front of him, the grenade thrower turns tail and sprints back east along the wall.
Meanwhile, Bird has the compound’s northwest corner in his crosshairs. When the guard who’d emptied a magazine at the American sharpshooter earlier leans out to evaluate his handiwork, Bird squeezes the trigger. A spray of concrete dust indicates a near miss, and the intended target ducks back behind cover. Unbeknownst to Bird, a bullet fragment lodges in the guard's the upper leg.
After rendering such aid as he can, the slightly wounded guard’s comrade fires blindly around the corner of the wall. None of the rounds come close to Bird’s position. A few seconds later, the guard repeats the action, again provoking no response. After reloading his AK, the guard peeks around the corner. This time, Bird shoots the curious guard in the left arm, nearly severing it. The critically wounded guard falls back behind cover and starts bleeding out.
Grease gives the stationary
Pole Position a bit of gas (or meth, more precisely) to reorient it away from the east wall. More pressure on the gas yanks the ad hoc gate away from the back entry to the farmyard.
Pole Position’s movement brings its right flank into view of the defenders at the farmhouse. Almost relieved to have an obvious target, they spray the APC with a fusillade rifle fire. Safe behind the vehicle gunner's shield, Honeybear returns their fire with a burst from the Dishka, blasting chunks of brick from the low wall (both guards are injured by bullet fragments and/or bits of brick shrapnel).
During this time, Sandy’s worked her way to the shattered, gore-spattered southeast corner of the perimeter wall. With Honeybear’s HMG fire keeping the defenders’ heads down, she takes aim and lobs a 40mm HE round into the farmhouse yard. It explodes right on target. Both defenders are uninjured by the blast, but it keeps them cowering behind the tattered remains of the wall. Satisfied with her handiwork, the Diamond grenadier pulls back behind cover and reloads her M203.
Despite the attention the farmhouse defenders have just received, a third guard arrives from the southwest corner of the henhouse compound and takes a knee behind an intact section of garden wall. He props the barrel of his RPK atop the lip and fires an ineffective burst at the Polish-made APC. Honeybear promptly returns fire, tearing the rash defender apart. At this point, the two survivors, both wounded, decide to quit the fight.
As soon as the back gate is torn away, Sarge and P.R. move tactically across the farmyard to the main henhouse where the prisoners are kept overnight. P.R. covers the front gate while Sarge approaches the door. It’s chained and padlocked.
“Red Diamonds! Rescue party! We’re here to get you out. Get away from the door!” Sarge shouts, before shooting off the padlock.
The hunched profile of a Soviet soldier appears at the front gate, crossing in front of it from right to left. P.R. squeezes off five rapid shots and watches the figure fall to the ground. It then becomes clear that the target was dragging a wounded comrade. Both Ivans writhe slowly in the dirt before the gate.
Sarge gets the chain off the henhouse door and starts ushering the prisoners out. Daniels calls his fellow inmates over to the back gate and directs them towards the copse east of the compound. Sarge notices that they’re all barefoot, stops one of the last out the door. “Where’re your boots?”
“The guards take ‘em,” the liberated prisoner replies, not-very-helpfully.
“Where are they?”
He points as the wall to the right of the yard's front entrance. “Right outside the gate!” the inmate answers impatiently, eager to be away.
Sarge curses under his breath. The prisoners won’t get very far on foot without decent footwear.
Sarge rejoins Sandy, says, “We gotta get their boots.”
They approach the front gate cautiously. It’s a purpose-made tubular metal frame, hinged on the right, wrapped in prodigious amounts of barbed wire. It’s chained shut but not locked. With P.R. covering, Sarge carefully unwraps the chain and kicks the gate open. Blocked by the two badly wounded guards lying in front of it, the gate only opens about a quarter of the way. Swapping positions, Sarge pokes his head out and looks right down the west wall. Sure enough, there’s a long row of US G.I. combat boots along its base. Sarge calls Deacon over to help carry the boots across the courtyard and out the back gate. He divests the guards of their weapons and covers them while Deacon and P.R. load up on boots. Little do the Diamonds know, there's a lone guard cowering just a few meters away, behind a dogleg to the southwest corner of the chicken farm's exterior wall.
TBC...
Notes:
Everyone except Grease (who didn’t need to roll) passed a CUF check during this encounter. Once this extended encounter is fully resolved, I’ll roll to gain CUF and report on the results.
Speaking of Grease, he successfully pushed several of his driving checks. Rolling two 12's thanks to the Racer specialty certainly helps. This helped Pole Position arrive on site faster. Once again, I underestimated how long it would take to move- this time, in a vehicle- during combat rounds. Fortunately, things still turned out pretty well.
It’s disappointing to roll two 12’s on a heavy weapons (GL) shot and not produce any damage on the enemy in the target hex. Knockdown and suppression are both helpful, but it seems unrealistic that, in this case, none of the three enemy soldiers in the target hex were hit by shrapnel (the Blast D dice were not kind).
I will not voluntarily divest PC’s of body armor again. Combat is just too deadly to take unnecessary chances, and there’re no mechanical penalties to movement or stealth for not wearing it.
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