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9th of January 1999 evening shift weather cloudy

“So there is no chance that the order to leave can be revoked!?” asked Louise visibly upset by the fact that the departure of the 8th Alpini had become a sudden reality.

“I am afraid it is so Louise” Holtz was savoring the fried chicken that Jonna had prepared personally this time, without the help of Sven. There was also a nice side dish of roasted potatoes that one of the farmers had managed to save from the military requisitions of the previous month. Mrs.Berglund had also opened one her last good red wine bottles (an Italian Grignolino) that she had stored for the super special occasions. She was also noticeably upset, even angry about the news.

“I’m sure” she said “that if Major Siviglia didn’t have his little rift with General Falk, he wouldn’t have decided to leave so hastily.” She was angry at both officers. Moreover the first impression of the Swedish commander hadn’t been particularly positive for her either.

“Stop it mom” Louise reproached her mother. “You are always inclined to assume the worse motives in everybody.”
“It’s because I know what I am talking about, after all those years of dealing with people’s ego and stupidity, I know how it works.”

Louise didn’t answer to her mother’s last remark and instead asked Kurt if he wanted some more potatoes.

“Only if you share with me.” answered Liutenant Holtz smiling fondly at her .
While she was putting some more potatoes on in Kurt’s dish, Louise realized all of a sudden that it was in all probability the last time she would do anything like that for him and unexpectedly she didn’t manage to hold the tears starting to come down her cheeks. She had swore that wouldn’t have happened, and when it did she was even angrier at herself. Louise didn’t find anything better to do than excuse herself and walking away. She didn’t want Holtz to see her crying.

Jonna gave the stare to the Lieutenant, but there was not much she could say or do. Holtz had to roll on his CUF to avoid to get a point of stress (buddy suffering damage) and succeeded. With that, he managed to remain seated and calm, even though visibly embarrassed.

Mrs. Berglund seeing the situation relaxed a bit. “I was wandering if there is any way to procrastinate a little bit this departure...may be with a formal request from the citizenry that the regiment remained in town.” she said trying to find a someway to serve the interest of the town, of his daughter and also of Lieutenant Holtz.

“I’ll tell you that in Italy we have a proverb which says that trying never hurts anybody.” answered Holtz skeptical that such a request could sway Siviglia to revise his intentions.

“Do you think that you would have difficulties convincing the people to go for a formal request?” asked the Lieutenant

“I think I would have none” replied confidently the Mayor. I can tell you that there is a big portion of the citizenry that isn’t happy at all with you guys leaving town. That I can tell you for sure”.

Holtz left the table and went to the bathroom. He knocked at the door and asked if he could go in.
“Come in” said Louise who was washing her face with some clean water contained in a recently refreshed bowl. It could be the high point of World War III, but the bathroom of two women, was still the bathroom of two women.

Holtz approached Louise and hugged her from behind looking at their images in the mirror. Holtz closed his eyes and let himself savor the smell of her skin which had become in that week a real refuge in paradise for him. She pushed one arm back and held his head which was laying on her shoulder.

“You know” said Hotlz “If I ask Major Siviglia to remain here when the regiment leaves, that would be desertion, which according to our military code in time of war, is punishable with death. On the other hand The Major said that he would have nothing against you coming with me.” And there the persuasion dice flew together with the Mythic ones. 2 successes against one in favor of Kurt.

Louise turned in his arms to face him, bright eyed. “Oh Kurt...that would be...it would be...dangerous!” she contained herself” “I am the only thing my mother has left!”
“I just wanted you to know that there is that possibility. The Major has granted it to me. I also want you to know that I am going to ask the Major if he would let me stay. But I am afraid he will never agree to that...I mean...even if he wanted to let me to that, he could not...I am the XO of the regiment...it would set a very bad example, and would compromise the integrity of the unit.”

“I understand that” answered Louise looking up at him with her devastating blue eyes so dear to Italian men.
He held her against him even tighter.
“Do you want me to talk to your mother? Should we go back in the kitchen and tell her that you could come with me if you girls agree?”
“No...just let me think about it...let me think if I can ever ask her something like that.
“OK...You know...I believe we won’t leave before after tomorrow anyway. We are still a little behind with the preparation...and Louise…”
“Yes”
“Jag älskar dig” Holtz, who held a fourth of the above conversation is a tentative Swedish, closed it in good Swedish.”
“Jag med älskling” answered Louise and kissed him. Then they went back in the dining room, where Mrs. Berglund was clearing the table, and Holtz radio had just started crackling. Kurt grabbed the Headset at once and brought it to his ear.

“Go for PANTERA” said in Italian into the mike.
“PANTERA this is MANGUSTA...return immediately to TOC, over”
“Roger PANTERA...I am on my way.”

Holtz excused himself from the Ladies who were looking at him interrogatively and explained that he just had an urgent call from Siviglia. That said the Lieutenant hurried out of the Berglund Girls’ house to cover the distance to the bus deposit in the cold evening. He saluted Alpino Rossi, who was guarding the house and took off. While he walked at double time, he realized that part of the snow was melting on the roads and part of it was freezing; result of the lack of precipitation in the last week.

When Holtz arrived at the bus station, General Falk, and Major Siviglia were standing outside in front of a huge campfire that the 17th company had started in the station courtyard. With the officers stood a group of civilians, who were conferring with both men. Holtz stepped up the pace.

He didn’t know and the officers didn’t know either, but at the beginning of the scene, when Holtz was still eating his chicken, Mythic threw in a random event as often Mythic does, pitching a curve balls to the story: the focus of the event was NPC action, the resulting NPC was the Town of Skara and the action was “Return Suffering” which I interpreted in the following way:

“Lieutenant...” Major Siviglia addressed Holtz as soon as he realized that the Lieutenant had joined the group. He spoke to his XO in English:

“...These people came all the way from Skara, taking incredible risks on themselves to get here. They reported to General Falk that the Americans have lost control of the urban area of Skara, and that the local insurgency has gained the upper hand. It seems that the Americans are out of control and they started to indiscriminately execute civilians, probably in order to try and contain the uprising”.

Major Siviglia made a calculated pause to look at his Swedish colleague.

“General Falk would like to send a force in Skara to investigate and recover the situation, but he is extremely worried to about sending an armored unit in an urban area without any infantry support...so he strongly requested our cooperation on this issue…” another pause to find the right words to say the rest:

“I decided to accept General Falk’s request, in consideration of the fact that in Skara civilian lives are at immediate and grave risk” Major Siviglia continued his diplomatic pitch.

“Therefore Lieutenant, you will prepare and assume command of a contingent tasked with investigating what is going on in Skara and with reestablishing a safe situation for the local population. I will leave to you the planning and the execution of this operation. You will keep me posted on how the situation evolves on a regular basis.”

Siviglia gave another look at his Swedish counterpart, before concluding.

“General Falk will put a platoon of his Tanks under your tactical control, with reserve for the Swedish commander on the ground to ask for the general’s intervention should your orders ever appear to put the Swedish national assets assigned to your command at unnecessary risk”

“is it all that clear Lieutenant?” asked Siviglia in the most formal tone.

“I have only one question Sir!”
“Let’s hear it”
“The fuel Sir. After this mission we will very well risk not to have enough fuel for our trip to the West Coast”
“One problem at a time Lieutenant. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now the population of Skara has the precedence.”
“Undesrtood Sir” smiled Holtz, happy that his commander had his priorities straighten up.

“If you don’t mind I will start with the planning right away and recover my sleeping shift tomorrow morning during the transfer to Skara”

“Very well Lieutenant, General Falk will dispatch to you the commander of the attached tank platoon right away.”

“Yes Sir”… and thank you Sir” added Holtz turning to General Falk. The Swedish officer nodded graciously.

Holtz turned to the group of Skara civilians. “Who is the leader among you guys?” One man stepped forward. “My name is Adolf. I am the owner of the main inn in town. The situation is really bad Sir”.
“Very well” answered Holtz. “You come with me and my staff to assist with the planning of the mission. You will sleep tomorrow morning in my vehicle.”

Holtz ordered Corporal Bartoli to find Ottonese and to send him there, then turned around to enter the building. He grinned inwardly while walking inside. In the morning he would inform Louise that the departure of the regiment was postponed after all, provided that she wasn’t informed earlier by her mother alerted by Siviglia right away.

9th of January 1999 Night shift weather goes to fair

Inside the bus deposit hall, around a big fire, Lieutenant Holtz, Fänrik Melker Lindström, platoon commander of the 4th Swedish armored brigade, and Corporal Ottonese were gathered around a map of the region, with Skara and surroundings at the center of the table.

Holtz was just starting the briefing when the radio sitting on a nearby desk came to life. It was Rossi on the regiment frequency who alerted all units about a possible intrusion attempt on Mrs. Berglund’s place (courtesy of another random event). Rossi was asking for backup.

(After two scenes where there were events that the PCs didn’t fully control, the chaos factor of the game went up two notches. The higher the chaos factor the more unpredictability is injected in the story, until the players manage to bring down the chaos again by getting in control of the events again).

Holtz dropped everything and and stormed out of the bus deposit with Ottonese on his tail.
“MANGUSTA here is NIBBIO; we are first responders...I repeat...we are first responders. NIBBIO THREE is already on site over, the Lieutenant spat into the radio while he was desperately running towards Louise’s house. On his left flank he felt his wound pulling. He had considered it healed two days before, but the repeated mobility rolls put that assumption to the test, which by the way he passed. Ottonese kept up with him till they reached the block where Mrs. Berglund’s house was located. Once the two arrived they found Rossi in cover behind a post of the Mayor’s house porch and two ragged characters in the middle of the road yelling in Swedish. One was armed with a revolver and the other one with an axe.

Holtz quickly assessed the threat: the one with the axe was a teenager. The other might have very well been his father; he was a man way out of military age. Rossi was yelling at them in a rudimentary English to put their weapons down, his carbine was covering them from behind the pole. That was enough to discourage the two men from advancing any further, but mot to make them comply with Rossi instructions. The situation was clearly tense.

The goons had not noticed the arrival of Italian reinforcements yet; they were toobusy confronting Rossi. First thing Holtz made sure that there were no other threats coming from anywhere, he checked that the girls had the good sense to not expose themselves to see what was going on. Then he pulled out his sidearm and pointed it right at the two men and made his presence known.

“Freeze!! Drop your weapons now!!” Yelled Holtz.

At the same instant, Ottonese thought that the two locals weren’t very wise tactically, standing there in the open. He crouched behind one of the derelict abandoned cars on the side of the road and pointed his carbine at the thugs.

“Copertura!!” he yelled at Holtz informing him that he was going on overwatch.
“Condizione rossa...condizione rossa!” yelled back Holtz, indicating to Ottonese that he couldn’t engage if he didn’t engage first.
“Roger”

Rossi took aim from behind his cover.

The older guy turned around towards Holtz. He didn’t turn enough to spot Ottonese behind the Volvo sedan.

“Fuck you”...he addressed Holtz aggressively. Then he focused his stare on him. Despite the darkness he managed to recognize him at that short distance “Aren’t you the Goddamned Italian hero that lives here with our lovely Mayor and daughter?…” the man took a deeper look at Holtz….”Of course you are...you are Prince Charming that fucks young Berglund…So! Do you know that we are starving day after day while you and the bitches stuff yourselves with all kinds of goodies from the farms!!...You know that??”

Holtz thought that attitude was more typical of a Southern Italian of low social standing than the one of a respectable and civilized Scandinavian man. But Holtz, half Sicilian blooded himself wasn’t exactly Mr. Patience either; plus he wasn’t interested in the opinion of the old man on his private life.

“I suggest you put down that gun and tell junior to do the same with that fucking hatchet. We can be here all night if you want, but I swear that if you guys take a single step towards that house or do anything stupid, I’ll drop both of you right where you are. My men are just waiting for my order to do the same, then you are both dead. Your decision dude!”

“Did you hear what I said you fucking bastard?” the man asked Holtz?
“Not interested. Put the gun down, kick it away, and I will discuss everything you want!”

“You leave my father alone cock sucker!” the young guy ordered Holtz.
“I Promise I will, once you and papa put down your irons” reiterated Holtz, not moving his eyes from his target.

There were some more seconds of confrontation while everybody weighted their options. In particular the Swedish civilians, because the Italians had their options pretty laid up in their minds already. Everything depended on the decisions of the old man, cause the young one seemed to conform to his actions. Pops quickly moved his eyes around to evaluate the positions of all the soldiers that surrounded him; at that point he had also spotted Ottonese as well behind the car. Holtz didn’t like the behavior of the old man. Looked like he was trying to find a desperate solution, that really wasn’t there, bit before the Lieutenant could register all that, his target acted by suddenly raising his gun at Holtz. The movement was way faster than Holtz anticipated and surprised Holtz, who despite had him covered, was slow in reacting.

Louise screamed behind the window she was using to peek at the all situation.

“I don’t have time for your bullshit red condition Lieutenant” thought Ottonese who from his overwatch position fired a single bullet aimed at the hostile. The Beretta SCP Carbine went off and the noise echoed all around the neighborhood. The target let out a scream and fell down. He was still moving and screaming when Ottonese realized that the cartridge had not been expelled right by the extractor which probably damaged the feeder. With his unused fast action, he dropped the Carbine along his chest and drew his Beretta 92 taking aim at the second target, in the following round, going on overwatch again.

Automatically Rossi covered the younger man with his carbine as well, fearing his reaction after his father had been dropped. In fact the older man was still down and didn’t seem to be able to take any actions at the moment.

“Holtz seeing that his two Alpini had the situation under control, quickly walked to the position of the downed man, his sidearm still pointed at him. With his second fast action kicked away the revolver. At the same time he yelled to junior man to put down the axe.

“We are not joking here man!...you have seen it...put down the weapon if you don’t want to get hurt or worse.”

After some moments of hesitation, the boy slowly let go of the axe by gently laying it on the ground. Meanwhile other people were coming out of their houses alarmed by the yelling and by the rifle shot. At the same time, Siviglia and Quincy appeared on the scene on board the VM-90. Holtz knelt besides the man who had threatened him with the handgun. He was suffering but he was alert. Holtz had him loaded in the vehicle to be quickly transported to the infirmary of the school. Holtz went with him on the improvised ambulance, while Siviglia questioned his son about the motives of their action and Ottonese with Rossi made sure that everything else was OK in the neighborhood. Louise and Mrs. Berglund came out of the house under the very close protection of the two Alpini Recon.

The boy said that part of the population was tired to suffer from malnutrition especially when there was another part of the population that was fed better. He said that representative Forberg had raised the question in the council to no avail and now somebody was thinking to take the matter into their own hands.

Siviglia asked if they acted alone or there was somebody else involved in the conspiracy. The young man didn’t answer.

So one more problem went to add itself to all the other open threads of the game. As for the immediate result of this random encounter, Holtz could not plan his mission to Skara and he still lost his sleep for the night, as did Ottonese and Rossi. The day after, task force SKARA would have to improvise, and someone else would have to be designated driver for the VM.

10 January 1999 Stopen Morning Shift weather Fair

That January morning announced itself like a very beautiful and sunny morning, even though the giant sun disk at 0700 was just beginning to make its majestic apparition over the horizon. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, the temperature was not unbearable and the Swedish countryside glowed in that dawn in all its beauty. Alone in front of that harmonious landscape, Siviglia asked himself why men had to be such a destabilizing force in that wonderful planet, and immediately after he shifted his focus to the planning of the daily destabilizing activities.

He had decided at the last minute to have the mission to Skara postponed to the day shift, given that all the personnel of the Scout platoon lost their night of sleep, and he wanted the personnel to fresh and ready. Plus in a corner of his mind he always kept a spot focused on his main objective; take the boys home.

After a breakfast based on goat milk and a couple of fried eggs, Siviglia received some news from Ganeral Falk about the situation in the “Vara Gap” as the radio amateurs spread all over Southwest Sweden started to call it. Both Falk and Siviglia believed the rumor referred to the narrow strip of territory that had been spared from the nuclear devastation, going from Mariestad to the North Sea. According to the information by numerous people on the radio tam tam, unfortunately the gap was starting to be infested by marauders and looters who where trying to exploit the meager recovery that apparently was going on inside that safe zone. General Falk thought this could be connected with the situation in Skara and informed Siviglia about his opinion.

Together with Falk and Captain Nyberg, Siviglia proceeded to define the composition of the force tasked with the stabilization of Skara. The Swedish would supply one armored platoon commanded by Fänrik Lindström and composed by 3 STRV-121 Main Battle Tanks. The Italians would provide the infantry component of the force, based on the scout platoon mounted on the VM-90 and reinforced by by Michael Quincy. The English contractor had been temporarily integrated in the Italian Army by decree of the commander Major Siviglia, with the rank of Sergeant, for his performance in combat and in leadership duties, during the time spent with the regiment.

Assuming a considerable risk, Siviglia also decided to attach the 202th mortar battery to Holtz’s command. In order to transport the 81mm tube and its crew, Siviglia dug up the old regiment wagon together with its two horses that a family of Stopen farmers had kept in good health. In spite of having only 3x81mm shells left, Siviglia thought that the type of mission the task force was about to embark upon could use some indirect support fire. Of course the drawback was that the wagon would have slowed down the column to 10 km per shift off road and 20 off road, and exposed the battery personnel to frigid temperatures. On the pros side, the employment of the wagon as a transport would let the battery to maneuver independently from the main force, and guarantee a certain speed in deploying the tube in the unfortunate case such deployment became necessary. Sergeant Fré and Private Rogua weren’t happy, but they were Alpini and they would cope. Siviglia had also considered the possibility to assign the BV-206 to the mortar battery instead, but he had in the end decided against it: he had to guarantee a modicum of mechanization to the 17th company in case of emergency.

By the end of the shift Siviglia organized a small ceremony at the presence of the Scout platoon, a representative of the Stopen Militia, and both the Mayor and her daughter. He had decided to promote Holtz to the rank of First Lieutenant for his merits in the field. In truth that wasn’t the only reason. The other one was that Siviglia wanted Holtz to outrank 2nd Liutenant Melker Lindström, the spectacular red haired giant Ottonese had already nicknamed THOR, who commanded the tank platoon placed under Hotz’s tactical control.

After a quick early lunch, the departing column had all its vehicles lined up in the Bus Deposit courtyard. The VM-90 was in front, followed the 202th wagon, with the mortar crew bundled up in thermal gear and some extra layers of custom made Alpini remedies against the stiff cold. The three Massive Leopard 2s, which made the Italian light APC look like a toy car, closed the column, to prevent them from killing the 202th battery horses with their exhaust fumes.

All weapons and equipment had been checked and the Stopen Community had made an extra effort by providing the entire force with 4 days domestic rations, despite the scornful protests of Representative Engla Forsberg, who was spreading more dissent everyday on the matter among the villagers. The Berglund girls, General Falk and Siviglia were present to greet the departure of the task force.

While Falk and Siviglia were busy talking with Mrs. Berglund, Holtz exploited the last few minutes to give his farewell to Louise.

“Promise me that you are not going to get shot again!! Try to be safe out there OK?!” said Louise who had bad memories about Holtz going out on a mission.

“Oroa dig inte. Den här gången I’ve got the protection of an entire platoon of gigantic countrymen of yours Louise” he tried to reassure her. Then he kissed her on the forehead. Then she saw Ottonese tinkering with the VM-90 camo net to fix it better on the roof of the vehicle.

“Otto! Otto! Come down here” she excitedly waved at him with her hand in the confusion of the column getting ready to move. The Alpino Recon quickly jumped down of the vehicle and approached the couple.

“Promise me that you will protect him, like you did yesterday night!” Louise told him referring to the firefight of the night before where Ottonese shot the man who was about to shoot Kurt.

Ottonese looked at her quizzically:
If I let he die…. I have hope marry you?

“If you let him get killed, I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF she articulated slowly to be sure that he understood, before giving him a long tight hug.

“You guys promise you will be all careful!” Louise said before letting them both go. The two men mounted on the VM. Holtz climbed through the MG-42 hatch in a half exposed position. He pushed down the white sky mask on his face and wore the radio headset over it:

“ODIN to all elements: radio check over.” for that mission Holtz had changed the 8th usual nicknames to better adapt the radio procedures to the Swedish personnel, who would have found it hard to use the Italian call signs.

"THOR...I copy you LIMA CHARLIE, answered Lieutenant Lindström”
“BALDER...LIMA CHARLIE, said the commander of the second Leopard”.
“TYR...LIMA CHARLIE, confirmed the commander of the third Leopard”
“LOKI...ti ricevo forte e chiaro, closed Sergeant Fré”

Then, with the roar of the engines of the Swedish tanks covering that puny noise of the diesel engine of the VM, the column began moving.

10th of January 1999 Day shift Weather Fair C4

Task Force Odin had only about two hours and a half of light before day time would start to give up to dusk, so Holtz ordered to exploit that time to the maximum to try and cross the Ekeberg forest before the visibility conditions deteriorated. He put Ottonese on watch, unbuttoned in the crew hatch of the VM, and Rossi ready to react to any troubles in the MG-42 hatch. Holtz maneuvered the vehicle according to Otto’s indications. In the passenger compartment were packed the civilians from Skara, two of whom were armed respectively with a double barreled hunting shotgun and a 9mm handgun. Holtz ordered those weapons to be secured in the weapons box. He was skeptical about the presence of armed civilians inside a restricted space like the VM passengers compartment.

Driving through the narrow wood trails on the itinerary planned to avoid the surroundings of Skovde, was quite demanding on the engines and consequently on their fuel consumption rate. At every critical juncture Ottonese stopped the column to consult the map and be sure of the direction. It wasn’t difficult to get lost in that labyrinth of secondary trails, some of which were also partially invisible because of the snow. Yet the Alpino Recon managed to keep the unit on the right course. Holtz on his part managed to pass his drive roll, which kept the convoy on track and on schedule, so that it in fact managed to arrive at margin of the Ekeberg Forest before dusk.

Now why the Ekeberg forest was an important waypoint? Simply because it was the location where in their previous mission the unit encountered a hostile party of unidentified combatants who ambushed them. Holtz was determined to avoid a repetition of that experience, provided that those hostiles were still deployed in the area. But that time Holtz got hit with another inconvenience.

As soon the vehicles started to delve in the actual forest area, Rossi and Ottonese heard a big bang coming from the back of the column, immediately followed by the excited chatter in Swedish over the unit frequency. Ottonese knocked on Holtz’s head with his left boot and he VM came to a sudden stop, immediately imitated by the 202th battery wagon. Over the Radio the Swedish tankers continued to frantically exchange short communications in their own language, which pissed Holtz off, already worried as it was that the noise could attract unwanted attention.

“THOR...this is ODIN...give me a sitrep and speak English over the unit frequency please...What the hell is going on? Over”
“ODIN...This is THOR...I am sorry. It looks like one of my tanks engine had a catastrophic failure. We stopped to investigate.
Copy that THOR...We stop as well and remain on watch, over”

“what the hell had to go wrong now with those damned engines, and of course during my...MY mission?” thought Holtz, without mentioning it on the radio. At the same time he dismounted in order to support Ottonese in his watch duties. The sun was already fading west and it wouldn’t be long before twilight conditions would set off. Holtz kept an ear to the radio waiting for updates.

After five minutes, Lieutenant Lindström came alive on the horn again:

“ODIN...this is THOR...my number two is effectively dead. All the main power systems of the vehicle are inoperable with the loss of the engine. The vehicle needs repair facilities and two spare conrods...I am sorry Lieutenant.”

“Holy fucking shit” cursed Holtz in Sicilian dialect, which was for all intents and purposes a separate language from standard Italian. “One third of the way and a relevant fifth of my force is gone already”. The point then was what to do next. Rossi and Ottonese were both looking at him from the respective hatches, and through the radio apparatus Holtz could almost see Lindström waiting for an answer to the problems he had announced. Everybody was depending on him. What was it that Napoleon used to repeat to his generals all the time? “If you are unlucky I have no use for you in a campaign…” “Goddammit”!. The only positive thing was that it didn’t seem like anybody was attacking his crippled and exposed column yet, even though somebody could be observing from a concealed spot in that exact moment.

In that location, the task force was still in communication range with Stopen. So Holtz contacted Major Siviglia to inform him of the situation. There was of course the risk to be triangulated by some hostiles but what the heck; it was an emergency.
The Major came in pretty clear on the regiment frequency and answered that he would consult with General Falk and call back in five minutes. He called after ten, informing Holtz that the Swedish general had strongly requested that the inoperable tank was towed back at once or that the task force stopped right where it was and waited for another tank to be dispatched from Stopen in order to recover the inoperable one. Holtz chose the second solution without hesitations. That would have at least left him with two tanks for the entire waiting time, and it would also been a shorter waiting time.

“Is there anyway that General Falk can substitute the broken tank for us” dared asking Holtz over the radio.
“Stand by NIBBIO” Siviglia quickly consulted the general again. The he came in again.
“Negative for the substitution at this time NIBBIO, if you decide to wait in place, General Falk will send the recovering vehicle in 10 minutes. ETA one hour. Over”
“Roger that” Holtz cursed inwardly at the Swedish General stinginess. We’ll wait in place ETA one hour over and out”

Holtz shifted immediately on the task force frequency.

“THOR, this ODIN...deploy your platoon in a defensive position according to the terrain possibilities. General Falk is going to send us a recovery vehicle, then we carry on with the mission. ETA one hour over.”
“Copy that ODIN; I execute over”
“Be advised THOR...I am joining your position from west. I am coming on foot”
“Roger ODIN out”

Holtz ordered Ottonese e Rossi to hide the VM somewhere safe and to be ready for any contingency, then he started to walk back along the wood trail to reach the tank platoon.

The Lieutenant hadn’t been with the Swedish tankers for more than 5 minutes, when he heard from Ottonese again; in Italian and on the unit frequency:

“Lieutenant I have a group of civilians who got the drop on us thanks to the deep foliage. They looked like hunters of some kind, and popped up from nowhere You better come back here.” said Ottonese visibly embarrassed for having being surprised by a party of civilians. At least they had not spooked him enough be shot at. The hippies were clearly lacking even the most basic notions of how to approach an unknown military unit in operation without being killed.

Holtz run all the way back at the maximum speed that his mobility rolls allowed. When he reached the VM area, Ottonese was effectively try to communicate with a party of locals, all of them armed with hunting rifles of some kind. Some of the civilians who left Stopen with the convoy were also out of the vehicle, placidly chatting away with their countrymen. Ottonese was slightly lost in that mess, of which he understood nothing anyway.

Holtz stormed the group like a bowling ball storms the pins. He addressed the civilians of his group in English:
“Where do you think you are gentlemen? To a picnic in the park? This is a war zone.” Then he focused on the newcomers, in the most polite manner he managed too, considering the bad day he was having.

“Can you please tell me who you are and what is your business here?

One of the guys, a big rugged guy with a heavy leather coat and hugging a pump action shotgun, answered that they were a self defense group of farmers. He looked at the Italian flag Holtz had on his chest Velcro and said that had seen the Swedish tanks. They certainly didn’t expect to come across foreign soldiers. He asked if they were allied. Holtz looked at the guy, wandering on what planet he had been living in the last two years, but didn’t drop his decent manners.

“We are part of the NATO contingent”
“Did you come for the Svarta Djävlar?” asked the hunter
”The what?”
”The Black Devils” insited the man. We have a band of ruthless marauders around here composed by a mix of formed Swedish gang members, American strugglers and some Russians too. They terrorize have being terrorizing the whole area for a while now, which consequently has been almost abandoned by the families who used to live around the national park.

Holtz mind went back to burnt farm with all those civilians massacred, children included. What could have been..four or five kilometers from there?. Heck they could be the same characters that attacked him on his previous trip to Skara.

”You have any idea about how these marauders are amrned?” asked the Lieutenant.
”The rumors speak of military grade weapons these thugs have stolen from both sides. They are also believed to carry heavy weapons obtained from a straggler Russian unit...I’ve seen Russian military around here myself. Guys in heavy winter gear like tyou guys. One time I have seen a crazy one of those Russians weaing only a wifebeater with white and blue tiny stripes”

Holtz raised an eyebrow: ”These people could very well be the ones who attacked the farm” he thought remembering the 5.56 NATO cartridges that he discovered on the scene.

”Do you know if these guys are involved with the disorders in Skara?”
”Disorders in Skara? I don’t know what you are talking about” answered the leader of the hunter party. ”It has been almost one year we haven’t been in Skara, and after the bombs disaster we have had even less reasons to hang on around there.”

”Listen” said Holtz confident that he could reveal something to the civilians with no particular concerns for intel security ”We are heading for a mission. But when we come back, if we can still find you, we might help you with this Black Devils issue.” Holtz dared taking the initative on something Siviglia would probably approve himself.

The civilian group thanked Holtz for his noble intent but did not reveal where he could find them on the way back from his mission. Trust was something that was very difficult to gain in those days. Holtz didn’t press the matter and dismissed the civilians, without revealing any more information himself.

Not long after this encounter, the rescue tank arrived from Stopen in order to tow the disabled Leopard of Lindström platoon. At that point though the evening shift was about to begin and Holtz decided to set camp for the day. He would have to be more prudent from now on, having lost a third of Lindström’s force. Besides, he didn’t want to cross the forest at night and mounted, against possible leg infantry lurking around.

10th of January 1999 Ekeberg Forest Northeastern margin Weather Fair. Evening shift

Task force Odin was alone again, and it was dark: a beautiful moonlight which projected strange shadows on the horizon and on the forest trees. The main quick dinner routine fell as always on Ottonese, who had to be o watch for the night, because he had the best recon abilities of the entire company. So he was the one that went to bed immediately, in order to be called for duty at 0000 of the following day. During the evening shift the watch duty belonged instead to Quincy, who stood high in the MG-42 hatch of the VM, while consuming a frugal meal by himself. Also all the men that had night duties on each vehicle, also enjoyed their fast dinners and some hours of sleep before reporting for duty in the following shift. One man per vehicle had in fact to be alert at all times in case the company had to move quickly and to maintain the temperature inside the vehicles via periodical engine starts.

Holtz, with the help of Rossi and of Lieutenant Lindström, took care of setting the camp, supervising the organization of the campfires, which given the size of the unit were more than one. Setting camp was not a particularly demanding job, given that all personnel had an assigned sleeping place on a vehicle, included the men of the 202th battery, who were hosted in the VM during nights.

For dinner Holtz left his men to go join the Swedish armored platoon, in order to familiarize with them a little bit. Lieutenant Lindström’s tank crew was a model of style and courtesy. The Lieutenant used dishes with his family emblem carved on them and on the silverware, and expected his men to portray themselves with dignity and rigor. His ancestor served as officers in the Skaraborg Regiment since late 1500 and he had a legacy to carry on, even in the midst of the Third world War. So first thing he welcomed that strange looking Italian officer at the table of his platoon in the way an officer had to be welcomed, especially the commanding officer. When Holtz approached, Lindström stood up and performed a slight bow in the style of the cavalrymen of the 19th century. The move looked a little bit goofy in the heavy duty tank combat suit, but gave the idea nevertheless. The Skaraborg Regiment had been in the tragedy for more than one year, but Lieutenant Lindström didn’t tolerate any erratic behavior in his platoon. And given the size and the reputation of that red haired and red bearded officer, none of his crews dared to dissent.

Lindström didn’t really know what to think about that fair skinned Italian officer who didn’t look Italian at all and had a German name on top of it. Holtz explained to him that he was Austrian on his father side, even though his father’s family had been legally Italian since 1919.

“My name and my genetic heritage have remained Austrian though”, said jokingly Holtz. “I could even say that I can claim Norsemen origin on my mother side: she is one of those many blond Sicilians who comes straight from God knows which rape act by the Normans upon the local Arab population, when they invaded Sicily around 1100 AD”

“An interesting proposition Sir” said Lindström, who, just by the genealogical credentials of Lieutenant Holtz, started to respect him more as a soldier. For him nobody south of the 60th parallel could be a decent man at arms.

“Tell me sir” asked Lindström while neatly cutting a small piece of rabbit leg with fork and knife. “What kind of troops is your regiment composed of”. He didn’t know much of NATO infantry, being more an estimator of the cavalry specialty.

“Well” answered Holtz. “We are called Alpini, the Italian mountain troops. Traditionally the task of the Alpini regiments has been to protect the Italian Alps from any exterior threat. Basically all our land borders are on high mountain terrain. In particular my regiment was founded in 1909. Not quite old like yours I believe, but still depository of a lot of traditions.”

“So is that why you have been dispatched here by NATO? Because this is a cold country and you are troops used to the cold?”

“Partly” answered Holtz. “but also I guess, because we are light infantry. Not a lot of firepower but good attitude to fight in close terrain, like woods and forests. If you think about it, our superiors decided our participation to this mission because they thought your tanks needed protection in urban and compartmentalized terrain.”

“Indeed” answered the Swedish Lieutenant. He paused for a couple of seconds. “What about the English guy in your infantry squad?” asked immediately after.

“He walked into Stopen one day that I wasn’t there and my Major eventially enlisted him into our army. H’s an incredibly capable soldier, he showed it during a terrible crises we had in town when some criminal elements took some hostages and barricaded themselves in a house.”

Lindström suddenly assumed a gloomy expression. “The civilians!” he said. “I have heard terrible stories about the occupied zone.”
“The occupied zone?”
“Yes the zone occupied by the Russians. The propaganda spoke about a Russian commander in Sweden who was particularly careful about the treatment of the civilian population, but I have heard the exact opposite from street sources”
“We don’t even know if the Red Army is still working up there Lieutenant” said Hotz trying to relieve the sudden bad mood of the Swedish officer.
“Yeah if it is not working is even worse. Two weeks ago I started to hear about atrocities committed even in this other part of the country and by Swedish nationals as well.”
“Meaning?”
“Where do you think all the males of military age that are not I the army, come from? Gangs, conscription dodgers, convict population, mentally disturbed, not to speak about the mutinied army units...A giant disaster my friend. A giant disaster following the collapse of organized systems.”

Holtz temporarily turned his head away to better reflect upon the fellow officer’s words. Then he continued. “We too in Stopen have heard and saw our part of accounts about the exploits of some straggler military units. The female population got the worse of it looks like. I am a military doctor specialized in Psychiatry. I put in place a program for the mental recovery of the civilian population particularly hit by wartime evernts.

Lindström closed his eyes and dropped his big red head. “These civilians that we have with us, they said that the situation in Skara is disastrous. Between the Americans who seem to have lost their minds and the other various marauding parties operating in the area, we will have our share of trouble. I have heard there are also Soviet units that turned to looting and pillaging, some after having killed their officers.

“What kind of Soviet Units are we talking about?” asked Holts.
“According to what we know, troops that were infiltrated as the first wave of the invasion. Mainly Airborne troops and Spetnatz.”
“That is very bad news”
“Which”
“The Spetznaz”
“They are rumors, nothing is confirmed.”
“I guess we will see very soon what’s really going on, starting with Skara” continued the Swedish officer.
“Starting and finishing with Skara” pointed out Holtz. “Our orders are not to push beyond that town.”

Holtz glanced at the watch on his wrist. He was starting to be late. He was about to take is leave from his subordinate, when Lindström asked him one last question.

“Captain Nyberg told me that your unit went from a battalion size to a platoon, and yet you are not stragglers. You didn’t turn to marauding. How come?”
“I guess is the merit of Major Siviglia. He is an excellent officer, with solid and noble military traditions. A little bit like you are.”

1 week earlier, VARA Southwestern Sweden Weather heavy snow day shift

Sergeant Krilenko was at the last stage of desperation. The remnant of his airborne battalion had been wandering around Southwestern Sweden for more than two months now. 2nd Battalion/104 Airborne Regiment had been parachuted on Vårgårda, because the KGB had established that the town was an important NATO logistic center. After they landed, the Russian paratroopers discovered that instead it was just a middle sized Swedish urban center with nothing logistic about it. The plan was that the battalion would air assault and conquer Vårgårda airport, held by weak infantry Swedish units still according to the KGB, and then the rest of the regiment would be airlifted on the smoking ruins. The reunited forces would then occupy the town and hold it until the main soviet invasion forces coming from east would relieve them.

Needless to say the entire operation had been a giant cluster fuck. Firstly there was no weak infantry Swedish unit in Vårgårda and that was good. Secondly, and that was not good, the town was not a logistic center but only a strategically insignificant point in the middle of Västra Götaland County. Thirdly and even worse, the glorious invasion forces that had to relieve them never showed up, and neither did the rest of the 104th Airborne Regiment. So Lieutenant Colonel Nilenko after having occupied Vårgårda and its airport without firing a single bullet, started to have his battalion harassed by partisans and militia type Swedish forces which operated in the area. At that point, the above mentioned bullets started to fly...thick.

Nilenko made the only logical decision possible in those circumstances: since holding Vårgårda didn’t serve any tactical purpose, he extricated his battalion from the town, and started marching northwest, back towards the presumed Soviet lines. Nilenko had no communications with his command and he had to realize pretty soon that the chances of taking his men back alive were extremely slim. Desperation started to set in. At the beginning he had to sustain firefights against regular Swedish forces on his way north. Later he observed – horrified - the atomic mushroom from the detonation over Alingsas, and after that the battalion started to sustain more and more attacks by all kinds of enemies: American stragglers, presumably from the 2nd Marine Division, Swedish regular military and eventually, Swedish partisans. All contacts were extremely vicious, and the battalion sustained more and more casualties during its slow and painful advance/retreat northeast. In two month of painstaking movement - some days less than a kilometers - what remained of the battalion had reached the town of Vara, the first decent urban center since it had left Vårgårda.

At this point of its odyssey the 2nd Battalion/104 Regiment of the Soviet Airborne forces was reduced to an undersized company of hungry and desperate men. All the officers were dead except for Lieutenant Ulman Zhadanov a young and inexperienced officer who was still alive because the NCOs managed to protect him better than they did with other officers. Lieutenant Colonel Nilenko had been one of the first to fal as the hero that he was. In actual facts the burden of 2nd battalion direction was now on the shoulders of the platoon commanders, all of them sergeants. The scout section was commanded by a corporal. Since when it had been dropped over Sweden, the battalion has sustained not less than six different decisive battles against a variety of enemy forces, from disorganized civilians, to mechanized American forces. In some of these fights, totally surrounded, the men had refused surrender and had paid a high price in order to slip out of the various pockets the Swedish had prepared for them.

Most of all the men of the 2nd battalion were ANGRY and against the enemy, furious. When they landed in Vårgårda they occupied the town without any combat. When the Swedish partisans and militias had started attacking them, Lt. Col. Nilenko didn’t see any reason to maintain that position and had been happy to surrender the town back to its owners. He refused to surrender his arms though, that would have been dishonorable. So he fought his first battle to slip out of Vårgårda. All he wanted was to evacuate his troops from the NATO/Sweden controlled zone, and regain the Russian lines. But...no...the Swedish, all of them were resolute in gunning the battalion down to the last man before they would let them to leave the western sector. In the mind of the men, the Swedish had to pay for all the fallen comrades of the battalion, against which the Swedish were conducting nothing less than a war of extermination.

And 2nd Airborne Battalion had answered in kind so far. Yes, it had sustain catastrophic losses, but had inflicted as many, and sometimes many more to the enemy. At the frozen gates of Vara, what remained of the men of the battalion were starving, desperate and ready for one more fight, perhaps their last.

Sgt. Igor Krilenko was sitting in the pick up that his squad had managed to sneak out of Vårgårda after having requisitioned it from a blacksmith. His men had adapted an AGS-17 automatic grenade launcher in its bed, which was one of the last heavy weapons available to the battalion. So Krilenko’s outfit was employed as support troop for the shock platoons of Sergeants Andreev and Fomin. That was the reason why his squad was behind the scout section of Corporal Aksenov and waiting. But Krilenko ate waiting. Waiting consumed him and made him drawn in fear. Action was so much better; all automatized by training and if your number was called...well. The only worry Krilenko had was to be maimed, but in that case he had his trusted Makarov to use on himself. He swore many times he would never be a war cripple. For know, the tally was heavily in his favor. He was still alive and in one piece, and he had killed so many Swedish and Americans that his reputation throughout the battalion had raised to prominence. All that had left a mark though. He often had to hide a nervous tremble that would take him by surprise and even impair his shooting. The biggest fear for Krilenko was that his man saw that. For them he was a hero and a leader, and heroes and leaders didn’t tremble in front of the enemy. Plus in stressful combat situations he had started to experience furious uncontrollable reactions, that he thought were a coping mechanism for the frustration of having to endure the enemy actions. That would get him killed sooner rather than later, but at least it wasn’t seen a sign of weakness by his subordinates; and that was what it counted the most.

“If we don’t take this town it’s curtains for us Pyotr” Sergeant Krilenko said to his XO Corporal Gulec who was behind the Toyota pick up wheel. The battalion was bundled up along the main access to Vara; state road 20, and it was waiting that Aksenov gave any news on if the town was held by hostile forces or not. If yes, it would then be matter of life or death. Either the battalion took the town and replenished their reserves of food, water and possibly ammunition and fuel, of it was the end of the line. The main body of the battalion was hiding behind a bend in the road surrounded by thick foliage and woods, waiting for the scouts to evaluate the situation. The temperature was prohibitive and the snowfall thick and merciless, making visibility problematic. The wind raised the chill perceived factor to ridiculous levels, and everything sucked. And yet the town had to be taken, or they would all freeze to death in that forest hell.

While in overwatch. with a corner of his eyes underneath his face mask, Krilenko saw the storm troopers of Sergeant Andreev advancing on his right. They were walking in column towards the thick forest that opened on the westward outskirts of the town. They were moving even before Akenov had the opportunity to spot any enemy activity. That had to be a good base position for the assault. No need to wait. Sgt. Fomin shock platoon started to deploy on the left. Krilenko would act as battalion reserve and fire support at the moment.

In order to kill waiting time, Krilenko moved a little bit on the left to try and see if he could spot anything. He had a limited line of sigh through the forest margin, on the first buildings of Vara. They all looked like residential units and they were all undamaged. The visibility was pitiful though, so Krilenko couldn’t be sure. He looked back to be sure that the battalion CP was still right behind him, and it was. Hidden among some trees behind him was Lieutenant Zhadanov and his radio operator. Krilenko thought that the various platoons would as usual coordinate themselves even without the Lieutenant intervention. They had become pretty skilled in passing the information to each other and in making sound tactical decisione, without counting on too many orders from above. “A group of veteran bastards, forced to become veteran in only two months” thought Krilenko while he scanned the gray landscape in front of him.

Judging from the engine noise coming from the left, Fomin had decided to throw all the caution out of the window already. All he was trying to do now was reaching the outskirts before anybody could fire on him, and to anchor his platoon in a building, didn’t matter which one. If the Swedish had troops in town he was pretty sure they had been alerted by now. It was a matter of time before the battalion would be engaged in combat if the town was actually defended. Fomin bet everything on the fact that it was not, and drove his Jeep as fast as he could through the open terrain between the forest margin and the first rows of houses. He had to be careful not to get the pick up stuck in the snowy terrain tough, which was an always present danger, especially if you left the road.

Suddenly a movement caught Krivkov’s attention. About 200 meters on the right there was a tall building, and behind an open window he saw an armed man in white camo. He suddenly become depressed. There went the hope to take the city without having to pay. He rushed to the radio microphone:

“All Stations, all stations...this is Zatshayev 3 enemy troops on the right side of the point of attack...I repeat enemy troops on the right side of the point of attack...be advised...do you want me to intervene over?

“Zhatshayev...this is Popov 4 stand by...I repeat stand by. We are are in place. We’ll request support id needed. Over.”

The communication was not over yet, when Krilenko heard the first AK-74s shots. Somebody must have acted on his warning already. “Another day in the butchery has begun” thought the Sergeant.


Krilenko in overwatch covers Andreev shock platoon entering the woods leading to the outskirts of Vara

There was no doubt that the dances had begun and the damned city was indeed defended. Krilenko felt a surge of adrenaline coming up from his stomach. The crackly staccato of the Kalashnikovs was now starting to met by the acute sound of typical western SAWs and Assault rifles. Multi color tracers come from north and traversed Krilenko field of view. Evidently an enemy hidden stronghold on the far left of the line was targeting Andreev troops. The cacophony of battle sound and the typical chaos of a military engagement had just begun like many times before, and Krilenko sudden realized he was doing nothing yet while his comrades risked their lives.

“Zatshayev 3 to all station...don’t keep me here in the rear Goddammit. Do you need me to intervene ?! Over.”

One answer came from the recon squad of corporal Aksenov.

“Zathsayev this is Belka. Stand by and keep ready to push along the road. We are taking fire from the the left, but the road sector looks relatively free. Over
“Roger Belka don’t be too long to clear me for action Over and Out.”

Krilenko tried to ignore the cold temperature and to focus on his task despite the poor visibility. The entire battlefield was covered in a white blanket of falling snow, the flakes as big as ping pong balls. The two Russian shock platoons were now beyond of Krilenko LOS and he didn’t have any way to observe how they were proceeding, but what he could see was a high building on the right of his front line being hit many times by the yellow tracers of Soviet weapons. The visibility didn’t favor a long range engagement, but the problem was two ways. While Krilenko was furiously biting his gloves, the radio came alive again on the battalion frequency:

“Popov! Here si Popov 4. Fire intensity from the right side diminishes. We might have pinned them down!”
“Attention Popov...this is Belka you have new customers approaching from building opposite to the courtyard you are in!”
“Roger Belka! Try to silence the fire coming from north. We will occupy the courtyard and the offices beyond it Over”
“Copy That Popov...cover your left out!

Krilenko couldn’t resist more he yelled at Gulev: “Let’s move! Let’s move! Push along the road. Be careful not to slide off road. Get us to those goddamned building.”
“Are you sure sergeant. The comrades said to wait”.
“Shut the fuck up and execute! Belka is neutralizing the fire from the left. We will slip in the middle and occupy the first row of houses.”

Gulev, pressed on the gas with caution given the state of the roads, and the pick up started to move ahead at a decent speed. Liutenant Zhadanov followed on foot negotiating the line of trees with his radio operator glued to his butt. Krilenko kicked one of his men, a18 years old private named Serminov in the back seat.

“Prepare to fire that damned Grenade launcher. We might need to fire superiority our way in.”

Krilenko vehicle came around the bend in the road which was hiding the view of the battle field, so he could see what was going on. Andreev had made rapid progress and had occupied a little court house on the extreme south of the front line, but his command squad was still exposed in the open though advancing. Right in front of Krilenko vehicle, Aksanov had taken a position in a little wood, from which he was firing at somebody; 60 meters on the left, Fomin shock platoon had taken cover in a shrub land hex and was starting to deploy the Konkurs to demolish the building where the Swedish dogs were hiding. Only problem the platoon was bunched up. Krilenko prayed that the enemy didn’t have any indirect fire.

A few instants later Krilenko saw the typical rear flame of the ATGM going off. He observed the trajectory of the missile and the location of target. That was going to be a hit. His pick up was by now in the open portion of the road approach to the town. All Gulev had to do was to drive it for another 50 meters and they would hit the first row of houses. On the right Andreev platoon was fighting against somebody who was probably getting in a favorable position to shoot at Krilenko. He could only hope that Andreev would suppress them before they attained their position. Then suddenly. a giant explosion happened in one of the buildings on his left, about 50 meters away. That had to be the Konkurs hitting his target. The building caught fire, which added to the chaos.

Always driving carefully on the road Gulev managed to bring the pick up to first row of houses, where Aksanov scout team was trying to breach. The corporal had his observer in the first building already; he was covering him from there. At the moment the enemy wasn’t offering too much resistance. Sporadic fire still came from the north side of town, where Krilenko could see another stack of Soviet paratroopers aligned along the wall of another house, about to breach the building as well. About 60 meters to the north, Fomin pick up stood in the open and immobile. Krilenko wandered if it have been abandoned or hit, but then he saw a paratrooper in the bed of the truck still maneuvering the Konkurs. Krilenko didn’t like the vehicle in plain open terrain though.

Aksenov disappeared in the building he was attacking, and Krilenko lost eye contact with him. On the right, using covering fire, Andreev penetrated deep in the courtyard. The rest of his platoon continued to spray selective fire on a building that Krilenko could not see, but that he assumed it was next to the one that he was about to reach. He was about to dismount from the pick up, when one of Andreev paratroopers gestured at him. He had his face mask pulled up on his head, and he was yelling, Krilenko could see that from his expression and his agitation, but there was no way in hell he could understand what the soldier was saying. The fire weapons noise was simply too deafening. To save the situation Andreev intervened in person over the radio:

“Zathsayev this is Popov 4. We cleaned the building in front of us and the one on the opposite side of the road. You are cleared to advance for at least two blocks over”
“Roger Popkov from Zathsayev. I execute” answered Krilenko hastily.

“MAN DOWN...Man Down!!” it was unclear who screamed into the radio. But a Russian live was at stake. What had happened was that a Swedish militia man tried to hit one of Fomin’s squads with a LAW, bit missed and the rocket hit in proximity of the Aksanov squad, amputating his observer’s right leg. Aksanov desperately tried to save his man but he died before the battle was over. A the moment Krilenko didn’t have time to investigate though. He ordered to Gulev to continue driving along the road changing his first intention to dismount. If the path had been cleaned by Andreev platoon he preferred the speed to exploit success.

Krilenko kept an eye on both sides of the street while the pick up advanced towards the center of the town. He spotted a human body in camo fatigues flying out of a window, then Andreev appeared in that same window with his Kalashnikov raised over his head in sign of victory. Good; Andreev had initiated room clearing operations in his characteristic style. The noise of the battle on his left showed no sign to calm down. The fight had to be sustained over there. Krilenko decided to drive another block or two and then to cut left and hopefully get whatever enemy was still resisting in the center of the town on a flank. When he finally did that, by turning left on a road between a restaurant and an apartment building, his view opened up on a park, where he could see a number of enemy soldiers facing west, and some others withdrawing pretty hastily through the trees, and looking for some cover. Probably they were being pressed by Aksanov or by Fomin. Krilenko was now close enough to be sure that the troops who were defending the town were Swedish. One of the soldiers who was withdrawing, suddenly heard the pick up approaching from his left, turned his rifle and let go a long burst, whose tracers passed very very close to the vehicle. Another enemy soldier let go a rocket in direction of a target that Krilenko couldn’t see, somewhere west.

“Move ! Move! Get in the park. I and Serminov are going to dismount and chase away those Swedish. You remain at the wheel, Gaskin stay on the AGS” Krilenko spat his orders while ideally pushing the vehicle by leaning forward with his body. Once Gulev brought the vehicle in the desired position, Krilenko and Serminov flew out of the vehicle and started to fire quick short bursts at the enemy soldiers who were standing in the park, some of them fighting some trying to take a hike. While he was shooting he heard the deadly sound of the feeder blocking in the back position for lack of shots in the magazine. He instinctively went to his web gear; one magazine left. The AGS-17 guy tried to identify some targets as well, but the confusion was so high and the visibility so low, especially between the trees covered in snow, that he gave up afraid of wasting precious grenades.

Bit then at the most unexpected moment, the Swedish gave sign of collapse. They had realized that they were surrounded, as Krilenko platoon started to spread in the park behind them and taking in turn overwatch positions. Very few of the Swedish managed to slip out of the pocket and disappear north may be to fight another day. Many more just dropped their weapons and surrendered. Some windows of the houses around the park square opened just for the brief moment to expose white sheets out of the windows. The automatic weapons fire gradually diminished until it ceased completely. Krilenko looked around. Suddenly he felt 20 years older. The lack of food he had been suffering for weeks now, the continuous marches and the tension of this battle and of all the previous ones, seemed to pile up all at once. He leaned against a tree afraid of showing to the surrendering Swedish that he was completely spent. But Vara was theirs.

Sgt. Fomin suddenly emerged from a building on the left of the park. He decidedly and quickly walked towards the gathering in the sqare. He proceeded to approach the group of prisoners, and without saying a word, raised his AK and to kill them all. Krilenko dropped his head in discomfort. It wasn’t the first time that something like that happened, it wouldn’t be the last. The battalion neither had any place or facilities to keep prisoners, nor the will to take any. The Swedish had been slaughtering the battalion for weeks now, often with questionable tactics. There was no need for prisoners.

Fomin pulled up his face mask, his Kalashnikov still smoking.
“Those bastards have killed Mushenko, hurt Aksenov and devastated a knee of one of the men of my platoon with an RPG shrapnel”. He said. Then he looked at all his comrades assembled in the square. Also Lieutenant Zhadanov, eventually appeared on the scene, even though a little bit late.

Sergeant Fomin, lighted up one of his last cigarettes, took a good pull, and spoke to the other platoon leaders:
“Sweep this frozen shit hole. Take everything you need to last you at least a week. Do not overload though, we still have a long march to do, unless you find some functioning vehicles with some fuel.

Fomin paused to take another long pull, and threw a mean smirk at the men of his own platoon.
“Of the things that you don’t need to carry instead, you can take as much as you want.”
the men laughed back at him exchanging knowing glances.
“We are spending the night here. I am not going to investigate how you spend it, as long as you are zll ready to move tomorrow at 1030.

Krilenko on his part, did not add anything for his men. First of all he was too tired, and second, he knew how wars went and what had happened since the beginning of history when a military force conquers an enemy town. He limited himself to take Gulev and Serminov with him and started looking around, not before having ordered to the rest of his platoon to disperse and to follow the directives given by Fomin.

Apart from the buildings that had been hit by the ATGM, and by the Swedish LAWs, the town was not too damaged. A couple of fires where going on and some civilians were evacuating some wounded and a couple of bodies out of the burning structures, may be to take them somewhere. Krilenko noticed that one of the wounded was a little boy, who evidently had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Apart from these civilians, nobody else ventured in the streets; firstly because the weather was punishing and the incoming darkness didn’t improve the situation, and secondly because it was evident that the defenders of the town had lost the battle and the locals didn’t know what to expect. The civilians that had come out to help with the damages caused by the battle, were all women and old men. It seemed like the entire military age population of Sweden had disappeared from urban centers with the deliberate aim to kill them all in the woods and in with ambushes along the roads.

Krilenko started walking away across the main square, heading towards a building that looked a little bit bigger than average. While he crossed the square he started to hear the first noise of smashed items and women screams.

Swedish militia, hastily assmbled for territorial defense, and stay behind operations

Before entering in the building, Krilenko checked that he had a bulled chambered in his AK-74, and that the weapon was good and ready. The gate was locked so he gestured to Gulev. The driver forced the gate open with the help of a shotgun he had taken from a dead American Marine. He fired a slug on each hinge and opened the way. The three Russian paratroopers cautiously entered in the building hall, AKs glued to their cheeks, waving their weapons at all the dead angles. Then they started to climb up the stairwell preceded by the barrels of their rifles. There were no apartments at the ground level, but there were two on the first floor. Cautiously the patrol reached the first floor landing. One of the two apartments didn’t have the door, and inside it everything was in a derelict state; that apartment was empty. The other apartment instead was behind a looked door. Serminov and Gulev lined up on the two sides of it. Krilenko grabbed the pump gun from his man and pounded on the door with its stock. He pounded once, he pounded twice but nobody came to open the door. He had heard noises inside so he was sure that the apartment was occupied. With no hesitation he pumploaded a shot in the rifle barrel and prepared to open the door the hard way. He was just telling his men to step aside, when the door suddenly opened and a scared blond woman may be in her thirties, appeared behind it. Before she had the time to say or do anything, Krilenko pushed both the door and woman so violently that he almost knocked her down. The three Russians stormed in a dining room. Krilenko took physical control of the woman with his left arm, pushing her in front of him and checking the rest of the rooms, controlling is rifle with the other arm.

“Snälla skada mig inte... skada mig inte!!” screamed the woman: three armed Russian paratroopers wearing sky masks and pushing here around the house, wasn’t exactly reassuring; the woman went from scared to terrorized. (from active 14, to hyper 19 NPC attitude)

Krilenko wasn’t interested in what the woman was saying; besides he couldn’t understand her anyway. He just wanted to make sure that there wasn’t any danger lurking in the house. Besides the dining room, a small kitchen and two bathrooms, the apartment had three bedrooms all of them with made beds and a wood stove. The temperature in the house was pleasant despite the weather outside.

“kto yeshche tam zhivet??” asked Krilenko to the woman. She couldn’t understand him so she limited herself to shake her head trying at the same time to protect herself from that stinky masked man. It was the first time that Krilenko got close and personal with a civilian in that campaign. The situation reminded him of the Yugoslavian civil war from 91 to 95.

Gulev approached the woman cautiously. “Who lives here...speak English?”
“Only me” answered the blonde, still shaking for the fear. The Russians were skeptical.

When the group got to the last bedroom to complete the searching of the apartment, Krilenko thanks to his habit to really look around, and to roll good recon dice, spotted a semi hidden hatch on the ceiling, behind a curtain.

“Chto vnutri?” asked Krilenko. “What is in there?” hastily translated Gulev.
“Nobody”; the woman betrayed herself away with her answer: Gulev had asked what and not who was up there.

Krilenko cut it short: he climbed on the small bed, with his combat boots and all, and pulled the hatch. A retractable staircase came down and deployed nicely leading up to a sort of slab. Krilenko gestured to his men to clear the newly discovered area for him, and gave a stern look to the woman. She shrugged and assumed a depressed expression. Less than a minute later Serminov and Gulev came down with another woman, younger than the first one and so beautiful that stunned Krilenko for a second. The younger woman was possibly even more scared than the first one, and on the verge of crying. That detracted nothing from her looking.

“Eto kto??” asked Krilenko squeezing the older woman arm hard. The woman grimaced, and this time imagining what the Russian was asking, answered before Gulev cold attempt any translation. She looked at Gulev and said: “My sister” Her scared attitude, was gradually giving way to one of disgust (Variation II is guiding this NPC in an interesting way).

The bedrooms were two singles and a double. Gulev asked if anybody else lived in the house with a tone that didn’t admit any further bullshit. The woman answered that their parents were dead and that nobody else lived in the house, apart from her younger sister.

At this point the Russians relaxed a little and led the two women in the dining room, where Krilenko left them under the watchful eyes of his men. Then he started a thorough research of the apartment, but he didn’t find anything particularly interesting until… …he looked in the closet of one of the bedrooms, which evidently belonged to one of the women. In the closet there were among other things, a certain number of beautiful, colorful and good smelling dresses. They made Krilenko notice of how much he stank.

Krilenko stared for a certain time at that treasure trove of prewar beautiful items, pulled his face mask off, leaned his head against the opened closet door, and shut his eyes for a minute, overwhelmed by tiredness, nostalgia and shortly after...desperation. He made sure that nobody could see or hear him, then he started to cry. He began to shake uncontrollably while sobbing as silently as he could. He let his feelings go...fast...as fast as possible, in order to be done with it as soon as possible as he often did in order to hide the entire shenanigan from his men. He was ashamed of himself every time.

When he reappeared in the dining room with a couple of those dresses hanging down his left arm and without his mask on, the two women felt their hearts sink. They looked at each other clearly fearing the worse. A big scar on the left side of Krilenko’s face, courtesy of a piece of shrapnel from a grenade thrown by a Swedish partisan, didn’t contribute to give the Russian a reassuring appearance. In his hands he had a beautiful blue flowery dress and another one plain emerald green. Krilenko handed over the dresses to the two women and ordered Gulev to escort them somewhere private and to tell them to wear them. Gulev looked at him weird but he was used to execute the orders of his boss with no hesitation on the battlefield, and he certainly wouldn’t make an exception in a dollhouse. He had never seen the sergeant dealing with civilians before and he didn’t know what to expect any more than the two women did.

Gulev accompanied them to one of the rooms, while Krilenko took the chance to visit one of the two bathrooms. There was clean water in the bathtub, but he tried to open the sink faucet anyway; nothing came out. He took off his thermal jacket, the top of his fatigues and his blue and white striped sleeveless shirt. Then he used the water of the tub to wash his upper body and his face. He took off his combat boots and his pants and proceeded to wash the rest of himself, but he didn’t get into the bathtub. There was a small piece of soap bar left in a holder which Krilenko gladly used. It was a wonderful sensation like he hadn’t felt in a long time. After he finished, he put back his camo pants on and went to the dining room where he had left his backpack. He took out his shaving equipment and carried it in the bathroom. Finally, once was done with his shaving, he put his shirt back on, and went back to the dining room.
There stood the girls with their dresses on: the most wonderful view he had admired in years. Suddenly he was not anymore in a battle scarred town in Southern Sweden, but in a beautiful theater in Leningrad, at the beginning of a memorable performance.

Suddenly in a good mood, Krilenko for the first time smiled at the women: “Prigotovit' obed?” he said… “eat?”. He gestured at the table… “Nakryt' na stol”… table? Eat?” The other two parachutists looked at the women as if to say; “are you going to move your asses or what?”

Before the two sisters went into the kitchen to fix something, Krilenko grabbed the arm of the young one. When she turned to him, again with a terrorized expression, he asked what their names were. She looked at her sister, and then hesitantly answered to him in English: “Astrid...My sister’s name is Kerstine.” Krilenko let her arm go and while she walked away, he looked at the graceful figure of the girl, enhanced by the light fabric of the dress she was wearing. She had put on the flowery dress. Krilenko looked at the ceiling. “Definitely God was in a good mood the day he decided to create her.” he thought.

The meal was the best thing that had happened to the Russians in months. A dinner with real dishes and glasses, sitting on actual chairs. The entire meal happened in absolute silence, punctuated only by the noises of the silverware on the surface of the dishes. Krilenko ate slowly and in silence and nobody else dared to say anything without a hint from the boss. The women for their part certainly were not in the mood to say or do anything: Krilenko had to “politely” insist to have them eating with him and his men. There was no wine but that didn’t detract from the wonderful hot vegetable noodles soup and from the delicious meet and egg dish that followed: a kind of meet Krilenko wasn’t sure he knew, but it didn’t really matter. As far as he was concerned, if the women were trying to poison him, he would die in peace. He took his time to savor any single bite.

After dinner the men pulled out some cigarettes and asked Astrid and Kerstine if they wanted to smoke. The older one accepted a cigarette. The atmosphere was by then pretty relaxed. With the help of Gulev, Krilenko tried to explain to the girls that they were trying to get out of the country by marching northeast, all the troubles the battalion was going through in order to achieve that objective, and that they were sorry if they had to kill some people in order to take the city. They needed to resupply if they had to have any hopes to come out of that mess. The women at least pretended to listen to him, but the longer the Russians stayed in he house, the more they started to get worried again.

At a certain point Krilenko looked at his watch and decided that it was time to go to bed. He ordered his men to take one watch turn each, so that they could sleep at least one half of the night shift. They would recover the following day.

The tension spiked off the chart when Krilenko gestured the two women towards the double bedroom. He turned at his men and ordered them not to let anybody in the apartment, regardless of their rank, then still in Russian, he pressed the two scared women into the room ignoring the fact that they were getting visibly more and more desperate. Serminov and Gulev didn’t look too happy either that the commander would reserve all the fun for himself, but hey...he was the commander after all. Astrid looked at him and in tears told him that that was their dead parents room, and that she didn’t want to go there. She was really loosing it. Krilenko didn’t look too interested in the excuse, and continued to corral the two women towards the room door.

Kerstine, the older of the two sisters was kind of resigned to what was going to happen, and even if tears were coming down her cheeks, she tried to show a resolute attitude. She had to be strong for Astrid, who despite her older sister’s efforts to appear serene, continued to weep profusely.

Once the three were in the room, Krilenko tried to console Astrid. He put a hand through her blond long hair, looked her in the eyes and put a finger on his lips, to invite her to stop crying. In the semi obscurity, the man’s scarred face looked particularly frightening to Astrid. The girl tried to comply with Krilenko’s request despite the fact that all her instincts told her to push his hand away. She feared that the man could turn violent, so she tried to calm down. She felt like a trapped animal. The man repelled her so much that she couldn’t really control herself. The more she tried to stop crying the more she started to tremble instead.

There was a candle on each end table. Krilenko lightened up one of them with his lighter. Then he sat both girls on the bed, knelt down in front of them and took off their shoes, closely admiring their legs which the sitting position had left uncovered above their knees. At that point the women were genuinely horrified. There was nothing they could do against a man of the size of Krilenko and the two armed guards in the other room. They would be killed for sure if they didn’t comply with the desires of that man.

Krilenko gestured to the two sisters to lay down on the two edges of bed, which they did, instinctively trying to cover their naked legs as much as they could while they slid aside. Krilenko took off his combat boots and laid down between the two of them. He didn’t undress himself; he just rested his head on one of the two pillows and closed his eyes. He felt Kerstine’s wheezing on his right and Astrid’s subdued cry on his left. Without ever reopening his eyes, he put an arm under Kerstine’s hips and gently placed her head on the right side of his chest. He did the same to Astrid with his left arm placing her on his left side. Holding those wonderfully soft and warm bodies tight against his, Krilenko laid there for quite a while. The more time elapsed the more the girls calmed down and their breathing slowed down as well, until it synchronized with his. Krilenko’s last conscious thought was the hope that next morning would never come.

The morning came, and as a matter of fact it came way too soon for Krilenko tastes. He opened his eyes and was immediately hit by the gravity of what laid ahead of him, exactly like it happened every morning. That particular morning though he felt particularly aggravated. He looked on his left and on his right: Astrid and Kerstine were still there. When he fell asleep they didn’t dare to move out of the room, fearing that he would wake up and turn ugly because they were gone. All considered, they had been extremely lucky in having Krilenko in their house instead of somebody else. There was no point in testing that luck. So eventually, beaten by the stress of the day before, they had fallen asleep too.

Krilenko lifted his left arm: 0642; the battalion would move out in less than four hours and he had to get going. He sat up on the bed and looked at Astrid laying on her stomach, her blond hair spread all over her back; still in her flowery dress, still the best vision he had in the last two years or so; probably the best vision he ever had period. He tried to put himself in the shoes of her father. After all he was a 46 years old man and the girl could be what...22? 23? If he had ever got married and he now had a daughter like that back in Leningrad, he would be extremely worried. Good thing her real father was dead; good for him that was.

Krilenko tried to clear his head from the sleep. It had been an incredible night, the best he ever had since the battalion left its base in Armenia: he slept in a real bed, in a constant warm temperature, with a beautiful girl on each side, and he didn’t even commit any war crimes...well almost: he scared the living hell out of those two women and he felt ashamed for that, but he wouldn’t have had any means to explain to them in words his feelings from the night before. He would have loved to be able to tell them how much he desperately needed some kind of physical connection with somebody. Somebody more beautiful and gentle than a 100kg US Marine storming out of a farmhouse to kill him with a shovel just because the shovel was all he had left as a weapon. He could have not explained that to the two women; not even if they spoke the same languages. And yet, there had been something in his previous day behavior that escaped his control: storming in the house like that, his irrational fear to find a sniper behind every curtain. Those were the same symptoms of uncontrollable behavior that were starting to affect his performance on the battlefield. He had to find a way to make that stop. If just there was somebody in the battalion with the counselor specialty!

He tried to get up without waking the girls up. A mobility roll was in order. While he slid ahead to reach the front of the bed, Kerstine started moving. He froze. The girl moaned a little, turned over on the other side and was immobile again. Krilenko completed his movement go get out of bed. Trying to be as silent as possible he put his combat boots badk on and slipped out. In the dining room he found Serminov, who technically should have been on watch, practically sleeping on an armchair hugging his AK. Gulev, who technically should have sleeping, was indeed sleeping both practically and technically on the couch. Krilenko kicked the first in the legs and woke up the second in a more gentle way.

“Time to wake up sunshines” he said while he started to put together his stuff in the backpack and to wear his jacket and his thermal kit layer.

The two morons obviously started to make a lot of noise while getting up and preparing their stuff. If that woke up Astrid and Kerstine, Krilenko could never tell, because if the two girls woke up they cautioned not to let the Russians know. Finally when the paratroopers managed to collect all their weapons and their equipment they left the apartment.

Krilenko was the last one to get out the door and before closing it behind him, looked back form the exact same position he had looked at that door the day before. He suddenly realized how much he would miss that place, that dinner, that cigarette on the couch, and the night that followed. He told his men to go check the vehicle and to bring it down there, then he went back inside. He put his hand on the bedroom handle and stopped. He listened for noises inside. Someone was moving in there. He was about to turn the handle, then he decided to knock instead. He waited a couple of seconds. Kerstine opened the door. He was glad that it was her and not her sister, and he smiled at her. His scar assumed a certain twist when he smiled. She looked at him with an intense stare, half scared half puzzled. She knew that the Russians were leaving and for that she was relieved.

Krilenko dropped his backpack on the floor and opened a side pocket. He took out a silver pin of the Soviet Airborne Troops, took her hand and put the pin in it. He gave her the sweetest look he was capable of.

“Afganistan” he said “chetyre goda”

She looked at him with an interrogative expression.

“Spasibo za vse” he said, and gently kissed her. She didn’t oppose him and it became a long kiss. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. When they separated, Krilenko kissed her hand before wrapping it around the pin that he gave her. Then without saying another word, he turned around and left.

Outside Gulev was waiting with the Toyota engine running.

“It took more than one curse to start this baby again sergeant. What have you being doing back in there?” asked his driver.
“Thanking a friend”
“Romantic man?” Gulev teased him. Krilenko didn’t show to appreciate the sarcasm.
“You can be in one hundred battles and hold on to your humanity Gulev. Or you could have worked in a bank all you life and being a fascist degenerated pig. It’s what you choose to do that defines you young man, not your circumstances”

Gulev understood may be half of the speech, but military saluted his superior. “Yes Sir! I guess I’m just surprised that you made a friend in that bedroom yesterday”
“I believe I did Gulev” retorted Krilenko
“As you say Sir” Gulev climbed in the pick up and prepared to move.

The weather was till shit. Heavy snow, low visibility and damned cold. The three paratroopers drove back to the square where the previous day battle ended. The bodies of the fallen and also the ones of the prisoners that Fomin had murdered were still there, covered by the snow. Some arms and legs sticking out here and there. Fomin and part of his platoon were already there for an early morning briefing. When Krilenko and his men got there, the logistical situation was being discussed.

“The ATGM rockets have eaten several bullets in yesterday’s fight. They didn’t detonate, but they are useless. So we can fucking kiss bye bye to the Konkurs” said Fomin extremely disappointed. “I should torch this entire goddamned town” he continued... “With the food we are OK. I gathered a week of shit for my platoon and also for Aksenov who couldn’t do it for himself. We managed to reduce Olminev dislocated knee, but for now he needs to rest. Ammunition, Weapons?” Fomin looked around.

“We’ve got a mix of our stuff and of the Swedish militia. We might have lost the Konkurs, but we captured one of their Gustavs with eight rockets.” reported Andreev.

“Igor?” Fomin looked at Krilenko.
“I am sure by the time the rest of my platoon is here, they will have gathered what we need. I on the other hand, spent the night having fun.”

Fomin looked at him and grinned. Then he addressed all the other NCOs:

“You’ve got two hours to collect your man and make sure that they all have their dicks back in their pants. Then we are moving out.”


Krilenko, Afghanistan, 1986

The Character of Igor Krilenko is inspired by a real real Russian Paratrooper from the 106th Guard Airborne Division, who I met when I was in college. He was an exchange student from Russia (It was 1992).
Remarkable guy from Leningrad, with 4 years of combat in Afghanistan and a heart of pure gold.

“You can be in one hundred battles and hold on to your humanity. Or you could have worked in a bank all you life and being a fascist degenerated pig. It’s what you choose to do that defines you, not your circumstances.” he once told me.

I was a couple of year past my teens and I thought that all Russians were bad and ate children. Oleg made me riconsider.