Proof of concept: Ambushed in Poland
I learned the rules of the grim Twilight 2000 RPG by playing out a short string of solo sessions
My upcoming solo RPG project is of course my voyage to the Sundered Dark Caribbean. Before that ship sails, however, I reflected upon my longest previous go at a solo tabletop RPG playthrough. Back in December, I used the solo rules for Twilight 2000 to test out the mechanics as preparation for playing a proper co-op campaign with my brother. Twilight 2000 is something that really caught my imagination. It is an “alternate history” RPG. It depicts the fallout (metaphorical and nuclear) of a World War III between NATO and the Warsaw Pact that went hot in the late 1990s.
Thematically, I was attracted to the focus on realism and survival. Major cities have been wiped out by nukes and fallout has claimed swathes of territory. Yet there are neither zombies nor mutants nor sci-fi weapons. Tech and culture is very much late 1990s. Just without major centres of civilization. Small towns, bands of survivors, continued clashes between NATO and USSR troops but also plenty of grey zones and shifting motivations as most people just want to survive in a dangerous world. As I embarked upon my adventure with my three characters, I very much drew upon the visuals and tension of Garland’s movie Civil War and its realistic vision of a recognizable, yet dystopian present-day world.
Mechanically, I was attracted to the old-school (yet to me) entirely novel concept of a “hex-crawling tabletop RPG”. The boxed set of Twilight 2000 includes a fairly realistic map of Central Poland (and Central Sweden). The map is divided in hexes. There are forests, rivers, towns. A vague idea of where depleted, rag-tag NATO and Warsaw Pact formations were concentrated at the outset of the game. No mission. No scenarios (at least at first). No goal. Go from hex to hex. Explore. Encounter. Survive. The group decides what the intermediate objective is. Then the narrative will happen (helped by a deck of “encounter cards” and other randomization elements). This allows for emergent story-telling very suitable for solo play. On top of this, the game boasts a very robust tactical combat system with accompanying counters and battle maps. Perfect for a veteran wargamer like me (and one who is comfortable playing “both sides”).
The campaign kicks off
And so I created my three characters with the engaging and fun “life path creation system” of Twilight 2000’s rulebook. And we set off. The final push by US-led forces at Kalisz had failed. The Soviets, exhausted but defiant, defeated this latest, last, offensive. The scattered NATO troops (with Poland having joined NATO before the war) were left to their own devices.
So who is in my rag-tag group of survivors?
My “main character” and who is writing the fictional POV diary below is a CIA operative named Diana Ryder. She is very much still interested in taking the fight to the communists and somehow winning the war. But survival first. She claims to know of a safe location, so she is the de facto leader of the group. Yet the burden of command is heavy and respect has to be earned. Every day.
The others are Manny “Lobo” Rodriguez, a grizzled and battle-hardened U.S. Army grenadier and Maciek “Doc” Lobotka, a Polish medical student drafted into the Polish army.
The Spook’s Diary
23 April 2000 (Day 1 after the link-up of our group near Kalisz)
Morning shift
Weather is clear. For now. Lobo still has misgivings of this Polish reservist medical student joining the two of us as we seek to link up with US troops. I convinced him that he increases our chances of making it out alive – not least due to Doc’s command of the local fucking language.
We decide to head south towards Praszka (having heard rumours of a US Army camp in the village), hugging the river to our right as we do so. Maciek assures us that even if we don’t find the US soldiers, the locals there should be friendly and provide food and shelter. Let’s hope so.
I march at the head of our column, keeping watch. Doc is behind me. Lobo takes up the rear.
Day shift
The first 20 clicks went well. We didn’t spot anyone. Happy to put some distance between us and the hellhole at Kalisz.
Lobo still grumbles, but quietly. Doc wants to chat, but he gets the message that now is not a good time.
We keep walking south with the river to our right.
Fuck. We entered a small forest and realize we got our bearings wrong. We have gone east rather than south. Tried to get the right direction to at least make some progress, but no…we are back where we started six hours ago more or less. Good job, Miss Central Intelligence…
Evening shift
Lobo is taking a nap. He will have night watch. I am making camp. Doc is foraging.
Fuck! Lobo is sleeping. Doc is getting water (enough to re-fill today’s rations). And from the east (probably from Zloczew – and because we had been spotted), a group of six starving, dirty and angry-looking locals approach me. They reek. With a quick movement I check that my gun is in its holster, but I don’t intend to shoot…yet.
I approach the one that looks like their leader. Luckily he spoke English quite well. Unluckily, he is a bit of a brute – an aggressive one. He demands we share our food and water with them – or else. I don’t want to wake Lobo. Not yet anyway. He will be of value in the night – and in any case his brandishing the M16/203 with his usual eagerness might not have been what this situation requires. I try to reason with the leader of the group, Tomasz.
At first it seems that I am getting nowhere. Then I mix sweet talk with a subtle threat and the added spice of us and our food being contaminated by Soviet chemical weapons. At this, Tomasz winces and jumps a few steps back – spreading out his arms to shield his people from my germs. He asks for a single ration of food for a starving little girl and they would be on their way. I oblige and exhale with relief as they move on north.
I fill in the guys at the end of the shift as we munch on our meagre rations. Doc isn’t too happy. He says I should have called him back, that he could have reasoned with them in Polish and that we do have food we could spare for those in so much greater need. But he hasn’t felt the stench of disease on that pack of starving humans. Mission comes first. And my mission right now is to get us to Praszka, link up with US forces and learn how I can be of use in defeating our hated enemy.
Night shift
We sleep in my makeshift camp in the woods. Lobo keeps watch. Can’t say it is the best sleep of my life, but at least nothing else happened.
24 April 2000
Morning shift (and I shift to the past tense apparently)
Weather stayed clear. Thank God. Not the most chatty of breakfasts. We ate a quick bite, had a sip of water, checked the weapons, packed up what little gear we have and headed out to the south-east.
As we made our way through the terrain, I spotted a small group of soldiers. They did not appear to have spotted me. I fetched my binoculars and could make out they were a ragged group of US Army grunts. Did not look in great shape. I conferred quickly with the guys. We agreed to approach them, weapons at the ready. Can’t be too sure. Lobo took point, being the most obviously American one of us. I told Doc to stay behind me, lest he and his AKM give the US grunts any false impression.
Privates Russell, Perry and Reed of the 5th Infantry Division were startled but luckily held their fire. They were all starving and immediately offered to join forces. I said we had no food to spare at the moment (Doc grimaced quietly) but that they were welcome to join us on the march to Praszka. When we were to forage in the evening, we could split the newly found water and food. They were not keen on a fight and felt they had no further leverage, so they acquiesced.
Russell, who appeared to be the pathetic group’s leader, told me they had been moving north due to a rumour swirling around straggler units that an American general has arranged for seaborne evacuation out of Poland and home the US. They did not know whether to believe such a fairy tale or not but it had been their best bet. I didn’t share this with Lobo or Maciek just yet. I was not interested in going home just yet, knowing the state of affairs on home soil was far from ideal. Here, at least I could still hope to inflict some damage on our foes. Back home, I’d have to fight my own. Russell and the others were impressed enough to have met a sane-looking CIA operative so they did not question my decision.
Doc got his bearings wrong…again. It’s the last time I trust his unreliable ass to navigate to Praszka. Is he purposely trying to move us further east than I want to? I am getting more and more suspicious of this quasi-pacifist motherfucker.
I tell Lobo to keep an eye on Doc. He nodded silently, more than happy to oblige, having never wanted to bring the Pole along anyway. He abstained from an “I told you so” mostly because he knew I already knew he was thinking it.
In any case, I took over navigation duties and got us back on course, albeit now somewhat further from the river.
Day shift
We found ourselves in wooded territory. Next leg of the march took a bit longer as result, and the nerves of the group slightly more on edge due to the decreased visibility of any threats. Still, it meant we would also be harder to spot from afar.
In the midst of all the pines, I spotted an old, derelict train track, long ago abandoned and overgrown with foliage. There was even an old, wrecked train car not far from where our path moved through the trees. I told the group to remain vigilant. It was perfect ambush territory. Still, there might be something of value in that car. Maciek had a quick look as the rest of kept watch, weapons drawn. A shopping cart. He found an old, broken shopping cart.
Doc said he could salvage some general spare parts from it. Could be useful for future repairs or even an alcohol still from which to make fuel like some of the locals were now doing in the post-petrol era. But it would take some time. We would have to stay here until dark and stay the night. We’d have made sorry little progress towards our goal. But we had good cover, could find shelter if the weather turned, and a still would be invaluable in the future. Lobo agreed and said he could carry quite a bit more in his backpack if need be.
Evening shift
Taking advantage of our increased manpower, I had two of the new arrivals forage for food and water. The third one kept watch. Doc took the shopping cart apart. Lobo slept. I tried to make camp and prepare a small fire. I fucked up. Big time. Setting fire to a piece of the clearing, I burned some of the canvas I’d been using for shelter and had a hard time preventing a straight-up wildfire. I lost quite a bit of authority – especially after having dressed down Doc for his poor navigation skills. When Lobo saw what I had done I felt it adding to his increasingly low opinion of me and it stung more than I wanted to admit.
We made a smaller, poorer camp and cooked the food the grunts had managed to find. We ate. Mostly in silence. My mood was bad.
Night shift
Blissfully uneventful. If Lobo had been bored to death, he did not say so. I know I would have been.
25 April 2000
Morning shift
I slept well and put yesterday’s mishap behind me. I gathered the group and we mapped out just how low we were on food and water. Very low indeed. Grunts were out of food rations (even after yesterday’s foraging). Doc, Lobo and I had eight days of rations between us, but only four days worth of water. Should we forage once more in this bountiful little forest or move on?
The grunts were encouraged by the relative foraging success of yesterday and said they thought they might have seen a small stream we could use to refill our water bottles. Lobo, for his part, was getting annoyed at not having fired his weapon for so long. He implored me to try his hand at hunting some game, being convinced this relatively untouched forest should house something meaty and edible. Doc was looking at me to make a decision. I really wanted to get going, being sorely disappointed with our lack of progress to my immediate objective, but the food and water situation was slightly disheartening, so I let them all get on with it.
I kept watch. Lobo went hunting. Doc foraged for food. The three grunts went to the stream for water.
Doc found a ration of berries but also got stung by some poison ivy. He was distressed to find some dead bodies near the bushes as well and seemed quite startled when he came back to camp.
Russell and his crew refilled the water bottles.
Lobo failed miserably. He had tracked down some rabbits, prepared a snare for them and lied in wait. But not only did his snares not work, when he tried to re-jig them, he lost his footing and hurt his knee. There was a lot of cursing in Spanish. Doc patched him up right away. Lobo thanked the young doctor-to-be with more warmth than I had expected.
Day shift
All in all, it felt like a morning wasted to me, so I was happy for us to move on. I was less happy when the clouds started to gather overhead. It was getting dark. I did not want it to rain.
Our small column pushed on south. As we exited the woods, I spotted a group moving down a small hill to the south-east. They were less than a kilometer away from us. Still covered by foliage, I immediately raised my fist and signalled for our group to get down. They all did – without a word. I took out my binoculars, all movements very slow and deliberate. Six well-armed Soviet soldiers were moving in a purposeful manner, weapons at the ready, eyes scanning the surroundings. It was a miracle that they had emerged while we were still covered by the trees, or we would have been in trouble. One of them was clearly an officer. They all had helmets and AKMs.
Lobo had crawled up next to me, silent as a cat. He whispered, “We are taking them out. They are headed this way, we can still set up an ambush. This is not a discussion, Ryder.”
His tone was steely and determined, even in a whisper. I wanted to object. Clearly, it would be better to remain unseen, unheard and undetected. This group of enemies was better armed and probably in a better physical state than us (Lobo excepted). Worse, if we failed to kill them, the survivors could call in our position and complicate matters even further. I said as much, but he shook his head. “We have the element of surprise” and went back to the others to marshal them in position. Meanwhile the Soviets were moving slowly but deliberately towards our little forest.
Screw it, I thought, Lobo was not to be reasoned with, it seemed. If we succeeded, I could maybe find valuable information on the Soviet troops. And if not, I would make sure I ran like hell – with or without the others.
Evening shift
The ambush worked way better than I had expected. The Soviets did not see us until they were but 40 metres away from us. We opened fire on Lobo’s command.
Lobo fired at the officer. He hit him in the torso (3 points of damage) and cracked his pelvis. The Russian screamed in pain and doubled over. But he retained his cool.
Russell fired on the rear-most Russian in their column. He hit him in the torso (2 point of damage; 10 ammo). The Soviet screamed in panic and dropped to the floor, suppressed.
Perry fired at the second Russian in the column. He too hit the Russian (2 points of damage; 6 ammo) but degraded his weapon a bit. The Soviet soldier dropped to the ground, suppressed.
Reed fired at the front-most Russian soldier, hitting him in both legs (2 points of damage, 6 ammo). The Russian maintained his cool, remarkably enough.
Doc also fired at the officer, hitting him in the head and killing him (8 ammo).
I chose to hold fire and to observe, being ready to react if any of the surviving Russians rush us (overwatch).
The two Russians who had not yet been fired upon now reacted instinctively. The rear-most one dropped down, aimed and fired at the nearest rifle muzzle he had seen (Russell’s). He literally emptied what was left of his clip, luckily only hitting the thick tree stump Russell was had taken cover behind.
The second Russian was in relatively good cover. He also dropped down and aimed at Lobo. Again, the tree cover saved our side from being hit.
Lobo recognized that the rocks were keeping the Russian safe. So he continued firing at the other, already startled enemies. He was confident enough to think of conserving ammo, firing a single round and hitting the second-most Russian. Reed fired at the same target, taking him out of the fight. Doc fired at the front-most Russian, suppressing him without hitting him.
Russell again fired at the rear-most Soviet soldier, suppressing him. Finally, Perry fired at the second-to-last Russian, hitting him but also jamming his rifle.
The two Soviets who were capable of firing back could not do so. They were busy reloading, as they took better cover.
There were now two Soviets, wounded and suppressed in the open. And two in good cover behind some rocks. We all thought that they were close to breaking and surrendering. One more incapacitated would do.
Lobo fired at the front man, hitting him and keeping him pinned down. The grunts were all reloading. Doc fired at the front man too, killing him.
The only Soviet still unharmed took this chance to break and flee. The other two shouted something. Doc heard them and shouted to us all, “Hold fire! They are surrendering!”. In that instance, the two wounded Russians threw their AKs on the ground in front of them.
We had won.
The grunts and Lobo moved methodically forward and policed the weapons of the two wounded Russians even as Doc stabilized their wounds, which turned out to be pretty bad but not critical. The escapee was long gone. Lobo spat at that.
“I want to interrogate them” I said before Lobo or any of the other adrenaline-fuelled punks could do something stupid. I was well aware that I had not contributed much in this fight. It had taken place at rifle range, and Lobo knew as well as I did that ammo conservation was crucial.
Doc was translating for me, while Lobo kept his gun trained on the more conscious and less pain-stricken Russian. It went well in so far as getting information. But the information itself was not good at all. The Russian informed us that their squad was part of a larger unit hunting for American stragglers, that they had artillery support and that their comrade who had managed to escape would soon enough tell their commanding officer where to look for us.
I conferred quickly with Lobo and Doc. We all believed that the Russian was telling the truth. Sunset was approaching.
“Let’s get the fuck away from here. On the double” Lobo said.
“If we had treated those hungry locals from Zloczew better, we could have headed in that direction and find shelter there.” Doc said morosely as he finished the tourniquet on one of the wounded Russians.
“No guarantee of that, my Polish friend,” Lobo said as he spat again. “Russell, have your men police as much ammo, rations and food as you can find on the Russians.
“If we go north, we just get back to Kalisz, which is a shit show probably crawling with Soviets by now,” I said in an attempt to be logical about our options, stifling my inner need to tell Lobo that if we had not attacked the Soviets there would have been no escapee to tell the artillery-supported fucking company where to find us. “If we go south, we run into this big unit, which ostensibly has artillery support. If we go east, we reach another road possibly crawling with Soviets near Zloczew. I think our best option is to try to cross the river and go west.”
“It’s getting dark. Crossing an unknown river with all of our gear won’t be easy, Ryder.” Lobo said.
“We are boxed in. We need to get away from the hunters on these roads. Any better suggestions?”
None of the others spoke. I grabbed an AK and two mags. I did not want to be useless in the next medium-range firefight that was surely just around the corner.
We found five rations of water on the soldiers. We tied and left the wounded where they were. Their unit would recover them soon. Or not. Either way we couldn’t take them with us. Lobo wanted to kill them, but with the escapee on the run, he thought it was pointless anyway. He did knock them unconscious though so they could not say which direction we had set off in.
Night shift
We ran like hell towards the river bank. Of course, our luck was all spent on that ambush. It started pissing down, turning the embankment to mud. We did not have time, but there was no ford across the river in sight. We’d have to swim across or change course.
The group was looking at me for a decision.
“There’s no way we swim across this gushing river, ma’am” Perry vocalized what we were all thinking.
I scanned the area with my binoculars, seeing fuck-all in this increasing rain. Then a stroke of luck. Due north, near some big trees near the river, a flash of orange light. It’d have to be just a single kilometer to the north of our current position. I could make our perhaps one or two figures near what must be a sorry-ass campfire.
The others agreed that it was our best option to get close and see what we could learn. If nothing else, a warm fire and some shelter from the rain would be fucking welcome.
All guns were checked, locked and loaded. We did not know who these people were. But I had a feeling they weren’t Soviets.
We were about 70 metres from the camp of the six hunters (they wore civilian hunting clothes and hunting rifles; clearly neither NATO nor Warsaw Pact troops). Then we were spotted.
“Halt!” one of them shouted in Polish, and it took only one second for six hunting rifles to be trained on our group as we all stopped moving. Doc took one step forward to stand next to me. He whispered, “Let me speak with them.”
“Hello, friends! We mean no harm.” He said this in Polish as he motioned for us all to lower our weapons. I did so. So did Perry and Reed. Russell and Lobo kept aiming at the hunters. “We are seeking shelter from the rain and saw your campfire. May we come closer?”
The leader of the group shouted back (in Polish) “Lower your weapons, put on the safety, then come closer.”
As we entered their tiny camp, they told us – in English – that they would share neither food nor water. They would leave at first light.
It was the dead of night. It was raining. The fire and thick tree cover did a lot to make us feel better. The group of hunters did not say much. They treated us as fellow wilderness survivors, seemingly satisfied with the fact that we were not Soviets. Very few words were exchanged. We all remained quite vigilant and wary of one another. We munched on a few old rations and were merely happy to have found a place to pass the night. None of us dared sleep, however. Who knew what these hunters would try to do – and the Soviet company was probably not too far away. We all agreed, we’d leave at dawn.
[WHOLE PARTY SLEEP DEPRIVED. WHOLE PARTY +1 STRESS for being chased in the rainy night and finding this unknown company. EXP gained]
26 April 2000
Morning shift
The rain stopped just as the sun started rising. Still quite cloudy but we could deal with that.
The hunters gave us a curt nod and slipped off to the east. Doc told us they had told him not to follow us or there’d be trouble. I didn’t want trouble and I didn’t want to go east. So that was that.
“Let’s cross the fucking river and see if the grass is greener on the other side” I said.
It did not go well. I got across, and so did Doc. But the current caught the four US soldiers and carried them a few klicks south…or more. Or they drowned. Can’t tell because the visibility was shit, mist and all. I started thinking that I’d let someone else make the decisions from now on.
Doc and I quickly marched south. We hoped to find our companions before someone less well-intentioned did so.
We passed by a big batch of rabid dogs. Luckily I saw them before they saw us, so we went in a wide arc around them.
Day shift
We cannot find Lobo. We did find the bodies of the three grunts. They were dead. I had not had time to get attached to them. Unceremoniously, I relieved them of their water and food rations, passing some to Doc. He was clearly more affected than me, but he didn’t say anything. We had to find Lobo.
We spent some time searching through the reeds near the riverbank. We even dared go under the bridge that crossed the river, dangerous as it was to go near any road in this sector of the map. And to our relief, we found our brave latino.
“Took you long enough, Ryder.” He said with a half smile.
He was in a bad shape. He had gotten injured on a rusty APC hulk in the river as he had been carried downstream. Clearly more shaken by nature’s prowess than he would have been by any human foe.
Even as Doc did some minor bandaging, however, our joy of reunion was shortlived. All too late, we heard the unmistakable sound of a BTR-70 rolling over the bridge near us. We all dropped down and lay as still as possible in among all the riverbank foilage. We were out of luck, clearly. The APC swung about and pointed its turret at us even as half a dozen Soviet troops dismounted from the vehicle and approached our little group with much yelling and many rifle barrels pointed straight at us.
“Fuck.”
[…]
Cool! Sounds thrilling. Well done Stan :-)