Escape From Stalag VIIIB

A Nocturnal Visitor

2 August 1943

It’s sometime in the middle of the night. Lodd and Taffy are on watch when Taffy hears footsteps heading towards the barn.

“Wake up everybody,” he whispers. “Someone’s coming!”

Instantly, everyone throws off their slumber, grabs their weapons and takes cover, aiming their weapons at the door.

There is a click at the door and the shape of a man enters the barn.

By the light of the moon, you make out the bedraggled figure of a man. He looks to be in his late-fifties, but hideously thin – little more than flesh and bones. He wears a uniform of gray and black stripes. Over his left breast is a yellow star of David patched on in yellow felt.

Blinking, his eyes adjust to the deep darkness inside the barn. He sees the glint from the metal of the guns pointing at him and then the Wehrmacht uniforms that you have put out to dry and sinks to his knees, weeping:

“!הו, אלוהים, בבקשה תציל אותי, O Boże, proszę uratuj mnie! Oh Gott, bitte rette mich! Oh God, please save me!” he cries as he falls to his knees, praying for redemption.

Terry looks on in amazement, never having seen a human being this emaciated.

“Haben Sie Angst nicht, aber seien Sie ruhig! Wie ist das Problem, Freund?” asks Taffy quietly.

The man just continues to look on in terror, not sure whether to believe Taffy or not.

“Spokojnie, stary,” Piotr whispers as quietly as Taffy. “Nie jesteśmy nazistami. Jesteśmy również zbiegów, takich jak Ty.”

The man looks a little confused now, but not quite as petrified.

“Strewth, mate, yer look bleedin’ starvin’,” Bruce says. “Let’s get yer some tucker.”

The Padre holsters his Luger and heads over to the man offering him a fistful of the berries that he picked earlier. The man takes them, still looking a little confused, but starts eating them hungrily.

“Dziękuję. Thank you,” the man says.

“No need to thank us. Just get inside and close the door before someone sees us,” Taffy says, practical as ever.

The Padre closes the door and leads the man to sit among them. The party members just watch him as he continues to eat and drinks from the Padre’s canteen.

Once the man has finished eating, Piotr starts to question him, translating as the man speaks in Polish.

“His name is Haim Goldstein,” Piotr explains. “He used to be a Professor of History at the University of Krakow until the occupation. He spent a year living in the Jewish ghetto before being transported with his family to a concentration camp called Auschwitz II-Birkenau. His family are all dead now. He managed to break away from a working party in the fields and has ran all of the way here.”

“He doesn’t know how far he ran exactly – maybe four or five miles. The concentration camp is north-east of here.”

Haim seems to be rambling on now – gibbering like a mad man.

“He tells me that this Auschwitz is Hell on Earth,” Piotr continues to translate. “He says that they were practically starved to death, as we can see from his condition.”

The Padre nods, “Well without our Red Cross Parcels, there but for the Grace of God go we.”

Haim continues to ramble. He is sobbing now. Piotr’s eyes go wide as he continues to listen to the details.

“He said that those who were kept near starvation were the lucky ones though. He says that those who were of no use for working were just slaughtered – poisoned to death with gas and then their bodies burned in ovens.”

“I find this hard to believe, sport,” Bruce says skeptically. “As we’ve seen for ourselves, the Nazis might be bastards, but at least they follow the Geneva Convention.”

“Apparently not if you are a Jew, a Gypsy or a homosexual,” Piotr replies.

“That’s funny, they didn’t treat the Sarge any different.” quips Terry quietly.

Haim is still rambling, sobbing his heart out now. Piotr does not translate for a while. He is just shaking his head, saying, “Nie, nie mogę w to uwierzyć. To nie może być prawda.”

Haim just nods and collapses into the hay. He seems totally spent.

“So what else did he say?” the others ask Piotr as one.

Piotr seems in a state of shock. “He’s not making any sense,” he says. “I think that the hardships must have driven him insane.”

“He is rambling about bizarre and evil medical experiments.”

“And witchcraft.”

The others are just staring at Piotr too.

“He says that the Nazi SS are practicing evil witchcraft. Their power comes from the souls of the Jews incarcerated in the camp.”

A silence falls across the barn as all try to comprehend what Piotr has just told them.

“Witchcraft? You mean like that voodoo hoodoo theys always yammerin’ about down in Harlem? Pin cushion dolls and the evil eye and all that?” asks Terry.

Piotr shrugs, obviously highly skeptical:

“Maybe Baba Yaga is also now working for the Nazis alongside the SS,” he says, obviously not believing Haim’s tale.

“Hezus Christie!" exclaims Bob. "Those f&@kin’ bastards! We need to report this. We should sneak over there and have a look. Who’s with me? Course we’ll need a good plan first. Let’s get some details on this camp from ol’ Hamish here.”

“How big is this camp?” Taffy asks Haim, speaking slowly and clearly.

“Big,” Haim replies. “Very, very big. There are three camps. Together they contain many prisoners kept alive. I would say around 30,000 in total, and that doesn’t count the thousands more coming through each day who are sent straight to the chambers of death.”

Taffy looks at the others:

“If they have a similar ratio of guards to prisoners that we had at Lamsdorf, then we’re talking two or three thousand guards. And these are no second-rate fat, old and half lame guards that we had – these are SS. The best the Germans have.”

“Of course investigating the camp is likely suicide," Bob concedes. "But who’s gonna believe us if all we have is this poor bastard’s crazy story? We’re soldiers, here to wipe the Nazi scourge from Europe.”

“I’m with you on that reconnoiter, my Canadian pally, just so’s we can get the dope on the Krauts for HQ," Terry agrees. "Dollars to donuts they’re up to no good, even if you only believe half of what this starving, whacked out Yid is sayin’.”

The fine hairs on the back of Lodd’s neck rise as goosebumps runs down his spine. He knows the deaths of him and his companions await at that sinister place. He has survived alone in the woodlands of his home for weeks on end eating the grub-paste and other bounties. He could do it again if his companions choose to do the foolish thing.

However, Lodd has thrown his lot in with these strong-hearted misfits. His new found loyalty is like an iron shackle that binds him to these desperate people and he knows, deep down, he will not abandon them. With a shrug of his massive (massively aching) shoulders he listens to the debate with a typical Soviet Fatalism.

“I’m with Taffy,” Piotr says. “We’ve just escaped from one prisoner of war camp and you want to head off and check out an even worse and bigger one because one old man has listened to too many ghost stories after lights out?”

“It’s a suicide mission.”

“What’s the size of this place?” he asks Haim.

“Around a square kilometre, perhaps.”

“Fucking huge!” Piotr exclaims in frustration. “And no doubt they’ve cut back the trees by many tens of yards in order to create a killing zone. What are we likely to see even if we stay in cover?”

“And even if we did see something, what difference does it make? Are General Sikorski and Winston Churchill going to pin medals on our chests? No, they would just consider us as seven crazy people instead of just one.”

“Piotr and Taffy do make some good points,” Bruce agrees. “Escaping alone is challenging enough.”

A silence falls across the barn.

“I think that we should just sleep on it for what little remains of the night and finalize our plans just before we leave in the morning,” The Padre finishes, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn.

The others agree. It’s the middle of the night and, as such, not the best time to be making important decisions. Although no one has a watch, dawn can’t be too far away now and so Bob and The Padre take over the final watch of the night, leaving Haim and the others to sleep.

Two or three hours pass – it’s hard to tell – and dawn is starting to break. The rain has also stopped although the skies remain cloudy. Bob is just wondering whether or not to wake the others yet – after all, they want to be away before whoever is in the forester’s hut gets up – when he spies movement.

“Wake up everyone,” he hisses to the others.

They are up in an instant, reaching for their weapons.

“What is it?” Piotr asks sleepily.

“Germans,” Bob whispers, readying his Mauser as he peeps through the barn window. “Four have just entered the courtyard. Looks like two are heading for the cottage and two are coming this way.”

“I might be wrong,” the Padre says from the rear of the barn where he is keeping watch. “But I think two more have just taken up position in the trees at 11 o’clock.”

“They are only expecting a lone escaped prisoner,” said Taffy quietly. “Let them come in and then we jump them. Quietly if possible, but if we have to shoot, we shoot.”

Terry does not say anything nice about Taffy’s idea, but he nods his assent.

“Dobry,” nods Piotr to Taffy’s suggestion. “However, if we beat the Nazis, then we may have to kill some innocent Silesian farmers … witnesses.”

“Kill da witnesses? What’re you, a goomba dego? We just tell ‘em we’re Americans and they’ll be so happy to see us they’ll give us the code to Herr Hitlers personal hidey hole! You know, the Mummmenschanz! No wait, it’s the Rosencrantz! Wait…”

“That’s the Wolfsschanze Terry.” interjected Bob, shaking his head.

“Yeah. That’s it. Thanks buddy.”

“The other thing to consider is that these might not be the only ones,” Taffy adds. “There is probably a whole search line moving through the woods, so any gunfire might bring the whole nest down.”

“If they are searching carefully enough, they will spot the motorcycles. We didn’t camouflage them because we didn’t think we’d be leaving them too long.”

“Either way we need to get ready to move.”

“Piotr, is trickery possible? With our uniforms and your fluent German?”

“They’re not wearing usual Wehrmacht uniforms,” Bob interjects, carefully watching the Germans approach. “They’re wearing black; not grey.”

“Kurwa!” Piotr exclaims. “Sounds like the pierdolony SS!”

He flicks the safety off his Mauser and attaches the bayonet.

“There’s no way a Wehrmacht NCO can give orders to the SS. Looks like we are going to have to fight this one out.”

Comments

“Haben Sie Angst nicht, aber seien Sie ruhig! Wie ist das Problem, Freund?” asks Taffy quietly.

A Nocturnal Visitor
 

Terry looks on in amazement, never having seen a human being this emaciated.

A Nocturnal Visitor
 

Terry looks on in amazement, never having seen a human being this emaciated.

“Haben Sie Angst nicht, aber seien Sie ruhig! Wie ist das Problem, Freund?” asks Taffy quietly.

The man just continues to look on in terror, not sure whether to believe Terry or not.

“Spokojnie, stary,” Piotr whispers as quietly as Taffy. “Nie jesteśmy nazistami. Jesteśmy również zbiegów, takich jak Ty.”

The man looks a little confused now, but not quite as petrified.

“Strewth, mate, yer look bleedin’ starvin’,” Bruce says. “Let’s get yer some tucker.”

The Padre holsters his Luger and heads over to the man offering him a fistful of the berries that he picked earlier. The man takes them, still looking a little confused, but starts eating them hungrily.

“Dziękuję. Thank you,” the man says.

“No need to thank us. Just get inside and close the door before someone sees us,” Taffy says, practical as ever.

The Padre closes the door and leads the man to sit among them. The party members just watch him as he continues to eat and drinks from the Padre’s canteen.

Once the man has finished eating, Piotr starts to question him, translating as the man speaks in Polish.

“His name is Haim Goldstein,” Piotr explains. “He used to be a Professor of History at the University of Krakow until the occupation. He spent a year living in the Jewish ghetto before being transported with his family to a concentration camp called Auschwitz II-Birkenau. His family are all dead now. He managed to break away from a working party in the fields and has ran all of the way here.”

“He doesn’t know how far he ran exactly – maybe four or five miles. The concentration camp is north-east of here.”

Haim seems to be rambling on now – gibbering like a mad man.

“He tells me that this Auschwitz is Hell on Earth,” Piotr continues to translate. “He says that they were practically starved to death, as we can see from his condition.”

The Padre nods, “Well without our Red Cross Parcels, there but for the Grace of God go we.”

Haim continues to ramble. He is sobbing now. Piotr’s eyes go wide as he continues to listen to the details.

“He said that those who were kept near starvation were the lucky ones though. He says that those who were of no use for working were just slaughtered – poisoned to death with gas and then their bodies burned in ovens.”

“I find this hard to believe, sport,” Bruce says skeptically. “As we’ve seen for ourselves, the Nazis might be bastards, but at least they follow the Geneva Convention.”

“Apparently not if you are a Jew, a Gypsy or a homosexual,” Piotr replies.

Haim is still rambling, sobbing his heart out now. Piotr does not translate for a while. He is just shaking his head, saying, “Nie, nie mogę w to uwierzyć. To nie może być prawda.”

Haim just nods and collapses into the hay. He seems totally spent.

“So what else did he say?” the others ask Piotr as one.

Piotr seems in a state of shock. “He’s not making any sense,” he says. “I think that the hardships must have driven him insane.”

“He is rambling about bizarre and evil medical experiments.”

“And witchcraft.”

The others are just staring at Piotr too.

“He says that the Nazi SS are practicing evil witchcraft. Their power comes from the souls of the Jews incarcerated in the camp.”

A silence falls across the barn as all try to comprehend what Piotr has just told them.

A Nocturnal Visitor
 

“Hezus Christie! Those f&@kin’ bastards! We need to report this. We should sneak over there and have a look. Who’s with me? Course we’ll need a good plan first. Let’s get some details on this camp from ol’ Hamish here.”

A Nocturnal Visitor
 

((Hate to be a killjoy but in game terms A Concentration Camp even without witchcraft is going to be very well guarded and impenetrable. Evil secret experiments even more so. If this guy had seen it these he’s a close range witness-more than we could likely achieve.

Ourt characters achieving anything is just not a practical option. We are only one grade above the Jewish Guy in terms of our capability / potential here. Whenever Dai says anything like this in game he takes flak for actually being sensible, so I’m saying it here))

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“Of course investigating the camp is likely suicide. But who’s gonna believe us if all we have is this poor bastard’s crazy story? We’re soldiers, here to wipe the nazi scourge from Europe.”

OOC: a friend and his wife, who is from Rhodesia, just went to Italy, where they retraced a journey her POW father made. Her father escaped from a POW camp in northern Italy, spent 134 days walking south to the Allied lines with a couple mates, and presented the Yanks with a 40+ page notebook detailing every German person, position, or thing they saw on the way.

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((OOC. Hell yes it would be a slaughter fest Against us! if we peeked over the barb-wired fence into the dark secrets of the S.S., however in the chest of all of our characters beats the heart of a Hero. Yes, I want Lodd to escape to Ally lines safely and marry a poor French girl who would do exotic things to parts of his body, but more then that I want my character, my hero, to piss in the face of death while laughing like a berserker. I vote we investigate.))

The fine hairs on the back of Lodds neck rise as goose flesh runs down his spine. He knows the deaths of him and his companions await at that sinister place. He has survived alone in the woodlands of his home for weeks on end eating the grub-paste and other bounties. He could do it again if his companions choose to do the foolish thing.
However, Lodd has thrown his lot in with these strong hearted misfits. His new found loyalty is like an iron shackle that binds him to these desperate people (Minor Hindrance_) and he knows, deep down, he will not abandon them. With a shrug of his massive (massively aching) shoulders he listens to the debate with a typical Soviet Fatalism (_Edge! Woo-hoo)

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(stupid Italics!)

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(Hey don’t pick on them: the Italics make some really good pasta ;)

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The thing is I’m not entirely sure how to pitch the entire approach to the genre:

-SW is lethal
-WW2 guns are lethal
-These first 2 are approachable in terms of a mission or whatever: you have a limited objective and timeframe.
-However at the moment we are saying ‘its there-kill it’: despite overwhelming odds, minefields, LMGs etc etc. That just won’t work in SW
-‘Killing the camp’, besides not practica, may just not be necessary plot wise. Just meeting the guy himself and getting him back home safe might be all that is required .

I know I often chuck things in as minor threads, or for colour, or as bits of info that might become important much later. I don’t just expect the players to rush at it-and usually they don’t.

A Nocturnal Visitor
 

And the only measure we then have is; ‘Well, would the character’s actually do?"

Probably “This guy has cracked. Lets take him with us and move on.”

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(OOC I’d love to liberate a concentration camp, but, IC Terry wouldn’t go for it. “Dollars to donuts” though, he would go for doing a quick reconnoiter “so’s to get the dope on the Krauts for HQ”, per Grumpy’s post :)

“I’m with you on that reconnoiter, my Canadian pally, just so’s we can get the dope on the Krauts for HQ. Dollars to donuts they’re up to no good, even if you only believe half of what this starving, whacked out Yid is sayin’.”

A Nocturnal Visitor
 

“Witchcraft? You mean like that voodoo hoodoo theys always yammerin’ about down in Harlem? Pin cushion dolls and the evil eye and all that?” asks Terry.

Piotr shrugs, obviously highly skeptical:

“Maybe Baba Yaga is also now working for the Nazis alongside the SS,” he says, obviously not believing Haim’s tale.

“Hezus Christie!" exclaims Bob. "Those f&@kin’ bastards! We need to report this. We should sneak over there and have a look. Who’s with me? Course we’ll need a good plan first. Let’s get some details on this camp from ol’ Hamish here.”

“How big is this camp?” Taffy asks Haim, speaking slowly and clearly.

“Big,” Haim replies. “Very, very big. There are three camps. Together they contain many prisoners kept alive. I would say around 30,000 in total, and that doesn’t count the thousands more coming through each day who are sent straight to the chambers of death.”

Taffy looks at the others:

“If they have a similar ratio of guards to prisoners that we had at Lamsdorf, then we’re talking two or three thousand guards. And these are no second-rate fat, old and half lame guards that we had – these are SS. The best the Germans have.”

“Of course investigating the camp is likely suicide," Bob concedes. "But who’s gonna believe us if all we have is this poor bastard’s crazy story? We’re soldiers, here to wipe the Nazi scourge from Europe.”

“I’m with you on that reconnoiter, my Canadian pally, just so’s we can get the dope on the Krauts for HQ," Terry agrees. "Dollars to donuts they’re up to no good, even if you only believe half of what this starving, whacked out Yid is sayin’.”

The fine hairs on the back of Lodd’s neck rise as goosebumps runs down his spine. He knows the deaths of him and his companions await at that sinister place. He has survived alone in the woodlands of his home for weeks on end eating the grub-paste and other bounties. He could do it again if his companions choose to do the foolish thing.

However, Lodd has thrown his lot in with these strong-hearted misfits. His new found loyalty is like an iron shackle that binds him to these desperate people and he knows, deep down, he will not abandon them. With a shrug of his massive (massively aching) shoulders he listens to the debate with a typical Soviet Fatalism.

“I’m with Taffy,” Piotr says. “We’ve just escaped from one prisoner of war camp and you want to head off and check out an even worse and bigger one because one old man has listened to too many ghost stories after lights out?”

“It’s a suicide mission.”

“What’s the size of this place?” he asks Haim.

“Around a square kilometre, perhaps.”

“Fucking huge!” Piotr exclaims in frustration. “And no doubt they’ve cut back the trees by many tens of yards in order to create a killing zone. What are we likely to see even if we stay in cover?”

“And even if we did see something, what difference does it make? Are General Sikorski and Winston Churchill going to pin medals on our chests? No, they would just consider us as seven crazy people instead of just one.”

“Piotr and Taffy do make some good points,” Bruce agrees. “Escaping alone is challenging enough.”

A silence falls across the barn.

“I think that we should just sleep on it for what little remains of the night and finalize our plans just before we leave in the morning,” The Padre finishes, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn.

A Nocturnal Visitor
 

That sure was some good foraging that you did on the way to the barn. Taking off the food you just gave Haim, you now have a whopping 52 man/days of food with you – that’s enough for everyone in the group for over a week now.

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I just checked the loot wiki and there are more Lugers than I though we had: we all have one except Lodd?

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Correct – the drivers and machinegunners on the two motorcycles were both carrying sidearms, as was the truck driver. Each Luger has a mag fixed and a couple of spares. I think the truck driver got off two shots, but all of the other mags are full.

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“I think that we should just sleep on it for what little remains of the night and finalize our plans just before we leave in the morning,” The Padre finishes, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn.

The others agree. It’s the middle of the night and, as such, not the best time to be making important decisions. Although no one has a watch, dawn can’t be too far away now and so Bob and The Padre take over the final watch of the night, leaving Haim and the others to sleep.

Two or three hours pass – it’s hard to tell – and dawn is starting to break. The rain has also stopped although the skies remain cloudy. Bob is just wondering whether or not to wake the others yet – after all, they want to be away before whoever is in the forester’s hut gets up – when he spies movement.

“Wake up everyone,” he hisses to the others.

They are up in an instant, reaching for their weapons.

“What is it?” Piotr asks sleepily.

“Germans,” Bob whispers, readying his Mauser as he peeps through the barn window. “Four have just entered the courtyard. Looks like two are heading for the cottage and two are coming this way.”

“I might be wrong,” the Padre says from the rear of the barn where he is keeping watch. “But I think two more have just taken up position in the trees at 11 o’clock.”

A Nocturnal Visitor
 

If you take a look at the roll20 page, you should see the lay of the land (about 30% is the best resolution). You should see four Germans in the centre and a couple more in the trees to the north-west. If you see more or less than this, please let me know as it means I have screwed it up!

The red shapes are windows or the door.

As Jay won’t be able to make it on Tuesday, everyone will take two characters:

Ian, can you take Bob?
Russ, can you take Piotr?
Steve, can you take Bruce?

Please check on your characters’ Edges as I am sure I will forget to remind you!

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“They are only expecting a lone escaped prisoner” said Taffy quietly. “Let them come in and then we jump them. Quietly if possible, but if we have to shoot, we shoot.”

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Me, play Jay’s cool sniper? If I have to…

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Hmmmm I get to play Piotr the thinking planner…

Piotr silently speaks up, “Hey dudes, I have an idea…I’ll strip down naked and run around the armed German guards! While I have their attention, you dudes go make a small tank out of some straw and cow poop. Everyone except you, Lodd. I need you to take all of our money and escape to France to have many girls tickle your butt.”

Yeeeessss, this will work out nicely…..
Just kidding, Man. I will play Piotr as best I can. I like Taffy’s idea of ambush. However, if we win Vs. the Nazis we may have to kill some innocent German farmers…witnesses.

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“Kill da witnesses? What’re you, a goomba dego? We just tell ‘em we’re Americans and they’ll be so happy to see us they’ll give us the code to Herr Hitlers personal hidey hole! You know, the Mummmenschanz! No wait, it’s the Rosencrantz! Wait…”

“That’s the Wolfsschanze Terry.” interjected Bob, shaking his head.

“Yeah. That’s it. Thanks buddy.”

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(Terry, as a captured American tank driver, would be perfectly happy in a “straw and cow poop” tank. It would smell better than the exhaust fume filled driver’s compartment of an A4 Sherman, and would probably be harder to ignite…;)

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Terry will not say anything nice about Taffy’s idea, but he nods his assent.

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The other thing to consider is that these might not be the only ones: there is probably a whole search line moving through the woods so any gunfire might bring the whole nest down.

Nick with two motorbikes parked in here I take it if the Germans look in there is no chance of them missing us?

Either way we need to get ready to move.

Is trickery possible? WIth uniforms and good German (9Pytor?).

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You hid the motorcycles in the forest over 100 yards away so it is highly unlikely that anyone will have spotted them, especially as there was not enough light to go searching through the forest until a few minutes ago.

Bob’s recon roll was not especially good and so you don’t have long before they walk through the door – certainly not enough time to come up with some complicated talk.

Meta-Gaming Spoiler – There’s no way I’m letting you get out of this one without having a good old firefight after Steve and I spent so much time setting up the map!

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Russ – I especially gave you Piotr as he is arrogant and vengeful and probably a bit reckless, so suits your style of play better than The Padre, who definitely should not be going on any banzai suicide charges as he needs to keep the rest of you alive!

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“They are only expecting a lone escaped prisoner,” said Taffy quietly. “Let them come in and then we jump them. Quietly if possible, but if we have to shoot, we shoot.”

Terry does not say anything nice about Taffy’s idea, but he nods his assent.

“Dobry,” nods Piotr to Taffy’s suggestion. “However, if we beat the Nazis, then we may have to kill some innocent Silesian farmers … witnesses.”

“Kill da witnesses? What’re you, a goomba dego? We just tell ‘em we’re Americans and they’ll be so happy to see us they’ll give us the code to Herr Hitlers personal hidey hole! You know, the Mummmenschanz! No wait, it’s the Rosencrantz! Wait…”

“That’s the Wolfsschanze Terry.” interjected Bob, shaking his head.

“Yeah. That’s it. Thanks buddy.”

“The other thing to consider is that these might not be the only ones,” Taffy adds. “There is probably a whole search line moving through the woods, so any gunfire might bring the whole nest down.”

“If they are searching carefully enough, they will spot the motorcycles. We didn’t camouflage them because we didn’t think we’d be leaving them too long.”

“Either way we need to get ready to move.”

“Piotr, is trickery possible? With our uniforms and your fluent German?”

“They’re not wearing usual Wehrmacht uniforms,” Bob interjects, carefully watching the Germans approach. “They’re wearing black; not grey.”

“Kurwa!” Piotr exclaims. “Sounds like the pierdolony SS!”

He flicks the safety off his Mauser and attaches the bayonet.

“There’s no way a Wehrmacht NCO can give orders to the SS. Looks like we are going to have to fight this one out.”

A Nocturnal Visitor
 

“Well, we can do one thing. If the shit hits the fan and we have to run for it, we can make ‘em think we’re yella nazis instead of escaped POWs. See, what I mean is this: if we all keep quiet, or maybe only those talk that can speak German, then, what with the uniforms we’re wearin’ they’ll think we’re AOL Huns, right? Maybe a band of deserters left over from the Russian Front? That way, if we don’t get ’em all and we have to run for it, maybe we can at least confuse ’em? Maybe ditch the uniforms as soon as we get the chance? Whaddya say?”

Terry hastily adds, “Course this is only if we don’t finish ’em off, ya know?” and laughs quietly…

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(OOCAOL” should read “AWOL”, particularly as “AOL” wasn’t invented until 1991 or something, LOL! [and by that, I actually mean “LOL”, even though that wasn’t invented until like the 80’s or something, but that’s ok because the “LOL” is covered by the “OOC” the began this comment and therefore avoids being a paradoxical anachronism! {_and_, before anybody declares that an “anachronism” is something out of place in time that is older, I looked it up, and it is simply something out of place in time. What would make it paradoxical is the retrograde nature of the displacement, but I digress}])

((OOC 2 Linda’s been at work at day and I’ve got too much time on my hands ;))

A Nocturnal Visitor
 

I just read the Fear Spell and it is pretty devastating. If we are going to acquire 5 or 10 point disadvantages every couple of games we are soon going to be unplayable.

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Right On !!! Just like ‘Call Of Chuthulu’ !!! We haven’t even touched on the Sanity rules that WWII brings into play!

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True. It could be balanced by speeding up the experience awards, but that would still leave those (like Taffy) who’ve acquired the disadvantage at a loss relative to the other players, if not to the enemy. Another approach might be to mitigate the effects. Maybe take the whole fright table down 1 level? Still another approach would be to give an offsetting amount of experience or edges to the sufferer? Say 1 bonus experience point for a minor phobia and 3 for a major? You might also disregard the rules admonition to make the phobia related to the situation in which it was acquired (almost always leading to a combat modifier) and let the sufferer pick “Daffodills” for a minor phobia, and “Florists” for a major?

In any case, I vote we keep some permanent effect, whether mitigated, offset, or trivial, from the fear spell because it adds a ton of flavor!

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(my statement was in response to Steves. I echo Russ on this one: let’s find a way to make it playable: the flavor is too good)

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Russ I hate CoC: that’s why I don’t play it and never will. I don’t see the point of a character who disintegrates into mental incapacity after a few adventures. I’d rather play something else. The basic character/ skill system is great, but the whole sanity thing sucks.

The quality of the scenarios also largely sucks: I ran a Pulp 1930s game for 5-8 years and acquired probably 90% of the CHaosium Material of that time, to look for material I might rejig and butcher into credible 1930s scenarios. It’s fair to say between 95-99% of it was Dross. High quality Dross but Dross.

Experienced CoC players explain to me “There’s ways round it”- yes-by completely artificial play like not reading the book, not looking at the monster etc. Wow.

Realms of Cthulhu (Savage Worlds) has a Sanity System which at least allows you to recover: it also allows an INT based Soak Roll against such effects (and I still had bennies-I ended the scenario with one).

I’d suggest:

-some means of Revovery
-some means of Bennie save

Otherwise lifetime of characters will be short, mentally speaking.

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I took Coulrophobia (fear of clowns). It does say it doesn’t have to be rational or linked-just perhaps what happened to pop into your head at the time.

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Steve, I agree with you that Fear is a horribly powerful spell. For a Novice level spell to be able to kill a Wild Card instantly with a couple of unlucky rolls is just unbalancing.

I also forgot that Weird War 2 has specific rules for Fear that aren’t included in the basic Savage World rules.

Therefore, forget the Minor Phobia. Instead Taffy lost a Sanity Point. Check rules for recovering them on p. 94 on the Weird Wars 2 book.

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Ah they don’t seem dissimialr to the ones I mentioned in SW Cthulhu. I have recorded under ’Shield Details (which is useless in WW2).

Base sanity is 1/2 SPIR +2 everyone.

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Yes, the Fear rules are very mild in Weird Wars 2 – very easy to restore unless there are some ‘spooky castle’ missions where you get terrified every time you turn a corner!

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In all of the excitement yesterday, I think that we forgot that The Padre could have performed healing on the injured as soon as the combat was over.

I just rolled now and he managed to recover one wound for both Lodd and Piotr.

No one else ended up with a wound after the fight did they? So currently we just have Lodd and Piotr with one wound each if I am not mistaken.

These healing attempts (plus the one that he made during the combat) used up all of his medical kit. Fortunately he found another full one inside the Sdkfz. 251.

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Terry has gone ahead and named the Sdkfz. 251, “Betty”. He’ll forgo the nose art paint job until after the stealthy part of the mission is over though ;)

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NickPendrell

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