Russia needs me. Here I am.
- Tvardovsky
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
SPOILERS - - SPOILERS - - SPOILERS - - SPOILERS
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Note: I'm going to write up a little fun story about the Motherland's finest in the core when testing it, and practice my drawing a bit, just for fun. Skip to the end of the post(s) for the scenario summary...
Scen 00 - “Tour de force”
Lt. Col Gubenko stepped out into the sunlight. The brightness of the sun hurt his eyes. He had a foul taste in his mouth. Thirst troubled him. And on top of everything else a head-ache made his life miserable.
- F**king f**k, he sighed.
(Lt.Col Gubenko)
In front of the small peasant house where Gubenko had spent the night stood Major Shushkevich. Tidy, as always, Shushkevich stood there with I triumphant grin.
- Group assembled, as ordered, he said without saluting.
Gubenko felt a bit like a slob. Damn Shushevich, he always had had a knack for a smart appearance, even in the field. The two of them went back a long way. Tank school at Tjeljabinsk. Stalingrad. Ponary. The Ukraine. Their regiment had been all but wiped out and the survivors brought back, moved north and reorganised into a new unit.
It was that unit that stood lined up.
Awaiting orders.
Gubenko and Shushevich, and a handful of others were all that remained of the old unit. Most were new faces. Most had not seen the front yet.
The troops were assembled in companies. First the tankers. These were Shushkevich’s men. The crews of the ten T-34s – sleek, robust, powerful machines - some armed with 85mm guns. They were Gubenko’s hard fist.
Next Makarov and his mortarmen.
Makarov was an gorilla-like man with university background. Mathematics. A lot of the mortarmen looked strong and sturdy. They had trucks to move around their 82mm mortars but it still took a strong fellow to manhandle the tubes, base plate and all that other stuff.
Finally there was Dolya and his crowd. Captain Peretz Davidovich Dolya was of small size but one of the most able and driven officers Gubenko had ever seen. Dolya was an old hand, from the original unit. He never talked much about himself but it was known all of his family had been trapped behind German lines in the summer of 1941.
The company behind him was a mixed bag. It included two motorised rifle platoons of mostly untried men. There was an engineer platoon, also motorised.
Then there was Beregovoy’s circus.
Danila Beregovoy met Gubenko’s gaze with a small nod of recognition that said “we are ready”. Beregovoy had little education - but he was intelligent, ambitious and had limited respect for authority. In war he was a great asset, in civilian life he had probably been a criminal. Outside a small ravaged village in the Ukraine last summer, Beregovoy had saved Gubenko’s bacon. Beregovoy had also supplied the HQ section with the vodka that accounted for Gubenko’s present state of thirst and head-ache. Beregovoy commanded the Recon Platoon, a collection of thugs with two unusual vehicles - one a western type, one a captured fascist half-track.
At the very end stood the Ukrainian Lyashenko with his driver. Sargeant Lyashenko was the artillery forward observer, one of the most important men in the unit. He was new to the unit but had been at the front for more than a year.
- Very good, said Gubenko to Shushkevich. Dismiss them. Ready to march; one hour.
-----
("Filler" scenario)