1Mar99 Arctic Training/Refresher - Day 1: Beyond the COP

The LRRP section for Arctic Training gets to the gate leaving COP Charlie a few minutes before 0600. The sky is still a deep, starless black, the kind that feels heavy rather than empty. Only the wind‑whipped snow catches what little light exists… a stray beam or two from the guard in the shelter of the guard shack… and intermittent, eerie blue flashes from the radio tower.

Thrace hands a coil of rope to McBride. He takes it with a nod; no words needed. Between her and the next person is nearly ten meters of swirling white, the kind of distance that can swallow a soldier whole in a storm like this.

McBride signals Black and Simmons.

"You’ve both got the experience," he says, voice steady over the wind. "And I trust either of you to handle the number‑two spot."He looks at Black and continues, "I’d like for you to take number two. I’ll put Dawid (NPC), the Doctor and Wolfe (NPC) behind you."

Black nods once, already unclipping a carabiner from his ruck strap.

McBride turns to Simmons. "I’d like you to take the midpoint. With Ms. Kharchenko, McCain and our Canadien, MacDonald behind you."

Simmons gives a short, knowing nod. He’s already reading the rope, the spacing, the wind direction, instincts kicking in without fanfare.

"Everyone will be at 5 meter intervals starting with Black. And I’ll bring up the rear. Any questions?"

Any questions get answered quickly. If no one speaks. The wind fills the silence.

As McBride moves down the line, he places each person right where he said, checking clips, knots, and spacing. He stops briefly with each soldier.

In a low, firm voice he tells each one, "Movement within these walls are not really a problem. Shelter’s only a few meters in any direction. But once we pass out that gate, a lost person in a storm like this is as good as dead. So clip in and make sure you stay clipped in until LT Thrace or myself say otherwise."


The wind is out of the northwest, hard enough that everyone has to lean into it as they pass through the gate. It claws at parkas, rattles ruck straps, and sends loose snow skittering across the ground like dry sand. The temperature is well below zero, but the wind makes it feel colder still; a sharp, biting cold that finds seams and gaps in clothing no matter how well layered.

Beyond the gate, the world narrows to a tunnel of swirling white. The road is technically gravel. But right now, the surface is mostly wind-scoured packed snow/ice covering the rutted road, ruts currently barely noticeable under the snowpack.

The Yaktrax and bunny boots prove their worth immediately, each step lands with a confidence the inexperienced replacements didn’t expect. Confidence quickly builds despite the incredible cold and stinging weather.

Thrace sets the pace, steady and deliberate. McBride walks at the rear, eyes scanning the formation, making sure spacing stays tight and nobody drifts. The replacements follow, heads down, shoulders hunched against the wind. Their breath streams out in long white plumes that are instantly torn away by the storm. They move well. Better than McBride expected.

Within moments, COP Charlie disappears behind them.
Not gradually — completely.
No stray light from any building…
No blue flashes…
No outline of HESCO barrier walls…
The blizzard swallows the outpost whole.

From the guard post, it only took a minute… maybe less… Anyone looking for signs of the LRRP’s departure would find nothing. Ten people. Three sleds.



No footprints.
No drag marks.
No churned snow.
No trail to follow.

Snowpack. And the wind erases everything within seconds.

Only their absence betrays their passing.

LT Thrace’s pace seemed painfully slow at first to those without Arctic combat experience. Ten meters felt like one. The rope tugged gently with each step, the line moving like a single organism rather than a collection of individuals. But an hour later, opinions had changed. Most were grateful for the pace she set — steady, deliberate, energy‑conserving. The kind of pace that kept people alive.

The wind was the worst for the first 150 meters between the wall and the treeline. It came in hard from the northwest, slamming into the rope line and forcing everyone to lean into it. The wind continued to whip snow around them and drove the snow like sand across desert dunes in a storm. To exposed skin, it felt the same. Snow scoured their parkas like sandpaper. Even with goggles down, exposed skin prickled and burned.

Once they reached the trees, the world changed. The treeline blocked most of the wind, and the snow underfoot was less crusted, less deep. The Yaktrax bit into the softer surface, and the bunny boots distributed weight well enough that slipping became less of a concern. But the path was narrow — barely a meter wide — and the going remained slow.

Black, in the #2 slot, mirrored Thrace’s movements perfectly. When she shifted left to avoid a drift, he shifted left. When she slowed to test footing, he slowed. The rope transmitted every micro‑adjustment down the line. Simmons, at the midpoint, felt each change and quietly corrected spacing behind him, keeping the replacements from bunching up or drifting.

After about half an hour, they reached the edge of the woods. The wind picked up again, but the treeline continued along their right side, tempering the worst of it. Snow whipped across the open ground in long, low sheets — dunes in motion, driven by the storm.

Drifts built up against the trees, but Thrace kept them out of the worst parts. She read the terrain instinctively, with a kind of practiced intuition that came from years of Arctic movement. The rope line followed her like a shadow.


After another twenty minutes, everyone began to notice a faint, undulating glow ahead. Red, mostly. The kind of diffuse light that could be mistaken for dawn except it was in the north, not the east. Flickers and flashes of blue‑green danced along a line of trees up ahead, now becoming visible through the blowing snow. The glow cast an eerie, shifting illumination across the drifts, making the snow look alive.

The new light made it easier for Thrace. She adjusted her route, guiding the group around deeper snow and hidden dips. It also made it easier for the rest of the rope line — silhouettes became faintly visible, spacing easier to maintain.

Thrace angled toward a gap between two lines of trees. It should have made the going easier, but the narrowing acted like a wind tunnel. The storm funneled through the gap, turning the already heavy wind into a near‑gale. The rope snapped taut, and everyone leaned hard into their ski poles, boots and Yaktrax clawing for purchase.

The funnel was difficult but short.

Just past the trees, Thrace called a halt. The rope line stopped in unison, tension easing but not slackening. She scanned the terrain, reading the snow, the wind, the faint glow ahead.


Through the blinding snow, she spotted something — a shape, a structure. She angled toward it, and the rope line followed.

It didn’t take long before the group reached a cabin built from logs, sitting at the edge of a large open field. Snow had piled against its windward side, and the roof was half‑buried, but the structure was solid — a rare piece of shelter in the storm.


Thrace raised her voice.

"Welfare checks. Check each other and yourselves. Report any problems — numbness, tingling, pain. Also check your gear, then hydrate. Even if you aren’t thirsty."

The rope line loosened as soldiers turned to each other, checking faces, hands, ears, and gear. Hydration tubes came out. Water bottles cracked open. The storm howled around them, but for the first time since leaving the COP, the LRRP had a moment to breathe.

I need the following skills checks made:
Everyone:

INT+SURVIVAL (self-check for cold weather injuries)
INT+SURVIVAL (buddy-check for cold weather injuries - indicate who is being checked)

AGL+SURVIVAL (for the past hour’s movement discipline - more than 1 success adds +1 to Fatigue Roll)
AGL+TECH (use of ski poles to aid movement - more than 1 success adds +1 to Fatigue Roll)

STR+SURVIVAL or STR+STAMINA (to determine fatigue)
INT+TECH (equipment checks)


Dr. Cristea - specifically:
INT+MEDICAL (can be used in place of self&buddy checks)
INT+MEDICAL (to treat any found concerns)

PUSH Fatigue determination - (re-roll D10)

Specialty +1 = increase in die size, so a d10 +1 = d12. Reroll as a d12.

Simmons feeling a bit tired, says to himself 'Fuck it' and he pushes through the burn in his thighs and calves

Rust notices that Justin seems a bit out of sorts. To double check the Canadian, he waves Simmons over to make sure.

He thought better and over exerted himself and ignored the signs bc he did this all the time in CFB Petawawa

"Good Work. Just make sure our Cannuk has not over exerted himself and is over-heating. I will go see the El-Tee and Sergeant McBride"

Simmons then goes to SSG McBride and reports on MacDonald and recommends to get him out of the cold and have the Doc check him.

The congregation around MacDonald quickly draws concerns from McBride, especially when he sees Doctor Cristea moving over to the Canuck as well. As he begins to add his presence to the growing crowd, he makes eye contact with LT Thrace with a look that says ‘I’ve got this’. Thrace turns back to study the terrain and weather in the growing light.

By the time McBride arrives, the doctor has already completed his assessment and pulled together a few quick items. He activates and hands MacDonald a couple of chemical heating packs. "Put these in your armpits. Then Cristea hands MacDonald 4 small brown packets gleaned from old MREs. "Coffee. Don’t wait to brew up. Just pour them in your mouth, chew and swallow. The other two are sugar. You don’t have to chew them, just pour them in your mouth and swallow with this." Cristea hands Mac an insulated canteen. "Electrolytes.

McBride watches, then turns to Simmons. "Report. What happened?"

He listens to Simmons report, watching the Doctor work and looking for the results on MacDonald’s face…

McBride listening to Simmons give his report as he watched the Doctor work and looked for response from MacDonald. As Simmons finishes and makes his recommendations. McBride nods thoughtfully. "Good job to both you and Rooster for catching this early. I’ll take your recommendations under advisement and, of course, will consult with the doctor as well. Let’s set a tight perimeter for now until we get MacDonald ready to go again. Everybody needs to keep a visual on the person or anchor point to each side of them."

He moves over to the Doctor and MacDonald. He watches Mac’s eyes for a minute or two as the Doctor continues his ministrations.

"Hey Mac, what happened? You ok?". He watches MacDonald’s eyes, looking for signs of confusion, but also seeing the improvements Dr. Cristea’s treatments are making already. He waits for Mac’s answer…
"understood, Doctor. But we still have a couple of hours worth of movement before we reach our objective for today. Tell me now, is this something we can press through or is he currently or likely to become a casualty we need to evac?"

McBride looks to MacDonald. "That question is for you, to, MacDonald. Can you push through this or are you done?"