It seems this is as far as I'm going to get. Not to worry though, Chernarus was the initial goal but I've still managed to plant myself squarely in hostile territory.
I made most of the journey by motorbike, a last hurrah for my old Triumph scrambler. She spluttered and died around a day's walk from the Poland/Livonia border. Things were surprisingly lax when I got there, I suppose most troops were occupied elsewhere. I tried to bluff my way through the checkpoint, but I was told in no uncertain terms to fuck off back the way I came. How rude.
I travelled a little further north and made my crossing under cover of darkness, making short work of the wire fence with my leatherman. Bureaucracy won't get in the way of this adventure. I made camp deep into the woods, burned my passport, ate some food, and moved off in search of a weapon.
A long time has passed since then. I've gained and lost various pieces of kit, found a dependable old rifle. The wild game in this country is plentiful and it only rains a little more than back home. The landscape reminds me of training in the Brecon Beacons. I've grown quite comfortable here.