Silly After Action Report - Across the Wire

Tenente Enzo il Mondo leaned out of the L3 trying to get a better view of the vehicles approaching through the dust. In doing so he almost tipped the vehicle over, a warning shout from his driver alerted him to the danger just in time.  Ahead of him a line of trucks and armoured (for a given definition of armoured) vehicles (for a given definition of vehicles) stretched away into the distance.  What with the dust and the glare from the sun the distance wasn't particularly distant.

"British armoured cars approaching," announced il Mondo grabbing the machine gun that balanced precariously on the L3's roof, "let's go!"

The driver stamped on something and yanked on something else and the L3 shuddered to an undignified halt.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded il Mondo.

"Sorry," replied the driver. "I pressed the wrong lever."

The sound of machine gun fire interspersed with the slightly heavier reports of antitank rifles filled the air. 

"Well fix it," snapped il Mondo, "the battle's starting."  As il Mondo watched a truck was shattered and the other L3s in the column started taking heavy fire. "On second thought," said il Mondo pensively, "there's absolutely no rush."

It will probably come as no surprise that the only updated module I possess is Hollow Legions 3. For the rest I soldier along with the OG set. Along with a gleaming new Italian order of battle the module dug out some venerable scenarios polished up the edges and presented them to the eager purchaser. This is Across the Wire, formerly Scenario 61 from an Avalon Hill journal and now repackaged as Scenario 261.  Strange as it may seem it was my opponent Dave who suggested we play this one.  Perhaps he hoped for another cheap victory a la Monastery Hill.  This in the early days of the war in the desert. Italo Balbo is still alive, Rommel is just some divisional commander with a genius for self promotion and on the border between Libya and Egypt a meeting engagement is about to occur. I've got to admit that "meeting engagement" sounds like the precursor to an arranged wedding. The British are about to meet the Italians and the Italians are about to meet their doom.

As the Italian commander I control a large number of trucks intent on getting the hell out of Dodge as quickly as possible.  These trucks are "protected" by half a dozen L3 tanks, four of the normal variety and two of the special anti aircraft conversion.  Said conversion consisting of bolting one of the machine guns to the roof and adding the letters "aa" to the counter.  To bolster this manifestly inadequate firepower one of the trucks is carrying a 65mm gun and its crew.  By comparison with every other weapon in both OBs the 65 is a monster if it ever hits anything.  Italian AFV crews are inexperienced and can't use platoon movement which means if they fail their start up die roll they can't move at all.  Lest the British feel they didn't have enough targets to shoot at in turn four another three L3s arrive; one normal and two AA. On turn five yet another three L3s present themselves for destruction but this time two of them are toting the beefy 20mm antitank rifle which boosts their tank killing capacity from non-existent to derisory.

And what does Dave have to counter the swarming hordes of L3s? He starts with a pair of armoured cars, one Rolls Royce and one Morris.  On turn three another Morris and a pair of Rolls Royces arrive for a grand total of five.  The British win by scoring 6VP more than the Italians.  Intense Heat Haze and Light Dust are in effect thus making hits as unlikely as kills.

The Italians start lined up nose to tail on a desert track which will take them to the dubious safety of Fort Capuzzo.  The British roll on from the east to find their targets neatly presented to them.

 

British turn 1 this is the only picture because all the others are variants on the same theme

Dave, unwisely in my view, divided his forces sending one armoured to the very north edge of the board to await the trucks while the other hovered around the middle challenging the L3s to do their worst. That's a pretty safe challenge to make at the best of times. In return my trucks trundled towards the exit clutching their dust counters about themselves for safety. They couldn't exit until turn 3. The truck with the gun screeched to a halt prior to unloading in the next turn while my L3s ground to a halt, fired ineffectually and generally lived up to the reputation the Italians earned in the early days of the desert fighting.

I shan't bore you (too late) with a blow by blow account if only because there weren't very many blows. Dave managed to shoot up a truck and then overran my 65mm gun ignoring the shells that whistled around his ears as he did so. Armoured cars and L3s shot at each other with equal impotence. The targets were small, there was dust in the air and with the exception of the L3aa vehicles absolutely no one was crew exposed. I surrounded an armoured car with a trio of L3s and watched it just drive away as I proved incapable of scratching the paint.  The game settled into a routine. My to hit rolls were so high that I almost never scored a hit.  Dave's to hit rolls were better but his to kill rolls were mediocre at best and I had the gratifying experience of seeing multiple hits bounce off the L3's armour.  For context the L3's armour is essentially tinfoil stretched over a bamboo framework.

My trucks fled for the exit at the first opportunity sneaking around the armoured cars while the L3s lurched about with the sort of jerky movement that puts you in mind of a stop motion film. His reinforcing armoured cars came on without any particular change to the overall situation.  Shortly afterwards my extra L3s arrived with about the same impact.  The game turned when the dice gods tossed me a bone. I finally scored a hit on a Rolls Royce and a subsequent snake eyes on the to kill sent it up in flames.  After much shooting Dave finally managed to take out an L3 but shortly afterwards I managed to kill a Morris as well.  I think they were my only two hits of the game but I have to admit they were good ones.  The final score was Dave; one L3, one truck and the gun and crew for a total of 9VP, me; two armoured cars for a total of 6.  So, a thoroughly undeserved victory to me.

It has to be admitted neither of us was particularly enamoured of this game.  You just had to take your shots and hope you rolled low.  As an introduction to the desert it is useful particularly as the stakes couldn't be lower.  There is dust, DVP, heat haze and all of the things that keep you clutching the rule book close to your chest when you play.  Thanks to Dave for the game as it allowed me to chalk up another win for the Italians and now we need never speak of it again.

The dust abated temporarily and tenente il Mondo gazed across the battlefield.  The trucks were gone apart from one lone victim and a Rolls Royce burned merrily in the near distance. Suddenly with a sound like an electric egg beater the L3s engine sputtered into life.

"Got it," said the driver triumphantly as the vehicle lurched forward. "Where's the battle."

"It's over," replied il Mondo.  Somewhat disbelievingly he added, "I think we won."

"Wonderful," said the driver, "do you think anyone will ever believe us?"

"I'm having a little difficulty believing it myself."

A New Low

 I hammered frenziedly at the small parcel on the kitchen bench sweat dripping from my forehead.  Finally I laid down the rolling pin that had been my weapon of choice and gasped for breath. Shame overwhelmed me.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen," I sighed in theatrical despair.  The puffin who had been using my credit card to chop lines of Ajax stared up at me in disbelief.

"The mighty?" he asked.  "A more accurate statement would be 'how the inadequate have slumped slightly'".  Fine talk from a seabird addicted to cleaning products I think you'll agree.  I looked around at the other plush toys but none of them seemed inclined to challenge the puffin's verdict.  I returned my gaze to the object of my unusual exertions.  It was a small folded package of paper towel which contained coffee beans.  I had been belabouring said packet with a rolling pin.  The back story is the fact that my usual cafe has recently closed.  This is becoming a bit of a theme with me and I'm starting to think I'm cursed.  The puffin suggested that I was the curse but he had been injecting Spray & Wipe into his eyeballs at the time so I'm disinclined to accept that as the final word on the subject.  What the sudden absence of a cafe means is that I have run out of the ground coffee that I usually use with my plunger to provide the caffeine that helps me get through the day and, let's be honest, night.

In desperation I had sallied into another cafe and upon learning that their coffee was suitable for plungers had bought a bag.  It was only when I got home that I realised I had acquired a bag of coffee beans rather than the plunger friendly powder I had hoped for.  In what I thought was a fit of inspiration I started hammering the beans with a rolling pin.  Technically I suppose it was a fit of inspiration.  At least my plush toys thought I was having a fit.  The plague doctor helpfully offered me leeches but I'm not sure whether that was a treatment suggestion or a meal replacement.

Now I stare at the fruits of my labours.  The coffee beans are indeed, if not ground then at least definitely broken.  I hammered away some more while the puffin rolled in Ajax and gurgled to itself.  Eventually the combined efforts of the other plush toys pulled my frenzied body away from the kitchen bench and prised the rolling pin from my palsied hand. It was a mark of my desperation that I sought reassurance from them.

"It doesn't look too bad does it?"

"The psychedelic shark looked at the coffee coloured detritus littering the kitchen bench.

"I'm not sure if bad is exactly the word I would use."

"Despite all the evidence to the contrary I took that as encouragement and scooped up shards of mutilated coffee and dropped them into the plunger, adding the hot water I always have on standby.  The puffin interrupted its Ajax orgy for a second.

"I just want you to remember this moment the next time you catch me licking detergent from the inside of the washing machine."

"Oh shut up," I muttered bringing what, by a great stretch of the imagination, could more or less be described as a cup of coffee to my lips.  The results were pretty much what you might expect. I still drank it, of course I did, but bitter tears rolled down my cheeks as I did so.  When I had finished the puffin looked up again.

"You know if you take the coffee beans back to the cafe they'll probably grind them for you." I stared back at him unable to speak. "And thus the inadequate slumps a little more."

I am really starting to hate that puffin.

Thwack Pokk!

 It is that time of year when all eyes in the tennis world turn to Paris.  And once they have turned to Paris those eyes immediately start watering due to all of the red dust in the air.  Underneath this sports created air pollution Roland Garros is presented to an admiring world. Originally designed as a way to weed the asthmatics out of tennis Roland Garros has come a long way since those early experiments in eugenics. Now the tournament takes its place among the greatest contests in the tennis world. The stadium surrounding centre court is filled with a thronging crowd shouting their adulation as two gods of the tennis world vie for glory within the hallowed compound. 

But tear your eyes from this display of tennis magnificence for just a moment gentle reader.  Look beyond the glittering confines of centre court, look past, too, the other show courts where lesser but nonetheless brilliant stars in the tennis firmament ply their dusty trade.  Keep going to the edge of the horizon.  There you will see it.  It might be an outer court, it might be a disused carpark, with red clay it's a little difficult to tell.  So far from centre court that it might technically qualify as a separate tournament a pair of scruffy figures slink to the middle of the space. Here the lowly foot soldiers of the tennis world do unattended battle with each other. The qualifiers, the wildcards, the also rans and the never wases.  Those whose tennis rankings are comfortably into three figures.  Here unheralded and unloved they will compete with each other for the unimaginable glory of being knocked out in the second round by someone with an infinitely higher skill set.  Each of the players is desperate to win enough prize money to afford a bus ticket back to the homeless shelter they're currently squatting in.

A thunderous roar greets these tennis minnows as they nervously approach the net.  Unfortunately it is the sound of fanatic crowds applauding the skills and efforts of others on the more select courts.  The noise pours through the outer courts drowning out the sound of the umpire's voice as they make the calls and wonder exactly who in the tennis world they offended to wind up officiating this match.  In stark contrast to centre court the crowd here consists of a dozen or so people evenly divided between relatives of the players who couldn't find a decent excuse for their absence and derelicts who have so far defied eviction.

After a decent pause to allow both players to think better of the entire idea a figure detaches itself from the tiny crowd and climbs a rickety chair.  I thought it was a derelict but it turned out to be the umpire.  Both players begin the match with a sort of enthusiastic hopelessness which would be endearing if it wasn't so unendearing. Each player attempts to prove that they can do anything the champions can do only slower and less efficiently.  Balls fly wide, sometimes landing in adjacent courts which are so close there is a real danger that the players might become intermingled.  Serves are buried deep beyond the base line, the occasional adequate shot is greeted with fist pumps from the responsible player while the opponent mutters and taps dust from their shoes.  Despite the best efforts of both players the score limps painfully towards the ultimate conclusion with an air that can best be described as "death march".  The occasional flashingly brilliant shot serving only to highlight the overall mediocrity of both performances.

On and on it goes until even the umpire's eyes are weeping blood although whether that's because of the performance or just the red dust that gets everywhere is a matter for debate.  Vultures circle lazily sure that one and possibly both of the players will provide them with a meal before long.  Finally when the umpire's mental state can take no more they call the final score and flee the court hoping to catch the last train back to centre court before being trapped for the night in this hellhole. The two players approach the net and hands are shaken to a thin spattering of applause (assuming the derelicts haven't passed out).  Then both players depart heads held high.  For the winner the prospect of being blown off the court by a player that security would normally keep them away from.  For the loser there is the comforting knowledge that at the very least they haven't sunk to the level of playing mixed doubles.

Silly After Action Report - Monastery Hill

"Are you ready for the new offensive?" asked Tenente Giro di Lombardia.  "This is where we conquer Greece once and for all."  His offsider was a grizzled veteran who had well "fought" was too strong a word but he had definitely been present (sometimes quite briefly) on every battlefield Italy had been involved in in recent times. 

"It doesn't bother you that we're starting the conquest of Greece by attempting to reconquer Albania?" asked the veteran.  Di Lombardia frowned, it did bother him a bit.  He was also unsure why the conquest had to start with charging towards the best defended hill in the country. Up above him he could see trenches cutting scars through the snow that covered the hill's upper reaches. There weren't too many ways up and di Lombardia was having uncomfortable thoughts about machine guns.

"What do you suggest?" he asked.  The veteran swept an experienced eye over the landscape.

"Best advice I can give for an attack like this, let somebody else go first."

A series of whistles, shouts and fits of hysterical weeping announced that the attack was about to commence.  Shabbily uniformed soldiers in broken boots started making their way towards the hill.  Di Lombardia gestured politely.

"After you."

"Smartarse," muttered the veteran.

So yes, we went there.  For some bizarre reason I have always wanted to play this scenario despite a truly stupefying win/loss record in favour of the Greeks.  I actually have a history of this battle and its amazing how accurately the scenario played out. Spoiler alert, the Italians piled up thousands of bodies for absolutely no result because apparently the entire of World War I wasn't a sufficient lesson in what happens when you send unsupported infantry against machine guns.  Still, I tried my best.  Secure in the knowledge that it would make no difference my opponent Dave graciously granted me the Italian balance (increasing the Italian ELR to three for the 347 squads, the lowly 346s remained stubbornly stuck on two).

So, to the formalities. I command a huge force, its size matched only by its inadequacies. On turn 1 no fewer than twenty six 347 squads, guided by four leaders including a not contemptible 9-1 set foot on Monastery Hill.  They carry a trio of lmgs, two dismantled medium machine guns and three dismantled 45mm mortars.  Lest the Greeks think that there are insufficient targets in the world on turn two fourteen 346 squads shamble on to make up the numbers. They too have a trio of lmgs and a single dismantled medium. A mere two officers lead these reinforcements.  Perched on the top of the hill Dave has fourteen Greek 457 squads, three medium machine guns and six light machine guns. Four officers including an awesome 9-2 command.  Eighteen trenches are provided for the protection of these Greek defenders giving them plenty of points from which slaughter the oncoming Italians.  By SSR level two and above of the hill have ground snow just in case this wasn't difficult enough for the Italians.  My objective was to at least five level four hexes on board nine.  At the start I control zero.

 

Greek set up. Everybody is in trenches, the mmgs are nestled safely in the rear. My initial force enters on the right

My plan was to send the bulk of my at start force to overwhelm his forward position while a few squads tiptoed down the middle valley attempting to find a flank.  Meanwhile the squads with the mortars would slink along the bottom of the map hopefully protected by trees and hills to meet up with my reinforcements, take out the small position on board two and hopefully be ready for an assault on the main position.  To a certain extent this was successful unfortunately that was only supposed to be a preliminary.

Things went well for the first turn or so. A couple of Italian squads were broken serving as bullet magnets persuading Dave to open fire but the remainder surged on as a sluggish grey tide.  My flankers dutifully flanked (to no good purpose) and the mortar crews thankful to be out of the firing line skirted the board edge at the bottom.

End of Italian turn 1

Having amassed what for the Italians was a couple of pretty impressive fire groups I managed to break one of his forward defenders and my reluctant stormtroopers shambled forwards pressing the other squad. At this stage I was pleased with how my dubious troops were standing up to morale checks.  I had a few broken squads but quite few, particularly for Italians.

End of Italian turn 2. At this stage I was, foolishly, quite pleased with my progress

Turn three was probably the highpoint of the game for me (not good in a ten turn game). I had swept away his forward defenders (two whole squads but whatever) and had snuggled into his trenches. My medium machine guns guided by my 9-1 (who until now had stayed safely in the rear) moved forward to bring firepower down onto his next position.  My flankers had foolishly emerged directly in front of his defenders (I really overestimated the resilience of my troops) but for a brief second it looked impressive. My reinforcements surged on heading through the trees for his defenders on board two and my mortar teams had every chance of being in position by 1945. 

End of Italian turn 3. Briefly things are looking good

Things started taking a bad turn almost immediately.  My bold "flankers" were driven from their forward positions by Greek fire. On the other hand my reinforcements made bold threat displays against his troops on board 2 and almost succeeded in looking like real soldiers. Back at the main battle one squad conducted its own personal flanking manoeuvre for reasons which escape me at the moment. The real disaster however unfolded behind the front line.  Dave rolled five 1's in a row on sniper activations. At the end of it my 9-1 was dead as was an entire squad and another squad was broken.  I practically conceded then. My mmg kill stack had been reduced to a single broken squad and my ability to rally broken squads had been seriously degraded. I did eventually manage to re-man the machine guns and get them forward (a little) but I had lost a significant chunk of firepower just when I needed to be pounding his next line of defenders.  What was left popped away but without much effect.  

End of turn four. The DM counter behind the trenches covers a single broken squad. At the beginning of the turn there were two healthy squads and a 9-1.

I took this morale shattering event with my usual good humour and sangfroid (shut up Dave) but I was reduced to long range shots at his boys in the trenches as I attempted to patch what was left of my firepower back together.  One hill two I assembled an impressive amount of firepower which helped me prove that a penchant for rolling eleven on fire shots can mess up the most impressive firegroup. In return a couple of six firepower shots crushed the aforementioned firegroup.  But not completely, as their colleagues whimpered and fled a couple of squads who hadn't got the memo weaseled their way forward and managed to keep pressure on his defenders.  On the main battlefront I lost a full turn or two trying to reassemble my force.  I broke the occasional squad but never managed to achieve significant results. Indeed the best results I got were when Dave broke a couple of light machine guns.  The rolls of eleven weren't all one way.  Sadly the troops holding these suddenly broken weapons were still sitting snugly in trenches I couldn't push them out of. My flanking squad flanked itself into a trench.  I think the intention was to divide the defenders fire but its entirely possible that I just had a psychotic break when moving that unit.

 

Despite ghastly casualties I'm pressing on board 2. The main front is a stalemate however

I finally overran his defenders on board two and seized the trenches for my very own.  I had now dealt with four of his fourteen squads and captured four trenches. It had only taken six turns.  Time was starting to get quite short and now that my attention was focussed I realised another problem the Italians had.  Due to the prevalence of cliffs I would have to charge up a slope dominated by a trio of medium machine guns led by a 9-2. Even the Italians wouldn't think that was a good idea.  Well you would assume that although the actual history of this battle suggests otherwise.  My mortar squads (remember them?) finally find a location where they could hit his trenches and dutifully started dropping tiny little little explosives which did little other than remind Dave of the existence of my mortars.  While my main attack was frozen I had made gains on board 2.  The trenches were mine and I could fire on his troops in their main defensive position.  Here's the thing though.  If it comes to a straightforward exchange of fire the Greeks are far more likely to hold up than the Italians, particularly when they have a 9-2 guiding their shots.  Despite the protection of trenches and trees it took Dave precisely one fire phase to virtually exterminate my entire force on board 2 for not a single loss of his own.  

Back at the increasingly ill named main front I finally gathered enough firepower to break a squad or two.  If this had been turn 4 that might have presaged good things for the future. In turn 7 it just produced some anguished arithmetic as I realised that my forces there simply couldn't reach the final target locations even if no one shot at them enroute. I gathered the shattered wreckage of my psyche around me and conceded to Dave with all the dignity I could muster (none at all if you believe him).  Bizarrely despite the thoroughly predictable outcome I enjoyed this game.  The Italian commander has a lot to do and the sheet amount of time can give the impression that victory is around the corner, all the Greeks have to do is sit in their trenches and roll low.  I made a couple of bad mistakes, leaving all three mortar squads in the one hex was foolish but there was a dearth of cover they could operate from effectively.  The fact that they couldn't operate effectively anyway is beside the point.  If I had my time again I think I would push my main force along board two and completely ignore his frontal defences.  Many thanks to Dave for the game and I can cross at least one thing off my bucket list.

Tenente di Lombardia staggered wild eyed into a billet behind the lines.  The veteran was there sipping on a coffee. He raised his eyebrows as di Lombardia arrived.

"There you are, what took you so long?"

"You said let somebody else go first."

"When we're attacking.  Leaving the battlefield is definitely the time to get on your bike."

"I don't think that's particularly funny," replied di Lombardia.

Travelling Pathetically - Blurry Bird Edition

It's getting harder to find bushwalks in my immediate vicinity that have not yet been graced with my clumpy unco-ordinated tread.  For this most recent walk I had to catch a bus, a train and a ferry just so that I could walk a kilometre to my starting point.  My walk started in Bundeena which according to wikipedia is both a suburb and a village on the outskirts of southern Sydney.  I'm not sure what you need to do to gain both suburb and village status but Bundeena wears it's dual title with a modest grace that more boxing champions would do well to emulate.  Bundeena is just across the way from Cronulla (which bears the lonely title of "suburb") however the "way" in question is largely water and thus requires the assistance of a ferry to cross effectively.  You can take a bus if you want to stay on the solid part of the scenery but why would you take a bus when you can catch a cute little ferry that putters gently across Port Hacking and deposits you at the more water adjacent portions of Bundeena.  From there its only a kilometre or two uphill until you arrive panting at your destination; the start of the walk.

Having dipped a toe into the Royal National Park a couple of months ago with a trip to Grays Point I felt sufficiently encouraged to go in up to my ankles. I panted through Bundeena sustained by thoughts of Greenland sharks (seriously, I may have a problem) until I bumped into the National Park.  My path stretched out before me, depressing in its width.  "Here we go," I muttered to myself, "another unexciting firetrail."  I muttered to myself as I've noticed that muttering to strangers tends to have unfortunate consequences.

The not particularly impressive start to my walk

 I was less than excited by this start but having committed myself I set out along the, well "path" isn't exactly the right term, road would be more accurate.  Things improved swiftly however and it wasn't long before my route took me off to the left making a beeline for the Tasman Sea.  Fortunately it turned again before I reached it.  I was following the Coast Track with the Tasman on my left heading towards Marley Beach.  Well actually I was heading toward Marley Beaches as there are two of them.  On the way I would pass Wedding Cake Rock which is apparently impressive enough to rate its own marking on the map.  Unfortunately it turns out that the wedding wasn't terribly successful and the rock is on the point of hurling itself into the sea.  I think we've all been to weddings like that.

 It has to be said that the walk was in no way scrambling through the bush.  Possibly in deference to the large number of people for whom a suicidal rock and a beach named Marley are irresistible attractions the parks authority has produced a well made track with boardwalks to take you over the more environmentally delicate bits.  The scenery was largely coastal heath with low but close packed greenery.  Well I say "greenery" a lot of it was brownery, some of it was distinctly charred blackery.

Some greenery and some blackery

The path takes an abrupt right turn ahead which is the only reason this blog entry wasn't fished from my waterlogged corpse

The sun beat down on me as I strode towards Marley beach, still several kilometres away.  The coastline capered in front of me flaunting cliffs and the usual chaotic mess that results when large amounts of water inadvertently collide with equally impressive collections of land.  I took photos because, well it seemed a little needy frankly.

 

There were plenty more but I don't want to bore you

Of course as everybody knows its all about the wildlife however here things were a little disappointing.  The path I was following was obviously very popular.  I know it was popular because it was overrun with people.  All of the wildlife had therefore very sensibly decided to make themselves scarce.  They hadn't gone far, they lurked in the nearby scrub teasing walkers with their cries but absolutely defying any attempts to actually see them.  By the time I encountered a small lizard sunning itself on a rock I was so desperate for material that I lavished photographs on this tiny reptile most people could find in a suburban garden.

A lizard, try and pretend you've never seen one before

And birdlife, my god was there birdlife?  Well I assume there was.  Certainly something was making a hell of a lot of birdlife like noises.  However they lurked buried in the scrub invisible to the human eye (well my human eye anyway) no matter how desperately I peered.  From time to time in a fit of sheer sadism one would erupt from cover in front of me and then dive into some more protection just before I got my camera ready.  Not many birds were seen on this journey and those that were seen weren't seen for very long.  I have to admit I got a little frustrated.  Other walkers were slightly aghast to see me collapse weeping on the path hysterically cursing invisible birds.  They skirted my twitching carcass and hurried on leaving me to my own somewhat dubious devices.  

I'm not saying that I did offer my soul to various dark powers if they could persuade just one bird to sit still long enough to be photographed.  I am certainly not saying I made certain reckless promises to ghastly monsters from the netherworld but if anybody does have a goat and a sacrificial knife they're not using you know where to find me.  Anyway by a wild coincidence one particular bird did pause in a reasonably accessible piece of scrub and I photographed the crap out of it.  I was so eager that most of the photos were actually lousy.  The best of a bad bunch is presented below as evidence of why I joined a Satanic cult in my declining years.  The bird in question is a New Holland honeyeater.  I found this out all by myself by a little research after I got home.  They were all over the place but this is the only one I managed to photograph.

For this I sacrificed my immortal soul?

 

With that out of the way let's get on with the walk.  As previously noted my path led through thick scrub with the sea always hovering to my left just out of reach.  With the shrubbery crowded in on the path it was quite quiet despite the constant birdsong, gossiping of other walkers, panting of those idiots who were actually running... okay, it was actually quite noisy but it gave the impression of silence even when it wasn't.

 

Perhaps you can see why the birds found it so easy to hide

Signs announced that the region was home to echidnas and humpbacked whales which is a species crossover I would pay money to see.  It will come as no surprise that I saw neither of these (given I was on a path the absence of whales wasn't astonishing).  Of course it couldn't all be wandering along clifftops admiring the lack of birds and taking occasional photos of photogenic rocks (see below). I was walking along a clifftop heading for a beach.  That meant there would be a certain amount of descent.  Followed of course, as night follows day, by ascent unless I wanted to stay on the beach forever.

 

Rocks; photogenic

 As it turned out I didn't want to stay on a beach forever (too much sand in the crevices) and thus I was committed to panting down not one but two steep descents and subsequently gasping back up them again all in a desperate attempt to return to a geographical position I could have achieved by going nowhere.  Some of the most enjoyable moments in life are basically well organised futility.

 

At least there were steps going down. Sadly there would also be steps going up

 Eventually my painful descents were rewarded with a glimpse of my target.  Marley Beach in all its glory.

 

Strangely despite the number of people I had encountered along the path the beach was surprisingly empty.  Indeed it could be said that Marley was dead (thank you, I'm here all week).  On the way back I took another photo of a bird and I didn't have to sacrifice my immortal anything.  Also I came across the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus lurking modestly behind a rock.

I couldn't manage to identify this one

 

The Clare McIntyre memorial fungus

I strode back light in heart and heavy of foot. Ahead of me Bundeena was already closed meaning that my desperate need for coffee would have to wait until I reached something a little closer to civilisation such as my kitchen.  This is possibly the first time that my kitchen has been described as "close to civilisation."

Silly After Action Report - Able at Cesaro

 Tenente Dino Ingraziani cursed as he struggled with the entrenching tool. The hard Sicilian soil resisted his not particularly enthusiastic attack. All around him carabinieri were similarly engaged in an attempt to rearrange the landscape. One of them in a foxhole up to his neck was using a teaspoon to artistically arrange the dirt on the rim into animal shapes. "Oh for god's sake," snarled Ingraziani looking at his own pitiful scrape. "Were you a landscape gardener in a previous life?"

"For heaven's sake keep your voice down Ingraziani," Snapped the maggiore, "the whole point is that the Americans don't know we're here."

"What Americans?" demanded Ingraziani lowering his voice to a whine. For answer the maggiore pointed over the top of the hill to where a virtual sea of olive green was deploying in the distance.  Ingraziani felt ill. He cast a resentful glance at the field phone operators lounging on the top of the hill.  One of them was speaking urgently into the receiver.  Feeling Ingraziani's gaze on him he glanced up.

"I'm just ordering pizza, does anybody want anything?"

I recently acquire ASL Annual '90 after many years and was giddy to try the Italian scenarios therein. Scenting an easy victory my opponent Dave was more than ready to pander to what is, to be honest, one of the more socially acceptable of my fetishes. So here it is, Scenario A13 - Able at Cesaro.  I command a batch of Italian carabinieri who will absolutely not be doing what their historical predecessors did in real life as I attempt to deny possession of an apparently precious Sicilian hill to Dave's 47th Infantry.

To win Dave has to capture five of seven level 3 hill hexes after having panted across the width of two and a half boards to get there.  His force is impressive; 18 first line squads led by four officers including a doughty 9-2. He also has a heavy machine gun, three medium machine guns, two 60mm mortars (all dismantled at the start) and four bazookas. He also has two jeeps. My force looks impressive on paper until you remember that they're Italian.  I have twenty first line squads led by four officers including a somewhat less than doughty 8-1. I have four light machine guns, two medium machine guns, a pair of 45mm mortars and 48 factors of anti personnel mines.  I also have two field phones connecting me to two separate modules of 80mm mortar artillery.  The four leaders is somewhat less impressive when you realise that two of them are required to man the phones (what is this a battle or a telethon?).  I can set up on boards two and thirteen and can HIP five squads plus the usual assortment of hangers on but only on board two.

Below is my set up including minefields.  My plan was basically have a few speed bumps up front so he couldn't just pour down the board, then a second line to delay him further as he crossed the stream and approached the hill.  My final line of defence was behind the ridge beyond the reach of his firepower. I would dig foxholes there and hopefully sweep the Americans off the ridge with pointblank fire and reoccupy at the last moment for the win.  The two field phones I set up on the ridge to rain death down on the approaching Americans.  If I had checked a weather report I would have seen that the death was only raining one way.  I wasn't very keen about setting up on the ridge itself as I felt American firepower would handily sweep me off it before I could impose any serious check on him.  In this I was absolutely right.  Unfortunately to be useful the field phones had to set up somewhere they could see the enemy.

My set up

 

Before we start the AAR proper let's just get the artillery out of the way now.  It won't take long.  In the early turns as Dave advanced I dialled up my mortar batteries and placed a couple of spotting rounds.  In return Dave fired one of his mortars at my left hand field phone, scored a critical hit and broke, wounded and ELRed the officer manning it.  I was annoyed but not disheartened I still had one left.  In the next turn the officer manning that phone rolled an 11 and malfed the phone.  My annoyance increased and disheartenment was certainly knocking on the door.  The 7-0 manning the now malfed field phone ran across the ridge to man the first field phone whereupon Dave scored another critical hit with his mortar killing the officer and destroying the phone.  I got not a single fire mission out of either phone and lost two officers into the bargain (ok the first one survived but you'd be amazed how useless a 5-2 leader is). Disheartenment had arrived and was unpacking its bags.  Dave's mortars made the ridge unliveable.  Towards the end of the game desperate to have something to fire on his advancing horde I moved a concealed squad with a 45mm mortar up onto the ridge.  Whereupon Dave scored another critical hit with his mortar and that was the end of that.  The really annoying thing is that Dave managed that inbetween breaking his mortars (although they were rapidly repaired) and sitting under a fusillade of sniper fire which dismanned his mortars more than once.  My sniper number was four and when Dave wasn't rolling snake eyes he was rolling a lot of fours.

So onto the AAR which after that intro shall be mercifully brief. 

Dave's initial moves were cautious and well spread out to avoid giving any targets to my artillery.  There was little firing except on the left where a squad and a 45mm mortar team covered themselves with what could be mistaken for glory in a dim light. The rest of my troops frantically dug foxholes as the olive tide approached. Dave's jeeps sped forward (looking for minefields as he later explained).

This was early in the game and I still had hope that my artillery would play a role. The clutch of troops in the lane on the left includes his mortar teams.

By turn three Dave knew he had nothing to fear from my artillery and got the bit between his teeth.  He assembled a pair of kill stacks which could move with virtual impunity.  His machine guns he combined with a trio of squads and his 9-2 leader for a 30FP kill stack.  It was like being hit in the face with a slab of lead.  On the plus side my sniper got his first result, seriously my sniper was the one high point of the game for me it went off virtually every time Dave rolled a four and he rolled a lot of them.

No longer frightened of my artillery the Americans regroup

It has to be said that my outpost line and my first line of resistance did everything that could be expected of them.  They huddled inside stone buildings or foxholes and took their shots.  A trickle of broken American units moved backwards and more importantly the forward movement of the others was delayed as they winkled the carabinieri out of their lairs. Nevertheless by turn five he was across the stream and pressing forward.  His 9-2 kill stack was stripping any hex it fired at of all life and now he had troops to burn.

Here they come

One of his halfsquads plunged into CC with a particularly stubborn defender and when they couldn't get the job done in melee Dave simply hosed them all down with a 30FP attack.  By the end of turn 6 Dave had a foothold on the hill and was eyeing the summit with anticipation.

The concealed Italian units on the hill on the left is my mortar team. They will not last long

One of Dave's squads walked into a minefield giving me a brief moment of pleasure but other than that it was all one way traffic as he gathered his troops for the final assault.  I for my part eyed my troops hidden behind the ridge.  My best leader was here in a foxhole with a squad and an mmg.  The other squads had lmgs and could muster what for the Italians was decent firepower, at least at close range.

 

Dave is readying for the final push and yes I am still trying to dig a foxhole on the right

With manpower to burn Dave decided "to hell with subtlety" and pushed his forces up onto the ridge trusting that feeble Italian firepower would not be able to eliminate them all.  His trust was not misplaced.

I have one chance left...

 

With American troops on the victory locations it was time for my plan to prove its worth.  If I couldn't break an appreciable amount of the attackers their return fire would certainly annihilate me.  I took a few shots with mixed results but did at least manage to break up a couple of potential firegroups.  And finally it came down to the two leaders facing each other.  My 8-1 guiding an mmg squad hit his 9-2 kill stack with a six flat shot, and rolled an eleven breaking the mmg and what little was left of my spirit.  I gave Dave the concession.  There was nothing more I could do, he had enough remaining firepower to kill my troops through lead poisoning if nothing else.

Strangely I actually enjoyed this game.  I was not displeased with my play (except my minefield set up could have been better) and despite the total failure of the artillery managed to put up some sort of a defence (ably assisted by my sniper).  Many thanks to Dave for the game and because I am a depraved masochist (one of my slightly less socially acceptable fetishes) we will be playing Monastery Hill next.

Tenente Ingraziani blundered through the trees arms swiping wildly at branches that tore at his uniform and threatened to impede his path.  "What the hell is this?" he demanded as another branch hit him in the face.

"An olive grove," replied a soldier next to him.

"How do you know?"

"I was a landscape gardener in a previous life."

Silly After Action Report - A Sophoclean Tragedy

 "So, we're fighting Greeks, allied with other Greeks in an attempt to capture Athens from the Greeks and give it back to the Greeks.  Is that a reasonable assessment of the situation?" Captain Roderick Forster-Children looked at the written orders in his hand with a certain amount of distaste.  The colonel sighed, 

"I don't know if its a reasonable assessment but its pretty much accurate," he replied.  "Just get on with it will you?  A bunch of paras are holed up in a building and if we don't move now the Greeks will overrun them.  Don't worry about reinforcements, I'm giving you some Greeks."

"Which Greeks?"

"Those Greeks," said the colonel pointing.  A body of men, definitely Greek, were gathering outside.

"Are they on our side?" asked Foster-Children nervously.

"In a fast moving war like this who can tell."

Dave and I have been playing a few scenarios from Hazardous Movement "Uncivil Wars" pack.  This one pits British troops (and a few Greek hangers on) against the Communist (but definitely Greek) ELAS as they attempt to liberate Greece, for the right type of Greeks of course.  A bunch of British paratroopers (assault engineers and commandos but subject to ammo shortage) are trapped in a few buildings while with ELAS fighters attempt to convince them of the error of their ways in supporting the imperialist, capitalist running dogs.  Meanwhile another group of British (along with some of the aforementioned running dogs) are ploughing through stone buildings in a rescue attempt hampered by another group of ELAS fighters who are tripping them up and generally making a nuisance of themselves.  I have the Greeks (ie ELAS) in this one and Dave has the predominantly British but slightly Greek.  

Set up is sequential.  First I set up my para busters.  I have sixteen partisan squads (eight 527s and eight 337s) with two medium machine guns (Russian and so heavy they can barely move), two light machine guns, a pair of demo charges, an antitank rifle and two Mol projectors carted by crews.  Leadership is provided by three officers led by a 9-1.  Then Dave set up his beleaguered paratroopers; six 648 squads, a mighty 10-2 leader, two light machine guns and a borrowed American bazooka. Sixteen concealment counters aid in misdirection.  Third I set up my blocking force, tasked with holding off the British (and Greek, don't forget the Greek) reinforcements. This force has another eleven squads (eight 337s and three 527s), a medium machine gun, two light machine guns, a 50mm mortar, a demo charge and another Mol projector.  Three more officers command including a 10-0 commissar.  They also have eight concealment counters and a roadblock.  Finally Dave's remaining forces set up. Nine first line squads, three British leaders headed by a 9-1 collectively equipped with a hmg, mmg and three lmgs.  Eager to show they're helping the not necessarily Communist Greeks have contributed three and a half squads with a demo charge and a leader of their very own.  On turn three a pair of Sherman tanks roll on to give some added firepower to Dave's attack.  Dave can deploy all of his paras and I can HIP three squads.  We each forgot these particular wrinkles.  Finally each side can fortify one building location. This at least we did remember.

So my job was to overrun the British paras while my blocking force heroically fended off his reinforcements.  My assault units had to set up in buildings.  There was literally nowhere for them to go except directly into the face of his fire.  I duly fortified a building location I thought would be useful and packed it with troops, I put a crew with a mol projector on the roof in the hopes of shooting down onto a Sherman.

End of turn 1

 

My first turn went about as well as one could expect.  My brave partisans charged forward and were broken but in the process revealed Dave's troops.  His forgetting to deploy meant that his front line was thinner than it should be and over the next couple of turns I was able to wangle his paras out of their forward defensive line.  Over in rescue city Dave's reinforcements eased slowly forward, breaking any partisans to foolish to run the moment they came into view.  Still my main line of resistance hadn't been reached yet although my mortar crew had been terrified into abandoning their weapon and hiding in some nearby trees.

End of Allied turn 2 - check out the turn counter :)

Dave's neglecting to deploy had allowed me to get into the forward building of his defensive zone but it also meant that I was facing full 648 squads as I attempted to get further.  With his rescuers getting closer I felt the pressure of time.  I also found his fortified position, a pair of squads and an lmg guided by the 10-2.  Over the next couple of turns Dave's reinforcements essentially dismantled my defences with the exception of my fortified location.  The only reason for his delay was his disinclination to go past it while a mmg, lmg and a mol projector were still sitting there to cause him grief. 

Down in para central I pressed my forces recklessly forward entering into hand to hand close combat and successfully killed a couple of para squads, closing in on his fortified building.  And there I stopped.  I assembled an awesome amount of firepower but partisans can't firegroup so my attacks degenerated into a series of 12+4 shots that required good luck to get a result. Things were made worse when in response to one such shot Dave's leader battle hardened and became an heroic 10-3.  Attempts to breach the fortified building with DCs came to nought.

Dave's Shermans rolled on and to my absolute delight my mol projector team on the roof put a bottle of flaming liquid through a Sherman sending it up in flames.  Sadly the other managed to drop a WP round into the building effectively neutralising my toughest remaining force.

A Sherman burns merrily and his paras are surrounded. This is about as good as it got for me

A word about my commissar "Useless bastard".  Ok that's two words which is two more than he deserves.  His principle contribution to the game was to casualty reduce two squads in rally attempts. Other than that he might as well have not been present.  Frankly I wished he wasn't.  With the units in my fortified building attempting to wash white phosphorous out of their eyes Dave's remaining Sherman and surviving reinforcements rushed past to bring succour to his paratroopers who in the meantime had simply stood in their fortified building and taken pretty much every shot I could make against them.

 

It took six turns but Dave has relieved his paratroopers and I am screwed

I gave Dave the concession with my remaining troops on the brink of disaster.  There were a couple of high points. Frying the Sherman was one and the fact that not one of the Greek allied troops survived was another but I have to admit I didn't really enjoy this game.  The only way of getting the paras out of that fortified building is to continually bash your head against a brick wall and hope it gives way before your head does.  If it doesn't you're stuck.  Once you've closed the ring around the paras there is nothing left to do except hope the dice will be kind.  Dave did enjoy this game but as the British he had more to do.  He needed to cling onto the paras original defensive position and also co-ordinate the relief attack.  Meanwhile I bashed my head against brick and hoped.

"Well done Forster-Child," said the colonel approvingly.  "The Greeks have suffered a serious blow today.  Have you told the Greeks?"

"I can't," replied Forster-Child, "they're all dead."  The colonel completely failed to look disappointed. "Excellent, carry on."

"Where?"

The colonel waved vaguely, "Over there somewhere."