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."

 

"Jaws!" Or Possibly "Gums!"

 I have a new favourite sea creature.  While the octopus will always occupy a special place in my heart the magnificent Greenland shark now takes top billing among the damper animal varieties on the planet.  As the name implies Greenland sharks live in the icy waters of the Arctic ocean. They are in fact the apex predator of those chilly waters. A bulky animal, it is one of the largest shark species still living (except for the whale shark which I think we can all agree is the result of a serious pituitary imbalance) and it roams the frigid waters unafraid of competition. It roams those waters very slowly, the Greenland shark is not noted for its speed. In a strong current a Greenland shark would go backwards.

If a Greenland shark had starred in the movie Jaws that movie would have been eighteen hours long most of which would have consisted of Roy Schneider sitting in a boat looking at his watch as the Greenland shark made its laboured, asthmatic approach.  That's always assuming it attacked the right boat because thanks to a small crustacean that lives in its eyes the Greenland shark is almost blind.

Moving slowly seems to have its advantages. The Greenland shark is the worlds longest lived vertebrate. Greenland sharks have been caught with harpoons inside them from the whaling heyday of the 1800s.  They don't even become sexually active until they're past a hundred years old.  They also don't breed very much, well of course they don't; they're over a hundred years old.  Also due to their eyesight its entirely possible that some mating attempts are with submarines or suggestively shaped icebergs. The oldest known Greenland shark was dated at over 390 years old.

Greenland sharks upper teeth aren't very spectacular, they're thin and without serrations and really serve as anchors while the shark worries large chunks of its prey off with its bottom teeth.  So, to recap; the apex predator of the Arctic region is a slow, blind, geriatric with bad teeth.  You can't help feeling there weren't many applicants for the position of "Apex predator of the Arctic Ocean".  They eat minke whales, seals, fish, carrion and the occasional polar bear.  The question is "how?"  All of these things (even the carrion with a breeze behind it) is faster than the Greenland shark.  Scientific opinion isn't so much divided as somewhat bewildered.  The best explanation they can come up with is that the Greenland shark sneaks up on its prey while they're asleep or (in the case of carrion) dead.  My personal opinion is that from time to time a prey animal will hurl itself into the shark's jaws out of sheer pity.

There are virtually no recorded cases of Greenland sharks attacking humans largely because they live in the sort of waters that aren't conducive to swimming, or living.  Also if you're attacked by a Greenland shark a brisk dog paddle should be enough to effect your escape. 

Being slow, blind, rare etc. means that of course the Greenland shark is endangered.  The only surprise is that the species ever got going in the first place although to be fair it didn't get going very swiftly.  Another reason for their scarcity is that Icelanders like eating them.  Greenland shark flesh is actually toxic but unfortunately for the sharks they live next door to the Scandinavians who have a proud history of consuming inedible seafood.  Several months of fermentation are required before Greenland shark flesh is transformed from something disgusting and toxic into something that is merely disgusting.  As is usually the case when a people have been doing something disgusting and depraved for long enough it is now claimed to be part of Iceland's culture.  Apparently this is a good enough reason to keep doing it.  There are a few depraved and disgusting things I could probably culturally justify if it ever came to a court case.

So if you're ever in Arctic waters and you see something large, blind and slow vigorously gumming a polar bear to death you have encountered the fabled Greenland shark.  Say hello for me.

Travelling Pathetically - Unexpected Eel Edition

 After semi triumphantly completing a section of the Great North Walk the previous week I decided to build on that fungus ridden victory by going to the other extreme and doing a section of the "Great West Walk".  Being somewhat less blessed with hilly ground than Sydney's northern suburbs the western regions tend to have been built over to an extent that some would term maniacal.  Nevertheless a selection of parks, reserves and the occasional concrete lined creek have been somewhat tenuously linked together to form a walking trail. A fair amount of said walking trail is actually wandering through suburban streets where the most likely form of wildlife is out of control teenagers.  It does however cross the Western Sydney Parklands.  This is a large chunk of open land that has unaccountably not been built on yet.  Making a virtue of a coincidence the state government has turned the lot into "the Western Sydney Parklands" it is apparently one of the largest urban parks in the world. Excited reports on my trail app announced sightings of kangaroos so I knew straight away that I wasn't going to see those. My leech non-experience still burned in my brain.

The walk I selected took me from Blacktown railway station and after sixteen odd kilometres of suburban streets, random parks, shabby creeks and the vaunted Western Sydney Parklands finally spat me out at Rooty Hill station a little further up the line. I alighted at Blacktown, western Sydney's cultural mecca (no wait, that's the Rooty Hill RSL) and blundered around the station for fifteen minutes until my trail app graciously condescended to inform me that I was on the right track. The day was hot and I reached up to adjust my hat to discover that I had left it behind. My brain baked quietly in my skull as I set off.

Blacktown may not be a cultural Mecca but its doing its best to be a transport one

The first part of the walk was a tedious traipse down suburban streets interrupted when the "trail" crossed Blacktown showgrounds which has a fair bit of open space, the occasional tree and a wetland.  It isn't a natural wetland rather this is a stormwater filtration system which allows the otherwise grubby water to be used for such purposes as watering the showground. I don't know if these sort of environmental cleansing projects assist terribly much but they're certainly more appealing to walk across than a water treatment plant.  Plus I saw a dragonfly!

This is not a dragonfly, it is a pair of pointy headed pigeons (I may have clicked on the wrong photo)

 

Now this is a dragonfly

The pleasant haven provided by the showgrounds soon gave way to more suburban streets and busy main roads.  I choked on exhaust fumes and thought about trees as I plodded down the streets.  I was wearing hiking boots and carrying a backpack, other pedestrians looked at me as though I were mad.  Before I plunged back into semi-nature I encountered what must be one of the most dubiously named medical practices I've ever encountered.  The Lourdes Medical Centre.

The Lourdes Medical Centre

I love this as the name of a medical centre.  The marketing slogans write themselves; "Lourdes Medical Centre, if you survive it's a miracle" or possibly "Lourdes Medical Centre, place your faith in God, as opposed to our staff". The ensuing giggles (I am pathetically easy to amuse) kept me going through several kilometres of trudging along concrete footpaths veering occasionally into parks that resembled large lawns. 

I saw this from the street, my path didn't take me anywhere near it

The trail app had boasted of "remnant woodland" as a highlight of the walk.  As I trudged through a park I saw a tree.  I guess a tree counts as remnant woodland.

 

Remnant woodland

But the park had other attractions. A sudden commotion at ankle level brought my gaze down and I saw a pair of indian mynahs monstering a crane. The mynahs buggered off but the crane posed for a number of photos most of which weren't any good.

The best of some not terribly good crane photos

My mood was enhanced when I came across what could broadly be described as a creek. That is it was too wide to be a gutter and not deep enough to be a storm water channel. 

A creek, allegedly

 

A dragonfly hovering over the noxious waters

 

This was in fact Breakfast Creek, a watercourse that would be a largely absent companion for the next part of my walk.  The environmental report on Breakfast Creek makes rather depressing reading but still it was a waterway, trees lining its artificially enhanced banks.  My walk didn't take me near it, rather it paralleled the creek's course at sufficient distance to ensure none of the walkers would inadvertently drown. Eventually I got sick of this and plunged down a narrow side path that took me to the creek in all its scummy glory.

Breakfast Creek again. This is actually a rather flattering photo

I gazed at the murky waters. Then looked aside as more dragonflies disported themselves for my entertainment. A flicker of movement caught the corner of my eye and I turned just in time to see an eel sliding past a discarded shopping trolley. As I stared the eel broke the surface, writhing before sinking back into the water.  Sadly I had no time for a photo and the eel didn't reappear but my entire attitude towards Breakfast Creek was transformed.  I love me an eel and the presence of one in Breakfast Creek simply reinforces the sheer indestructibility of them as a species.  Incidentally the birds in the photo above made themselves scarce shortly afterwards.  The last time I saw the eel it was heading in their direction.

I spent a bit more time at the creek hoping the eel would return and failing to take photos of dragonflies.  Dragonflies are another one of my favourite bits of nature. I love the activity and the glittering colours.  The knowledge, recently gained, that they are murderously lethal predators only adds to their appeal.  Unfortunately they're not terribly easy to photograph.

Leaving aside Breakfast Creek I resumed my journey.  The plodding through suburbs was almost over as the park that Breakfast Creek infested led to the Western Sydney Parklands.  Well actually it led to Quakers Hill Parkway but that in turn led me to the parklands.  A neat sign announced my entry into this hallowed ground and straightaway things were different.  Open plains stretched before me with remnant woodland lurking at a discreet distance.  Even the human habitation took on a slight rural air with farming equipment and a horse that looked like it had been the subject of an unsuccessful mummification attempt.

A badly mummified horse

Stepping away from the suburbs I plunged into a reasonable approximation of nature. 

See, nature

There was a jauntiness to my exhausted stumble as I strolled through one of the biggest urban parks in the world.  There was plenty of open plain where kangaroos could frolic, none did so.  In the background the remnant woodland kept far enough away from the trail so that anybody walking with a chainsaw couldn't trip and accidentally cut down a tree.

Parkland, trees lurking at a safe distance

Another creek presented itself for my delectation, it didn't look much better than the previous one but was somewhat larger.  Going by my map I think this was Eastern Creek into which Breakfast Creek deposited its fetid waters a little further downstream.

Eastern Creek (I think)

 Incidentally can we have a word about our colonial forebears naming habits.  Breakfast Creek, Eastern Creek, they weren't exactly stretching the limits of their imagination were they?  At least I hope they weren't.

The sun beat down as I made my way through open parklands and the occasional motorway.  Wildflowers (at least I assume they were wild) grew among the grasses.  On the way I took a series of photos of bush with a tiny blue splodge in the middle of them.  These were a series of attempts to photograph the superb fairy wren a flighty little blue bird that behaves as though it has a severe amphetamine addiction.  I see them frequently on my walks and would love to get a photo but the most I've managed to achieve is random blue splodges.  

 

The best random blue splodge photo

I was heading towards the Nurragingy Reserve (now that's a name although knowing my luck it probably means "breakfast" in the local indigenous tongue).  Here the woodlands, creek and path had come together to provide a proper bush experience.  The locals had celebrated the fact by building a miniature railway, unfortunately it wasn't running the day I went. I also walked through the only natural wetland in the Blacktown region.  As is traditional boardwalks had been built so you didn't get your feet wet.  The other thing preventing your feet from getting wet was the absence of water.  I guess its been a dry Summer.

Dryland or at the very best dampland

 

Leaving behind the dryland I wandered out of the bush into a carpark.  The carpark was attached to an ornamental pond and a Chinese garden.  People thronged so I decided to leave but took a photo of some cute birds and an impressive duck before I did so.

A cute bird I think we can all agree

And that is quite an impressive duck

My journey wasn't over but the most interesting parts were.  Leaving the Chinese garden behind me I wandered on and wound up on a cycleway that paralleled the M7 motorway.  Once that was behind me I found myself in Rooty Hill and stumbled eagerly towards the train station and my ticket home.  I had walked the best part of seventeen kilometres and was definitely looking forward to a rest.  The train journey from Rooty Hill to Blacktown took all of four minutes.