Corpses and CanCon

 Well that time of year has come and gone once again. The time when I foist myself on those of my acquaintances too soft hearted to hurl me from a moving vehicle and journey to my nation's capital for three days trapped in an over enthusiastic aircraft hanger to play ASL while people in black t-shirts and elf ears mill frantically around me. I had booked a hotel in the very centre of Canberra. You can tell its the very centre because the buildings are slightly closer together.

I and like minded others* had gathered for CanCon which over the last few years has provided a stable backdrop while my psyche has been lacerated and any self confidence I might have possessed is systematically destroyed. It says more about me than I like to admit that I actually look forward to this. Does anybody want to buy a second hand gimp mask?

But first the journey. It is said that it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive. This is doubly true when you're traveling to Canberra. I met my companions at too early o'clock, leapt into the vehicle and defied all attempts to evict me. So we were off. Conversation was light, I kept dozing off so I was continually waking up to snippets of conversation like "I'm sure we could get away with it," and "we could just say he was dead when we found him." While I snoozed and my companions plotted the southern suburbs of Sydney slid past, most of them blessedly concealed by the motorway's privacy barrier and soon we were in the southern highlands.

The southern highlands are where people farm, culture viti and build very expensive homes approximately an hour's drive from their other expensive homes in the city. The only time I was there I almost died of the cold so I was quite pleased when the rugged hills gave way to flattish farming country. We stopped off at Goulburn for lunch and second hand book shopping. Goulburn is most famous for the super max prison which lurks on its outskirts like an abandoned relative. Fortunately we left before any of the wardens recognised me. 

We arrived in Canberra in time to do something. So we went to the War Memorial. Given our brief history as a nation Australia has been involved in a disturbing number of wars. Inside are galleries dedicated to the various campaigns in which my fellow countrymen gave their lives and outside are some very large and photogenic visual reminders. There's an ASLAV, a helicopter, an F-111 and sundry other large chunks of superannuated military hardware. Inside was the beloved L3 which I visit every time I come here.

Three days later we sneaked past the three headed dog that guards the entrance to Canberra and fled for home. The journey was fascinating although if you were a child quite possibly traumatic. We hadn't got far out of Canberra when something large and grey loomed up on the road. It was the corpse of a dead kangaroo that obviously hadn't looked both ways before attempting to cross the road. It looked big enough to do significant damage to whatever hit it. That was only the start. From then on the vast panoply of Australia's wildlife was laid out before me in roadkill form. I counted six kangaroos, three foxes, a couple of wallabies, what was either a possum or a small child in a fur coat and a number of other things which defied identification but were definitely biological in origin. 

One of my traveling companions noted that decent rain over the last couple of years in the region had lead to an explosion of animal life, thus explaining the carnage before us. Based on the evidence presented it looked more like the rain had led to an explosion of animal death. The only time I have seen more road kill was on a trip to Tasmania a night drive in which is like driving through an extended tray of pet food. We stopped for coffee and doughnuts midway through the slaughterhouse. The corpses tapered off as we closed on Sydney though. Sydney is a well run, organised city and the only acceptable dead things to have lying by the side of the road are e-bike riders and careless pedestrians.

For those of you who have suffered through the above to find out how I went in CanCon please see below. After two years without a victory I sacrificed an especially big goat (I found it by the side of the road) and turned up on the first day with a wholly unjustified sense of optimism. Names of opponents will be provided when remembered. Sometimes I was crying too hard to focus.

Day 1

First up was Takin' Eibertingen which pitted some Americans suffering from ammunition shortage attempting to push Germans (suffering from a lack of numbers and incompetent leadership) out of said village. My opponent Bruce Probst had the Americans and lined them all up in a gully spearheaded by a Sherman tank. My defenders had a single immobilised StuG. The comments of the crew of said StuG when they saw half the US army coming towards them have fortunately not been recorded. Figuring (accurately) I would only get one shot I bided my time and successfully took out a Sherman in defensive fire. Not to be outdone Bruce then took out the StuG in advancing fire at three hex range. Slowed rather than stopped the Americans surged towards the village. I clung on desperately aided by some decent dice but finally a part of my defence gave way and the Americans flooded through. I had a late moment of hope when my one surviving squad took out his other tank leaving Bruce trembling one point short of the American CVP cap but in the end the Americans had loads of firepower and only one target.

Second was Ghostbusters which pitted my Germans of the 7th Panzer against Adam Lunney's French equipped with gun mounted trucks (and some other stuff). The Germans have to cross ground and get a certain number of CVP into the victory area to the rear. Other German players went hard for one flank or another (which might be why they won) I sneered at such delicacy and threw the bulk of my force straight up the middle using tanks to freeze defenders and bludgeoning my way past. Flank protection is for losers. I got my vehicles into the victory location, enough to win the game. Unfortunately those flanks I had been ignoring snapped shut behind me and at the end of the game I had very few vehicles in the victory area. It turns out flank protection is for winners after all.

Day 2 

Despite the results I wasn't too downcast by the first day's failures. I had come quite close in both and I am a definite believer in near enough being good enough. Firstly I faced Luke Dibben in Start Fall Gelb. I had the Belgians (yes I did bid for them simply because I wanted to play with their dinky little tanks) and set up a defence to protect yet another village from the ravening hordes. I had a few speed bump units up front, the world's most useless mortar nestled out of the way where the crew couldn't hurt themselves and set up to defend the village to the last. Coming my way were a horde of Germans backed by a pair of PzIIs. Luke spent the first turn sorting his troops out rather than plunging forward with reckless abandon and that was pretty much the difference. Once organised the Germans came on hard with the panzers spraying automatic fire over anything that looked even slightly threatening (and the Belgians only look slightly threatening). I traded corpses for time and my morale was boosted when Luke broke the MA on PzII and it fled for the rear just as my T-15s with their mighty 12.7mm arrived. Rather to my surprise one of these did blow up his remaining Mark II although the other succumbed to close combat. Luke made a desperate lunge towards the end resulting in most of both surviving OBs being tied up in close combat. However one of my squads still had eyes on the victory hex which was enough to give me the win. 

Second scenario of the day was To Have and to Hold which pitted a half dozen jeep mounted US half squads against a handful of distinctly sub par Germans. Backing up the jeeps are a trio of M8 armoured cars while the laughably pathetic on board German force is reinforced with a pair of StuGs and a bunch more squads. I have to apologise to my opponent (I think it was Tim Reade) for being the whiny, snivelling little bitch that I was. The truth was I didn't much like this scenario. The Americans came on, wiped out my on board defences at virtually no cost to themselves then took up positions where they could cheerfully slaughter my reinforcements. Others played it better and had a lot of fun but for two turns I did literally nothing while I watched him set up ambushes for my reinforcements. Casualties to the Americans, one broken half squad and one immobilised jeep.

Day 3 (pre roadkill)

Mindful that I had to leave Canberra that day I selected the smaller of the two scenarios on offer, Block at Anui which was partly designed by Dave Wilson my regular opponent. Well damn if he doesn't owe me a favour or two. This is a Korean War scenario with me taking the North Koreans attempting to push my opponent's Americans out of a pair of buildings to win the game. In addition to some eager soldiers I had a T34/85 tank and a pair of demo charges that could be used to make DC heroes. The Japanese occupation of Korea may have been brutal but it was obviously also a learning experience. I split my force in two sending one bunch ploughing through the forest to occupy American defenders while the tank and my elite troops sneaked along the board edge trying to go for the victory buildings. This all worked about as well as you might expect if you have been following any of my other AARs to date. In the first part of the game my opponents dice were hot and my forest rangers who were supposed to occupy the Americans could only follow lamely in their wake as they fled for the victory buildings. My elite troops and tank made it to the outskirts of the victory area and there they stopped for a good couple of turns, unable to go forward or back. Then the dice turned. And suddenly my plan was working. A DC hero strolled through a barrage of fire to blow up one group of defenders, the tank scored a critical hit on another and my foresters emerged from the trees with blood in their eyes (damn spiky branches). Sandwiched between two murderous and, more importantly, lucky fires my opponent watched his forces melt away until he gave the concession while there were still a few lives left to be saved. Incidentally I'm saying "my opponent" because to my shame I can't recall his name.He was a gentleman from Perth who was generous in sharing his mints and took the sudden reversal of fortune with a good nature that would be an example to me if I was capable of learning from such.

So two wins and three losses. Best CanCon result in years. I would have been unbearable in the car going home if I hadn't been busy counting roadkill. Many thanks to Andy Rogers who organises both tournament and dinner and who somehow manages to keep a smile on his face. Thanks also to Mark who gave me a lift and to Dave who didn't help Mark throw me from the car.

* "others" have urgently requested that I point out they are in no way like minded with me 

Travelling Pathetically - Olympic Park Again

After several weeks of inactivity which can only partially be ascribed to sheer laziness I decided to get out of the flat before my leg muscles atrophied completely. I decided on what I thought was a gentle walk around some of the parklands around the Sydney Olympic Park area. I had been there before tramping through or, more accurately, over mangroves and a bird sanctuary. Now I would fill in some of the gaps wandering through what was almost certainly inaccurately described as a forest and some wetlands.

I waited until the weather was uncomfortably hot and set out for the city. My journey would start at the Olympic Park ferry wharf which meant getting a ferry which in turn meant making my way to Barangaroo so that I could hop on a boat which would deposit me at said wharf. I intended to walk from the wharf along what the map assured me was a walking path along the Parramatta River. Once Silverwater Road blocked my path I would turn left ploughing through various suburbs until I encountered the second part of the walk, up along Haslam's Creek towards my starting point. Actually walking through Silverwater and Newington was also part of the walk but not a very pleasant or picturesque part of it so let us never mention it again.

I stepped off the ferry light of heart and sweaty of body (it was very hot) and immediately encountered my first problem. The path that the map assured me existed was a construction site. I trudged down the road peering at my phone looking for some pathway that might skirt this monument to industry and get me roughly to where I had hoped to be. Eventually I found it and plunged into the bush.

Well not really, the bush was on either side of the road, much of it fenced off as if there was a danger of it leaping out and attacking people. The road itself was a narrow little thing announcing itself as a path for walkers and bicyclists. I sometimes think that planners just assume that everything that isn't a car can cheerfully and safely occupy the same space. Fortunately bicyclists were few and far between although I did have to flatten myself against the fence as a car, in defiance of the signage, made its way through. Eventually I came to a sign proudly announcing the presence of all sorts of birds in the area along with helpful photos just in case one mugs you and you have to describe it to the police. Pride of place was given to a rather handsome little thing with red markings called the red browed finch. I walked on a dozen paces and suddenly there they were, chirping and fluttering. I stared in disbelief, never had a sign made good on its promise so quickly. I actually went back to the sign to confirm what I was looking at. Definitely red browed finches. I spent the next ten minutes trying and completely failing to take photos of the flighty little bastards and eventually slunk on shoulders sagging with defeat.

Somewhere in there is a red browed finch. Don't bother looking, I couldn't find it either

 

This narrow road did eventually deliver me to the river walk and I strolled along with the Parramatta River on one side and carefully fenced off nature on the other. This fencing gave me a foretaste of what was to come. Most of the bushland was fenced off as the authorities were trying to encourage it to get a little more enthusiastic about its job. In the meantime human footprints were deemed an inconvenience. Still the walk was pleasant, the path was another of those pedestrian/cycle paths which seem designed in the hopes that these two inconvenient groups of people will kill each other if forced into close proximity. Dotted along the sides were seats and benches carefully located as far from any shade as possible presumably in the hopes that any survivors of the preceding carnage would die of sunstroke when they stopped for a rest.

 

Walking along the river. On the left you can just see the fence protecting the bushland from rampaging pedestrians

Have I mentioned how hot it was? It was very hot. The fact that I was walking on asphalt didn't help matters. Still the river glistened, wading birds (mainly ibis) waded and on my left the fence finally turned left leaving the remaining trees exposed to the wilful hands of passing humanity. Fortunately there wasn't much passing humanity although in a very technical sense I qualify.

The path culminated is a series of parks including another fenced off hill. The fencing this time was for the excellent reason that this was where they had dumped the toxic soil from the sites previous incarnation as an oil cracking plant. An attached sign told anyone who cared that bacteria were in the process of breaking down the filthy soil in a completely harmless and ecologically friendly way but until they were finished it was probably wiser not to touch.

Having come to the end of my stroll along the river I headed inland through the charming suburbs of Silverwater and Newington. Not for the first time I was amazed at the difference in temperature provided by a few trees and some grass. Through the concrete and tarmac suburbs the heat was insanely oppressive and by the time I stumbled into the second part of my advertised walk I was an exhausted, panting mess. Now however there was a creek, there was a path through something roughly approximating bushland (never mind the homes a few metres away, pretend they're not there) and I could actually reach out and touch the trees.

Haslam's Creek is one of those waterways that we decided to straighten and line with brick, possibly because we thought it looked neater on a map. Several decades later having learnt that curvy unbricked creeks are more helpful to the local environment we unstraightened and debricked at least parts of it. Now it curves and oozes and the remaining bricks give something for waterbirds to sit on. And waterbirds there were. In fact one small park along the creek had been so overrun with ibis that I don't recommend leaving small children there unattended. I took a quick photo and hurried on, avoiding eye contact. 

I've never really felt threatened by ibis before but I didn't linger here

I was getting into the swing of this walking thing now that I had trees around me and a creek in proximity. Somewhat less aggressive birds disported themselves on the creek's rather murky waters and I paused to make a atttempt at taking a photo of a dragonfly. Failing in that I took a photo of the creek instead which had the advantage that it was sufficiently large that I couldn't miss it.

How terribly quaint and idyllic

The journey through the suburbs had taken its toll and I was struggling somewhat despite the rather scanty number of kilometres under my belt. I sank down to rest on a bench that had inexplicably been placed in a shady spot with a good view of the creek. I kicked back for fifteen minutes or so while fish hurled themselves out of the water for my amusement. At least the fish hurled themselves out of the water and I was amused. I take no shame in implying causation between those two events.

Eventually I dragged myself onwards, took a wrong turn, crossed a road and found myself looking across the water at Qudos Arena. Deciding this was a sign I caught an uber home. 

Silly After Action Report - Fighting Back

 Colonel Tadeusz Wlydyrczk looked around him with satisfaction. Everywhere grim faced soldiers were preparing for the attack. The Germans weren't going to know what hit them although if forced to guess most of them would probably say "A bunch of pissed off Poles." Even the green troops made up of cadets, reservists and the scrapings of the Salvation Army's stockade seemed in good shape. Small metallic beetles lurched around their antics giving a valuable moment of light heartedness to troops readying themselves for combat. The colonel's eye fell on a group of heavily laden soldiers guided by his most expendable officer. "Get the mortars and radio into the woods," he ordered, "we'll need them later." The officer, already suspecting his fate, looked up at the colonel with despair. "Is this really necessary?" "Absolutely," lied the colonel, "couldn't do it without you." With a heavy sigh the officer trudged off resigned to ending his days as a mere 7-0.

This is ASL Scenario 86 - Fighting Back. Here I command a teeming mass of Poles determined to prove that blitzkrieg isn't all it cracked up to be as they launch a counterattack against Dave's over extended Germans. My forces enter at the top of the board and have to capture four buildings inconveniently located at the bottom. In between are fields, forests and of course, the Germans. It has to be said the Poles haven't left anything in the bank for this one. I have no fewer than twenty squads; four elite, eight first line and eight green. These are urged into action by four officers including a 9-1. Between them they lug a pair of medium machine guns, a pair of 46mm mortars and a radio connecting them a battery of 80mm artillery. Rattling tinnily on in support are six of the tiniest, most useless AFVs you will ever encounter. Five TKS tankettes (basically a metal plated shoebox with a machine gun) and a TKS(L) (same shoebox with the machine gun replaced by a 20mm ATR). Lest you think this burgeoning force insufficient on turn 4 six more first line squads appear on a flank with another MMG guided by an 8-1 leader and accompanied by two more TKS(L)s and a pair of machine gun armed trucks (possibly the Poles had Somali military advisors). The tanks also had an 8-1 armour leader for some reason.

That it has to be said is quite the force. What on earth could stand against it? Cue doom filled melodramatic music. Dave's Germans nestled in stolen Polish buildings awaiting the onslaught. Making a stand for tyranny and injustice are twelve first line German squads and three officers including their own 9-1. They have a heavy machine gun, four light machine guns, a pair of 50mm mortars (four whole millimetres bigger than my own) and two antitank rifles. A pair of 37mm guns provide anti armour support relishing this rare moment of relevance and ten concealment counters help to misdirect my attention.

 

The above is our at start set up. I have planned to bring the bulk of my force in on the centre left where it can take advantage of a forest covered approach. Green troops will then take the lead plunging forwards catching bullets meant for better men while the rest of my force sorts itself out and dials in the artillery. On the other side a lesser force will drive down looking to push Dave's forward troops out of their advanced positions and hook up with my reinforcements to threaten his flank. Some of this plan worked. A lot of it (specifically the artillery and mortar components) didn't.

The first couple of turns were easy. Dave couldn't really see anything and my troops panted forwards eager to come to grips with the enemy. My guys moved forwards, green troops in the van while the mortar toting squads guided by a 7-0 leader carrying the radio pushed into some woods where they could see at least the beginnings of Dave's defences. Anyone who has read any of my AARs knows what's coming next. Dave revealed a 50mm mortar and went on a rate tear which only ended when my 7-0 was wounded and broken and my two squads reduced to a broken halfsquad. There would be no artillery or mortars on the Polish side this day.

So much for the mortars and artillery

I had moved a couple of tanks forward to support the attack I had intended to make with artillery and mortar support. They suddenly found themselves unsupported and one of them chose this moment to break its main (and only) armament. Things were going well. I must admit I was somewhat at a loss as to what to do with my tanks, it is virtually impossible for them to harm the infantry sitting inside stone buildings. Eventually I worked out that they were there for VBM but since I had no infantry within useful distance the tanks just sat there looking impotent. On the plus side on the far right my green troops pushed forward ignoring the disaster that had overcome my artillery support. 

This is how it went for the next couple of turns. Flanks pushing forward while in the centre I tried to scrape together a force that would penetrate his defences. In truth I hadn't really reached his defences yet. I had bumped into his outpost line, a single squad, lmg and mortar team which had proved sufficient to stop my main thrust in its tracks. As I bumbled around trying to patch together an attack from troops who now seemed to be hopelessly out of position or broken (those were the ones that were in position) both sets of flankers pushed forward. I'd like to say I levered Dave out of his defences but actually he was trading space for time with my boys following in his wake.

Flankers are pushing forward. The centre is asking for directions. Ignore the spotting round, my 7-0 is weeping in a pool of his own blood

Dave for his part was happy to concede me a little territory in return for keeping his line and his concealment intact. The exception was on the left where I had overwhelmed the combination of dummy stacks and throwaway troops he had left to contest the forward buildings. I had hopes of a serious flank attack when my reinforcements came on. 

My reinforcements came on and despairing of my centre I decided this is where victory lay. I pushed forward vigorously helped by the complete absence of opposition. Helpful civilians ratted out the position of an antitank gun in one of the victory buildings. Meanwhile in the centre a tank had succumbed to machine gun fire. Dave finally dropped the mask on the far right and defensive fire wounded an officer and pinned most of my green troops in place. To do so he revealed another squad and a half. So far Dave had committed the equivalent of three squads to the fight and it had been more than enough.

OK the centre right looks like a lost cause but look at my reinforcements go

I was torn between giddy excitement on the left and weeping frustration in the centre and right. One hopeful sign was that a number of green squads that had been perfectly entitled to break had merely pinned. Perhaps I could scrape them back together and proceed. As to my main force? Well those guys were still dicking about trying to deal with his outpost troops.

We were now five turns deep in a ten turn game and I didn't seem to have got very far but wait gentle reader for I was finally ready. On the far right my green troops sorted themselves out and pushed gently forward. In the centre I finally managed to make inroads into dealing with his outpost position by the simple process of committing more troops than he had bullets. And on the left, oh gentle reader on the left my reinforcements surged forward troops and gun trucks roaring around like a period version of Mad Max. Little tanks VBM'ed his defenders and I pushed into my first victory building while other troops scuttled around to the rear.

Took long enough

Finally things were coming together. I was pressing Dave's defences from three sides. My it would have been nice to have some smoke to shroud my approach but I have long since learnt that artillery is something that happens to other people. It only remained to be seen if I had left myself enough time to sweep Dave out of his positions (if you're getting bored with this the answer is "no"). 

I had the bit between my teeth now. My reinforcements surged forward capturing one victory building and challenging for two others. My main force tried to make up for their earlier reticence by flooding a now safe street with troops as various toy town tanks VBM sleazed and hoped to survive the subsequent close combats. On the right my green troops did as much as might be expected of them and at least kept Dave's attention. Dave dragged his 37mm out into the street and started sending armour piercing rounds towards one of my gun trucks. I did make one idiotic mistake. I sent a gun truck looping around the bottom hoping to press his final building but I had forgotten the damn thing couldn't make it over the wall. Before I withdrew it it did manage to kill his gun crew. It didn't matter too much as Dave simply revealed his second mortar team and started dropping rounds on my other gun truck. Fortunately without success.

If you don't look at the turn counter I seem to be doing well

 

Unfortunately Dave's second antitank gun was nestled in the building directly behind the gun I had just bereaved of a crew. It smashed up another of my little tanks but at least the mask had been dropped. Far to the rear my wounded 7-0 leader self rallied and clutched at the radio he could no longer carry. Dave and I giggled politely at the thought of him making any contribution to the action. Then Dave's sniper went off and my wounded 7-0 nobly stepped forward taking the bullet meant for more useful men. It was his first contribution to the game and his last. Meanwhile down where the real action was taking place...

His atg had managed to take out one of my gun trucks but despite this loss my reinforcements pressed forward through two more victory buildings driving Dave's hapless troops before them (that's my story and I'm sticking to it). Sadly my gallant green troops on the right had pretty much reached the end of their elastic. Firepower from a single squad sent them fleeing (although not very far). This wouldn't have been a problem except my main force had once again got itself caught up and delayed by vastly inferior forces. A close combat with a single squad raging for several turns. Despite this I had too many troops to be completely delayed and I oozed forward. Dave's defence now consisted on the sole remaining victory building which he had packed with troops (or at least concealment counters) sending them up to upper levels and challenging me to dig him out as the clocked ticked down.

I couldn't do it. I took three buildings, I got a foothold in the fourth. Dave had his back against the wall with nowhere to go. One more turn would have won it for me but there wasn't another turn.  

The end

So defeat at the last. In retrospect I was too cautious early. I allowed minor troops to hold up the bulk of my attack while I got all of my ducks in a row. I should have attacked early and disregarded casualties (forget the artillery, that shit never works for me). At the end what I need wasn't troops but time. As it was this was a thoroughly enjoyable game. The Poles have the tools to do the job I think, they just need a slightly more competent commander. Dave played an excellent defence pulling back just before being overwhelmed and delaying me again.

Colonel Wlydyrczk looked around at his dispirited troops. They had done well but not quite well enough. He was about to give a few words of support and encouragement when he saw the survivors of a mortar team hunched over a board. "Are you plotting firetables?" he asked. "No," replied one of the soldiers, "we're playing scrabble. Do you know how much your name is worth?" 

Cricket Anyone?

 It's that time of year of course. The days are long, the shadows longer, insects hum among the bushes, the sun burns brightly overhead and some poor bastard in a red suit and fake beard is gritting his teeth in what he thinks is a grin as small children torment his last moments before collapsing from heat exhaustion. Yes, it's Summer in Australia. 

And then there's the cricket. I can't emphasise how important the cricket is to me right now. The chirruping little bastard won't let me get any sleep. Having finally managed to evict the pigeons from my apartment (to be fair they just got bored with tormenting me and left of their own accord) I thought I was due a wildlife free week or two. But nooo. Lying in bed the other night I was ready for sleep. I had locked the front door, wept silently in the bathroom for an hour, removed my make up, removed my other make up and sprawled on my bed ready for the little death to come upon me when an unearthly noise jerked me from my incipient slumber. 

I lay there for an hour or two as what appeared to be every insect in creation held a metal concert in my bedroom. Finally I took action. With a hysterical sob I hurled a pillow in the general direction of the noise. Not only did that not help but I then had to get up and fetch my pillow. With a deep sigh I turned on the lamp. The noise stopped. I turned the lamp off, the noise started again. The cricket and I went through this cycle for so long it's a good thing neither of us was epileptic. 

Eventually I accepted I was going to have to do more than just turn a lamp on and off. Turning the lamp on one final time I lurched out of bed and conducted a forensic search of my bedroom. I didn't expect it to take too long. From the noise I expected a six foot long insect with a drum kit. Finally after hours of frantic searching I encountered something tiny crouching on a piece of furniture. I stared, was this tiny shred of existence what I had been searching for? Apparently yes. I had geared myself up for insect slaughter, wreaking a bloody revenge for my lost sleep but I couldn't remain angry at the tiny, cute little insect now staring up at me. Gently I scooped it up, took it out onto the balcony and released it into the wild. By "released it into the wild" I mean I flapped my hand about frantically until air pressure finally dislodged its apparent death grip on my finger.

Pleased with my non-lethal resolution of the problem I went back to my bedroom, turned off my alarm and got ready for work. The next night the little bastard was back. This time he didn't even wait until I was in bed. It was early in the evening and I was engaged in rocking in a foetal position on my couch when the noise started. The light was on, the television was blaring and over it all came the smug metallic grating of a cricket who had worked out that I was too soft hearted to stomp it into mush and was prepared to take full advantage. Once again I escorted the cricket as far as the balcony where he vanished into the night. He didn't come back, instead I lay awake all night waiting for him. Every slight noise had me alert and trembling but the chirrup didn't come. By the time dawn came around I was exhausted, sleepless and slightly hurt. Wasn't my apartment good enough anymore? I prowled around pretending I wasn't looking for him but the cricket didn't show. Finally I went to work with a deep, unresolved sense of loss.

It occurs to me that I must be the only person who has Stockholm Syndrome delivered to him.

Travelling Pathetically - Greenway Edition

 It's finally here! After months, nay years, of local government newsletters giving gushing updates on its progress the Greenway is finally among us. "Please Neil, tell us more," I hear you beg. That is true but it's only fair to point out that I hear a lot of things, in fact the voices in my head rarely shut up.

So what is the Greenway? Well, largely by coincidence the existence of a goods rail line (now repurposed for light rail) the Hawthorn Canal and various other bits of defunct industrial infrastructure had left my local council with a few shreds of undeveloped land too small to build a housing estate on (and already I can hear a property developer saying "hold my beer"). It was decided to develop these into a walking and bike path that would lead from the Cooks River all the way to Iron Cove threading through these tiny bits of wilderness and urban decay. Along the way it would link up with various parks and reserves which represented previous attempts to make a parkland virtue out of a dingy necessity. Now it's ready, six glistening kilometres of shared path that would enable people to travel from river to river without the need to get into a car. As long as you lived within walking distance of the Greenway of course.

The grand opening of the Greenway took place this Sunday and the general public were invited to come and traverse its length. Despite this warning I decided to do so anyway. I would do the thing properly, I would trot down to the Cooks River which oozed noisomely in its bed not too far from the shabby flat I call home. I would cross said river and set foot upon the Greenway and not stop until I had arrived at Iron Cove.

Of course it didn't quite work out like that.  I got to the Cooks River easily enough (it was a little too big to miss) and crossed on a faux rusted bridge. Seriously they built the bridge out of some material that looks like rusted iron so it would appear rustic or possibly unsafe. It has the advantage that when the bridge does rust no one will know until somebody tumbles into the water.

Looks as rustic as hell doesn't it. The non stick surface dates to medieval times

Across this future relic I padded appearing in a park. From here the Greenway would commence its journey towards the Parramatta River. I assume. I say that because I didn't actually find the start. I came out a little far and blundered around suburban streets until I wound up in rough proximity to the Dulwich Hill light rail station. This was useful as you could get onto the Greenway here. Get onto the Greenway I did as did half the population of the Inner West. People, dogs and bicyclists (I suppose technically they're people too) jostled together in a human (and bicyclist) tide. It's the only time I've been on a walking path where I found it necessary to check my blind spot before overtaking a slower walker.  The sun was beating down on us and the glare from the bright white path was almost blinding. Fortunately pedestrian sanity prevailed and before long the path changed to something grey and non reflective. 

 

A rather dazzling path. This is the only time I saw it with so few people

Shielding my eyes against the brilliant footpath I stumbled forward. We were paralleling the light rail line and I knew that at Dulwich Grove station the cutting the line ran through left absolutely no room for a footpath. I was keen to see how the Greenway would solve this problem. So basically it just climbed and I had to cross the road. This is the thing of course. It can't be a completely connected course, roads and buildings have been placed in inconvenient locations. A couple of the bits of the Greenway are simply suburban streets (although they do have trees) but they've done their best and for the most part one can walk along without encountering anything as offensive as a car.

Now that's a slightly less visually painful surface

 At random intervals along the way there were artworks adorning (if that's the right word) the path. I glanced at these as I went along. My opinion was varied but I could fully accept that the council might feel it was a good idea to keep the people who made them off the streets even if that meant buying what they produced afterwards.

Past Dulwich Grove we hit Arlington and Johnson Park. Seizing on the existence of a piece of pre-existing parkland this was where the opening ceremony had taken place most of which fortunately I had missed. Nevertheless there was a human throng thronging vigorously and I had to squeeze my way past while children frolicked and even bicyclists were forced to dismount immediately looking clumsy and ridiculous as they wheeled their steeds through the horde. Somebody had got hold of a microphone. It is axiomatic that the person who winds up with the microphone is the sort of person who shouldn't be allowed near a microphone. It's the political equivalent of karaoke. This person was giving a speech where she extolled the fact that people could now move about without having to use a road. Excuse me? The Greenway is an artificially created path so that humans can get from one place to another. What exactly does she think a road is?

Leaving behind the definitionally confused I continued along the Greenway. Despite its occasional intersecting with more vehicle specific roads they have actually done a good job of burrowing underneath them where space permitted. The tunnels providing another opportunity for local artists to justify their welfare cheques and, according to certain promotional literature, providing a haven for microbats. I didn't see any microbats but it was broad daylight and frankly every living thing had probably fled for the hills at the approach of the seas of humanity (and bicyclists).

Not a microbat in sight but I presume they're very small

The path passed by Waratah Mills which used to be a flour mill and is now apartments. Then onto Lewisham West where there's another park as well as a storm water channel which is the less than impressive start of the Hawthorn Canal. Brightly coloured splashes of graffiti (or possibly another artwork) relieved the grey concrete and probably made it a little more difficult for the channel to be torpedoed by U-boats.

Lewisham West, which also gives you an idea of exactly how close habitation is to the path most of the time

As I put Lewisham West behind me I started to head towards an area where trees could be considered something more than an ambitious nature strip. This was Gadigal Reserve where undeveloped land had delusions of nature. Trees crowded and the canal got a little more serious about its job as well.

Look Ma, trees!

 The trees provided welcome shade from the day which was rather warm and the canal, well it was there. In defiance of probability a couple of waterbirds were picking their way through the shallows probably wondering if anything they caught would be safe to eat.

OK I can probably accept that there might be a microbat or two lurking in this one

There's probably a fair bit more I could tell you but at this point I ran into a music therapist who was disposed to be friendly and spent the rest of the walk chatting to her and not really paying too much attention to my surroundings.  I did stop before I fell into the Parramatta River though. 

 

 

Transformation

 Do you remember those old werewolf movies. A standard shot of the full moon and somebody who's previous claim to fame was stilted acting covered their face in their hands. The camera would pull away to a neutral setting while the afflicted actor made a noise like someone having an asthma attack under water. When the camera returned the actor now adorned with fake fangs and what looked like a fuzzy bathmat strapped to their chest would give a gargling howl (the plastic fangs really impede the vocal range) while the villagers would flee in panic instead of collapsing in hysterical laughter. Eventually of course it would all work out. Some dashing hero would fill his afflicted colleague full of silver bullets while the female lead spilled out of her night dress and looked anxious. Collectively the above is referred to as "the golden age of cinema". I don't know about cinema but it must have been a pretty good time for the makers of bathmats. Jekyll & Hyde is another example and the plot is disturbingly similar. The moon scene is replaced with a beaker full of a foaming liquid but otherwise everything is pretty much the same. 

I mention the above simply to point out that transformation is a part of the human existence (and to pad out what would otherwise be a rather short blog entry). The change of one thing to another has been brought rather harshly to my attention by my local cafe. This establishment is all clean, sharp lines, sterile black and white with a sense of openness about it that doesn't interest me in the least as long as they serve coffee. A few weeks ago I entered to satisfy the desperate urge for caffeine which had been building since my last coffee ten minutes earlier. The attractive Asian lady behind the counter announced that the cafe would be closing for a few weeks. I choked on my coffee. I begged, I pleaded, I accused her of abandoning me in my time of need. She was unmoved finally I was moved to ask why they were closing.

"We're transforming the place into a Mexican restaurant."

"Will you still serve coffee?"

"Yes."

"Ok then, I don't care."

But I was wrong, I did care. My stock of coffee at home was dwindling and suddenly my regular supplier had turned its face away from the camera and was undergoing a transformation at least as ridiculous as any fifties werewolf movie. After three desperate wretched weeks (well they were for me) the establishment turned back to the camera revealing itself in all its newly Mexican glory. The chairs had been painted orange and a couple of supposedly Mexican theme murals adorned the tiles on the walls. That was pretty much it. It was the sort of Mexican theming you get if its done by someone who has never been to Mexico. At least there weren't sombreros hanging from the walls, there wasn't even a fuzzy bathmat in sight.

I walked in and was immediately struck by how underwhelming it all was. I presume the menu had changed but I didn't bother to look. I'm thinking sour cream and jalapenos are going to feature prominently. 

"What do you think?" I was asked brightly, a question I struggled to answer as I was having difficulty thinking of anything to say at all. It wasn't quite stereotypical enough to be offensive and not authentically Mexican (or anything else really) to strike one as a little slice of Mesoamerica made real. Finally I did manage to ask one question.

"Can I have coffee?"

The answer, praise God, was "yes". Which was fortunate because I had been living on instant coffee for three weeks which had seen my own transformation not into a slathering fury driven monster but a tear soaked hamster curled in a foetal position on my bathroom floor. To be fair I spend a lot of time in this position anyway but now I had a reason. I wish the newly christened Casa Loco all the best and hope they serve the finest faux Mexican food in the southern hemisphere. But if they tell me they're going to transform it again I will be digging out some silver bullets. Three weeks on instant coffee is a terror undreamed of by any horror writer and one I don't intend to suffer again.

Silly After Action Report - Volunteers Became Scarce

 Major Kim Oh Noh peered through the light woods in front of him, his eyes seeking the enemy positions. Beside him Commissar Kim Poh Sibul read an inspiring tract from Lenin to the troops. It was a mark of their enthusiasm that very few nodded off. The major beckoned a corporal to him. "Corporal, ah..." "Kim Boh Tye," said the corporal helpfully. "Take a few men with the heavy machine gun and set up a firing position." The corporal nodded and turned to the men, "Kim, Kim and Kim, follow me," he called. The major sighed, "Is there anybody here who isn't called Kim?" he asked. A hand shot up from among the ranks. "What's your name?" asked the major. "Deborah," replied the soldier. "I'll call you Kim."

So this is my first full foray into the Korean War. My nemesis Dave has been eager to play some KW stuff for a while but buggering around with infantry platoon movement irritated me so much that I only agreed to play another scenario as long as that wasn't a thing. Cue this scenario from Rally Point which pits Koreans North and South against each other in the dark early days of the war. At least they were dark early days if you were on the southern side. It was pretty good for the northerners. Here my North Koreans supported by some garage sale T34/85 tanks will attempt to dispossess some South Koreans of a group of buildings (definitely not huts). As if to punish me for my aversion to IPM (which sounds like a beer) the North Koreans are saddled with the early war doctrine which hampered their Soviet role models. I suppose it was too much to hope that the North Koreans would emulate 1945 Soviets rather than 1939 Soviets. The North Korean commissars aren't as effective as their Russian counterparts but they are just as unforgiving towards those recalcitrants who fail to rally.

To win my North Koreans have to capture eight buildings (not huts) from their South Korean defenders. It has to be admitted that I have been given the tools to do the job. I have ten elite squads (three 628s and seven 458s) plus four squads of first liners making up the numbers. Three leaders including a 9-1 and a 10-0 commissar urge them forward. They have three lmgs, two atrs and a hmg in support. Rolling on to help my troops forward are six T34/85 tanks from the 105th armoured brigade. Three enter on the first turn and three on the third. Facing me are Dave's hapless South Koreans. He has twelve first line squads (an equal mix of 557s and 447s) a pair of crews, three officers including a doughty 9-2, a mmg, two lmgs, a BAZ45, a DC and a 57L antitank gun plus six concealment counters. But wait, that's not all. He gets a -1 to Human Bullet creation die rolls which means I can anticipate a stream of death crazed maniacs hurling themselves at my clanking metal beasts apparently under the impression they can tear the tracks off with their teeth.

 Below is my set up. Elite North Korean troops can deploy (suck on that Russians) and I dutifully deployed a squad of my 458s to take advantage of the fact. The bulk of my force was heading through the (light) woods on board 62 heading for the buildings (and Dave's main defences) in the corner. A handful of squads and my most expendable leader were allocated to cleaning up the board 48 buildings. I did assign two of my turn 1 tanks to help them. By SSR huts exist on board 48 reducing the number of victory locations on that board to four.

At start

Dave had allocated similar token forces to board 48 as myself. Board 62 was where the real battle would take place. But board 48 would have its day in the sun as my throwaway troops and a pair of T34/85s barrelled down on a collection of concealment counters lurking in huts and buildings. Down on board 62 I eased forward lugging a monstrously heavy hmg (for some reason I didn't think of dismantling it) probing for his defences. Of course it wasn't quite that simple. At the bottom of board 62 my mighty 628s ran into a spattering of long range fire and that was enough for one squad to flee squealing for the dubious protection of the woods behind.

 

End of Korean turn 1 (both sides are Korean but I don't intend to make it easy for you)

The inevitable crumbling of my eight morale troops to inconsequential fire not withstanding I was pleased with my first turn. As Dave struggled to turn the tide board 48 exploded as human bullets charged my tanks, can openers clutched in their eager hands. Just for once I had troops supporting my armour but at least one human bullet charged through a cloud of metal to hurl themselves (note non gender specific pronoun) futilely against the clanking metal beast that menaced their positions. Incidentally my pronouns are clanking metal beast/dicebot bitch. Despite several nervous moments Dave's human bullets bounced off my armour without effect. Down on board 62 while 48 hogged the spotlight I had captured a halfsquad and oozed lava like closer to my goal.

Also the end of Korean turn 1 My tank crew is currently engaged in hosing human bullet off the chassis

 The battle on board 48 raged on but South Korean hopes were clearly fading and media attention turned to board 62 where the looming presence of a North Korean horde had forced Dave to shuck some concealment counters as he rearranged the deck chairs on his personal Titanic in what would no doubt be a futile attempt to slow my raging warriors. One tiny tickle of concern for me was the non-appearance of his atg. It must be hiding somewhere. I dealt with this in my usual way, I forgot all about it.

 

So now I just have to cross a shallow bowl, drive out or kill his defenders and capture the buildings. Easy, no?

Turn three arrived and so did three more T34/85 tanks. I had so many tanks I wasn't sure what to do with all of them (to be fair I have the same problem if I only have one tank). As they buffed their nails and waited for the second half of their armoured support my troops on board 62 incremented forward plunging into close combat when Dave was silly enough to stand and fight. I was already seeing a slight problem. Time was starting to run out and the geography was awkward. Oh yes and there were a bunch of untouched South Koreans ready to greet me with fire and steel or at the very least smoke and plastic.

Board 48 lies near forgotten as the real battle starts

By now, gentle reader you must be thinking "But Neil, things are going so well, how are you going to fuck this up?" Patience children, all will soon be revealed. Just let me revel in my premature triumphalism for another turn or so. Rather to my astonishment close combat was decided in my favour. My troops were weaving through the woods heading towards the buildings which were Dave's "must defend" terrain. Up on board 48 Dave's last troops had gone down but nobody cared. With my reinforcements now up at the front I had six tanks and a plethora of troops. It was true that the South Korean squad in the forward building had shown an irritating failure to break under fire but I had the men and the machines. What I was a little short of was time.

This is the last picture. I was crying too hard to take any more

After such a build up the crash came hard and fast. I found his atg when a tank parked next to it and I was promptly reduced to five T34/85s but this was a pinprick. The victorious board 48 troops scurried down the road to menace Dave from another flank as my troops on board 62 wormed and squirmed their way through the woods ready to lunge for the last buildings. I finally broke the South Korean squad in the forward building but an ill advised follow on shot sent the bastards berserk. That was tedious but not a problem, one way or another he would be leaving the building. I shoved a tank into bypass and built up enough troops to slaughter the hapless inhabitants.

But now I had a problem. My troops from board 48 were menacing him from the top and a building was within reach. That meant I had to take two more. With only two turns left this meant I had to occupy the hex circled in red above as a jump off point. Said hex was covered by a South Korean squad. I drew fire as much as I could but I still had to risk a 2FP shot if I wanted the hex. A 628 squad led by my 10-0 commissar entered boldly. Dave rolled a four. My commissar pinned and the squad broke. I raved and wept but I had no choice, I needed the hex. One by one I pushed another pair of elite squads into the 1FP residual. Each time Dave rolled a four. Each time my eight morale troops couldn't handle a normal morale check.

I'm not sure what happened next but when I woke up in the psych ward the attending doctor told me I had conceded the game. I had plenty of troops left but they weren't close enough to menace the buildings without taking lunatic risks and my troops had proved incapable of surviving quite reasonable risks. Despite the soul shattering way it ended both Dave and I thoroughly enjoyed this game. Congratulations to Dave who delayed me long enough to force me to take the risk and a thousand curses on the dicebot that chose this moment to sodomise me without mercy.

Major Kim Oh Noh crouched further down wishing the trees were a little more thick on the ground. The attack had collapsed at the last minute when the commissar came under fire and had a nervous breakdown. A rustle disturbed the undergrowth and the major froze. 

"Kim?" he asked, it seemed a safe bet.

"Actually it's Deborah," came the response, "but I'm thinking of changing it to Kim."