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."