Happy birthday to Theodosius I, Roman emperor. Theodosius was known as "the Great". There are various reasons for bestowing such an epithet but the most common is conquering a lot of shit. Theo I did indeed conquer quite a lot. Mostly what he conquered was bits of the Roman empire. It has to be stated that the empire was in a bit of a mess when he took the throne. The empire was divided for administrative regions into two halves each with its own emperor. The two rulers were supposed to cooperate but spent most of their time arguing with each other. In addition the eastern empire (the bit Theodosius took over) had come down with a bad case of Goths.
The Goths had requested asylum in the empire due to the activities of the Huns on their borders but once there the imperial administrators ripped them off so thoroughly that they rose in revolt. The emperor of the east, one Valens by name mustered a large army and marched against them. The army was slaughtered and Valens himself was killed. The western emperor, Gratian, invited Theodosius to take over what was left of the eastern army and as such he became de facto emperor. The next couple of years were awkward ones with Theodosius attempting to fight the Goths without having much of an army (Gratian gave up and went home). Finally he managed to come to an arrangement whereby the Goths would serve in his army (considering the casualties the Roman army had taken by this point a better term would be; to serve as his army) in return for which the Goths could do pretty much what they liked.
With peace theoretically established Theodosius settled down to rule those bits of his empire not overrun by Goths. Over in the west Gratian had been killed and Theodosius backed his replacement against a series of usurpers. Now the Goths came into their own and in a bunch of civil wars Theodosius was victorious while simultaneously reducing his Gothic problem by making sure they were always in the front line of his battles. After the death of the emperor in the west (officially he committed suicide according to his highly ambitious military commander) Theodosius crushed a couple more usurpers and settled down to rule the whole empire. He was the last emperor to rule the entire empire singlehandedly.
Possibly that last fact is why he was called "the Great". Certainly he was an improvement on his predecessor. Another reason is because of his strong backing of the Christian religion (and Christians were writing most of the histories by this stage). Unlike previous Christian emperors who had espoused their religion while quietly letting followers of other gods get on with their lives Theodosius was an intolerant suppressor of both paganism and heresy. The church loved him, popular opinion was divided.
Theodosius might have had cause to regret this after an unfortunate massacre in Thessalonica. His garrison there was mainly Goths and they treated the population rather badly. The people protested and in the course of the protest the Gothic commander was killed. On hearing this Theodosius lost his temper and demanded vengeance. The Goths (who were just waiting for the word) slaughtered several thousand people (messages from the emperor countermanding his original instructions were conveniently delayed). It was a public relations disaster. Shortly thereafter Theodosius toddled off to church in Milan which is where he was staying at the time. The bishop of Milan was a chap named Ambrose and he wasn't a guy to mess with. As the emperor approached Ambrose barred him from the church until he did appropriate penance for the deaths ordered in his name. Theodosius was effectively excommunicated and not until he appeared on his knees in sackcloth in front of the church begging God's forgiveness did Ambrose let him inside. It was the first time a churchman had invoked the authority of God as superior to that of the emperor and the first time an emperor acknowledged that he had a boss.
Another possible reason for Theodosius being called "the Great" is a comparison with his successors. He appointed his sons Arcadius and Honorius as emperors in the east and the west respectively to rule after he was gone. Both of them turned out to be worthless idiots. With those two as his successors and Valens as his predecessor all Theodosius really had to do to gain the epithet "the Great" was breath through his nose and tie his own sandals.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Monday, January 6, 2014
It's Probably Karma or Not
Many people believe in karma. There's nothing wrong with this, at some stage in their life many people have believed in the tooth fairy as well. Karma is actually one of the most brilliant of human creations. It is one of our most versatile psychological tools. It can make us feel better about our wretched and misery ridden lives. When everything has gone to hell it can be some comfort to think that better times are just around the corner even if you have to die first. This has the added advantage of giving people a reason to look forward to death which, let's face it, has got to be at least as helpful as the traditional whining and moaning with which it is usually greeted. Since death is going to happen anyway a somewhat relaxed attitude towards it is probably beneficial.
But the benefits of karma don't stop there. Possibly the most important thing karma does is give us a method of coming to terms with the success and good fortune of people we detest. This is vital because without it much of the population would explode with suppressed rage. For every shining moment such hated people have the remainder can console themselves with the knowledge that something truly horrible must be coming. Conversely those people themselves can look at their success and by extrapolating karma in the other direction convince themselves that they actually deserve it. Everybody's happy, or at least not killing each other in the streets, or at least not killing each other in the streets in greater than the usual quantities.
As theories go karma is great, everybody feels a bit better about themselves and assures themselves that judgement upon the unworthy will one day be dispensed by an even handed and all seeing universe (or God if you like). Of course there is the small matter of the fact that it is total bullshit but strangely that doesn't really matter very much. What karma or (insert similar religious/philosophic belief to your taste here) does for us doesn't actually depend on whether its true. It just depends on us believing it. In fact it doesn't even depend on that, it just depends on us pretending to believe it. We're not really deceiving ourselves, we're entering into a conspiracy with ourselves to promote a falsehood because we like it.
There is one of those desk calendar quotes which goes something along the lines of "If its stupid but it works then it isn't stupid". I would add a corollary to that, "If its wrong but it works then it isn't wrong". I realise that this will dissatisfy some, largely scientists (who want answers) and philosophers (who want questions) but for the bulk of humanity wrong but effective is more than good enough. Philosophers and scientists can make themselves happy by discovering the truth and everybody else will remain happy by ignoring them. This has worked well for us for millennia and continues to do so today. It can be claimed that the efforts of scientists and philosophers have added immeasurably to the well being of the human race and I would completely agree. However most of the human race would be equally happy with these achievements if you told them they were produced by sacrificing animals and dancing around an altar. I don't know how a television works and I don't care but if you told me that the programming quality could be improved by smearing fresh rabbit blood over the screen I'd be down at the pet store tomorrow.
Scientists claim it is important to know why things work and I would agree. However it is vastly more important that things work whether we know why or not. Knowing why something doesn't work is utterly useless unless in knowing that we are guiding to what will. If the option is between somebody saying "It is a scientific fact that we are all going to die" which is true and somebody else saying "believe in God and you can live forever" which is rubbish what one do you think is the more helpful? Neither will stop us dying but only one can make us feel a little happier while we do so.
Of course I'm one of those people who doesn't understand science and doesn't believe in karma. So what is left for me? Fortunately I've never really expected the universe to be fair.
But the benefits of karma don't stop there. Possibly the most important thing karma does is give us a method of coming to terms with the success and good fortune of people we detest. This is vital because without it much of the population would explode with suppressed rage. For every shining moment such hated people have the remainder can console themselves with the knowledge that something truly horrible must be coming. Conversely those people themselves can look at their success and by extrapolating karma in the other direction convince themselves that they actually deserve it. Everybody's happy, or at least not killing each other in the streets, or at least not killing each other in the streets in greater than the usual quantities.
As theories go karma is great, everybody feels a bit better about themselves and assures themselves that judgement upon the unworthy will one day be dispensed by an even handed and all seeing universe (or God if you like). Of course there is the small matter of the fact that it is total bullshit but strangely that doesn't really matter very much. What karma or (insert similar religious/philosophic belief to your taste here) does for us doesn't actually depend on whether its true. It just depends on us believing it. In fact it doesn't even depend on that, it just depends on us pretending to believe it. We're not really deceiving ourselves, we're entering into a conspiracy with ourselves to promote a falsehood because we like it.
There is one of those desk calendar quotes which goes something along the lines of "If its stupid but it works then it isn't stupid". I would add a corollary to that, "If its wrong but it works then it isn't wrong". I realise that this will dissatisfy some, largely scientists (who want answers) and philosophers (who want questions) but for the bulk of humanity wrong but effective is more than good enough. Philosophers and scientists can make themselves happy by discovering the truth and everybody else will remain happy by ignoring them. This has worked well for us for millennia and continues to do so today. It can be claimed that the efforts of scientists and philosophers have added immeasurably to the well being of the human race and I would completely agree. However most of the human race would be equally happy with these achievements if you told them they were produced by sacrificing animals and dancing around an altar. I don't know how a television works and I don't care but if you told me that the programming quality could be improved by smearing fresh rabbit blood over the screen I'd be down at the pet store tomorrow.
Scientists claim it is important to know why things work and I would agree. However it is vastly more important that things work whether we know why or not. Knowing why something doesn't work is utterly useless unless in knowing that we are guiding to what will. If the option is between somebody saying "It is a scientific fact that we are all going to die" which is true and somebody else saying "believe in God and you can live forever" which is rubbish what one do you think is the more helpful? Neither will stop us dying but only one can make us feel a little happier while we do so.
Of course I'm one of those people who doesn't understand science and doesn't believe in karma. So what is left for me? Fortunately I've never really expected the universe to be fair.
Its the Apocalypse! Quick, Save the Paperwork
There is a company in the United States that got its start by tossing important documents down a disused iron mine. As data protection services go that seems a little rudimentary but at the time the threat of atomic war was hanging over their heads and a lot of companies were prepared to pay for essentially storing their vital data in a really big hole in the ground. If they'd waited until after the war they could probably have got their very own hole for nothing.
Apparently it was considered important to emerge blinking into the radiation soaked post apocalyptic wasteland with your billing records intact. One presumes they found another disused mine to toss their collections team down. It is a peculiar facet of human personality that we will take great precautions to ensure the continuance of something that is unlikely to be of any use to us whatsoever should the thing we are preparing for actually take place.
Although its entirely possible that I might be wrong about that. In the grim days that followed a cold war style holocaust things would be horrific for those who unaccountably failed to die. One can imagine the scene; some ragged, half starved survivor living in a wretched shanty scraped together from the still glowing wreckage of a city, licking slime off the walls to survive and watching his family dying slowly of cancer of the everything when suddenly there is a bang on the door and a group of thugs in NBC gear barge in and demand payment for an overdue phone bill. What would the reaction to such a visitation be? Fear? Rage? Despair? I like to think it would be hope. Surely the presence of such organised, corporate efficiency would inspire a belief that better days were coming. It would be a reassurance that however battered the world was it was slowly and painfully getting back onto its feet.
I think that the visits of the bill collecting team (remember those guys who got tossed down a disused mine?) would be a beacon of hope to the traumatised, horror shattered survivors. People have got by on less hope than that in the past. Every terrifying home invasion would be proof that somewhere structure and organisation still existed. Surely better times with the promise of health treatment, clean water and bigger rats to eat would be just around the corner. People would dare to dream, to start building their lives anew. Or at least they would until they discover that corporate headquarters is a disused iron mine. At that point they will pretty much have to acknowledge that we're all screwed.
Of course that atomic war didn't happen (yet) and that old iron mine must be getting pretty full by now. Which is probably why the company in question is now in the document shredding business as well. Should the worst happen and desperate corporate survivors make their way to the mine I'm prepared to bet that all they're going to find is a deep pit filled with shredded documents. Fortunately the next disused mine along will be full of sticky tape.
Apparently it was considered important to emerge blinking into the radiation soaked post apocalyptic wasteland with your billing records intact. One presumes they found another disused mine to toss their collections team down. It is a peculiar facet of human personality that we will take great precautions to ensure the continuance of something that is unlikely to be of any use to us whatsoever should the thing we are preparing for actually take place.
Although its entirely possible that I might be wrong about that. In the grim days that followed a cold war style holocaust things would be horrific for those who unaccountably failed to die. One can imagine the scene; some ragged, half starved survivor living in a wretched shanty scraped together from the still glowing wreckage of a city, licking slime off the walls to survive and watching his family dying slowly of cancer of the everything when suddenly there is a bang on the door and a group of thugs in NBC gear barge in and demand payment for an overdue phone bill. What would the reaction to such a visitation be? Fear? Rage? Despair? I like to think it would be hope. Surely the presence of such organised, corporate efficiency would inspire a belief that better days were coming. It would be a reassurance that however battered the world was it was slowly and painfully getting back onto its feet.
I think that the visits of the bill collecting team (remember those guys who got tossed down a disused mine?) would be a beacon of hope to the traumatised, horror shattered survivors. People have got by on less hope than that in the past. Every terrifying home invasion would be proof that somewhere structure and organisation still existed. Surely better times with the promise of health treatment, clean water and bigger rats to eat would be just around the corner. People would dare to dream, to start building their lives anew. Or at least they would until they discover that corporate headquarters is a disused iron mine. At that point they will pretty much have to acknowledge that we're all screwed.
Of course that atomic war didn't happen (yet) and that old iron mine must be getting pretty full by now. Which is probably why the company in question is now in the document shredding business as well. Should the worst happen and desperate corporate survivors make their way to the mine I'm prepared to bet that all they're going to find is a deep pit filled with shredded documents. Fortunately the next disused mine along will be full of sticky tape.
Monday, December 16, 2013
My Thesis is Based on a Floating Log
From time to time I get interested in the origins of food. Not my food specifically you understand but food in general. I know there are those out there who do wonder about the origins of their food specifically. Is it ethically sourced? Is it free range? Does it come from a country with a history of using ground glass as a thickening agent? Does it in fact bear even the slightest resemblance to what appears on the ingredients list?
I don't worry about any of that stuff. I've pretty much subcontracted those concerns out to the relevant government and industry regulatory bodies partly because I'm lazy but mainly because it seems silly to have this government and not make use of it. It isn't a perfect system by any means as those folk in Britain who wound up eating Romanian horsemeat will tell you but on the plus side I've so far gone forty four years without fatal food poisoning.
No when I say "origin of food" I mean in the more general "how the hell did we wind up eating this stuff in the first place" context. What caveman walking along the beach spotted a lump of rotting fish hurled up by the tide and thought "you know, if that were wetter and slimier I'll bet it would be delicious". Did the caveman make the connection between the dead fish on the beach and the possibility of fresher versions in the nearby water immediately? Or was there a long hungry period of hunting for fish herds in the nearby forest before the penny finally dropped?
As our enlightened (and by now, no doubt, starving) caveman shoved a convenient log into the water and paddled eagerly to where the fish herds grazed did he realise the momentous step he was taking? Could he, in some way, grasp that he was commencing a journey that would culminate in ocean liners and endless reruns of Deadliest Catch? Well of course he didn't. He was focusing his attention on hitting fish with a club and trying to avoid being the person to discover drowning.
The concept of human development as a seamless, ongoing process is largely rubbish. Mostly it has been a cobbling together of bits of accidentally acquired insights with some adhoc guessing and the occasional bright idea. Human development only gains coherence in hindsight when we're trying to explain it to our kids in some way that doesn't make our ancestors look completely like highly fortunate idiots. Its only in the last century or so that we've reached the point where extrapolating where scientific discoveries are likely to take us has become the province of people other than science fiction writers (who haven't been around much longer themselves). Up until that point we were just making things up as we went along. This shouldn't come as too much of a surprise, most of human effort even today falls into the same category. The fact that a small group of highly intelligent people can now start to make some (moderately) educated guesses as to what the future may hold is entirely due to the messy patchwork of achievements we've attained so far without their help. In order to see the future you need something a little more reliable than a floating log to stand on.
I don't worry about any of that stuff. I've pretty much subcontracted those concerns out to the relevant government and industry regulatory bodies partly because I'm lazy but mainly because it seems silly to have this government and not make use of it. It isn't a perfect system by any means as those folk in Britain who wound up eating Romanian horsemeat will tell you but on the plus side I've so far gone forty four years without fatal food poisoning.
No when I say "origin of food" I mean in the more general "how the hell did we wind up eating this stuff in the first place" context. What caveman walking along the beach spotted a lump of rotting fish hurled up by the tide and thought "you know, if that were wetter and slimier I'll bet it would be delicious". Did the caveman make the connection between the dead fish on the beach and the possibility of fresher versions in the nearby water immediately? Or was there a long hungry period of hunting for fish herds in the nearby forest before the penny finally dropped?
As our enlightened (and by now, no doubt, starving) caveman shoved a convenient log into the water and paddled eagerly to where the fish herds grazed did he realise the momentous step he was taking? Could he, in some way, grasp that he was commencing a journey that would culminate in ocean liners and endless reruns of Deadliest Catch? Well of course he didn't. He was focusing his attention on hitting fish with a club and trying to avoid being the person to discover drowning.
The concept of human development as a seamless, ongoing process is largely rubbish. Mostly it has been a cobbling together of bits of accidentally acquired insights with some adhoc guessing and the occasional bright idea. Human development only gains coherence in hindsight when we're trying to explain it to our kids in some way that doesn't make our ancestors look completely like highly fortunate idiots. Its only in the last century or so that we've reached the point where extrapolating where scientific discoveries are likely to take us has become the province of people other than science fiction writers (who haven't been around much longer themselves). Up until that point we were just making things up as we went along. This shouldn't come as too much of a surprise, most of human effort even today falls into the same category. The fact that a small group of highly intelligent people can now start to make some (moderately) educated guesses as to what the future may hold is entirely due to the messy patchwork of achievements we've attained so far without their help. In order to see the future you need something a little more reliable than a floating log to stand on.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Another Silly After Action Report
On the 10th of July 1943 the Allied armies launched their invasion of Sicily. This came as quite a surprise to the Germans who were expecting them to attack Sardinia instead. Fortunately for the Axis the Italians were somewhat less gullible than their German counterparts. Italian high command had tagged Sicily as the next target from the moment the fighting in North Africa was over and had laid their plans well. The moment word of the invasion came in General Alfredo Guzzoni commander of the Italian 6th army in Sicily hit the button and the Italian military leapt into action. In relentless streams they poured forward utterly, almost fanatically, determined to surrender en masse.
The invaders were almost overwhelmed by the surging tide of Italian soldiers desperately trying to give themselves up to anyone who looked as though they might accept them. If you think advancing against an army trying to kill you is difficult try advancing when most of your logistical tail is tied up attempting to feed and house that same army. Here and there however isolated Italian units didn't get the memo. The village of Modica was headquarters of the 206th Coastal Defence division, a wretched collection of overage, overweight, undertrained easybeats led by men that even the Italian high command wouldn't risk sending to either Russia or North Africa.
As the 1st Canadian division approached Modica however the men of the 206th laid mines, strung wire, dug foxholes and fortified buildings. Seeing that their men were apparently going to resist their officers dialled in some armoured and anti tank support from a couple of nearby units that hadn't got around to surrendering yet.
This is Scenario FrF29; Sting of the Italian Hornet. My opponent Jeremy Dibben took command of a force of high quality Canadian infantry with armoured and artillery support. For my part I gathered under my wing some of the most dubious troops in the Italian army. To win Jeremy's Canadians had to take at least nine stone buildings within the village including two small factories. To achieve this goal he had a dozen elite infantry squads, a pair of 51mm mortars, four officers (including a 9-1) and armoured support in the form of three Sherman tanks and a pair of Stuart recce tanks with high speed but only machine gun armament. A radio gave the promise of artillery support in the form of an 80mm battery capable of firing HE and smoke.
My stalwart defenders were a mixed bunch; I had four elite squads (which would rate as average in any other army) and seven first line squads. Two officers (including another 9-1) commanded and numbers were bolstered by that rarest of birds the Italian hero. This force was equipped with a small mortar, an anti tank rifle, a demolition charge and a few machine guns. The real teeth of the Italian defences were to be found in the fortifications (12 factors of land mines, a pair of fortified building locations, a couple of wire counters and a trio of foxholes) and their guns. Two 75 mm artillery pieces, a pair of self propelled guns mounting a 47mm piece already proved to be inadequate in North Africa and, gleaming like a jewel amongst the rusting hulks, one of the more impressive products of Italy's highly dubious military industrial complex; the Semovente M41M 90/53 which mounted Italy's superb 90mm anti aircraft gun on a tank chassis and pressed it into service as self propelled artillery and adhoc tank killer. Three more squads and an old ex French Hotchkiss tank would make their appearance in turn four as reinforcements.
My plan revolved around two solidly defended zones with a fair amount of delaying material in between. The first of the factories Jeremy had to take was practically on the front line and couldn't be expected to hold on for long. I placed a squad and a half of expendables in there with an lmg just so Jeremy did have to actually attack it. The rear factory I fortified and put one of the 75s in there covering the road. The forest to the south of the factory was guarded by a dummy stack a minefield and one of the SMV 47s. I stretched wire across the road leading to the factory. A squad with the atr held an outlying building just before the factory and a squad, a leader and a lmg went into the factory to support the gun.
The other 75mm went into the brush just north west of the forward factory hoping to back a tank or two on a flanking mission. The gun was covered by a squad in a stone building just behind it. Behind that was the second of my two defence zones; a cluster of three buildings with a decent amount of open or nearly open ground around them. Three elite squads, the 9-1 and mmg went into these while the SMV 90 (with the other 47 designated as ammo carrier) lurked among orchard hexes nearby. The only wooded approach to the buildings I strung with wire and placed another six factors of minefields in an adjacent open hex. The reinforcements would move up and secure the rear buildings.
Jeremy lined his troops up across the width of the board and struck strongly in two directions. An all infantry force headed north, obviously eyeing the first factory while the remainder of the infantry with the bulk of his armour moved south. As I saw that force approach I nervously realised that the only thing in a place to stop it was my single SMV 47 and I trembled for my flank. Fortunately things turned out differently. Jeremy's artillery could not be called on until the Italians had opened fire but as he moved troops into the open I couldn't maintain fire discipline and took what should have been a couple of good shots. Sadly they only resulted in pins and Jeremy's artillery was in the game.
With part of my forward factory force (forgive the alliteration) revealed Jeremy swung his northern troops towards it and eased a tank in that direction as well. My throwaway troops fought like heroes and it was three whole turns (in a six and a half turn game) before Jeremy could call the factory his own. Along the way my sniper put a bullet in the head of his best officer and two and a half squads were broken assaulting the factory. A good start but better was coming, aggressively pushing his tanks forward Jeremy ran one of his Stuarts into the line of site of the 75 in the second factory. The opportunity was there and my gunners didn't miss. Then a Sherman working its way around the forward factory presented itself two hexes away from the other 75. The odds were low, Sherman frontal armour can pretty much laugh at an Italian 75 but a HEAT round and a ridiculously low to kill roll and suddenly a Sherman was destroyed as well. Immediately afterwards the same gun broke while attempting an intensive fire shot on the infantry accompanying the tank.
The two tank kills took some of the steam out of Jeremy's attack and dreadful luck with his artillery didn't help either. A red chit was followed by a loss of battery access and it wasn't until turn four that he managed to get a functioning fire mission. I had broken my antitank rifle in an ill advised attempt to shoot infantry and his southern force moved slowly towards the other factory. Most attention was in the north and with the factory in his hands I revealed my SMV 90 to take a shot at a gathering of troops. If it wasn't for the ammo vehicle I would have broken the thing and suffered low ammo. As it was it attracted just enough attention for Jeremy to place his first artillery concentration around it. He was actually aiming for the ammo vehicle but fortunately the concentration drifted just far enough to avoid it. The artillery had no effect but I wasn't crazy about hanging around in that neighbourhood.
To the south my SMV 47 had been trading mutually ineffective shots with one of his mortars, something that suited both of them as it kept them out of the game. He moved a squad through the woods and into my landmines for a satisfying bang but little in the way of casualties. My slow moving renault lumbered forward and took up a position next to the northern building structure as either extra support or an expendable target (depending on your viewpoint).
Now past the factory and with time starting to get short Jeremy advanced into CC with a couple of my stay behind squads losing a squad and a half to my half squad which seemed a good trade off to me. After their early casualties his tanks were being very discreet indeed.
This was the scene at the beginning of turn five when we decided to call it a day (the cleaners were threatening to throw us out with the rest of the rubbish). With both my main positions intact and time running out I decided that I had won, something Jeremy took with patience, humour and barely a raised eyebrow. In actual fact it was too early to tell but I was feeling reasonably confident despite the fact that Jeremy's artillery had finally put in an appearance. We might have got further through the game if I hadn't insisted on a scenario which seemed to demand that we spend about twenty minutes looking up esoteric rules for every move we made.
The invaders were almost overwhelmed by the surging tide of Italian soldiers desperately trying to give themselves up to anyone who looked as though they might accept them. If you think advancing against an army trying to kill you is difficult try advancing when most of your logistical tail is tied up attempting to feed and house that same army. Here and there however isolated Italian units didn't get the memo. The village of Modica was headquarters of the 206th Coastal Defence division, a wretched collection of overage, overweight, undertrained easybeats led by men that even the Italian high command wouldn't risk sending to either Russia or North Africa.
As the 1st Canadian division approached Modica however the men of the 206th laid mines, strung wire, dug foxholes and fortified buildings. Seeing that their men were apparently going to resist their officers dialled in some armoured and anti tank support from a couple of nearby units that hadn't got around to surrendering yet.
This is Scenario FrF29; Sting of the Italian Hornet. My opponent Jeremy Dibben took command of a force of high quality Canadian infantry with armoured and artillery support. For my part I gathered under my wing some of the most dubious troops in the Italian army. To win Jeremy's Canadians had to take at least nine stone buildings within the village including two small factories. To achieve this goal he had a dozen elite infantry squads, a pair of 51mm mortars, four officers (including a 9-1) and armoured support in the form of three Sherman tanks and a pair of Stuart recce tanks with high speed but only machine gun armament. A radio gave the promise of artillery support in the form of an 80mm battery capable of firing HE and smoke.
My stalwart defenders were a mixed bunch; I had four elite squads (which would rate as average in any other army) and seven first line squads. Two officers (including another 9-1) commanded and numbers were bolstered by that rarest of birds the Italian hero. This force was equipped with a small mortar, an anti tank rifle, a demolition charge and a few machine guns. The real teeth of the Italian defences were to be found in the fortifications (12 factors of land mines, a pair of fortified building locations, a couple of wire counters and a trio of foxholes) and their guns. Two 75 mm artillery pieces, a pair of self propelled guns mounting a 47mm piece already proved to be inadequate in North Africa and, gleaming like a jewel amongst the rusting hulks, one of the more impressive products of Italy's highly dubious military industrial complex; the Semovente M41M 90/53 which mounted Italy's superb 90mm anti aircraft gun on a tank chassis and pressed it into service as self propelled artillery and adhoc tank killer. Three more squads and an old ex French Hotchkiss tank would make their appearance in turn four as reinforcements.
My plan revolved around two solidly defended zones with a fair amount of delaying material in between. The first of the factories Jeremy had to take was practically on the front line and couldn't be expected to hold on for long. I placed a squad and a half of expendables in there with an lmg just so Jeremy did have to actually attack it. The rear factory I fortified and put one of the 75s in there covering the road. The forest to the south of the factory was guarded by a dummy stack a minefield and one of the SMV 47s. I stretched wire across the road leading to the factory. A squad with the atr held an outlying building just before the factory and a squad, a leader and a lmg went into the factory to support the gun.
The other 75mm went into the brush just north west of the forward factory hoping to back a tank or two on a flanking mission. The gun was covered by a squad in a stone building just behind it. Behind that was the second of my two defence zones; a cluster of three buildings with a decent amount of open or nearly open ground around them. Three elite squads, the 9-1 and mmg went into these while the SMV 90 (with the other 47 designated as ammo carrier) lurked among orchard hexes nearby. The only wooded approach to the buildings I strung with wire and placed another six factors of minefields in an adjacent open hex. The reinforcements would move up and secure the rear buildings.
Jeremy lined his troops up across the width of the board and struck strongly in two directions. An all infantry force headed north, obviously eyeing the first factory while the remainder of the infantry with the bulk of his armour moved south. As I saw that force approach I nervously realised that the only thing in a place to stop it was my single SMV 47 and I trembled for my flank. Fortunately things turned out differently. Jeremy's artillery could not be called on until the Italians had opened fire but as he moved troops into the open I couldn't maintain fire discipline and took what should have been a couple of good shots. Sadly they only resulted in pins and Jeremy's artillery was in the game.
With part of my forward factory force (forgive the alliteration) revealed Jeremy swung his northern troops towards it and eased a tank in that direction as well. My throwaway troops fought like heroes and it was three whole turns (in a six and a half turn game) before Jeremy could call the factory his own. Along the way my sniper put a bullet in the head of his best officer and two and a half squads were broken assaulting the factory. A good start but better was coming, aggressively pushing his tanks forward Jeremy ran one of his Stuarts into the line of site of the 75 in the second factory. The opportunity was there and my gunners didn't miss. Then a Sherman working its way around the forward factory presented itself two hexes away from the other 75. The odds were low, Sherman frontal armour can pretty much laugh at an Italian 75 but a HEAT round and a ridiculously low to kill roll and suddenly a Sherman was destroyed as well. Immediately afterwards the same gun broke while attempting an intensive fire shot on the infantry accompanying the tank.
The two tank kills took some of the steam out of Jeremy's attack and dreadful luck with his artillery didn't help either. A red chit was followed by a loss of battery access and it wasn't until turn four that he managed to get a functioning fire mission. I had broken my antitank rifle in an ill advised attempt to shoot infantry and his southern force moved slowly towards the other factory. Most attention was in the north and with the factory in his hands I revealed my SMV 90 to take a shot at a gathering of troops. If it wasn't for the ammo vehicle I would have broken the thing and suffered low ammo. As it was it attracted just enough attention for Jeremy to place his first artillery concentration around it. He was actually aiming for the ammo vehicle but fortunately the concentration drifted just far enough to avoid it. The artillery had no effect but I wasn't crazy about hanging around in that neighbourhood.
To the south my SMV 47 had been trading mutually ineffective shots with one of his mortars, something that suited both of them as it kept them out of the game. He moved a squad through the woods and into my landmines for a satisfying bang but little in the way of casualties. My slow moving renault lumbered forward and took up a position next to the northern building structure as either extra support or an expendable target (depending on your viewpoint).
Now past the factory and with time starting to get short Jeremy advanced into CC with a couple of my stay behind squads losing a squad and a half to my half squad which seemed a good trade off to me. After their early casualties his tanks were being very discreet indeed.
This was the scene at the beginning of turn five when we decided to call it a day (the cleaners were threatening to throw us out with the rest of the rubbish). With both my main positions intact and time running out I decided that I had won, something Jeremy took with patience, humour and barely a raised eyebrow. In actual fact it was too early to tell but I was feeling reasonably confident despite the fact that Jeremy's artillery had finally put in an appearance. We might have got further through the game if I hadn't insisted on a scenario which seemed to demand that we spend about twenty minutes looking up esoteric rules for every move we made.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Sockquest
Missing socks are one of the perennial stereotypes of our civilisation. Much ink has been spilled and countless hours wasted agonising over the propensity of pairs of socks to swiftly and mysteriously transform themselves into three totally separate socks at least one of which the owner has never seen before. So much time and labour have been spent on this subject that for me to write a blog entry about it would be little more than a tacit admission that I have completely exhausted such shallow reserves of imagination and creativity as I once possessed.
I remember a time when all socks matched. I had a vision in a dream of a golden city, beautiful and graceful where elegant spires challenged the clouds for mastery of the skies and socks presented themselves in serried ranks of perfectly matching pairs. The city can't be found in this world, to find it I must journey beyond the gate of dreams. Once in that strange world where everything is possible I can begin my search.
My path will be long and arduous. I will have to struggle through the wastes of Eftar where the stones themselves cry out for water and are never slaked. To speak with the seer who can guide my journey I will scale the black, battlemented walls of the city of Skylane which has never fallen to storm or siege and gain passage from the slave trading Lords of Night who rule that fell place.
Through the teeming citizens of Skylane, vicious and corrupted purveyors of decadence, I must hurry. Never stopping, never turning. Seek not to gaze on the deformities only half hidden by voluminous robes and take neither food nor drink in this place for what sustains these beings is death to more wholesome folk. The great temple is a place no sane person would enter but here is found the prophet of chaos. A tangle of grey hair and staring eyes that have long since ceased to behold the light.
Guided by the cryptic ravings of the mad, blind visionary who sees all I will cross the Perilous Ocean in a boat made of crabs until I reach the shores of fabled Argentar. Here among the relics of hopes long dead and the howls of unfulfilled dreams I must face the Grim. Their horrid droning voices shall bring me to the edge of madness and their hunger for life would be satisfied with my own were it not for the heroic lemmings hurling themselves from the cliffs above. As my squeaking allies batter the Grim with their bodies I can struggle through the caves, slipping on the jagged rocks covered with the slime of ancient regret until finally I can beg audience with the email server of the Outer Gods. Here amidst the oceans of spam and with thick snaky tendrils of chain letters wrapping themselves around me I can hope to find the answers I seek.
But that sounds like a heck of a lot of trouble to go to just to get a pair of matching socks and frankly the whole thing is starting to sound far too derivative. So screw it. If you want matching socks go yourself and if you succeed come back and tell me. You'll be able to recognise me; I'll be the guy with the mismatched socks having a drink with the Pickman Ghoul.
I remember a time when all socks matched. I had a vision in a dream of a golden city, beautiful and graceful where elegant spires challenged the clouds for mastery of the skies and socks presented themselves in serried ranks of perfectly matching pairs. The city can't be found in this world, to find it I must journey beyond the gate of dreams. Once in that strange world where everything is possible I can begin my search.
My path will be long and arduous. I will have to struggle through the wastes of Eftar where the stones themselves cry out for water and are never slaked. To speak with the seer who can guide my journey I will scale the black, battlemented walls of the city of Skylane which has never fallen to storm or siege and gain passage from the slave trading Lords of Night who rule that fell place.
Through the teeming citizens of Skylane, vicious and corrupted purveyors of decadence, I must hurry. Never stopping, never turning. Seek not to gaze on the deformities only half hidden by voluminous robes and take neither food nor drink in this place for what sustains these beings is death to more wholesome folk. The great temple is a place no sane person would enter but here is found the prophet of chaos. A tangle of grey hair and staring eyes that have long since ceased to behold the light.
Guided by the cryptic ravings of the mad, blind visionary who sees all I will cross the Perilous Ocean in a boat made of crabs until I reach the shores of fabled Argentar. Here among the relics of hopes long dead and the howls of unfulfilled dreams I must face the Grim. Their horrid droning voices shall bring me to the edge of madness and their hunger for life would be satisfied with my own were it not for the heroic lemmings hurling themselves from the cliffs above. As my squeaking allies batter the Grim with their bodies I can struggle through the caves, slipping on the jagged rocks covered with the slime of ancient regret until finally I can beg audience with the email server of the Outer Gods. Here amidst the oceans of spam and with thick snaky tendrils of chain letters wrapping themselves around me I can hope to find the answers I seek.
But that sounds like a heck of a lot of trouble to go to just to get a pair of matching socks and frankly the whole thing is starting to sound far too derivative. So screw it. If you want matching socks go yourself and if you succeed come back and tell me. You'll be able to recognise me; I'll be the guy with the mismatched socks having a drink with the Pickman Ghoul.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Try Burning A Cyborg at the Stake
Exactly how much of your body needs to be replaced or enhanced before you officially qualify as a cyborg? Would anybody admit to being one? Cyborgs have received pretty bad press thanks largely to innumerable crappy science fiction movies (Doctor Who and Star Trek haven't helped either). When one thinks of cyborgs one's mind does tend to turn more towards The Terminator than a pacemaker. It is time cyborgs got a public relations team, surely the benefits of artificial enhancement outweigh the risks posed by the occasional time travelling, semi robot assassin.
Am I a cyborg because I wear contact lenses? I seem to fit the definition in so far as my natural eyesight (terrible) is significantly improved by the application of an artificial enhancement. Several centuries ago possessing contact lenses might have led to me being burnt as a witch.
Actually several centuries ago I would just have been half blind. Which doesn't, of course, mean that I wouldn't have been burnt as a witch. Witch burning was quite the done thing once upon a time and lets face it I'm pretty sure that an odd, socially awkward character with a propensity for talking to himself would probably have been pretty high up the list of combustible citizens in any event. That's even before you get to my trafficking with demons and worshipping Satan. Well, I say "worshipping" actually we just meet for coffee from time to time. As for trafficking with demons, don't bother; they'll try and cheat you out of your cut and will rat you out to the border authorities to evade a parking ticket.
Still I think it is pretty obvious that if I lived in the middle ages the phrase "auto de fe" would feature on my death certificate. Which in my opinion is pretty firm evidence that I wasn't a witch. I'm sure any genuine witch wouldn't be inclined to take crap from a bunch of ill armed peasants. Certainly if I had the power (one day, Neil, one day) it wouldn't be me roasting in the morning. Although my means of escape would pretty much confirm the verdict.
Purification by fire seems to have been quite a popular way of dealing with social undesirables for obvious reasons. It's simple enough to arrange and its permanent. Also hiding the bodies afterwards requires a dustpan and brush rather than a shovel. It seems that no sooner did the human race discover fire than we started applying it to other people. Although if somebody does have to be burnt at the stake then "other people" are the very best candidates. I wonder how long it took us before we realised that fire could be used to cook our food. I also can't help wondering if this was perhaps discovered by cannibals.
I started this blog entry intending to write something on cyborgs and possibly delving into the rationale and ethics of transhumanism along the way. Instead I took a detour through the middle ages and witch burning with the almost obligatory nod to cannibalism. All I can think of as a final word is to point out that if I were burnt as a witch my contact lenses would melt. I hope they stick in somebody's throat.
Am I a cyborg because I wear contact lenses? I seem to fit the definition in so far as my natural eyesight (terrible) is significantly improved by the application of an artificial enhancement. Several centuries ago possessing contact lenses might have led to me being burnt as a witch.
Actually several centuries ago I would just have been half blind. Which doesn't, of course, mean that I wouldn't have been burnt as a witch. Witch burning was quite the done thing once upon a time and lets face it I'm pretty sure that an odd, socially awkward character with a propensity for talking to himself would probably have been pretty high up the list of combustible citizens in any event. That's even before you get to my trafficking with demons and worshipping Satan. Well, I say "worshipping" actually we just meet for coffee from time to time. As for trafficking with demons, don't bother; they'll try and cheat you out of your cut and will rat you out to the border authorities to evade a parking ticket.
Still I think it is pretty obvious that if I lived in the middle ages the phrase "auto de fe" would feature on my death certificate. Which in my opinion is pretty firm evidence that I wasn't a witch. I'm sure any genuine witch wouldn't be inclined to take crap from a bunch of ill armed peasants. Certainly if I had the power (one day, Neil, one day) it wouldn't be me roasting in the morning. Although my means of escape would pretty much confirm the verdict.
Purification by fire seems to have been quite a popular way of dealing with social undesirables for obvious reasons. It's simple enough to arrange and its permanent. Also hiding the bodies afterwards requires a dustpan and brush rather than a shovel. It seems that no sooner did the human race discover fire than we started applying it to other people. Although if somebody does have to be burnt at the stake then "other people" are the very best candidates. I wonder how long it took us before we realised that fire could be used to cook our food. I also can't help wondering if this was perhaps discovered by cannibals.
I started this blog entry intending to write something on cyborgs and possibly delving into the rationale and ethics of transhumanism along the way. Instead I took a detour through the middle ages and witch burning with the almost obligatory nod to cannibalism. All I can think of as a final word is to point out that if I were burnt as a witch my contact lenses would melt. I hope they stick in somebody's throat.
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