Silly After Action Report - The Vital Hours

 "Quiet everybody," Sturmbahnfuhrer Sepp Krafft glared at the excited gaggle of teenagers milling in front of him.

"We are the defenders of the Reich," he announced in what he felt were suitably portentous tones.  "On your young shoulders will fall the burden of protecting," he broke off and peered at something protuding from the tunic of one of the younger recruits.  "What the hell is that?"

Somewhat shamefacedly the young trooper produced a small teddy bear.

"I can't sleep without it," he admitted, blushing.

"Give it here."

"But sir,"

"I said give it here.  You can have it back after the battle."  Krafft turned to the rest of his "men" who were sniggering at their colleague's discomfort.  "Enough of that.  Have you prepared defences?"

Bursting with pride the young SS troopers displayed a rather wretched collection of badly dug foxholes and fire positions pointing in the wrong direction.

"The British won't break this line," announced one of them with what Krafft thought was unwarranted optimism.  "We've named it the Krafftwerk," he added obviously expecting praise.

"Of course you have," muttered Krafft.

"They're coming," yelled one of his veteran NCOs.

"To your positions," ordered Krafft.  "Remember the eyes of Germany are upon you."  The statement would have carried a little more weight if he hadn't emphasised the point by flourishing the teddy bear he was still holding in one hand.

"What do you think sir?" asked the NCO as the group of half trained adolescents fumbled with their weapons and dropped hand grenades on their toes.

"If I get a Knights Cross out this it'll be a bloody miracle."

Thirsting to avenge his defeat in the desert Richard Weilly suggested we play Scenario WO37 - The Vital Hours.  This is set in the early hours of Operation Market Garden and historically was the start of a series of delays which incrementally led to the failure of the operation.  Sepp Krafft's trainee SS troopers did well under pressure (although he still didn't get a Knight's Cross despite dropping several hints).  Now it was time to see if I could produce a similar result against Rich's British paratroopers making their way down the country road on route to the bridge at Arnhem.

The British win by accumulating 12 victory points by either exiting troops off the east edge of the board (presumably on the way to Arnhem) or capturing a number of buildings by the side of the road or some combination of the two.  I win by stopping him.  As befits an elite outfit like the 1st Airborne Richard has seven and a half elite squads let by a pair of officers (one a 9-2) equipped with two lmgs and a PIAT.  Entering on the first turn are another four elite squads a 9-1 officer with another PIAT plus a dismantled mmg and another light.  Also turning up is a 75mm artillery piece hauled by a jeep.

To keep the paras at bay I have eight and a half second line squads (SS by SSR), three officers including my own 9-1 two light machine guns, one medium, a panzerschreck and a 20mm AA gun.  Plus some concealment counters to spread the love.  Rolling on in support is a completely unarmoured halftrack toting another 20mm.

Below is my set up.  The British set up in the area delineated by the blue lines.  As you can see I've made the stream my main line of resistance.  The 20mm gun is hidden in a building across the road from my 9-1 which of course is up on the first floor with the mmg.  My main focus was defending the village although I do have a squad deep in the rear to protect against an exit rush.  Note the British can only exit between hexes G20 and K20 so the lone squad is quite decently placed.

Set up

It will be obvious to even to most amateur observer that I've left a gaping hole on my right that the British can just wander through.  Even I noticed that right after Richard did it.

At first though things seemed to be going well.  Richard threw his onboard force directly at my defences and lost an entire squad to suspiciously well aimed small arms fire as he did so.  Despite this he broke into my defences and managed to keep the attention of my forces concentrated on the threat immediately in front of them.  When his reinforcements came on he moved them to the extreme right in line to flank my entire position.

The British have taken casualties, I even have some prisoners but the Krafftwerk has been lost

For my part I dealt with his reinforcing flankers by ignoring them.  There wasn't anything I could do about them and I had a bunch of battle hungry red berets steaming down the road in front of me.  I would just have to hope that my rearguard could in fact guard my rear.

As for the frontal battle I did my best to withdraw slowly and present a solid, concealed, front with mixed success.  Since Richard was bulling straight down the road for the most part I shuffled troops on my left a little closer to the incipient battle zone and hoped for the best.

The front may be concealed but solid is not quite the word I would use.

My 20mm joined the fray although it achieved nothing except to display to Richard where my 20mm was.  Still things weren't going too badly (we'll just overlook the three squads of flankers for the moment shall we?).  I still held all the victory buildings and had tightened up my defenses around the road.  Of course another way of putting that is to say my outer defences had been driven in and I was reduced to a clot of troops with little way of escape.  Context is everything.

Having broken through my outer crust however Richard was now in the position of being able to amass impressive amounts of firepower against my undergunned defenders.  Amass this he did.

Richard is amassing while I take what comfort I can from the fact that he isn't finished yet

Then things went quite badly wrong.  Although not if you're Richard.  Unfortunately I wasn't.  My 20mm continued its parade of uselessness by breaking and the emboldened (what a dreadful word) Richard to send troops forward against my position in the farm houses.  While this was happening, his  massing completed, Richard launched an attack against my main position with the 9-1.  He also drove his 75mm gun straight down the road to support his troops.  He had managed to get a halfsquad into the ground floor of my (remaining) main defensive building while an impressive kill stack headed by his 9-2 stood proud in the street outside.

Things aren't looking good for the training battalion

The only reason why the game didn't end there is the legendary worthlessness of the 9-2.  I hate 9-2 officers.  They promise so much and, at least in my hands, produce so little.  At least with a 10-3 or a 10-2 you know he's going to get sniped in the first turn so you don't place any reliance on him.  But a 9-2 should be your go to guy.  On this occasion it would be Richard who would suffer the curse of the 9-2.  A simple morale check would send him yelping for the rear and buy my defenders another half turn or so of life as his troops rolled their eyes and realised they would need to do this without his assistance.  

Freed of the constraints of their officer the British paras swept into the building and reduced what was left of my force to a broken rabble.  I hadn't helped matters by rather stupidly reinforcing a melee taking place on my left.  He had sent a squad in to CC with my gun crew who had rather improbably survived.  I then reinforced that with a squad and leader so that I had parity in numbers and a negative one modifier to boot.  This was apparently what Richard had been waiting for as he cheerfully slaughtered the lot next turn.

Oh dear

 

Richard would rally his 9-2 the next turn whereupon he would promptly pin and take no further part in the game.  My reinforcing half track rolled on only to discover there was precious little for him to reinforce.  It was at this point that I chose to conceded.  I had precisely three unbroken squads left scattered widely about the battlefield plus one unarmoured half track doing its best to look menacing as a bunch of traumatised teenagers ran in all directions around it.  I could perhaps have dragged the game out for another turn or so but with Richard's force solidly placed in the village (with the 9-2 shouting encouragement from the rear) and three squads of flankers bearing down on my single rearguard unit I really didn't see a way to victory.  Richard executed his plan well, driving relentlessly forward without allowing my defenders any scope for regrouping while his flankers just strolled across out of sight of my defenders until they got the opportunity to pop up in my rear and make a nuisance of themselves.  Not my best performance it has to be admitted but my next one would be worse.

"Well that was a disaster," muttered the Krafft.  All around him hysterical teenagers wept for their mothers and moaned about the unfairness of life.  Krafft stared glumly at the ceiling his dreams of a Knight's Cross fading before his eyes.

"Bad news sir," announced his NCO.

"Now what?"

"The Reich Child Counselling Organisation wants to speak with you about todays action.  Something about triggering of vulnerable youth and the lack of safe spaces on the battlefield.  Oh and that kid wants his teddy bear back."

Krafft clutched the bear a little tighter to his chest.

"I will defend it to the last."

Travelling Pathetically - Harbour Terraces Edition Part 1

 The bottom of the barrel is really starting to be scraped.  With random bushland in the immediate vicinity pretty much exhausted I cast around in some desperation for somewhere to walk.  That is I cast around for somewhere to walk that wasn't too far away, didn't involve a great deal of effort and might be somewhat photogenic.  Suddenly a word popped into my head; "Barangaroo".  After several unsuccessful attempts to dislodge it and having exhausted most other options I decided to give it it's day in court.

According to its website Barangaroo is "place making in progress" proof if proof were needed that a command of the English language is no longer really essential to get a job writing visitors websites.  What I think they mean is that it isn't finished yet.  And indeed it isn't.  Arguments still go on over the final bits of development and whether property developers should really be expected to keep all of the greasy promises they made when it was first decided to convert some superannuated dockland into tall buildings and (despite the best efforts of the developers) some park and amenity space for the public.

It was the park and amenity space for the public which would be my destination.  I would take the light rail to Pyrmont Bay (one of about seventy light rail stations serving Pyrmont) and trot across Pyrmont bridge, through the gleaming canyons of Barangaroo (the developed bit) until I got to the actual park itself which was inconveniently situated on the headland as far away from the rest as possible without actually turning it into a island.

My destination is beyond the clutch of buildings in the centre

 

Things have changed since the last time I made it out these parts.  Then the pandemic was in full swing now, well the pandemic is still in full swing but we've made a sort of gentleman's agreement not to bother about it too much any more.  The result was that instead of a quiet stroll along a semi deserted waterfront I found myself kicking and snarling through a thronging herd of people inconsiderately attempting to amuse themselves and (more understandably) making increasingly desperate attempts to locate their children anywhere but their own homes.

Pyrmont Bridge turns up on the Barangaroo side of the water right near the Sydney Aquarium where the eager hordes gathered in the hopes of seeing sea dwelling creatures without running the risk of drowning.  I do have to wonder whether its a good idea to have an aquarium right near the water.  One unlocked gate and the entire exhibit roster could be swimming towards the heads and freedom.  It's probably safe to say that the neighbouring wildlife park doesn't have the same problem.  Neither aquarium or wildlife interested me today (or any other day) and I strode resolutely by breaking step only to kick the occasional small child out of my path.  On the other side of the Harbour the National Maritime Museum had a couple of superannuated warships parked so I took a photo of one then hurried on.

One of the superannuated warships in question

Once past these animal holding tanks I was at King Street Wharf where a stretch of identical looking restaurants and bars competed for customers.  At least I presume they competed for customers.  I could easily believe it was just one long restaurant with a rather complicated menu.  I'm sure the restaurants (or restaurant) serve delicious food but the entire thing looks rather like an artist's impression of a waterfront development.  It's a little difficult to believe that people actually come here.  This feeling was in no way altered by the fact that it's clinical, pristine surrounds were actually overrun with people.  

But King Street Wharf wasn't my destination either and I plunged on and entered the shadowy landscape of Barangaroo South.  Barangaroo South is a collection of brand new office towers about which all of the usual flatulent things have been said when developers attempt to describe brand new office towers.  They haven't fallen down yet which is a definite positive.  Down at ground level I wandered down quiet, near deserted streets.  There were restaurants here too and shops in fact everything the office worker or casual tourist might desire particularly if they have an aversion to direct sunlight.  

Looking back at Barangaroo South, not the best place to be if you have a vitamin D deficiency

 

Barangaroo Centre is still under construction and various arguments rage over whether developers should be permitted to build over just some of the currently existing public space or all of it.  My destination lay beyond.  With the harbour on my left and temporary walling on my right I strode towards the headland along a rapidly narrowing boardwalk.  Finally, just before I got to Barangaroo the park the boardwalk more or less petered out and I skirted the water with so little space to spare that I could actually reach down and touch the water if I wanted to, I didn't.

Being a former container port the area had been rather dramatically changed from its original shape and attempts had, apparently been made to restore it to its pre industrial condition.  For some reason this involved an immense amount of sandstone.  Native plant species had been looted from all over the Sydney basin and replanted here for the amusement of the public and there were sandstone terraces.  I'm not sure how this was in keeping with its original shape but it did mean tiers of bush rising in front of me and a disturbing number of steps climbing from one terrace to another and connecting various walking paths.  In fairness it has to be said I could just have walked along the shoreline and avoided all the steps but having encountered some actual trees I couldn't resist the urge to make my way among them.

 

This tree was being held in solitary confinement for crimes unspecified

So into the trees I went, making my way through greenery and occasionally looking out at what, despite our best efforts, is still one of the most picturesque harbours in the world.  Up I went, along I went, down I went and then up again.  I realise this isn't the most riveting of passages but sometimes that's all there is.  At the top was Stargazer Lawn which had plenty of space for people to stretch out and relax so I avoided that and returned to the trees.  Occasionally I descended to ground level but swiftly dashed back up the stairs to avoid the throngs of people.

My destination (note sandstone)

Once safely ensconced in the trees I gazed back to where I had come from.  I couldn't resist taking a photo of the Crown Casino tower which dominates Central Barangaroo.  It soars, magnificent in its ugliness a permanent penis slapping the face of the Sydney public.  I have to admit I quite liked it but then my taste has always been questionable.

Every city must have its icons.  Somehow we wound up with this.

With my homage to money launderers and wretched politicians made I returned to the trees.  It wasn't natural bush of course.  It was an artists impression of what natural bush might look like before somebody dumped a container port on top of it.  Still the bush was growing enthusiastically and getting more natural by the day.  The relaxed feeling I get when surrounded by trees was compensating for the fact that my knees are no longer used to going up and down a lot of stairs.  I paused, officially for a photo and not at all because my knees were hurting.

 

Knee relief photo No.1

Knee relief photo No.2

I'm making a bit of a meal of this actually because it wasn't all that long before I had walked around the headland and returned to not quite water level.  Here a decision had to be made.  Specifically what was I going to do now?  I had run out of Barangaroo and I was several kilometres away from home.  Fortunately I knew that if I kept following the waterline I would eventually wind up at Circular Quay and a railway station.  To do so I would have to make my way through Millers Point and The Rocks, two of Sydney's oldest and most picturesque suburbs.  You might think I would take lots of photos, you would be wrong.

As I was walking along Hickson Road I did see a sign that said "End Art" although whether it was a warning or an instruction I couldn't work out.  I made my under the Harbour Bridge marveling, not for the first time, at the sheer monstrous bulk of its construction and skipped lightly towards Circular Quay through The Rocks.  The Rocks were having markets as they are wont to do on Saturdays.  So when I say "skipped lightly" I really mean "stumbled cursing".

Silly After Action Report - Cutting Out a Strongpoint

 The crew of the medium machine gun hunkered a little further down in the trench in a futile attempt to shelter from the Sun and watched the feldwebel with polite interest.  He was alternately thumping the radio with his fist and screaming into it.  A stream of Italian issued from the radio but the feldwebel didn't seem satisfied.

"Does anyone know the Italian for spotting round?" he demanded.  The machine gun crew disavowed such knowledge.

"I thought you spoke Italian," replied one.

"I was a tour guide.  I can direct Italians to the sights of Berlin, help them with their hotel bookings and liaise with the police if their wallet gets stolen.  Bringing down an artillery concentration isn't what the best tourists do in a new city."

One of the other soldiers jerked a thumb at an Italian gun position further down the trench.

"Why not ask them."

The feldwebel hesitated but, desperate times...

"All right, lets go meet the allies."

The meeting between the two sets of comrades in arms didn't get off to the best start when the Germans pointblank refused to accept the Italian's surrender but eventually the feldwebel was able to communicate his request for assistance.  The sergente who appeared to be in charge seemed sympathetic but shook his head.

"I'm sorry feldwebel but I was transferred from the transport corps yesterday.  I don't even know how that thing works," he jerked a thumb at the 47mm antitank gun nearby.

"What about the others?"

The sergente rattled off a quick question in Italian.  He was roundly ignored by the troops with the exception of one who raised a tentative hand.

"Arturo there thinks he knows how to spell the word artillery," the sergente's eyes conveyed doubt that this was in fact the case.

"Where are your officers?"

"At lunch."

"When are they due back?"

"April.  Assuming they don't go back for seconds."

There was a sudden shout from an Italian manning a mortar a little further away.  The feldwebel peered in the direction he was pointing.  It was difficult to see through the heat haze but groups of men were definitely approaching from the direction of the British lines.

"Crap," muttered the sergente, "I knew we shouldn't have shot at that staff car."

"Why did you?"

"We thought it was our CO."

So this is the upgraded ASL 267 - Cutting Out A Strongpoint a scenario which I have wanted to play for quite a while.  Richard Weilly was happy to pander to my Italian predilection and took command of the attacking British (with South African armoured support).  Richard's troops are attempting to take out a small but well armed position of Italian and German troops which have been making a mild nuisance of themselves.  The Axis (that's me) have to set up within a trench system surrounded by a ring of antitank mines.  Richard wins if there are no unbroken Axis infantry/AFV with functioning MA within the strongpoint at game end.  As long as the Axis do not amass 16 or greater CVP.

I don't have many men to defend this strongpoint.  In fact it almost looks like I have more weapons than troops.  I have a single Italian first line squad, two crews and an 8-0 officer.  Between them they have to man a medium machine gun, a light machine gun, a 47mm atg and an 81mm mortar.  The German contingent consists of a single second line halfsquad and an 8-0 officer.  They have a medium machine gun and a (German) radio to connect them to (Italian offboard artillery).  Language difficulties would present themselves when trying to dial in my fire support.

Rolling to the assistance of this hopelessly outnumbered bastion is armour support in the form of a captured British Matilda tank (crewed by Germans) and, following like ducklings in its wake, four L3 tankettes (crewed by Italians because let's face it no one else would).

Richard's force consists of three first line squads, two half squads and three officers led by a 9-1.  They have three light machine guns, an antitank rifle and a 51mm mortar.  Turning up in somewhat belated support are a pair of 2 pounder guns carried en portee on the back of trucks and three Marmon Herrington armoured cars of the 6th South African armoured car regiment.  The sun beats down on the desert sand and intense heat haze is in effect.  Richard and I tried very hard to figure out if dust was involved but eventually agreed that since the environmental conditions didn't say so there wasn't any.

End of the British first turn.  There wouldn't be any shooting for several turns while Richard worked his way into position.

It has to be said that the game started rather slowly as Richard gradually eased his forces towards my little strongpoint.  For my part I saw little value in firing at concealed units through an extreme heat haze.  I waited patiently for targets to present themselves.  The silence was broken only the tramp of desert boots over the sunbaked earth and the hysterical cursing of a German feldwebel as he tried and failed to make radio contact with some Italian artillery who appeared to have taken the afternoon off.  Not too far away an Italian sergente was studying a 47mm gun trying to figure out which end the shell came out of.

Finally Richard was ready but targets didn't present themselves, instead smoke did.  Having the advantage of speaking the same language as his fire support allowed Richard to bathe his chosen approach area with thick clouds of smoke.  Suddenly I had an even better reason for not opening fire.

Smoke, smoke and more smoke.  The British are out there somewhere

 

With smoke proving a more than adequate substitute for the heat haze my guys relapsed into immobility as the British took advantage to push forward.  With only a tiny handful of troops I just had to wait until the British emerged from the smoke and then hope for the best.  Then to my absolute astonishment the best arrived.

Richard had pushed into the smoke with an lmg squad commanded by his best leader.  Seizing an unoccupied trench at the edge of the smoke the interior of the strongpoint and my scanty defenders lay open to him.  Then my feldwebel temporarily solved his language difficulties and dropped a 70mm artillery concentration right on top of them.  Snake eyes gave me a critical hit and both squad and leader died in a hail of Italian made (but German guided) shrapnel.  To add icing to my smoke laden cake another British squad emerged from the smoke to be sent packing in a hail of Italian machine gun fire.

Somewhere underneath all that smoke are the remains of a 9-1 and a British squad; not very big remains.

All this was gratifying but didn't alter my fundamental position which was a small heavily outnumbered force shrouded in smoke while a larger British force pulled itself together to try again.  But fear not gentle reader for my tanks are coming.

My tanks rolled onto the board but their immediate impact was, shall we say, muted.  L3s aren't exactly the speediest vehicles on earth and the Matilda made the L3s look like mechanical cheetahs.  In the meantime my strongpoint defenders twiddled their thumbs, choked on smoke and gazed nervously as Richard reorganised his attackers and pushed forward once again.  

With the smoke shrouding his movements Richard once again pushed forward into the trenches closest to my defenders.  His moment of glory done my feldwebel had broken the radio and 47mm shots into the smoke produced acquisition counters but no damage to the newly emboldened attackers.

My tanks are trundling to the rescue, they might arrive by Christmas

To make matters worse Richard's 40mm portees turned up and proved much speedier at rolling through the desert than my armour.  They positioned themselves where they could deal with my approaching tanks.  The Matilda might not be too concerned but the L3 crews examined the rivets on their armour and trembled for their life expectancy.

 In the strongpoint itself Richard had braved the 47mm fire and plunged into close combat with the guncrew wiping it out in some brutal close combat.  It was at this point that I did the smartest move I made during the entire game.  I didn't realise it at the time but in retrospect it was genius.

My sole Italian squad, burdened by machine guns was sitting in a trench next to Richard's newly acquired 47mm.  Taking advantage of the smoke I moved behind the British attackers and put a hexes worth of distance between us.  Since Richard has to take out each Axis MMC in the strongpoint he now had the choice of doubling back or splitting his surviving troops.  Leaving an officer to mind the 47mm he doubled back and soon another melee was raging.  His armoured cars arrived and moved to where they could intercept my armour (which still hadn't got anywhere useful) while his portees gained acquisition on approaching L3s.

Another close combat rages I would lose this one too

Richard did indeed manage to wipe out my Italian squad (and leader) in close combat but while he was doing so the crew of my 81mm mortar who had so far done nothing took the opportunity to advance into CC with the 8-0 Richard had left to guard the 47mm.  They killed it and reclaimed the gun for its rightful owners.

Finally, finally my armour had arrived.  Armour isn't exactly my speciality in fact I suck using armour but the fact that it didn't matter if none of it survived was rather freeing.  Cheerfully I sent the L3s forward to take on the portees while my Matilda inched slowly closer to his armoured cars.  Luck was on my side and bounding fire from an L3 broke a portee crew.  Meanwhile Richard declined to wait for my Matilda to arrive and sent forward an armoured car to work around behind it.  Braving a blizzard of L3 fire (I got rate multiple times just to prove how ineffectual the L3 was as a tank killer) his car rolled forward but as it approached the Matilda it showed the L3s how it was done drilling a 40mm hole through the Marmon Herrington.

All this was nice but the strongpoint was the vital ground and having dispatched my Italian squad Richard's British moved forward for the third time against the 47mm and its fresh crew.  The 47mm fired at pointblank range and shattered two squads and his surviving leader with a single shot.  At that point Richard conceded.  He didn't have the time left to patch his troops back together again for a fourth attempt while outside the strongpoint he was down a car and a portee with no loss to my armoured forces.

To be fair it was two lucky rolls that won the game for me.  The critical hit with the artillery and that final shot with the 47mm.  Between them they broke or killed three of Richard's four squad equivalents and two leaders.  Richard was entitled to blame the dice (his proved lousy trying to take out my L3s which aren't exactly invulnerable) but wins against Richard are few and far between so I'll milk it for all it's worth.

"They're leaving," the feldwebel punched the air in excitement and waved across at the sergente just visible through the smoke.

"Nice artillery direction," shouted the sergente.  "That was amazing."

"What about you," replied the feldwebel.  "First day on a 47mm and you're carving them up.  It's going to be Iron Crosses all round after this."

"My officer will definitely get a medal," agreed the sergente.

"Him?  He's not even here."

"Does that matter?"

Travelling Pathetically - Semi Virgin Bush Edition

 For those of you interested in a chronological sequence this occurred a few weeks before my operation and thus before my interest in walking became confined to the location of the nearest bathroom.

I had pretty much run out of random fragments of bush to wander through in my immediate vicinity.  So much so that I had perforce to move on to my intermediate vicinity.  I do this by essentially looking for green spaces on a map that don't have the phrase "golf course" associated with them.  In this case I wasn't entirely successful. 

Bexley North is perhaps not the best known suburb in Sydney and one of the things it is not best known for is expanses of wilderness.  It does, however, have Stott's Reserve a small patch of bush which appears to have simply been overlooked when they were lumping houses down on pretty much every other part of the suburb.  I would travel to Bexley North and make my way to Stott's Reserve.  Once there I would make my way through this tiny piece of bushland and then stroll over the hill and down into Bardwell Valley.  Bardwell Valley has Bardwell Creek running through it and it should come as no real surprise that having encountered a piece of terrain too low lying to build on it was decided to build a golf course there instead.  However the golf course ended pretty much where I intended to emerge from the reserve and a park of sorts took its place shadowing the creek upstream.  I would plunge through Stott's Reserve up and over the hill (a modest rise at best) and the take a hard right at the golf course and make my way upstream.

Do you want to know something about the bush?  It's actually quite difficult to walk through.  I don't mean taking a walking trail which is easy enough, I mean actually forcing your way through undergrowth that nobody has helpfully put a path through.  Stott's Reserve isn't large by any means, where I entered it didn't seem much wider than the blocks that the suburban houses on either side were built on.  To be fair it did go back a bit further.

The way in, so to speak

I walked up to the reserve not entirely sure that I wasn't trespassing on someone's overgrown garden and then stared at it in bafflement looking for a way in.  I was expecting a path and of paths there were none.  To be fair we had had some rain recently and it was possible that one of the little rivulets trickling through was in drier times a path.  In the absence of any other options I half forced and half squelched my way along one of these rivulets.  Along the way I managed to make so many spiders homeless that they probably have warning signs up about me.  I can't quite recall if the rivulet ran out but the path (if it was a path) certainly did.

Virgin bush, just out of shot is the neighbours fence

 Sweaty, muddy and festooned with cobwebs (and the occasional justifiably outraged spider) I crashed, slither and stumbled across to the other little rivulet and with a mounting sense of triumph followed that instead.  Said feeling of triumph evaporated moments later as any possibility of following that rivulet closed up as well.  Up until this point I had been thinking uplifting thoughts like "virgin bush" and "unspoiled nature" (apart of course for the pollution in the water and the idiot blundering around like a lunatic).  Now I was starting to think things like, "how am I going to get any further without a machete"?  And also, what if i die in this remote place, will my body ever be found.  Which was ridiculous when you consider I was probably never more than fifty metres from someone's garden fence the entire time.

There was of course time for the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus photo

Mindful of my duty to my readers I did my best to enjoy and photograph the wilderness I had so confidently blundered into and learnt a valuable truth.  It is much easier to enjoy the beauty of nature when nature isn't continually hitting you in the head every time you take a step forward.  By this time not only was I sweaty and sticky but I was festooned in so many cobwebs that I must have looked like I was partway through a mummification process.  I kept finding more every time I brushed myself off.  I was also getting increasingly concerned about my ability to actually make it through at all.

This is the rivulet that might have been a path

Just as I was about to give up in despair I gazed towards the heavens and found salvation.  No I didn't have a religious experience, I saw a bird box attached to a tree.  What this meant, so my cobweb addled reasoning went, was that there must be a path to allow access to the bird both.  Unfortunately it was over on the other side of the reserve.  I scrambled across managing to avoid slipping on rocks and treading on piles of leaves that didn't have anything underneath them until I arrived at the tree.  There was no path but there was a fence and just ahead an open area of mowed ground with picnic tables.

Shedding twigs and the occasional random spider I stumbled forward as though I had been lost for weeks and in about thirty seconds I was in a totally innocuous park which bordered the reserve.  I paused to brush the twigs (and as it so happened more cobwebs and spiders) out of my hair and set off to find Bardwell Creek the location of the second part of my journey.

Yep the wild frontier which extends about another ten metres

Through the back streets of Bexley North I went until I descended upon lush green beauty.  Yep, that was the golf course.  Right next to it was a rather scraggy piece of bush.  It did however have a path.  Actually the path was wide enough for a decent sized car to do a u-turn on.  By contrast with my earlier experience this was barely bushwalking at all.  Since the alternative was to walk through a golf course I chose it anyway and wandered alongside Bardwell Creek.  Bardwell Creek trickles through this valley and eventually meets Wolli Creek just before that Creek in turn meets the Cooks River.  Basically I live near a water course social event.

Somewhere below all that stuff is Bardwell Creek, you're not actually missing much

The creek it has to be said was a bit of a disappointment.  This isn't really the fault of the creek but rather the people who insist on tossing rubbish into it.  In amongst the detritus ducks gamely attempt to feed on whatever can actually live in the water.  Frankly it wouldn't surprise me if from time to time they drag the ducks under.  There was however a rather handsome looking butterfly.

The aforementioned butterfly

Still there were trees, bushes and the sound of water and I sauntered along quite happily enough until I ran out of park and almost out of creek.  The creek in somewhat diminished form continued for a while but someone had built an aquatic centre directly in my path which prevented me from following it any further.  On the way back I used Prime Ministers Walk which is a path through Bardwell Park adorned as the name implies with plaques of our nation's prime ministers.  John Howard appeared to be the most recent, I don't know if they haven't got around to the subsequent ones or if they just decided to end the list at the last prime minister we had who was completely sane.

Bardwell Creek looking uncharacteristically pleasant and inviting

This retracing of my steps meant that I wound up at the golf course again.  I could have left the way I came in but instead decided to walk through the golf course in the hopes of finding Bardwell Park a suburb from which I knew my way home.  As a plan it sort of worked.  The golf course was considerably longer than expected and I had actually overshot my target by the time I struggled out of it.  No matter I had google maps on my phone.  There followed about three quarters of an hour as I walked in the wrong direction, corrected myself, corrected myself again when it turned out I was right the first time, wound up back at the golf course, followed the creek until it became impossible to do so, stumbled out onto a street that I had walked past three times already and eventually made my way to Bardwell Park.  It turns out I have a nonsense of direction.  From Bardwell Park it was a simple albeit hilly walk home.

Silly After Action Report - Nameless Hill

 A small detachment of Marines moved cautiously through a grove of palm trees towards a suspiciously unoccupied looking village.  Above them a jungle covered hill loomed pregnant with malice.  Insects droned lazily in the moisture laden sky.  A heavy metallic clatter filled the air causing every Marine to wince and look desperately around for the enemy.

"In the name of Christ will you stop typing," snarled one Marine.

The war correspondent paused, fingers hovering over his combat typewriter.

"Sorry but I need to get all of this down."

"Ever heard of a pencil?"

The correspondent stared rapturously at the hill dominating the landscape.

"What's that hill called?"

"How should I know," replied the Marine, "I've literally been here as long as you have."

The metallic clatter started again.

"The Marines moved silently towards the Nameless Hill," said the correspondent.

"I didn't say it was nameless," protested the Marine, "and silently would work a lot better if you weren't typing all the damn time."

"I'm not typing," replied the correspondent. 

"Oh shit," replied the Marine and dove for the nearest piece of cover.

With my usual opponent still in self imposed exile in a foreign land Richard Weilly kindly stepped up to ensure my run of defeats would continue without interruption.  At his suggestion we played Scenario AP168 - Nameless Hill from a recent action pack.  Here US Marines are trying to capture an apparently nameless hill and the collection of hits that shelter at its foot.  Complicating the situation is the fact that the lead platoon has walked slap into the Japanese positions and is now more concerned with surviving than capturing anything.

I shall command the Marines attempting to simultaneously capture the huts and the hill and, if possible, extract their comrades from the mess they've walked into.  Despite being on the attack the Marines set up first and move second.  My at start force consists of a pair of 668 Marine squads, three half squads a 9-1 leader and a medium machine gun.  These all have to set up in a narrow area near the huts and overlooked by most of the Japanese force.  On the first turn come my reinforcements, eight more 668 squads, two half squads, a trio of leaders led by another 9-1.  Collectively they are carrying a pair of dismantled medium machine guns and a pair of dismantled 60mm mortars.

Richard's Japanese consist of twelve squads, five first line and seven second line plus three crews.  The crews are to man a pair of medium machine guns and a 75mm infantry gun.  Defences are present in the form of two pillboxes and two foxholes (which by SSR cannot be HIP).  Two officers, a pair of lmgs and a single 50mm mortar round out the Japanese OB.

I made my first mistake immediately when I did my initial set up.  I placed a squad with the mmg and leader up on a hill (not the nameless one) in the hopes that I would be able to suppress some of the Japanese firepower I correctly thought would be on the (nameless) hill across the way.  Below them the rest of my at start force huddled under palm trees.  In actual fact my machine gun team simply made themselves a target for most of the weapons in the Japanese arsenal and while this did take a little pressure off their comrades among the palm trees it didn't bode well for their life expectancy.

Below is the scene at the end of the Japanese first turn.  Richard has dispatched units to cover likely entry points for my reinforcements while simultaneously raining steel down on my hapless machine gunners and occupying all of the huts I need to capture.  Not a good start for yours truly.

End of Japanese turn 1

Now however my reinforcements would arrive.  Thanks to Richard's skillful positioning they had the option of entering directly under the noses of the defenders or probably too far away to be useful.  I chose a combination of both.  The bulk of my force would enter from the west pushing towards a hill mass known I think as the Hill Behind the Nameless Hill.  From here I hoped to drive down towards the victory locations on the anonymous hill itself.  Another force entered on the southwest to try and drive east through his defenders on the hill line.  Finally a token force of a squad or so would enter from the east and try and occupy the defenders attention.  It didn't occupy them for very long, the handless clowns blundered straight into an ambush and died.  From my at start force a squad and a half tiptoed through the palm trees to take up positions behind his eastern defenders (and very close to the victory area).  The rest of my at start force was doomed.  By the end of the turn my mmg stack was reduced to a single broken officer weeping in the trees.

 Things went better in the west.  My southwestern force entered without lost and made its way to the hill without exciting the attention of the defenders who were too busy carving up the remnants of my at start force.  Further north things went even better.  I had hoped to deploy a squad but apparently 8 morale with a -1 leader modifier wasn't good enough so my OB provided halfsquads would have to be the scouts despite carrying dismantled mortars on their back.  One halfsquad and leader charged straight at the squad Richard had in the vicinity.  Defensive fire broke the halfsquad but the leader went berserk and promptly took the halfsquad with him.  Newly enthused for battle they jumped into the Japanese squads hex and slaughtered him in close combat.  The way was clear and the rest of my force swept forward.

A bit of a disaster in the south but things look better in the north

Richard's second turn saw him reposition troops to ward against the threat from the north while simultaneously virtually annihilating what was left of my at start force.  To add insult to injury he pushed forward and captured my mmg as its sole remaining guardian a broken 9-1 fled howling into the jungle.  Speaking of howling into the jungle I dropped concealment on my troops near the victory location to take a shot at his border guards now returning but gained nothing but a pin result.  His mortar was plastering what I now referred to as my "victory stack" but so far without result.

Once again Richard has managed to insert a squad directly where I need to go

I spoke too soon with regard to the mortar. In my very next turn he managed to break a squad and the 9-1 leader (any leader with a morale of 9 or more is always utterly useless).  The rest of the force pushed forward through the jungle towards the victory locations.  Richard had sent a unit along the path to try and slow them down and it became a race for the victory locations.  In the southwest my troops, lathered in sweat, had reached the hill and were contemplating the unpleasant task of rooting out concealed Japanese troops.  Over in the east I had a brain snap and sent a squad and a half against a Japanese second line squad.  "Three to one odds" I thought,  "What could go wrong? I thought.  Richard was more than happy to inform me.  My at start 9-1 by the way would spend the rest of the game wandering around the jungle trying to pretend he was still relevant.

Hmm, could be better

I had also tried my halfsquad/leader charging at the enemy tactic again but it didn't work so well this time and Richard took them both out although an adjacent squad did managed to stripe his squad.  For the rest Richard pulled back, tightened his lines and presented me with a wall of concealed troops to plough through.  Oh yes and the squad and half squad I sent against his second line squad?  I finally managed to kill the squad and in return Richard killed a full squad of marines.  Not really a good return on investment.

Time is running short

Time was starting to run out as the game is only five turns long but my forward movement was now measured in single hexes as I tried to steamroller over his defence.  I apparently didn't know how to use the clutch on my steamroller as it lurched forward, stopped and lurched again.  Meanwhile Richard calmly withdrew what troops he could while leaving enough to prevent any swift movement on my part.

Progress is now being measured in single hexes

It was true that Richard's force was starting to look a little tattered but nowhere near as tattered as mine and while he reluctantly gave ground on the hill his grip on the victory hexes was as tight as ever.  For me I could find no alternative to simply pushing forward into his locations and hoping CC would be kind.  Sometimes it was, sometimes it really, really wasn't but what it certainly wasn't was rapid movement.  I conceded at the end of turn 4.  With one turn left to go and only one victory location captured it was obvious that barring a sudden outbreak of plague in the Japanese ranks I wasn't going to win.  Oh yes, and I had taken none of the huts which also needed to be captured for an American victory.

Congratulations to Richard on the victory, he handled his troops well and fought a good defensive battle.  I did a couple of stupid things (particularly the early set up of that mmg team) but basically I just didn't do enough smart things to win.  In fact I'm not sure I did any smart things at all.

The end, one victory location is all I would get

A group of Marines clustered round the figure of the war correspondent stretched out on the ground.

"Is there any hope?" asked one of them.  A second shook his head sadly.

"Five rounds straight through.  No chance of surviving that."

The war correspondent opened his eyes and looked around.

"Hey guys, what's happening?"

One of the Marines stepped forward, "We have bad news about your typewriter."

I've Been Violated by a Robot!

 About eighteen months ago I was diagnosed with prostate cancer.  At first both the specialist and my GP were very sanguine.

"Don't worry," I was told.  "It's a very lazy and unambitious cancer.  With any luck we'll never have to do anything about it."

Some nine months later my specialist looked at the results of my latest biopsy and said, "That thing's got to come out." 

Apparently in the course of nine months the cancer had a long hard look at what it was doing with its life and decided to be the sort of ambitious, hard working cancer that would make its mother proud.  Since its place of work was my prostate we simply decided to outsource the prostate to the nearest medical waste bin.  It did take a few months to get all of the arrangements in place.  My specialist did me proud, getting me onto a new trial programme for a super sexy robot that would perform the actual surgery (under the guidance of my specialist of course).

I must admit when I think of robots doing surgery I tend to think of the robot from Lost in Space with chainsaw blades attached to its arms.  It's probably a good thing I didn't see the actual robot.  I would either have been disappointed or terrified.  Some of my friends wondered whether I was comfortable with having a robot attacking me with sharp things.  Actually I preferred it.  Even the best human surgeon can have an unfortunate sneezing fit.  All I needed to worry about was whether the robot decided that this was the time to strike a blow against the fleshly overlords.  Fortunately my specialist was on hand with his finger on the self destruct button in case of this eventuality.

Before the operation my specialist had a less than reassuring conversation with me about the side effects of the surgery.  These are, in no particular order; loss of bladder control, erectile disfunction and penis shrinkage.  At this point it sounded less like medical side effects and more like an ancient Gypsy curse.  I was assured that in "most" cases the bladder control would return after anything between three months and two years.  It was when we got on to erectile disfunction that my specialists eyes really lit up.

Apparently the medical team were really keen that I get some sort of erectile function back.  Not out of any concern for my sex life but because there are apparent health benefits in doing so.  My specialist went through all of the things that could be done to help in this regard starting with "tactile manipulation" which I hope is a euphemism for masturbation, then viagra.  When he started talking about jabbing needles into my penis I called a halt.  In a manner I considered calm but firm I informed him I had absolutely no intention of sticking sharp things into my penis.  He told me to lower my voice and get down off his desk.

With all of the arrangements in place all I had to do was wait for the robot to have a gap in its apparently busy schedule.  That happened a couple of weeks ago and I presented myself at the hospital and placed myself in the metallic hands of my surgeon.  Shortly before I was due to be sedated a very human nurse turned up, informed me that he was a specialist prostate nurse and that he should have had the opportunity for a two hour conversation about what to do afterwards and the recovery process.  Instead he had to condense it into about forty five minutes.

In my ignorance I had thought that recovery would consist of lying on a couch for a couple of weeks until I was strong enough to return to work.  I wasn't entirely wrong but first there would be a week or so with a catheter, and then there are exercises to strengthen the pelvic floor and physiotherapy (ditto).  Once all of that was underway we could move on to doing something about erectile function (or the lack of same).  The end result of which was that my recovery period has actually been more tiring than I expected.

The robot apparently performed its role well, the prostate was removed, nerve endings were saved and the only proof of the robot's attentions is a series of scars across my abdomen.  Seriously I look like I've been in a knife fight.  At the suggestion of the physiotherapist I'm currently rubbing sorbolene cream into them.  He has promised to deal with a couple of stitches that haven't dissolved the next time I see him (I had mistaken them for scar tissue).

About the first few days at home with a catheter as a house guest I shall say nothing except I think I was happier when that was removed than the actual prostate.  For the first fortnight I was injecting myself with blood thinners and the unsightly bruises and marks across my thighs emphasised my desire to have nothing to do with needles near the penis.  The prostate nurse (who is just as keen on my erections as my specialist) assures me that's the last resort if nothing else works.  I really, really hope something else works.

Now I'm pretty much recovered from the surgery and can look forward.  I'm sitting here, slightly damp with a disfunctional penis.  However the cancer is gone and I haven't had to do any chemo or radiotherapy.  I'm actually working on the exercises in the hopes that my pelvic floor (or at least my bladder) gets a little more enthusiastic about its job.  I find myself a little disappointed about the erectile disfunction which actually surprised me.  It has been a long time since any woman has looked at me with anything remotely resembling interest (as it turned out she had indigestion but I was hopeful for a moment) and I honestly didn't think it would be that big a deal.  It turns out there is a difference between not doing something and not being able to do something.  Besides removing the prostate doesn't actually impact your sex drive all that much (after you've recovered from the surgery of course) it just impacts your ability to do anything about it.

Apart from the obvious the only lingering affects of the surgery are tiredness and a certain lack of ability to concentrate (probably connected).  Hopefully that will go away with more sleep.  In the meantime I am reluctantly shelving half formed plans to travel to West Africa and am investigating river cruises and train journeys more in keeping with my newly enfeebled status.

Silly After Action Report - Silesian Interlude

 Senior Lieutenant Mikhail Turnitoff saluted as the major arrived in a jeep that was definitely not made in the United States.  

"Bad news Turnitoff," the major announced.  "The damned Germans are going to be dropping tanks onto us by parachute."

Turnitoff blinked, "Could you repeat that Comrade Major?"

The major flourished an intelligence briefing.

"Our opponents are a parachute panzer division.  How on earth do they get them onto the planes?"

"I don't think the panzers necessarily parachute..." but the major wasn't listening.  Instead he was bustling from one defensive position to another.

"I want all of the antitank guns pointed at the sky and everyone keep alert for the sound of aircraft."

"Or the Germans laughing," muttered Turnitoff but the major didn't hear him.  He was too busy arguing with the commander of an IS2 tank whose gun barrel remained stubbornly horizontal.  Turnitoff turned and almost walked over the regimental commissar who was smiling the sort of smile that made you wish he would stop smiling.

"Are you going to obey the major's orders Comrade Lieutenant?" asked the commissar in such a friendly tone that ice trickled down Turnitoff's back.

"I, well, um that is I think it would be wise, or at least not unwise if we didn't entirely discount the possibility that the Germans might just drive their tanks at us."  The commissar pulled out a notebook.

"Deliberately disregarding a direct order," said the commissar making a note.

Defeated Turnitoff said, "What would you have written if I had obeyed the order."

"Conspiring with a class traitor to undermine the war effort," replied the commissar cheerfully.

"Is there any way I can get out of this?"

"Oh yes, if you die in action I guarantee a posthumous Hero of the Soviet Union decoration."

"And the major?"

"Oh he's definitely going to die in action."

In a pathetic and transparent attempt to avoid defeat at my hands my usual opponent Dave Wilson has fled overseas using a holiday as the flimsiest of excuses.  Before he did so we played one final game and when I flipped through a scenario list this is the one that came up.  Here I shall play the Soviets uncharacteristically on the defensive in March 1945 as they get attacked by a monument to a bloated drug addict's vanity.  To win the parachute panzertroops of the Hermann Goering must control all four buildings on board 38 and also exit 11VP off the board.  My doughty Soviet troops are tasked to stop them.

I have quite the impressive force to do the stopping it must be said.  Infantry consists of eight squads, six elite and two smg squads with a pair of not completely hopeless leaders, three light machine guns, a medium machine gun and an antitank rifle (it's 1945 for God's sake).  Also present is a 45mm antitank gun.  Six concealment counters and five foxholes add a small measure of protection.  Armoured support is provided by a T34/85 and an IS2 tank.  Lest this seem insufficient on turn 4 a pair of SU100 tank destroyers trundle on accompanied by a pair of smg squads as escort.

Dave, commanding the Hermann Goering has 12.5 squads of infantry, four elite and eight and a half first line equipped with four light and two medium machine guns oh yes, and a panzerschreck.  They are led by three officers including a none too shabby 9-1.  Dave's armoured support is mildly terrifying, three late model Panthers with a PzIVJ making up the numbers and no doubt feeling slightly inadequate.

Below is my set up.  The T34 goes up on the hill to guard the German entrance area.  The IS2 does the same from ground level at the bottom of the board.  The 45mm goes in a convenient clump of trees hopefully positioned for side or rear shots as Dave's panzers roar past in search of the exit.  You may notice a couple of odd things about my set up such as why are there so many troops on the hill and what is that large concealed unit doing behind the hill?  The answer is; "stupidity".  I didn't read the entrance requirements closely and didn't realise that the German entry area is quite restricted.  I had nightmare visions of being flanked by Panthers while infantry swept up the hill to overwhelm my hapless T-34.  Fortunately I wasn't a complete moron (opinion is divided on this point) and the large concealed unit is in fact a dummy.  Still it did mean I was a little skimpy on troops down in the village, you know the victory locations.  At least the mmg was there with my best leader.

Honest to god I need a keeper sometimes

Realising that he had to take his lumps early Dave rolled his panzers on in a compact wedge hoping the presence of nearby trees would protect them from my tank on the hill.  This worked for one turn while his infantry infiltrated through the trees.  A sizeable force of infantry also entered towards the south no doubt headed for my IS2.

The German first turn ended without too much harm done by anyone except for a German half squad in the south who got a little eager and was broken.  I did have a squad down with my IS2 to protect it from onrushing infantry and I congratulated myself on my good sense.  Aside from that my T34 naturally discovered it had no APCR but was drooling over the possibility of side shots on the menacing Panthers.

German turn 1, the Panthers are coming

In my first turn I took that good sense I was congratulating myself on and threw it out the window.  The squad/lmg combo I had protecting my IS2 was sitting in some trees and I decided it was time for it to move to the foxhole I had preprepared.  Of course this meant exposing it to a shot from the German troops looming up but with eight morale and a number of hindrances I thought the risk worth taking.  I was wrong, so very very wrong.  The squad broke and suddenly my IS2 was alone in the world with a pack of battle crazed fallschirmjager ready to fall on it in the next turn.  Perhaps sensing that its time was running out the IS2 punched a hole through the front of a Panther and set it ablaze.  First armoured blood to me.

There is a disturbing amount of infantry eyeing off my IS2 but one Panther will roar no more.

As previously stated the Germans just have to take their lumps early and push through the killing zone.  Push they did, my T34 nailed a second Panther but down in the south my gallant IS2 breathed its last as it was swarmed by German infantry.  I did my best to protect it at long range with my mmg team in the village and did manage to break a couple of units but the IS2 went down in a flurry of arms and legs and the whoosh of a panzerfaust.  I have no idea if panzerfausts go "whoosh" but it seems like an appropriate noise for them to make.

In the centre of the board Dave's infantry pushed towards the village, now able to be supported by a mass of infantry pushing up from the now tank deprived south.  For my part I started moving some of my ill placed infantry out of their foxholes on the hill and sent them a little nervously in the direction of the village.  Dave's surviving Panther swung around to engage my T34 presenting its near impenetrable frontal armour in doing so.

Two Panthers down but the writing is on the wall for my T34

Focus now shifted to the infantry battle as Dave pushed his troops forward.  Somehow my T34 survived the turn and it and the 45mm managed to break a couple of his squads in the centre.  In the south Dave's troops seized their first building from a heroic dummy stack which managed to fake out the attackers for two turns.  There are a large number of Germans in the south just waiting to be rallied by the 9-1 but for the moment I'm holding firm.

The Germans push forward

Another bad turn for the armour followed as Dave's remaining Panther finally took out my T34 which had been cheerfully carving up German infantry left, right and centre.  Revenge was gained by my 45mm which destroyed the Panzer IV which Dave had brought up to support his infantry.  With the Panther temporarily the lone queen of the battlefield Dave pressed forward with his infantry of which he seemed to have a disturbing amount despite his losses so far.

I've even taken some prisoners, bad times are coming though

With freshly rallied troops Dave launched his first assault on the village breaking my mmg team and pushing into another building.  The close combat was complicated by the German prisoners running in circles trying to avoid being killed by both sides.  The surviving Panther rolled forward more to menace than harm.  It was fearsome but next turn I would have a pair of my own beasts arriving to face off against it.

Turn four ended with my situation looking a lot better than it actually was.  I still held all three building hexes in the village and my SU100s had arrived to bolster the defence (actually to prevent an exit).  In truth there wasn't a single unbroken Soviet unit left in the village and with my usual armoured skill I had rolled one SU100 directly into the line of sight of Dave's remaining Panther.  It is sometimes difficult to distinguish my tactics from an explicit attempt at suicide.

One SU100 is not long for this world

Dave's fifth turn started with the Panther killing the SU100 and then mopping up the rest of the village.  He had the victory locations and now just needed to exit the 11VP required for the win.  My reinforcing smg squads did manage to pin or break some of his troops as they headed for the exit but still things looked gloomy.  Dave had a game winner in the Panther, roll that off and the relevant victory points were pretty much assured.

End of Soviet turn 5

Turn six rolled around and Dave made his move.  The Panther started up and headed for the exit.  Up on the hill my remaining SU100 waited for it.  There wasn't time for finesse Dave barrelled directly towards the board edge and as he did so my SU100 put a round into its side which reduced it to plasma.  That was the game winning shot.  Dave could, and did, exit enough infantry to garner the necessary exit victory points but in doing so left the village vulnerable to a counter attack.  I only had to recapture one building and capture it I did for a not entirely deserved victory at the last.

Endgame, a Soviet squad is poised to recapture a building in the advance phase and there is nought the Germans can do about it.

Many thanks to Dave for the game which went right down to the wire.  Despite set up mistakes and general idiocy I managed to pull out a victory at the last and, more importantly, send Dave off on holidays with his shoulders bowed with defeat.

"We did it," muttered Lieutenant Turnitoff staring around at the recaptured village in disbelief.

"Indeed we did comrade," replied the commissar suddenly appearing at Turnitoff's elbow.  Turnitoff did his best not to scream but wasn't entirely successful.  "A triumph of Bolshevik fighting spirit over the fascist dogs."

"Yeah, triumph," replied Turnitoff nervously.  "Ah, where's the major?"

"He died fighting like a hero."

"Really, I didn't see him in the action."

"He was killed by a sniper," replied the commissar.  "Took a bullet right through the back of the head, chance in a million."

"So," said Turnitoff hesitantly, "are we good?"

The commissar gave a smile best described as "carnivorous".

"I would really like you to think so."