Travelling Hopefully - Well, Eventually

 A trip away!  Oh what glorious words.  For two years I have been trapped in my home city while plague assaulted the barricades and my personal sanity leaked out my ears.  Now however the plague has subsided or at least our level of concern about it has and I am free to spread my wings.  So I'm off to... Melbourne.

Yes, a bit of an anticlimax there but you know, baby steps.  There was a war gaming competition I wanted to attend and for reasons of sheer perversity (and the fact that the organisers lived there) it was to be held in Melbourne.  I tacked a couple of extra days on and wound up spending a full week in Australia's southern capital.  My excitement as the day to leave drew nearer was intense.  In fact my excitement was so intense that it almost survived contact with Sydney airport.

I have in the past, on this very blog, been a little less than enthusiastic about Sydney's gateway to the world.  Indeed I've always thought they should have a sign on the way out saying "Welcome to Sydney, Don't Worry the Worst is Over".  Well no more, I approached its dimly lit hallways with a rarely felt sense of satisfaction and delight.  If only I could spend more time nestled in its concrete bosom.

Fortunately Qantas heard my silent prayer.  Dire warnings of delays as travel crazed passengers clawed and bit at each other for the opportunity to get onto a plane, any plane had prompted me to turn up with plenty of time.  Two hours for a domestic flight the doomsayers had suggested and I skipped out of work a bit early so I could arrive two hours before my 6.45pm flight.

Tumbleweeds were rolling through the airport when I arrived.  The tiny handful of people huddling within its vast confines did little to counter the impression that I had walked into a large, abandoned warehouse.  It took all of my self control to stop myself from ripping copper wiring out of the walls.  After successfully dispatching my luggage on its own journey to Melbourne and passing through security in thirty seconds I settled down for the two hour wait until my flight was due to depart.  Once I was done with that I then settled down to wait the extra two hours until my plane actually departed.  I was actually due in Melbourne before my plane left the ground in Sydney.  By the time I had reintroduced myself to my luggage in Melbourne and made it to my hotel it was sufficiently late that I was in danger of having my reservation cancelled.  Fortunately thanks to covid they were desperate for the business and were probably prepared to hold my room for a fortnight if need be.

Realising that it had screwed up a little Qantas pulled out all of the stops on my return journey to ensure I wouldn't be kept hanging around at the airport.  My flight was at 11.30am and on 5.30pm the previous day they texted me to say it was cancelled.  After an hour and a half futilely going in circles on their website I received another text saying they had booked me on a flight three hours earlier instead.  A couple of hours later they texted me again to tell me that flight was cancelled as well.  Finally they sent me another text telling me I was booked on an even earlier flight.  I'm pretty sure they would have booked me on a flight a couple of days ago if they could have worked out the temporal physics involved.

Once they got my sleep deprived self onto a plane Qantas just couldn't let go.  It was announced that we would have to circle Sydney airport for a while (possibly until the cabin crew threw up).  They blamed air traffic control but I couldn't help getting the feeling that Qantas was flirting with me.  Sorry, I meant fucking with me.  When I got out of the airport in Sydney it was raining because it always is whenever I arrive home from a trip away.  My taxi driver accused me of bringing the rain with me but I pointed out that it was always here waiting when I arrived.

A Brief Pause for Reflection

 It seems that my blog has degenerated into little more than place to file the latest after action reports from my wargame and to write about walks through overgrown bits of suburbia.  Plus of course the occasional rant from a random Tasmanian.  Actually its a rant from a highly specific Tasmanian but the principle remains.

For a while covid provided me with a source of fresh material but ultimately there are only so many ways to say "diseases are infectious" and "people are idiots".  The war in Ukraine is far too serious a subject for a deeply silly blog and the election that our august prime minister recently called seems to be a choice between the devil you know and the other devil you know.  On a personal level the most interesting thing that has happened to me of late is that this morning while having breakfast at 3am I managed to bite my tongue lengthways.

It is a source of some annoyance to me that my cracked and decaying teeth which have difficulty gumming their way through a slice of milk softened bread can nevertheless manage to tear the inside of my mouth to shreds with the efficiency of a velociraptor on feeding frenzy.  Having my morning repast interrupted by a sudden spray of obscenity flavoured fruit loops did at least add a little variety to my day.

On the domestic front I have trained my stuffed platypus to use the vacuum cleaner while my spider has apparently converted the place to an airbnb if the number of actual arachnids I have hanging around is anything to go by.  In addition to the vacuuming my puffin is helping me clean the windows.  Well, I say he's helping actually I'm spraying him with Windex and using him to wipe down the windows.  This is one of the reasons why my puffin, once black and white, is now a dirty grey.  It also helps to explain his hopeless addiction to cleaning products.

The Easter weekend provided a perfect opportunity to not do all of the things I've been putting off around the house.  I must admit I got quite a sense of achievement from reflecting on all the things I didn't do.  Trying to remember anything I actually did do has proved somewhat more problematic.  A work colleague mentioned that her daughter needed a hat for their school's Easter hat parade but wasn't particularly impressed with my suggestion of a crown of thorns.  I honestly don't know why I try helping people sometimes.

One thing I did decide to do over Easter was to try and broaden the scope of subjects on my blog to make it more appealing to the seven billion or so people who aren't interested in wargames or random parts of Sydney.  You see the results above.  Or rather you probably don't because the likelihood of you having got this far through what is essentially a random stream of consciousness is rather low.  In fact the term "stream of consciousness" is a bit of a misnomer as its more like puddles of semi consciousness.

I have to go now, the puffin is mainlining the washing powder again.

Travelling Pathetically - Exhausting Creek Bed Edition

 The ocean going raft was a wretched thing; a crazy, lashed together collection of waterlogged timber off cuts and random detritus.  It was the sort of vessel one gets when the only engineers available are of the software variety.  The raft floated or rather wallowed on a sea unbroken by any hint of land.  Basically the whole thing resembled a low budget (but better quality) version of Waterworld.

I sat on the driest thing I could find (a collection of waterlogged sponges) and addressed the eager group of children hanging on my every word.  Occasionally a tentacle would rise from the sea and snatch away one of those closest to the edge.  The odd gruesome death did not stop the others from listening to my tales with sparkling eyes.

"Tell us another tale of the dry Uncle Neil," begged one urchin covered in mould.  I closed my eyes, largely so I didn't have to see them, and cast my mind back to the days before the rain.  The days when one could walk outside without drowning.  The days when this miserable floating wreck wasn't the last remnant of human civilisation.  The days when taking a shower was a cleanliness option not a continual experience.

"My tale," I announced, "is of one of the last days before the rain."  I scraped up my memories, invented huge chunks to cover the boring bits (most of it) and commenced.

So yes, the weather is getting to me a little but a few weeks ago I stepped out boldly onto only slightly soggy ground for a gentle afternoon stroll.  Having exhausted all options in my immediate vicinity I decided to try something a little further afield.  I had been informed that it was possible to make ones way from the vicinity of Lake Parramatta to various places on the North Shore without having to go through all of that irritating surburbia stuff that was in the way.  Essentially I would follow various creeks making my way through all the bits of land that proved just a little too inconvenient to build on.

It has to be admitted my planning for this journey was a little sketchy.  I didn't really have a destination but since the thin strips of green on the map were surrounded by built up areas I figured I could just leave the green when I got tired and find myself somewhere I could probably catch a cab.  To be fair this plan worked, just.

It was touch and go whether I actually went at all.  The real rains were still a week or so away but the sky was an unpleasant grey colour and there were occasional drizzles of rain.  The thought of getting caught in what is essentially a creek bed during a genuine downpour wasn't pleasant but eventually I decided to risk it.

My walk would officially start at Lake Parramatta a stretch of water whose existence I was barely aware of.  It was created to provide drinking water for Parramatta despite the fact that Parramatta had a functioning river.  The reason for the need was because as usual the population had polluted Parramatta River and then started bemoaning the lack of a fresh water supply.  Eventually they slung a dam across one of the creeks I would be walking up and drank from that.  Parramatta no longer sources its drinking water from this location but because the dam was built rather well the lake is still there.  Now it serves as a recreation area for such of the population as can find it and a home for numerous plant and animal species who probably don't have anywhere else to go.

Lake Parramatta isn't exactly convenient to get to if you don't drive.  It's tucked away at the back of a mess of suburban streets with little in the way of sign posting.  It is also a fair distance from Parramatta railway station where I alighted half expecting the lake to be in the next street.  Alas no, I would have to walk not just to my destination but also to my starting point.  Along the way I crossed the Parramatta River which oozed happily along on its not particularly long journey to the sea.

The Parramatta River doing its best to be scenic

Normally when I want to get somewhere I identify the location on a map and then do the best I can to walk as directly towards it as the street layout will permit.  It usually works but this technique doesn't factor in variables such as half the streets in the city being shut down due to works on an upcoming light rail system.  One of the workers very kindly took time out of industriously leaning on a sign to inform me that I couldn't get through the way I wanted and would have to circle around a fair bit.  Instead I decided to cut through what was either an abandoned cemetery or a cemetery where they've let the grass grow quite a lot.

If this is starting to sound like the script for a cheap horror movie I can only assure you that I made it through the cemetery alive and that absolutely nothing left out at me from mouldering tombs or ancient crypts.  Although this being Australia the best we can probably do is middle aged crypts.  I did however take a couple of photos.

Cemetery photo #1. I'm happy to report the occupant of this grave stayed put during my visit

The cemetery sojourn did provide a welcome break from just wandering along suburban streets which at this point I was starting to suspect would form the bulk of my day.

Cemetery photo #2 the graves aren't well tended but the trees are obviously well fertilised

Eventually I made my way through a mess of Parramatta back streets (and the occasional cemetery) and found myself at the reserve that Lake Parramatta calls its home.  A dark entryway seemed to welcome me if I could make my way through it without impacting on any vehicle traffic.  Fortunately due to a combination of covid and the weather cars were not out in force that day.

Abandon all hope ye who enter here (and watch out for the traffic)

Yes I had finally made it, the object of my journey was at hand.  Lake Parramatta lay spread out before me in all its glory.  It's aquatic magnificence barely marred by the ghastly imitation swan paddle boats which had inexplicably been permitted to proliferate on its surface.

The wonders of nature

Despite a certain level of artificial swan induced disillusion I was pleased.  Lake Parramatta stretched before me surrounded by trees, bushes, picnic areas and car parks.  A not unmanageable number of people were enjoying barbecues and swan pedal boat rides despite the fact that the weather wasn't looking any friendlier than it had at the start of my trip.

Flushed with success I set out on the next stage of my journey.  I took a look at the dam which prevented the lake from depositing itself amongst the townsfolk and gave a cheery hello to a lizard which was clouding itself on a rock.  The lizard was probably hoping for sun but having made the effort of getting up onto the rock was damned if it was going to let the absence of sun from getting in its way.

Grey rock, grey lizard, grey water.  It was that sort of day really

 

Behold, a dam

I strolled along the lake, partially because it was a pleasant, bushy stroll and partially because I had to figure out what to do next.  The lake itself might have made for an enjoyable walk but such was not my intention.  No dear reader I had set myself a sterner task (in my defence I didn't realise that at the time).  Part way around the lake according to google maps was a path that would lead me away from the lake and up to a road.  Up I went and a road obligingly presented itself.  Taking a last despairing glance at civilisation I plunged down the other side towards the wild bushland that awaited.

For the record Lake Parramatta is filled by Hunts Creek, I had hopped over North Rocks Road to walk along Darling Mills Creek which paralleled it for a fair distance.  Above me was the noise of an inhabited city, down among the trees were the sounds of nature.  Also the sounds of cricket since my entryway to the walking path started at an oval where two teams of eleven men (and almost as many spectators) were trying to justify getting away from their families for the day.  Leaving the sports enthusiasts behind I hurried on until I encountered what is euphemistically named an assisted living facility.  Basically one of those places where old folks crawl away to die.  A sharp right turn however and I was in genuine bush.

The silence, although not absolute was immediate and my spirits rose as I felt confident that the next thing I was going to see wouldn't be a block of flats.  The path was narrow but signposted (helpful as there were areas where the path was more notional than real) and took me through damp, gently rotting bush.  The creek was down there somewhere but for the most part there were trees in the way of my view.

See, bush

And of course the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus

I strode cheerily through the bush trying not to think of exactly how long it had taken me to get this far and resolutely refusing to look at the sky which was gradually transforming from grey to even more grey.  From time to time I got a glimpse of the creek which cheered me immensely as it proved that I had not managed to get myself hopelessly lost.  The possibility that the world might possess more than one creek I kept firmly out of my mind.

Then I walked into the back of someone's house.  I stopped, backed up a moment and realised I had reached a t-intersection I could either turn left or right.  The signs helpfully pointed out that I could go in either direction.  I chose right and set out with purpose with bush on one side and houses on the other.  There was also a fair bit of that bright orange plastic netting that is put in place to stop the bush from leaping out and killing people.  It turned out there was a very good reason for this as witness the sign below.

Just what you want to see on a bushwalk

I did my best not to breathe as I hurried past and looked forward to the moment when I would be once again surrounded by bush.  It arrived and I heaved a sigh of (hopefully not asbestos laden) relief.  Happily I struck out again and within minutes I had turned up back at the oval where guys were playing cricket.  I had managed to walk in a complete circle.  My face burning with embarrassment (or possibly asbestos) I turned around and hastened back past the sign and a rather shop soiled magpie until I arrived back at the intersection where I should obviously have turned left.

Definitely one of the scraggier looking magpies I have seen (unless its a currawong)

Once more back on track I plunged forward.  I can't say I did it with renewed confidence as by now I wouldn't have been surprised if I had wound up in my own driveway.  Fortunately I was on the right path now and it wasn't really my fault if the path was overgrown and frequently difficult to find.  Often I only knew I was on the path because I realised that walking would have been somewhat more difficult if the path hadn't been there.

I had left the houses behind now and was walking or rather struggling along the valley floor.  I say struggling because this area was denuded of trees.  Instead thickly growing bushes (and plenty of noxious weeds) filled the area.  The path became more of a suggestion than a thoroughfare but even more important as it was obvious that absent a machete and a possibly a flamethrower I wasn't going to get through any other way.

Somewhat overgrown

Nevertheless I perservered if only because I couldn't think of anything else to do.  I wasn't quite lost, its a little difficult to get lost on a single track, but I wasn't entirely sure where I was.  Actually I spent most of the walk not entirely sure where I was.  This didn't particularly concern me as I knew that somewhere above me was a collection of suburbs and all the accoutrements of a major city.  My lack of concern was rather stupid as the presence of such things a few hundred metres away wouldn't stop me from dying right here if anything went wrong.

To emphasis the point of exactly how far away a couple of hundred metres is when a decent amount of them are straight up the path took this opportunity to wander past some impressive sandstone cliffs.  Water trickled down them and the ground was distinctly wet under foot.  Thoughts of what might happen if I got caught in a sudden downpour started to wander through my mind.  The conclusions were not exactly encouraging.

There are probably houses or shops at the top of this.  However I am at the bottom

On I went and was eventually rewarded when the scenery turned from somewhat low rent bushes and morning glory into "proper" bushland ie trees with a very obvious path. This was a bit of a relief as I hadn't been entirely sure I was on a path at all.

Speaking of sudden downpours the reason for my considering this was the fact that the sky was looking more ominous by the second.  For all my brave talk about being a few hundred metres from civilisation until the path deigned to take me in that direction I had no obvious way of getting there.  Nevertheless I put such things from my mind.  The good thing about making no preparations is that you don't really need to worry about disaster, if it happens there's nothing you can do anyway.  However I did step out a little more briskly now that I wasn't struggling through the undergrowth as it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to bring this walk to a conclusion sooner rather than later.

Random butterfly photo

A couple of hours later I would still be doing the same thing.  As I moved on through the bush I gained glimpses of the creek whose course I had apparently been following this entire time.  It was quite friendly and was happy to pause and pose for photos.  I declined to follow its instagram account however.

Creek photo #1

From time to time the path would guide me back to the water so I could take another photo and I finally realised that the creek was a bit of a camera hog.  Not surprising really, it probably doesn't get too much attention in normal times.

Creek photo #2

After what seemed an age (and what fitter people would probably call a few minutes) I encountered an opportunity to ascend to higher and more thickly populated ground.  An actual sealed road intersected with my path and led upwards.  I followed it heading eagerly towards disillusion pausing only to take a photo of a mini anthill on the way.

It looked slightly more impressive in real life although not much

And of course the now obligatory fungus.

Once I got to the top I luxuriated in the presence of sealed roads and buildings until I looked around and realised I had no idea where the hell I was.  A quick examination of google maps informed me that I had come out at the back of a modest industrial estate a considerable distance from anything I would call civilisation ie coffee shops and railway stations.  I gazed back at the bush, shrugged and plunged back into wild.

Having recommitted myself to the natural world once of the first things I encountered was a mass of graffiti covered concrete.  This was Northmead Dam, a flood retention project built in the 1990s for the dual purpose of ensuring that the creek didn't get anyone's backyard soggy and of course providing a canvas for graffiti artists that wouldn't actually be seen by anyone who wasn't actually looking for it.  A tunnel over the creek allowed access to the upsteam and a helpful sign suggested that it might not be a great idea to enter the tunnel if a torrent of water was spewing from it.  Fortunately while I was there the creek was on its best behaviour.

The aforementioned tunnel.  Do not enter if full of water.

On I pushed, by now I was starting to get a little concerned.  It was starting to get late and the weather was looking more ominous by the second (incidentally I hate to spoil the suspense but it didn't rain the entire time.  It just looked as though it was about to).  I actually needed to get out of here, unfortunately one of the things I hadn't done before setting out was decide on a destination.  Fortunately the decision was made for me.  A sign informed me that somewhere up ahead one could exit the bush at West Pennant Hills.  I knew nothing about West Pennant Hills except that it wasn't at the bottom of a bush festooned creek so I struck out hastening my pace as much as was commensurate with safety and my own decaying body.

It was typical that now that I was hurrying and less inclined to look around me that the scenery produced its best material.  Trees, bush and a genuinely picturesque creek flowing through.  I nodded breathlessly at the natural beauty presented for my weary delectation and hastened onwards.  The scenery had every right to feel a little miffed.

Miffed scenery

Not really knowing where West Pennant Hills was (or where I was for that matter) meant that I didn't really have an expectation for when I would arrive.  I just kept trudging onwards along paths that I nervously realised were getting muddier by the minute.  Another stream turned up apparently for the sole purpose of confusing me as to which direction I should go in (I picked the right way by luck) then suddenly there was a motorway.  A ribbon of concrete alive with cars.  Unfortunately it was a couple of hundred metres directly above me.  I walked under the M2 and continued my search for a means of getting back to a suddenly desirable environment of concrete and tarmac.

That is the M2 motorway.  It looks better from this angle

The M2 soon vanished in my wake which is an impressive achievement for a multilane motorway and I pushed on through the bush.  The end when it came was slightly anti climactic.  I had been gradually trending upward and I suddenly wandered out onto a street in West Pennant Hills as had been promised.

I felt a sense of achievement but mostly I felt sore and tired.  The simple truth is; I'm over fifty, hopelessly unfit and not in the best of health.  I had pushed myself too far.  For what happened next I can only blame sheer insanity.  There was a bus stop nearby but a glance at google maps told me that Cherrybrook metro station wasn't too far away.  Indeed it wasn't, two kilometres is by no means a great distance.  For reasons that seemed pretty sketchy at the time and haven't improved with age I stumbled, shuffled and eventually limped along suburban streets until I finally reached Cherrybrook and brought an end to my journey (apart from the rail trip home).  By the time I got back to my apartment I had stiffened up so much I could hardly get up the stairs.

 

Silly After Action Report - Cautious Crusaders

 Captain Dobromil Huselv halted his bike and lifted his binoculars.  The rest of the peloton sailed gaily past him until brought to a halt by Huselv's furious ringing of his bell.

"What's the problem Dobby?" asked a lieutenant.

"I've told you not to call me that," snapped Huselv.  Addressing his men who collectively resembled a heavily armed cycling holiday he jerked a thumb towards a grain field, "Off the road and fall into formation.  I can see foxholes and suspicious looking question marks."

"What about the bikes?"

"Oh bring them with us, maybe we'll be able to sell them at the next village.  Are you in contact with our artillery?"

"Yeees," replied the lieutenant hesitantly.

"Is there a problem?"

"They only have two guns and they're not sure they brought the right ammunition."

"Merciful heavens, at least we have armour."

Right on cue an ancient armoured car sputtered forward, wheezed asthmatically and came to a halt.  Huselv ran across to its commander.

"Are you ready to support our attack?"

"Just as soon as we unflood the carburettor," replied the driver. His crew were already in the process of dismantling the engine.

"Good," lied Huselv, Slovakia's first attack into the Soviet Union was getting off to a good start.

It's my own fault.  I wanted to play this scenario despite the balance record.  So here we are with ASL Scenario 114 - Cautious Crusaders which pits an elite (not really) force of Slovak attackers against the Soviet defenders.  In deference to the win/loss ratio my opponent David insisted I take the balance for my Slovaks which allocated plentiful ammunition and a pre-registered hex to their artillery support, how could I lose?  To find out, read on.

To win my somewhat shabby Slovakian assault force had to control seven multihex buildings of the village standing in their path.  It had to be admitted that Slovakia had given me its best.  It also had to be admitted that best wasn't particularly good.

To kick things off I had six elite squads mounted on bicycles led by a pair of not particularly good officers.  This modest force was supported by three geriatric OAvz30 armoured cars and a pair of LTvz35 tanks.  Not a lot to assault seventeen Soviet squads but help was coming.  On turn 2 another ten elite squads turned up carrying a pair of light machine guns and a pair of officers of equivalent inadequacy.  Rolling on with them were another pair of LTvz35s and a LTvz38.  Finally on turn three another four elite squads arrived led by another officer, these guys were hauling an lmg, a dismantled mmg and a dismantled 50mm mortar.  Supposedly providing support is a 70mm artillery mission with plentiful ammunition and the aforementioned pre-registered hex.

To defend this particular village against the ravening Slovakian hordes Dave has twelve Soviet squads equally divided between first line and conscript defending the buildings and foxholes of board 48 while another five first line squads set up on board 49 accompanied by a 37mm ATG (quite capable of reducing my tanks to scrap) plus a pair of lmgs an anti tank rifle and a 50mm mortar.  He also gets six foxholes and eight concealment counters.  On turn 2 another 37mm gun turns up hauled by a little komsomolet tractor and finally on turn 3 another eight first line squads arrive carrying a medium machine gun and led by an 8-1 leader.  A 9-0 commissar provides political guidance to the defenders and there are a couple of other officers as well.  A field phone provides connection to a battery of 80mm artillery.

All of the Slovakian troops turn up on the top right half of the board edge.  Any thoughts of bicycling down the road were put to rest by the presence of Soviet troops (well concealment counters) guarding it.  Fortunately there was nothing in the rules that said the Slovaks actually had to enter mounted on their bikes.  My plan was thus; there was a hill directly in front of my entry point where no doubt Soviet troops and the mortar awaited (absolutely correct just for once).  My pre-registered hex was on that hill, I would bring down a smoke barrage and hopefully rush my troops forward with relative impunity to capture that hill in the first turn or two.  Then, using the hill as a firebase I would capture the factory and push along the village taking one multihex building at a time.  Easy right? 

At start, I'm avoiding the roads with the exception of one halfsquad with a deathwish

So despite my plentiful ammunition I didn't get my first artillery mission until turn 4 by which time my troops had been crucified attempting to cross what was essentially open ground.  Dave on the other hand with a chit selection of 5B/2R simply never stopped getting artillery.

Despite this I did my best.  My troops, unprotected and under fire had to inch forward taking what protection they could from assault movement and the occasional presence of armour (since Dave's artillery also destroyed two of my tanks that protection wasn't great).  At the end of my first turn five of the six squads I had started with were either dead or broken.  In a desperate attempt to take out his hill position which was slaughtering my guys I raced my tanks up through a mess of whimpering infantry so that some direct fire could be employed.

End of turn 1.  It would get better but not much

Eventually as my reinforcements poured on I did manage to seize the hill and somewhat behind time and with significant casualties I could actually focus on achieving my victory conditions.  My tanks I planned to use to suppress his troops in the factory in the hopes that I could rally some of the mangled remnants and send them forward to capture it.  The survivors of my reinforcing infantry headed towards the centre of the village their approach marked by Soviet artillery concentrations.  Possibly I should have stuck to my original plan and sent everything towards the factory but one avenue of approach meant only one area for Dave's artillery to hit.

Dave chose to hit my infantry concentration in the centre secure in the knowledge that a lone 7-0 probably wouldn't rally broken Slovakians terribly swiftly and the slaughter happened all over again.  My artillery was still drinking their morning coffee and doing the crossword.  To be fair the slaughter could have been worse.  A number of my Slovaks stood up to the steel rain (I even generated a hero) and pushed forward while my tanks despite a certain tendency to catch 80mm shells proved almost disturbingly efficient at winkling Soviet troops out of stone buildings (two critical hits helped).

Grain, as it turns out, does not protect against artillery fire

Sadly it was all in vain.  By the time my artillery realised there was a war on it was all over bar the shouting.  I dropped an artillery concentration on the factory and broke a 37mm gun crew I hadn't known was there until that point but it was a parthian shot.  My infantry losses had been so great that Dave easily outnumbered me in squads by more than two to one and such reserves of strength as my infantry possessed had been used up gaining a toehold in a single multihex building.  I conceded at the back end of turn six and considered myself lucky to have lasted that long.

The end, my artillery turned up and tried to pretend it had been there all along

Well it serves me right.  I wanted to play this scenario and play it I did.  Thanks to Dave for dealing with an increasingly hysterical and unhinged opponent as the night went on.

Just for the record we have also played Too Little Too Late from Hollow Legions II and ASLUG scenario Desert Citadel since the last time I have posted.  There will not be an AAR of either of those since it would simply consist of continual swearing.  Suffice it to say I lost both as the Italians and neither game extended beyond the third turn.

Captain Huselv crept out from behind the ear of grain he had been hiding behind and read the order that had just been passed to him by a runner with a deathwish.  All armoured formations were to be withdrawn immediately for "maintenance".  They even put the inverted commas in the order.  Huselv looked around, there was still just enough armour left to claim that the order applied to them.  He hoisted his bicycle off his back and peddled his way out of the Soviet Union.

Silly After Action Report - Taking Some Flak

 Two SS gebirgsjager were talking to a war correspondent who had come to document the heroics of these northernmost bearers of the standard of National Socialism.

"Is it hard being a gebirgsjager?" asked the correspondent.

"Not really, they're easy to identify and they don't move very quickly," replied one of the gebirgsjager.

"It's a bugger mounting them on your wall though," added the second.

"What about the Finns?" asked the correspondent, greatly daring.  The "awkwardness" with Finland was strictly off limits as a topic.

"Mountains don't have fins, they have outcrops," said the first.

"Yeah," said the second gebirgsjager, "we're just about to be surrounded by outcrops."

"Really," the correspondent looked around in alarm but the mountains didn't seem any closer.

"Yep there are outcrops all over the place.  I'd stay close to the flakwagen if I were you."

The correspondent thanked them and hurried off.  The first gebirgsjager turned to his comrade,

"That damned flakwagen is a rolling target.  Why did you send him there?"

"He's the bastard who writes the crosswords for Signal.  Have you seen some of the clues he's come up with lately?"

After a series of heartbreaking defeats I ventured north in an attempt to revive my ASL fortunes.  This time we would play Scenario J192 - Taking Some Flak.  Here a group of elite German SS mountain troops (commanded by me) are attempting to discreetly exit their no longer ally Finland while a force of Finns commanded by Dave are trying to curry favour with their distinctly impatient Soviet neighbour by stopping them.

A single road winds through a northern Finnish forest.  Said forest is occupied by SS gebirgsjager, hastily rebadged as waldjager for the occasion.  The Finns can win at the end of turn three by controlling the road.  Otherwise its by gaining 5CVP more than the Germans.  This can be done by the standard killing Germans method but on the last turn there is the opportunity for exit VP as well.

My Germans are essentially trying to stay alive and fight off a Finnish encirclement attempt.  I command seven and a half elite SS troops commanded by a pair of reasonably competent officers.  They have one medium and two light machine guns and a 50mm mortar.  Providing an unreasonable amount of firepower in support is an Sdkz 7 flak halftrack with a quad 20mm AA mount which can generate 20FP on the IFT by itself.  This vehicle will henceforth be known as the rolling disappointment.

Dave commanding the Finns has nine squads, five first line and four second commanded by a pair of leaders.  They have a couple of light machine guns and an 81mm mortar in support.  Given a choice of two Dave went for the bespoke smoke mortar.  On or after turn one Dave receives reinforcements in the shape of three more first line squads, a leader, an lmg and a few concealment counters.  These can turn up in the German rear.

At start

Above is the at start set up.  I've pushed a couple of half squads forward to act as speed bumps while the rest of my force hangs on the edges of the forest to hopefully punish the oncoming Finns.  In the rear is my best leader with a squad and the mmg to try and hold off his reinforcements.  The rolling disappointment controls the road.

 Dave struck in two directions, a flanking attack directed at my lonely halfsquad at the top of the board and the other, protected by smoke pushing towards the centre (while trying to avoid the rolling disappointment).  His reinforcements slunk onto the board cringing under concealment counters rather than bravely charging the guns.

End of Finnish turn 1

My speed bump halfsquad down the bottom fled under fire and swarms of Finns occupied the forest and gully facing my main position.  At the top it was a different story however. My halfsquad survived all advancing fire and began to write a story of heroism and sacrifice that would last for as long as reindeer survive to tell it.

For the most part I held my fire.  If the Finns wanted to strip my concealment they would have to give me better targets than they had so far.  My halfsquad fled to the rear and I moved an officer back to rally him.  For the rest I kept proud and silent.

End of Finnish turn 2

So as you can see from the above the entire "proud and silent" thing didn't last for long.  Dave decided to brave the bullets and I was more than happy to provide them.  My mortar crew didn't last long and soon a grey swarm was headed towards my positions at the bottom of the map.  At the top though his attack had been if not shattered then distinctly cracked.  Finnish troops had fled well placed German fire and his surviving squad jumped into CC with my half squad who defied the odds by surviving.  In my rear his reinforcements were menacing and I edged another rearward squad in their direction.  For the moment though I was hoping to break the frontal assault and then turn my attention to the rear.

 

End of German turn 2

Well break the frontal assault I did.  Dave's Finns were crucified trying to cross the open ground in front of my defences.  At the top of the board my gallant halfsquad casualty reduced his opponent in CC and the melee ground on while the rest of his flanking force hid in the trees and attempted self rally.  Yep it's fair to say that I was on top of the world.  Unfortunately I would discover that I suffer from vertigo.

In the next Finnish turn Dave would rally his flankers, reinforce the melee and send the rest circling around the forest.  The flanking move was on albeit a little delayed.  Down the bottom of the board it was true the remnants of his force were just grateful to be alive but in the rear my 9-1 led mmg stack proved utterly inept and wound up broken and in CC with battle hungry Finns.  As it turned out the battle hungry Finns turned out to be a little inept at close combat, my broken squad managed to withdraw (leaving the 9-1 alone to face the wrath of their opponents while my hero halfsquad killed another halfsquad and carried the melee forward to another turn.

OK, not quite so good.

So my rear was suddenly collapsing (insert your own tasteless joke here) but things weren't too bad.  I had seen off a portion of his attack and I could now start pulling back troops to deal with the upstart Finns who had snuck round behind me.  Besides I still had the rolling disappointment (yet to earn its title), surely victory would still be mine.  After all, due to the carnage I had inflicted in the early turns I had a comfortable CVP buffer or so I thought.

Yes, all is not lost

The rolling disappointment rolled towards the rear and its date with impotence while I shuttled such troops as not absolutely essential to keep his forces away back to deal with the impudent flankers.  My gallant halfsquad finally went down in CC but the moral victory was theirs.  A squad killed and two others tied up for the best part of three turns.  It was up to me to capitalise on their courage and skill.

OK so I didn't capitalise on their courage and skill.  The rolling disappointment's sole contribution to the game over several fire phases would be a single pin result which the Finns passed.  Despite that and the inevitable loss of my 9-1 in CC I was still in a good position.  Dave had taken such heavy casualties early that he would need to exit troops off the board and score some spectacular CVP to win the game.

Despite inevitable defeat Dave persists

As the final turns rolled around I was nervous but hopeful.  Dave on the other hand was desperate, he pushed troops through my fire to approach the exit location.  All his troops survived, I was sanguine he would still need something more impressive than that if he wanted to win.  Then his flankers who had so far been conspicuous by their absence from the battle stepped forward, advanced into CC with one of my squads, rolled snake eyes and killed it.  The next turn they did exactly the same thing again.

Weeping in desperation I raced such of my troops as remained alive towards the exit locations but most of them didn't make it.  Those that did couldn't hit a barn from the inside.  The rolling disappointment sprayed the area with minable quantities of metal without achieving anything.  Heart stricken and with the CVP cap now firmly against me I conceded, hot tears flowing down my cheeks.

Yep defeat was indeed inevitable

This was actually a tight and exciting game.  For the first three turns I was all over Dave and held serious hopes of victory.  Unfortunately it was the last couple of turns that are important.  I can't even complain about the back to back snake eyes since my halfsquad had all the CC luck in the early stages.

Next time Dave has agreed to play Cautious Crusaders which is a scenario I've always wanted to play (because I like quixotic scenarios with Axis Minors, Italians and the like).  I'm playing the Slovakians so tune in to what will no doubt be more self pitying whining in the next entry.

A wild eyed gebirgsjager threw himself into a hastily dug foxhole as Finnish troops carved up what was left of their unit and the flakwagen threw metal seemingly at random into the atmosphere. His comrade was taking a little down time and was peering at the army's propaganda sheet in annoyance.

"Hey, what's a nine letter word for 'big lumbering mammal'?"

"I don't know, how many letters in Reichsmarschall?"

Travelling Pathetically - Way Out West Edition

 A few weeks ago my Blue Mountains correspondent contacted me and demanded to know why I hadn't used any of her excellent contributions on my blog.  I pointed out that the sole contributions she had made so far consisted of 283 different photos of leaf mould and a seventy six thousand word "manifesto" the most socially acceptable components of which included a demand that all lyre birds be rounded up and shot and that earthworms be given citizenship.  I'm starting to think that all my correspondents are mentally unhinged.  I tried looking for a pattern but the only thing they have in common is that they know me, so I guess it will remain a mystery.

"Why don't you come up and stay the weekend?" she suggested, "I'm sure you'll get material for a blog entry then.  Against my better judgement I agreed, partly because I thought I might get a blog entry out of it but mainly because her husband is an excellent cook.  I did entertain visions of bushwalks through the more photogenic portions of the Blue Mountains and brought my camera to capture such excitement.

I turned up on Friday night with rain descending in a distinctly unbushwalk friendly way. My correspondent greeted me with bad news.

"I won't be around tomorrow." (well she thought it was bad news).  "But, I have good news," (well she thought it was good news).  "Dave is riding out to a bike show in Bathurst tomorrow, would you like to go?"  Dave is her husband and he sweetened the deal by cooking an excellent meal.  My knowledge of motorcycles is limited to a knowledge of how many wheels they have and the last time I was on the back of a bike was thirty odd years (said bike being ridden by Dave).  Dave assured me that he had got considerably more risk averse since the last time I'd been on the back.  This happens as you get older, the less life you have left the less inclined you are to risk it which is odd because you would think it would be the other way round.

Dave also assured me that if it was raining we would take the car instead (another sad marker of mortality, thirty years ago Dave would have ridden in a hurricane and I would have been happy to be his passenger).  I have never been to a bike show and only once been to Bathurst and a lack of interest in either didn't seem to be a great reason to say no, so I said yes.  Dave promised to wake me at six the next morning if we were taking the bike.

I woke at eight the next morning to find Dave staring at the rain with disfavour.  The weather seemed like a good reason to call the whole thing off but before I could make such a mealy mouthed suggestion I was showered, dressed and sitting in a car which Dave proceeded to point in the direction of Bathurst.  We wound our way through and eventually over the mountains and headed for the Western Plains pausing only to have breakfast in Lithgow.  Once out of the mountains the weather immediately improved and I could hear Dave grinding his teeth as we were overtaken by bike after bike obviously heading for Bathurst.

I say we headed for the Western Plains but Bathurst is pretty much where they start so we got to the edge of the Western Plains and then stopped.  In actual fact there was still a fair bit of up and down along the way and once we arrived in Bathurst Dave suggested that before we saw the bike show we could head for Mount Panorama.  If you're a motor racing enthusiast this is holy ground.  If you're not its a hill with a race track on it.  So anyway Mount Panorama is a hill with a race track on it.  Nevertheless even I've heard of it and was quite amenable to a suggestion that we drive the circuit at a modest pace appropriate to our years and the condition of the vehicle we were in.

Gazing down on Bathurst from Mt Panorama

Drive the circuit we did, we even paused for photos.  The day wasn't exactly bright but it was pleasant by comparison with the Blue Mountains where the more religious inhabitants had started building arks.  With our motor sport itch appropriately scratched we headed into the centre of Bathurst to find the bike show.  At this point it was discovered that neither of us knew exactly where said show was located.  Dave knew the street but it turned out to be rather a long one that went through the entirety of the town.  He suggested we head for the heaviest accumulation of parked vehicles on the theory that the bike show couldn't be far away.  I agreed that this sounded logical and towards an endless stream of parked cars we went.  Certain we were getting close we rolled past what was essentially a huge parking lot scanning for a gap in the serried ranks of vehicles.

Then the road ended at a park where large numbers of children were playing sport.  Weekend sport is apparently quite popular in Bathurst to the point where we wondered if anyone would actually be at the bike show.  Reversing our direction we drove back through Bathurst and almost ran into the bike show which was being conducted on the street.  A swift sacrifice to the gods provided a parking space not too far away and we alighted to walk in the direction of all things motorcycle.

But first we walked through a park.  This wasn't exactly intentional it was just that the park was between us and the bike show.  It was quite a handsome park however with an ornamental pond an interesting shade of muddy green.

In the park

We're now about nine or ten paragraphs into this entry and you must be wondering if there is going to be a single photo of a motorbike.  Yes, yes there is, your wait is almost over.  Once through the park we stepped out of the tedious greenery and onto more appropriate tarmac and concrete.  Stretched out along the length of the street were motorbikes all primped and polished and looking their best gleaming under the sadly overcast sky.  One person had gone to the trouble of placing a chain around his entry and put up a sign imploring people not to touch.  I had no intention of touching and I have Dave's word for the fact that it wasn't anything particularly special motorbike wise anyway.

Most owners were more relaxed, proud to show their charges and accepting the compliments that came their way with modest self deprecation.

Look, a motorbike

And here's another

We spent an enjoyable couple of hours wandering up and down the ranks of motorbikes.  Or at least I did.  Dave seemed to be muttering something under his breath.  As he continued along the collection of bikes the muttering grew louder.  Finally he could take it no more, having inspected what was on offer he announced his certainty that the bike he was planning on riding here would have won a prize.  But sadly we had come by car and the potentially prize winning bike was back in his garage.  Dave seemed inclined to blame me for this since he would certainly have braved the rain if he hadn't had to shepherd me (no he wouldn't).  Things were a little awkward for a while and I left him to stew while I putatively studied motor bikes a little distance away.  When I returned he had quite sensibly come to the conclusion that it was all my correspondent's fault and he would blame her extensively when we got home.  That seemed entirely fair to me.

My particular favourite

And for some reason a fire engine.  None of the bikes caught fire while I was there

In all honesty neither Dave nor myself were particularly impressed with the bike show.  There were indeed some nice looking bikes there and all cleaned and polished til they shone but there wasn't as much of a selection as I was expecting and almost none of the vintage bikes I had been hoping to see.  Dave picked out a few things which impressed him mightily but overall thought the selection a little lacking as well.  I didn't suggest this was the reason he thought his bike might pick up a prize as Bathurst is a long way to walk home from.

After a couple of hours of not being quite as impressed as we hoped we jumped in the car and headed for home.  Along the way we were passed by bike after bike and Dave's temporarily ceased muttering returned.  Then we reached the Blue Mountains and drove into what was essentially a vertical flood.

"Oh shut up," muttered Dave when I raised an amused eyebrow.

When my correspondent and I were younger we shared a house where we partied hard, drank deep and stayed up so late that it wasn't worth going to bed before getting ready for work.  We decided to revisit those glory days and indeed we did until 10.30pm when all three of us decided we needed to go to bed.  The next day my correspondent introduced me to a selection of rubber snakes.

Two of the aforementioned rubber snakes

I am not the person who can criticise a fetish but this seemed a little odd until she explained that they were there to scare the lyre birds away from her garden.  I don't know if they were having any effect on the lyre birds but they were confusing the crap out of the kookaburras who kept trying to kill them.  Fortunately they were a little too big to eat.

With my time coming to an end and no sign of a let up in the rain my correspondent showed off her garden.  I wasn't particularly crazy about this because well, rain.  My correspondent however would work in her garden if it was raining concrete so I smiled and took photos of some rather damp plants.

Damp plant #1

Damp plant #2

And so on

All good things must come to an end.  At least that's how I worded it to my correspondent who had unexpectedly produced some nylon cord and duct tape.  Finally she agreed to drive me to the train station.  Which was very kind of her or at least it would have been if the trains had been running.

Silly After Action Report - Ace in the Hole

 Hauptmann Hans Niesentös sighed heavily.  It was getting harder and harder to motivate his troops to fight on through to the inevitable victory.  OK it wasn't great that after nearly six years of war their objectives had been reduced to "capture your next door neighbour's backyard" but at least they were fighting on their home ground.  That had to count for something right?  Not according to the deeply uninterested panzer grenadiers of his command.  To make matters worse they hadn't even captured the neighbour's backyard.  Now new orders had arrived to hold this village to the last.  He had tried to bolster morale by informing his troops that the famous 9th Panzer division would be supporting them.  Then his orderly had pointed out that the clutch of sullen troopers and the handful of shopsoiled tanks in front of him was the 9th Panzer.

A sudden shout jerked the Hauptmann out of his gloomy reverie. Racing to the observation post he was in time to see an unbroken wall of olive green moving towards his rather exiguous positions.  Accompanying them was...

"What the hell is that," demanded Niesentös.

"It looks like a tank only bigger," replied a soldier.  "Take a look at that gun, we are so screwed."

Yep it was getting harder and harder to motivate the troops.

Once again I have failed on a promise to produce an AAR.  Keen readers will note that I promised to provide an AAR of At the Point which was the next game we played.  Play it we did, it was all over by turn two.  My defeat so comprehensive that I couldn't bring myself to write about it.  Then, at my insistence, we played Savannah Rain.  We abandoned that game when Dave carved up about half my Italian infantry with NOBA only to discover a turn or so later that the NOBA didn't extend to board 10.  Finally we played Shielding Moscow about which I will only say that it is difficult to command troops with six morale when you can't roll less than eight on a morale check.

So here we are with scenario AP14 - Ace in the Hole which I selected by turning the scenario card for Shielding Moscow over (I wanted to get it out of my sight).  I must confess to a certain amount of trepidation in writing this AAR.  After I had done my set up as the defending Germans I googled the scenario as is my want to see if there were any AARs that would point out how badly I had screwed up.  To my horror I saw that Grumble Jones had recently played this very scenario and posted an AAR on his excellent blog (link attached in case you've been living under a rock and haven't seen it).

https://boxcarsagainaslblog.blogspot.com/

I was seized with doubts.  Would my opponent think I had just copied the tactics noted in that fine report (a swift glance at the result would have disabused him)?  Would others (such as yourselves dear readers) think that I was merely clinging to the coattails of this more august publication in the hopes that the unwary would confuse my blog with his?  I reassured myself that while Grumble Jones blog is an excellent, high quality blog with fine pictures, graphics and tactical pointers mine is...not.  So here we go.

I command what little of the German army has managed to survive the last six years somewhat unenthusiastically defending a random German town.  I had ten squads evenly divided between elite and first line, three officers, a medium machine gun, three light machine guns a panzerschreck and a dozen concealment counters.  The remnants of the 9th Panzer managed to scrape up a Tiger, two PzIVJs and a StuG IIIG.  Dave Wilson commanding the Americans had six elite and ten  first line squads led by four reasonably capable officers.  These troops had a hmg, two medium machine guns, a pair of bazooka 45s and two 60mm mortars.  Rolling along in oversized but very impressive support were a trio of bog standard Shermans, two 76mm Shermans and the American tiger killer a M26 Pershing.

In his blog Grumble Jones mounted an upfront defence which led to a free wheeling tank battle which he won.  I on the other hand would mount a down back defence with the tanks buried in buildings to support the less than keen infantry.  I hoped to present a wall of stone protected defenders to my enemy.  Actually I just presented a collection of targets.  I did place the StuG up on the hill.  This is a dangerous spot but the StuG is small and was nicely hulldown and I thought it might survive long enough to give Dave's initial advance some pause.  Dave's second shot of the game was a critical hit which burnt it.  So much for that plan.  Indeed the only thing it achieved was to annoy Dave as he had planned to occupy that very hex with the Pershing.

End of US turn 1

Undaunted by the spectacular explosion on the hill in front of them the Americans pushed forward.  I had a screen of mostly dummies to slow him down plus a small garrison in the only multilevel building on Board 4 so that he couldn't just walk in.  

In my turn my forward troops cringed down hoping their concealment counters would hold.  There was however a bit of movement in the rear area.  With my StuG lighting up the sky for miles around I felt that I should get some armour over to support the lone squad hiding out in the building on the right so I rolled a nearby PzIV over there.  More significantly I lurched my Tiger out of its sheltering building to take up what I felt to be a blocking location against his main thrust.  This provided me with my one unalloyed moment of pleasure in the game as an advancing fire shot from the 88 managed to kill a Sherman with an uncharacteristic low to hit roll.  Unalloyed moments of pleasure would soon be declared extinct.

End of German turn 1. Definitely the high point of the game for me

Although a little taken aback by my Tiger's keen shooting Dave proceeded with his advance.  The smoke mortars on his Shermans went into overdrive to shield his approach.  My upfront delaying force was broken and routed from the forward building but at this stage I wasn't too disappointed.  Two turns had gone by and the bulk of my defence was intact.  Unfortunately so was the bulk of Dave's attack. 

Over on the left Dave had set up a mortar to try and whittle down my forces a little but a housebound PzIV took a particular disliking to that unit and broke it, ELRed it and finally killed it over the course of several turns of firing.  You may say taking out a single halfsquad is a pretty poor result for a PzIV but it was more than the rest of them achieved.  The happy time such as it was was nearly over.

Despite being crowned with smoke Dave obviously wanted the hill on the right and dispatched a powerful force including his Pershing to take it.  I hadn't really given the hill too much thought.  I knew it was a trap for my armour (and if I didn't know the StuG's fate brought it home to me) but, particularly with a burning wreck at the top I didn't consider how useful it would be to a Pershing with armour that could laugh at most of my firepower.

The calm before the storm, Dave works into position

The next turn or so was relatively quiet as Dave brought his forces into position and I encountered an issue I would meet time and again throughout the rest of the game.  Nowhere could I bring sufficient firepower to actually make it worth shooting.  This was probably a result of my somewhat cowardly set up where I hoped stone would do most of the work for me but it meant Dave could manoeuvre pretty much at will.

Then things pretty much happened at once and after that they didn't stop happening.  Dave worked his Pershing on to the hill and destroyed my Tiger with a line of sight I didn't realise was there.  Where Dave's troops encountered mine my guys got crushed and it soon became obvious that my only option was to run away and keep running.

My tiger is gone and believe me the PzIV over by the hill hasn't got long to live

I gave up on all thoughts of fighting it out and settled for pulling back and forcing the Americans to come to me.  The Americans don't have to capture a single location, they merely need to ensure that there are no Germans in any multilevel building.  There are quite a few of these but there is a long time in this scenario and I would run out of buildings before Dave ran out of time.

I struggled on for a couple of turns, fleeing the bulk of my forces rearward ("bulk of my forces" now amounting to about three squads) while leaving a couple of stay behind units to not so much threaten him (I was virtually incapable of harming him) as to simply force him to shoot rather than move.  When Dave's Pershing managed snake eyes on an advancing fire HE shot to destroy my last panzer what little was left of my personal morale dribbled out of my body (at least I think it was personal morale).  I conceded with weary despair.

In retrospect I screwed this up right from the beginning.  I should have set up more forward and challenged the Americans as they started their move.  My tanks (with the exception of a solitary Sherman) were positioned uselessly and the time it took Dave to win was more an indication of the distance he had to travel and a certain understandable caution than any effort on my part.  I'm not going to name the scenario we'll be playing it next in case I screw that one up so badly that it isn't worth doing an AAR.  Note that this scenario apparently was.  This gives an indication of the skill level I possess playing this game but hey, I've only been doing it for about twenty five years.

This was my "sod this for a game of soldiers" moment

Many thanks to Dave for handing me my arse in a sack yet again.  Hopefully I can do a little better next time.

Hauptmann Niesentös pushed a twisted piece of PzIV armour off his body and attempted to rally the remnants of his troops.

"Hold firm boys, there's another village we can defend after this one.  The war isn't over yet."

His few surviving men just looked at him.

"Oh screw it, last one to the prison cages is a rotten egg!"

For the very first time his men cheered him.