Argie bargie on the A41

Worked through my 1926 game today using rules that were designed for single model skirmish stuff using playing cards instead of dice. It’s fair to say that it went at a right old clip (done and dusted in an hour) so here’s the report - in glorious Broom battle picture library format.

The Birmingham Corporation Airforce’s only plane - met up with the ammunition convoy from Liverpool and proceeded to scout out the road ahead. 

The convoy wends its way south. The vehicles with grey bases are unable to travel cross country without the a real chance of serious damage or becoming bogged.

The DH4 spots movement at the road junction below. Inspector Knacker’s lads from ‘K’ Division saw the red tail band and they let fly with their new rifles. In a departure from Lambshead’s rules I determined the actual damage caused to machinery by using my acme damage dice (in yellow). The rozzers scored one hit and the damage dice revealed a piston icon, meaning an engine hit. The DH4 began to smoke but remained flyable…for now.

Engine trouble! A second hit on the engine will bring the DH4 down. But I can’t fly it off the board without counting it as a loss - which will affect morale. (The plane was a mixed blessing. The use of planes is not really covered in Lambshead’s rules so I freestlyed a bit. While it can move a long distance in a single turn (24inches) it is vulnerable to ground fire and obviously can’t just hover in place so needs at least one precious action point per turn to keep it moving forward in the air). 

The forces of reaction were not slow in responding. Spurred on by the overflight and the sound of approaching vehicles, the Fascist blue shirts fired up Carlotta the armored car (donated by Mussolini) and raced across the field flanking the main road. As they emerged from the edge of a copse they saw the Liverpudlian convoy stretched out along the road to their left. A quick burst of fire at the lead armoured car raked it from stem to stern, two shield icons showed hits against the Austin’s baked bean tin armour. 

…followed by a hit on one of the vehicles turrets that disabled its port side machine gun.

The convoy was forced to a halt as the twin turreted vehicle swerved off the road and crashed into a tree.

The convoy ground to a halt. Alarmed by the armoured cars sudden appearance and the destruction it had wrought, the drivers of the ammunition truck and the lorry behind it veered off the road in order to find cover - risking the possibility of immobilising themselves in the process. Two squads of Workers Factory Defence volunteers debussed from their…erm…busses…and raced towards the hedge line while at the tail end of the convoy the Lanchester armoured car hared off across the field and the ex soldiers travelling in the military truck prepared to take the fight to the fascists.

Exploiting a change in initiative the squad of Workers Defence Force soldiers rush the Ernhardt armoured car and hurl a bunch of grenades at it. The car survives intact but the Vickers machine gun barrel is badly damaged and it is unable to fire back.

The reds remaining car (a Lanchester) heads across the fields with a view to flanking the blocking forces position. Unseen, but in the background, the Liverpool militia sneak along the hedge line with a similar intention.

Unable to fire and in danger of being overwhelmed the crew of Carlotta get the hell out of Dodge.

The DH4 limps around for another pass and manages to drop one of its cooper bombs in the dug out occupied by a squad of the Rotary Club Fencibles. They are marked as “downed” for now (a mixture of killed, wounded or just taking cover) rendering them useless until their actual combat status is reassessed at the end of a turn. 

The plucky aviators are on the receiving end of another fusillade from the ‘K’ Division coppers and the observer slumps over his bomb rack, badly wounded. 

 

Alerted by the bombs explosion the Liverpudlian flanking forces close in.

The red militia swarm over the defences and defeat the squad of downed fencibles in close combat. (The civilian militia squads only sport the odd handgun or shotgun - their close range offensive potential mostly being an array of blunt instruments). Unfortunately a second group, unaffected  by the dropped bomb, are waiting for them.

The fencibles fire…and miss as the angry dockers storm the second redoubt. Rushing over in support a squadra of British Fascisti blue shirts get there just in time...

…to see the redoubt defenders fall under the iron bar wielding scousers. The blue shirts are armed with rifles AND a Lewis gun and they let rip without sparing their ammo. Even as the Liverpool lads fell under this fusillade their second squad, who’d been following close behind, stormed out from behind the parked lorry. The blue shirt Corporal traversed swiftly and caught the newcomers before they could get to grips with his squadra. Then a joker was drawn which ended the turn. (All turns are of unknowable length in these rules - being triggered by the draw of that card from either players pack). During the brief admin phase that followed both sides just scraped through their morale checks - the reds hampered by their repudiation of all officers (and thereby failing to receive any morale boost from one).

One of the only bits of useful advice my father ever gave me is hereby shown to be true. “Never charge a light machine gun armed only with a pipe wrench”, he once cautioned. Thanks Dad. Wise words indeed. There were no survivors from the two red militia squads. The Lanchester armoured car drove forward and while trying to keep a respectable distance they hosed the truck and the blue shirts with their Vickers. The blue shirts hit the dirt…

Stuck in their mobile biscuit tin, the crew of the Lanchester were so focussed on the British Fascisti that they failed to notice the heroes of ‘K’ Division sneaking up on their left. When the vehicle commander popped his head up from the turret hatch to see what damage they’d done, he got coshed on the noggin by PC 289.
The driver ignored the cries of “your nicked sunshine” and backed the Lanchester out of harms way at full speed

The retreat of the Lanchester gave the following rifle armed ex squaddies a clear field of fire. As the DH4 swooped overhead and the soldiers fired at the rozzers another joker was drawn and in the admin phase that followed it was the remaining Fascisti and the coppers that broke and ran. After “persuading” the traction engine driver to move his mobile road block the way was cleared for the ammunition convoy to continue into Brum. 

So a victory for the revolutionaries on this occasion and a salutary lesson that the government shouldn’t place all its of its faith in small irregular forces. From here on in the few remaining loyal army units were going to be needed to enforce order. 

Taken a little out of context the rules worked well, and produced a pretty satisfying narrative.

I’ll try another one of these sometime soon I think.

Toodleooh.

1926 and all that.

Look; this blogging and solo gaming thing…it’s just not working out. I’m sorry…I really am…but over the last few weeks I’ve been… I’ve been…seeing other people. 

Yes that’s right I’ve gone from Mr Billy No Mates solo wargamer to international gamer de jour. You name a continent or a time period and I’ve been there, pushing lead around like nobodies business. (Well okay just North America…but it is a big place so I’m sort of counting it as at least two).

The AWI painting has slowed a bit because of these commitments but the enthusiasm is still there and progress is still being made on my second batch of Continentals. Slowly slowly catch a monkey and all that.

What I did end up doing, despite my giddy social whirl, was set up another of my 1926 General Strike games on the premise of trying them with Mr Lambshead’s skirmish rules rather than Norm’s excellent Tigers at Minsk ones. The rules are entirely playing card driven and if you consider swapping one individual soldier (as per the rules) for a base of soldiers it sort of works. 

The scenario:

The general strike has now been on for five weeks and the wheels are beginning to come off of HM Governments response to it. With the majority of the armed forces proving unreliable the Prime Minister has begun to rely more and more on that other army of concerned citizens - the Organisation for the Maintenance of Supply - and their proto fascist militant wing.

With pressure increasing on the strikers in Birmingham the armed militants in the Free City of Liverpool have begun sending small conveys of arms and ammunition to aid their midland comrades.

One such convey is heading down the A41 towards Wolverhampton when it is intercepted by the OMS.

The workers revolutionary defence force will achieve a victory if they get their lorry full of ammo off the southern road edge. The forces of repression (sorry the OMS) will achieve a victory by capturing or destroying the self same truck.

The forces of repression: From left to right - A Squadra of blue shirts, Carlotta the armoured car donated by Il Duce, two squads of OMS armed volunteers (The Rotary Club Fencibles - as they are derisively known) and a squad of Inspector Knacker’s K Division coppers with Edgar the traction engine.

And here’s the opposition.

A nice bunch of lads having a jolly day out. Two squads of Workers Revolutionary Militia with their “transports”, a twin turreted Austin armoured car and a natty little motorcycle combo. They’re the only thing that stands between the OMS and…

….a Fryco lorry stuffed full of explosives. Behind it is an ex army truck carrying a squad of former British Army soldiers (now wearing the red armband of the Workers Defence Force) and at the rear of the column is a Lanchester armoured car. 

Fortunately for the reds they also have eyes in the sky!

“B1” An Airco DH4 of the Birmingham Corporation Air Force, toting 4 x 20Ib cooper bombs and a bad attitude. 

These days I can leave the whole thing set up, so although I’ve run out of time today I can hopefully get the game played and an AAR posted here next week.

Toodleooh for now!

Getting stoned in the garden

Welcome to issue number 73 in my continuing contentious blog post title series. I am sorry to keep having to resort to such crassness but the numbers don’t lie, (except when I’m your accountant that is), the most viewed post I ever did on my old blog, by a country mile, was the innocently titled « check out my junk » for some reason I’ve yet to discover.

Anywhoo, I’ve been putting in the hard yards over here in more ways than one just lately. AWI orders from Pendraken have been rolling in during the last couple of weeks and I’ve been painting as fast as my little brushes will allow. There’s now a sizeable backlog to work through but I’ve been getting my gaming fix via zoom so a lot of the usual distractions are being avoided. 

Speaking of zoom; what a delight. I’d recommend anyone that has the ability to take part to try it out. It’s been lovely for an old hermit like me to put the faces to names of people who’ve been commenting on here or the old blog for years. 

I’ll deal with the stoned bit in a mo but here’s a snapshot of some slightly out of focus miniatures progress.

Two regiments of 10mm AWI British infantry with a joint battalion of Grenadiers and Light bobs in the background.

Same troops, different angle.

First of the tax dodgers. The 2nd New Hampshire Continentals or as Stew thoughtfully corrected me, the Way Coolers.

God knows I’ve enough painting to do on my own gaff, without this load of real estate turning up from battle scale. 

Fortified positions for the forthcoming artillery and a white thingamabob which may or not be the USS Newton NCC 1727.

What? Oh the stoned thing. Yeah well the slightly less catchy blog title should really have been « getting some stones out of the garden » but I never let the facts get in the way of a good headline if I can help it. You see there was an old pig pen and yard that needed clearing from the back garden.  Didn’t realise when I started with my wheel barrow that the pile of stone was three metres high, three metres wide and four metres long.

Where’s a guy with a JCB when you need one?

So several prospective hernias later I’m nearly done, as you can see. Should have finished it off today but I went all 17th century on the Current Mrs Broom, and shouted « Woman, I labour not on ye sabbath! ». 

Wonder why my tea tastes funny?

Have a great Easter / Pâques everyone.

Parading my ignorance

The American War of Independence / Revolutionary war etc is still fairly new to me and so far I’ve not been able to get satisfactory answers to a couple of pretty basic questions regarding Grenadiers. 

A grenadeless grenadier

If anyone is able to shed some light on the following I’d really appreciate it.

1. British grenadiers used to throw grenades, hence the name, which must have been pretty useful in assaults. Grenadiers are still a « thing » in the AWI period but they no longer seem to use grenades. When did grenades fall out of use…and why? I note that in the AWI they still seemed to have been equipped with vestigial items like match cases.

2. In the AWI the British formed composite grenadier battalions by nicking the grenadier companies from their parent line regiments and lumping them together in a semi temporary formation. Did these grenadier composite battalions have a specific unit flag given their disparate nature?

3. American regiments of the period seem to have included light companies like the British, but not grenadiers. Why would that be?

No prizes on offer I’m afraid cos I’m a retired old skinflint with nothing anyone would want, however you  might experience a faint warm glow from enriching my life with answers to these perplexing issues.

Ta mutchly, in anticipation.

War Stories

If you’ve never woken up in a forest, cold and wet, with blood on your hands…you really haven’t lived.

Thankfully I managed to tick that particular item off my bucket list, in the autumn of ‘92 - long before bucket lists were even a “thing” come to think of it. 

I still take comfort that back then my first thought wasn’t… who have I killed this time?

I’ll get back to the above in a minute or two, but  by way of an explanation I read a recent blog post about red caps, (Military Police) of all things, so in lieu of another load of AWI progress pictures (coming along nicely, thanks for asking) I thought I’d regale you with a few old war stories from my time holding back the might of the Warsaw Pact as a member of the 5th (TA) Battalion - Royal Regiment of Fusiliers. 

The red and white hackle of the RRF

I wanted to join the army straight from school but daddy didn’t want his only son blown up in Northern Ireland so he forbade it. As things were to turn out for him and I later…that was probably a mistake on his part. Anywhoo, the best I could manage, (a decade, two young boys, and a wife later) was to nip down to Stoney Lane in Brum and sign up with the TA. 

I think it’s fair to say that my time with the regiment was not a sparkling success and the only thing I can claim as an achievement was to be jailed by the military police more times than anyone else in my company. Let me give you a few examples so you can have a chuckle at my expense.

On the combat infantryman course in Catterick (oops sorry I meant Strensall - thanks Elenderil) they ran us so ragged that I had trouble remembering my own name - though not it should be noted, my army number (24945892). As part of the “break them down then rebuild them as the Army would like them” system, there was never a free moment to catch your breath. On more than one occasion I was forced to shove pork chops with gravy into my camo jacket pocket at lunch because the time allowed to queue up for scran then get back out on parade was too short for actual eating to take place. The accumulated pocket lint proved to be a lovely little garnish when I could eventually retrieve my meal after lights out. It’s character building I’m told.

Despite the semi ritualised sleep deprivation, and the routine faux outrage from the Corporals as they tossed our “disgusting” barrack hut contents out of the hut door first thing, I was usually turned out pretty well on parade. While the other lads were smoking and drinking into the wee small hours I was applying floor polish to my toecaps and pressing the pre soaped creases of my DPM (disruptive pattern material) until those creases were so sharp you could shave with them. No tram lines for me mate.

The morning of our first big parade I was pretty confident that my turn out would pass muster and I watched as the officer and noncoms came down the line adjusting a cap here and twiddling a button there. Finally they got to me. They looked me up and down but could find no apparent fault. Determined that something had to be wrong the Corporal asked if I had remembered to put my field note pad and pencil in a plastic sandwich bag for protection against the elements. 

Yes Corporal. 

Ahh but was it in my right breast pocket as per daily orders? 

Yes Corporal. 

Disbelievingly he unbutton the pocket and fished it out. Yup correct pocket. Yup, in plastic sandwich bag. But what was this?! With the stage flourish of an amateur sleuth unmasking the mystery killer he held up my pencil for all to see. It was of course sharp and ready for use…but it was not sharp at both ends as stipulated in daily orders.  

Instantly puce (I’m convinced they can do it on command) and almost incoherent with confected rage he introduced me to a whole dictionary full of new swear words. As an eighteen year old I would have ignored his spittle on my cheek and stared into the middle distance, but as a twenty something bloke who saw the whole performance for what it really was I muttered “@#£! off” under my breath. Well, not under my breath enough as it turned out. Big mistake. Before I knew what was happening I was being doubled across the parade ground in the direction of the glasshouse, my progress punctuated by screams of “get those F*%&ing knees up…”

I cant speak for other regiments but in the RRF we called the Military Police “monkeys” and I can assure you that those lads at Strensall certainly fitted the bill. To be fair they were more like gorillas than monkeys, but I digress. With more confected outrage, screams of abuse and slamming of things off things I was introduced to the delights of punishment callisthenics. After six hours of crouching bunny hops and muscle tearing stress positions my tears were no longer of outrage but mostly self pity.

“Hay hay we’re the monkeys…cos people say we monkey around.” 50 MP’s turn up to arrest an old rapper (judging by the bling).

They let me go the next morning after my “Beasting” had finished. The other lads took the piss but they all said I’d been unlucky, that the training team always found someone to dick about a bit, as a warning to everyone else. 

Unlucky…yeah that was probably it. I’d try to be the grey man from there on in. The guy at the back who never achieves much but never attracts undue attention.

In the second week we were issued our SA80 assault rifles. Being constantly stripped and reassembled by a never ending stream of newbs, they were not in a great state of repair. Mine rattled when shook.

The British Army SA80. Crap then. Crap now. Note the change lever by the butt.

On the day of our first full NBC move and shoot, we ran around the firing ranges with our S10 respirators on and full noddy suits. The younger lads seemed okay but I was struggling to draw breath through the respirator and by the time we dropped to the ground at our pre designated firing positions my respirator was completely steamed up and my eyes were full of the anti chemical weapon Fullers Earth powder we’d been instructed to put in our masks. I couldn’t even see the ruddy target I was meant to be aiming at but that was the least of my troubles. 

This is what I should’ve looked like. This is NOT what I actually looked like at all.

I knew we were meant to be putting five individual rounds down range and having gone quickly through my drills I squeezed the trigger when I heard the command to watch and shoot. I didn’t realise it but the change lever on the butt of my SA80 was loose through wear caused by constant stripping and reassembly (later confirmed by the armorers) and in the process of me getting onto my belly it slipped from single shot to full auto. I hadn’t realised you could empty a full mag in 3 seconds, but it turns out you can. I couldn’t hear the nom coms screaming nor see their frantic waving to “end ex” but I felt myself rise from the ground like a toy balloon as two range officers lifted me up bodily by my webbing and Bergan. They were a little cross.

As it turned out I’d just committed the unforgivable sin of an ND (negligent discharge). The monkeys in the glasshouse were very pleased to see me again. Naturally there were tears, as much for the £150 fine as the beasting that followed. I had made the range bods look bad. Over the course of another 12 hours this matter was addressed in full. Before release I was made to write and perform a song of apology to the Staff Sergeant which had to include variations on “I am a total t&£t” in the chorus. Can’t remember the lyrics now (thanks to the counselling) lol, but I based it loosely on ELO’s Mr Blue Sky and I thought it was pretty good. I could’ve resurrected it and gone on X factor I reckon. Simon Cowell would’ve loved it.

Okay, I can see this post is getting a bit “leggy” so I’ll come back to my first paragraph and add a well deserved explanation to finish up.

While on exercise in the Brecon Beacons my company had been tasked with a 20k night march and a dawn assault on another bunch in prepared positions. Being on the Welsh border it rained none stop and I tore the arse out of my issue trousers climbing over a barbed wire fence in the dark. Rather than conducting the dawn assault in my underpants the Corporal gave me his rubberised DPM over trousers which were about three sizes too big. I held them up with some para cord. Man did I look stupid. Being on  exercise at night in the rain we naturally got lost, but bizarrely we somehow took some sort of short cut that saw us arrive several hours early near our assault start position.

The Brecon Beacons. Lovely until you are forced to spend 48 hrs running up and down them. 

The Corporal in charge of our section led us into a large stand of trees and told us to get a brew on and our bivvy bags out. A couple of hours rest was a welcome bonus. After a day tramping up and down hills in the wet we were all knackered. Naturally I was dicked to do the first stag, so with range card in hand I set off for the edge of the wood. Using red light I couldn’t see well and struggling to hold my makeshift trousers up I never saw the branch I tripped over or the rock I cracked my noggin on as I rolled down into a gulley full of wet leaves. 

It was the first rays of dawn sunlight filtering through the trees that woke me. I was frozen cold, wasn’t sure where I was and had blood on my hands - from a cut on my forehead not a killing spree (this time). When I staggered back to my oppos they were all asleep in their bivvy bags…even the Corporal. 

Meanwhile in a nearby field our Colonel and a group of officers were looking irritably at their watches wondering what had happened to the planned attack.

Suffice it to say I was not treated for concussion. 

Another “on exercise” scrape involving military police was as a result of me peeing off the back of a 4 ton truck while travelling up the motorway… (the driver wouldn’t stop)… which I should have received a commendation for to be honest because it’s ruddy difficult, one hand holding onto the truck tonno cover and the other holding onto…well you get the picture. Anyway the road behind the truck was clear of traffic when I started… lol.

Toodleooh for now.

Clickbait

Seeing as how the majority of this blogs followers are proper « old skool » military history gamer types who wouldn’t normally bother opening up a sci fi themed post I have sneakily deployed this picture of my recently completed Pendraken 10mm AWI 64th Regiment…

…. in order to lure them in to a post that’s really about a recent solo game of Trek Hulk. (pat pend).

I hate to think how long it’s been since I last ran a proper game, so having finished the above unit I took the opportunity to take a break from painting and test out some alterations I’d made to my Startrek / Spacehulk rules mashup.

The result is shown below in glorious Broom Battle Picture Library format.

The scenario: 

A small recon team from the USS Witchita Falls have boarded a damaged Borg sphere orbiting Cestus III. The sphere is undergoing repairs following a recent battle. Having split up to place a number of covert surveillance devices we join Lt Commander Cassidy Yates who has become lost in the internal labyrinth of the ship and who has only twelve turns to make her way back to the docking hatch entrance.The Borg are absorbed in repair work and at game start remain passively disinterested in the interlopers. Cassidy is equipped with a hand held phaser and a tricorder.

Victory conditions:

Borg: Major victory - assimilate all Starfleet personnel. Minor victory - assimilate some Starfleet personnel.

Federation: Major victory - Get all personnel off the Borg ship before turn 12. Minor victory - get some personnel off the Borg ship before turn 12.

Turn 1. Game start. Lt.Cmdr Yates starts in a room that contains a Borg regeneration alcove and a dormant Borg. The corridors of the sphere are dark and without electronic help she can only see into the first corridor tiles running off from the room she’s in. She urgently needs to find the hatch leading to the small cloaked shuttle the away team came in on, but all comms are being jammed and the Borg are close to completing their repairs. 

Turn 1 cont’d.  As part of the federation players phase, new corridor sections are revealed either by being within two squares of a join (just one new tile is revealed) or by using the tricorder to reveal 3 new tiles (in a single direction). Yates used the tricorder and with 3 x 1d6 die rolls revealed a long corridor a short corridor and  wonder of wonders the access hatch to the cloaked shuttle! (Striped end piece). This could have made it a pretty short game but unfortunately the narrow long corridor turned out to be populated by two Borg that are blocking her path. (Occupancy of rooms, long corridors and crossing points is diced for - this was the worst possible outcome!). The orange game marker indicates she has used the tricorder once. If it is used more than 3 times the Borg will consider this a hostile act…which would make them angry…and you really don’t want to make them angry. For reference purposes, moving more than 3 squares in a turn also makes the Borg angry as does weapon fire or blocking a drones path.

Creeping along in the dark Yates tries a different direction and reveals a long corridor section occupied by…another lost away team member. Lt T’Rell is a Vulcan (command branch) armed with a phaser rifle. This has more punch and longer range than the hand phaser but is unusable in close combat. Friendly figures in a corridor block line of sight and line of fire.

 

Using the tricorder for a second time Yates detects two crossing corridor sections and a T junction. The freshly revealed areas are populated by 1 drone, 2 drones, and a third away team member (Ensign Savar - science division - armed with a hand held phaser and a tricorder).

It’s behind you! Oh no it isn’t… Err oh yes it is! Until the Borg are triggered into becoming collectively hostile the federation player has to roll dice and move any borg drones within their line of site, the dice indicate the number of squares moved. 2 of 4 was having a fine old time repairing the ship until he tried to move four squares down a corridor and found his way blocked by T’Rell. Being unable to reach the data node he intended to repair made 2 of 4 angry. Unfortunately when 2 of 4 became angry all the other Borg on the board become angry too. Angry Borg are no longer controlled by the federation player and must move towards the nearest none Borg interloper and attempt to assimilate them. just to be clear, assimilation is not a nice thing.

A change of view. Yates and T’Rell are in the far background. Ensign Savar at the T junction realises the Borg have just become hostile and determined to get her retaliation in first she fires her hand phaser at the drone with its back to her. Hand phasers roll 2d6 and need a 6 to kill with the first shot. Bingo. 1 drone down - several thousand to go.

With alarms going off all over the place and Ensign Savar’s target now a glowing pile of ash Lt T’Rell turns swiftly and attacks 2 of 4 in close combat. T’Rell is carrying a two handed phaser rifle which he can’t shoot in such close proximity to a target so he has to biff the Borg with it instead. The Borg roll 2d6 in close combat and pick the best result, while T’Rell rolls 1d6 but gets to add plus 1 since he’s a Vulcan. Choosing the 6 result 2 of 4 rolls higher so manages to fend off the Vulcans attack. Using the rest of his personal action points T’Rell tries again but once again the feisty Borg stops him cold. While the Vulcan grapples with the drone Lt Cmdr Yates is unable to fire since the corridor is narrow and her colleague is blocking the shot. In the background Savar spends her remaining action points to go on overwatch.

Though she’s on overwatch it’s dark in the corridor and Savar is scared. Prompted to attack and assimilate her, the nearest Borg moves purposefully two squares in her direction. Savar’s shots go wide. With two action points left the Borg enters close combat and rolls high. Savar goes down. Two assimilation tubules enter her neck and millions of assimilation nanites entire her blood stream. Stage 1 of the assimilation process starts to occur. 

Lt Cmdr Yates goes on overwatch looking to cover against Borg moves should Lt T’Rell go down as well, but the doughty Vulcan clobbers 2 of 4 upside da head (as I believe the youth say these days) with his phaser rifle and finishes him off. Yates gets a tingling feeling at the back of her neck and turns…

The other Borg drones have not been idle and while the drama has been unfolding in front of her they’ve been sneaking up behind. Cassidy uses her hand phaser but fails to score a six with her two dice. Her second shot needs a five or six and fails again. Her third shot only needs a four five or six. She rolls a four but it’s a double four. Doubles indicate that the Borg drones personal shields have blocked the shot by matching the frequency of the phaser (or some such). She still has one action point left and therefore one shot but the adapted Borg shield prevents any further fire at him this turn.

Poor ensign Savar starts to transform into a Borg and soon rises to her feet as one of them…

…But not for long. Turning the corner Lt T’Rall uses the phaser rifle as it was intended. The phaser rifle has a longer range and a multi kill capability. With his first shot the Vulcan takes out the assimilating drone and what’s left of poor old Savar. I still think they’d have been better to have pulled back and nuked the site from orbit mind you.

Placing herself on overwatch Cassidy uses her tricorder with her last two actions and discovers…silly old T’Rell had been standing in front of the escape hatch all along!

Turn 11 and one turn ahead of schedule the remaining team members escape through the hatch into the  waiting shuttle. I make that a minor win for both party’s, or a draw as we used to say in the old country.

This game only took an hour to set up and play so I could’ve played again if those pesky continentals had somehow learned to paint themselves in the interim. I’ve taken down my Trek Hulk rules (above right) for now while I make  a few alterations but they’ll be back up again soon for anyone that’s interested. 

Toodleooh.

Mud blood and STEAL

Yup, not an original idea in my head.

Cursed as I am, with clumsy hands of death, I usually spend 30 seconds moving a unit into a wood and five minutes standing all the trees up again, so it was a bit of a boon when I came across this tree basing system used by the guys over at LittlewarsTV.

Two packs of rubber slot together kids play tiles (which sit snug in the base of my new table) and a box of pins later and… voila.

Kids rubber play mats, which the trees are pinned into.

The extra tiles I’ve had left over now serve as contoured terrain under the game mat with the advantage that I can pin trees upright, even on slopes.

A unit of Gallowglass in the woods…looking for the teddy bears pique-nique no doubt.

Not only without an original thought in my head, but also happy to jump on the « everybody else seems to be doing it » bandwagon. Here’s a quick piccie of my painting desk.

Where the « magic » happens. Lol. For those with an inquiring mind we have from left to right… a regiment of Continental infantry on bottle tops undercoated grey and inked with nuln oil, a tray of pre chosen paints for the continentals (which get moved out of the tray as they are used), reproduction Anglo Saxon beaker holding my dwindling supply of crappy brushes, operation tree pin, and a small bronze statue of Ing. Or as we call him, Ing and his Thing (Pre Christian pan European deity). The troughs you can see through the window are former cattle feeders that’ll soon be planters when the weather improves.

Okay that’s quite enough show and tell for one day. Catch you on the flip side dudes.