c3k vs Bil: an XAR of some sort in the woods. With submachineguns. And blood.

[c3k]

As in all things, it is best that I begin at the beginning.

We were relaxing in the beta-club after a particularly fruitful testing round. Bil pulled me aside at the buffet and suggested that, after we ate, that we should meet up in the smoking lounge. I agreed, trying to speak my assent through a mouthful of hand basted veal ribs, prepared with a particularly sweet rhubarb sauce.

Apparently understanding the inchoate sound I'd made, Bil went to sit at his table, the one we call "The High Table", since Charles' brain has a reserved spot there. (It has the right sort of umbilicals that he needs.) I sat at one of the many Low Tables, off in the corner, beneath a drafty air conditioner duct.

After I finished, I got up, weaving my way around the serving girls as I found my way to the exit. Just before I departed, I locked eyes with Bil. He nodded once, and then he ran his index finger alongside his nose. I don't know why he does that. No one does, really. We think it's an affectation he picked up from watching "The Maltese Falcon" and thinking that he's Humphrey Bogart, but with Bil, you can never be sure.

I had been in the smoking lounge some time before Bil entered. I was sitting in my leather wingback, scotch in one hand, in the other hand a smoldering Quesada Tributo Manolin which nicely balanced the smoldering looks one particularly fetching brunette waitress kept aiming my way as she went about her duties. We don't call them "waitress"; they are more of a silent type of assistant. That's part of the job requirement for them. Meant to be seen, not heard. They don't speak unless spoken to. It's a high end joint, with perks. I was wrapping my mind around the possibilities when Bil intruded.

As he eased his bulk into the adjoining chair, which aired its protests by uttering various sighs, creaks, and groans, I couldn't help but notice the au jus stain running down his silken cravat. He must've gone back for seconds. He leaned my way, conspiratorially, and said, "c3k, old chap, I've got a proposal, what?" Yeah, he speaks that way, but only in the smoking lounge and never after his third drink.

It's best to humor him when he's in these moods, so I said, "Sure, Bil. Go ahead and give me your best pitch."

He replied, "See here, good chap, my examinations have led me to believe that the denizens of the forum would be well pleased if we were to have another go at it, what?"

I held up a finger, momentarily stopping the train wreck which was unfolding, and gestured my brunette over. She smiled a particularly evil, saucy, smile which held untold promises behind it as she approached our little tete a tete. With another gesture, I motioned to my drink, to Bil's empty elbow table and then held up three fingers. She raised her eyebrows and silently mouthed, "Triple?". I nodded. She winked and went over to the bar. I studied her as she moved.

"...so that should do it, what?", Bil was finishing.

"I'm sorry, Bil," I said, "I seem not to understand what you've said. Try me again." I didn't want to tell him my mind was on the brunette. His ego is easily shattered and I wasn't up to the repair job that particular evening.

"Understandable, old chap, what?" he chortled. The chair protested at that, as well.

Luckily, divine intervention stopped him. My brunette had returned. She had a tallboy filled with the house single malt scotch. She placed a napkin down on Bil's elbow table, placed the glass upon it, then replaced the napkin under my glass with a fresh one. She couldn't help but brush her chest against my arm as she did so. She left, back down the hallway they go to. Her scent lingered. I saw some writing on my napkin.

Sigh. It was Bil. I chose the path of least resistance. "C'mon, Bil. Bottom's up!"

"Cheers! What?", he said, as he raised his tallboy. Gurgling, he started downing it. Some poor Scot had worked in a peat bog, no doubt in the rain, then tended fires and filters and pipes and barrels for 40 years, according to the label I'd seen on the bottle, all for Bil to guzzle about a pint of it in under 4 seconds. No wonder the Scots are so damn miserable.

He slammed down his glass, burped, then dragged his arm across his mouth. I merely raised my eyebrows, inviting him to continue.

He bellowed, "A rematch, dammit! Prove your damn statement that Russian submachinegun units are unmatched in the woods. I'm sick of your drivel. Man up, or shut up!"

"What?" I replied. Yeah, I was tweaking him and he didn't even know it. This could almost be as much fun as the brunette. Almost.

He shouted, "I'll do ya in, I will! Publicly!"

I put out my cigar, put down my drink, and picked up the napkin with her message. It made me smile as I read it. I stood up and told Bil, "Sure. Whatever. Set it up and send me a turn." I walked over to hallway where she'd disappeared.

The rest of that evening? That's for another time, perhaps. What follows is the result of Bil's challenge.

Ken

[sburke]

Bil was right, man you were drunk. You forgot to mention the "smoking lounge" is a dirt floor porch with holes in the screens the mosquitos enter through and the "brunette" is MikeyD's labrador. Mikey will be a little worried about your interest in her.

[Michael Emrys]

[innocently]

Gee, you beta testers sure live high on the hog. I foresee a flood of volunteers.

Michael

[George MC]

[innocently]

Gee, you beta testers sure live high on the hog. I foresee a flood of volunteers.

Michael

To be fair he is really playing down the rolling high life that is the lot and right of a beta tester

[Michael Emrys]

To be fair he is really playing down the rolling high life that is the lot and right of a beta tester

I noticed that was no mention of the billiards room or the steam baths (with attached massage parlor). I guess even Ken feels obliged to be discrete now and then.

Michael

[c3k]

All that...and more.

I took some screenshots and then annotated them, at the time they occurred.

Bil told me to please look at the battle in the editor. "Open it up, check out both forces, etc., what?"

I said, "Sure", but with my fingers crossed. I mean, I NEVER peek. Never. Nor do I peak, but that's another topic.

I merely opened the turn he'd sent me, then sent a return.

My forces had a tight setup zone all the way at the bottom of the map. I'd talked about the supremacy of the Soviet smg'ers in woods: this was a friggin' huge expanse.

I figured that Bil, since he'd said something about a small battle, probably had a similar setup zone all the way on the other side of the map. That's where my plan, and my moves started.

I -assumed- that I had to move to contact. I -assumed- I'd have up to the area of the village before we ran into one another.

Bil's words were in my ears, much like the brunette's tongue had been.

[c3k]

After sending the turn, above, to Bil, I then opened the battle in the editor.

Here's what I had:

I nice SMG company. Well, I knew I had that, since I'd already sent a turn to Bil. (I was thinking about slipping an IS-II regiment into my OOB and then sending it to Bil. THAT would've been fun. )

It was a bit of an ethical dilemma for your (not so) humble correspondent to decide to look upon Bil's forces. I mean, fog of war is what the real battle is all about.

But, I heeded his request. Here's what I found:

Okay, Soviets attack, Germans defend and we have near parity? Hmm. Maybe he meant this as a meeting engagement?

And fusiliers? Really? For those of you not so groggy, let me 'splain to you some stuff. The Germans had aggressive, highly trained, heavily armed recon troops early in the war. When you're advancing, those are the guys going out front and smashing through light screening forces to find out what's what. Studs. With big cojones. Well, once you're retreating, you don't need recon forces so much. Hell, the cooks know what's behind you.

You need hole pluggers. No, this is not a double entendre about my brunette. But it could be...

The fusiliers were the renamed recon guys. They had lots of auto weapons and were the crème de la crème of the unit. Their role was emergency firefighters, running from one hot section to another, sealing off penetrations (sorry, couldn't resist) and counterattacking.

So, fusiliers are the nearest thing to a Soviet smg unit that the Germans have.

This seemed more like a test of smg lethality rather than showing how tough a German line unit has it against a Soviet smg unit.

I decided to ask my men if they were up for it. I knew it would be bloody. Then I laughed. "Ask my men?" Ooh, that was rich. They would die.

[c3k]

Here's another shot I took of Bil's forces.

It showcases their equipment. 50% auto/semiauto, including an MG42. My note on the image speaks for itself.

I also looked at his setup zone. AFTER I saw the replay...

[sburke]

man you made a lot of assumptions. Probably dreamt up while MikeyD's Labrador was nuzzling your ear as you were snoring in the dirt on the porch passed out from that bottle of thunderbird you were chugging. You said anyone. You didn't say "how about you send some second rate 70 year old mauser lugging reservists for me to beat up on".

You are making us nervous Ken. You did exterminate his guys in a hail of lead right?

By the way, I ought to break it to you that the "cigar" was an old dried out dropping from the Labrador. Fortunately we all had iPhones and took video. I think Chris will be airing it all on twitch this weekend.

Gotta say the best part of the evening was Steve offering to light your "cigar". You go though all these motions trying to be classy cutting off the end of the cigar (toe nail clippers aren't exactly cigar cutters). How Steve ever kept a straight face as you sucked for all you were worth trying to light that "Stogie" I'll never know. Then passing it off as being too "winded from my exercises with the brunette, wink wink". Oh man good times. Charles bowl looked like a fish tank filter he was laughing so hard. gurgle gurgle, bubble, bubble, splashing all over the table.

[John Kettler]

c3k,

What a marvelous piece of writing, for which full marks are awarded for using, in a single short narrative, "inchoate," "cravat," "au jus" and "tete a tete!" I do think, though, the "hand-basted veal ribs..." were unfair to mention, seeing as how mine aren't here yet. Somebody's got to do the QC, after all. Personally, I favor destructive testing--by my jaws.

Now, I believe you were going on a bit about some romp in the woods with PPShs?

sburke,

Brilliant ripostes! The image of Charles laughing in his brain jar was simply priceless.

Regards,

John Kettler

[sfhand]

Wow Ken, this is making the School of Hard Knocks entreaty I sent you look downright inviting...

[c3k]

Ach...I'll get to it.

(Funny real life story got in the way.)

[sburke]

Ach...I'll get to it.

(Funny real life story got in the way.)

Your STD turned out to be mange or fleas? We didn't see that coming at all.

[c3k]

You wound me.

His bark is worse than his bite?

All the above TO&E was unknown to me (my own doing despite Bil's requests), when I'd gotten this turn back:

My original orders had been:

I had not expected to see Bil this early. Hmm... That's when I opened the editor and looked at the battle from his side. This was what I saw:

Trees are set to "Nearby Trees Off", or whatever it's called, so a lot of the woods look bare in Bil's backfield. Of course, Bil's backfield usually looks bare. (snare drum, please.)

I thought about the purpose of the battle: to kill. Err, to have fun with SMG's. Excellent development. Now my men would not have to march as far to fight. They like when that happens.

[c3k]

Having peeked, perused, browsed through, and otherwise examined his forces, I then thought about his possible critical terrain. Yes, I do that. Not in pretty 3D powerpoint views like someone we all know, but in my own way.

After I saw the setup zone, then I started looking at his forces, as I've already displayed above.

We have near parity in maneuver elements.

I have better close-in firepower.

He has better long-range firepower.

The burden of attack is squarely on my shoulders, with all that implies.

I could sit my men down, develop the situation with more intel, freezing all movement; or push through the enemy despite the likelihood of casualties. I looked at my men. They had a plaintive look in their eyes. I knew what they wanted. Very well: we push!

[c3k]

So, after running a scout team into Bil in a location I had not expected (my own fault: Bil had very politely requested that I examine the battle in the editor from both sides), I had a plan: ATTACK!

Remember this:

My plan was to hold up the two guys who survived the burst. They had a 10m LOS, so I area fired TARGET that far away, hoping for some long rounds to pin Bil's men. The rest of that platoon would push towards that area, but end up short of where they'd be visible from 10m.

Here it is from my edge of the board:

.

Small item: on my left, my gamey edge huggin company is advancing in staggered bounds. They have QUICK and then HUNT, in alternating relays. I know Bil is in these woods. I found one Hun, time to find the rest.

Ken

[c3k]

A statement of outlook.

In most battles, the opening exchange of fire can result in a few outcomes: it can be a desultory start, then ramping up; it can be devastating, winning the battle; it can open large, but be non-critical. We have the first condition. The opening exchanges are slow and ramping up. The battle will increase in pitch until one side or the other dominates. Then it will be a mop up. I will try to force the increase in tempo. I will expend my men's lives as the currency needed to pay for the increase. That's okay. For me.

I'll let the pictures do the talking... (One or two my be out of sequence)

[c3k]

More...

That's turn 58-57. Next, my orders at 57:00.

[c3k]

Turn 58:00 to 57:00 orders. (So it takes place at 58:00).

Some repetition, but it give a better look at what's going on with my planning. I've found one picket (?), and am maneuvering to keep my plan intact. Blue Company pushes up, Green Platoon will move to the right once they clear the enemy they've stumbled upon....

Replay, next.

[c3k]

Replay, turn 58:00 to 57:00...

More...

[c3k]

Replay, 58:00 to 57:00, continued...

[c3k]

Last of the replay for that minute...

An ugly turn...for my men. But for me? I'm okay with it. This is the ramp up phase of the battle. Most of my of my forces are unengaged and maneuvering. The hammer swings...

Next, my orders.

[c3k]

Real life has caught up with me, sunk its talons in, and tried to drag me back…

Forgive the dilatoriness of my postings, and my replies to Bil, as well as the length of this post.

First, an apology to Bil: I had sent a turn to him and patiently awaited the reply. I know that Bil has many irons in several fires, so I did not “pimp” him for his response. It was only after he posted his AAR that I was prompted to examine what I’d done. Yep, I’d posted my turn to him in the wrong dropbox folder. Because the dropbox taskbar graphic only shows the latest file, NOT where it’s posted, I’d thought he was the laggard this whole time. It was me.

The egg running down my face will add flavor to the crow I must eat.

Bil, I am sorry.

Secondly, as to the real life comment, a lot of issues have crested at the same time. Most of my postings have been via a smartphone. I have work, military reserves, and other items all competing for my time and attention in a manner which has kept me from giving the time I should to the game and the beta testing. Several are cresting to a height I’ve never seen, and they are doing it at the same time. Interesting…

An example of a MINOR consideration should suffice…

I had arrived home at 10 a.m. after an all-night work period, tired, but needing to accomplish some chores. Those done, I then left with my wife to watch Son #2’s lacrosse game. Upon our return, at 10 pm, we saw that Son #1 had taken my wife’s car, an ‘03 Honda Pilot, in outstanding condition. It had all her work materials, etc., in it. I went to sleep at midnight, having not slept for 42 hours. At 0300 Son #1 shook me awake and requested an immediate kitchen conference. This was not a normal occurrence.

He informed me, at a carefully calculated distance of just beyond arm’s range, that he had gone to his girlfriend’s house and, upon exiting, had discovered that the car had been stolen. This was not the best news to receive at 0300. I do not make a habit of purchasing disposable vehicles.

The good news was that the nearby city police recovered it 3 days later. I had assumed it would be chopped, dumped in a river or lake, sent out of country, or burned. Instead, they had done some Dukes of Hazard jumps, tried to knock a brick building over, drove over a raised manhole (knocking it off the concrete pipe with the impact), then jumped on it and kicked it, breaking all the glass and destroying all the body panels. There was some knife damage to the interior, as well, visible beneath the garbage and food strewn about. It was sitting there, in a field, behind a recreation center, with the evidence tech pulling shoe prints and fingerprints off it when I pulled up. One policeman politely pointed out the crackhouses, the prostitute locale, and the gang “cribs” around the field. My son and I recovered what of my wife’s belongings we could find and I had the vehicle towed to my home for a determination of its fate…

My wife wanted to visit the scene on the following day to search for more of her possessions. I agreed and grabbed a handgun. Yes, I have a permit, but don’t always go armed. She gave me a look. You know that look. I ignored it, because she didn’t realize that I was weighing whether or not to add a long gun or two. I chose not to.

After arriving at the field early in the afternoon, I slipped the holstered weapon onto my belt and we exited our vehicle. That caused another “look”. She then started searching the edges of the field for any work papers Son #1 and I may have missed.

It only took 15 minutes for the neighborhood watch to notice us and take action. That’s when someone fired a handgun towards us from ~400 yards. Now, those of you who are familiar with firearms know that it is pretty easy to determine weapon type and range from the sound. This was definitely on the order of a 9mm. 400 yards is a long way for that round, despite what we see in CM. The firer was either ignorant of his weapon’s ballistic characteristics or was just giving us a friendly warning. The bullet did not come near us.

My wife asked, “Was that a shot?” I gave her a look which matched the one she had given me earlier. Sweet when you can give it back.

I drew, scanned, and moved laterally to cover. I heartily wished I had brought one of my scoped semi-autos. My movement was not rushed, just purposeful. Having gained the protection of the brick building, and not seeing anyone visible from the location of the shot (near the gang “crib”), I looked behind me to give her further verbal instructions. She had not moved behind the building. She was still looking for papers out in the open. The woman has absolutely no tactical sense. I mean, who wouldn’t know to move behind cover, recognize the tactical hand signals I had been giving, and then scan our route back to our car to ensure we weren’t being flanked? Seriously. She can be very frustrating at times.

To make a long post short, we spent another 10 minutes gathering papers, just to make sure everyone knew we weren’t running, then we ran. Okay, it was more of a fast walk. The Honda Pilot? I got it fixed. Mechanically, it is a beast. The damage was confined to sheet metal and glass. The abuse it took for three days and the condition it was in as far as engine, transmission, drivetrain, suspension, and other mechanical parts have made me a life-long believer in Honda engineering. An added bonus is that I don’t get the “look” when I grab a firearm. In fact, I think she’s getting on board with some body armor purchases… Sweet.

I offer my apologies for the lateness and shallowness of my recent participation.

Ken

[sburke]

holy s**t dude.

Well the upside is you can now point to your time on CM as tactical training. Maybe even convince her to start.

Next time I suggest taking some smoke canisters for concealment while you amble back to the car.

Kudos to your son for having the balls to sit down to talk and the foresight to factor in distance. You've got a real tactician there. Send him back to look for more papers, he'll probably take down the crack houses as part of securing the area.

[daft]

Wow! Suddenly all the excuses I've ever made looks even more silly.