Pocket Panzers

Moving through the forest while avoiding detection by man or beast is as much about sound as anything else. The city-bound think it's all about snapping twigs, but the rustle of underbrush, the clanking of a metal canteen or the squeak of a piece of leather equipment can be even more crucial. The men selected for the raiding party know this, be they Pelletier's milice  or Hardheart's Huron warriors. Moccasin-clad feet pick carefully through the undergrowth as they close on the dim glow of the camp ahead. A few of the men even shield their eyes or avert their gaze to keep from spoiling their night vision. In the camp, too, there are subtle sounds. The crackle of embers, the swish of liquor in the guard's bottle, the faint creak of the rope around a French officer's wrists. Out in the dark, the Canadiens shake out into line with as much care as they approached with. Tremblay is the first to shoulder his musket, drawing a bead. The next sound is not so subtle - the cli

For our first game of 2024, Jesse and I returned to Chain of Command, which is probably our most-played ruleset. However, I wanted to introduce a bit of a twist by pitting him as the Germans against the Soviet fortified region machinegun platoon list. It pits a small but well-armed and dug-in Soviet force against a well-trained and well-supported German one. We set our game sometime in July 1942 on the southern Russian front during Case Blue. Jesse took command of a rifle platoon from Fremery's 29th Motorized Division, while I had the Soviet defenders. In reality, the Soviets defending the approaches to the Caucasus oilfields crumbled reliably under the German advance, but we'll see how our match-up goes.

  2023 has been an interesting year for my hobbying. For starters, for most of the year I've had practically no other gamers to play historical wargames with, which contributed greatly to my decision to make the leap into Warhammer 40K. That's been a bit of an adjustment on all fronts, and something I'll touch on more later. This year has also brought a lot of distractions in the form of work and other life events, and I've struggled a lot with burnout, particularly when it comes to getting models off the painting table. The above photo, by the way, was taken during a recent game in which Jesse's Chinese faced off against my Soviet horde in a game set in 1937 in Xinjiang. Speaking of the painting table, why don't we take a look at the numbers this year? I always intend to paint more models than I buy, but so far that's only happened in 2021, when the ongoing pandemic and my lack of a job for part of the year gave me plenty of time to paint. On the bright sid

  Sergeant Gordon, the old highlander, leaned on his halberd as the British party got into order. The soldiers tried to remain quiet with the smoke from the French and Huron fires rising less than a mile away, but leather creaked and equipment clanked all the same. The highlanders were as much a culprit as the green militia, festooned with weaponry as the Scotsmen were. He and Abercrombie, one of his senior corporals, had bickered about whether the regulars should lead or not, and if they should form in line or adopt an open order. In the end, it hadn't mattered. The fancy Dutchman insisted on taking the militia on ahead. Gordan spat as he watched them form up, wrangled between the Dutch dandy and the so-called mayor of the half-burnt village nearby. At last they got underway, marching off toward the rising smoke where their Mohawk scouts had led them. Christ, he'd seen frothing targe-wielding Jacobites with better-dressed lines. As the militiaman got out in front, Gordon glanc