ORIGINAL: RayWolfe
ORIGINAL: sterckxe
I feel some new tactics coming up.
You haven't used a new tactic since 1998 ......... [:'(]
Yup, but somehow I'm starting to get the feeling that Kamikaze attacks aren't always the best approach, totally weird as that may sound.
ORIGINAL: RayWolfe
Ask Gifty <lovely man> he will teach you the Klingon Wedge technique.
For those unfamiliar with it - Giftzwerg's HTTR AAR :
Got into a pretty wild little game the other night. In the "Deelen" scenario, my friend Bob took the Germans, and me the English, setting additional reinforcements for the Germans.
So. Down come my parachutes and gliders, and I march cheerfully into Arnhem. Not a German in sight. Nowhere. Nothing but British boots clattering on the cobblestones, and Dutch girls blowing kisses.
The 52nd Division lands. Still no contact. I'm holding all the relevant objectives, Arnhem, bridges, objectives ... and sending out patrols to pretty fair distances, but still no Germans. Oh, I glimpse a few here and there, exchange a little long-range fire with my scouts, but nothing. The only Germans I've really had any contact with are the few immobile garrison-guys stuck in town and quickly wiped out. So I hunker down in a big pocket around all the objectives, dig in deep, and wait for Bob to send some attacks my way.
Ha-ha. Who's better than me? Toppa the world, Ma!
Except. Days go by. I'm thinking, "What the **** is he up to? Am I going to see, like, a huge wooden horse trundling up to my frontlines?"
On Day 5 (!), as I'm swilling a martini (literally) and knitting a banner to welcome XXX Corps (figuratively) ... my picket line picks up some Germans directly north of Arnhem.
<blinks> More than a few Germans, actually.
<frowning> Really a goodly number of them.
<nervous laughter> In fact, rather an alarming gaggle of Germans.
<panicky> Can that be two whole divisions of 'em?
[I'm imagining a scene were a runner dashes up to General Urquart and Urquart asks, "Germans, you say? How many of them?" and the messenger blurts: "Looks like *all of them*, sir!"]
As I try to arrange The Mother Of All Hasty Redeployments, this huge wedge of Germans - Bob had actually gathered up every single last German unit that could walk, roll, or crawl - crashes into the two brigades of the 52nd holding the northern flank. The little brown "speed bumps" held briefly ... then disappeared under a roiling ball of explosion
graphics and black/grey squares.
Both systems are chugging like crazy and the minute counter is updating sloooooowly; I'm imagining the casualty meter spinning like an odometer gone mad. There had to be ... I dunno ... 20,000 Germans packed into a space of two kilometers square, running for the Rhine.
Well, anyhow, so much for the entire 52nd Lowland Division; they're a grease spot with a hobnailed bootprint on it. <skirling of bagpipes>
The other four brigades (counting the intrepid glider pilots...) have now gotten themselves sorted out - turned around, actually, since the headlong German advance bounces off the Lower Rhine and is now firmly fixed between two neat red rows - and are starting to pound the Germans mercilessly. My "brilliant" contribution to the affair is to give them all "attack" tasks inwards, onto the German mass which is now pretty much surrounded ... but still blazing away with everything they've got.
Whoa, Mohammed.
At this point, the two PCs have gone bananas, what with all the little "blings" and pages of scrolling text as the game systems record units routing, units surrendering, and units disappearing forever. My laptop's fan is making a sort of strained groaning sound, and heavy graphics load has got the hot air coming out feeling like the defroster on an F450 truck up full.
[Bob goes, "Uh, we outta save this off, dude, in case one ... or both ... of your PCs goes tits-up on us..."]
There are so many Germans packed into a tiny little space next to the bridge, and so many Paras surrounding them, that the graphic on the screen looks like a child's drawing of a demented, twitching 8-ball soaked in blood.
It's like, 10:00 AM. Only.
There's really no semblance of command (where are we gonna go?), just hundreds of units set at "Fastest/Quickest/Max/Rapid/Max" blasting the ****-all out of each other. Neither side dares to try and turn away, since that would invite complete disaster...
...so, uh, it pretty much ends up in "complete disaster" for both sides. As dusk falls, the smoking, radioactive embers of each force disengage.
And there ain't many of 'em left. I've got a battalion of Poles, pretty much undamaged, holding the railroad bridge, and Bob has a big flock of artillerymen up north. So I send the poles to stand on the mountain of souvenirs that used to be about four divisions of troops.
Ha. I "win."
I go, "Well, that turned out to be the stupidest friggin' game we ever played."
Bob sniffs, "Well, next time I'll make my Klingon Attack-Wedge wide enough to squash your *whole* force. Important Safety Tip."
Cool. Let's go again!
-
Greetz,
Eddy Sterckx
