While the game is far more interesting, here's some Sync Bug info. Here I'm loading the next turn that Dave sent. There's an error message. I don't see anything about an 1126a. Is he properly patched?
This indicates the problem. You are using version 1126a and your opponent is using version 1124. You will need to revert back to version 1124 or you will have sync problems. Or Dave could patch to 1126a.
I spent an hour trying to log into the Forums tonight. I've been doing this for 18 years, but got 25 consecutive error messages - so many that I eventually concluded that the Matrix site was down with a glitch that might be fixed by the company after a few hours. When I came back three hours later, same issue. So I tried a different password on the long chance that perhaps the one I've used for 18 years isn't actually right....and the "new one" worked.
Compters. And. Me. Hopeless.
"Rats set fire to Mr. Cooper’s store in Fort Valley. No damage done." Columbus (Ga) Enquirer-Sun, October 2, 1880.
Wild, Wounded Goose Chase: This was the plan I entered about four hours ago. Then I sat on it to ponder other possibilities. In the end, I concluded this was as good as any and better than most.
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"Rats set fire to Mr. Cooper’s store in Fort Valley. No damage done." Columbus (Ga) Enquirer-Sun, October 2, 1880.
You gents need soothing reading about things botanical. I wrote this after a hike a few weeks ago:
Symbionts
The toe of a woodland ridge I walk nudges a creek, then ranges up to a shallow gap between two knobs. Lichen-speckled boulders jut from the slanting ridge spine, like gray, humped-back whales broaching sea swells.
If together we walked that ridge, moving among the rocks, and I queried, “Do you know what a lichen is?” you’d nod, pointing to pale-turquoise growth dappling each boulder. If curiosity lingered, you might probe further, inquiring: “But what is a lichen, really?” as once I did.
We know lichens by sight – common plants growing on exposed rock or soil, bark, limbs, gravestones, sidewalks, walls, roofs, and even on other lichens. They’re often papery thin, as if flour and water mixed into paste and brushed on an object were allowed to dry, the edges then folding and scalloping irregularly.
But the science of the matter confounds, for a lichen isn’t a plant at all. It isn’t even an organism.
More precisely, it isn’t a single organism.
An old-timer once explained lichen science to me. A student of natural history and woodland lore, he pointed to a specimen on a boulder and said, “Lichens are a symbiotic relationship [a what?] between an alga and a fungus.”
A lichen, he expounded, is two organisms coexisting, dependent each on the other – an alga using water and minerals absorbed by a fungus to produce food by photosynthesis, which feeds both life forms.
The two organisms can exist independently, as alga and as fungus, but a lichen exists only when they live together, mutually dependent on one another. Scholars dub states of mutuality among living things “symbiosis.” The alga and the fungus are “symbionts.”
Science organizes all known lifeforms into five biological kingdoms. The organisms that make up lichens aren’t from the familiar Plant or Animal Kingdoms, but each of the other three kingdoms is involved. Every lichen consists of a member of the Kingdom Fungi living in association with either a member of the Kingdom Protista or the Kingdom Monera.
Blue-green algae and a fungus comprise many common lichens, creating the faded turquoise coloring – as if the lichens had been exposed to overmuch sunlight – so familiar on northwest Georgia’s rocky ridges. But blue-green alga really isn’t an alga, so it isn’t a member of the Kingdom Protista. It’s cyanobacteria from the Kingdom Monera – bacteria capable of photosynthesis.
Lifeforms from different kingdoms living together symbiotically might be comparable to turtles living in trees, if the two depended one on the other so much that they became as one and were so perceived by mankind.
There are twenty thousand species of lichen (“species” really isn’t the right term since organisms from multiple kingdoms are involved). Lichens are delicate but have adapted to earth’s most hostile environments – tundra, mountains, deserts, and toxic slag heaps. They’re hardy and opportunistic, covering about nine percent of the planet’s surface.
The day my friend asked, “Do know what a lichen is?” as we walked the gnarled-rock spine of Taylors Ridge, I replied, “Sure,” and pointed to a rock colonized by faded turquoise growth illuminated under a cloudless winter sky’s brilliant blueness.
Oh, yes, I could point to a lichen, but I did so without knowing its simple, marvelous complexity.
"Rats set fire to Mr. Cooper’s store in Fort Valley. No damage done." Columbus (Ga) Enquirer-Sun, October 2, 1880.
You gents need soothing reading about things botanical. I wrote this after a hike a few weeks ago:
Symbionts
The toe of a woodland ridge I walk nudges a creek, then ranges up to a shallow gap between two knobs. Lichen-speckled boulders jut from the slanting ridge spine, like gray, humped-back whales broaching sea swells.
If together we walked that ridge, moving among the rocks, and I queried, “Do you know what a lichen is?” you’d nod, pointing to pale-turquoise growth dappling each boulder. If curiosity lingered, you might probe further, inquiring: “But what is a lichen, really?” as once I did.
We know lichens by sight – common plants growing on exposed rock or soil, bark, limbs, gravestones, sidewalks, walls, roofs, and even on other lichens. They’re often papery thin, as if flour and water mixed into paste and brushed on an object were allowed to dry, the edges then folding and scalloping irregularly.
But the science of the matter confounds, for a lichen isn’t a plant at all. It isn’t even an organism.
More precisely, it isn’t a single organism.
An old-timer once explained lichen science to me. A student of natural history and woodland lore, he pointed to a specimen on a boulder and said, “Lichens are a symbiotic relationship [a what?] between an alga and a fungus.”
A lichen, he expounded, is two organisms coexisting, dependent each on the other – an alga using water and minerals absorbed by a fungus to produce food by photosynthesis, which feeds both life forms.
The two organisms can exist independently, as alga and as fungus, but a lichen exists only when they live together, mutually dependent on one another. Scholars dub states of mutuality among living things “symbiosis.” The alga and the fungus are “symbionts.”
Science organizes all known lifeforms into five biological kingdoms. The organisms that make up lichens aren’t from the familiar Plant or Animal Kingdoms, but each of the other three kingdoms is involved. Every lichen consists of a member of the Kingdom Fungi living in association with either a member of the Kingdom Protista or the Kingdom Monera.
Blue-green algae and a fungus comprise many common lichens, creating the faded turquoise coloring – as if the lichens had been exposed to overmuch sunlight – so familiar on northwest Georgia’s rocky ridges. But blue-green alga really isn’t an alga, so it isn’t a member of the Kingdom Protista. It’s cyanobacteria from the Kingdom Monera – bacteria capable of photosynthesis.
Lifeforms from different kingdoms living together symbiotically might be comparable to turtles living in trees, if the two depended one on the other so much that they became as one and were so perceived by mankind.
There are twenty thousand species of lichen (“species” really isn’t the right term since organisms from multiple kingdoms are involved). Lichens are delicate but have adapted to earth’s most hostile environments – tundra, mountains, deserts, and toxic slag heaps. They’re hardy and opportunistic, covering about nine percent of the planet’s surface.
The day my friend asked, “Do know what a lichen is?” as we walked the gnarled-rock spine of Taylors Ridge, I replied, “Sure,” and pointed to a rock colonized by faded turquoise growth illuminated under a cloudless winter sky’s brilliant blueness.
Oh, yes, I could point to a lichen, but I did so without knowing its simple, marvelous complexity.
Interesting psychological game. You are both now in the position of trying to guess and second-guess what your opponent will do next. Eg, "my obvious move is x, but he knows that, and therefore will probably think I won't do x but rather y or z, and will plan accordingly... unless he's thought this through, and reckons I'll do x after all, precisely because it is the obvious move and therefore unexpected at this point in time ... unless..."
The Princess Bride and the poisoned wine glass. [:D]
You gents need soothing reading about things botanical. I wrote this after a hike a few weeks ago:
Symbionts
The toe of a woodland ridge I walk nudges a creek, then ranges up to a shallow gap between two knobs. Lichen-speckled boulders jut from the slanting ridge spine, like gray, humped-back whales broaching sea swells.
If together we walked that ridge, moving among the rocks, and I queried, “Do you know what a lichen is?” you’d nod, pointing to pale-turquoise growth dappling each boulder. If curiosity lingered, you might probe further, inquiring: “But what is a lichen, really?” as once I did.
We know lichens by sight – common plants growing on exposed rock or soil, bark, limbs, gravestones, sidewalks, walls, roofs, and even on other lichens. They’re often papery thin, as if flour and water mixed into paste and brushed on an object were allowed to dry, the edges then folding and scalloping irregularly.
But the science of the matter confounds, for a lichen isn’t a plant at all. It isn’t even an organism.
More precisely, it isn’t a single organism.
An old-timer once explained lichen science to me. A student of natural history and woodland lore, he pointed to a specimen on a boulder and said, “Lichens are a symbiotic relationship [a what?] between an alga and a fungus.”
A lichen, he expounded, is two organisms coexisting, dependent each on the other – an alga using water and minerals absorbed by a fungus to produce food by photosynthesis, which feeds both life forms.
The two organisms can exist independently, as alga and as fungus, but a lichen exists only when they live together, mutually dependent on one another. Scholars dub states of mutuality among living things “symbiosis.” The alga and the fungus are “symbionts.”
Science organizes all known lifeforms into five biological kingdoms. The organisms that make up lichens aren’t from the familiar Plant or Animal Kingdoms, but each of the other three kingdoms is involved. Every lichen consists of a member of the Kingdom Fungi living in association with either a member of the Kingdom Protista or the Kingdom Monera.
Blue-green algae and a fungus comprise many common lichens, creating the faded turquoise coloring – as if the lichens had been exposed to overmuch sunlight – so familiar on northwest Georgia’s rocky ridges. But blue-green alga really isn’t an alga, so it isn’t a member of the Kingdom Protista. It’s cyanobacteria from the Kingdom Monera – bacteria capable of photosynthesis.
Lifeforms from different kingdoms living together symbiotically might be comparable to turtles living in trees, if the two depended one on the other so much that they became as one and were so perceived by mankind.
There are twenty thousand species of lichen (“species” really isn’t the right term since organisms from multiple kingdoms are involved). Lichens are delicate but have adapted to earth’s most hostile environments – tundra, mountains, deserts, and toxic slag heaps. They’re hardy and opportunistic, covering about nine percent of the planet’s surface.
The day my friend asked, “Do know what a lichen is?” as we walked the gnarled-rock spine of Taylors Ridge, I replied, “Sure,” and pointed to a rock colonized by faded turquoise growth illuminated under a cloudless winter sky’s brilliant blueness.
Oh, yes, I could point to a lichen, but I did so without knowing its simple, marvelous complexity.
One of the subjects covered on Day 1 of Biology with Professor Sledge "Sledgehammer".
The Wild, Wounded Goose Chase: Fate caught up with her today at Wallis Island.
Lex (and the combat ships ahead of her) somehow made their runs without blundering into Half KB South, which moved a bit NW of Wallis Island. A CL force, probably from the Marshalls, came down and patrolled the Ellice Islands (sinking a DM that had just laid mines), and Half KB North remained up near Canton).
The turn went on and on and on without any KB strikes....untilt he very end of the day, when some Vals sortied against Lex and some others against Indianapolis. Six hits scored on Lex, which hadn't disbanded (she only had to go six hexes, so this is particularly sad). She's still afloat but has 95 FLT and lots of fires and is a gonner. I'll disband her tomorrow, so that Dave has to dig her out, but this chase is over.
Indianapolis wasn't hit. The Kiwi CLs also hung close and weren't hit. They'll flee tomorrow.
I have alot of shipping disbanded and hope that Dave's first thought will be to finally move away. It probably won't. This guys will dig them out too. So I'll have to think and work.
One word from Dave when he sent the turn would have ruined an awesomely tense turn.
"Finally."
That's why having opponents who don't tip things via email is critical to an Allied player's ability to enjoy the drama of the game.
"Rats set fire to Mr. Cooper’s store in Fort Valley. No damage done." Columbus (Ga) Enquirer-Sun, October 2, 1880.
I usually tell my opponent to make sure and not drink coffee during the replay. He knows something is happening, but not whether it's good or bad. [X(]
I don't want the slightest hint of what's coming. It's far more fun if it's just completely a surprise. Erik and Dave are meticulous in not tipping anything, which I appreciate a lot.
"Rats set fire to Mr. Cooper’s store in Fort Valley. No damage done." Columbus (Ga) Enquirer-Sun, October 2, 1880.
I agree. I usually try not too reveal too much in my email interactions, especially as the Japanese player. As an allied player, I HATE when my opponent tells me what happened in the turn I just received.
"Now excuse me while I go polish my balls ..." - BBfanboy
ORIGINAL: Canoerebel
Six hits scored on Lex, which hadn't disbanded (she only had to go six hexes, so this is particularly sad). She's still afloat but has 95 FLT and lots of fires and is a gonner. I'll disband her tomorrow, so that Dave has to dig her out, but this chase is over.
BBFanboy posted this in my aar:
"Watching thousands of TFs approach port over the years I note that more often than not they end up in the hex next to the port, even when they appear to have enough movement hexes left to enter the port. Near as I can figure, the game requires one whole phase to enter port from the adjacent hex - i.e. if it is not in the adjacent hex at the end of the night naval movement phase, it won't enter port on the day naval movement phase. If it does enter port, it seems to do very little in terms of unloading or disbanding until the next phase. I suppose this is an abstraction of having to slow down for other traffic around the port and waiting for a pilot to take the ships in. "
This indicates the problem. You are using version 1126a and your opponent is using version 1124. You will need to revert back to version 1124 or you will have sync problems. Or Dave could patch to 1126a.
As I mentioned (although it may have been lost in the post shuffle), there was at least one occasion where the letter associated with the version number did not make it into this error message and it may have been one of these versions CR is using. Really need to compare the main game screen that shows the full version number because of that.
The Wild, Wounded Goose Chase: Fate caught up with her today at Wallis Island.
Lex (and the combat ships ahead of her) somehow made their runs without blundering into Half KB South, which moved a bit NW of Wallis Island. A CL force, probably from the Marshalls, came down and patrolled the Ellice Islands (sinking a DM that had just laid mines), and Half KB North remained up near Canton).
The turn went on and on and on without any KB strikes....untilt he very end of the day, when some Vals sortied against Lex and some others against Indianapolis. Six hits scored on Lex, which hadn't disbanded (she only had to go six hexes, so this is particularly sad). She's still afloat but has 95 FLT and lots of fires and is a gonner. I'll disband her tomorrow, so that Dave has to dig her out, but this chase is over.
Indianapolis wasn't hit. The Kiwi CLs also hung close and weren't hit. They'll flee tomorrow.
I have alot of shipping disbanded and hope that Dave's first thought will be to finally move away. It probably won't. This guys will dig them out too. So I'll have to think and work.
One word from Dave when he sent the turn would have ruined an awesomely tense turn.
"Finally."
That's why having opponents who don't tip things via email is critical to an Allied player's ability to enjoy the drama of the game.
In my experience, you can only rely on ships auto-disbanding before the air phase if they only have to move one movement phase's worth of movement or less. The auto-disband seems to occur after the air phases if the TF reaches the target during the day's second movement phase.
Since Lex had to do more than that (I think? It sounded like your last report on her full speed was 4 or 5 hexes) then I'm sadly unsurprised she didn't disband before the strikes.
As to spoiling the turn, if there's a hint (especially when I'm conducting offensive ops), it makes me many times less likely to load and run the turn in a timely manner. And when I do so, I will load Tracker first without watching the replay because if it's half-spoiled already then I want to go into it with a full view of what actually occurred instead of just "my opponent made it clear the doodoo hit the fan a little bit here but I don't know if that means I lost 50 fighters or an entire CV TF or an entire division before they landed." For me, it's not about enjoying the drama - it's about avoiding any drama.