Well here it is, the last in a long and winding series – unless ----?
Let us recap. Three aliens Hilclin-Ton, Bilclin-Ton and Trump-Ton, crash land in deepest Yorkshire. Finding themselves in the unfashionable and neglected part of the largest empire television has ever seen, they lay their plans.
Hampered by their lack of equipment and only half-remembered primary school genetics (what did you learn? I got levers, gear ratios and Greek legends) they set about recruiting and modifying the locals and farm stock. Fortunately there's a fast growing species with large carnivors in its ancestry.
First setback was the dinosaur. The locals promised that it would be suitable, but it turned out to be mostly plaster! This escapade, plus the killing after of some famous person, alerted the authorities. The killing rampage of an uber chicken in the local town was also noted by the legal law.
Now the forces of empire approach with ponderous intent. But already plans are afoot, clones and avatars have been emplaced so that in a mere 200 years time they will be poised to take over a large, backward country made ripe for exploitation.
All they need to do is crank up the sonic oscillator 3 more notches and the transmat beam will mate their spon with their future bodies. But the process will destroy the farm.
Perhaps we will follow Hilclin-Ton, Bilclin-Ton and Trump-Ton in their bid at world domination?
Or are we already-----!
Here is the final push. The farm is isolated at the end of a long and winding road.
Royal Engineers BRIEFING
At 05.30 the Battalion received the order to move into position. It is now 07.30 and just after first light. No activity has been reported battalion area but CO wants to press on.
At this point Nothing Known.
Your platoon is to assault the farm and end all resistance. The village is the fall back position once the battalion moves out of hide.
Start point the village boundry.
Comrades. From reports we know that the village below is likely to be occupied by the enemy. You are to resist to death!
All available hu-mans have been processed into living bombs. They are unstable and any rolling a 1 will explode! They have been told to go towards the enemy yelling (to regulate the pressure) “Git orf moi laaand!”. Which will for most be both the longest and last sentence vouchsafed.
With all of the Uber Chicken plucked a new leader is required. From the vats is brought forth an unformed horror.
14 Bombed civvies and The Horror =105
protected vampires & leader =501
8 cultists & leader =519
Royal Engineers Contraptions and Mounted Infantry.
Command team and contraption, = 287
Charabang, 6 infantry & sergeant = 435 x 2 = 870
2 Female Tankettes =134
Male Tankette = 71
The Game. This whole series has been augmented by new ranges, new finds, new rules. This one's no exception. The log defences and dead cows(!) came from the Sgt's mess & pigstye (unpainted, as-is) from Blotz the day before (See my last post). We put some thought, as before, into playing mostly civilians and the tactics of the time.
This, at the end of the day, was a game of 3 halves:
On my left, Tony came on strong, the command car trundling behind the male tankette. All was well until they turned the corner and my infantry let fly with all barrels, killing the infantry and forcing the car to reverse. The tankette trundled on. Round 2, the car, having found a convenient slope, took the fortification under fire, suppressing mine. But then I got in a couple of lucky shots and wounded the senior officer and gunner! They retired in search of first aid. If I'd killed the officer, that's a morale roll-.
The male tankette rolled on, ignoring the 2 failed attempts by my living sticky bombs. Now it's the chance of my cultists- shotguns in hatches and through slits! If they bail out, the horror awaits. 3 fails the hard way. Oh shit.
Right flank the female tankettes forged ahead, followed by the charabangs, with the centre one taking the brunt of my poor civilian bomb-demi-vampires. These managed to stun it twice, but mostly went down to own goal, gang fires and the ravening fire of machine guns. They plowed on, my protected vampire infantry lacking targets retired in a knees bending running away tactical manner.
Centre. One squad dismounts and take my cultists under withering fire before advancing behind the male tankette. Bilclin-Ton recklessly advances and takes it under fire, stunning it. His missus, being a bit more sensible, does a, um, runner. Seeing himself potentially outflanked, Bilclin-Ton likewise does a runner, pursued by a female and dodging shots from the male! I didn't think he'd make it, by the stub of his clispok he was in-!
The barn is surrounded, but this is no ordinary barn-. Who's going in after them? Stay tuned for the final, thrilling Rogue Stars installment!