(no subject)
Had a good time yesterday. Went over to Simon's, where he, Iain and I played B-17 together. Weather was lovely - downright summery - and there was a real holiday atmosphere in Wandsworth Common when I came out of the railway station. I love London at times lke this.
Gaming went well.
B-17: Queen of the Skies is a solo game which recreates Flying Fortress bombing missions. The appeal isn't in hitting the objectives, it's in trying to get your aircraft and its crew home safely (you name each aircraft and crewman, and they soon start to take on a personality of their own). Playing it as a group adds something, though - the shared experience of flying as a group, with your mates looking out for you and willing you to get through when you're in trouble.
We were using the variant rules to allow engine fires to be extinguished, with superior B-17G aircraft available as replacements if our B-17Fs were lost. We used one roll for fighter waves for all three aircraft, a house rule which worked well.
We "flew" three missions together as an element of the 8th AAF, 99th Bomb Group, 139 Squadron (BG and squadron numbers are fictional; I suggested 139 after my dad's old RAF squadron). I ended the day with my top and ball turret gunners as aces (five and seven kills respectively), and didn't lose a ship.
Our mission to the railyards at Hamm was the hardest (and most exciting). I was flying B-17f "Practical Magic" (nose art is a cute redhead in a witch's hat, and crew names are based on actors in Nicole Kidman's films). My bombardier was unluckily killed by enemy fighters over the Channel, so I aborted, whereupon my out-of-formation bomber was immediately jumped by five ME 109s. In the desperate battle that ensued, Practical Magic's crew shot two of them down, before managing to return to base with no further casualties. This was the mission where little Dustin De Niro in the ball turret became an ace, with five confirmed kills.
The others carried on, with Iain's bomber "Valley of Death", picking up a fuel leak over the target which meant he couldn't make it back to England. With sickening awareness that he was going to have to pancake the aircraft in the sea and hope for rescue, the pilot calmly carried on to bomb the target.
Simon's "Supper's Ready" (crewed by prog rock musicians), having taken over as lead bomber when I dropped out, led the attack; the element's bombs fell on target, and they turned for home. "Supper's Ready" had lost its starboard waist gunner by this stage, and its tail guns were out, but its troubles were only beginning.
Losing an engine, its radio and oxygen, "Supper's Ready" had to drop out of formation just as the pilot of "Valley of Death" was preparing to ditch his ship in the sea. The emergency landing was handled professionally, and the crew scrambled out, taking their wounded with them, to clamber into the life rafts and await rescue.
Now alone, without the protection of the other Fortresses in the formation, "Supper's Ready" flew on, fending off wave after wave of attackers, losing more and more men to enemy fire, its ammo supplies dwindling, taking more and more damage. With no radio, there was no chance of a rescue if the crew abandoned it over water, so they limped for home, one engine gone and flight slowed by propeller drag. Fighter cover checks went well, and this saved them, as their "little friends" circled the stricken bomber, keeping the Luftwaffe at bay. We were all willing Simon to make it, and somehow he reached England. Now he had to land, with the undercarriage inoperable and a seriously wounded man aboard. Pilot Robert Fripp's landing was faultless, and the entire ground crew of RAF Croydon (for this was our declared home airfield) raised a cheer. Final casualties: out of a ten man crew, two were dead and one invalided home with severe wounds (all while manning the jinxed starboard waist gun position) , while six more had one or more wounds, with the captain alone unscathed.
Having been picked up by a RN patrol boat, the men of "Valley of Death" were soon reunited with their comrades back at Croydon, and once replacements had been assigned, all three crews were ready to fly again (with Iain now at the controls of "Valley of Death II", a G model with chin turret, fresh out of the factory).
We all enjoyed it, and resolved that the men and Flying Fortresses of the Fighting 139th will fly again.
Iain's gf came along in the evening, while we were still playing, which I must admit put a bit of a kibosh on the blokey geekfest as she sat there, pointedly igonoring us, reading her Jilly Cooper novel.
We went for a drink here, not cheap, and very busy, then to the Outback steak house, which was horribly corporate and phoney, but did offer free refills on soft drinks (mmm, free Sprite) and unexpectedly tasty and good quality steaks and chips.
Made my way back home trying to avoid crowds of beered up rugger-buggers staggering home after drinking themselves stupid following the end of the Six Nations.
Gaming went well.
B-17: Queen of the Skies is a solo game which recreates Flying Fortress bombing missions. The appeal isn't in hitting the objectives, it's in trying to get your aircraft and its crew home safely (you name each aircraft and crewman, and they soon start to take on a personality of their own). Playing it as a group adds something, though - the shared experience of flying as a group, with your mates looking out for you and willing you to get through when you're in trouble.
We were using the variant rules to allow engine fires to be extinguished, with superior B-17G aircraft available as replacements if our B-17Fs were lost. We used one roll for fighter waves for all three aircraft, a house rule which worked well.
We "flew" three missions together as an element of the 8th AAF, 99th Bomb Group, 139 Squadron (BG and squadron numbers are fictional; I suggested 139 after my dad's old RAF squadron). I ended the day with my top and ball turret gunners as aces (five and seven kills respectively), and didn't lose a ship.
Our mission to the railyards at Hamm was the hardest (and most exciting). I was flying B-17f "Practical Magic" (nose art is a cute redhead in a witch's hat, and crew names are based on actors in Nicole Kidman's films). My bombardier was unluckily killed by enemy fighters over the Channel, so I aborted, whereupon my out-of-formation bomber was immediately jumped by five ME 109s. In the desperate battle that ensued, Practical Magic's crew shot two of them down, before managing to return to base with no further casualties. This was the mission where little Dustin De Niro in the ball turret became an ace, with five confirmed kills.
The others carried on, with Iain's bomber "Valley of Death", picking up a fuel leak over the target which meant he couldn't make it back to England. With sickening awareness that he was going to have to pancake the aircraft in the sea and hope for rescue, the pilot calmly carried on to bomb the target.
Simon's "Supper's Ready" (crewed by prog rock musicians), having taken over as lead bomber when I dropped out, led the attack; the element's bombs fell on target, and they turned for home. "Supper's Ready" had lost its starboard waist gunner by this stage, and its tail guns were out, but its troubles were only beginning.
Losing an engine, its radio and oxygen, "Supper's Ready" had to drop out of formation just as the pilot of "Valley of Death" was preparing to ditch his ship in the sea. The emergency landing was handled professionally, and the crew scrambled out, taking their wounded with them, to clamber into the life rafts and await rescue.
Now alone, without the protection of the other Fortresses in the formation, "Supper's Ready" flew on, fending off wave after wave of attackers, losing more and more men to enemy fire, its ammo supplies dwindling, taking more and more damage. With no radio, there was no chance of a rescue if the crew abandoned it over water, so they limped for home, one engine gone and flight slowed by propeller drag. Fighter cover checks went well, and this saved them, as their "little friends" circled the stricken bomber, keeping the Luftwaffe at bay. We were all willing Simon to make it, and somehow he reached England. Now he had to land, with the undercarriage inoperable and a seriously wounded man aboard. Pilot Robert Fripp's landing was faultless, and the entire ground crew of RAF Croydon (for this was our declared home airfield) raised a cheer. Final casualties: out of a ten man crew, two were dead and one invalided home with severe wounds (all while manning the jinxed starboard waist gun position) , while six more had one or more wounds, with the captain alone unscathed.
Having been picked up by a RN patrol boat, the men of "Valley of Death" were soon reunited with their comrades back at Croydon, and once replacements had been assigned, all three crews were ready to fly again (with Iain now at the controls of "Valley of Death II", a G model with chin turret, fresh out of the factory).
We all enjoyed it, and resolved that the men and Flying Fortresses of the Fighting 139th will fly again.
Iain's gf came along in the evening, while we were still playing, which I must admit put a bit of a kibosh on the blokey geekfest as she sat there, pointedly igonoring us, reading her Jilly Cooper novel.
We went for a drink here, not cheap, and very busy, then to the Outback steak house, which was horribly corporate and phoney, but did offer free refills on soft drinks (mmm, free Sprite) and unexpectedly tasty and good quality steaks and chips.
Made my way back home trying to avoid crowds of beered up rugger-buggers staggering home after drinking themselves stupid following the end of the Six Nations.