Back in 2014, I wrote a blog entry (on yet another one of my many, many blogs) about why I was retreating from PC gaming back into one of my first gaming hobbies: board gaming. Flashforward eight years, and the reasons why are as germaine today as they were back then. Video games are not in a good place right now. The problems of 2014 still linger, but now with the added complications of COVID disrupting workplaces and a war - war! - in Europe adding to the chaos. As ever, the indie game developer scene has best rolled with the punches while the bigger studios have floundered to one degree or another. Be that as it may, now is not a good time to be into video games. It is, however, a great time to be into board games because this hobby continues to thrive even if pricing is starting to get out of hand.
So, I am back into board games again. And it feels good!
Seeing how the world suddenly finds itself slipping into a Cold War 2.0, I'd thought now was a good time to finally try the "Starter Kit" of Lock 'N Load's Cold-War-Gone-Hot wargame, World at War '85. I'll have some thoughts on the game at the end of this entry, but first here is a really cheesy narrative I wrote in lieu of a traditional AAR.
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[Note: please keep in mind that I threw these shorts together in mere minutes after a session of play! I took a lot of liberties with interpreting certain events, rarely bothered to crack open Wikipedia to fact check, and mostly didn't bother to get unit designations per the scenario correct! Truly seat of my pants fluff!]
Lt. Dan Shaver’s platoon of M1 tanks were positioned perfectly. Anticipating a Soviet thrust, HQ had ordered his unit to act as a tripwire to warn the rest of the battalion when the red attack was on its way. Arriving two days ago, Shaver used the time to carefully position each one of his four tanks on the northern edge of the small hamlet that was Griegbatten. Truth be told, Shaver would have rather deployed to some patch of woods that was devoid of civilians, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, as the saying went. Fortunately, seeing his big main battle tanks pull into town and start deploying camouflage and preparing alternate firing positions, the locals took the hint and began to also prepare themselves for the storm that was coming. Just in time, too, because the enemy had now arrived.
“I’m definitely seeing movement in those woods,” reported his gunner who was using the tank’s enhanced optics to tease out what information he could from a patch of woods to the north. “Thermal is getting some ghosts in there. Probably BMPs. Maybe some tanks, too.”
Shaver was standing on the broad, flat cupola of the tank, using a pair of field binoculars to get a feel for the coming enemy probe. A smile crept to his lips as he realized that he was acting the part of a tank commander right out of WWII. Tens of millions of dollars worth of electronics lay below his feet but he was using technology that went back to the civil war. His wry musings were cut short when the tank’s cupola slew to the right, nearly throwing him off balance. He adjusted his binoculars and immediately spotted what his gunner must have seen: fountaining dust in the distance. Tanks! Moving fast! “He keyed his helmet mic to the platoon channel. “Here they come, fellas! Good hunting! A Sony Walkman on me to the crew that gets the first kill!” That should motivate them if fighting for their lives weren’t enough. He dropped into his seat at the commander’s position and closed the tank’s hatch tight, just in case the Ruskies wanted to open the fight with what the younger troopers were referring to as ‘bug spray,’ - i.e., chemical weapons. “Good work spotting them, Dawson.”
“You didn’t even give me a chance to report it. You stole my glory, eltee.”
“And you almost threw me off the tank. How about a warning next time?”
“Call it even, then,” replied Dawson with a laugh.
Shaver had his face pressed to the commander’s optics. Gutsy, he thought. Coming right at us like that. He keyed his throat mic again. “All Alpha elements. Prepare to fire on that platoon of T-62s heading our way. On my command….”
***
Colonel Adrei Zuzevsky, Commander, 2/247th Guards Motor Rifle Regiment, remained stoic as his platoon of tanks was systematically demolished by the Americanski armor that had been hidden in the nearby town. He had heard about the superior fire control of the new American M1 tank, but seeing it in action was something else. With preternatural precision, the American tanks had shredded his dated T-62s, leaving burning wrecks belching long pillars of black smoke into the hazy summer sky. Well, two can play at that game. The Americans had enjoyed the element of surprise, but now his forces knew where they were. Zuzevsky reached down into the interior of his command vehicle and retrieved his comm gear. He keyed his mic, waited a few seconds for the transmitter to come up to speed, and then spoke the simple command: “Return fire!”
Zuzevsky might have lost a platoon, but he still commanded two additional platoons of T-62, along with two platoons of ATGM-armed BMP-1s. At his command, the woods that gave his forces shelter exploded with the boom of 115mm main gun fire from his tanks, along with the whoosh of anti-tank guided missiles leaving their launchers. Bringing his binoculars up to his eyes, he saw the small homes and buildings in the distant West German town begin to shatter as his vehicles' rounds and missiles sought out the enemy armor.
***
Two kilometers to the east, Major Ivan Oskyer could hear the distant booms of combat as he rode in his command BMP-1. So, the battle begins. Oskyer knew the plan: the colonel’s heavier forces were responsible for tying down the enemy by launching a frontal assault on the town of Griegbatten, while his smaller detachment of BMPs with their accompanying infantry were charged with flanking the town and attacking it from the east. His units were making good progress despite needing to navigate a narrow two-lane road that cut through a forest. Fortunately, the West German government showed its usual efficiency and had successfully cleared the roads of civilian traffic so its own troops wouldn’t be hindered. Ironically, that was also assisting his Soviet troops in their swift flanking movement. Even better, the forest that provided excellent concealment from enemy observation. So far, everything was going according to plan.
A terrific explosion erupted from the front of the column, and then another. Oskyer could see fireballs sprouting skyward with debris raining down around the column. “Report!” Oskyer demanded in his mic.
‘Comrade major! My platoon is being engaged by ATGM fire from Hill 14! Repeat, my platoon is being engaged by ATGM fire from Hill 14!” Oskyer could hear the sound of auto-cannon fire in the platoon leader’s transmission, as well as from his own position further back in the column. Good. They are following their training. “We are returning fire. But two of my BMPs are burning with their infantry loads…”
***
Sergeant Bill Watson threw his M151 jeep into reverse, shifted gears again, and sped off to his second firing position on the wooded hill. Behind him, the three other jeeps in his platoon followed. They had just launched a salvo of four TOW missiles at a column of Soviet light armor that had emerged from the forest in the distance, killing two. Sneaky red bastards! Did they really think they were going to catch us napping? Nice try!
His gunner, who was now seated across from Watson and holding onto the dashboard for dear life as Watson raced the jeep at breakneck speed to its next firing position - a tactic known as “shoot and scoot” - marveled to see his sarge laughing to himself. Did he find this fun? He looked at his side view mirror and could see that their previous spot was now being torn-up by 73mm rounds…
***
The town of Griegbatten was burning. Colonel Zuzevsky’s forces had released a storm of tank and missile fire upon it in an attempt to defeat the superior American armor. In addition to that hellstorm, Zuzevsky used the battalion artillery battery to call in some high explosive rounds to further add to the fascist’s misery. The portion of the town opposite his position was now a hellscape of smoke, fire and rubble. He could not say for sure what losses he had inflicted on the American tanks but he knew his units were having an effect as the American return fire had become noticeably less accurate if not less voluminous. Despite the consistently incoming return fire, Zuzevsky has suffered no further losses, albeit the surrounding fir trees were the worse for wear. He definitely had the American’s rattled. Unfortunately, the intense firepower his troops were putting out could not be sustained for much longer. One platoon of BMPs had already run out of their precious 9M14 Malyutka anti-tank missiles, and his other was now being forced to reload missiles in an active combat zone. Even the battalion artillery was getting low on rounds. He needed to break those Americans quickly if this attack was to succeed. While he knew Major Oskyer was heading up a flanking maneuver, he could see clouds of black smoke rising from his direction…
Turn 1
Lt. Dan Shaver’s platoon of M1 tanks were positioned perfectly. Anticipating a Soviet thrust, HQ had ordered his unit to act as a tripwire to warn the rest of the battalion when the red attack was on its way. Arriving two days ago, Shaver used the time to carefully position each one of his four tanks on the northern edge of the small hamlet that was Griegbatten. Truth be told, Shaver would have rather deployed to some patch of woods that was devoid of civilians, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, as the saying went. Fortunately, seeing his big main battle tanks pull into town and start deploying camouflage and preparing alternate firing positions, the locals took the hint and began to also prepare themselves for the storm that was coming. Just in time, too, because the enemy had now arrived.
“I’m definitely seeing movement in those woods,” reported his gunner who was using the tank’s enhanced optics to tease out what information he could from a patch of woods to the north. “Thermal is getting some ghosts in there. Probably BMPs. Maybe some tanks, too.”
Shaver was standing on the broad, flat cupola of the tank, using a pair of field binoculars to get a feel for the coming enemy probe. A smile crept to his lips as he realized that he was acting the part of a tank commander right out of WWII. Tens of millions of dollars worth of electronics lay below his feet but he was using technology that went back to the civil war. His wry musings were cut short when the tank’s cupola slew to the right, nearly throwing him off balance. He adjusted his binoculars and immediately spotted what his gunner must have seen: fountaining dust in the distance. Tanks! Moving fast! “He keyed his helmet mic to the platoon channel. “Here they come, fellas! Good hunting! A Sony Walkman on me to the crew that gets the first kill!” That should motivate them if fighting for their lives weren’t enough. He dropped into his seat at the commander’s position and closed the tank’s hatch tight, just in case the Ruskies wanted to open the fight with what the younger troopers were referring to as ‘bug spray,’ - i.e., chemical weapons. “Good work spotting them, Dawson.”
“You didn’t even give me a chance to report it. You stole my glory, eltee.”
“And you almost threw me off the tank. How about a warning next time?”
“Call it even, then,” replied Dawson with a laugh.
Shaver had his face pressed to the commander’s optics. Gutsy, he thought. Coming right at us like that. He keyed his throat mic again. “All Alpha elements. Prepare to fire on that platoon of T-62s heading our way. On my command….”
***
Colonel Adrei Zuzevsky, Commander, 2/247th Guards Motor Rifle Regiment, remained stoic as his platoon of tanks was systematically demolished by the Americanski armor that had been hidden in the nearby town. He had heard about the superior fire control of the new American M1 tank, but seeing it in action was something else. With preternatural precision, the American tanks had shredded his dated T-62s, leaving burning wrecks belching long pillars of black smoke into the hazy summer sky. Well, two can play at that game. The Americans had enjoyed the element of surprise, but now his forces knew where they were. Zuzevsky reached down into the interior of his command vehicle and retrieved his comm gear. He keyed his mic, waited a few seconds for the transmitter to come up to speed, and then spoke the simple command: “Return fire!”
Zuzevsky might have lost a platoon, but he still commanded two additional platoons of T-62, along with two platoons of ATGM-armed BMP-1s. At his command, the woods that gave his forces shelter exploded with the boom of 115mm main gun fire from his tanks, along with the whoosh of anti-tank guided missiles leaving their launchers. Bringing his binoculars up to his eyes, he saw the small homes and buildings in the distant West German town begin to shatter as his vehicles' rounds and missiles sought out the enemy armor.
***
Two kilometers to the east, Major Ivan Oskyer could hear the distant booms of combat as he rode in his command BMP-1. So, the battle begins. Oskyer knew the plan: the colonel’s heavier forces were responsible for tying down the enemy by launching a frontal assault on the town of Griegbatten, while his smaller detachment of BMPs with their accompanying infantry were charged with flanking the town and attacking it from the east. His units were making good progress despite needing to navigate a narrow two-lane road that cut through a forest. Fortunately, the West German government showed its usual efficiency and had successfully cleared the roads of civilian traffic so its own troops wouldn’t be hindered. Ironically, that was also assisting his Soviet troops in their swift flanking movement. Even better, the forest that provided excellent concealment from enemy observation. So far, everything was going according to plan.
A terrific explosion erupted from the front of the column, and then another. Oskyer could see fireballs sprouting skyward with debris raining down around the column. “Report!” Oskyer demanded in his mic.
‘Comrade major! My platoon is being engaged by ATGM fire from Hill 14! Repeat, my platoon is being engaged by ATGM fire from Hill 14!” Oskyer could hear the sound of auto-cannon fire in the platoon leader’s transmission, as well as from his own position further back in the column. Good. They are following their training. “We are returning fire. But two of my BMPs are burning with their infantry loads…”
***
Sergeant Bill Watson threw his M151 jeep into reverse, shifted gears again, and sped off to his second firing position on the wooded hill. Behind him, the three other jeeps in his platoon followed. They had just launched a salvo of four TOW missiles at a column of Soviet light armor that had emerged from the forest in the distance, killing two. Sneaky red bastards! Did they really think they were going to catch us napping? Nice try!
His gunner, who was now seated across from Watson and holding onto the dashboard for dear life as Watson raced the jeep at breakneck speed to its next firing position - a tactic known as “shoot and scoot” - marveled to see his sarge laughing to himself. Did he find this fun? He looked at his side view mirror and could see that their previous spot was now being torn-up by 73mm rounds…
***
The town of Griegbatten was burning. Colonel Zuzevsky’s forces had released a storm of tank and missile fire upon it in an attempt to defeat the superior American armor. In addition to that hellstorm, Zuzevsky used the battalion artillery battery to call in some high explosive rounds to further add to the fascist’s misery. The portion of the town opposite his position was now a hellscape of smoke, fire and rubble. He could not say for sure what losses he had inflicted on the American tanks but he knew his units were having an effect as the American return fire had become noticeably less accurate if not less voluminous. Despite the consistently incoming return fire, Zuzevsky has suffered no further losses, albeit the surrounding fir trees were the worse for wear. He definitely had the American’s rattled. Unfortunately, the intense firepower his troops were putting out could not be sustained for much longer. One platoon of BMPs had already run out of their precious 9M14 Malyutka anti-tank missiles, and his other was now being forced to reload missiles in an active combat zone. Even the battalion artillery was getting low on rounds. He needed to break those Americans quickly if this attack was to succeed. While he knew Major Oskyer was heading up a flanking maneuver, he could see clouds of black smoke rising from his direction…
Turn 2
The next thing Colonel Zuzevsky knew, he was looking up into the face of a medic who was mouthing something unintelligible because of some awful siren that was sounding in the area. Who would sound a siren during a battle? It was only once the medic hoisted him to his feet from the forest floor that he realized something bad had happened.
“Can…hear…Colonel? C…hear me, sir?”
Ah, not a siren then. Just his ears ringing. “Stop your hollering. I can hear again,” he told the medic. Ever the consummate leader, Zuzevsky immediately straightened up and began to sweep leaves and fir needles from his mottled combat fatigues. Yes, now he remembered. Those damn American tanks that refused to die seemed to recover from their momentary disorder from the return fire of Zuzevsky’s armor and started killing again. Around him, the tanks of yet another T-62 platoon burned.
“You must get away from here, Colonel. Rounds are still cooking off,” urged the medic.
That must have been what blew him to the ground. He remembered the tank to his front suddenly gong as if it was a bell in a bell tower. Without warning the entire tank started to brew up, first with sparks that fountained from the tank commander’s hatch, and then with a deafening explosion. That was the last thing he remembered. Clearly, an American round had penetrated the tank’s armor and lit-off the stored rounds. The crew never had a chance. And he was lucky to be alive.
Damn those tanks! His entire plan was beginning to be jeopardized by the unexpectedly dogged resistance of the Americans. Enough!
Zuzevsky climbed up on a nearby BMP that was the command vehicle of the mounted infantry element.
The force commander gave a quick salute. “Comrade colonel, we are out of missiles. I am…”
Zuzevsky cut him off. “I don’t care about this. I’ve got new orders for you. I want you to lead the BMPs in a flanking attack to the west. Try to get as close to Griegbatten as you can and then unload your infantry. If I can’t blow those damn fascist tanks out of their holes with my armor, the infantry can try its hand with a close assault. Understand?”
“Yes, Colonel!”
Zuzevsky nodded and jumped down from the BMP. Before the two platoons of vehicles had even moved out, Zuzevsky was on the wireless with the battalion artillery fire support officer arranging for a barrage of smoke to cover the assault. This had to work!
***
Sergeant Bill Watson was in a better mood than before. After his platoon of TWO-armed M151 jeeps had killed two enemy BMPs, the team had displaced to a new location and discovered chaos in the wake of their attack. “Look at them!” Watson laughed while spying from a concealed position on Hill 14. “They are like communist chickens running around without heads! Ha!” It was clear that the surviving Soviet units were at a loss with how to proceed. One surviving BMP seemed intent on advancing while a second was in the process of retreating. The chaos had the added benefit of stalling the Russian advance because the follow-on units were trapped behind the bottleneck created by the disorder at the front of the line. Watson looked at his gunner with steel in his eyes. “Let’s give ‘em another schalackin!”
***
Major Oskyer was powerless as he watched another salvo of enemy missiles streak from the summit of Hill 14 and strike the lead platoon a second time, this time finishing it off, infantry and vehicles alike. 32 soldiers of the Motherland died in an instant.
Well, it was clear the direct route south through the forest and onto the main thoroughfare was not going to work. Fortunately, he had anticipated that and had a scout trace a disused logging path that they happened across along the way. This path would provide a vital alternative route now, albeit a westerly one. Unfortunately, it would also involve a slow river crossing. Major Oskyer stood up on his BMP commander station’s seat and waved his units to the right, starting the flanking maneuver...
***
Lt. Dan Shaver was using a lull in the battle to check on each one of his M1 tanks. While their glacis armor was scarred and gouged in places, the new state-of-the-art Chobham armor was proving to be a literal lifesaver.
He suddenly heard the sound of a vehicle screeching to a halt a few paces behind him. When he turned, he saw the XO of 1/11 ACR exiting from his jeep. He instinctively threw a smart salute.
“At ease, lieutenant..” The XO glanced around him at the town to take in the destruction, and then took a long stare at the burning Soviet armor in the distance. “That was well done, lieutenant! So well done, that HQ has decided to make your unit priority for all the assistance we can offer you in holding off the Ruskies.”
“Thank you, sir!” replied Shaver.
Suddenly, off on the western on the outskirts of the town, the pop! pop! of smoke rounds could be heard. An artificial fogbank of thick, white smoke was quickly forming. The XO looked at Shaver with a tight-lipped smile on his face. “And it looks like you are going to need it. Our Soviet friends are about to pay you a visit. Face to face, this time.”
Turn 3-4
It was a massacre…for the Red Bear. Shaver shook his head at the waste in human lives. Truth be told, Shaver and his platoon of tanks were lucky. The flanking maneuver on the part of the Russian’s had caught him unawares. But for the Soviet’s laying down a curtain of smoke, he might never have expected an attack from the west. And even with the realization of the attack, Shaver shouldn’t have had sufficient time to reorient to repulse the attack. But, once again, the Soviets didn’t seem able to get their act together. Either that or they just had the worst luck imaginable. Whatever the reason, the Russia attack took a long time to materialize. So long, in fact, that the curtain of smoke had begun to thin before the BMPs started their charge on Griegbatten. What took so long for them to get going was anybody’s guess - the battalion XO postulated that it was due to the breakdown of the Soviet command network as even American forces were experiencing a great deal of difficulty communicating due to all the electronic jamming pulsing through the air - but it had bought Shaver and his tanks just enough time to get ready. The Soviet’s got close - within the limits of the town itself - but it was quickly over once his platoon of M1s unleashed on them. The Russian’s didn’t even get a chance to unload their infantry. Poor bastards.
The icing on the cake was the elimination of two additional platoons of mechanized infantry. One platoon was caught emerging from a clump of trees to the north - it appeared to be heading west, perhaps link-up with the enemy T-62s to his front - that is, assuming they were still there as Shaver hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them for quite a while, something that caused Shaver no little worry. The next unit on the chopping block was a second platoon of BMPs. Even though they hadn’t had time to officially coordinate, it was a moment of “battlefield synergy,” as the training manuals like to put it, that saw the jeeps on Hill 14 tie-up the BMPs with anti-tank missiles, giving Shaver and his platoon time to finish them off with accurate main gun fire from the flank.
To say that it was not proving to be a good day for the Soviets would be generous.
“They can’t keep this up for much longer. They must be near the breaking point,” stated the XO as he surveyed the carnage alongside Shaver.. He seemed to be reading Shaver’s mind. The XO brightened. “Those tanks of yours are proving to be fearsome beasts. It is one of the few good things to come out of the Carter administration. But you didn’t hear that from me,” he added with a wink.
Turn 5-6
It was now truly a case of do-or-die for Colonel Zuzevsky. After leading his forces in battle for almost ninety minutes, Zuzevsky had nothing to show for it except a frightening amount of casualties in that time. If he were to admit failure and return to regimental HQ, he had no doubt that he would be summarily removed from command and put against a wall and shot as a traitor. To be honest, looking at the staggering losses he accumulated, he wouldn’t blame them. Sure, he could blame his own inferior equipment, as well as the shocking effective NATO gear, but as a wartime leader of men, it was his job to find a solution to those impediments. So far, his efforts were an abject failure.
One of the core principles of Soviet military doctrine is to reinforce success, not failure. After Zuzevesky failed to blast those darned American tanks from Griegbatten, and his mechanized infantry failed to assault them out, he had no choice but to admit failure and try to find a possible success. With that in mind, Zuzevseky had to concede Griefbatten to the Americans. Instead, he turned his sights on another crucial town: Hrelliholm. Located a little over a kilometer from Griefbatten, Hrelliholm was yet another small hamlet on the Soviet’s armies itinerary because it guarded an important bridge. It had to fall to Zuzevesky this day if he would have any hope of saving his reputation.
Unfortunately for him, the only forces Zuzevesky could count on was yet another mechanized infantry platoon. Major Oskyer’s flank attack never materialized and, even worse, Zuzevesky could not reach the major himself or any unit under his authority for quite a while. Seeing the heavy black smoke billowing in the direction of Oskyer’s last reported position, Zuzevesky had to assume his entire force was lost. Fortunately, one of his two T-62 platoons still survived - he had recently established contact with it and learnt that the platoon was forced to leave its patch of woods due to a raging forest fire set off by the fighting - but its commander reported it had taken casualties as it pulled out. It was now a reduced platoon limping to Zuzevesky’s position. While he would love to have its support in the attack on Hrelliholm, he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. As a Roman imperialist said so long ago, the die was cast.
Zuzevesky was personally leading this attack, and was doing so with extreme caution. Not taking any chances in accidentally alerting the enemy, he had his infantry dismount from the BMPs a quarter of a kilometer away from their attack position. This was a gamble - you didn’t want tired infantry going into an attack - but he thought the element of surprise was more important. The gambit appeared to have worked. As Zuzevesky used his binoculars to scan the town, he noticed no unusual activity. While American troops could be seen manning checkpoints, they all seemed to have a relaxed posture - well, as relaxed as one could be during WWIII.
Time to go. He nodded to the infantry commander to begin. With a curt salute, the captain gave the signal to begin the attack. As one unit, the four individual squads of Soviet infantry that had belly-crawled into position within a small patch of woods, opened fire on the town. Zuzevesky watched as red tracers lanced out and began to pepper spotted enemy infantry. The plan was not to destroy the Americans but to pin them down for elimination by the BMPs that, hearing the beginning of their attack, were moving as best possible speed through the woods to his location.
Zuzevesky cringed as American return fire began to whiz and buzz around him. He certainly had their attention now! Fortunately, the woods provided plenty of natural cover for his men and no one seemed hurt. Unfortunately, the town provided similar cover for the enemy. No matter. This attack was just meant to flush out the enemy. The BMPs were the ones to do the eliminating.
Speaking off, Zuzevesky heard the roar of UTD-20 diesel engines that heralded the arrival of the BMPs. Without even bothering to come to a full stop, the BMPs opened fire with their 73mm Grom autocannons - Zuzevesky made a mental note to promote the platoon commander for showing such elan, assuming he survived, that is. Zuzevesky turned back to the town and could see the tremendous damage the concentrated BMP fire was having, both on the town and the enemy. But then the enemy responded as Zuzevesky expected but hoped to be spared from: anti-tank missiles streaked towards the BMPs. However, unlike the deadly accurate TOW missiles, these appeared to be the older generation Dragon ATGMs. Between the BMPs targeting the suspected position of the ATGM gunners with their autocannons, and the surrounding trees that provided effective obstacles against incoming missile fire, all four missiles missed, either by spinning out of control or by slamming into trees. Not this time, Americanski!
It was all over surprisingly fast. The American troops, unsupported by their own vehicles, especially those damn M1 tanks of theirs, were soon forced to retreat from the town. Few made it. Zuzevesky’s men showed no mercy in their desire for vengeance.
The town belonged to Zuzevesky.
Turn 7-8
So, this is how it is going to end, thought Zuzevesky as his guard led him to the spot in the West German woods where failed Soviet commanders were summarily executed by high command. And I came so close, too, he thought. One of his guards guided him in front of a tree and offered him a blindfold. Zuzevesky declined. He’s been facing bullets his whole life without one, why would he take one now?
As Zuzevesky took a drag on his cigarette - his last cigarette - he thought about those final moments of battle. With the elimination of the NATO garrison, the West German town was wide open for him and his men to waltz in and seize it. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be. Just as Zuzevesky gave his infantry and BMPs the order to charge the defenseless town, mortar fire began to rain down in a shower of death. While Soviet artillery had proved time and again that it couldn’t hit a target even at optimum range, the incoming NATO mortar fire was deadly accurate and unrelenting. When the incoming shells finally stopped falling amongst his troops, Zuzevesky realized that his infantry had been devastated. Even then, there was still a chance that his BMPs could make the charge alone - the enemy mortar fire couldn’t do much more than dent the armor on those vehicles. But then American TOW missiles slashed their way into his last remaining vehicles from a nearby wooded hill. It was all over very quickly. Zuzevesky’s entire command was obliterated, and not a single assigned objective was captured.
In light of that fact, Zuzevesky couldn’t really blame his executioners. That was no way to win a war. The only comfort Zuzevesky could find in his final moments was the knowledge that few other Soviet commanders were faring better. This war was not going the way the Kremlin had hoped. Perhaps it was best that he would no longer be part of it…
_____________
And that is the end of my AAR, and first experience with WaW '85. Overall, I like this game system. While it did take quite a while for me to come to grips with the manual - and I am SURE I made a lot of mistakes during gameplay nonetheless - I found that the instructions were accurate: once you play a few turns, you will discover that the actual turn-to-turn gameplay is rather straightforward.
I did find it amusing that my fictitious Soviets performed as poorly as the real-world contemporary Russian army is performing in Ukraine! Everything went wrong for them in my game. I would blame some sort of subconscious impulse that had me cheating with the dice rolls but I used a dice rolling app! Lady Luck was just not on the side of the Soviets in this game. Heck, while my TOW-armed jeeps managed to fire something like eight salvoes without ever running out of missiles, my poor Soviets only managed to get one or two salvoes off before permanently running out of them! Whether is was a morale check, comm check, ammo check, or attack/defense roll, the dice always went against the Soviets! Poor Zuzevesky!
It didn't help that my tactics were non-existent. I make no excuses here as when I am trying to learn a new system, I go into poorly-programmed AI mode (think the typical AI found in a Combat Mission title 😏) where I just push pieces into conflict just to see how the rules work. If I ever play this scenario again, I would not have T-62s face off against M1s!
If you would like to learn more about World at War '85, please visit the official store page here.
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Last word: darn it felt good to write some a short fiction AAR. I used to do this all the time when I played board games. For some reason, the impetus is just not there when I play PC games. I guess it is because board games require some much more work than just booting up and playing a PC game. It seems a waste to not to keep a record of your battles after investing so much time in them!
Thanks for reading!
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