In a couple of weeks the tiny guns will fall silent, the tiny banners will be furled. The Big Board will be covered by a sheet to keep the dust off through the coming year. The War Room curtains will be drawn. Minis, books and paints will be boxed away, and TFTBB will be going dark for a bit. Seems my real time regiment has been called up to do some infernal security duty in the darkest depths of Kafiristan. Blast!! And I was getting so close to finishing up my Oldhammer armies. Well, it is what it is.
|My good buddy Evan M. on the roof of the world, 2005.|
Well, I'm going back with the reserves, and reserves get all the shit jobs, so I'm likely to be static, base-bound, irritated and angry throughout this deployment. Still, I don't think it should stop me from painting lots of little metal warrior people. All through Iraq, despite a frantic mission tempo, curtains of dust and very bad things going on on all sides, my buddy Dustin and I spent many, many hours painting up our 40k armies in eager anticipation of getting at each others' throats as soon as we got back to The States. If I could paint little armies back then, I'm sure I'll be able to do it this time, too.
|My best buddy Dustin, amoung the Afghan Army, nine years ago. We're still tight. Last weekend he drove 8 hours to have a last game of Rogue Trader 40k and Flames of War before I depart for back o' beyond.|
What I'm not so certain about is whether I'll be able to blog anything I'm painting or modeling, or any stories or anything. Don't know what my internet access situation will be, exactly. I'll do my best to stay in touch with all the great friends I've made here, and keep the Oldhammer flag flying from where ever I'm at.
|View from the Driver's Seat of a Hummvee|
|Captured Enemy Stuff From the Fight at the Farm|
I myself did nothing of importance in this fight, really. I slew no enemy. I saved no comrade's life. I won no awards or commendations. But I'll always remember spilling out of the ass of that Chinook into the swirling dust and seeing and hearing the enemy's musketry sparkling and crackling at us as they laid down a few hurried bursts to cover their retreat. I'll remember knocking a hole in the mud-brick 12' high farm wall and being the first poor, dumb bastard to tumble through it, gathering up some of the enemy's abandoned weapons and gear, and racing to the other side of the farm complex, then striding out toward the gunships that circled and dipped like hawks upon the fleeing foe. Moments like that, you feel Mars walking beside you.
And that's kind of crazy.
But...want to know what's really crazy? In the midst of all this...Men can still find time for Oldhammer! Make sense of that, if you can!
|Sgt. Mouse and Sgt. Dustin, Iraq, 2007|
So... back to this strange world I go...
Keep gaming, friends! And I'll be in touch as often as I may...