The Battle of Fort Dan (French Indian War)

The Posties Rejects gathered in the Shed-o-War for only our second face-to-face game of the year. Illness has played havoc with everyone’s schedules, but (touch wood) we may finally be turning a corner. If Sunday’s game is anything to go by, it was well worth the wait.

Richard summed it up perfectly on his blog: “This was a very convivial occasion with lots of chat, mickey-taking and laughter amongst friends. Well done to Postie for his superbly rendered table. He always manages to produce a visual feast.” Hard to argue with that.

The game itself was a fictional encounter set somewhere in North America during the French and Indian War (1754–63). For those less familiar, this conflict saw Great Britain and France clash, alongside their respective Indigenous allies, and is generally considered part of the wider Seven Years’ War. Stuart (Postie), never one to think small, laid on a table worthy of the setting: a sprawling 6' by 12' battlefield packed with dense forest, a settler village, and a British log fort guarding a river crossing. And yes, there were trees. A lot of trees. Possibly enough to qualify as managed woodland.

Dan, Surjit, and I took command of the British forces, supported by Provincials and allied Indigenous troops. Opposing us were Richard, Ray, and Colin, leading the French and their own Indigenous allies. The scenario opened with a sizeable French force advancing along the main road, while additional elements—represented by blinds—moved unseen through the forests on either side. Our Provincials formed a thin but determined line across the road, buying time for a chaotic column of settlers, wagons, and livestock to make their escape towards the dubious safety of the fort.

We also had a unit of Rangers and another of Indigenous allies to deploy as blinds in the woods. In a moment of optimism (or tactical overconfidence), we placed both on our left flank. This would later prove… educational.

Along the road, the Provincials conducted a steady fighting withdrawal, delivering volleys before falling back, always keeping just ahead of the French advance. It soon became clear that not all the French blinds were empty. Colin’s troops appeared on the French left, while two units of Indigenous warriors emerged on their right—uncomfortably close to my concealed forces. When the blinds were lifted, it became apparent that I was slightly outnumbered.

At that point, discretion suggested retreat. Unfortunately, speed favoured the enemy, and withdrawal likely meant being run down anyway. So, in the finest tradition of questionable battlefield decisions, I chose aggression instead. Fortune favoured this moment—we had the initiative (a recurring theme throughout the game)—so I pushed forward and opened fire, hoping to thin their numbers before the inevitable melee.

Meanwhile, the main action on the road continued much as before: the Provincials trading space for time, picking off French troops while staying just beyond charge range. A cow did make a break for it into the woods—clearly unimpressed with the chain of command—but most of the civilians kept moving. Dan advanced two units of British regulars along either flank, and by turn five or six, they were nearing the fight, poised to significantly increase our firepower.

Back in the woods, things became… less orderly. My Rangers and Indigenous allies collided with Richard’s warriors in a brutal, swirling melee. Over three turns, both sides tore each other apart in close combat until, eventually, there was almost nothing left. The few survivors staggered away, leaving the forest eerily quiet once more.

The French still had one more move to make. Reinforcements arrived by canoe along the river. Four boats carrying indians equipped with ladders, clearly eyeing the fort as their objective. Unfortunately for them, they may have left it a little late (perhaps the upriver rapids proved more troublesome than expected). The British garrison, ever cautious, had kept a strong force inside the fort, ready to receive them.

At this point, the French commanders made the sensible call. Their advance along the road was closing in, but fresh British troops were arriving on both flanks, threatening to more than double the firepower facing them. With mounting casualties and objectives slipping out of reach, discretion won out over valour. The game was called, and we retired indoors for the far more pressing objective of tea.

Credit to the French players, they were hampered by some truly dreadful initiative rolls, winning it only once or twice all game. That allowed the British to dictate the tempo, maintaining the fighting withdrawal while steadily wearing them down. Dice can be cruel, and on this occasion, they were firmly wearing red coats.

Once again, Stuart delivered a beautifully presented game, rich in atmosphere, full of visual detail, and a joy to play on. And, as Richard noted, the day was as much about the company as the combat: plenty of laughter, terrible puns, and the usual good-natured mickey-taking. As is tradition, the battle ended not with recriminations but with handshakes, congratulations, and plans for the next encounter. Now, if we can just keep everyone healthy long enough to actually play it…

Can one ruleset cover 2,000 years of warfare?

Historical tabletop wargamers are always on the lookout for rule systems that strike the right balance between accessibility, historical flavour, and tactical depth. In my latest video, I take a closer look at two rulebooks from the growing On Bloody Ground series by WIP Games and Miniatures: The Wars of the Roses and The Punic Wars. Written by father-and-son design team David and Daniel Toone, the On Bloody Ground system has steadily expanded over the past few years. What began as a small set of rules covering the Norman Conquest and the Reconquista has now grown into a range of more than a dozen books covering multiple historical periods—from the American Civil War to Caesar’s campaigns and the English Civil War.

At the heart of the system is a rules engine inspired by the classic Warhammer Ancient Battles style of ranked combat, but streamlined to avoid unnecessary complexity. Instead of introducing gimmicks or novelty mechanics, the designers focus on clear, traditional tabletop wargaming principles: movement, morale, formations, and decisive combat between units. The result is a system that feels familiar to experienced wargamers while remaining accessible for newcomers.

In the video, I explore how these mechanics translate into two very different historical periods. The Wars of the Roses brings late medieval English warfare to the tabletop, where blocks of billmen, men-at-arms, and longbowmen clash in brutal infantry engagements led by ambitious nobles. The Punic Wars, on the other hand, shift the action to the ancient Mediterranean, where Roman legions face the diverse armies of Carthage, complete with Iberian warriors, Numidian cavalry, and the ever-popular war elephants.

One interesting challenge for me when reviewing these rules was scale. The system assumes individually based figures (often in 28mm scale) grouped together on movement trays. My own collections for both periods are quite different: 6mm armies that are permanently multi-based. In the video, I explore whether the system can be adapted to work with smaller-scale miniatures and alternative basing styles without losing the intended gameplay experience.

The answer, happily, is yes. With a few simple adjustments, the rules proved flexible enough to accommodate different collections while still delivering engaging and decisive tabletop battles. That adaptability is one of the strengths of the On Bloody Ground system, making it suitable for a wide range of players and miniature scales.

Battle Chronicle: Playthrough

This week’s video is a full playthrough of The Barn at Dawn, the introductory scenario from Battle Chronicle: Retreat from Moscow, which is a cooperative Napoleonic skirmish game focused on survival, isolation, and hard decisions. Set during the catastrophic 1812 retreat, the game strips away grand tactics and sweeping manoeuvres. There are no lines of infantry trading volleys, no elegant battlefield choreography. Each miniature represents a single exhausted French straggler. These men are cut off, freezing, and desperately trying to escape enemy territory while Russian patrols close in.

The first scenario is played on a compact 2x2 table using six French figures and a reinforcement pool of twelve Russian line infantry. The Russians are controlled by an automated system. They do not “think” in the human sense; they follow simple behavioural rules based on distance and line of sight. Beyond that, they advance relentlessly. Reinforcements arrive twice per Russian turn, meaning the longer the French linger, the worse their situation becomes.

The tension in this game does not come from complex mechanics. It comes from decision-making under pressure. Each French character has three actions per turn: move, shoot, search, or fight. An aimed shot costs two actions. Loot can be discovered at designated points across the table, but searching takes time, and you do not have time. Food, firewood, and bandages may save a life later in the campaign, but stopping to search could mean being overrun.

This first game is intentionally simple. It introduces movement, survival, reinforcement mechanics, and the automated Russian response system. Later scenarios expand the table size, increase complexity, and introduce additional narrative twists. But even here, the pressure is palpable. Reinforcements recycle through the pool, so while only twelve Russians may be on the table at once, the French can face far more over the course of the game.

If you are interested in historical tabletop wargaming, Napoleonic miniatures, cooperative skirmish systems, or narrative campaign design, this playthrough demonstrates exactly how the rules function in practice. More importantly, it shows how a game can create tension through meaningful choices rather than mechanical complications.

More Soviet Infantry, Tank Hunters and a T26/M1931

I narrowly missed last week’s submission to the Analogue Hobbies Painting Challenge, literally by a matter of hours, so this week turned into a bumper offering.  

First up is another twelve-man Light Machine Gun Squad, the nearly finished unit that never quite made it onto the blog last time. All that stood between them and glory was drying basing and a final layer of snow, but time ran out. One of my quietly declared New Year’s resolutions was to stop saying yes to every new project that wanders past. That resolution has already collapsed in a heap, leaving me busier than ever. Not necessarily a bad thing, but it does add another tick to the ever-growing “suspected ADHD” column.

Next on the bench is another tank for my Soviet forces. This time it’s a T-26 Model 1931, the distinctive twin-turret variant armed with machine guns. Unlike my previous T-26 from Rubicon, this one is a 3D print from Danger Close Studio. Aside from some minor clean-up around the tracks where the supports had been, it’s an excellent print and blends in seamlessly with my other vehicles. Historically, the T-26 Model 1931 was heavily influenced by the British Vickers 6-Ton and was intended as an infantry support tank. Its twin turrets, usually mounting DT machine guns, offered impressive firepower on paper, but in practice proved awkward to command. That complexity eventually saw the design abandoned in favour of more practical single-turret models.

Finally, there’s a Tank Hunter team. This unit consists of two men armed with the 7.62mm PPD 1934/38 submachine gun, a design based on the Bergmann MP18/1 and fed by either drum or box magazines. They’re supported by two riflemen, with the NCO hefting a Molotov cocktail. The Molotov was a small conversion, using a plastic piece from the Warlord Games Soviet infantry sprue that recently appeared as a giveaway on the cover of Wargames Illustrated, which couldn’t have been better timed. On the tabletop in Bolt Action, Tank Hunters are nasty little specialists, with rules that allow them to double their attacks in close combat against vehicles, making them a serious threat despite their size.

In short: a delayed update turned into a productive one, with a finished LMG squad, a characterful early-war Soviet tank, and a converted Tank Hunter team all joining the ranks. Progress may be chaotic, but it’s definitely moving forward.

Painting Challenge XVI: 2 Soviet GAZ-AAA Trucks

I have just finished building and painting these two trucks from Rubicon Models, a matched pair of GAZ-AAA 2-tonners, and like the armoured vehicles I showed last week, they are daubed in a hurried whitewash over their standard Soviet green. That slapdash winter camouflage was not about style; it was about survival. When the Red Army crossed into Finland in November 1939, it found itself fighting in a world of blinding snow, black forests and temperatures that could sink past –30°C. Against that backdrop, a green truck might as well have been waving a little flag that read “please shoot me.” The Finns, masters of camouflage and patient marksmanship, took brutal advantage of anything that stood out, so Soviet units did whatever they could with limewash, chalk or even mud to blur their outlines against the frozen landscape.

The GAZ-AAA itself was a workhorse of a very Soviet kind. Based on a Ford design built under licence and then steadily adapted by Soviet engineers, it was a six-wheeled, twin-rear-axle truck intended to haul around two tons of men, ammunition, fuel or food across the vast distances of the USSR. In peacetime, it was everywhere, delivering everything from grain to bricks, and in wartime, it became the backbone of Red Army logistics. During the Winter War, it was often pressed into service far beyond what its designers had imagined, rumbling along narrow forest roads that had been hacked through the snow or driving over frozen lakes that groaned ominously beneath their weight. They were not glamorous machines, but wars are not won by glamour; they are won by whoever can keep rifles fed and soldiers warm.

Those conditions, though, were merciless. On the pls side, the GAZ-AAA was mechanically simple and reasonably tough, which mattered when you were hundreds of kilometres from a proper workshop and your hands were too numb to feel a spanner. The extra rear axle gave it better traction than a simple two-wheel-drive truck, letting it claw its way through packed snow and icy ruts where lesser vehicles would just spin. On the other hand, it was still fundamentally a road truck, not a purpose-built winter vehicle. Deep, powdery snow could swallow it whole, its engines hated the cold, and the Soviet fuel and lubricants of the period were prone to thickening into something closer to porridge than petrol or oil. There are plenty of stories, many apocryphal but all evocative, of crews having to light fires under the engine block just to get the thing to start.

A lumbering convoy of GAZ-AAAs will be a tempting target for Ray’s Finns. Hit the first and last truck, and suddenly you have a frozen traffic jam full of trapped men. I may need more tanks. Maybe the T26 Model 1931 with twin MMG Turrets? Guess I’ll be perusing the Rubicon website again pretty soon.

Incidentally, these models, like many of the Rubicon kits, can be built in different variants. The box contains the parts needed to make the GAZ-AA 1.5Ton single axle truck, and the canvas canopy is optional. There are also components in the kit to convert the model into an Anti-Aircraft truck (with the gun sold separately). All the models come with a driver, and I was surprised to find the figures were almost complete (only the feet are missing) despite the fact that the driver's legs end up essentially invisible, hidden inside the cabin. And that, for me, sums up these models from Rubicon, attention to detail, even the bits that probably can’t be seen once assembled. 

Painting Challenge XVI: Soviet BA10 Armoured Car & T26 tank

This week I present a couple of armoured vehicles for my Winter War Soviets, both finished with a rough, field-applied whitewash over the standard Soviet green. This was very much a leap of faith for me. After assembly, I got the models fully painted, decaled, and weathered to the point where they looked “done”… and then deliberately smeared white paint all over them like a vandal. 

There are plenty of established whitewash techniques out there, but I ended up bodging together my own. I mixed white acrylic paint, distilled water, and airbrush flow improver in roughly equal parts. The flow improver is the unsung hero here: it reduces surface tension and stops the paint from pooling or beading. What you get is a milky glaze that needs two or three coats, depending on how heavy you want the finish. I hand-brushed it panel by panel, deliberately avoiding raised edges and high-wear areas like hatches and crew access points. The aim was that hurried, uneven, already-wearing-off look you see in historical photos. 

 

The BA-10 armoured car was developed in 1938 and produced until 1941, making it the most numerous Soviet heavy armoured car of the pre-war period, with over 3,300 built. This is the earlier BA-10 variant, descended from the BA-3 and BA-6, using the GAZ-AAA chassis and sporting improved armour up to 15mm on the front and turret. It was meant to be replaced by the BA-11 in 1941, which would have had a diesel engine and a more advanced armour layout, but the war rather rudely intervened. The BA-10 soldiered on in Red Army service until 1945, and a number were captured and pressed into Finnish service during the Winter War (at least 24 that are known of).

The T-26light infantry tank needs little introduction. Developed from the British Vickers 6-Ton, it became one of the most prolific tank designs of the interwar years. More than 11,000 were built across an eye-watering 50-plus variants, including flamethrowers, engineering vehicles, self-propelled guns, artillery tractors, and armoured carriers. Early versions had twin turrets with machine guns in each, but this is the 1939 single-turret model with the 45mm main gun, a coaxial machine gun, and an additional rear turret MG. By 1939, its armour was already starting to look thin against modern anti-tank weapons, but sheer numbers kept it relevant and deadly through the Winter War. Once again, captured vehicles were hastily repainted and used by the Finns to defend their homeland, many in service right through to the end of WWII. 

Both models are from Rubicon, and they were a pleasure to build. The BA-10 can be assembled with or without the over-tire tracks, while the T-26 kit gives you enough parts to build one of several variants on the same chassis. The instructions for each kit are very clear, but as with any plastic kit, patience is the key to success. I enjoyed making these so much that I have now bought a couple of GAZ-AA trucks from Rubicon to carry my infantry in. Gotta give Ray’s Finns something to shoot at during his Motti attacks after all. 

Painting Challenge XVI: Winter War Soviet MMG's & Mortar Teams

Fresh off the painting desk are two new Medium Machine Gun teams for my Winter War Soviets, and they’re wonderfully chunky little beasts. Each team is manning the PM M1910/30, the Russian take on Hiram Maxim’s immortal design, mounted on the distinctive wheeled Sokolov carriage. With its broad stance, solid shield, and unapologetic industrial look, this is a weapon that doesn’t mess around and dares the enemy to disagree.

The story of the gun itself is a fine example of Russian pragmatism. The Maxim had already proven its lethality across the world, but the Soviets refined it into something brutally reliable. The M1910/30 update improved sights, strengthened components, and standardised production for a Red Army that expected to fight in appalling conditions. The Sokolov mount, complete with gun shield, reflected lessons learned the hard way: crews needed mobility, stability, and at least a sporting chance of not being immediately shot while doing their job.

Then came the Winter War, where theory met the indomitable Finns. In the forests and frozen lakes of the Karelian Isthmus, these Maxims were often dug in low, their wheels partially buried or removed altogether to reduce silhouettes. Crews camouflaged shields with whitewash or snow-covered cloth, and firing positions were carefully sited to dominate narrow approaches through woods and villages. Ammunition had to be kept warm to prevent stoppages, and gunners learned to balance sustained fire with the brutal reality of freezing metal and exhausted men.

Also completed this week is a Soviet light mortar team. The main Soviet 50mm mortars used in the 1939/40 Winter War were the RM-38, RM-39, and the more common RM-40, all part of a series developed for infantry support, though they were complex and proved underpowered because the shell contained less high explosive than some hand grenades. They had a maximum range of around 800 meters, but the effective range was much shorter, generally around 100-400 meters. Later in WWII the 50mm was phased out in favour of heavier models such as the 82mm, which had a much more useful maximum range of 3000 meters. 

Painting these teams really drove home how central weapons like this were to Soviet tactics during the conflict. They’re not flashy units, but they’re the backbone: defensive anchors, ambush enablers, and morale breakers all rolled into one oil-soaked package. On the tabletop, they’ll do exactly what the real ones did, lock down ground and punish movement.

Painting Challenge XVI: Soviet Winter War Infantry

This year’s project for the Analogue Hobbies Painting Challenge marches straight into the deep snow of Northern Europe and the Winter War between the Soviet Union and Finland. The action took place, as the name suggests, in the winter of 1939–40. Once again, I’m painting the Russians, while Ray takes on the Finns. All of the figures for these first units are from Parkfield Miniatures, although later units may include specialist reinforcements drafted in from other ranges. One of the real joys of this period is that it gives us a second use for all the 28mm winter terrain we’ve already built for last year's project, Napoleon's Retreat from Moscow. 

Historically, the Winter War began in the uneasy aftermath of the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact, when Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union calmly agreed on who would menace whom. Stalin, peering nervously at maps, decided that Finland’s proximity to Leningrad was intolerable. The Finns were newly independent and understandably unimpressed by Soviet demands for territorial concessions. Diplomacy collapsed, and in November 1939, the Red Army rolled across the border in what Moscow insisted was a defensive measure, and everyone else recognised as an invasion. 

 

What followed took place in some of the most brutal winter conditions ever endured by modern armies. Temperatures dropped to –30°C and below, turning weapons brittle, engines temperamental, and exposed skin into an invitation to frostbite. Soviet planners expected a swift victory, assuming that mass, armour, and artillery would quickly overwhelm a small, lightly equipped opponent. What they hadn’t factored in was Finland’s near-mythical familiarity with its own landscape. Forests, frozen lakes, and endless snow weren’t obstacles; they were tools. Finnish units moved on skis, vanished into tree lines, and struck where Soviet formations were weakest, turning the environment itself into a weapon.

 

The war’s narrative divides neatly into two acts: the Soviet disaster and the Soviet recovery. Early operations saw Red Army columns funnelled along narrow forest roads, where Finnish troops cut supply lines and isolated units using “motti” tactics, breaking larger formations into smaller, doomed pockets. The results were humiliating and costly. By early 1940, though, the Soviets adapted. Leadership improved, artillery was concentrated, and sheer industrial weight was brought to bear against the Mannerheim Line. Finland fought with extraordinary determination, but numbers and firepower eventually told. The Moscow Peace Treaty ended the war in March 1940, forcing Finland to give up territory while retaining its independence, a bitter compromise, but one that stunned the world.

The contrast between the two armies is part of what makes the Winter War so compelling, both historically and on the tabletop. The Soviet Union had vast resources but suffered from rigid doctrine, poor preparation, and an officer corps hollowed out by purges. Finnish forces were outnumbered, under-equipped, and often improvising—this is, after all, the conflict that popularised the Molotov cocktail—but they had experience, initiative, and morale in abundance. They were defending their homes, their freedom, and a way of life. 

As you would expect, my soviet forces consist of a lot of infantry. I have started with a Platoon HQ unit and two light machine gun squads. I have several more primed and waiting in the wings, along with some support weapons and some armour.