Memory Lane - Part 14. A Green Horizon

 

 

Well, I promised at the end of Part 12 that I'd tell you more about the 'Green Horizon' scenario for the Traveller RPG, which appeared in White Dwarf 35 and how it changed things up for me.

Ass I've already related, the late Steve Roberts (blessed may his name be, and always remembered for the great man he was) was running a 'feeder' operation for SWS at Limpsfield School, which was a 'community school' modelled loosely on some of the Radical Left teaching methods which proliferated in the 70s.

It's an interesting subject in it's own right and was the only school I know of in the area which turned out well-rounded kids from all backgrounds. Being 10 years old and let loose in a purpose built craft workshop with enamelling kilns, was amazing as was the sense of folk history and appreciation of the environment we were instilled with by passionate, committed, truly politically radical staff, hand picked for the job. 

The school sat as a very solid part of the community, and teachers drank in local pubs with parents... Discipline was therefore not an issue, to the point that a 'wrong un' stood out in a school of 300 kids. We had two whom I shall not name because Scott & Vincent may still know where I live.

Anyway, this meant that ventures such as Steve's could take place in the evenings on school property, and, as a former share holder in this Socialist Worker's Cooperative, I was still allowed to return to the school after I left for Comprehensive, and do some gaming.

I played mostly fantasy and sci-fi; massive games, much too large for the allotted 3 hours on a Monday night and also got a regular D&D game going. I became very close to Steve, who as you may get from the way I still refer to him, I idolised.

Anyway, all was going swimmingly in my gaming journey, and at 14 I'd started taking White Dwarf regularly from about issue 32 onward. My Dad managed to get the local newsagent to actually get hold of it for me every month at a time when it wasn't in the shops the way it is now. Those Thursday mornings when it dropped through the door before school were moments of unrepeatable ecstasy that I can still feel and taste as faded memories even now,. In particular the issues in the 40s where I think the magazine had some of it's best artwork and articles including The Castle Of Lost Souls solo adventure.

Perfection would be a Winter morning, me off school with the tonsillitis which plagued me, and it being 'that' Thursday. BLISS!

But as usual, I am digressing again...

The scenario in question revolved around the crew of the starship Green Horizon, who, following a jump drive accident are forced to land on a planet called Earth in a place called Norway, hiding the ship under the ice of a frozen lake, as they seek to repair the ship's drives and locate a source od deuterium oxide.

This collection of flawed individuals (including a chlorophyll addict I recall) just happen to have blue-grey warty skins and look like what the Northern folklore would think of as Trolls.

As if this was not enough, the timeline on Earth was slap bang in the middle of WW2 and ta British Commando raid on the heavy water plant, the crew were seeking to infiltrate. So no pressure then...

Now, this scenario had an excellent map of a heavy water plant and it's defences, so, being the arty little shit I was, I decided that I would recreate this on 15mm scale.

I scrounged the remains of an MFI wardrobe my dad had stored in the shed, this being heavy, 20mm thick chipboard, in three pieces which came out at around 4 feet square  when laid out as I needed them. Then, it was off to the DIY superstore du jour to buy a one metre ruler and several tester pots of white and cream emulsion and off to Pinders Graphics for some disposable technical pens.

So far so good, and I spent the rest of the weekend, carefully recreating the shape of the plant with the cream paint and the surrounding areas with white, representing the frozen Norwegian terrain.

Then the weekend was over and I was back to the 9-5 of having the shit kicked out of me by kids who had not enjoyed the pleasant environment which was Limpsfield and for whom the only mode of thinking was bloody aggression as they tried to get to grips with testosterone and pubic hair.

The following weekend, having survived with my eyes and hands undamaged, I spent the sunny days, on the driveway, with ruler and graphic pens, painstakingly adding the 10mm grid and other details to a map depicting an entire heavy water plant (look the scenario up online, that map was a bastard to draw) finishing on Sunday afternoon, just in time for a tasy tea and 'Songs Of Praise', followed by a cheeky 'Last Of The Summer Wine' episode in those precious hours before another week of institutionalised physical and mental harassment.

Weekend number three rumbled into view, as the bruises began to turn yellow, and so it was that - because I didn't actually own or play Traveller - that I sat down, read the entire scenario and converted it to the Laserburn skirmish rules, published by Tabletop Games, which was no mean feat, I assure you.

I was able to utilise my collection of Traveller 15mm miniatures - which I used for Laserburn, perversely enough - and borrowed (from Steve, IIRC, who was surprised at my need for historical figures and only too glad to assist) some 20mm Airfix WW2 Germans and a StuG.

Monday night rolled around, and with the assistance of my then gaming buddy Alan Staniforth ('Stan' in my 2012 book, and whose ear I cut off  in Barnsley some time later - no, really) the three heavy chipboard maps, the rules, dice and minis were carried the quarter of a mile to the school. We must have looked like one of the illustrations in a Victorian gazette, of native African porters, as we balanced them on our heads and sort of dog trotted along the road leading to the Limpsfield.

It was a full house that night and everybody - including Steve - took characters in the game, Steve being the captain of the Green Horizon.

Now, it was a roleplaying scenario, and Steve was a dangerous mix of veteran wargamer and roleplayer, so he was wont to cut through the red tape, and get straight to the crux of the matter.

All was going swimmingly, with the crew infiltrating the plant, Steve's character wearing the suit of powered armour kept in the ship's locker, and which in Laserburn terms was fucking lethal.

After a covert entry, things went 'a bit Pete Tong', when a British Commando raid began and the German occupiers were on full alert, and coming face to face with what - on a reaction roll - appeared to be Trolls. Faced with a temporarily shocked German infantryman, Steve asked - too casually on reflection - 'Does this suit have a jump pack?'. Of course it did...

At this point Steve in that way which those who knew him will remember, smiled with a definite glint in his eye, declared that he would simply 'jump' onto the poor soldier. I made him make a roll. He rolled the dice. He bloody passed it and left a jam-like stain on the snow. 

The rest of the crew took cover, having obtained what they came for, and laid down laser and needler fire at anything that moved, whilst Steve outflanked the StuG and using his integrated power glove, basically turned it inside out before covering the crew as they skedaddled back to the frozen lake and down to the Green Horizon.

I was a bit put out, as we finished with an hour to spare, which to my teenage self seemed like a waste of 3 weekends. But, it was one of those moments of 'gaming gold' you remember for the rest of your days, and, being experienced in the company of someone who is arguably one of those legends of the early days of the hobby. Whilst I still cringe to remember that night, I also smile as I recount it and over the years, it would crop up with Steve always smiling that impish smile and pronouncing with a straight face, that it was 'the obvious course of action'.

I am 57 in a couple of weeks, so that memory has stayed with me for over 40 years. You just can't buy things like that...

The map was reused a few times and then became floor boards in the loft of my parent's house and may still be there, their meticulously drawn contents being mailed to the rafters, face down. Maybe the new owners found them and thought 'What the hell?'. I'll never know, despite living half a mile from that address today. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree as they say - even a bad one.

TTFN