The Rockies Ablaze, Part Three

 This post picks up where Part Two of The Rockies Ablaze left off. Part One can be found here.

Near Camrose, Alberta, February, 1937.

The morning after Frenchy Lamoreux’s visit, Sgt. Bill Craighurst set off for the mountains.  It was a calm, bright winter day, and he figured he could make it to Indian River and back before dark.   From Frenchy’s account, he wanted to have a word with Ratko Gligic, the person of interest in the disappearance of Scotty Grainger.   Craighurst relished the chance to get away from the post and breathe the mountain air, and Laurier, his massive Husky, was clearly delighted to be trotting along.

 The Mountie stopped first at Grainger’s cabin, which as he expected was cold and empty.  There was no sign that it had been ransacked.  Everything was tidy and orderly, like the man himself.  He reached Gligic’s ramshackle place shortly before noon, and saw faint smoke rising from the chimney.  Craighurst dismounted, tethered his horse, and approached cautiously, studying the cabin.   Other than the trace of smoke, there was no sign of life.

 Craighurst didn’t see the trap until he was on top of it, but his natural dexterity allowed him to throw himself aside before his foot descended on the touch plate.

 He was still lying in the snow when he heard a snarl, a shout, and a fusilade of shots as Gligic stormed out of his shack.   Craighust felt a bullet pass through his Stetson as he crawled behind the shelter of Gligic’s woodpile, dragging his rifle by the sling.   “Ratko, calm down!  I’m just here to talk!"

“Go away!  Leave me alone!  I kill you!”   From the thick Slavic accent, it was clearly Gligic.

A bullet slammed into the woodpile.   Craighurst chambered a round as a precaution, but thought talking was still better than shooting.  “I just want to talk about Scotty Grainger.  Where’s Scotty?"

“Wasn’t me!  It was him, the wolf!  The wolf gets him!"

“What wolf, Ratko?”  

“Wolf with red eyes!  He get you too!"

This conversation was clearly going no where.   Craighurst gave a hand signal to Laurier, who trotted off behind the cabin.  Another shot, and a volley of Balkan curses.  “You go now, bastard!  I kill you!  Wolf kill you!”   

A snarl and a shout told the Mountie that eighty pounds of Husky had pulled down the trapper.   Craighust raced over, rifle at the ready, putting his boot firmly on Gligic’s pistol.   “Good boy, Laurier.   Now, talk sense, Ratko.   Tell me about Grainger.   What’s all this about a wolf?"

Spittle flecked Gligic’s beard and his eyes were rolling in his head.  He spoke in a kind of keening moan now.  “The wolf!   The wolf!   He coming.   He coming now.  He eat you up!”  As the prospector’s voice tailed off, a snarling growl came from deep within Laurier as the big dog bristled and bared his teeth.    Craighurst’s rifle came up, following the direction of the dog’s muzzle.

Craighurst’s gaze locked with a pair of deep-set, coal red eyes as his brain tried to make sense of the upright figure crouched in the trees, a hundred yards from him across a small clearing.

 Time seemed to freeze.  The figure in the trees was as motionless as Craighurst’s rifle.  Sensing his moment, Gligic scrambled to his feet and ran towards the woods.   The Mountie wasn’t going to shoot a man in the back, and he wasn’t going to take his sights off the strange creature across from him.   By the time his eyes flicked back from the fleeing suspect, the apparition in the trees was gone.

Craighurst slowly exhaled, and lowered his rifle slightly as one thought kept going through his brain.  Wolves don’t walk on their hind legs!

 Moving slowly, his senses on full alert, the Mountie crossed the clearing, searching for the tracks of the creature he had seen.  Gligic wouldn’t go far, he could be easily be picked up later, or killed, if that was how he wanted to go out  A skilled naturalist and woodsman, Craighurst had no difficulty finding and identifying the tracks in the snow.   They were the hind feet of a wolf, as deep set in the snow as any man’s, and only the rear feet.  After several hundred feet, they tracks went to four feet as if the creature wanted to make more speed.  So damned big, he thought.

Craighurst noted the sun’s position, and calculated the remaining hours of daylight.  Just enough to get back to town, he thought.  He’d be back tomorrow, and he wouldn’t be coming alone.

(Figures by Bob Murch from his Pulp Figures range. Werewolf by Reaper.  Cabin by 4Ground).

 

 

 

Two Film Noir Types from Gorgon Studios

“Midnight, in a city that knows how to keep its secrets …”.  Fans of  the old Prairie Home Companion radio show (I’m outing myself as an old here) will remember the well-trod opening line of each Guy Noir skit.    Certainly these two hard-boiled types seem to have stepped out of an old film noir movie.

These two 28mm sculpts are marketed by Gorgon Studios as a pair of OSS agents, though in truth they’re suitable for pulp and gangster games.  I grabbed them for my on again, mostly off again Weird War Two project when I purchased their British infantry in Norway 1940 figures to serve as interwar Canadians.    I don’t have an immediate plan for them, but but found them a pleasant diversion when painting a small legion of SYW Prussians.  The man is painted in Citadel blue contrast paint, and as I’m partial to blue suits, it looked ok with a nice striped tie.  My wife Joy advised me on the colours for the lady - a white hat with red jacket seems perfect.

 “Say, Biggsy, that’s one big city."

“Sure is, doll face.  Let’s start at this little gin joint I know over in Harlem.”  

Once again, I used a printed image inside my light box, and it worked a treat.

Cheers and blessings to your brushes.  

MP+

Lovely Lysander

Good day!  Since this is my first post of 2021, I wish you a happy new year - may it be happier for all of us.  Over the Christmas holidays I started the traditional plastic model kit build - a 1/48 scale Lysander for my Weird War 2/ Pulp project.  I had opened the box back in the summer of 2020 and the myriad of small parts therein seemed more complicated than the time I had on hand would allow for.

The kit is by an eastern European company, Eduard, which I gather is a gold standard for WW2 games, though I found the instructions somewhat less helpful than I would have liked.

This time I kept my nerve and forged on, going as slowly as was necessary, as it required some nerve doing things like gluing the brass-etched parts like the foot pedals onto the cockpit assembly - totally unnecessary for gaming, but if you’re going to do a thing, do it well as my dad said when he vainly tried to teach me how to make the balsa wood airplanes he had made as a kid.

Brass-etched seatbelts, cockpit instrument panel, and pilot’s compass.

g

Wireless set.

The interior fuselage assembly complete.  I had a discouraging moment when I broke off the wing roots at the top of the frame with some  misapplied press from my clumsy fingers and had to re-glue them.

The Lysander has a huge canopy and the Eduard kit came with precut masking tape, which I had to carefully apply with my wife’s best tweezers.  That was fun.

The masking tape certainly helped the final product.

And finished!  Because of the gaming it might support, I chose the all-black paint scheme used by RAF 141 Squadron, which supported SOE operations in Occupied Europe.

 Those huge struts supporting the wings give the kit a lot of stability.   There is also an underslung fuel tank for greater range, and a ladder to help passengers enter and exit the aircraft.

 

Somewhere in occupied France.  Yvette of Cafe Renee and Michelle of the Resistance keep watch as the RAF delivers something vital to the war effort.   

Thanks for reading.  Again, may 2021 bring happier lives and gaming to all of us.   Stay safe, and blessings to you brushes.

MP+

The Rockies Ablaze, Part Two

Near Camrose, Alberta, February, 1937.

 

It took Frenchy Lamoreux a day and a half to snowshoe down from the mountains and into town.   Normally he gave the Mounties a wide berth, as did most of the trappers.   It wasn’t that he had anything to hide, he was as honest as any man, but where the redcoats were, it wasn’t long before the surveyors and the mining men and the road crews appeared, taking his way of life away bit by bit.

 

He shrugged when he reached the simple cabin of the RCMP detachment.   “Tant pis.  On fait ce qu’il faut.”

 

 

“Sergeant Craig’urst”, he nodded to the man in red serge behind the desk, as a friendly, hawk-nosed face looked up.   Craighurst was well known to the trappers as a fair and decent policeman, someone who knew the woods and mountains as well as any one.

 

“Frenchy!”  Bill Craighurst’s bantam figure rose easily as he offered his hand.   “What brings you down to town?”

 

 

“Not any t'ing good, Sergeant.  Maybe you ‘ave coffee on dat dere stove?”

 

“Of course.   Sit down.”   Craighurst poured thick strong coffee into an enamel mug and handed it to the trapper.   “Tell me your news.”  He could see something haunting the other man’s face as Lamoureux sipped the coffee and gathered himself.

 

“You know old Grainger, ‘ee ‘as dat claim up on Indian River, nearby of me?”

 

“Scotty Grainger, yes.   Keeps to himself, but never troubles anyone.   By all accounts a good neighbour.  What of him?”

 

 

Lamoureux stared out the window behind the mountie’s desk for a moment.   "I t’ink ee’s dead, Sergeant.”  He told the story about finding the blood-soaked snow.

 

“The last time Grainger was in town, he spoke ill of another trapper, the Serb, Gligic.  Accused him of stealing his furs. Even threatened him.  Do you think there was bad blood between the two?”

 

The trapper shrugged.  “Peut être.  Is true dey not les amis.  But I do not t’ink it was any man what killed ‘eem.  It was … some t’ing h'else.”

 

Sergeant Caighurst’s big husky growled faintly and looked apprehensively at his master.   “Easy, Laurier.   Easy, boy.  Well, Frenchy, I think I’d best go have a look.”

 

One look at the trapper’s face told Craighurst not to ask for his company.  The man was clearly spent.  “Eh, you go if you want, Sergeant.  But as dey say, attache ta tuque."

The Rockies Ablaze, Part One

<I’ve been going on here about my pulp project for a few years with precious little to show for it, so here goes.   Narrative fluff to start with slightly elaborated from @MarshalLuigi ’s tweets.  Small actions and character reactions to be determined using Call of Cthulhu 7th ed rules, larger actions probably by TFL’s Chain of Command.>

Near Camrose, Alberta, February, 1937.

Frenchy Lamoreux walked his trapline in the high foothills near Indian River every few days, weather permitting.   He often crossed paths with Old Grainger, out walking his line.  Frenchy looked forward to his chats with the Scot.   They’d share a tot of rum or whiskey from their flasks, and compare notes on what they were catching and who was paying best for the fur.  Lately Grainger was becoming convinced that another trapper, Ratko Gligic, was stealing from his traps.   “If I catch yon rascal in the act, I’ll kill him stone deed, I will!"

In the late afternoon, near one of Grainger’s untouched traps, Frenchy found the blood.   He was certain that it wasn’t the result of someone field dressing a kill.  It was more like something, or someone, had been simply torn apart.  Nearby, in some trampled snow, he found Grainger’s briar pipe, still full of half burnt gold flake.

As he surveyed the dismal scene, he felt his hair rise under his toque.  Frenchy knew with a terrible certainty that he was being watched.   He also knew that nothing he had ever seen on earth had made the bloody tracks heading off into the woods, and nothing on earth could make him follow them.

<Notes:   A good exercise in seeing how much winter scenery I’ve assembled thus far, and some fun with a backdrop.  It may be a while before the next scene in ready.  Frenchy is a Bob Murch Pulp Figures casting, and the thing in the trees is by Reaper.  Say vigilant, chaps!>

Two More Crazy Canucks

Hello friends!

In the time since my last post here, I’ve been busy with work and also had the chance to travel to Africa and back to some church-related work in Ethiopia.   It was an amazing experience, and I hope to write about it on my “God blog”, www.madpadre.blogspot.com, in due course.

There has been some painting time here and there, including these two dangerous fellows for my Rockies Ablaze pulp project.

These two are figures are Bob Murch sculpts, figures from his Mad Trappers set from his Pulp Figures line.  

The fellow on the left is Ratko Gligic, Canada’s Most Dangerous Immigrant.   Rumours had it that he personally killed an Austrian general in a cafe in Belgrade, made him into goulash, and then served him to his troops.   He escaped from a Bolshevik prison camp, fought with the Whites, the Czechs, the Poles and basically anyone who had gold and booze, before escaping on the last ship out of Archangel.  He steals, curses, drinks, and only comes into town to trade furs for supplies and whiskey.

On the right, Old Jock Montrose has never paid the Crown for a trapping license, or for anything else.  Some say he won the Victoria Cross at Second Ypres, others say he shot his RSM, and some say both.   He once killed a bear with his fists and a broken bottle, and has threatened that any Mountie or excise man who comes near him will lose a foot in one of his innumerable rusty traps.

As always, they were tremendous fun to paint.

I hope to keep puttering away at this project, but the next few months ahead are busy.   I have a few interesting things to do before I retire from the Canadian Armed Forces in June, and then some planned travel this summer with my lovely bride Joy, though she has come to realize that the odd hour of hobby time is good for my mental health, so we shall see.

In the meantime, be well and blessings to your brushes.

MP+

 

Canadian Troops for The Rockies Ablaze Project 2 - Specialists

Good evening friends.   Finishing up my last post on the Gorgon Studios minis which will make up my interwar/ear war Canadian platoon for an ongoing pulp projects.  Again, I have lots of praise for the Gorgon sculpts, los of detail and character, and the variety of specialist figures allows for a well rounded platoon with supports to be fielded.

Here a Bren gunner and his assistant get to wok in the snow.  The rifle of the assistant is separately cast, which is a nice touch.

 

Bren gunner and No. 2 moving, both in leather jerkins, which adds some variety to the rest of the sculpts in greatcoats.

 

Snipers/sharpshooters.

Sniper and spotter set up behind a snowy log.  Let’s hope they have silver bullets for that SMLE!

Forward observer with field telephone and map.

“Hello, I’d like to order a pizza delivered to the following grid reference."

Signaller team.  The fellow on the right carrying the No. 38 manpack wireless set doesn’t seem very happy.

Perhaps they’re calling HMCA Timber Wolf for pickup, or to send down some hot rum.

Major John Maynard holds his briar pipe and ponders while Platoon Warrant O’Malley chivies the lads forward.

Major Maynad consults with the local Mounties while his native guide looks on.

Thanks for looking.   Now that I have a significant number of minis finished for this project, I think I need to start gaming with them!

Blessings to your brushes!

MP