In WWII, tank warfare was deadly, complex, and evolving at a breakneck pace. From the lightly armoured early-war Panzer IIs to the hulking late-war Panthers and IS-2s, both offensive firepower and armour protection saw radical changes. Real tank crews didn’t just rely on thick armour—they used tactics like angling their vehicles, going hull-down behind terrain, or positioning to encourage glancing blows. But how do we, as wargamers, bring those layers of complexity into our miniature games?
That’s exactly the question explored in my latest YouTube video. We look at how several major WWII wargames approach the representation of tank armour, including Flames of War, Rapid Fire!, What-a-Tanker! and Chain of Command. Each of these games takes a different stance on how armour is modelled—some use it as a “save,” others calculate penetration directly, and some abstract the whole process for the sake of fast, cinematic play.
We also dive into the history behind real-world tank armour innovations, like sloped armour, side-skirts, and spaced plating. Understanding these developments can not only enrich our gameplay but deepen our appreciation for the tank crews who risked everything during the war.
Whether you're a seasoned tabletop tactician or just starting out in historical gaming, this video offers a thoughtful and engaging look at how we recreate tank warfare on the tabletop. It’s packed with hobby discussion, rules comparisons, and respectful historical reflection.
Every wargamer has lived it. That fateful roll of the dice where probability takes a holiday and betrayal becomes inevitable. Whether you’re storming the beaches, charging with cavalry, or just trying to pass the simplest morale check in the world, those plastic cubes have a way of laughing at us when it matters most.
In my latest video, I tackle the age-old truth: our dice hate us. This isn’t just superstition. It’s a lived experience, backed by decades of disasters. I’ll share some of the classic coping strategies gamers have used to deal with cursed dice — from fiery executions and hammer-smash justice, to melting them in ovens (toxic fumes optional) and my personal favourite: the ritual sacrifice. Because nothing says “behave” like destroying a bad die in full view of its brethren.
But the real meat of the video is in the stories. My own dice disasters are legendary in our group, the Posties Rejects. I relive the infamous Battle of Hal, a catastrophe so bad it still makes my fellow gamers wince. I recall the time I accidentally ended my wife’s RPG career with one bad roll in Call of Cthulhu. And I share how my children discovered — the hard way — that the dice curse is hereditary.
For miniature painters, tabletop generals, and anyone who loves the hobby, this video is part confessional, part comedy, and part therapy session. Because in the end, wargaming isn’t just about winning or losing. It’s about the stories we tell afterwards. And let’s be honest: the best stories are always the ones where the dice utterly betrayed us.
So grab your dice bag, take a deep breath, and join me as we laugh (and cry) at the cruel, hilarious fate that unites every wargamer: rolling ones when it matters most.
When you sit down to wargame a well-documented period like World War II or the Napoleonic Wars, you can lean on endless reference material. Uniforms, battlefield maps, after-action reports—they’re all out there, ready to be turned into tabletop scenarios. But when you step back further into history, into the shadowy world of the Late Bronze Age, the picture gets much hazier. And that haziness is exactly what makes the Trojan War such a fascinating challenge for miniature wargamers.
Our main source for the war is Homer’s Iliad, written centuries after the supposed events. It’s a masterpiece of storytelling, but it was never meant to be a reliable battlefield report. Gods appear on the field, warriors pause to deliver grand speeches mid-combat, and armour shines with almost supernatural brilliance. Wonderful for poetry, less helpful when you’re designing an army list.
Archaeology gives us another perspective. The site of Troy at Hisarlik shows layers of fortified cities, some destroyed violently. We find pottery, weapons, and walls that hint at real conflict. But the evidence is fragmented, and scholars still debate which, if any, corresponds to Homer’s Troy.
For wargamers, this leaves us in a fascinating position. Do we focus on the archaeological record and try to reconstruct a plausible Late Bronze Age battle? Do we embrace the mythic elements, letting gods, Amazons, and epic heroes onto the table? Or do we, as many do, find a balance—grounding our armies in archaeology but borrowing themes and atmosphere from Homer?
That’s the joy of tackling poorly documented periods. There’s no single right answer. Instead, there’s space for creativity, interpretation, and conversation within the hobby. One gamer’s Trojan War might be a siege campaign rooted in Hittite tactics. Another’s might be a skirmish of epic heroes shaped by the gods. Both are equally valid, and both keep the story alive.
In this video, I dig into these challenges and opportunities, asking what it means to wargame a story that might be more myth than fact. If you’re a historical wargamer, a miniature painter, or just someone who enjoys hobby discussions, I think you’ll find plenty to spark your imagination.
In this video, we head back to the Shed-o-War for another clash of medieval steel and arrows! The Posties Rejects gathered for a 28mm Wars of the Roses game, played out on a hot summer Sunday under the watchful eye of our host, Postie. The Battle of Whetstone was a fictional engagement set the day before the historic Battle of Barnet, one of the decisive moments of the Wars of the Roses. Both armies mustered their retinues of knights, men-at-arms, billmen, archers, and artillery, ready to fight for either York or Lancaster. With deployment decided by the roll of the dice, fortunes quickly shifted as the tabletop battlefield took shape.
What followed was a tense and hard-fought wargame filled with tactical manoeuvres, archery duels, and brutal hand-to-hand fighting. Could the Yorkist king hold his ground, or would the Earl of Warwick and his Lancastrian host turn the tide before the real battle ever took place? This game shows off the drama and spectacle of 28mm historical wargaming at its best, complete with beautifully painted miniatures, a detailed battlefield, and plenty of banter from the Rejects.
When I first began putting together my Russian army for our Retreat from Moscow project, I wasn’t expecting to fall down a historical rabbit hole. But while flipping through the Blandford uniform guide for the Retreat from Moscow, I was immediately hooked by the mention of the Kalmyks and Bashkirs. They looked like they’d galloped straight out of the Middle Ages and into Napoleon’s nightmare — mounted warriors in fur hats and brightly coloured robes, firing curved bows and launching hit-and-run raids on the retreating French. Needless to say, I immediately realised that a Kalmyk unit would be integrated into my Russian army at some point.
Ray and I are loosely building toward a game based around the Battle of Berezina, and right there in the Russian Order of Battle was a Kalmyk cavalry regiment. It was the perfect excuse to bring these exotic, half-forgotten warriors into the heart of the drama — and maybe give my French opponent a few headaches on the tabletop.
So who were the Kalmyks? They are Europe’s only Mongolic ethnic group, descendants of the Oirat-speaking Mongols who migrated westward from Central Asia across the centuries. By the early 17th century, they'd settled on the arid steppes between the Don and Volga Rivers and established the Kalmyk Khanate under Russian suzerainty. Their name for the Volga, Itil, meaning “pastures” in their archaic script, sums up their deep connection to the land and their nomadic lifestyle.
Even under the Russian Empire, the Kalmyks continued to migrate seasonally, moving their herds and yurts across the vast steppe, although they gradually transitioned to more permanent settlements with wooden houses and Buddhist temples. By 1798, Tsar Paul I formally recognized the Don Kalmyks as part of the Don Cossack Host, granting them status and privileges in return for military service.
To the soldiers of Napoleon’s Grande Armée, the Kalmyks must have looked like ghostly echoes of a much older enemy. These were men who rode like Mongols, dressed like Mongols, and fought like Mongols. Small in stature but fierce in reputation, they struck an intimidating figure with their flowing robes, shaggy fur hats, and flying topknots.
Their gear might have seemed outdated compared to the polished muskets and sabres of the European powers, but it was deadly effective. Their bows were masterpieces of steppe craftsmanship — horn-backed, wrapped in birch bark and horsehair to withstand the damp Russian winters. With sinew strings and expert marksmanship, these bows could launch arrows over 500 yards, well beyond the reach of a typical infantry musket.
In battle, Kalmyk cavalry used their speed and agility to their advantage. One commonly reported tactic was to ride within 40 paces of the enemy, loose four arrows in quick succession — some riders even carried arrows between their teeth for faster reloading — and then finish the assault with a lance charge. It's the kind of asymmetric warfare that’s hard to model on the tabletop, but devastating when used right.
The Kalmyks played a notable role in the chaos of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow. Their hit-and-run tactics and deep knowledge of the land made them ideal for harassing the retreating French columns, preying on isolated units, baggage trains, and stragglers. There’s even a famous account from November 1812, when a wounded French general arrived at a hospital in Krasnoye with an arrow still lodged in his body — complete with a brightly coloured plume sticking from the shaft. The French soon nicknamed the Kalmyk “hell’s devils,” and it’s not hard to see why.
Though often overlooked in popular accounts of the Napoleonic Wars, the Kalmyks were still in the saddle right to the bitter end. On March 30, 1814, Kalmyk cavalry rode into Paris alongside the rest of the Russian army. They even set up camp on the Champs-Élysées, where Parisians gathered to watch these exotic horsemen race and perform riding tricks — a living reminder that some of the Empire’s enemies came from far beyond the Prussian and Austrian heartlands.
For wargamers, the Kalmyks offer something truly different in a Russian Napoleonic force. They’re light cavalry with a unique flavour — and perfect for those of us who like a little asymmetry in our games. Whether you're fielding them in a sprawling retreat scenario, a skirmish-level ambush, or just adding some spice to your cavalry wing, they’re guaranteed to get noticed. They also provide a chance to paint something visually striking: robes in rich colours, horsehair plumes, exotic tack and saddles — a refreshing change from the parade-ground greens and greys of most Napoleonic uniforms.
And, of course, if you’re like me, there’s just something irresistible about including warriors in your army who feel like they’ve stepped out of a different era altogether — and still managed to ride all the way to Paris. These models are grom Gripping Beasts range of medieval Mongols, for a different era entirely, but still perfect for the 1812 campaign.
Historical wargaming has always been one of those hobbies people sometimes raise their eyebrows at. Painting tiny soldiers, reading endless history books, and recreating battles on a tabletop—it’s easy for outsiders to dismiss it as strange or even childish. But here’s the thing: that geeky, nerdy side of wargaming is exactly what makes it so worth celebrating.
For years, the label “geek” was used as an insult. If you were into comic books, roleplaying games, or fantasy novels, you were often treated as though your interests weren’t valid. Wargamers have felt that too. How many of us have shrugged off awkward questions about why we spend hours painting uniforms no one else will notice, or why we know far too much about the organisation of Napoleonic cavalry? But the truth is, this hobby is more than just toy soldiers—it’s history, art, strategy, and community rolled into one.
Historical wargaming encourages us to learn. Every new army painted sparks an interest in the history behind it. Every game played teaches us something about strategy, organisation, or communication. Every miniature finished is an exercise in patience and attention to detail. These are skills and qualities that go far beyond the tabletop.
And then there’s the community. Whether it’s through clubs, conventions, online forums, or YouTube videos, wargaming connects people who share the same passion. It creates spaces where we don’t have to explain why we care about these things—because everyone around us gets it. Of course, like any community, it has its challenges. There are trolls, there’s sometimes infighting, and yes, there can be snobbery between different gaming groups. But at its heart, historical wargaming is inclusive. It doesn’t matter whether you’re painting your very first regiment or you’ve been gaming for decades—if you love it, you belong.
So rather than feeling embarrassed by the geeky side of our hobby, let’s embrace it. Being a wargamer means being curious, creative, and passionate. It means learning, building, painting, playing, and sharing. It means being part of something that stretches across time, place, and background.
Historical wargaming is geeky—and that’s what makes it awesome.
The now infamous Battle of Hal started as a simple What-If engagement. What if Napoleon had won at Waterloo, could the allies have held him at Wellington's fallback position between the town of Hal and Brussels? In this game, the answer was a resounding, yes! Watch as the greatest and most complete cavalry rout in the history of wargaming took place in Posties Rejects' shed of war.
