The Scrap Iron Flotilla by Mike Carlton is an engaging and easy-to-read account of an important but often overlooked achievement of the Royal Australian Navy during wartime. The book narrates the journey of five old destroyers—Stuart, Vampire, Vendetta, Voyager, and Waterhen—sent to the Mediterranean at the start of the Second World War. Although these ships were seen as outdated and referred to as “scrap iron” by Nazi propaganda, Carlton illustrates how their crews transformed this insult into a source of pride through hard work and bravery in some of the most perilous seas of the war.
Carlton’s writing style is key to the story’s success. He uses clear and simple language, which helps keep the narrative engaging. Naval warfare can be confusing or too technical, but Carlton avoids this by explaining events in straightforward terms and highlighting their importance. He describes battles, patrols, and convoy escorts in an easy-to-understand way, even for readers who know little about naval history. The focus is always on clarity and keeping the story moving, rather than unnecessary technical details.
A key strength of the book is its focus on people, not just ships and operations. Carlton uses letters, diaries, and personal stories to depict life aboard destroyers. He describes the cramped conditions, tiredness, and constant danger that crews faced, helping readers grasp the human cost of long months at sea. His vivid yet reserved descriptions allow small details—heat, noise, fear, and exhaustion—to illustrate the pressure on sailors.
Carlton’s background as a journalist shines through in the book. His writing is clear, engaging, and aims to reach a broad audience. However, this can also be limiting. At times, the text uses familiar themes from Australian war history, such as dry humour, stoicism, and the underdog’s triumph through resilience and friendship. While these elements resonate and are often true, they can come across as predictable, glossing over the more complex or uncomfortable realities of the war and fostering admiration instead of deeper thought.
There are times when the writing rushes through uncertainty or disagreement. While it mentions strategic mistakes, poor decisions, and overall Allied failures, it doesn’t always delve into them deeply. Carlton usually draws clear conclusions instead of focusing on doubt or moral complexities. Readers seeking a more questioning or analytical style might feel that some issues are resolved too simply.
Despite these limitations, the book has many strong points. Carlton understands his audience well and writes purposefully throughout the narrative. His clear style makes a complex naval campaign easy to understand for a wide range of readers while still being thought-provoking. The balance he maintains between action, detailed explanations, and personal experiences keeps the story interesting from start to finish. Additionally, his use of historical context and vivid descriptions of the sea enhances the reader’s understanding, helping them fully engage in the intense world of naval warfare. This approach encourages readers to think about the larger impacts of the events and connects them to the personal stories of those involved.
Overall, The Scrap Iron Flotilla is a strong and compelling history book that draws readers in with its focus on a lesser-known part of Australia’s naval heritage. Its clear language, steady pace, and attention to human experiences make it a great introduction to Australia’s naval war in the Mediterranean. The book combines factual details with personal anecdotes that create emotional resonance. Although the writing style is straightforward and does not explore complex themes, it effectively presents the importance of these naval operations. Additionally, it honors the ships and crews, emphasizing their bravery and sacrifice while fostering a greater appreciation for their contributions during wartime. Ultimately, the book serves as a powerful reminder of how naval warfare shapes national identity, ensuring the legacy of the Scrap Iron Flotilla continues to be remembered.
I am not a fan of Mike Carlton s writing, but found this was one of his better ones. As a book it is not one I would read again, but it citations, bibliography and extensive index make it a good source for early naval warfare in the Mediternean.
The Opel Blitz was the standard light-to-medium truck of the German armed forces during the Second World War and one of the most recognisable logistics vehicles of the period. Introduced in 1930 and refined throughout the 1930s, the Blitz became central to German motorised warfare by the time large-scale conflict began in 1939. Its importance lay not in firepower or armour, but in its ability to move men, ammunition, fuel, and supplies across vast distances, making it a quiet enabler of German operational mobility.
The most common wartime variant was the 3-ton Opel Blitz 3.6-36, powered by a 3.6-litre inline six-cylinder petrol engine producing around 75 horsepower. This engine gave the truck reasonable speed on roads and adequate hauling capability, though it struggled in mud, snow, and deep sand—conditions that exposed the limitations of Germany’s logistics during campaigns in Russia and North Africa. A four-wheel-drive Allrad version was produced to improve cross-country performance, but it was more complex and never fully solved the underlying traction and reliability problems.
One of the Blitz’s great strengths was its versatility. The basic chassis was adapted into troop carriers, cargo trucks, ambulances, radio vehicles, mobile workshops, fuel tankers, and anti-aircraft platforms. Its simple construction allowed field repairs with limited tools, and spare parts were relatively easy to source early in the war. As Allied bombing intensified and supply chains deteriorated, however, production quality declined, and late-war Blitz trucks often showed reduced durability and simplified fittings.
In operational terms, the Opel Blitz became inseparable from German campaigning. It carried infantry forward during advances, evacuated wounded from the front, and sustained units holding extended lines. Yet its heavy reliance on petrol engines—rather than diesel—proved a long-term weakness, tying German logistics to vulnerable fuel supplies. In prolonged campaigns, especially on the Eastern Front, destroyed or abandoned Blitz trucks became symbols of overextended supply systems and logistical collapse.
After the war, surviving Opel Blitz trucks continued in civilian service across Europe, valued for their ruggedness and adaptability. The design influenced post-war commercial vehicles, and restored examples remain popular with museums, reenactors, and wargamers. Historically, the Opel Blitz stands as a reminder that wars are not won by tanks and aircraft alone, but by the unglamorous vehicles that keep armies moving and fighting.
The model is from Warlords and comes complete with canopy and a squad of seated infantry.
The 6-Rad armoured cars (literally “six-wheel”) were Germany’s first generation of purpose-built armoured reconnaissance vehicles, developed in the early 1930s as the Reichswehr quietly re-armed despite the restrictions imposed after the First World War. Rather than being designed from a clean sheet, these vehicles were built on heavy commercial truck chassis produced by firms such as Daimler-Benz, Büssing-NAG, and Magirus. This approach allowed rapid production and concealed military development within civilian industry, but it also imposed significant limitations on mobility and durability.
The principal variants were the Sd.Kfz. 231, Sd.Kfz. 232, and Sd.Kfz. 263. All shared an angular, riveted armoured hull mounted on a 6×4 chassis with relatively thin armour intended to defeat small-arms fire and shell splinters rather than anti-tank weapons. Their battlefield role was reconnaissance, screening, and security, not direct combat.
Armament on the Sd.Kfz. 231 and 232 consisted of a 2 cm KwK autocannon paired with a coaxial machine gun, giving the vehicles sufficient firepower to deal with infantry, soft-skinned vehicles, and other lightly protected targets. The Sd.Kfz. 263, intended as a command and signals vehicle, dispensed with the rotating turret in favour of a fixed superstructure and enhanced radio equipment, relying on accompanying units for protection.
In European service, the 6-Rad armoured cars proved adequate on roads and firm ground but were markedly inferior off-road. Their long wheelbase, high centre of gravity, and limited traction made them vulnerable to bogging and mechanical strain in broken terrain. These shortcomings were exposed during early operations in Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland, and the opening campaigns in France and the Low Countries.
A small number of 6-Rad armoured cars were also deployed with the Deutsches Afrikakorps during the very early stages of the North African campaign in 1941. These vehicles—primarily Sd.Kfz. 231 and 232 variants—arrived with the first reconnaissance elements sent to Libya. Their service in the desert was brief. Built on commercial truck chassis, they performed poorly in sand and soft ground, suffering from inadequate traction, frequent bogging, and accelerated mechanical wear under extreme heat and dust.
As a consequence, the 6-Rad armoured cars were quickly withdrawn from front-line Afrika Korps use and replaced by the purpose-designed 8-Rad armoured cars, which offered superior mobility, reliability, and endurance in desert conditions. By mid-1941, the 6-Rad types had effectively disappeared from active service in North Africa.
Although ultimately short-lived, the 6-Rad armoured cars played an important transitional role in German armoured reconnaissance doctrine. Operational experience gained with these vehicles—both in Europe and briefly in North Africa—directly informed the development of the far more successful 8-Rad series. For historical interpretation or wargame design, they are best represented in early-war reconnaissance and security roles, particularly in European theatres or the initial arrival phase of the Afrika Korps, rather than as long-term desert patrol vehicles.
The German 6-Rad armoured car from 3D Miniatures & Terrain is a strong and characterful representation of the early-war Sd.Kfz. 231, capturing the angular, riveted look that defines these inter-war reconnaissance vehicles. The proportions feel convincing on the tabletop, with the tall profile, slab sides, and distinctive turret immediately readable at gaming distance. Panel lines, vision slits, and surface detail are crisp without being overdone, making the model visually interesting while remaining easy to paint—particularly important for vehicles intended as supporting elements rather than centrepiece tanks.
As a gaming model, it works especially well for early-war or transitional forces, where the slightly awkward design of the real vehicle adds historical flavour rather than detracting from table presence. The clean print geometry makes it robust for regular play, and the restrained detailing avoids the fragility sometimes seen in over-engineered resin kits. Overall, this is an effective, practical miniature that balances historical accuracy with tabletop usability, and it fits neatly into reconnaissance, security, or early Afrika Korps collections where the 6-Rad’s limitations are part of its narrative appeal.
I didn’t do much today. I re-based my 28mm French Napoleonic army but only flocked the pieces I need to play. Since I’ve sold a few lots, I needed to finish basing the last lot that goes to a new home on Sunday. Thanks, Chris!
At the last “Axes and Ales” club meeting, I was busy unleashing my top-notch heckling skills during a gripping game of “Mission Critical” when my long-time wargaming buddy Geoff waltzed in to see what all the fuss was about. He looked genuinely impressed, or maybe he was just wondering why everyone was so enthusiastic about a room full of dice and miniature soldiers on a night that felt like a ghost town—thanks, holiday season!
I finally put an end to the heckling and took Geoff on a grand tour of the club rooms. We plopped down with a few “Adam’s Ales” — because nothing says sophisticated conversation like non-beer (yeah right!)— and after an hour of chatting, we stumbled into the riveting world of WW2 Australian campaigns in the Mediterranean. Then we hopped over to the “Scrap Iron” Flotilla, which sounded fancier than it was, featuring the geriatric destroyers HMAS Vendetta, Vampire, Voyager, Stuart, and Waterhen. Geoff, bless his accountant heart, excitedly declared he’d found a book at the library about these old sea dogs, and I figured if a boring accountant gave it the thumbs up, it was probably flying off the shelves like hotcakes!
I placed my order for the book on Wednesday, and lo and behold, like a caffeinated delivery fairy, it showed up at my doorstep today (Thursday). Who knew books could be so punctual?
I have already completed a review of Marcher: Empires at War, but did not compare it with the other “Weird War options out there.
Marcher: Empires at War sits in an interesting middle ground when compared with Konflikt ’47 and Secrets of the Third Reich. All three explore alternate twentieth-century warfare, but they differ sharply in how spectacle, balance, lore, and cost are prioritised and integrated into play.
Marcher is best understood as a dieselpunk alternate-history system rather than a full weird-war game. Its setting is rooted in a reimagined pre-Second World War world, where advanced machinery, speculative technology, and diverging empires drive conflict. Unlike K47’s rift-science escalation or SOTR’s occult foundations, Marcher’s lore stays comparatively grounded. Its technology feels like an extension of industrial warfare rather than a rupture of reality, which gives the setting a clear internal logic without relying on magic or dimensional catastrophes.
That grounding carries through to the mechanics. Marcher uses a structured D10 action-economy system, where units typically receive two actions per activation. Command decisions, objective play, and timing are central. Units are effective not because they are inherently overwhelming, but because of how players sequence actions, exploit terrain, and prioritise objectives. This produces a play experience that rewards planning and positioning rather than dramatic power spikes. In contrast, K47’s rules actively encourage explosive moments, while SOTR emphasises friction, denial, and controlled escalation.
In terms of balance, Marcher’s design intent is closer to SOTR than to K47. While still evolving, its rules focus on role clarity and objective contribution rather than raw lethality. Units tend to justify their inclusion through what they can do—hold ground, manoeuvre, support, or apply pressure—rather than how much damage they can inflict in a single activation. This avoids many of the internal balance problems that plague K47, where some units dominate simply because their output overwhelms the system’s ability to respond.
Cost and accessibility further distinguish Marcher. The core rules are freely available, and the system openly supports 3D-printed miniatures, significantly lowering the barrier to entry. This reinforces the game’s philosophy: forces are meant to be built, experimented with, and played regularly, not treated as premium centrepieces. In this respect, Marcher aligns more closely with the practical hobby ethos I value in SOTR than with K47’s more commercially driven escalation model.
Lore integration also reflects this difference. Marcher’s background exists to contextualise mechanics rather than justify excess. K47’s rift-tech framing encourages ever-greater escalation with minimal narrative cost, while SOTR’s occult logic explicitly explains why power is dangerous, unstable, and constrained. Marcher occupies a third position: it limits excess not through mysticism or horror, but through a plausible industrial-era logic that keeps escalation within bounds.
Taken together, Marcher offers a tactical, decision-heavy experience that rewards sequencing, objective play, and combined arms rather than dominance pieces. It lacks the gothic atmosphere and moral weight of SOTR’s occult war, but it also avoids K47’s tendency toward spectacle-driven imbalance. For players who want an affordable, coherent, and tactically grounded alternate-history game without leaning fully into weird-war fantasy, Marcher presents a compelling alternative.
Summary Comparison
In context, Marcher sits between K47 and SOTR in both tone and design. It lacks the occult weight and deliberate constraint that make Secrets of the Third Reich your preferred system, but it shares SOTR’s respect for structure, decision-making, and cost-to-effectiveness—while avoiding the spectacle-first imbalance that defines Konflikt ’47.
I’m not sure if I prefer SOTR or Marcher, but both are definitely better than K47, which will dominate the Weird War space due to Warlord Games’ market presence.
