Andy Millar’s Lost at Sea: The Fukushima Disaster and the Fate of the USS Ronald Reagan is an engaging investigative narrative that looks at the human impact of the 2011 Fukushima nuclear disaster through the eyes of American naval personnel. Instead of concentrating on the technical or political aspects, Millar focuses on the sailors involved in Operation Tomodachi, the U.S. Navy’s mission to help Japan after the earthquake and tsunami. The book explores themes of uncertainty, trust, and responsibility alongside the topics of radiation and disaster response.

One of the book’s main strengths is its focus on people. Millar shares the stories of sailors and their families who felt endangered without enough warning or protection. Through interviews and personal accounts, he shows the experiences of young service members in a situation they didn’t fully grasp. The sailors’ narratives—filled with confusion, loyalty, illness, and frustration—ground the story and add emotional depth. Millar avoids sensationalism, letting the detailed personal experiences build a feeling of unease and unresolved tension.

The author’s background as a journalist shows in the clear and organized investigation. He outlines the events after the tsunami and the nuclear crisis, demonstrating how information was shared—often poorly—between Japanese officials, the US Navy, and the ships at sea. Millar doesn’t create a simple conspiracy story; instead, he emphasizes the confusion during the disaster. Decisions were made quickly, usually with limited information, and their effects are still being discussed.

Millar’s discussion of radiation risk is very effective. He uses simple language to explain technical details without making them too easy. Readers learn about exposure levels, monitoring systems, and safety rules, along with the challenges of measuring long-term health effects. This balance between clear explanation and engaging storytelling keeps the book readable while addressing important scientific and medical issues.

A central theme of Lost at Sea is trust—trust between sailors and their leaders, between governments and citizens, and between people and organizations. Millar looks at how official reassurances were viewed by those on the ships and how later legal and medical conflicts weakened trust. The book doesn’t aim to settle these conflicts; instead, it examines how different views of risk and responsibility developed. This uncertainty becomes a key aspect of the book.

The legal battles after Operation Tomodachi are a key part of the story. Millar discusses the lawsuits filed by some sailors against the Tokyo Electric Power Company (TEPCO) and the difficulties in linking illnesses to radiation exposure. These sections are treated sensitively, recognizing the pain of individuals and the challenges in proving cause and effect. The legal cases highlight larger concerns about accountability and transparency.

Millar places the story in the broader context of US–Japan relations and military cooperation. Operation Tomodachi is described as both a humanitarian mission and a sign of alliance support. This geopolitical aspect enriches the narrative, illustrating how strategy and diplomacy shaped decisions. The tension between alliance politics and personal well-being is subtle but present throughout the book.

The book’s style is careful and straightforward. Millar writes clearly, avoiding drama even in personal stories. This approach adds to the work’s credibility. By not exaggerating or making moral judgments, Millar lets readers form their own opinions about events and responsibility. The tone is more about investigation than blame, and it’s thoughtful rather than argumentative.

At times, the story feels repetitive, particularly when covering medical symptoms and legal matters. However, this repetition reveals the ongoing struggles of those involved: constant uncertainty, recurring illness, and a lengthy legal process. The structure mirrors the lack of closure many sailors experience, emphasizing the book’s main themes.

Overall, Lost at Sea is a well-researched and insightful account of a complicated and ongoing situation. It highlights the human aspect of a significant technological and environmental disaster while staying neutral. For those interested in naval operations, disaster response, or the lasting effects of nuclear accidents, Millar’s work provides a clear and serious look at the challenges faced when humanitarian efforts meet hidden dangers.

On e of the best books I have read in a long time.

Toxic Runners are a lethal hybrid in Zombicide, combining high-speed mobility with a punishing defensive mechanism. Like standard Runners, they possess two actions per activation, allowing them to rapidly close distances or strike twice in a single turn.

What makes them truly treacherous is their Toxic spray: if a Survivor kills one while standing in the same Zone, the Survivor immediately suffers one Wound from the acidic blood splatter.

This creates a “catch-22” where Melee-focused characters are effectively penalized for doing their job, forcing the team to rely heavily on Ranged weapons to pick them off from a distance.

Because they can move and attack so quickly, Toxic Runners often bypass your front line and force “suicide” trades in close quarters. To survive, you must prioritize them in your targeting order, ideally keeping them at least one Zone away.

They are a primary threat to your action economy—ignore them for one turn, and they’ll be in your face, making their removal a painful and potentially life-threatening ordeal for any Survivor unlucky enough to be cornered.

Out of Zombie until I find some that is so who knows what will be up for tomorrow!

Toxic Walkers are a variant of the standard walker zombies in Zombicide, distinguished by the unstable chemical sludge that saturates their decaying bodies. Once ordinary infected, they have wandered through industrial spills, chemical waste zones, or contaminated urban environments long enough for toxins to soak into their flesh and clothing.

Their appearance reflects this contamination. Skin is discoloured in lurid greens, yellows, and sickly purples. Open sores weep fluorescent slime. Their eyes often glow faintly, and their clothes hang in corroded, melted tatters, stiff with dried residue. Some carry ruptured growths or bloated sacs that pulse with pressurised gas or liquid. A faint vapour or chemical haze can sometimes be seen drifting from them, especially in cooler air.

What makes Toxic Walkers especially dangerous is not their speed or strength—both remain comparable to normal walkers—but the volatile nature of their bodies. When destroyed at close range, their chemical-saturated flesh ruptures violently. This releases a burst of corrosive or infectious toxic spray that can injure or contaminate anyone standing nearby. Survivors who dispatch them recklessly risk being splashed by this noxious discharge.

On the battlefield or game board, they function as area-denial threats. They encourage survivors to fight at range, manoeuvre carefully, and avoid clustered combat. While individually weak, a group of Toxic Walkers becomes extremely hazardous in confined spaces, where the chain of rupturing bodies can turn a narrow corridor or room into a lethal chemical trap.

In atmosphere and theme, Toxic Walkers represent the environmental collapse that accompanies the zombie apocalypse—industrial ruin, chemical contamination, and the transformation of urban spaces into poisoned wastelands as deadly as the undead themselves.

More Zombies tomorrow

oxic Fatties in Zombicide are heavily bloated, hazardous variants of the standard Fatty zombies, typically depicted as swollen corpses filled with glowing toxic sludge and often clad in torn industrial or hazmat gear. Like other Fatties, they are tough and require higher-damage weapons to destroy, making them resilient threats that cannot be eliminated by weaker attacks.

Their defining feature, however, is the toxic burst released when they are killed: upon destruction they explode in a spray of contaminated matter that wounds any survivors in the same zone, turning close-quarters combat into a dangerous gamble.

This mechanic forces players to reconsider normal tactics, encouraging the use of ranged attacks and careful positioning rather than aggressive melee engagement. Within the game’s narrative and scenario design, Toxic Fatties represent environmental contamination and industrial catastrophe, reinforcing the sense that the world itself has become as deadly as the undead roaming through it.

More Zombies tomorrow

Rather ironic for Valentines day!

Went to a different Op Shop and found this battered old box of Zombicide’s Toxic City Mall most of the bits were missing, but all of the Toxic Zombies were there. A real bonus at five bucks! This is the first of the painting work as you can never have enough zombies …..right!

The Toxic Abomination is one of the most dreaded mutations in Zombicide, serving as a literal walking biohazard. Towering over standard zombies, its skin is covered in pulsating, neon-green growths that weep caustic fluids.

What makes it particularly lethal isn’t just its massive strength—which requires a Damage 3 weapon to take down—but its Toxic Spray ability. When this monstrosity is eliminated in the same zone as your Survivors, it explodes in a cloud of acidic bile, instantly wounding everyone nearby regardless of their armor.

Strategically, it forces players to completely rethink their combat approach. You can’t just charge in with a chainsaw; instead, you’re forced to utilize ranged attacks or specialized gear like the Flamethrower to kill it from a safe distance.

Its presence on the board turns every narrow corridor into a death trap, as it also has the nasty habit of turning any standard “Toxic” zombies in its vicinity into even more aggressive threats. It effectively acts as a mobile area-denial tool that punishes players for getting too comfortable in close-quarters combat.

More Zombies tomorrow

I have to say I am not a fan of Blamey. Treading the line between Curtin and McArthur would not have been easy but his total misunderstanding of Kokoda conditions and his tirade against the 21st Brigade were inexcusable. The sacking of Rowell, Allen, and Potts was a transfer of blame to placate McArthur, and to prove he was in charge. Let alone his scandals while Chief Commissioner of Victoria Police just did not endear him to me.

As a result I would not have normally picked this book up but at a buck from the Salvos I thought I had nothing to loose, but a buck of course! I was pleasantly surprised and have had to re-think my view of the man.

The book offers a clear and balanced view of Field Marshal Sir Thomas Blamey. Instead of painting him as either a failure or a hero, Taylor provides a nuanced portrayal. He describes Blamey as a skilled but imperfect commander facing tough political and strategic challenges. This biography focuses on balance and context, making it a valuable resource for those interested in Blamey and the Australian Army during the Second World War.

A major strength of the book is its fair reassessment of Blamey’s reputation. Taylor addresses criticisms about his personality, relationships, and ambition without letting them overshadow his military performance. He highlights Blamey’s skills in administration and organization, especially in managing the AIF in the Middle East and later rebuilding Australian forces after 1941–42. Taylor also shows how Blamey navigated complex relationships with British and American commanders while keeping a unique Australian command identity. The book convincingly argues that much of Blamey’s negative reputation stems from wartime rivalries, media bias, and historiographical trends rather than clear evidence of incompetence on the battlefield.

Another key strength is how Taylor places Blamey’s career within a wider operational and strategic context. Instead of viewing him only from a narrow national perspective, the biography connects him to the larger Allied command system. It examines British imperial command politics, Blamey’s challenging relationship with General MacArthur, and the pressures from the Curtin government and Australian public opinion. This broader view clarifies decisions that were controversial then and later, especially Blamey’s careful approach in New Guinea and his focus on protecting Australian forces instead of wasting them in costly battles. Taylor’s analysis shows that many of Blamey’s decisions were influenced by strategic factors rather than personal fear.

Taylor’s writing style is clear, direct, and highly accessible. He explains complex command relationships and strategic developments without unnecessary jargon, making the book suitable for both general readers and serious students of Australian military history. The narrative flows well and maintains a strong sense of momentum, allowing readers to follow Blamey’s career from the First World War through the interwar years and into the major campaigns of the Second World War with clarity.

There are, however, some limitations. While well researched and grounded in solid scholarship, the book is not a deeply revisionist archival study. Readers seeking extensive new documentary discoveries or highly detailed operational micro-analysis may find it more synthetic than groundbreaking. Some controversial aspects of Blamey’s career and personal life are handled with restraint and brevity, reflecting Taylor’s preference for balance rather than forensic examination. In addition, the emphasis on high command and strategic leadership means that tactical battle narratives receive less attention; readers interested primarily in detailed accounts of specific engagements may wish to supplement this biography with dedicated campaign histories.

Overall, Taylor presents Blamey as a highly competent staff officer and organiser, a politically aware commander navigating complex civil-military tensions, and a leader shaped by the realities of coalition warfare. The book suggests that Blamey’s greatest achievement lay not in dramatic battlefield victories but in preserving and rebuilding the Australian Army as an effective national force during a period when it might easily have been fragmented or subordinated entirely to Allied priorities. For military historians and wargamers alike, the biography offers valuable insight into command culture, coalition friction, and the relationship between strategy, politics, and operations. It stands as a thoughtful and fair-minded reassessment that significantly improves the quality of discussion surrounding one of Australia’s most controversial wartime commanders.

Well I was wrong. I would have gladly paid full price for this book.

The third of the three standard Panzer 1’s of the production line today.

All three completed Panzer 1’s out for a country drive.

Working on some more infantry in the near future.

The unit later called the Wombat Battalion started not as an official battalion but as a group of engineers, railway workers, dockyard welders, and AIF veterans in the heavy workshops of Williamstown railway yards and nearby docks on Port Phillip Bay during the last months of World War II.

The original requirement was based on practicality. Australian forces in New Guinea, Borneo, and nearby islands faced terrain where regular tanks didn’t work, and pack transport was unreliable. Roads turned to mud in the monsoon, bridges fell apart, and vehicles broke down due to humidity. Infantry could move forward, but slowly and without the necessary fire support against well-defended Japanese positions and new threats that appeared in the last year of the war.

A proposal from the Army’s Directorate of Mechanical Engineering in late 1945 suggested creating a medium mechanized bush vehicle that could travel in areas where wheeled and tracked vehicles could not. The idea was straightforward: a walking machine that could step over logs, cross streams, and climb rough terrains while carrying armor and weapons to support infantry patrols. This proposal could have stayed theoretical if it hadn’t found an unexpected place in the workshops of Williamstown.

The Williamstown railway yards had spent the war years fixing locomotives and making heavy transport parts for the nearby dockyard. By 1946, as wartime contracts decreased, the workshops still had skilled workers and heavy machinery but didn’t have a clear plan. Several returning servicemen, who were fitters from armoured and engineering units, started to experiment with load-bearing frames made from surplus steel plates, locomotive suspension parts, and hydraulic components taken from old industrial equipment.

The first prototype, called “Quadruped Load Carrier No.1,” was basic. It had a central body on four legs powered by modified hydraulic pistons and electric motors using a petrol generator. Movement was slow and clumsy, but it could travel over terrain where trucks or Bren carriers couldn’t go. More importantly, it could carry heavy loads. When equipped with makeshift armor and a mount for a Vickers gun, it was able to provide moving fire support while advancing with soldiers.

News of the experiment got to Army leaders through informal means, mainly from officers who had worked with the same men now in the yard. By mid-1947, a small team from the Army Design Establishment was sent to watch the trials. Their report called the machine “not practical for regular warfare but possibly useful for operations in rough or thickly vegetated areas.” The funding was limited but enough to officially start the project under the vague name Bush Mobility Experimental Section.

Over the next eighteen months, development increased. The Williamstown workshops adapted railway techniques for armour construction, creating hull sections that could be put together without special casting. Locomotive gears were changed to move the legs. Cooling systems were made to work in humid conditions. The machines became more reliable, stable, and, of course, more heavily armed.

Veterans from engineering and armored units created a test group. They learned to operate and maintain the walkers in their original environment, surrounded by steel frames, oil drums, and the noise of railway repair work. The crews nicknamed the machines “Wombats” for their short, heavily armored look and their slow, stubborn nature—hard to start, tough to stop, and more likely to push through obstacles than go around them.

By 1948, three working prototypes were ready. They were moved north for tests in tropical conditions with infantry units to assess their value for patrol support and perimeter defense. Reports were cautiously positive. The walkers were slow and needed regular maintenance, but they could transport heavy weapons over terrain that other vehicles couldn’t handle. They were especially useful in defense, helping to secure patrol bases and provide higher fire support above thick vegetation.

In response, Army leaders approved the creation of a permanent unit: the 3rd Experimental Bush Warfare Group (Mechanised). Members were selected from engineering corps, armoured units, and infantry battalions with jungle experience. Training took place at Williamstown, where railway yards were converted into an armoured depot. Walkers were next to locomotives being fixed, and armour plates were cut using the same machines that made rail parts.

The unit’s informal title, Wombat Battalion, was officially used because there was no better name agreed upon. The motto, “Eats Roots and Leaves,” started as a joke about the wombat’s diet and the machines’ ability to clear paths through the jungle. It was later put on unit insignia and banners made for morale, not regulations.

Operational doctrine stressed teamwork with infantry instead of acting alone. The walkers were meant to move with patrols, offer fire support, and act as mobile strongpoints in areas where artillery and traditional armor couldn’t go. Maintenance was demanding, needing a dedicated crew of mechanics for each machine alongside its operators. This led to the battalion not reaching large numbers; instead, it operated as a specialized unit deployed where the terrain and situation warranted it. This doctrine demanded heavy armaments and the Taipan Projector Cannon was developed from a captured German tank.

By the early 1949, the Wombat Battalion was both a test and a symbol. Its machines clearly came from industrial sources, showing signs of railway and dockyard work. However, they reflected a unique Australian style of mechanised warfare: practical, makeshift, and influenced by available skills and materials rather than just official plans.

From the workshops of Williamstown to the jungles beyond the mainland, the battalion’s history was connected to its origin. The railway yards kept making replacement parts and new hulls long after other wartime industries had shut down or changed. Each machine showed, in riveted steel and welded plate, the mark of the yard where it was made—an industrial heritage as noticeable as any regimental tradition.

Konflict 47 rules
Unit Type: Medium Walker (4 Legs)
Standard Weapons: 1x Turret-mounted Taipan Projector Cannon (counts as a Schwerefeld Projektor) Regular: 255
1x Forward-facing, Hull-mounted MMG Veteran: 306
Movement Rate: Up to 6″ . Advance Run: 6″–12″
Damage Value: 9+
Quality: Regular 255pts / Veteran 306
Morale Value: 9/10
SPECIAL RULES
•Multi-legged/Slow
Rift Dice: 1 Gravity Pulse Weapon

The model is the Australian Heavy Quad Bush Walker WW2 from Kyoushuneko Miniatures, and the drawings were done by Chattie. Photos by the author.

I have just finished the second PZkpfw 1 for my Africa Corps.

I intend to have five in the army, strategically chosen to ensure a well-rounded approach to various combat scenarios. Among these, I plan to incorporate three standard PZkpfw 1’s, with their massed machine gun fire. Additionally, a Sd.Kfz. 265 Panzerbefehlswagen will serve as the command tank.

To bolster my defensive measures, I will also include some anti-aircraft protection with a Flakpanzer 1, ensuring that my ground troops are shielded from aerial assaults while while add some extra oomph against light vehicles.

I am hoping this combination of tanks will create a formidable presence, enabling me to engage effectively with enemy forces while maintaining a robust defense. swell here’s hoping!

Below is the two PZkpfw 1’s I have complete thus far.

Hopefully another one tomorrow..

Good friend John had been helping me with one of my many projects and he lent me this book to read.

Our Starry Banner is an important book about the Eureka Flag. Instead of viewing the flag as just a symbol with one meaning, it explores a more challenging question: how did this piece of cloth become so significant, debated, and reinterpreted?

The book’s strength lies in its restraint, avoiding the trap of making Eureka a moral story or a national myth. Instead, it focuses on the flag’s material history, its presence and absence, and the evolving communities that have claimed it. Eureka is portrayed as a dynamic concept, shaped by memory, politics, protest, and culture. It depicts the flag as a social object rather than a fixed belief, showing how various groups, including trade unionists, republicans, and artists, have influenced its meaning, often in conflicting ways.

This complexity may unsettle readers seeking a single interpretation, but it enriches the understanding of how symbols function in history. The book effectively addresses the flag’s significance after the Eureka event, emphasizing that its true power emerged from rediscovery and reinterpretation over the years, especially during times of conflict and change. It is also noteworthy for avoiding oversimplifications, presenting the diggers as complex individuals rather than archetypes of democracy. For those interested in the debates around the Eureka Flag, including ownership and symbolism,

Our Starry Banner offers important insights, clarifying why the flag remains a topic of contention—not due to misuse, but because of its inherent openness and fluidity. In essence, the book does not dictate what the Eureka Flag means; it reveals why it can mean multiple things, making it one of the most honest examinations of Eureka and a valuable complement to more narrative accounts of the Stockade. If certainty is what you seek, this may not be the right book for you. However, if you desire a well-researched history that considers context and humility, it certainly is.

Really liked this book that packed zo much into just eighty pages.