Every Friday, Tally-Ho Corner’s cleverest clogs come together to solve a ‘foxer’ handcrafted by my sadistic chum and colleague, Roman. A complete ‘defoxing’ sometimes takes several days and usually involves the little grey cells of many readers. All are welcome to participate.
The Commandos: Origins demo is reassuringly reverential, great fun, and très jolie, but while guiding Tiny and Fins to the mission objective – a coastal radar station in need of demolition – I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d played at least one superior Commandos demo in the past.
Imagine Door Kickers and SWAT 4 colliding in a gloomy tenement hallway, and after realising that their tac vests were hopelessly entangled, pressing on regardless. Imagine a sad fox playing a violin while drifting towards the lip of a waterfall in a canoe made from a grandfather clock case. Imagine going to buy a 2013 Ford Focus from a woman in Rotherham, and discovering the seller was none other than a post-transition Sergei Skripal.
The French ATR team that bagged an armoured car last turn spend this sixty spooning rocks and hugging dirt. Despite the best efforts of the Gallic mortar team which uses all but one of its white-painted M302 rounds this turn, Bignon and his loader are pummelled mercilessly by the Panzer III on Mosque Mount.
Air Goons aren’t short of ambition. The organisers of Under the North Star, a multiplayer wargaming experiment without parallel, want to sim the response to a fictional Russian invasion of Northern Scandinavia using a host of off-the-shelf PC games and a small army of plucky volunteers.
Early Access Ships at Sea came within a cod’s whisker of flunking its 3×3-style audition. Two hours in I was railing against its rigid earn-to-unlock structure and unexpected lack of ambience, and fast losing patience with its improbably choppy harbours and recalcitrant small craft. But then I set off for Vedøya.
Using the following clues (the map above is purely decorative) in combination with Street View, work out my location.
It has been this way since the cock-up in Cologne. On the day before a deployment, King Dormouse summons me to his office, and we play ‘the contacts game’ while he wipes the nicotine film from his gig-lamps or toys with the medieval caltrop he uses as a paperweight.