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Nine brave Men of Armadale, in the absence of any female members and with most of the Secret Men Sect meeting secretly in an undisclosed southern coastal location, met at the usual base for Sunday’s Mission. Led by Captain Bruce this hardy band of seasoned Cavaliers received orders to set off to find The Lost Trail, which would prove or disprove the legend that says the black-top now snakes eastward from Fort Harvey to an outpost called the Steak Sandwich Ranch. The squad found its way without breaking formation up through the Black Hills and braved icy air, sniping blue-coats and snow to rest, recuperate and refurbish at Bev’s Bivouac at Fort Dwellingup. Here Captain Bruce received personal sealed orders to collect the chairs from the correct table (the china one, dammit Bruce) and to ensure the door was secured while we meet for a briefing of the platoon on the veranda, where we had to stow away a batch of fresh home-baked scones, tea and coffee. A word to any greenskins: a query to Bev of where she ‘buys’ her scones will ensure a sound clipping of those chill-blained ears. Fully requisitioned without incident, the Company quick-marched through more hills and chilly air, still skirting around the dreaded Bluecoats, to emerge at the Lower Hotham Trail, where the troupe turned westward in search of the elusive black-top. Alas, all the weary troopers found was a short new stretch of black trail, at the end of which ominous loose gravel dared them to continue on towards Harvey. But partly lost and some what disillusioned the squad declined the challenge and again turned eastward toward the Unknown. They encountered a lone wagon of Pilgrims who had not even heard of the Legend, but the squad hoisted the Colours high, re-formed and paced on, finding some luck when, famished and perilously low on supplies, they stumbled into the isolated Trading Post of Quindanning, which they discovered was the true home of the Steak Sandwich Ranch. It was quickly realised that these delicacies and some moonshine could be easily conned from the Trader’s lovely squaws with mere paper dollars and a few silver trinkets (these soldiers catch on quick). With only a failed mission to report back to base, the intrepid band of snipers braved again the Hotham Trail with only one soldier running out of ammunition a few short miles from limping into a bivouac back at Dwellingup. At the end of the mission the troop vowed to regather at base when more intelligence has been gathered for a further assault on the legendary Black Trail from Harvey. (Thanks Captain Bruce for a great day).

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