astatine

Hey, sorry to have caused you some discomfort! However, i understand where you are coming from, two islands is best and i will simply rename mine (or just not release) Looking forward to yours! Especially the macdonalds

Hello, quite co-incidentally and somewhat ironically Ive been modifying this island too in wrpedit! Maybe we could work together on this venture? Ive added more buildings downtown and greatly expanded the residential areas. I too have also added a forest parallel to the highway. Some screens of my work In the residential area, near the downtown bit, Im using the FML house for this. Driving on the highway parallell to some apartments (from BAS) Shootout above some houses in the residential area Austrailian Blackhawk surveys the downtown area at night (taken from the top of the skyscraper) A daytime shot of the main downtown buildings

Addons : BAS Pavehawk, HYK Inf, CBT HEMMT, BAS Littlebirds, ADF Mod, New Ocean Island (with associated addons)

British Soldier takes cover behind an apc during a firefight Austrailian Blackhawk surveys the city at night Australian Soldiers inspect a bus addons: ADF mod, PUKF soldiers, New Ocean City (modified, unreleased)

Try disabling your firewall momentarily. These are looking really good, that M60 looks mean lol

Maybe it will see the light of day as part of the bushfires mod? Do any of the forces use this vehicle?

That happens to me too, if i turn my guitar amplifier up I can pick up the CB radio the taxi drivers use. I also get radio reception using a distortion pedal plugged into my amp with no input lead connected. Its very strange, but i think it could be interesting in a song

Cool work, i really liked it, made me chuckle

Ah well, hope this isnt too big.. *EDIT* - Its set on D-day, I wrote it in june around the anniversary. Slowly and painfully he sat down on the coarse sand and coughed fiercely. The salt water, mixed with the acrid burning smoke pouring out from somewhere behind him was causing his lungs to rebel in a violent manner. Each splutter sent a thousand tiny droplets of water coursing off his body as he fell forward in fiery pain. The heavy cloth of the soaking wet clothes wrapped around his frame, constricting movement to an uncomfortable necessity to relive the pain of each subsequent cough. He shivered as the wind made its way slowly across the beach, its chilling arm disturbing the small items that lay there. A loose piece of paper was blown to his side; it was a letter of some sort, written in German. A wry smile appeared across his lips as he crushed it in his hands and produced a silver lighter. The flame licked the bottom of the page, causing the paper to morph trough brown to a perfect black, until nothing but grey ash remained. The fire served to aggravate further his already angry lungs, causing a fresh onslaught of coughing. From a short distance away, another man was watching, the ink on the tag tied around his wrist was smudged, arcing across the across the card like blood mixing on the surface of water. The only intelligible word was Lewis. He stood tall on the dunes, watching the last slithers of flame vanish from the twisted paper. It made him want a cigarette, so he reached into his pocket to find the crumpled packet there. As he withdrew a narrow tube, he noticed a long cut on his hand that was bleeding slowly. Dropping the cigarette in panic, he looked around for anyone that could help him. The medics were busy and he didn’t feel like asking for their help. Seeing no other potential assistance, he walked towards the sea to wash the wound clean. The water stung him sharply, with a hundred miniature incisions that stole the air from his lungs. An abandoned knapsack was bobbing slowly in the freezing water and he pulled it up quickly and searched in haste for something to cover the wound. The blood was coming quicker now, and Lewis became worried that his makeshift bandage would not be enough to hold back the tide of plasma so desperate to escape. He pulled a cloth tighter over the wound and ran up the beach, desperate to find help. His limbs carried him almost blind panic, stepping over the dead and dying, looking for comfort. He ran straight into Steve Warren, who was himself rushing around, escorting a doctor through the rows of wounded. Warren was knocked to the floor, landing in a pool of seawater between the bodies of his comrades. An apology was murmured and Lewis ran on, stumbling and tripping as he travelled up the sand. Warren sat up slowly and tried to take in what had happened. He watched Lewis’ shambling run continue for a moment, and then turned to look for his new friend. The doctor was in fact a German who had been ordered into action by his captors. Although he could speak little English, Warren was growing to like him and he respected the difficulty of his work, something he himself knew was beyond his own powers of compassion. He had been ordered to shoot the doctor should he attempt escape, but both men knew that this would not be necessary, for this man had no-where to go, they were both there at the end of the world. The beach was a mess, there were men and bits of men and equipment and debris showered all around so that the sand could hardly be seen anymore. It was what Churchill and Roosevelt would later call a field of gracious and honourable sacrifice, but Warren knew an abattoir when he saw one. This view was shared by the lucky few who overlooked the scene with shock and awe from the top of the cliff side. Up here flame and wretched smoke belched from burnt vehicles and shelters. Behind them, the enemy was retreating; men forgot their roles as soldiers and concentrated on survival, trying to get away before the invaders could catch up with them. Most were happy to let them run, they had seen enough death for one day, but Ferguson was not one of those men. As they ran for cover across the flat French countryside, he fired shot after shot, eager to kill as many as he could. He was enjoying himself. As aware as he was of the horror of what he had just come through, the desire to see the job through led him to fire and fire on the pathetic figures that sought only to hide from the storm that had been unleashed that day. There were no feelings of vengeance in Ferguson, there was no need in destroying them simply to satisfy his own feelings, instead this was simply the business of war, and it was no more strange or wrong than for a builder to seal the walls of the house he had just built. As another man dropped to the floor, he decided it was time to stop. Ammunition was short; he only had a little left with which he could defend himself, should he need it. Besides, he was himself growing tired of killing and was beginning to worry about his comrades whose friendships he had so hastily forged. Reluctantly, he turned from his firing position and began to walk back towards where what was left of his unit were looking through the bodies, trying to distinguish dead from wounded. He had only walked a few paces when the bullet impacted on the back of his skull, sending his body lurching forward in a shower of bright red glue, causing the few bullets and crucifix he kept faithfully in his top pocket to fall out into the mud. There was little time to waste Warren knew as he dragged another casualty from the freezing water and onto the beach, where his friend sat coughing and spluttering from the vicious concoction of water, salt, smoke and blood that was amalgamating in his lungs. Although no external wounds could be found, the German doctor who had looked him over said that he was suffering some sort of internal injury, the effects of a nearby explosion. When he asked if his friend would live, the best the doctor could offer was an innocent shrug of the shoulders. Still, he had a better chance than most of the others in this godforsaken place, a thought that comforted him as he took the silver lighter from his friend’s hand. The small pile of grey paper ash was still blowing around, coating his boots in a thin film of charred sentiment. The panting was audible even above the roar of the sea, and Warren decided that it was time to suspend his duty of escorting the doctor to find some sort of help for his wounded friend. Besides, he knew his prisoner wasn’t going anywhere. A few hundred metres along the beach, the first supplies were beginning to be unloaded. A crowd of desperate medics, walking wounded and friends of the dying gathered around, hoping that there would be enough materials to go around. As it happened, bandages and medicines were low down on the list of priorities, and it was crates of boots, shovels and tank ammunition that were first ashore. As Lewis stumbled through the crowd, desperate to find out exactly what was coming, and if he could make any use of it, he felt a cowardly anger rise through him. There was little chance that his hand wound would be seen to, there were others there far worse off than him, but this couldn’t prevent him from being impotently annoyed at the circumstances that had conspired against him to rule his painful cut totally worthless. He recognised the face of Warren moving also through the crowd, and although he did not know the man, he knew he should apologise for knocking him over before. His uninjured hand tapped on Warren’s shoulder, causing him to stop momentarily to look around. Lewis mouthed an apology at him, which seemed to be understood, and a quick nod of the head was all he got before the face was again lost in the crowd, pressing forward to try and find something from whatever they were bringing ashore. On reaching the front of the assembled masses and seeing the useless supplies that lay there, Warren decided that there was little point in him waiting there for the unscheduled arrival of the important goods. On walking backwards towards his injured friend, something caught Warren’s eye in the sand. The reflected light from this object imprinted his fragile retina with burning lines of neon blue and he raised a dirty hand to protect the eye from permanent damage. This revealed the object to be nothing more than a pair of spectacles, held curiously intact in a motionless hand despite the destruction around. Warren approached to see that they belonged to a medic, who was probably barely of conscription age. His head was set at an unnatural angle, which Warren meticulously corrected, setting out the body as though this were the funeral and he the grieving relative reluctantly giving away his loved one back to the earth. To his surprise and delight, he found the body had not yet been attention of the grave robbers that were now discretely scouring the beach for anything of value. He took from the top pocket of the satchel that lay nearby enough morphine to make his friend comfortable until they could get to some proper medical attention. Proud of his find, Warren left the peaceful corpse and continued to walk over to where he now saw his friend lying down in the sand. The jerking chest movements had subsided and the only sign of movement was a frigid hand shaking uncontrollably in the pile of grey ash. As the realisation diffused within him, Warren began to run across the hard sand, frantically unwrapping the package held in his hand to reveal a thin, fine pointed needle. Futility held his heels back as the realisation came to him that there was nothing that this needle could provide to save his friend. He was right, for when he arrived by the side of the rigid body, the spasm had subsided and there were no signs of breathing. There was nothing Warren could do, but panic had restricted his capacity for logic, and rather than save the precious drug for later use, he plunged the needle into the motionless leg, unloading the calming liquid in a last ditch hope that it would bring his friend back from a place where no human hand could reach. Lewis counted himself lucky as he reached the front of the amassed crowds. The boat carrying the much needed medical supplies could be seen making its approach to the beach, green crates with red and white crosses scrawled untidily on their sides were packed impossibly high on its unstable deck. It landed hard, sending some of the boxes flying forward, splitting like rotten fruit and projecting packages of crisp clean bandages onto the dirty cloying sand. One such package landed at the feet of Lewis, who charged forward with a selfish vigour to grab the white cloth. He picked it up, and surprised with the ease of his find, began to walk away from the crowd to a place where he could apply the dressing. He stepped over men in far worse condition than himself, but didn’t feel compelled to give over his precious package. Onwards he walked, trying to free himself from the desperate stares of the dying, whose gaze followed his careful steps over their incapacitated bodies. So wrapped up was he in his attention to their plight and the thoughts of his own guilt that he walked past the skull and cross-bones sign that was lying in the sand. He did not notice the half concealed metal plate as he sat down on the ground to attend to his wound. The bandages came away easily from the package and soon his hand vanished beneath a carefully wrapped mask of white gauze. As he stood to return to the beachhead, the heavy leather of his boot touched the cool green metal of the half concealed plate that lay silently at his feet. The mine clicked, and Lewis had a short moment to contemplate what might be going on in between the layers of impassive steel before the dull green erupted into an angry shapeless bulk of flame, earth, smoke and blood. The sound of glass shattering disturbed the silence on the bridge of the waiting ship. I cursed as I kneeled to gather the remains of my binoculars, a present that I had pulled from the neck of a dead German sailor on my last tour. Only one lens had been damaged, they were probably salvageable. I pulled them to my eye and looked back at the spot on which the mine had exploded. There was nothing left, just a silent plume of black smoke that rose innocently into the morning air. Shock still gripped my body, and I left the bridge to try and bring myself back from what I had just seen. Vomit welled in my throat as the sharp sea air charged into my lungs. Covering my mouth with a quaking hand, I headed to the side of the boat, where I retched, releasing the pale liquid into the sea. Leaning over the side, my binoculars dangling freely in the morning air, I could still hear the sounds of explosions and gunfire carried from the beach. It was still going on, that event, those moments that couldn’t be erased. I could still see him, the placid expression on his face as the bandages entwined around his wounded arm, and then the few confident steps back to the beach before smoke and fire had engulfed him. I hadn’t seen what happened next, the reflex of surprise had torn the binoculars from my arm. I inspected them again and decided that I wouldn’t have them repaired. I couldn’t bring myself to look through them again, I would always see those few frames, replayed in my head. Without second thought, I released my grip and they fell into the ice cold water, sinking without a trace or sound. In my quarters I looked over the map that hung upon the wall, detailing every fact and figure of the invasion, summarising the plan in a few lines drawn in blue ink. It was a success, but I had failed them, stood on the bridge of the ship they had left only an hour before, I was powerless to stop the carnage that took place through the sights of my binoculars. Not even I had imagined it to be like this, with men ripped from the earth even after the battle had ceased. I hung up my officer’s coat on the back of the wooden door, careful to hide the stripes from view, this was not a time for acknowledging one’s responsibility. The small chair creaked and groaned as I sat and reached for the spirit bottle and tumbler that stood with a binocular case on my narrow shelf.

Great Idea, ill post a short story in a short while :

Hey, i have one of those too. You have to turn the glare down in the DXDLL setup.

Id ask pappy boyington to help you implement them, he did it for the USCG mod

Fantastic, i love the first one

Wow, these look fantastic, keep up the AMAZING work

Those new models are looking really good, best of luck with your project

Im doin A2 also, carryin on from AS last year are Further Maths (applied) Chemistry Physics I did Government and Politics last year, and I thought it was great, lol

Yeh, fantasitc Idea! Manchester, England

Fantastic work, these are great units, thank you to all involved. Small bug report, the Desert M4 M203 Elcan is recognised as empty in the inventory. I was using the Desert SASR patrol units, dunno if it is a weapon or solider problem?

Half Life was based on the Quake II engine I believe, hence the reason no-one licensed it. I think that Source will be a different matter, but that will depend on how it performs once HL2 comes out.

Strenght was pretty low, i didnt try and edit it. Will test it out now. *EDIT* Okay, lowered strenght to 0.05 and it still didnt work. Then i changed the size and it worked okay, thank you so much gollum

Yeh, i think glare doesnt work at all with 9200 cards, i have a similar problem. You'll have to disable it in the config program.

I must say that Arch.'s WW2 pics have been outstanding of late, i think they are some of the most beautiful pictures ever to grace the thread. Â *EDIT* Refined language a little

Matt, thanks a lot Activation of multitexturing made it work

I have checked, terrain textures are set to 2048. Any other ideas?

Thanks for this great addon, there is one problem i am having though. Reflections work fine for objects, but not terrain. Any ideas? Im using a Radeon 9200 on windows ME, 1.4Ghz with 256mb DDR Ram