Napoleonic Wargame Club (NWC)

A red coated, Hanoverian Major rides up to the stables at the Rhine Tavern. He is accompanied by a somber young Ensign wearing the green and gray uniform of the Hanoverian Fieldjagers. As they dismount, the Ensign asks his commander if he would like to be accompanied into the tavern. “No, Ensign Reed, that will not be necessary”, replies the Major, “Please wait here for me with our horses. I will only be a moment”. The young Ensign gives a solemn nod as he takes the reins of his commander’s horse. The Major turns away and walks toward the tavern.

As he enters the well lit tavern, the sad state of the Major’s coat is impossible to overlook. It is dirty and torn, seemingly stained with the blood of a recent battle. The left epilate dangles from his shoulder, pierced through by a musket round that so narrowly missed the coat’s occupant. To a man, the French officers break into broad smiles. Now this is a sight they have longed to see. Seated at a table near the fire are two senior officers of the Vieille Garde, a Marechal and a General d’Division of the Chasseurs a Cheval. This cavalryman, in particular, exudes an air of expectation. Nodding to the two officers, the Major turns away toward the bar.

Standing at the bar is a Hanoverian Major General. His uniform looks somewhat disheveled. “Well, General Dobson”, says the Major, “I am glad to see you survived your most recent ride.”

“Yes, Major Jones. Yes I did indeed, although it took me two days, and a case of scotch, to talk the French out of lynching me for my part in the whole affair. You really did succeed in making them very angry you know. By the way Major, if you don’t mind my saying so, you look like Hell.”

“I have had a rather tough day on the field, General. A very tough day indeed if you want to know the truth of it.” Knowing the Hanoverian Major’s habits, the barkeep places a shot of Jagermeister on the bar in front of him. The Major picks up the glass and downs the liquid in one gulp. {Damn that burns!, he thinks to himself.} Setting the glass back on the bar, the Major motions to the barkeep for another. “You know, General Dobson, my father always told me that victory is a test of one’s ability and luck; defeat is a test of one’s character. It would seem that my character has come into question today.”

Picking up the newly refilled shot glass, the Major turns away from the bar to face the tavern’s many occupants. “Gentlemen officers, if I could have your attention for just a moment.” He pauses briefly until the conversations grow quieter. “I have toasted many things in this tavern, but today I offer something totally new.” The Vieille Garde Cavalryman looks on in anticipation. “Today my toast is for a French victory. Today my toast is for the fine officer who has bested me in combat on the field of Austerlitz. Today, my toast is for General d’Division Colin Knox of the French Imperial Guard, the first, and hopefully the last, Frenchman to claim my sword in battle. No finer officer have I ever faced.” The Major raises his glass to General Knox and consumes the contents in one gulp.

The Hanoverian Major turns to place the empty shot glass on the bar. He then turns back toward the taverniers while slowly, and deliberately, unbuckling his sword belt. With his sheathed sword in hand, and carefully measured stride, he approaches the table near the fire where the two Vieille Garde officers are seated. The Major respectfully places his sword on the table before the French cavalryman. With his eyes still fixed on the sheathed weapon, he speaks directly to General d’Division Knox. “I have only one request, General, and that is simply that you promise to take very good care of my sword while it is in your possession.” Raising his mild, blue eyes to meet the gaze of the battle hardened Frenchman, the Major continues. “For there will surely come a day when I will return to reclaim it from you.”

“I must apologize for the condition of my epilates. It seems that one of your fine marksmen has ruined the left one. Fortunately, the right one remains intact.” The Major turns his right shoulder toward the French General and leans closer so that it is within easy reach. “Now, sir, if you would perform the final honor.”

How many turns and losses did it take?

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General-Leytenant Alexey Tartyshev
Leib-Guard Preobrazhensky Regiment (Grenadier Drum)
1st Brigade
Guard Infantry Division
5th Guard Corps


(I don't play with with ZOC kills and Rout limiting ON)

A Rusian general make a note in his organier. "Find out where GdD Knox keeps his captured swords. Send a party of cosacks to bring them. Would be useful to rearm one of opolchenie units".

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It happens even to the best of us occasionally. Don't blame yourself, the scenario was biased; your opponent cheated; you were having real life problems; the pc was malfunctioning; the cat ran across the keyboard; the mrs tried to help out; shouldn't play whilst drunk. Plenty of good reasons why you lost. Maybe I'll talk about what happened to me at Smolensk sometime when I'm off the medication.

Helga, the Tavern Maid, approaches the Hanovarian Major, whispers something in his ear, and hands him another shot. The Major turns around and finds Sir Muddy sitting at his table in the back corner. Muddy raises his glass of ale in salute and the two allied officers down their drinks in unison.

Helga had delivered a mesage from Sir Muddy to Major Jones, and though I can't remember verbatim what I said, it was something to this effect...

Cheer up, Major Jones, don't look so defeated. Why, I have lost many swords to the French, and taken more than a few Marechal's baton. Why just the other day, I was forced to surrender to the Frenchmen Lambert and Bardon on some far field in Austria. A totally humiliating afffair but one from which I have learned to curb my aggressiveness. I will revenge myself and the King in due time. If you do not get your sword back from Gen. Knox, then I can give you the name of my German swordsmith. He has replaced many of mine and they were good blades all. So, drink up and be glad that the French musket ball was slightly off the mark.

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FM Sir 'Muddy' Jones, KG
2nd Life Guards, 1st Squadron, Household Cavalry
1st Duke of Uxbridge & Anglesey K.G.

A rather drunken French officer joins the table he seems to have been celebrating. His uniform is however still resplendent.

'Yes never mind Major Jones I am sure you can replace that sword. I could even lone you one or two allied ones as I have run out of space for storing them.
Seriously though sir you are a man of honour and I would happily fight you again some time!'

Helga drinks here please and please send some Ale out to Muddy's horse but not for my beautiful charger. He dines only on truffles and other fine food from France. Indeed General Kosyanenko is correct I am not sure he would fair well on the vast steppes of Russia.'

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Marechal Knox

Prince d'Austerlitz et Comte d'Argentan
Ordre national de la Légion d'honneur

"What is history but a fable agreed upon"

A Hanoverian Ensign patiently holds the reins of his commander’s horse, all the while staring at the ground contemplating the implications of today’s events. Hearing the tavern door open, he looks up expectantly as his commander strides toward him. {“My good commander is a pitiful sight today”, he thinks to himself, “his coat so badly torn, his sword so conspicuously absent and (gasp!) the French devil has even removed his epilette but...no that cannot be right…he is…..smiling!”}

Sporting a broad grin, and with the confident stride to which his men have grown so accustomed, Major Jones nears the young, Jager Ensign. “Sir”, says the Ensign, “I do not understand. You have suffered the greatest indignity of your military career today. How can you…I mean… well sir…it just strikes me as very odd that you can be so happy about it.”

“What that?” the Major replies as he gestures back over his shoulder toward the tavern. “I would not fret too much over that, Ensign. The defeats of today are quickly forgotten in the glorious brilliance of the victories to be claimed tomorrow. As for this coat”, he continues as he glances down at the ruined garment, “I fear it is nothing more than a tattered rag now and would have to be replaced in any case.” The Major raises his gaze to meet that of his Ensign’s. “I am smiling”, says the Major as he places a hand on the young officer’s shoulder, “because unknown to the good French General, I have finally won a victory over him. The best part of it all is that I very much doubt he even realizes his defeat.”

The young Ensign gives his commander a look of utter confusion at this statement. “But sir, you were publicly humiliated in front of the entire officer corps. The coat notwithstanding, the French General has also claimed your sword.”

The Major’s countenance changes ever so slightly to one of benevolent patience as he addresses the young Ensign in a gentle, fatherly tone. “Let me explain it all so you will better comprehend. If you want to win, it is critical that you get to truly know, and thoroughly understand, your opponent. What is GdD Knox?”

“Well, sir, he is the commander of the French Old Guard Chasseurs a Cheval. He is quite possibly the finest cavalry officer in the entire French Army.”

“Exactly, Ensign Reed, and what am I?”

“You, sir, are the commanding officer of our fine Hanoverian Brigade.”

“True enough, Ensign Reed, but look a little deeper” says the Major as he removes his hand from the young officer’s shoulder and gently places his fist over his heart. “What am I here?”

“Well, sir, in your heart”, the ensign says as a broad grin overtakes him, “you are the outstanding Jager officer that I aspire to one day become.”

The Hanoverian Major breaks out into heartfelt laughter. “I can see that you have been associating with me entirely too much, Ensign. Your flattering words are well spoken, but bear in mind that the only true road to promotion in our army lies in the killing of Frenchmen. You are, however, absolutely correct in your assessment of my true nature. I am, and always shall be, a Jager at heart. You see, Ensign Reed, the redoubtable GdD Knox is a cavalryman. As such, he took my sword as a trophy for his victory in our recent engagement.”

The Major turns to his horse, places his left foot in the stirrup, grasps the pommel and smoothly swings up into the saddle. “Had he really wanted to strike an effective blow for his cause”, the Major says as he pats the long, leather case securely strapped to his horse’s saddle, “he would have taken my rifle instead.”

A tactical retreat, my dear Major, is no cause for such personal anguish. You live to fight another day !!

Huzzah !

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Major General Tony Dobson
Duke of Cumberland Hussars
Hanoverian Brigade