Napoleonic Wargame Club (NWC)

Another disappointing outcome, thought the Hanoverian Guardsman as he strode towards the tavern carrying two, carefully wrapped bundles. All that fighting; all that killing; and the Corsican never once deigned to show his miserable face on the field. Oh well, at least we have something to show for our efforts. I can always put a bullet into his magnificent brain another day, assuming, of course, that I can ever manage to find him. I would probably have a better chance if I started checking the brothels….

Lost in his usual thoughts of vengeance against the Emperor of France for his brother’s untimely death, the Major General opens the door to the Rhine Tavern and quietly steps inside. The room is not empty, but normal business has been somewhat sparse of late, except for the times when the French command seemingly throws epaulettes on the tables for anyone to claim. Such times are a drunken, feeding frenzy to be sure, but certainly good for business.

The beautiful bar maid, Helga, casts a broad smile in the direction of the Anglo-Allied Army’s Chief of Staff. “Herr Jager, it is always good to see you”, she says as she glances at the bundles he is carrying. He is, after all, one of her most favored, and lucrative, patrons. “Ah, but you bring me military paraphernalia again”, she says as she kisses him lightly on the cheek, “when you know that I much prefer flowers.”

“Flowers next time, my dear”, grins the Hanoverian officer, “I promise”.

“Well then”, says the beautiful bar maid as she gives him a devilish grin, “are you in for your usual today?”

“Actually, not the usual today,” says the Hanoverian. “I have two fallen soldiers to honor, and my normal libation is not appropriate for the occasion. If you would be so kind as to bring me a bottle of your very finest Chambertin Pinot Noir along with a bottle of Courvoisier and four glasses.”

Helga raises an eyebrow at such an expensive request, but knows full well that the Hanoverian General is always reliable in his payments, as well as his most generous tips. Flashing him another lovely smile, she hurries off to the cellar to locate the bottles matching the General’s request.

Ah, if I weren’t so married to my work, thinks the Hanoverian officer as he admiringly watches her depart.

Walking over to his usual table, the Hanoverian Guardsman places the two bundles on the tabletop. With the utmost respect, he unrolls each bundle individually, setting the captured standards side by side, and carefully arranging the contents within on the oak tabletop.

“My, oh my”, exclaims Helga as she returns to the Hanoverian’s side with the requested bottles and glasses, “you have been busy. Very busy indeed!”

The Hanoverian officer picks up the glasses and carefully places one beside each standard. The third glass he sets in front of the seat next to him, retaining the last glass for himself. Leaving the wine for now, he carefully uncorks the cognac, fills his own glass, takes a seat in his usual chair, and slowly savors the fine liquor as he patiently waits for the others to arrive.

<<<<SALUTE>>>>

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Ernie Sands
1ère Brigade of 2ème Division de Grosse Cavalerie, Réserve de Cavalerie
de la Grande Armée
President, Colonial Campaigns Club

The French army honors them by retiring there titles.

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Arriving late as usual, Sir Muddy rode his horse up to the front of the Tavern and dismounted. He was weary; it was a hard battle--a glorious victory for Allied Arms, yes; but one that left him with a heavy heart.

The Anglo-Allied Field Marshal entered the Tavern (his horse was stopped by the Provost Guard posted outside) and surveyed the room. It was quiet with a small crowd beginning to gather around the table usually occupied by the Hanovarian General Jones. As Muddy approached, the small group parted, and the old veteran stared at the display on the table. Helga approached with the FM's usual mug of good English Ale but Sir Muddy waved her off and offered the beverage to one of the junior officers milling about.

With a grim face, the FM nodded his head a few times and stared at the batons and swords displayed before him, as if pondering some past events. His gaze then met that of the Hanoverian and together they nodded in some sort of agreement or acknowledgement. MG Jones then poured the FM a glass of cognac and together they silently toasted the penants and captured batons that so recently belonged to two of the finest and most feared French Marechals ever to serve the Emperor of France.

Sir Muddy let out a big sigh and took a seat at the table as one of the junior officers murmured, "there is a tale to be told here".

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

“Ah, so it is a tale you desire, eh” says the Hanoverian officer. “Then while we await the arrival of others, a tale you shall have.”

The Hanoverian officer takes a sip of the fine cognac, and gets a far away look in his eyes as he remembers how the epic engagement began.

“Our engagement with the esteemed Marechals of France took place along the Wuntherende Neisse River where it flows into the Katzbach a bit north of Jauer in Silesia. The day was overcast and more than a bit dreary, but at least the men were protected from the August heat. Sir Muddy had won the morning contest to determine who would be in command of the army that particular day. Herr Blucher was a bit disappointed as his scissors were smashed by Muddy’s rock. The Prussian Field Marshall was not overly worried though, as it was thought that the French Army of the Bober was still several days’ march from our present location. As it turned out, Herr Blucher was mistaken.”

“As the sun rose that morning, and the visibility improved, we were shocked to discover that the French Army was deployed across our front from the village of Seichau west of the Wuntherende Neisse River to the village of Grossjanowitz on the east. Faced with this surprising discovery, it immediately became Sir Muddy’s responsibility to devise our army’s plan of battle. Herr Blucher was a bit miffed at this unexpected development, and more so because he was consigned to abide by the morning’s results of the rock/paper/scissors contest as decreed by our respective monarchs as being the most fair and reasonable method to determine our army’s daily leadership. I think it rather galled the old Prussian warrior that two Anglo-Allied officers were in command of a force entirely composed of only Prussian and Russian troops. Be that as it may, rules are rules.”

“My brilliant commander immediately applied his astounding military intellect to the task at hand and, drawing his tactics directly from our Anglo-Army’s Manual of Combat Operations, decided that the Army of Silesia would defend the high ground and deploy on the reverse slope. As there existed only one very small ridge in the center of our position, Sir Muddy ordered the Prussian contingent, which he would personally command, to deploy along the line through the village of Bellwitzhof and running along the ridge to the northwest. There we would patiently await the enemy’s advance. Herr Blucher was nearly apoplectic as such a passive posture of defense, preferring to boldly drive forward into the French Army and destroy it in an offensive attack. To be honest, it really did not matter what Herr Blucher thought at the time. Sir Muddy was in command for the day.”

The Hanoverian General takes another small sip of the fine liqueur before continuing.

“I was assigned the command of the Russian contingent, primarily, I suspect, because they were occupying both the left and right flanks of our armies, and to maintain a proper communication between the two wings was going to entail a great deal of hard riding back and forth during the course of the battle. As I was Sir Muddy’s junior, it fell to me to become saddle sore this day. After all, it is the duty of every junior officer to protect the backside of his venerable Field Marshall. I had nearly completed writing my orders to the Right Wing to close up on the Taubenberg Heights when everything suddenly changed.”

Somehow I knew that the nefarious Sir Muddy was involved in this.

Just knew it.... (shakes head and turns back to take another drink)

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Marechal Jeff Bardon
Duc de Castiglione et Prince de Wagram
Commandant de la Garde Imperiale

“Sir Muddy was indeed involved, Marechal Bardon”, replied the Hanoverian General. “I think you will find him present at many of the great events that are now shaping the future of Europe. I see that you have inadvertently used an improper adjective, but that is not wholly unexpected considering that French is your native language. I am sure the adjective you were seeking was ‘noble’ rather than ‘nefarious’. Whereas both do begin with the letter ‘n’, the connotations are completely different. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, things suddenly changed. That may actually be an understatement of what happened next.”

“Focused as I was on the dispatch I was writing, I had momentarily taken my eyes off the battlefield and, more importantly as it turned out, my hand off the reins of Muddy’s fine stallion. No sooner had I penned what I thought was to be the last word in my orders to Lt. General Vassilshikov on our right, than I heard Herr Blucher softly exclaim, ‘Mein Gott!’ Needless to say, that was enough to entice me to lift my eyes from the paper before me so that I might determine what exactly had caught his interest. Following the direction of the Field Marshall’s gaze, I looked towards the woods lying just to the northwest beyond the village of Bellwitzhof. The first thing I noticed was the movement of the French Army. From my position, I could clearly see columns converging from every direction toward the center of the field. It was obvious that their intentions were to concentrate their army around the bridge over the Wutherende Neisse River at Schlauphof. To my disappointment, I also spied French units marching up onto the plateau from the eastern road leading through Gossendau. There were obviously more Frenchmen on the field today than I may have hoped. This was a disappointing development, but certainly not anything that should prove insurmountable. It was the next thing I saw that nearly made my heart stop beating in my chest.”

“Out in the center of the field, riding at a full gallop towards the converging French army, was a red coated officer who appeared, at least from my vantage point, to be clinging to his reins for dear life. Now, I admit that I may not be the most intelligent officer to have ever served in the King’s fine army, although I am arguably perhaps the best looking and certainly one of the most modest, but I do have the unerring ability to be able to count to two. A quick scan of my immediate surroundings confirmed my worst fears and made my throat constrict to the point that I found some difficulty taking a normal breath. There was only one red uniform present in our headquarters area, and I happened to be the person wearing it. This was definitely not the number two that I had hoped to see.”

The Hanoverian pauses to take another sip of his cognac.

Shortly after his departure from the council of war, Sir Muddy was riding along with FM Blucher and the Prussian command staff when his horse's head suddenly rose. His stallion drank in the air, and in a blink the great warhorse bolted for the French lines. Sir Muddy knew instantly the cause of this behavior--there must be a French mare in the season somewhere across the fields. But try as he might, he could not turn the stallion. It was only the opening up of the artillery that brought the beast to his senses.

With his horse controlled, Sir Muddy studied the field. The key, he surmised, was the bridge at Schlauphof. Both the French and the Allied armies were divided by the Wutherende Neisse River, and whomever controlled the crossing would be able to support their divided wings. And the key to the bridge over the Neisse was a thin stretch of wooded terrain that ran along the river to the south and away from the bridge to the northeast. Indeed, it was this thin bit of wood running away from the river that offered an excellent anchor to the Prussian defense. The woods would provide cover to both guns and infantry and allow close range command of the bridge and its approaches. Moreover, as the woods bent away from the river, they followed a dry streambed that broke up the open fields to the east while giving cover to any troops occupying the treeline.

And so, the Prussian defensive line stretched from the Schlauphof Bridge northeast along the woods line, north of the village of Bellwitzhof, and across the open fields to to a small hilltop at Taubenberg. Sir Muddy posted a strong contingent of artillery on all the hills dominating the open fields to the east but the cornerstone of the Prussian defense was the wood line that overlooked the bridge and stretched back toward the Prussian center. To cross the bridge the French would have to take the woods and to do that meant they would have to assault it with heavy columns of infantry. The Prussians wisely placed artillery in support of the infantry in the woods. Any attack against this position would be costly, indeed.

With his lines set, Sir Muddy waited for the French to develop their plan of attack. It did not take long for it to become evident. From all points on the map it seemed, the French combined arms began to concentrate against the Prussian center and the Schauplof Bridge crossing. Soon after the opening of the French attacks it became violently evident to both Generals Jones that the Prussian center would not be strong enough to hold against the French forces. And so a plan was hatched to secretly cross a strong contingent of Russians from the left side of the Neisse River to support the Prussian center. The idea was to keep the Russian force hidden until the French had driven in the Prussian center to the point of breaking, and then when French went all in for the coup d'etat, launch the Russians in a strong counterattack against the overextended French. But I get ahead of myself... "MG Jones, another cognac, s'il vous plait."

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

“Certainly, sir”, replied the Hanoverian officer as he refilled the esteemed Field Marshall’s glass.

“As Sir Muddy was regaining control of his headstrong steed”, continued the Hanoverian, “Herr Blucher watched the British Field Marshall’s charge with unbridled awe. ‘Mein Gott’ he said in a louder voice. ‘Mein Gott’ he repeated as he drew himself up in his saddle. ‘Dat Englishman ist von of the bravest men I haff ever seen!’ he cried as he watched Sir Muddy advance alone against the converging Army of the Bober. ‘Dat Englishman hast de heart of der Lion’ he cried as he stood upright in his stirrups. ‘Dat Englishman ist a man dat ve must save!’ he screamed as tears began to well in the corners of his aged eyes. ‘Vorwarts, mein Kinder! Vorwarts!’ he extorted as he drew his sword and spurred his horse to advance. The sway he held over the Prussian soldiers was undeniable, as the entire Prussian contingent followed his lead and advanced to the salvation of their red coated comrade in arms.”

The Hanoverian paused to take another sip of his cognac. Pursing his lips, he let out a heavy sigh before continuing.

“Now I fully understand that a battle plan, no matter how masterfully it is rendered, never survives first contact with the enemy, but we had not fired the first shot before ours began to radically change. Realizing that the advancing Prussians would receive a very harsh welcome when they reached the central woods upon which the entire Army of the Bober was converging, I took the only prudent measure I could at the time. I committed my mortal soul to looking for help.”

“Taking up the orders that I was about to send to General Vassilshikov regarding his advance on the right to the Taubenberg Heights, I quickly scribbled ‘For God’s Sake, General, Make Haste!’ to the bottom of the dispatch before handing it to the nearest, Russian courier. Knowing that our full army would be needed if we were to have any chance of defeating the two legendary Marechals of France that were opposing us this day, I turned my horse westward and set off at a gallop to personally direct the forces from our left wing to converge upon our center. Sir Muddy was going to have to somehow hold the line until my brave Russians could reinforce him. Time was certainly of the essence, and I was under no illusions as to what might happen were I to arrive too late.”

Seeing Sir Muddy galloping to their front, the Prussian soldiers let loose a great cheer and eagerly bent to the task of forming a stout defense in the wood line where they could bring the bridge under fire and have the advantage of cover. Quickly, however, the French stategy became obvious as everything in blue was converging on the Allied center and Sir Muddy's Prussians.

That's when the Allied Generals formed a plan. Taking advantage of low ground behind the Prussian held tree line, Gen. Jones moved a large force of Russian cavalry and infantry into the folds in the terrain that were obscured from French view. The Allied Generals knew the French attack was coming and that they would break the Prussian center where the tree line ended and the fields began. Moreover, the Allies correctly predicted that once they had driven in the Prussian center, the French would try to cut in behind the tree line defense of the Prussians. And so, Gen. Jones' Russians waited tensely for just the right moment to spring the trap. And it worked almost to perfection. The Russian counterattack exploded from their hidden ground just as the French were about to begin their drive to the river to cut off the stout Prussians holding the woods. The timing was just right as the French were disordered and fatigued. Then, as the French rallied and sent in more troops into the maelstrom, Sir Muddy ordered in the Prussian reserves from the center.

Meanwhile, in their haste to mass their forces in the center, the French Marechals underestimated the Russian strength on their left. To prevent those troops from reinforcing the center, Gen. Jones's Russians attacked the French left with vigor and eventually overwhelmed the Emperor's finest there. Although, the French to the east of the river were making some gains against the Russians, the battle was decided in the center and over on the French left. The outcome soon became obvious and the great Marechals asked for terms.

The Allied Generals could hardly contain the troops. Huzzahs broke out across the line despite the recent horrors of combat. The French were defeated and the Marechals would have to return to the Emperor and explain the loss of their batons.

I had a field map around here that illustrates the situation but I can't seem to find it...
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Our hats are off to Marechal Palomo and Jensen. They are extremely talented and honorable officers and members of the club. It was an honor to take the field against them and our victory is only notable because our foes represent the best that Napoleon has to offer. Indeed, reflecting on more than ten years in the club, I can count only two wins against M. Palomo vs. many defeats. Thank you gentlemen for a great game.

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

An excellent tale.. I did not realize it was going to exceed "War and Peace" in length however.

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Field Marshal Sir Edward Blackburn, 1st Duke of Aberdeen K.G.
85th (Buck's Light Volunteers) Regiment of Foot
16th British Brigade
7th Division
III (Peninsular) Corps
2nd Battalion, Coldstream Regiment of Foot Guards