Napoleonic Wargame Club (NWC)

The green coated Jager officer reined in his horse when he arrived at his commander’s tent. As he dismounted, he suddenly realized how saddle sore he had become. Not surprising really, as he had been riding the better part of two weeks now. As good as it felt to be on the ground again, he found himself wishing that he could remount and ride away without facing his respected commander this day. He was sent to find news, and he fully knew that his beloved commander was going to be very disappointed in his results. Still, he thought as he straightened his coat, there in nothing for it, Lt. Colonel Jones must know.

The tent flap was pulled to one side to allow the cool, fall breeze into the interior. The Jager Ensign removed his cap and entered to find his commanding officer busily transcribing orders as was his custom. If one did not know better, one would think an army was run on paper more than anything else. The Hanoverian Jager officer drew himself to attention and saluted. “Ensign Reed reporting as ordered, sir.”

The commander of the Hanoverian Brigade looked up expectantly at the young officer’s announcement and, casting a brief glance at the empty doorway, returned his gaze to meet the eyes of one of his most promising, young men. Ensign Reed did not fail to notice the fact that his commander had expectantly looked behind him. He again wished that he could be virtually anywhere else than here at the moment.

Carefully setting aside his quill, Lt. Colonel Jones returned his young officer’s salute. “At ease, Ensign. I know you have been riding for some time now. Please, have a seat and tell me what news you bring me today.”

Not wanting to drag this out any longer than possible, the Jager officer replied, “Sir, I welcome your kind invitation, but if it is all the same to you, I prefer to remain standing.”

The Lt. Colonel removes his reading glasses and leans back away from his writing table. “Then by that response I assume the news you bear today is not good.”

Fighting a small catch in his voice, the Jager officer replied, “No, sir. My men and I have thoroughly scoured the area in which our patrol disappeared. Although we recovered the bodies of several of his soldiers, we were not able to find Lieutenant Clawson, sir.”

The Hanoverian commander was silent for a moment. “You are a fine officer Ensign Reed, one of my very best, and I know that you are most diligent in the performance of your duties, but I must ask you yet again, are you absolutely certain of your findings?”

Dropping his gaze to the floor, the young Jager replies, “Yes, sir. Our search was most thorough. If Lieutenant Clawson was alive", his voice trailing off, "we would have found him.”

“Thank you, Ensign” replied his commander, “that will be all.”

“Sir, I am so sorry……”

“Yes, yes, Ensign. I know. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir” says the Jager officer as he smartly salutes yet again before turning and leaving the tent.

Lt. Colonel Jones stares at the papers on his desk for a long moment before gripping the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. God, I hate this job sometimes, he thinks to himself. Regaining his composure, he carefully replaces his reading glasses, reaches into the right hand drawer of his table and removes a small book. Opening it to the first blank entry, he picks up his quill, dips it in the ink well and carefully writes,

Lieutenant Scott “The Rat” Clawson, Commanding Officer, Field Battalion Verden, Hanoverian Brigade, Anglo-Allied Army
2nd September 1811, Missing in Action after a Routine Patrol, Presumed Dead.

I, for one, am certainly going to miss you here in the NWC, Scott.

Best of luck, my friend.

Goodbye to a very promising officer.

_________________
Generalfeldmarschall Scott Kronprinz "Vorwärts" Ludwig von Preußen
Kommandeur des Königlich-Preußischen Armee-Korps
Chief of Staff (CoS) of the Allied Coalition
Allied Coalition Webmaster & Club Website Support

It was a dark, moonless night in the woods as the Guards Officer studied his map by the light of a carefully shielded lantern. Around him, nearly invisible in the darkness, a company of the Hanoverian Field Jagers kept a vigilant watch, ready to quickly and silently end the life of any threats that strayed too close to their Commander. Turning to his left while pointing at a specific location on the map, the Hanoverian Colonel asks his French companion, “You are absolutely certain that this is where he is being held?”

“Oui, Monsieur Colonel”, replies the French soldier, “I saw him there not more than an hour ago.”

“And he is in good health”, asks the Hanoverian.

“Oui, Colonel, tres bon”, replies the Frenchman.

The Colonel studies the face of the French soldier, carefully looking for any indication of insincerity in his demeanor. Finally satisfied, he says “Very well then”, as he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small, silver mirror. The Frenchman’s eyes grow wide at the sight and the palms of his hands begin to sweat in anticipation of holding this most treasured possession. “This is the first installment”, says the Hanoverian Colonel, “you will receive the remainder of your payment when our mission has been successfully completed.”

The Frenchman beams as the Hanoverian hands him the mirror. “Have no fear, Monsieur Colonel, I am a man of my word. You shall find what you are seeking in the location that I have shown you.”

As the Frenchman turns to leave, the Hanoverian adds, “In addition to the second mirror, I will include a small vial of lip gloss in your payment if he is well as you say.”

The Frenchman’s heart literally skips a beat at this latest development. Lip gloss! How truly wonderful indeed!! “Thank you, Monsieur Colonel. Perhaps you Hanoverians are not really as bad as we have been led to believe.” And with that, the Frenchman walks away and is immediately enveloped by the darkness.

“Lieutenant Peccolo”, says the Colonel to his Jager Commander, “this is what we are going to do”. The two officers converse for a few minutes while pouring over their map before gathering their men and quietly disappearing into the darkness themselves.

"Hold on one minute, sir." The Lieutenant of Tirailleurs smiles as Helga brings to his table the bowl of popcorn and mug of cold cider he had ordered. As he settled himself in nice and comfy, Josephine jumps up into his lap, very interested in the smell of salt, and butter, and popped corn.
"There, now we are ready for this next installment of the Hanoverian Marvels.

Yes, Scott was helping out in the Musket club and suddenly decided to drop out. Very sorry to see him leave. He was a good guy and was starting to help pick up the slack. We also sparred in a Field of Glory game too.

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Generalfeldmarschall Wilhelm Prinz Peters von Dennewitz

3. Husaren-Regiment, Reserve-Kavallerie, Preußischen Armee-Korps

Honarary CO of Garde-Ulanen Regiment, Garde-Grenadier Kavallerie

NWC Founding Member

For Club Games: I prefer the Single Phase mode of play. I prefer to play with the following options OFF:

MDF, VP4LC, NRO, MTD, CMR, PR, MIM, NDM, OMR (ver 4.07)

Another story from the the Hanoverian Colonel! I need a fire, comfy chair and a glass of wine because I think this is going to be a good one. And I am sure I will like the ending.

Mark,

Enjoy the story. Enjoy the role play, however since we live real lives could you please refrain from "presumed dead" phrases, unless you know the real person has passed. Thanks.

Presume he's PW or headed to the New World, thanks.

Mark - I never saw that in the article.

Mr. VD himself apparently getting a dose of his own medicine. (its a comment about Al using VD to signify Valentine's Day which in fact IS in poor taste)

Article reads fine to me, Al. But glad you are finally reading your Bible. Hmm, refrain from ALL appearance of evil? Maybe a good verse for you to follow. VD will never be used again I think if you follow that one. (the Al Amos wink too)

_________________


Generalfeldmarschall Wilhelm Prinz Peters von Dennewitz

3. Husaren-Regiment, Reserve-Kavallerie, Preußischen Armee-Korps

Honarary CO of Garde-Ulanen Regiment, Garde-Grenadier Kavallerie

NWC Founding Member

For Club Games: I prefer the Single Phase mode of play. I prefer to play with the following options OFF:

MDF, VP4LC, NRO, MTD, CMR, PR, MIM, NDM, OMR (ver 4.07)

Sergeant Major Gunther Schmidt was a very brave man. He also happened to be a very large man. Even while crouching in the underbrush beside the road, his 6’-4” frame dwarfed those of his more normal sized companions. Gunther Schmidt had been in the army a long time. He had served beside his brigade commander when they both had marched into Russia as soldiers in the service of Westphalia. Colonel Jones’ younger brother had crossed the Niemen with them, but only two of the three ever managed to cross back out. Gunther had held his current rank twice before in his career, always seeming to somehow manage to be busted back to private, once for striking a fellow soldier who had raped a young, Russian girl. Beaten half to death might actually be closer to the truth. The man had it coming. The lesson he imparted was well worth the loss of rank which followed. It was the then Sous Lieutenant Jones that intervened on his behalf and convinced the higher command that he was salvageable and yet valuable to the Emperor’s aspirations for world conquest. His commanding officer no doubt saved him from being shot that day. He owed his life to his beloved commander. In truth, they had each saved the other very many times. The memory of the Cossacks, the perpetual hunger, and the penetrating cold that burned its way into your soul were still vivid to him. Sergeant Major Gunther Schmidt was a very brave man indeed. He was also a Hanoverian Jager.

The Sergeant Major listened intently to the hushed conversation taking place nearby. He smiled to himself as his current commander, Lieutenant Peccolo, bordered very closely on insubordination as he emphatically argued to be the first to go. Colonel Jones was having none of it, and had all but given the young Lieutenant a direct order to remain with his men while the Colonel made the initial advance alone. Gunther Schmidt quietly chuckled to himself. The outspoken Lieutenant reminded the Sergeant Major of another young Lieutenant that he once knew; one by the name of Jones. The good Colonel was getting a healthy dose of his own medicine. Knowing the Colonel as he did, Gunther Schmidt knew how the argument would end. Well, I have been busted before for lesser acts, he thought to himself. He loved his Colonel, and Der Wurger had already gained a good measure of his respect as well. Gunther Schmidt did what had to be done. He stood up from his hiding place, stepped onto the road, and confidently started walking towards the fortified gates of the French castle.

Despite the darkness of the night, the veteran Hanoverian Commander immediately noticed the movement of the Sergeant Major on the road, the sheer size of the traveler telling him everything he needed to know. “Verdammt, Schmidt”, exclaimed the Colonel under his breath.

The Sergeant Major had only taken six long strides before he was overtaken by his Commanding Officer, but six long strides were just enough. The enormous gate of the castle loomed ahead in the darkness, near enough now that their movement along the road had certainly been detected by any vigilant, French sentries. There was nothing to do now but press forward together in a casual manner that would impart to their enemies a sense of confidence. A purposeful advance as if these two travelers belonged in these surroundings. Surely they must be friends, as no enemy would ever be so bold, or so foolish.



Like his fellow soldiers, Gunther Schmidt dwarfed his brigade commander. Although not short by the standards of the times, the Colonel’s 5’-9’ frame was diminutive by comparison. “Sehr gut of you to join me, Herr Colonel”, said the Sergeant Major in a low voice as he scanned the gate works that were rapidly approaching.

“Hmmph”, huffed Colonel Jones, “you did not leave me much choice. Besides, I must admit that I do feel safer walking beside you than anyone else.”

“I suppose you do”, replied the Sergeant Major, “you have learned after all these years that I will take care of you.”

“There is that”, said the Hanoverian Colonel, “but you also provide a bigger target which is easier to hit, and we all know the French always take the easiest path. They will shoot you first.”

The Sergeant Major stifles a chuckle before realizing that there may actually be some truth in his old friend’s words. His eyes narrowed into slits as he scanned the works ahead. If the guards were watching, they were very well concealed. The two Hanoverians were near enough now to be challenged, yet he had not spotted any movement at all. He could sense the wary tension in his Colonel as well. Something should happen any moment, and it would no doubt be sudden when it did.

Nothing happened.

The pair of Hanoverian soldiers walked right up to the open gate and crossed the threshold into the castle beyond. They paused at the entrance to the courtyard, looking around for any sign of the French guards that must certainly be on duty. Puzzled at the absence of enemy soldiers, the Colonel glanced behind him to see the ghostly shapes of the Hanoverian Field Jagers emerging from the darkness, led by Der Wurger. Quickly these elite soldiers fanned out in the courtyard, leaving a small detachment to secure the gatehouse to cover their rapid withdrawal if needed.

Ahead of them lay the Great Hall, its windows brightly lit. Having cleared the gate, the Hanoverian Jagers advanced on the building in leaps and bounds, some always moving while others crouched to give cover fire as necessary. As they neared the structure, the sound of music emanated from the stone walls along with what sounded like laughter, but there was a much harsher sound that demanded their more immediate attention. A sound that was generated outside of the Great Hall, nearer to the door and twice as loud as the music and laughter from within. It was the sound of…..snoring!

Seated on a chair beside the door to the Great Hall was the first French soldier that they had encountered in their assault. Very quietly, a Jager private crept near to the guard and gently removed the rifle that was propped against the nearby wall. Two wine bottles lay at the guard's feet. It was obvious that the soldier was intoxicated and would not soon awaken in any event. Before he dosed off, however, the French guardsman had retained the presence of mind to place his hair in tightly rolled curlers and snuggle up next to the Teddy Bear that seemed to be standard issue for all soldiers in La Grande Armee. Better that than the dolls many were known to carry in their knapsacks! With no need to kill the sleeping man, the Hanoverians issued silently past, pressed open the doors of the building and entered the Great Hall. What they saw next made them stop dead in their tracks.

"Dead in their tracks indeed!" exclaims the Tirailleur. "Helga more popcorn! Please, and that cider too!" He scratches Josephine about the ears as the cat licks at the salt in the otherwise empty bowl. "I had hoped it was a cunningly laid trap into which the Hanoverian Jagers had stumbled, but it seems more like your typical party at a French bastion, ach well."

As Colonel Jones moved forward his foot bumped one of the wine bottles, it rolled gently over and began tumbling down the pathway with a light canter. Colonel Jones caught the label out of the corner of his eye 'Chateau de Margaux'. Suddenly the hairs stood up on the back of his neck as the light canter of the rolling wine bottle gave way to the sound of numerous hooves on the cobblestones. Looking up he could make out a short man with a bicorn and a grey coat quickly riding by. To his fore were a small band of twenty odd horsemen all mounted on magnficent black chargers. At their front he recognised one of them. The officer was dismounted and holding something in his hand that sparkled like one of those Chinese fireworks he recalled from his childhood.

Then he realised the officers bright uniform had revealed him in the low light but now he could also discern the shadow of a large 12pdr pointed directly at him and his comrade. The French officer lent gently over with the 'sparkler' in his hand. Threatening to unleash the mighty piece.

'My dear Colonel Jones I know you and your scaly wag friend are after the daughters of France but I would expect you did not intend to meet one of the Emperor's most beautiful ones in such a manner, I generally prefer a sword but I am under orders'

He then looked up to the dowdy Hanoverian with a grin.....

_________________
Marechal Knox

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

"What is history but a fable agreed upon"

<<He then looked up to the dowdy Hanoverian with a grin.....>>

Private Horst Bucholtz had grown up in the woods. His father had been a Forstmeister and he had learned early how to move quietly, unseen by the wary, and how to shoot straight and ease the suffering of any animal. He had seen the appearance of the French and took careful aim at the sparker as his Lieutenant said quietly, "Do it" even has he could hear the mumbled words of the Frenchmen spoke at his beloved Colonel.

The grin on the Frenchmans face dissappeared as the sparker flew from his hand as the report of the rifle echoed off the walls.

"Horrido!" yelled the Lieutenant as his men fired a volley at the horsemen, drew their short swords and charged the stunned Frenchmen. A horse screamed, an unnerving sound on the field of battle but even moreso in the confines of the castles walls, as a bullet tore through its body. The horse reared, dumping its rider and it then started bucking and screaming around the courtyard, scattering all. The Frenchman, who had but a moment before held a sparker, after having counted his fingers and seen that a rather large ring had saved them, saw the pandamonium and the grinning Hanoverian Colonel and very large companion. The phrase, "Feet do you thing" immediately came to his mind. He saw a riderless black charger and immediately ran to it and lept upon its back.
"Jones! Your persistance and luck will one day fail you!" he cried before he raced away with his men following, mewing "Don't leave us!"

"Well, that was a near run thing", remarked the Colonel. He called over to the Lieutenant who was directing soldiers about dealing with the few French prisoners. "Sir", said the Lieutenant, "the cannon was not even loaded. Very bold for the Frenchman to pull such a stunt."

_________________

Having seen the somewhat ungentlemanly aggression of the junior officer General Knox removed the false arm he was using to hold the sparkler.
With his unharmed arm he then signaled out the back gate to someone and then rode off with he rest of the Emperors escort.

Soon Colonel Jones and his men were laughing and drinking the spoils of their assault. Lt Peccolo was recounting his magnificent shot to all and sundry to much joy and laughter.

Colonel Jones inspected the mighty 12pdr they had captured and found it was loaded in fact with blue paint. Rather strange he thought.
As he mused as to the reason he made out a feint sound above the laughter of his assorted merry and gay men.

At first he was unsure what it was and then as it grew closer he realised it was the perfect in time marching of many feet.

Soon the clank of arms became audible and from the back gate appeared an entire battalion of huge men in bearskins then as he turned stunned to signal his force to retire via the front gate and make good their escape another force of huge men with grey moustaches appeared at the front gate.

His whole force surrounded by what appeared to be the 1st and 2nd battalions of the 1st Grenadiers of Napoleon’s Old guard. These men had cold looks on their face and their blood was stirred. Lt Pecolo raised his rifle and Colonel Jones drew his sword.

Then General Knox rode in holding his fake arm. He tossed it on the pavement and looked with a frown at the aggressively minded Hanoverians and said.

‘Now sir you can see I am unarmed why are you firing at me? We would normally put all of you to the sword using these fine fellows’ – he gestured to the pirates of the land their gold earrings shining in the night and the tattoos showing from under their beautiful uniforms.

But we are not here for a fight. I just left my case of Margaux behind and it is the 1789 which was a very good year.
With that one of the Old Guardsman lifted the case, here to unnoticed from the steps and the French forces retired from the gate.

As the Commander of Napoleons escort retired last he turned with a wry smile and offered a final word

‘Oh yes the paint. Well Colonel Jones I do prefer you in a blue uniform.
With that he was gone and the Old Guards with him as this intimidating force disappeared into the night.’

_________________
Marechal Knox

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

"What is history but a fable agreed upon"

Brilliant work one and all!
Helga! Drinks for all concerned, on the Tirailleurs' tab, this night long!
Cheers to most excellent tellings...