Napoleonic Wargame Club (NWC)

It was a long way to the ground from the back of his massive, Hanoverian stallion, but the King’s Guardsman and grown accustomed to the distance over time. Smoothly dismounting, he retrieved two finely polished swords that had been strapped to his saddle while handing the stable boy two silver pieces to ensure his steed’s excellent care. Patting the horse’s neck, the King’s Guardsman said, “Du bist heute eine guten Junge, Ted. Ich werde bald zurückkehren.“

As he neared the tavern, the King’s Guardsman was nearly overwhelmed by the stench of French perfume. As he drew nearer, he spotted a huge pool of ‘blood’ beside which a small, forlorn French Sergeant was wailing. Poor buggar, thought the Guardsman, no doubt his small pony had been overrun by the larger horses of his enemies. A true pity as horses small and docile enough for a Frenchman to manage were no doubt in short supply.

Entering the Rhine Tavern, the King’s Guardsman was surprised to see it literally packed with drunken French officers who were slapping themselves on the back and celebrating a mass distribution of French awards. The King’s Guardsman wrinkled his nose in mild displeasure at the stench of so many French dandies crowded into one place. The reek of their perfume nearly rivaled that of the French pony that has obviously been killed outside of the tavern.

Making his way to his usual table, he laid the two swords he was carrying on the table occupied by the French Colonel’s Schmidgall and Kling. Caught up in their celebration, neither officer immediately noticed the Guardsman’s actions. No need to disturb them, thought the King’s Guardsman, they will discover the return of their weapons soon enough.

Finding the comfort of his usual seat, the King’s Guardsman ordered some Cognac, propped his boots in an adjacent chair, and settled in to observe the inebriated antics of his erstwhile adversaries. Twenty entertaining minutes later, an Austrian dispatch rider entered the tavern, worked his way through the French crowd, and handed a message to the King’s Guardsman. The Anglo-Allied officer took particular note of the sender, as the dispatch was addressed from FM Blackburn to the Anglo-Allied Chief of Staff. Carefully unfolding the note, a smile began to creep across the face of the King’s Guardsman as he read, To Army Command. It is my greatest pride and joy to report a great victory for our cause today....

The King’s Guardsman began to laugh as he finished reading the message. As he looked about the room at all of the French officers celebrating the receipt of their new trophies, his laughter became louder still. Oh, if they only knew what I now know, he thought to himself as tears of humor started to obscure his vision.

A long shadow passed by, seemingly obscuring for the moment the blazing glory of the on-going French celebration of medals awarded to the gallant officers of La Grande Armee.

Through the haze of pipe smoke, the Colonel of Tirialleurs stared at the objects that had just appeared laid across the table before him.

It was his sword, returned (as always...) by the Hanoverian Brigadier who had taken a seat at his usual table across the room.

Peering through the more than usual crowd of fellow officers busily partaking in the festivities, he could see the Brigadier was surrounded by his own cast of regular comrades: der Shrike, der Falke, and die Ratte. Such bold and dashing soldiers as these were beginning to make the battle maps a dangerous place indeed for many of L'Empereur's fantassins.

The Colonel picked up his sword still within the scabbard, and carrying it in one hand while stooping to retrieve a large box that lay below the table with the other, he walked steadily across the floor towards the Hanoverian enclave. Following at his feet was the cat Josephine, who had eyes only for the cast of characters hovering about the shoulders of the Brigadier.

Stopping to stand before them and setting the box down, the Colonel addressed the Brigadier in acknowledgement of the man's recent deed. "Sir, my thanks for the return of this blade, which is the pride and symbol of my service in the cause of L'Empereur. I have always found you to be, even in the midst of the pounding you heap upon me, the most honorable of foes in battle."

The Colonel pauses before continuing, first to strap the sword in place at his side, and then, to pull out from beneath the folds of his issue jacket, a small, carefully wrapped object. "I have had this special gift for you brought the long distance from the Kingdom of Italia, in the town of Milan. I hope you will accept it and no doubt put it to useful purpose."

Carefully unwrapping it, he revealed what it was he held in his hand, holding it up to catch what rays of illumination there were from the many candle lamps lighting the common room. It was a finely wrought crystal shot glass, and it reflected the light as if it were a burning star shooting 'cross the heavens.

"And for the triumph of Sir Muddy, who was the noble leader of your victorious army of Muscovites upon the fields of Gzhatsk, I offer these...." From the box which he had set down, and which Josephine was presently circling about and sniffing at, he pulled out two great cavalry men's boots. "These I had newly made in the English town of Northhamptonshire (yes, do not tell Le Tondu I circumvented the Continental System this one - and only time - wink! I had thought perhaps because of the nickname, well, I hope he finds they fit snug and do not pinch his feet - wink!

Regards,

The British Field Marshall enters the Tavern carrying a bundle which appears to be wrapped in dark rain coat or overcoat, gray or dark blue in color. "He was leading his Young Guard trying to get around our flank, along the woody road south of Aspern". "Several of our batallions surrounded them and attacked". "Well he won't be needing these anymore". The Field Marshall unwraps the bundle and shakes out its contents on to a nearby table revealing a simple bicorne with a small tricolor cockcade and a blood spattered green French Hussars jacket trimmed in red.

_________________
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

Since l'Empereur favors a Chasseur's coat, I can only surmise that this is yet another misguided attempt by the Anglo-Allied command to spread misinformation about his condition.

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

Quite right Marechal Bardon, it is indeed a Chasseur coat, and it is bloody full of holes.

_________________
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

Nooooooo........

You evil, evil man.

So, the moral of the story is don't have the army commander leading from the front.

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

Surely, Marechal Bardon, you are not suggesting that a man who you revere as one of the greatest military Captains in history should ever be found to be 'leading' from the rear!

How exactly does one lead from the rear anyway?

Just what would it do for the Emperor's reputation to be discovered cowering in the soiled laundry wagons?

He fought until the end and refused to surrender. His mortal remains will be returned with full military honors. I am afraid some of the lads pilfered his more valuable possesions however.

_________________
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

Au contraire Brigadier, when he was a capitaine, it was appropriate to lead the men, standing with them in the front lines.

As Empereur, not so much.

You speak of soiled laundry with such conviction that I can only assume that Wellington requires members of the British guards to serve time there.

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

"My dear Colonel", said the King's Guardsman as he removed his boots from the adjacent chair and stood, "the gifts you bring today are most impressive and thankfully received. Please, have a seat", he says as he gestures to the now empty chair, "if your senior officers will not have you flogged for consorting with the enemy that is."

"I had my swordsmith give your weapon a thorough detailing before returning it to you", continued the grinning King's Guardsman, "although I am sure you understand that I could not command him to restore its edge. That, I am afraid, is something that you must necessarily be compelled to perform yourself. Until you relegate it to a more 'ornamental' role, your weapon is designed with the purpose of dispatching my comrades and allies to a higher plane of existence. As such, restoring its edge for you would have been a bit of 'bad form' as my English brothers would say."

"Ah, I think I certainly can put this to good use", says the King's Guardsman as he fills the crystal shot glass with the Jagermeister that is ever present on the Hanoverian table. "The artisans of Italy have outdone themselves, Colonel, for a more beautiful shot glass I have yet to see. A toast", says the King's Guardsman as he raises his glass high, "to every French officer who has received a medal today, for the accomplishment of La Grande Armee's command in distributing them, and" he says as he fixes the Colonel with his steady, blue gaze "to gentlemen opponents who so honorably carry themselves with the grace of kings..."

Grinning even larger, the King's Guardsman completes his toast "...or self appointed Emperors as the case may be. Cheers to you, Colonel!"

Herr Marechal, the British Guard will gladly serve wherever we are directed so long as our duties contribute to the welfare of our army. And as a matter of note, we are quite proud of The Iron Duke as he does, despite his esteemed rank as a Field Marshal, continue to ever lead our forces from the front, always placing himself at the points of greatest danger for the encouragement of his men. If your Emperor chooses to cower on the battlefields, as you would seemingly advise that he do, his actions may indeed keep him safe from harm, but will neither add to his reputation, nor engender the respect of his opponents.

Meanwhile, back in Austria…

“Tondu! Tondu!!” cried Marechal Berthier in ever increasing desperation. The Austrian units that overran his Emperor’s position were large in number, and obscured his vision of the actual events. He was certain that he saw the Emperor’s latest ‘porter’ fall in the battle, and equally as certain that his body was carried away by the Austrians as they withdrew. Searching the area of the attack, Berthier saw nothing whatsoever to indicate that his beloved Emperor had survived the engagement. Tears began to well in his eyes, as a knot of utter horror began to constrict his airway. La Grande Armee’s Chief of Staff had all but given up hope, when he detected the tiniest movement nearby. To his great relief, he saw Nappy B poke his carapace up through……a large pile of horse dung.


“What?” asked the Emperor of France as he spied the wrinkled expression on the face of his Chief of Staff.

“Sire”, Berthier exclaimed with a grimace, “you are…well, you’re…really sire, I don’t know what to say.”

“Berthier, you are a most talented staff officer”, replied Nappy B, “but as a field officer you are an utter wuss! Have you not learned anything that I have tried to teach you about superior battlefield tactics? When faced with overwhelming odds where retreat is no longer an option…”

“You should seek a favorable defensive position”, finished Berthier.

“Exactly”, said the Emperor of France.

“But sire”, exclaimed Berthier in disgust, “you buried yourself in feces!”

“Don’t be silly, Berthier”, chided the Emperor of France, “horse dung is nothing but grass and water. Besides, it was the perfect defensive position under the circumstances. It provided total concealment, and was the one place in this open terrain that was the least likely for all of those Austrian heathens to step. Given their overwhelming numbers, had I chosen any other position, I would almost certainly have been trampled and squished.”

“There are some other advantages as well”, continued Nappy B. “It is warm, comfortable, and”, he said as he stuffed a large chunk of the material into his maw, “actually quite tasty.” Holding a second piece toward his Marechal he asked, “Would you care to try some?”

“That is so very kind of you sire”, replied Berthier, “but I do feel inclined to pass.”

“Suit yourself”, said Nappy B as he took another bite. “If my refined palate has any merit, I would say that this particular pile was deposited by a mount of my Chasseurs a Cheval of the Imperial Guard. Yes, definitely so”, he said as he savored the treat. “I love our cavalry, Berthier. God help me, but I do love them so!”

“I know you do, sire”, breathed the totally exasperated Marechal.

“Mmmmm, Yummy!”

Excerpts from Chandler's Campaigns of Napoleon:

Battle of Lutzen: It was a moment calling for personal leadership - and Napoleon proved more than equal to the occasion. Riding among the wavering conscripts, the Emperor exhorted and cajoled them back into their ranks and then repeatedly led them up toward the enemy. The effect of his presence was almost magical. New confidence and resolution flooded back into his troops. "This was probably the day, of his whole career, on which Napoleon incurred the greatest personal danger on the field of battle," recorded Marmont. "He exposed himself constantly, leading the defeated men of IIIrd Corps back to the charge. From all sides rang cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" "Hardly a wounded man passed before Bonaparte without saluting him with the accustomed vivat," wrote d'Odeleben. "Even those who had lost a limb, who would in a few hours be the prey of death, rendered him this homage."

Dresden: All afternoon the battle raged as the Allies tried to storm their way into Dresden. One or two of the redoubts were silenced or passed temporarily into Allied hands, but otherwise St. Cyr's line held on all sectors. Then, shortly after 5:30 pm, Napoleon judged that the moment had come for a counterstroke. On the southern sector Mortier stormed forward at the head of two divisions of the Guard... In the center, Marechal Ney and his command of two divisions of the Old Guard were even more successful... Napoleon personally supervised these successful operations. "I know of no example in war which furnishes clearer evidence of how the numbers and morale of troops, important features as they are, may be so overmatched by the weight of one person of genius," comments von Wartenburg. (French strength est 70,000 vs 150,000 Allies).
(On the second day of the battle), the Allied commanders had experienced enough. Plans to launch a heavy attack designed to sever the French left from their center was abandoned owing to the appalling condition of the ground which would have made the forward movement of artillery practically impossible. Then a cannonball narrowly missed the Tsar Alexander, and this near escape damped what little ardor the Allied high command could still muster.

The Iron Duke was certainly brave, as was Blucher, but they were not the king's of their nations.
Napoleon it seems fair to say took more risks upon the field of battle than did any other sovereign who opposed him.

Regards,

Which is exactly why I think that Napoleon should not cower away from the battlefield in our games as it is being suggested that he should do. It is not dignified based on the historical character of the indivudual.

Mark Jones wrote: "Which is exactly why I think that Napoleon should not cower away from the battlefield in our games as it is being suggested that he should do. It is not dignified based on the historical character of the indivudual."

Now let us not get too carried away here. Certainly Napoleon was not on the firing line at every battle he fought. Nor was Wellington or Blucher I would dare to say. But, these commanders did in moments of great crisis place themselves in harm's way. The French Marechals, surely the equivalent to Wellington or Blucher in their military roles, were often found in the front leading.
Lannes received many, many wounds, as did Bessiere's I believe.

As for the fact that we are playing games, these are very much different from the reality of warfare. Different rules of engagement, different rules of activities.

How often in our games is the Iron Duke, Blucher, the Tsar, the various Kings and arch-dukes placed in harm's way, do you think or know from experience?

This is an interesting conversation we are having here in the Tavern, and I enjoy it immensely.
Hmm, perhaps your new shot glass could stand a re-fill?

Regards,