Sir Muddy walked into the Tavern in his well worn battle fatigues and sauntered to the bar. "Helga, a pint of your best English Ale, sil vous plait". Helga smiled broadly as she was always happy to see the English Field Marshal. Sir Muddy raised his glass and in a loud voice toasted his opponent in just completed Battle of Ebelsberg... "to Marechal Stephane Lelievre, one of the Emperor's finer officers, and his ability to handle his troops well. I admire that."
Downing his ale and indicating to Helga to keep the ale flowing, Sir Muddy described the battle as a most bloody affair, especially in the town proper where the French pushed into the streets early but were eventually beaten back into a small enclave by successive attacks by the Austrians. However, Marechal Lelievre was reinforced by a sizable contingent of troops that had crossed the river at a point downstream and assaulted the heights behind the town. "It was a bitter struggle for the hill, my Austrians were outnumbered by the French cavalry alone, but the troops put up a stiff resistance almost to the end. Good thing the clock ran out of the Frenchman, though, because my Austrians were much fatigued."
Suddenly remembering his horse, Sir Muddy grabbed the bucket of ale that Helga had thoughtfully drawn and went outside to quelch the demands of his fighting steed.
