Napoleonic Wargame Club (NWC)

The Prussian Oberst Peters enters the Rhine Tavern hoping to find some solace from what has proven to be a particularly rough day. He immediately notices that most of the French officers are grimacing as if in severe pain and universally do not appear to be enjoying their wine this day. The Allied officers, by contrast, seem to all be smiling.

Whack! At the abrupt sound, the French officers flinch as if struck by a sudden blow. One spills the wine he was drinking down the front of his uniform. Yet another, a Chassuer by his uniform, stands up and bustles out the door, muttering something indiscernible under his breath. Very odd behavior for these French veterans, thinks Oberst Peters. Several of the Allied officers are openly laughing at the mysterious plight of these poor Frenchmen.

Oberst Peters gives Helga a questioning look as he walks toward his favorite table. She flashes him a beautiful smile, rolls her eyes and carries a tray of empty glasses back to the bar. Nearing his table, the good Prussian officer is surprised to discover the Hanoverian Major Jones kneeling on the floor out of sight of the French officers in the tavern. In his hand he holds a French Marechal’s baton. Raising the baton above the level of the intervening tables, so that it is clearly visible to every officer in the tavern, he brings is down forcibly and, Whack!, strikes it resoundingly on the tavern floor. The Allied officers chuckle while a Frenchman faints dead away. Noticing the presence of Oberst Peters, the Hanoverian Major grins at him and says, in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “Darn Bugs!”

Oberst Peters returns the grin as he realizes that there are no bugs anywhere near the good Major. A fact which is cleverly concealed from the French officers in the tavern, but clearly discernable to the Allied officers seated nearby. Chuckling to himself, the good Oberst continues on to his favorite table only to discover, sitting squarely in the middle, a large bottle of French boot polish.

I see ... Allies can make fun of French, but....

Bugs are the only things the allied rabble can beat and just barley at that

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Only the imaginary ones though!

As major Jones stands up to the mirth of the allied officers he holds the Baton aloft laughing himself, then suddently a shot rings out across the tavern and the baton dissappears from his hand. Blown apart by a ball.

Across the Tavern his boots on a table is a French officer resting a freshly smoking hanoverian rifle on the table he has used to improve his aim.

'Don't worry major Jones I seem to have debugged your baton. I suggest you only play with such things in private. We French find such behaviour quite offensive'

With that he replaces the rifle on the table and toasts the allied mob with a glass of Margaux.

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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"

Shooting in the Tavern? I must say that such behavior is quite beyond the acceptable. Clearly the French have overstepped their bounds. Perhaps Gen. Knox would like to pay everyone's tab this evening? It would be the least that he could do to compensate for his poor behavior.

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

At the loud discharge of the weapon in the tavern, two Hanoverian Ensigns leap to their feet and prepare to avenge the certain loss of their leader.

“My God, man!” exclaims the Hanoverian Major, “you missed. How on this heavenly earth could you miss a stationary target at a range of no more than five paces? And a propped shot no less.” The Major casts a meaningful glance at Ensigns Shelby and Glazier, both of whom reluctantly, but dutifully, resheath their partially drawn swords. “Ah, you are a fine cavalryman to be sure, so I suppose it really isn’t your fault that your marksmanship skills are so decidedly lacking.”

The Major turns and recovers the pieces of the shattered baton. “Good thing these are relatively easy to come by. Ah, but what a wonderful story I can weave around this event”, he says as he turns back to GdD Knox with a broad grin. A grin, in fact, that becomes broader still as he sees many of the French officers just now emerging from the tables under which they were hiding, the beautiful sound of a Hanoverian musket simply proving too much for their fragile resolve.

To French guardsman seemed little bothered by his brusk telling off from the allied side of the tavern. Indeed he raised his glass gently and sipped a little of his fine red wine again. The smoke from the rifle wafting about his arrogant presence. With a stroke of his waxed moustache he spoke

'well we have rattled some cages indeed. Major Jones it is well and good you control your young officers otherwise they shall feel the cold steel of my blade. And yes hmmm, Field Marshall Sir Muddy well I did not even realise you were in the Tavern, you seem to not be around as much now days. Never the less Helga some Ale for the field marshal and two glasses of milk for the junior Hanoverians.

Oh and yes a bucket of ale for Muddy's horse, but please be sure my beautiful horse is only served his usual truffles.....

And finally arghemm please crush up some of those cockroaches in the kitchen and serve them to Major Jones with the Mash.

I am also pleased that boot polish is handy perhaps Oberst Peters will clean my boots. I seem to have a slight mark on them.' (just kidding Bill)

With that he turned back to his friends and leaders Marechal Bardon and Corbin who were drinking at the next table and made some inaudible comment that brought smiles to their faces.

Salute!

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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"