Napoleonic Wargame Club (NWC)

The windows and door of the Rhine Tavern were open, allowing the cool, fall air to circulate freely and providing a much needed respite from the heat of the preceding summer. Officers from all of the armies were present, lounging about and enjoying their drinks in the company of like minded men, temporarily free from the martial duties that followed them all. Few of them noticed the British Guardsman as he entered the tavern, most giving him only the briefest of glances to ensure that his intentions were peaceful and his sword was appropriately sheathed. Some of the French officers could not help but notice that his uniform was immaculate, neatly pressed and clean, with vibrant colors that spoke more to its newness than to any measure of care its occupant could have provided. The horse hairs trailing from his helmet identified him as member of the Dragoon Guards. Although a bit smaller in stature than the towering men of the Life Guards, the British cavalryman carried himself with confidence as he made his way across the tavern and calmly took a seat at a table occupied by a group of three Hanoverian officers.

The Hanoverians were surprised by the boldness of this British officer, for not only had he joined them without any polite introduction, he had also seated himself squarely in the chair that was normally occupied by their commanding officer, Lt. Colonel Jones, who they were expecting to arrive at any moment. Knowing that something must be said, Ensign Reed started to inform the Guardsman of his unintentional error, but stopped short as the Britain removed his helmet and his eyes met the familiar blue gaze of his Hanoverian commander.

Ensign Reed was stunned into a momentary silence. When he finally found his voice he said, “Sir, it’s you!”

“Well, of course it is”, replied the Hanoverian Lt. Colonel, “Who did you expect it to be, King George?”

“No, sir. Of course not, sir. It’s just that…”, stammered the Ensign, “You are wearing a British uniform and a cavalry one at that!” The disappointment at the sudden thought that his former Jager commander might have turned to the dark side of equestrian warfare was evident on the young officer’s face. After all, this was the very man who had trained him how to avoid the deadly tips of the enemy lances by remaining calm and composed, shooting the enemy horsemen from their saddles with well aimed fire long before they could close the distance necessary to employ their outdated, medieval weapons. Lt. Colonel Jones had always espoused the superiority of rifled arms over the archaic swords that had been used for centuries on end, and now it appeared that he had suffered a regression of thought, reverting back to a method of warfare that was to be inevitably eclipsed by evolving technology. The young Ensign’s head reeled with the implications.

Seeing the young man’s discomfort, the Hanoverian Commander said, “Oh, cheer up Ensign Reed. I only serve in the Guards on the weekends. Generaal Bijl thought it would fitting, since I have spent my entire career honing my skills at surviving the field with enemy cavalry, that I would be an ideal officer to assume the command of 2nd Squadron of the King’s Dragoon Guards. After all, a man who knows how to defeat his enemy’s cavalry also knows how to foil the actions of those trying to defeat his own. At least that was the logic. It may not matter in any case.”

“And why is that, sir?” asks Lieutenant Phillips.

“Because I am not really a very skilled cavalry officer”, replies the Hanoverian Colonel, “or at least that is what I have been told.”

Catching the eye of the beautiful barmaid, Helga, the Lt. Colonel holds up two fingers and tips his hand as if he is taking a rapid drink. His gesture is rewarded with a lovely smile as he winks at the young woman before continuing his story.

“You see, Lieutenant, today was my first day of maneuvers in my new Guard command. As such, Generaal Bijl was in attendance to see that things started off well.”

The Colonel looks up as Helga places two shots of Jagermeister on the table in front of him. Per his usual custom, he generously tips her with some of the captured French coin that he always carries. Wrapping his fingers around the first shot glass, he glances back up at the Lieutenant and says, “It didn’t!” Placing the glass to his lips, he downs the amber liquid in one gulp and is momentarily rendered speechless as he waits for the intense burning sensation to subside.

“What do you mean ‘it didn’t’, sir?” asks Ensign Glazier. “Did you fall off your horse or something?”

Squinting through the pain at the grins on the faces of his young officers, the Colonel replies, “No, I did not fall off my horse….” he pauses as he eyes the second shot glass….”I shot Brigadier Goodwin off of his.”

Ensign Reed chokes on his ale, Ensign Glazier’s grin disappears as his eyes grow wide in disbelief and Lt. Phillips exclaims, “You did what!” as he suddenly rises to his feet.

“That would actually be ‘you did what, sir’” chides the veteran commander.

Several of the officers at nearby tables have grown quiet, realizing that this Hanoverian conversation has suddenly taken a more interesting turn.

Slightly embarrassed, the Hanoverian Lieutenant sits back down and says, “Sorry, sir, but the revelation that you just killed a British Brigadier caught me by a bit of a surprise.”

“Who said anything about killing him?” replied the Colonel. “I just said I shot him. I did not actually have a ball loaded into my rifle at the time. After all, we were on maneuvers. Apparently the good Brigadier had expected Generaal Bijl to be present, for he seemingly wanted to make a favorable impression. He arrived bedecked in his best dress uniform, complete with all of his medals. He was a magnificent example of martial splendor, I must admit. His demeanor was no doubt very inspiring to his men.”

“So you shot him”, said Lt. Phillips, “because he upstaged you at the outset…….sir.”

“I shot him in self defense”, replied the Lt. Colonel. “It all started quite innocently enough. Brigadier Goodwin suggested to Generaal Bijl that we begin by performing a mock charge at each other, for the benefit of the men of course. I really had the suspicion that he intended to embarrass me by contrasting his expert horsemanship against my more rudimentary talent. In any case, and much to my dismay, Generaal Bijl thought it was an excellent idea, so I really had no choice but to go along with it. As Brigadier Goodwin and I trotted in opposite directions, I kept repeating the treatise of the Cavalry Battle Manual in my mind. At 100 paces, we turned our horses. That is when the Brigadier drew his sword and charged. Having recently been reading the tactical manual, I responded in textbook fashion. A dragoon is, of all arms of the cavalry, supposed to fight dismounted, or so I thought at the time. To this end, I immediately turned my horse perpendicular to his charge, dismounted on the opposite side, drew my rifle, leveled it across the saddle…………"

“And promptly shot his head off”, said Ensign Reed who had now recovered from his bought of choking.

“No, actually, I shot him in the chest, left side, just above the heart”, said the Lt. Colonel.

“Well, at least you did not have a ball loaded, sir”, said Ensign Glazier.

“True enough, Ensign. The only thing I hit the Brigadier with was the wadding”, replied the Lt. Colonel.

“Well, sir, no damage done then. Never has a soldier been harmed by rifle wadding”, says Lt. Phillips as he visibly relaxes.

“One would think”, says the Lt. Colonel as he picks up his glass and downs the second shot of Jagermeister. Taking a moment to recover, he continues, “you see Lieutenant, the problem really lies in the horse.”

“The horse, sir?” asks Lt. Phillips.

“Yes, the horse, or in this particular case,” says the Lt. Colonel, “in the extremely fine quality and speed of a horse belonging to the Commanding Brigadier of the 1st Squadron of the King’s Guard Dragoons. Not only is Brigadier Goodwin’s horse powerful, it is also exceeding fast for its size. Whereas I normally would have fired at a distance of thirty paces, the good Brigadier had closed to ten paces before my rifle discharged. He was so close in fact”……the Lt. Colonel catches Helga’s gaze once again, calling for two more shots…….”that the wadding was actually still on fire when it struck the poor Brigadier in the chest, directly on his Military General Service Medal as a matter of fact.”

The hairs on the back of Lt. Phillips neck begin to involuntarily rise as his instincts try to warn him of the unseen danger lying just ahead.

“The nearest thing I can figure is that the ribbon must be made of silk laced with gunpowder”, exclaims the Lt. Colonel, “because that dang medal went up like a Roman candle!”

Lt. Phillips stares at his commanding officer as Helga arrives and places the two subsequent rounds of Jagermeister on the Hanoverian’s table. Still locked in his stare, he reaches out, grasps the nearest glass and downs one of the shots.

The Hanoverian commander frowns as he witnesses this action. He is not so much displeased at the unrelenting eye contact with his junior officer, but more so by the fact that half of his second round of the fire breathing libation of which he is so fond has just been consumed by another.

Regaining his ability to speak, Lt. Phillips says, “You immolated a British Brigadier General of the King’s Dragoon Guards?”

“Immolated is such a strong word”, replies the Lt. Colonel. “I am not sure that is the one I would have chosen to describe the event.”

“OK, well how about burned?” continues the young Lieutenant.

“No”, replies the commander.

“Toasted, cooked, baked, incinerated, roasted, enkindled, scorched, scalded, charbroiled”, says the young Lieutenant.

“No, no and no. None of those are really accurate”, replies the Lt. Colonel.

“Well then, how would you describe it, sir?” asks the Lieutenant.

“Personally”, says the Hanoverian Commander as he slides the remaining shot of Jagermeister closer to his person, and well out of reach of Lt. Phillips, “I prefer the term singed.”

Another brief moment of silence ensues before the Lieutenant asks, “Well, sir, did you at least put him out?”

“Actually, no”, replies the Hanoverian Commander.

Lt. Phillips groans, “Oh, and why not, sir, after all you were the one who set him on fire in the first place.”

“I couldn’t find him on account of all of the smoke,” replies the Lt. Colonel. “Besides, it wasn’t really an issue anyway. Brigadier Goodwin is a well trained soldier. He knew that the proper response when one’s uniform is on fire is to stop, drop and roll. Apparently, he did just that. It was then that his loyal horse saved his very life.”

The Lt. Colonel tips up the last shot of Jagermeister as Ensign Glazer asks,” What did his horse do, sir?”

As usual, it takes the Lt. Colonel a moment to recover from the hellish fire of his drink before he responds, “His horse urinated on him.”

A long moment of stunned silence ensues before Ensign Reed timidly asks, “Do you think it would be fitting for us to wear our dress uniforms to witness your execution, sir?”

“That would probably be best”, replies his doomed Commander, “I am certainly planning on wearing mine.”

“I just don’t like it, Generaal”, said the Brigadier to his commanding officer as they overlooked the drill field on which the 2nd Squadron of the King’s Dragoon Guards were maneuvering. At the head of the unit was a Hanoverian Colonel mounted on a fine, Hanoverian stallion. The rider, although clad in a British red coat and sporting the many fine accoutrements of his rank and station, was easily dwarfed by the magnificent, chestnut coated animal. Standing 17-2, this was easily the largest stallion of the Hanoverian breed that the Brigadier had ever seen. Powerfully muscled and exquisitely trained, the fine equine had a large chest housing its spacious lungs that would give it such excellent endurance in a protracted charge and skirmish.

“And what exactly is it that you don’t like”, asked the Generaal as he too admired the magnificent animal.

“Well, sir…..it’s just that,” stammered the Brigadier. “It’s just that……..his is bigger than mine, sir!”

“Of course his is bigger than yours, Brigadier”, replied the General. “He is a King’s Guardsman.”

I used to think you should be a writer and now I know it!

Thanks for the story and the chuckle.