Napoleonic Wargame Club (NWC)

It is late evening, and the voices in the tavern are subdued, as the weight of battles fought and those yet to come seem a burden upon the minds of so many officers.
A Legere Lieutenant sits at a table, having forsaken his usual bottle of wine for a steaming pot of tea. Through the haze of pipe smoke he watches as a lithe and supple cat, a long gray haired variety, slinks along a wall, slipping effortlessly through table legs and the press of feet about them.
A smile breaks the previously somber countenance of the Lieutenant. The target of the cat has become obvious to him. Carefully pouring more hot tea for himself, he continues to observe the farce unfolding before him.
Across the way, the usual table of Germanic Brigade officers was full. They alone of all the rooms occupants appeared animated in the most lively of fashions. No doubt reminiscing of swords purloined from past foes, and seriously sizing up the enemy sabers yet to be gained. Fluttering about the men was a shrike, it's hooked bill accepting the occasional bit of seed offering from them.
Closer and closer crept the cat, keeping to the shadows. It drew low to the floor, and it's haunches began to quiver in anticipation of the pounce.
Just then a Russian Hussar, loudly drunk and upset at the apparent loss of considerable monies to a Belgian rake of a Chasseur, pushed back his chair and stood, shouting loudly about "No honor in cheating! I cannot lose!" and other such baleful wailings, added to which were the loud Meow! as the cat was leaping into the air, having been brushed by the Hussar's chair when it fell backwards, and it fairly flew towards the table of Germans.
The shrike was in it's turn flying now above the men, some of whom were covering their heads with hats or hands, others gazing in stupefaction at the cat now in their midst, scattering papers, glasses, and the like as it skidded across the table top.
One paw managed to snatch at the shrike's long tail causing a feather to float gracefully down through the air. Then, the cat was gone, vanishing back into the shadows before the Germans could think of aught else to do.
The Lieutenant chuckled to himself. From the flagon of milk he had for the tea, he poured some out in the cup saucer, and setting it on the floor carefully by his feet, he watched as the cat moved near to him.
"There, there," he said to it, as it came up sniffing and then began to lap at the milk. "One cannot always account for the actions of a Russian lost in the spirits, but," he spoke while stroking the cat's head, "Josephine, I'm sure you'll catch that bird yet." Looking over at the Germans who were returning to their conversations, as one was soothing the ruffled shrike, "Perhaps sooner than later. We shall see."

Monsieur, that was very enjoyable you should write more! Once we had a club paper under our much Loved Cheval Commander but now this is all we have, a sad state walking in a German pub full of broken down horse face Allied officers talking about their victories in 1813.

'Broken Down Horse Faced Allied Officers.....' Why, Lieutenant Peccolo, I think the good Colonel may be talking about you!

Or it could even be.............me!!

Nothing wrong with 1813 victories as opposed to others. A victory is a victory as long as the field is level. Now, if you are trying to entice me to enter upon an uneven field, well sir, I must certainly decline. There are many battles in these games that are historical, but not something you would want to play if you had any aspirations of winning.

You and I do, however, agree on one point, the young Lieutenant Schmidgall is a very fine writer indeed. A definite asset to La Grande Armee in the humble opinion of this particular German officer.

Oh, Monsieur I see in the Allied Armes a Col commands a Brig in the Grand Armee a Cap commands a Brig!

True enough, but my brigade operates in the same manner as an independent corps. I report directly to the Army Commander. There are no Divisional or Corps Commanders above me in the chain of command. Besides, I was given the command of the brigade as a Major and if I ever rise to the rank of Field Marshal, I would hope that I still command the Hanoverian Brigade. The way I look at it is, once you are in command of the finest unit in the entire army, why would you ever want to change?

Sounds more like the south has risen once more in a new game the Stonewall Brig! You can hide "but what is done in the dark will come out in the Light"

Is "Colonel Drool Cup" whining again. It seems he needs another thrashing at Jena!

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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)

Oh Monsieur Turncoat I tack on your whole Brig if you play losses not points 30% French 40% Prussi! Bring it don't spray it !

Well yes, right after our 1 Res Kav Brigade I would rate your command right up there with the best in the club, Here Presidente.

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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)

Herr General, I actually stated that the Hanoverian Brigade is the finest brigade in the Anglo-Allied Army. The 'Black Menace' may be the finest brigade in the Prussian Army. On these two points we probably agree.

Now, as to which brigade is actually the finest in the Coalition, or among all armies including La Grande Armee, is still a point under contention I admit. My Hanoverians have emerged victorious from the field against the forces assembled by France to oppose us, so we already have standing proof in that regard. As to which of our two brigades is actually the best, well that really would have to be tested in combat to determine the answer. Now, it is not my usual habit to take the field against officers who are likewise arrayed in opposition to the Corsican Tyrant. I kill Frenchmen, plain and simple. It is not out of any malice that I do so, but more out of necessity when they firmly stand between me and the bullet that I have earmarked for La Cafard de la Corsica. I fully realize that these Frenchmen are poor, misguided souls who have fallen prey to the Charismatic Demon of France, and I do have pity on them when I can, but my course remains ever true. Bonaparte must die. The fact that it will be a Hanoverian bullet that dispatches him from this Earth is just an added bonus.

Oh, but if it ever does transpire that our two brigades are fated to meet on the Drill Field, do be sure to have your officers bring thier swords. Not to worry, we always return them to our vanquished opponents once we have logged them into the Anglo-Allied Record Books as having been captured. They will eventually get them back.

Mon ami my challenge goes for your Brig also I will beat the cat meow out your whole brig at Waterloo or any other field of glory with the 30 /40 rule an not point or 12 turns games! Bring don't spray it!

No, sorry Colonel Fragg, I do not use the 30/40 rule.

Do not give 10:1 odds either!

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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)

I hope all French officers see this the 1806 game is so overwhelming in our favor the Allies are afraid to play it only when we have to score 10000 points to win so keep getting beat in 1815 and 1805 and 1813 all fools game! Without the 30/ 40 rule or realism these housekeepers and butlers and footmen well keep bragging how awesome their Brig are.

The officer of Tirailleurs stands by the largest round table in the tavern's common room, and watches as a great map is spread out upon it. He looks with satisfaction at the fine rendering of Europe, his finger tracing the boundaries of the realms marked with golden borders; the forests and mountains colored green and brown. "Ah, Farraris, an excellent edition!" he exclaims his compliment.
Farraris smiles broadly while setting down some finely wrought cases. "Here, place these upon the capital cities," he slides one of the boxes over.
The Tirailleur slides the lid open and inside he finds a collection of stone pieces, fashioned as miniature keeps. Searching the map he finds the appropriate spots and places a marker there upon: Paris, London, Berlin, Vienna, and Moscow, foremost among them.
"Good, good, now for these." Farraris exchanges cases with the Lieutenant.
In the new box, the Tirailleur sees very interesting figures carved from wood and painted.
He pulls them out and sets them upon the map, each in its turn.
A shako hat with the grim painted skull and bones; a rearing white stallion; now a large cannon, followed by a maned horse's head; and numerous soldiers, some marching with shouldered weapons, others standing and kneeling with muskets aimed.
"A fair representation," the Lieutenant is quite pleased. He pulls out a pouch heavy with coin and gives it to the map maker.
Farraris thanks him roundly, and then departs.
The Tirailleur remains gazing down at the map and figures, lost in contemplation, of battles and glories, until - a sudden leap brings the gray cat up on the table where it walks regally across the map, knocking pieces over here and there.
"Josephine," the Lieutenant picks up the cat and lets it knead at his chest, softly purring.

Moving across the floor of this pig pen of a tavern watching the Russi standing on the Tables, the Prussi in their mismatch uniforms, cleaning the Mad Kings paid Hessian’s. While ducking, the barbaric Russi Cossacks who were throwing food at one another! He spotted some French uniforms the smell of perfumes told me that it was the Guard and run clear of these high paid popping jays, he saw a new face just maybe he might be a regular soldât like himself one that might have some red on his sleeves or busted as many times as he has been. But know, it was a brown uniform of the fame Italian light Infantry. Garcon buy an Ole sweat a drink while I tell you of twenty years coming in this pig pen and of the blood and sweat that he has bled across Europe the Iles Turkey and Africa. Oui mon ami twenty years fighting these hired killers of the Republic. See that one over there with the Black uniform and the bones of on his cap will when I was a garcon like you he was wearing an Austrian white and then a French blue now a Prussi black! See that Brit over there he was wearing Russi brown when I was a garcon now look at him with his gold and red. Oh over there see that Russi he could beat you in ten turns when he wore blue! How about that drink garcon for an ole sweat that pulled cannons from end of the Empire to the other! Oui back drinking once more tired of the wars and these paid killers.