Napoleonic Wargame Club (NWC)

The Tirailleur officer was sitting and enjoying a quiet repast with the Scottish scribe, who between bites and drinks was reading aloud to the officer from his journal writings, the impressions and accounts from many hours spent observing the comings and goings within the Rhine Tavern. Stories of the Black Menace sweeping over the land; a White Stallion leading a merry band of sharp taloned, shrieking birds, and a shrewd ratte. A strutting peacock who was the delight of some, and the envy of many.
The officer glanced at a nearby table where was spread out a great map of Europa, upon which sat figurines of many of these characters, like chess pieces on a battle board. Something was amiss, catching the keen eye of the officer right away. He stood up and walked over to the table. HIs hand reached out to set aright one piece that was fallen over. It was a figurine just arrived all the way from the craftsman in Milan, that of a feline carved from gray marble, with rubie eyes. The piece was chipped. "Oh," the Tirailleur sighed, dismay in his voice.
Just then his attention was caught by Helga, the barmaid walking briskly towards him, her face, normally so bright and cheery was cast down in mournful shadow.
"Sir, come with me right away," she insisted upon reaching his side.
"What is the matter, dear?" the Tirailleur asked as she led him away from his table and towards the doorway.
"Well sir, you see it's this... Awhile ago when you officers were talking about why the British wear red coats I saw Josephine go outside, and then there was a ruckus, barking and loud screeching."
Now the Tirailleur was concerned, and he strode quickly through the door, Helga and the scribe trailing after him.
The three stood outside, looking up and down the rutted lanes, and seeing nothing, made for the tree line that bordered the neighboring fields.
As his steps take him over the ditch and into the woods, the Tirailleur struggles against the heavy foreboding he feels growing in his heart. In his mind, one thought hammered away, I wish, I wish.

Its just Napoleon hiding up a tree! Blucher has that effect!

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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)

Let us not forget who lost the battle of Ligny!

The Tirailleur and his friends spread out, each searching beneath the trees and in the fields for a sign of the missing Josephine. The Chef de Battalion whistled loud and clear, Helga was calling out the cat's name, even as she hiked up her long skirt to keep it from muddy ruination. "Over 'ere, sir!" shouted the scribe in his thick brogue accent. The dread rose as bile in the officer's throat as he hurried to where the man stood. Helga reached the point at the same time. Something lay there, still and unmoving in the tall grass.
"Oh, what is it, what has happened?" Helga asked faintly, her hands grasping hold of both men.
Looking down, the Tirailleur could see there was a bloody mess upon the ground, an obviously half eaten carcass. But it was not Josephine! It was not a cat at all! It was another animal, a fox they could tell by the head, which was all that clearly remained. Helga seemed to have tears of relief in her eyes. For the moment, the Tirailleur felt the heavy weight within his chest lighten.
"Ow's this then?" the scribe was saying. "Look-ee, the poor thing was rabid by the telling sign of foam frothed mouth."
Rabid, the Tirailleur thought. Could the dog in question possibly have eaten from this terrible feast? The officer hoped that was not the case, wishing no harm at all upon any creature.
"Quiet!" Helga exclaimed excitedly.
The three paused, listened, then all heard the sound at once and the same time, a pitiful meowing beseeching comfort and aid. Looking up, they finally saw - there she was in a tree not but scant paces away, Josephine, looking worn and afraid. The Tirailleur quickly strode to stand beneath the tree and raising up his arms outstretched, called to his furred friend, who most assuredly came down into waiting hands, and began purring and brushing her head against his own face.
The Tirailleur fought back his own rising tide of emotions, and began to walk, most gratefully back to the tavern. Helga was wiping her own tears of relief from her face, and cooing to the cat as they walked side by side.
The Scotsman stood but a moment longer by the carcass of the fox, seeking for signs of tracks in the ground. There, just off a distance from the beaten down grass where the body lay, were clear prints of a dog, that must have come sniffing along, but seemingly remaining safe distance away.
Lucky dog that, then, the scribe thought to himself before turning away to rejoin the others in returning to their table in the tavern.
As he approached the doorway the scribe had another thought, There was an officer here who needs be keeping a closer watch upon his dog.

Back in the Tavern, Helga was busy with the boisterous crowd on hand this evening. So many officers present from many different armies. Such an atmosphere could be a double edged sword: drinking to make the men happy and forget if for awhile the horrors of the endless warfare; but too much liquors could arouse tempers and passions as well. Helga was very experienced in dealing with these men, in such conditions.
The Tirailleurs et Dragons! sat at a table crowded with officers of Hanover and Prussia, all talking, some loudly, some softly. Some of these men had fought one another recently, and some were even presently engaged in epic mortal combat. But here and now, the environment was one of camaraderie.
In a near corner, the scribe had sat back down, a glass of whiskey before him, and his journal. The quill pen he used fairly flying over the pages.

Well done, Scott!

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Taking a moment from her numerous duties, Helga warmed a saucer of milk and placed in on the floor near the French Tirailluer’s feet. Josephine perked up at the sight of the milk and leapt down onto the floor to partake of the barmaid’s kind offer. Helga stroked the cat’s head, scratching behind her ears and under her chin, evoking a loud round of contented purring. “Good kitty. We are so glad that you are safe”, said Helga. “Now enjoy your milk while I get back to my own work.”

Josephine pressed her head into Helga’s palm, thanking her for the fine treat, before walking over to the bowl and lapping the tasty liquid until it had all been consumed. Satisfied and content, Josephine decided that a comfortable nap was now in order. The cat nimbly leapt into the seat of an empty chair next to the scribe who was too busy taking notes to notice the arrival of his newest companion. Josephine contentedly curled herself into a comfortable ball, tucking her tail under her chin and settled down for a restful nap to unwind from the stressful events of a most trying day.

Closing her eyes, she had just started to drift off to sleep when she thought she sensed a nearby presence, much closer than the preoccupied scribe in the adjacent chair. Realizing that she was more tired than curious at the moment, she decided not to allow her overactive nerves to get the better of her. After all, she was completely safe here in the Tavern, all of those mean and vicious canines being barred from the premises and safely locked outside. Poor Josephine could not have been more wrong.

What she had sensed as a vague presence suddenly became much more real when she felt something touch her lower back just above her tail. What was more alarming than the contact was the snuffling sound that accompanied it. Opening her eyes, she turned her head to see the muzzle of one of the largest dogs she had ever encountered, and he was mere inches away! Alarmed beyond panic, she suddenly jumped up from her curled position, promptly banging her head on the table above. The poor cat was only stunned for the briefest of moments, but that was all the time that was needed. Before she could rearrange her claws for defense, she was forcibly struck in the face.

With lightning fast speed, the large dog’s tongue extended to its full length, leaving poor Josephine wet from her shoulder to the base of her ear.

“Ach, kommst du Prinz!” said the Commander of the Hanoverian Brigade to his canine companion. With one final grin at the disoriented feline, the German Shepherd turned and trotted back to lie down at the side of his human master. “Don’t mind Prince” said the Hanoverian Brigadier to the fine, French Tirailluer officer. “He really does like cats.”

Mmmmm Good cat can be hard to come bye at times ! especially plump well feed ones.Damn near as good as chicken,but not quite.

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Generallieutenant Walt GroßHerzog Moehle von Neuhardenberg
Kommandeur der Korps Artillerie-Brigade
Kommandeur der Gardegrenadier
Königlich Preußische Korps

Bon Jui mi sinistre Madam Pouse, PROBLEMS, "Hey Nap how things"