Napoleonic Wargame Club (NWC)

Sept 2nd, 1812, Gzhatsk – 0830 Hrs - Russian Position

As GdD Marchand is led away to a rear holding area, ten more Cossacks ride up the hill to the headquarters of the Russian Army. In the center of the formation, rides yet another French officer who does not look too pleased at the nature of his escort. The riders approach to within twenty feet of the red coated, British Field Marshall that is in overall charge of the army’s operations this day.

“Comrade Field Marshal Muddy, sir”, says the Russian officer in charge of the escort, “Comrade General Jones instructed us to deliver our latest French ‘guest’ to you, sir.”

“What, another one” asks the Commander of the Russian Armies. Like the first, this French officer also wears a fancy uniform. “And who might you be, sir” asks the British officer of his petulant opponent.

“I am General Lieutenant von Scheeler, Commanding Officer of the 25th Infantry Division (Wurttemberg), and I have been sent here as an emissary of our benevolent Empereur Bonaparte to accept your immediate and unconditional surrender.”

The Cossack commander grins at the Frenchman’s tale. “Our Infantry captured him in the central woods, Comrade Field Marshal, where the French puppets of Wurttemberg continue to be shown a rather rough time. If he is indeed an emissary of The Ogre, he is most certainly not a willing one.”

“I see”, says the British Marshal as he meets the gaze of the French General. “For simplicity’s sake, how about we just refer to you as ‘The Second Prisoner’ for now. I do have a question though. Wasn’t GdD Marchand in command of the 25th Infantry Division? At least that is what our intelligence reported.”

“GdD Marchand was called back to Headquarters to discuss higher level strategy with Le Empereur. I assumed command of the division in his absence.”

“Headquarters, eh” says the Muddy Marshal. “Hmmm, in that case, I suppose you were in command for, what, all of ten minutes?”

General von Scheeler scowls at his British adversary, but does not reply as he is escorted away.

Turning to his Russian ADC, Sir Muddy says, “If there is any truth the ramblings of GdD Marchand concerning the French Imperial Guard, I suppose our Opolchenie will be soon promoted.”

September 12, 1812
0845 hrs

The battle rages and the Russians are running away on there own, or being driven from the woods and many of them are hiding behind their cannons! But alas the brave and fine soldiers of the La Grande Armee keep coming! One of the best Generals (Chef d Battalion Schimdgall, announcement of promotion coming very soon) in Napoleon's Armee is leading them to victory for his Emperor and France!

The Chef is not in the Tavern today because of his duty to his soldiers and he wishes to lead is army to victory with a clear head. Which is very unlike his vodka drunken adversaries.

Battle On,

Sept 2nd, 1812, Gzhatsk – 0845 Hrs - Russian Position

As GL von Scheeler is led away to a rear holding area, ten more Cossacks ride up the hill to the headquarters of the Russian Army. In the center of the formation, rides yet another French officer who does not look too pleased at the nature of his escort. The riders approach to within twenty feet of the red coated, British Field Marshall that is in overall charge of the army’s operations this day.

“Comrade Field Marshal Muddy, sir”, says the Russian officer in charge of the escort, “Comrade General Jones instructed us to deliver our latest French ‘guest’ to you, sir.”

“You have got to be kidding me” says the Commander of the Russian Armies. Like the first, this French officer also wears a fancy uniform. “And who might you be, sir” asks the British officer of his petulant opponent.

“I am General Major von Hugel, and I have been sent here as an emissary of our benevolent Empereur Bonaparte to demand your immediate and unconditional surrender.”

The Cossack commander grins at the Frenchman’s tale. “Our Infantry captured him in the central woods, Comrade Field Marshal, where the French puppets of Wurttemberg continue to be shown a rather rough time. If he is indeed an emissary of The Ogre, he is most certainly not a willing one.”

“I see”, says the British Marshal as he meets the gaze of the French General. “For simplicity’s sake, how about we just refer to you as ‘The Third Prisoner’ for now. You would not have happened to have been in command of the 25th Infantry Division, would you?”

“No, I was not. Colonel Pollnitz had taken command of the Division.”

“A colonel” says the Muddy Marshal, “promoted above a Major General! How can that be, sir? Surely the command was yours by the privilege of rank.”

“May I be candid, messier?” asks the French officer.

“Why certainly,” replies Sir Muddy.

“Colonel Pollnitz makes a better quiche,” says GM von Hugel. “Are you familiar with the saying that ‘an army marches on its stomach’?”

“Yes, I have actually heard that,” replies the Commander of the Imperial Armies of Russia.

“Well, in La Grande Armee, culinary skills are often more important than martial ability for obtaining a promotion in rank,” says the French Major General. “I should have spent more time in the kitchen, and less on the firing range!”

Sept 2nd, 1812, Gzhatsk:

0900 hrs:

Below the eastern edge of the Hill of Vorobi, a single isolated battalion of Russian infantry has been resisting the repeated assaults by French columns of attack.

Every blow that hits them forces them back, but always, more French units are there to surround them anew.

Several batteries of cannon unlimber upon the crest line, and with clear view of the poor devils below, rain fire and death upon them.

Soon, only a ragged and bloodied band of few soldiers remain.

More battalions and Voltigeurs deliver volley fire... until... the last of the Russians fall, adding in their savage demise, their honor to the heap of men about them.

Regards,

Sept 2nd, 1812, Gzhatsk – 0900 Hrs - Russian Position

The Hanoverian officer casually leans on the pommel of this saddle, his blue gaze attentively watching the steady stream of French prisoners that his Russian Jagers are marching away from the central woods and into captivity. To his right, a mounted Russian ADC is busily counting the demoralized Frenchmen as they listlessly shuffle to the rear, consigned to the unfortunate twist of fate that has so suddenly befallen them. To his left, another mounted Russian ADC is busily translating a French document that he has procured from one of the prisoners.

“Well, that’s the last of this batch, Comrade General”, says the ADC on his right. Six Hundred Twenty new workers for our Siberian Labor Camps.”

“Hmmm, a good start”, replies the Hanoverian, “but there will be more I am sure. The third, and last, battalion cannot long endure the pounding that they are currently receiving. Poor misguided soldiers of Wurttemberg. They could just have easily joined a winning cause.”

“But, Comrade General”, says the ADC on his left, “according to this pamphlet, the French are winning.”

“Of course they are, Uri”, says the Hanoverian as he gestures towards the long line of recent French prisoners.

“Sir!” says a breathless Jager corporal as he snaps a hasty salute to his Hanoverian Commander. “General Bistrom reports that the advance of the French Imperial Guard has been halted. They have withdrawn a bit and deployed skirmishers to their front. It would seem that they have grown tired of getting the worst of the fight, losing three of their men to every one of ours that fell.”

“Well Corporal”, the Hanoverian replies as he returns the proffered salute, “please send my compliments to General Bistrom and tell him that I continue to hold the Opolchenie in reserve should the Grumblers of France deign to stir. I do believe that the esteemed French Guardsmen fear the determination of your countrymen that would compel them to risk their own deaths and fight with any weapon they can take in hand. It is nearly impossible to defeat a zealot, particularly when he is defending the soil of Mother Russia.”

Glancing back at the French prisoners, the Hanoverian grins, “Let us increase their misery yet again, comrades. Here is what we shall do next.” Pointing to his maps, he issues new orders and dispatches couriers by various routes to ensure they are received as intended.

Meanwhile, at another location on the field, a single battalion of Russian Jagers sacrifice themselves to impede, and delay, the advance of the Grande Armee’s main assault. And the French continue to believe that they are winning.

Salute to the fallen Russian heroes! They will certainly be avenged.

French Casualties: 3,243 Infantry - 36 Cavalry - 1 Artillery - 4 Officers
Russian Casualties: 1,901 Infantry - 21 Cavalry - 0 Artillery - 0 Officers
Objective Points (Captured by France) – 750 VPs
Score – 614 VPs After the Completion of Turn 17 (Draw)

Looks like the Russian is hiding and not ambushing anyone or is relieving himself behind the tree!

Battle On,

Oh my dearest adversary, you may not have studied the image in sufficient detail for you have missed a very important aspect of the rendering. If you turn your attention to the central figures of the Imperial Guard, you will note two men falling from wounds inflicted by their concealed, Russian adversaries. Although having already passed through the picture, it is apparent that a brave Opolchenie soldier located off the left of the rendering has hefted his massive pike and hurled it at his French enemies with such force that it has cleanly passed through the body of the first Guardsman before shattering the rifle and passing cleanly again through the body of a second man as well. Only the arm of a Russian farm boy raised in the working environment of the Russian steppes could hurl such a massive weapon with so much accuracy and deadly force. No my dear colonel, I am afraid that the Grognards of France are overmatched and that it is doubtful if any of them will survive the day.

An Opolchenie Ambush is a terrible thing for any soldier to endure.

Sept 2nd, 1812, Gzhatsk – 0915 Hrs - Russian Position

The battle in the central woods rises to a crescendo once again, before gradually quieting. Four more senior French officers are escorted into captivity as the French 25th Infantry Division ceases to exist. The Wurttemberg contingent has given the full measure for their beloved Emperor. The battle is still far from over as it continues to rage, and grow, on other parts of the contested field.

A salute to the bravely fallen, and the many more that have yet to fall.

Yes, this is going to be a mighty and decisive battle indeed!

On the one hand, the steppe-raised peasant soldiers of Mother Russia, finding their inner strength due to the threat to their homes no doubt, with this dire strait brought upon them by their cunning leadership who have made ample study of Fabian's tactics.

And on the other hand, the mightiest warriors to have re-ordered the boundaries of Europa, since the legions of ancient Rome blazed their path into legend and glory. The fantassins of the Imperial French eagles were raised in the passions of liberty, equality, and fraternity, and forged into a mighty weapon in the hands of their Empereur thru the march of seemingly endless victory parades at the expense of the inveterate foes of the Republic.

As my comrade-at-arms is wont to say - Battle On!

Regards,

Sept. 2, 1812
11:15 AM

The battle of Gzhatsk rages on and with the morning nearly at an end the battle is still a draw. In a few hours the La Grande Armee will be on its way to Moscow!

Yeah, as Prisoners of the Tsar!

Sept 2nd, 1812

1115 hrs: The crescendo of the Siberian Thunder unleashes a storm of shot and shell.

The eagle standards of Empire are locked in contest with the wildlings of the Northron Wastes.

Regards,

Sept 2nd, 1812, Gzhatsk – 1200 Hrs - Russian Position

The Hanoverian Guardsman looks up from his maps at the approach of the Russian courier. The soldier’s uniform bears small tears in several places, a testament to the ferocity of the fighting taking place in the forest east of the Village of Gzhatsk. The Corporal smartly salutes his German Wing Commander, and broadly grins at the Russian ADC as he hands him the dispatch he was instructed to deliver. The ADC begins to grin himself as he begins to read the message. The Hanoverian officer looks expectantly at his ADC.

“Sir, it seems we have a bit of more good news”, says the ADC to the German Brigadier. “Our Jagers report that the French Guard is attempting to withdraw. Apparently the thousands of losses they have suffered thus far are having a most detrimental effect on their eagerness to continue the fight.”

“Are the Jagers following the orders I issued for just such an event”, asks the Hanoverian Brigadier.

“Yes, sir”, replies the Russian ADC. “It seems they have managed to surround and isolate over 7,000 enemy Guardsmen who had a mind to flee.”

“And…”, prompts the Hanoverian.

“And our soldiers are liberally applying the bayonet just as you ordered, sir”, replies the ADC with a grin. “The Jagers believe that the Guard is fatigued and wavering, bordering very near a panicked rout, sir.”

At this last statement by his loyal ADC, the Hanoverian Brigadier grins widely back.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the field…..

“How many is that now”, asks the British Field Marshal as he watches another battery of French artillery roll past into captivity.

“One hundred fourteen”, replies the Russian ADC. “That’s fourteen more guns in the last fifteen minutes, sir.”

“Hmmm, a gun a minute, eh”, says the British Field Marshal. “And how many did the Tsar want for his new garden?”

“He said a minimum of two hundred, sir”, replies the Russian ADC.

“Well, in that case, I suppose we are on an acceptable pace”, says the British officer. “Let’s see if we can get three hundred for him by the end of this day.”

After 29 of 52 Turns, the casualties stand as follows:

French Losses
Infantry – 15,124
Cavalry – 1,590
Artillery - 114
Supplies - 584
Leaders - 17

Russian Losses
Infantry – 13,426
Cavalry – 2,508
Artillery - 1
Supplies - 155
Leaders - 3

French Objective Points – 750

Score – 53 Draw