tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86226028714320605102024-03-05T02:53:11.285-08:00Ardoberg-HolsteinGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-64007828130220094612019-04-11T21:08:00.003-07:002019-04-11T21:08:58.670-07:00Kickin' it Old SchoolMike Covell, he who styles himself King of San Maurice, and I recently got together for an Old School game of Brigadier Peter Young's Charge! We used the excellent Wargames Factory War of Spanish Succession plastic figures, now available from Warlord Games. Mike, commanding the French, had 3 regiments of horse, 4 regiments of foot, and a battery of guns, while I, leading the English, deployed 2 regiments of horse, 5 regiments of foot and a battery of guns. I actually published this one in our local wargame blog, but I thought you folks would like to see the pics. The only concession we made to modernity was to place the individually based figures on movement trays to save time. I figured Brigadier Young would give us a pass on this. With that small concession we found the game easy and fun, and brought to a conclusion in a reasonable amount of time. Take that, rules written in the 21st Century!<br />
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English regiment of horse enters the fray<br />
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Two regiments of French horse formed their left flank<br />
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I am an indifferent general and an incompetent photographer<br />
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The French center<br />
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Cavalry engagement on the English right<br />
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French Horse takes out the enemy guns in the center<br />
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English fire discipline vs French cavalry elan<br />
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Old School cavalry dust up</div>
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Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-68766644282879003992017-09-09T22:42:00.001-07:002017-09-09T22:42:07.835-07:00Close Encounters of the Duck KindI got together with Pete today to debug a game I will be hosting at the upcoming wargame event at the National Warplane Museum at Geneseo. The game is called Mars Needs Women! The rules are UFO Squad. The scenario has a landing party of 10 Martians pursuing three Earth women (the Pidgeon sisters) so they can bring them back to their home planet for study. The women flee into the woods on Robertson land. Yes, those Robertsons from the Duck Dynasty show.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">Look Phil! Little green Yankees!</span></div>
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The Robertsons spotted the UFO descending into their woods, grabbed their guns and headed out. They were Patriarch Phil, his sons Willy, Allen, Jep and Jase, and Willy's sons John-Luke and Cole. Willy's boys had scoped hunting rifles and the others were armed with assault rifles. As the Robertsons parked their pickup trucks on the trail and started moving into the woods they heard the fleeing women scream. Phil sprinted forward followed more cautiously by most of the others. Jep and Jace stayed close to the trucks. Phil took cover and opened fire on the Martians who had already grabbed two of the fleeing women. <br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Two women captured and one to go!</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"></span>The unexpected arrival of the Robertsons created a distraction that allowed the third woman to evade her pursuers and eventually make it to the safety of the trucks. The Martians returned fire on Phil, and he was badly wounded. Allen, following close behind also fell, badly wounded by the Martian laser weapons.<br />
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<span style="color: red;"> June Pidgeon, the one who got away</span></div>
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Willy's son John Luke took up a position in a copse of trees and undergrowth with a good field of fire on Martians moving to bring their prisoners back to the saucer. A pair of Martians were detailed to pin him down but he kept their heads down with effective fire. He was soon joined in the copse by his dad, Willy. Uncle Si made his way into the swamp trying to reach Phil, but was pinned down by heavy fire.<br />
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<span style="color: red;"> John Luke gives 'em hell!</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"></span>Things were looking bad for the Earthlings, with two of the three women captured, two Robertsons badly wounded, two more back at the trucks and the rest under heavy fire. The Martians had only to return to their ship and leave with their two female prisoners to win. However, John Luke and Willy were still in the copse, resisting, and Cole was making his way up to support them. At this point, the Martian commander made a fateful decision. Instead of departing the planet with his mission accomplished he decided to crush the puny Earthlings who dared oppose him. He directed his landing party to move through the swampy area killing the two badly wounded Robertsons and the pinned down Uncle Si. From there the Martians would be able to finish off Willy and his sons in and around the copse of trees beyond. It proved to be a costly mistake as Willy and his boys laid down a withering fire on the aliens as they struggled through the swamp. Two of the Martians were badly wounded and the rest withdrew to their saucer and departed. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">Never get into a land war in Asia and never scrap with Louisiana boys in a swamp</span></div>
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The next morning a pair of men in black suits arrived at Phil's house where the two wounded aliens were being held. Identifying themselves as Federal agents, the men in black promised a second team would follow up to take their statements regarding the encounter, took custody of the wounded Martians and drove away. When no follow up contact occurred, the family tried to find someone in authority to report the incident to. They were thwarted at every turn, finally took the hint and dropped the matter. Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-89531852856651143972017-08-12T21:58:00.001-07:002017-08-12T21:58:54.612-07:00She wore a yellow ribbonAll of my gaming seems to be driven by things I enjoyed in my childhood. We are talking late 1950s and early '60s. One of the many subjects that captured my imagination back then was U.S. Cavalry versus the American Indians. Inspired by great movies like the John Wayne cavalry trilogy, it was just a matter of time before this period showed up on the wargame table.<br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Cheyenne war party hovers just out of reach of F Troop</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">So it was that Pete Complaining Bear, war leader of the Northern Cheyenne lured two troops of the 4th Cavalry into a running fight on the Great Plains of my basement. The rules we used were Yellow Ribbon, a set I picked up at a convention many years ago, knowing that someday they would get used. </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Rough terrain slows my progress</span></div>
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<span style="color: #000025;">As the Captain in charge of two troops of U.S. Cavalry, my plan was to close with the hostiles as quickly as possible to play on their sensitivity to casualties. This caused me to send one of my troops over a rough hill, which slowed their progress and turned them into a punching bag for the warriors firing on them from the plain. </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Amateurs talk tactics, professionals talk logistics</span></div>
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<span style="color: #000025;"><span style="color: blue;">'A' Troop, 4th Cavalry deploys into line</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #000025;"><span style="color: #000025;">As the Cavalry pressed forward in an attempt to close, the Indian war parties kept fading back before them, inflicting casualties as they went.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Cheyenne Dog Soldiers ford the river</span></div>
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<span style="color: #000025;">Things were starting to look grim for the Cavalry. Both Troops had lost their officer and a third of their men, but their morale was holding up, at least for the time being. At last one of the two Cheyenne bands took a casualty, a badly wounded warrior. The Cavalry troop pressed in on them and they retired from the field in good order. The other Indian band also chose to withdraw, having achieved its objective of giving the Long Knives a bloody nose. </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Gratuitous war party</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">The rules we used for the game were interesting in that they really brought out the different approach the two sides took to war. The cavalry could be given orders in pursuit of an overall plan, and they took a lickin' and kept on tickin'. The rules had the Indians approaching battle in a less coordinated way. If a band experiences an unexpected degree of success they might retire from the field to bask in their success. If they started to take casualties or lose a leader they might decide this just ain't their day and go home leaving other bands still fighting. </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Gotta have a stage coach</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">While the Yellow Ribbon rules did bring out the cultural differences in how the opposing sides saw battle, we found the level of detail slowed the game up. There is a copy of Pony Wars, another old but interesting set of rules. This set may be a better fit for our local gaming preferences. In a pinch, we might just make our own. If we do, the Cavalry will operate in the 'European' fashion of disciplined units following orders to carry out an overall plan. The opposing Indian bands will be much more independent, hitting hard or disappearing for reasons not understood by their opponents. </span><span style="color: blue;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Forty miles a day on beans and hay</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-45777715164398411302017-05-17T19:02:00.000-07:002017-05-17T19:02:53.383-07:00Home grownLike many wargamers, I like to dabble a bit in rule writing. Sometimes these efforts end badly but occasionally one works out. My new American Civil War effort may be a winner. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">Bodeen's Confederate division enters the field</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Control of the Dakota Tavern crossroads is the objective</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The basic idea of the rules was to keep the mechanics of Move, Shoot, Melee, Morale and Command simple and then add in chrome to represent my thoughts on how the two armies were different. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Union brigades deploying from march column into fighting formations</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Union commander Michael Hooker puts on a brave face</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">In my opinion, Confederate commanders and troops tended to be more aggressive, and morale somewhat higher than their Union counterparts, at least until the later war. Much of this may have been due to their usually fighting in defense of their own territory. The Union had advantages of their own. In my rules these are larger numbers and better long range artillery (more rifled guns). </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Confederate brigade in double line formation is hit front and flank</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Confederate artillery deploying forward</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">In my setup the basic unit is a brigade composed of 6 stands of infantry, 4 of cavalry or 2 guns. For infantry and cavalry the formations are march column, double line and single line. Guns are either deployed or not. A typical division has 4 brigades plus an artillery brigade.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Confederate brigades attempt to envelop the Union right</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Union numbers begin to tell</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">My buddy Mike agreed to test out the rules with me. He had the bad manners to win the game but I forgave him because he spotted some minor fixable glitches in the rules. He is now rebasing his Franco-Prussian collection (which was in search of a rules set) to be compatible and talking about Maximillian's Greater Mexico - Caribbean Empire intervening in the Civil War. Bring it on, Austrian Puppet Boy!</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: red;">Union division deploys from march column </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: red;">Confederates press on through heavy enemy fire</span></span></div>
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Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-36918921361473029372017-04-27T17:36:00.000-07:002017-04-27T17:36:17.498-07:00All Games Great and SmallMy regular gaming friends and I all have a preference for large games. These games are visually satisfying and give us an excuse to add to our figure collections that have been growing for 40+ years. The downside of this approach to gaming, aside from annoying the wives, is the games often don't get finished. That sort of thing probably doesn't bother normal, well adjusted gamers but it is a source of frustration to me.<br />
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The most extreme example is a War of the Roses game Mike and I played recently. We had gamed the period on and off over the years using Fantasy Warrior rules by Nick Lund (check them out!). We enjoyed the rules and the period, and the armies had quietly grown way too big. In our most recent game we were having fun so, when time ran out we carried the game over to another day, and then another, and another. Each session was fun but also a lost opportunity to play a different game. <br />
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<span style="color: red;"> My right wing, anchored on a village, prevails</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Dismounted men at arms anchoring my center about to be surrounded</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">As an experiment, a game with Mike today was a small (dozen figures per side) French and Indian War skirmish. We began about 2:30 and finished 3 hours later with some time spent on side conversations, etc. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">A game seems to have a better chance of making this blog if I win, and so it was with this skirmish. My colonial scouting party encountered Mikes Iroquois war party. We formed a skirmish line in a clearing in the woods. The line covered a gap between two patches of woods that most of Mikes warriors seemed intent on passing through on their way to engage us in melee. As they came through the gap, each warrior would fire his musket and then charge without pausing to reload. In the event, my shooting caused enough casualties to discourage the Iroquois before their superior melee capabilities broke my morale. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The Iroquois charge through the gap</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The colonials pour musket fire into the charging warriors</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">So are the days of gigantic games behind us? Um, no. For all their shortcomings, my friends and I enjoy them too much. On the other hand, it was nice to have a nice bite sized game brought to a conclusion in a relaxing afternoon. I suspect the occasional 'normal' size game will find it's way into the rotation. </span><br />
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Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-14914219600253827592016-12-31T18:37:00.000-08:002016-12-31T18:52:10.664-08:00Norman Invasion II, the Sequel<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The burden of defending England in the great battles of 1066
was borne by a small part of her military strength. The great battles happened
in quick succession and were decisive, leaving most of the English fighting men
no opportunity to take the field against the invaders. One such contingent were
the men owing service to Ealdorman Earwig of North Anglia. In peace and war
this forgotten corner of England was left largely unmolested. However, in the
spring of 1067 William, newly crowned King of England, was casting about for
lands to reward his followers. One of his lesser Barons, Ralph of Amiens,
called “Short Sword”, but never in his presence, was assigned the lands of
Ealdorman Earwig, if he could evict the current occupant. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Ealdorman Earwig deploys his men</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Norman foot take up position</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Ralph made his way north with his followers; 135 horsemen,
144 spearmen, 72 archers and 36 axmen. Soon after crossing into North Anglia he
was confronted by the army of Ealdorman Earwig. The English force consisted of
432 men. A third of them were his housecarls, well armored and armed with the
dread Danish long axe. The rest were the Fyrd, reliable men but armed with
shield, spear and long knife only. They were, for the most part, unarmored. The
ground between the two armies was broken by rough hills and scattered copses of
oak. A bad place to fight for both sides, but the leaders were determined to
settle the business then and there. The Normans formed up in three bodies with
roughly equal numbers of horse and foot in each. The English slid down off
their ponies and sent them to the rear. They then formed in three contingents
with the housecarls evenly divided between them.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Stalwart Saxon Fyrdmen deploy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Ralph directed the infantry of his left wing to occupy a
rough hill in a defensive stance while the horsemen of this contingent advanced
to support his center. The center of the Norman host moved straight forward
against the English line opposite them. The Norman right was assigned the honor
of striking the decisive blow. The infantry on this side was directed to take
the hill that anchored the English left while the mounted men swept around the
enemy flank to roll up their line. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The Norman center deploys</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: red;">The Norman left holds</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">In the event the slow moving foot of the Saxon right swung
around to align with the Norman foot defending the hill on that side of the
field. They shrugged off the ineffectual Norman archery and assaulted the hill
as ordered. The fighting here was indecisive and the issue was settled
elsewhere. The mounted Normans in this part of the field were so poorly
deployed they played no part in the battle. They spent their time edging away
from the advancing English in an effort to not be caught among the trees and
cut up by their dismounted foes.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Norman Milites on the left embarrass themselves</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The centers of the two armies engaged in a protracted and
indecisive contest with first one side and then the other gaining some small
advantage which never developed into a breakthrough. The Norman right fared
better. The infantry element of this wing was sent forward according to plan to
assault the English foot holding<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the hill
anchoring this flank. The housecarls on the summit were in no mood to give ground, and sent the attackers reeling back.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Housecarls hold the hill anchoring the English left</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> At the same time the mounted Normans moved
quickly around the English left and attacked a smaller force of Fyrd<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>posted behind the hill to prevent just such a
move. The Fyrdmen resisted bravely but, against the relentless assault of the
mounted Norman elite there could be only one end. The Normans rode over the
defenders and on toward the enemy camp. The English right broke and fled the
field. Earwig, seeing the writing on the wall ordered the rest of his army to
withdraw and live to fight another day.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Norman right wing horse descends on Saxon Fyrd </span><br />
Mike and I played this game of Big DBA to test drive the new Conquest Games Norman figures I picked up at the Fall In convention. These two armies seem to be a pretty good matchup, although too much terrain on the table kind of muddied the waters. It is a bit of a mystery to me why the English gave up after Hastings. They had vast reserves of manpower to draw on while the Normans would find it difficult to reinforce across the channel.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-10228302609137998882016-12-17T20:13:00.000-08:002016-12-17T20:13:46.709-08:00Peticus, Dux BellorumThe Warlord Ardo had broken the peace and crossed the border at the head of a Saxon horde. The King of Dumnonia directed his Dux Bellorum, Peticus to meet the invaders before too much damage was done. So it was that the two armies faced off among the wooded hills of the borderland. The Saxons were moving through the rough country carelessly when they found themselves confronted by the army of the Britons in battle array. Peticus had massed his horsemen on his left flank under his own command. His spearmen and archers would hold his center and right while the horse delivered the decisive blow. <br />
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<span style="color: red;"> The British gentry in arms</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Ardo could see that his best chance of victory would be to strike the British center and right hard before the enemy horse had a chance to overwhelm his right. </span><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: red;">The Saxons view the British center, bristling with spears</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The Saxon right adopted a defensive posture, making what use they could of the terrain while their center and left rushed forward to break the British foot. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: red;">Peticus makes his final dispositions before the clash</span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"> The combat began in the center. The Saxons threw themselves on the British shieldwall with wild abandon, and were sent reeling back with heavy losses. After this rough reception Saxon morale in the center was close to breaking. The Saxon left was rushing to engage their British opponents and their formation was somewhat broken up by the terrain and the scramble. The first to engage was the Saxon leader and his bodyguard on that flank. To get at the British line he had to pass through a wooded copse, where he was engaged by a handful of British archers, who delayed his progress during this critical time. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: red;">The last ride of Peticus</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">Peticus had posted himself at the head of his bodyguard at the junction between his spearmen in the center and the massed horse on his left. He saw his target of opportunity, charged with his guards ahead of the rest of the horse, which was still deploying, and.......was dropped out of his saddle by a Saxon spear. His bodyguard dismounted, surrounded him and carried him from the field. The British army, dismayed at the loss of their leader withdrew from the field. The Saxons, for whom the battle had not been going well, were happy to let them withdraw unmolested.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"> </span><br />
Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-61034970330604966022016-12-15T17:24:00.000-08:002016-12-15T17:24:06.159-08:00The Mask of Aksoum
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was in December of 1866 that I arrived in Zanzibar. I had
been contacted by the correspondent of the Paris Charade magazine, Georgio
Snufalufigos. He knew I would be passing<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>through that port on my journey back to Paris and he wished me to carry
his account of a mysterious expedition he hoped to complete before I
arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the appointed day and time I
entered<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the Cafe European to meet my
friend. He wasn’t there but the barkeep directed me to a stranger sitting in a
dark corner who had been upcountry with Georgio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I approached and introduced myself to the
stranger, explaining my agreement with Georgio. He shrugged and pushed a chair
out with his foot by way of welcome. He was gaunt and hollow eyed and already
drunk, while it was not yet 2 PM. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Bentley Speedicut takes the field</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The man’s name was Bentley Speedicut and he was one of those
English gentlemen who inherited a great deal of money, allowing him the freedom
to wander the dark places of the earth for the purpose of enhancing his status
and reputation at home. This Speedicut had heard from the Arabs, tales of an
ancient ruined city in the hills above Lake Tanganyika. He set about organizing
a small expedition to the area, hoping to be the first European to explore the
site, and perhaps pick up a few shiny objects for his trouble. Georgio heard of
his plan and offered to chronicle his exploits and make him famous. The
expedition, Speedicut, Georgio a few porters to carry trade goods to barter for
food along the way and twenty tough looking young Ruga Ruga mercenaries, set
off for the interior in the Spring. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The tribesmen of the interior practice dark magic</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The native chief deploys his men </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Georgio Snufalufigos chronicles adventure</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Speedicut described how they found the site easily enough,
using a map purchased from an Arab trader. They began exploring the site but
found nothing of value among the ruins that looked to have been abandoned for a
thousand years. The local natives were not taking the intrusion well. At first
a few elders turned up at the site gesturing and complaining loudly in a
language no one understood. Speedicut dismissed them roughly and the next
morning they were replaced by warriors armed for battle with spears and
shields. These were few in numbers and kept their distance, but they watched
day by day as the exploration proceeded. After four days, an elaborate tomb was
discovered a short distance from the main site. At this point the natives
observing from a distance became agitated and sent one of their number away,
presumably to raise the alarm. Undeterred, Speedicut and the Ruga Ruga forced
the door of the tomb and emerged a short time later with a beautifully crafted
and heavily jeweled mask. Dusk was coming on and the decision was made to
return to camp for the night and leave for the coast the next morning. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The camp is surrounded before dawn</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just before dawn Speedicut was awakened by one of the Ruga
Ruga standing guard. Armed tribesmen had surrounded the camp in the darkness.
The word went around the camp to prepare to break through the ring to the
South, the direction that would get them out of this tribes’ territory soonest.
Placing the mask in his pouch, Speedicut gave the order to move out. The
natives were ready and charged toward the camp from all sides. Half of the Ruga
Ruga were engaged by the natives before they had a chance to clear the camp.
They fought back fiercely but were all cut down. Speedicut led one group of the
mercenaries down a path to the South, encountered a band of natives and
dispersed them with a volley and a charge. Georgio was with another group of
mercenaries not far behind. Speedicut’s path to the South was clear for the
moment. He heard Georgio call out for help as the group of mercenaries he was
with was swamped by native spearmen. More natives were rushing up the path
toward the fight. Speedicut knew Georgio was as good as lost and made the snap
decision to run to safety with his three surviving<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ruga Ruga while the tribesmen were busy
mopping up Georgio and the others and looting the camp. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Speedicut fights through the ring of attackers</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>Snufalufigos is taken ....but does he live?</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Speedicut and a few survivors head for the tall timber</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was horrified by the mans’ story and the coldness with
which he told it. He noticed my reaction and a corner of his mouth turned up in
what must have been a smile. “As good as dead, you see?” he said. “No point in
joining them, eh? Still, sorry about your friend. Who will write the story of
my discovery now, eh? Can’t very well write it myself. It just wouldn’t do.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This was a game of Congo that Mike and I played recently. I
was cast in the role of the amoral (or practical?) Speedicut, while Mike played
the native chieftain whose name does not translate easily into English. Georgio
was still alive and was being dragged away by the natives when Speedicut exited
the scene. When we counted up the points to determine victory I got 10 for
capturing the crown and 4 for destroying two groups of natives. That’s 14 total
for you arithmetic fans. Mike got 6 points for wiping out three of my groups of
brave and loyal Ruga Ruga, and another 8 for looting the camp. Also 14 points.
Technically a tie, although Mike claims a culinary victory for capturing <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Georgio, who he says was delicious. The Congo
rules represent the early days of European exploration in the African interior.
We do enjoy them. The rule concepts are simple enough but there are a lot of little
‘moving parts’ that the player has to bear in mind.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;">Another of Mike's creations</span></div>
Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-14854563144135105562016-11-19T12:52:00.000-08:002016-11-19T12:52:11.035-08:00Adventure in AfricaMy regular gaming friends and I have recently become enamored of the new Congo rules by Tomahawk Studios. After a first reading of a borrowed copy I was off to the Fall In convention to acquire the rules and figures. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">Ruga Ruga mercenaries are attacked by the local tribesmen</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The Congo rules portray the early days of European and Arab exploration of the African interior. The game leans more toward the Africa portrayed by Edgar Rice Burroughs and overwrought newspaper accounts than the real thing. In the mid 19th Century no white man had any idea what was around the next bend in the African rivers. Might be an animal never before seen. Might be a dinosaur or a lost Carthaginian colony. You don't know until you go. Players can represent European or American explorers, Zanzibari Arab expeditions, Forest tribes or savannah based African Kingdoms. Eight scenarios are included with the game, but the players can easily create additional ones (and we will!). </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Ruined wall from a lost civilization peeks out from the encroaching jungle</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The game requires only a few dozen figures and is very much focused on the exploits of the main characters. The style of play is Pulp rather than the massed rifle fire of European regulars against plucky but technology deficient natives. What Congo natives lack in technology they make up for with sorcery. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Sanders of the River is the first white man to view the Valley of Kong</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">I should mention the really cool terrain pieces in this posting were created by local artist Mike Covell, AKA the King of St Maurice. I have no artistic talent myself, but the next best thing is to know someone who does. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Religious totem of a forgotten people is slowly reclaimed by the jungle</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Being the flawed individual that I am, I have collected far more figures than I need. My European column has an intrepid explorer, retired military man, experienced native guide, group of three old African hands and native porters, all Copplestone and Foundary figures. The column is protected by tough, disreputable Ruga Ruga mercenaries which I converted from Warlord Games Natal Native Contingent. The Forest Tribe is made from Warlord Games Zulu unmarried warriors re-equipped with rectangular wicker shields. The Wargames Factory Zulus provide the African Kingdom warriors. I also have some Wargames Factory Amazon warriors just in case my explorer stumbles across that lost civilization.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: red;">African Kingdom warriors</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Our local group of gamers are currently working on learning the mechanics of the game, which are new and innovative. Actions are dictated by cards, some of which can be chosen each turn and others drawn randomly. In addition to the usual Move, Shoot, Melee, Morale there are also opportunities to increase stress on opponents and reduce it on friends. Native witch doctors can use sorcery to foil their enemies or perhaps anger their gods in the attempt and pay the price. My witch doctor, for example, was eaten from the inside by scorpions while attempting a particularly ambitious bit of sorcery in a recent game.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The explorers enter the lair of an impossibly large gorilla worshipped by the natives<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Mike's waterfall<br />
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Gratuitous wildlife. In Congo, most of the fauna will eat you.<br />
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Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-45478169359512164072016-09-15T20:41:00.000-07:002016-09-15T20:41:14.279-07:00Drums Along the FingerlakesThe rebellion of the American colonials against King George is well underway. His Majesty's loyal allies, the Iroquois are raiding all along the frontier. This is the story of the attack on Fort Donald. <br />
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Just as the harvest time was upon them, the settlers of Hilton on the New York frontier heard that the Iroquois warband of Joseph Brandt was headed their way. They sent their women, children and the infirm down river to safety, and then the militia moved into Fort Donald and prepared for the fight. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">The militiamen take up position in the fort </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">At first light the Indians emerge from the forest</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">One side of the fort was on a steep bluff above the river and was safe from direct assault. The dozen militiamen were spread thin along the other three sides of the fort and the corner bastions. The warriors approached in three bands, one against each of the exposed sides of Fort Donald. As they raised their blood chilling war cry and began to sprint across the clear ground, the muskets of the defenders banged out in defiance. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The militiamen open fire in the uncertain dawn light</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: red;">A few Indians fell crossing the open ground</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The morning mist made the fire of the defenders perhaps less effective than it might otherwise be, but still five braves were killed and a similar number wounded by the time they reached the walls. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The Indians reach the walls with ladders and a ram</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The two militiamen deployed along the ravine side of the fort ran to join the defenders on the three sides under attack while the British agent-provocateur, known to the Iroquois as Dances With French Fries, urged the warriors on with promises of rich gifts from King George. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Dances With French Fries shouts encouragement from just beyond musket range</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The hardened warriors were soon on the parapets engaged in a desperate hand to hand struggle with the defenders while the battering ram pounded the gate.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The gates shivered with each strike of the ram</span><br />
One of the Indians dropped down to the parade ground and sprinted to unbar the gate from the inside. Two of the militiamen had been killed and two others, grievously wounded, were in the hands of the savages. The remaining defenders could hear their cries as their captors handled them brutally. All of this was too much and the defenders morale broke. They agreed to lay down their arms when Dances With French Fries offered them the protection of King George. Fort Donald was comprehensively looted and the Indian war party went on to pillage and burn the deserted settlement. <br />
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Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-60250065325133104712016-08-12T22:58:00.002-07:002016-08-12T22:58:33.487-07:00Peticus Autem A Fortuna
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, the Great Man is off to Britain on a punitive
expedition. Padding his resume, more like! He’s away beating up on a gaggle of
bare arsed<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>shepherds while I’m left
behind with 3 legions to keep a lid on this nest of Gallic vipers. I should
have been Governor and he should be marching around these cold, rainy forests
instead of torturing the Plebeians with his gutter Latin exaggerations. Well,
things are as they are, and the Belgic rebel Syntax will rue the day he crossed
Peticus Autem A Fortuna!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so it was that Peticus found himself staring across a
hilly, forested field at the barbaric horde of Syntax of the Belgii. The Romans
deployed Legio VII on their left, Legio VIII in the center and Legio IX on the
right. The barbarians were arrayed with their warriors in the center and a
large body of horse on either flank. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrS919Eyv-vOFHAeRrEGMFdNcQafc-Ns7P1sYR94zMTbftc2yj9fp4iHe3pLiy5g2nsGstbXlap0UpKnoRENnxF33ND2GBwpeqIgRsfTvgh9Pw7GYLryGNade6pBCA8rQxCEH1kG81ia8/s1600/CIMG2328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrS919Eyv-vOFHAeRrEGMFdNcQafc-Ns7P1sYR94zMTbftc2yj9fp4iHe3pLiy5g2nsGstbXlap0UpKnoRENnxF33ND2GBwpeqIgRsfTvgh9Pw7GYLryGNade6pBCA8rQxCEH1kG81ia8/s320/CIMG2328.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;"> Initial Roman deployment</span><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The broken terrain made it difficult for the Romans to
keep their legions aligned, and a good part of Legio VII soon found itself
surrounded and fighting for its life. They faced out in all directions and
fought back manfully until at last the barbarian commanding in this part of the
field decided to lead the charge to break them once and for all. He and his
Companions rode their chargers into the midst of the desperate legionaries, and…….died.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The barbarians were taken aback by this
turn of events and, just then the rest of Legio VII came up and immediately went
into the attack. The barbarians on this wing broke and, aside from a few
scattered bands, were swept from the field. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Times New Roman;"> Legio VII awaits the word to advance</span> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Advance elements of Legio VII attacked from all sides</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<o:p><span style="color: red;"> Legio VII breaks the barbarian right</span></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Barbarian right flees the field</span>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the Roman right Legio IX adopted a defensive posture
to avoid their formation being broken up in the rough terrain. Their opponents
did the same, being reluctant to meet the Romans on the level ground. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDnzZjOs7mNDUBNIJV87yLn0_b7HTgKGdzxDU7Piq8_mnWVbUdGLx_Xcz2pvi8P9RIm-nke5xp8juNzpTHRz11dHmvUWqxxpDldObtwq06VuDPIgA5qya9WuCGdr1LDez6qmr60Y0yrE/s1600/CIMG2333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDnzZjOs7mNDUBNIJV87yLn0_b7HTgKGdzxDU7Piq8_mnWVbUdGLx_Xcz2pvi8P9RIm-nke5xp8juNzpTHRz11dHmvUWqxxpDldObtwq06VuDPIgA5qya9WuCGdr1LDez6qmr60Y0yrE/s320/CIMG2333.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"> Legio IX on the right flank in a standoff</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the center the barbarian leader Syntax led his men in
an all out frontal assault against Legio VIII, After desperate fighting , most
of the Romans broke and ran, while remnants too proud to flee delayed the
pursuit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW44pL8tfP3jWt-6O1AUjq_cOBbOf26N7vv7ujPIpcXwE2-fLPVvrWtFqAPmoAqvlbnKs6uELsJb9OVmx6yH9H2__sQRhQDJKXGgLyxrVVoiGKAFpb-ZOYVuCFCn_vLSzovA_q1G2aT70/s1600/CIMG2334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW44pL8tfP3jWt-6O1AUjq_cOBbOf26N7vv7ujPIpcXwE2-fLPVvrWtFqAPmoAqvlbnKs6uELsJb9OVmx6yH9H2__sQRhQDJKXGgLyxrVVoiGKAFpb-ZOYVuCFCn_vLSzovA_q1G2aT70/s320/CIMG2334.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;"> Peticus views the Barbarian onslaught in the center with concern</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UGogS5gdh0G4ALXUqKfmTkbLT3NIxSC6YqEtKbYDiehREQ1gUW0v9HOidUgJUdj9THtlUHVu2nn3qnEp3NQ_OpG1M-G7zVhkjIQ9ThvRn-gozANBxoXV1igOc-7qkKRDIBA2alhz1H4/s1600/CIMG2337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UGogS5gdh0G4ALXUqKfmTkbLT3NIxSC6YqEtKbYDiehREQ1gUW0v9HOidUgJUdj9THtlUHVu2nn3qnEp3NQ_OpG1M-G7zVhkjIQ9ThvRn-gozANBxoXV1igOc-7qkKRDIBA2alhz1H4/s320/CIMG2337.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;"> Syntax breaks the Roman Legio VIII in the center with a wild charge </span><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the Roman left, the victorious Legio VII reformed and
began marching toward the barbarian center. Seeing the crisis of the battle had
arrived the Roman right and their barbarian opponents fell on each other. After
a desperate struggle the Romans prevailed. Syntax, seeing both of his
flanks<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>collapse, pressed his pursuit of
the unlucky VIIIth and so left the stricken field, to fight again another day. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXIJMpbsN6i5JQLFReCbZeQcDboQuhegUJf-maHVlvOEhlzhcyHyQ8SKyMDko9BbJIa1R08NBW9NNxTc_xdSNATuPhTBTeI9DOEX-WsceGyBYWrHQOyuyMbO0NCaiobZCnRPljo0i0Sc/s1600/CIMG2338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXIJMpbsN6i5JQLFReCbZeQcDboQuhegUJf-maHVlvOEhlzhcyHyQ8SKyMDko9BbJIa1R08NBW9NNxTc_xdSNATuPhTBTeI9DOEX-WsceGyBYWrHQOyuyMbO0NCaiobZCnRPljo0i0Sc/s320/CIMG2338.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;"> After a confused melee Legio IX wins on the right</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSeO1z25uBcfL2LPKtH20uuTFpStBWzjNWrAsvfRoFqWFqGX_nCIF6WIMzpH8h_94KzmcFTsrNM0tYhRyxxiyXaeeTRF4AaVfYT8FzeiHjtpAzf1-5sA21HGHaX6_P_SNt95sQ1eph7KU/s1600/CIMG2339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSeO1z25uBcfL2LPKtH20uuTFpStBWzjNWrAsvfRoFqWFqGX_nCIF6WIMzpH8h_94KzmcFTsrNM0tYhRyxxiyXaeeTRF4AaVfYT8FzeiHjtpAzf1-5sA21HGHaX6_P_SNt95sQ1eph7KU/s320/CIMG2339.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;"> Legio VII reforms and moves to envelop the barbarian center</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"></span><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
</div>
Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-55892581498411236142016-08-07T20:45:00.001-07:002016-08-07T20:45:56.895-07:00A simple real estate transaction<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is Good E. Tewshooze reporting for the BBC on the
conflict raging in the Middle African Republic. As our viewers will recall, the
problem arose several months ago when the government of the country implemented
policies seen as oppressive by an eccentric splinter group, the Moslems for
Jesus (MFJ). That minority was in possession of the richest farmland in the
country, and their leader, the Mahdi, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>declared the independence of their region.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The national army was
in no condition to move on the breakaway region but the President of the MAR
had another solution ready to hand. For some time he had been in negotiations
with the HAWGs (Honorable Association of White Guys), a group of white South
African farmers interested in resettling as a community in the MAR. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The President agreed to sign over the lands of
the Moslem rebels to the HAWGs if the immigrants could capture the land from
the current owners and live there as loyal citizens of the MAR.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrl76uuRiojPP-XYekPtHeyMrlurbZPHIW0zUY1uQexcMvWMKmxzRkEm6t5-w2ek3o-zvYTIz0fQiW0mowB7oy0XZnUo08DcZbYB0iWHWmq-_maNC4zDilWZSgjPBedw12b0EteMz9oOw/s1600/CIMG2315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrl76uuRiojPP-XYekPtHeyMrlurbZPHIW0zUY1uQexcMvWMKmxzRkEm6t5-w2ek3o-zvYTIz0fQiW0mowB7oy0XZnUo08DcZbYB0iWHWmq-_maNC4zDilWZSgjPBedw12b0EteMz9oOw/s320/CIMG2315.JPG" width="320" /></a></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">"Mad Mike", Commandant of the HAWGs plans his campaign</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On arrival the HAWGs
were issued what military equipment the government could spare; A pair of rusty
M48 tanks, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>an ancient DC3 transport
plane, three Panhard armored cars with big guns, assorted jeeps and trucks and
small arms. Within a few weeks the newcomers had this motley assortment of
weapons in working condition and were ready to move. Their force was organized
into 5 companies, Tanks, Panhards, Jeeps with MG, and two infantry. The DC3 was
equipped with homemade high explosive barrel bombs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetjpTTiGpXV6c3DgeN_3-pRDwvTfl-P_Rw5gbHFDfwi8KB1_LdDK7sKLAKFbE-QniNqrWT64Y-TW3bv87MXI6ilOpqPXXOALUHoTo959oq9hsedXS-NlqCyqaVX4GZZKr4mOF3_NEU8U/s1600/CIMG2314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetjpTTiGpXV6c3DgeN_3-pRDwvTfl-P_Rw5gbHFDfwi8KB1_LdDK7sKLAKFbE-QniNqrWT64Y-TW3bv87MXI6ilOpqPXXOALUHoTo959oq9hsedXS-NlqCyqaVX4GZZKr4mOF3_NEU8U/s320/CIMG2314.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">The defenders of the northern hamlet prepare for action</span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Mahdi knew of the government plan and he had not been
idle. Those of his people with military training were organized into an
infantry company with truck transport. The rest of the male population was
organized into four militia companies of infantry, each supported by a
technical with AA gun and another with a heavy machine gun. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhGJmOyjH8AdxiVNSiAyPy8OPjj7U8LymqvW02LzrN1ZLOncGDTmdHvgK08uKFcidDRO_G6hR7yGw_KbMrfyMF9dV6wbBdH9gu6k1WBL_KG1yTCCoKB8iP2M9KnkalMek9QLq_3_CpDE/s1600/CIMG2313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhGJmOyjH8AdxiVNSiAyPy8OPjj7U8LymqvW02LzrN1ZLOncGDTmdHvgK08uKFcidDRO_G6hR7yGw_KbMrfyMF9dV6wbBdH9gu6k1WBL_KG1yTCCoKB8iP2M9KnkalMek9QLq_3_CpDE/s320/CIMG2313.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">The Mahdi commands his forces from the central hamlet</span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;">The stage was set, the U.N. talked and did nothing. The MAR
was of no strategic interest to any of the Great Powers, and so the tragedy
played out. At dawn on the 6</span><sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-size: small;"> of August the HAWGs advance elements
of Panhards and infantry moved into MFJ territory. This part of the valley was
watered by a pair of rivers, very low at this season. Three hamlets and the MFJ
training camp were the major points of interest. Three MFJ militia companies were stationed there, one in the
northern hamlet, one in the hamlet in the center of the valley and one in the
military camp in the south. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJw-42aggfV7KE2giImzjnGXLiUloA5_aHE5VHRV9jKFSCIE4U2gsGZsDh7gXWj-RH12WWuN8cXuegzSg3WbavF5EH7wWpoyBeakTX0xOssT-JI11v3CzDTeCMmPvepPUGX7E9BEKAvM/s1600/CIMG2312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJw-42aggfV7KE2giImzjnGXLiUloA5_aHE5VHRV9jKFSCIE4U2gsGZsDh7gXWj-RH12WWuN8cXuegzSg3WbavF5EH7wWpoyBeakTX0xOssT-JI11v3CzDTeCMmPvepPUGX7E9BEKAvM/s320/CIMG2312.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Fort Zinderneuf, the MFJ training camp</span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Panhards started shelling the northern hamlet and soon,
what sounded like a flying washing machine but was, in fact, the DC3, appeared
overhead and dropped a barrel bomb on the defenders. This was all too much for
the defenders who started falling back in some disorder toward the central
hamlet. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu4xx7JRn5H9B7aV5A1PrfsetOYFPGLDX-JIzppiqLS5Ns-HMsGMjW1hUPrYHnj3hhEYS4eUAIqTPHBlIWFgXLBBNbSGVk7ZXXg2CmTXT2V_vkkNauHq8XFNAq-Jlqg8h5BJtYy9VlZM0/s1600/CIMG2317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu4xx7JRn5H9B7aV5A1PrfsetOYFPGLDX-JIzppiqLS5Ns-HMsGMjW1hUPrYHnj3hhEYS4eUAIqTPHBlIWFgXLBBNbSGVk7ZXXg2CmTXT2V_vkkNauHq8XFNAq-Jlqg8h5BJtYy9VlZM0/s320/CIMG2317.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">The militia flees the northern hamlet</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;">The HAWG tanks followed on, rolling down the road toward the
northern hamlet. Our BBC news crew, determined to expose the use by the central
government of these mercenaries, blocked the advancing Panhards and exposed the
unit commander to a scathing interview. This allowed the retreating militia to
escape, but sadly the unit disintegrated during the retreat and was out of the
fight. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNUXMc5-buH638Mas-TMt7mN4MyOLEAs4R5bdhjdPVmb7RI21WdXTwN7lm13A3lqWOwXzNYDUk4v1_1XvvIiNXBm2LfjJnJ8lG96xe6dbbTGVfkBHyGNSU73gfle59YreK0kDTA-PgTQ/s1600/CIMG2316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNUXMc5-buH638Mas-TMt7mN4MyOLEAs4R5bdhjdPVmb7RI21WdXTwN7lm13A3lqWOwXzNYDUk4v1_1XvvIiNXBm2LfjJnJ8lG96xe6dbbTGVfkBHyGNSU73gfle59YreK0kDTA-PgTQ/s320/CIMG2316.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Courageous journalists, armed only with cameras confront the HAWGs</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;">The trio of HAWG armed jeeps entered the fray to the East
and passed through the eastern hamlet without opposition. At the same time the
BBC news crew had moved onto the road between the advancing HAWG tanks and the
northern hamlet and brought the tanks to a halt with another withering expose’.
The Panhards on the left were slowed to a crawl as they found themselves in a
mine field. For the rest of the battle they proceeded with great caution to
avoid losing any vehicles. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWrdF4WMrytMnsYV_q6WXKFR9qW-YF6w2a8WUGAxEXZQLgc5MQBu9RN_kgzcdt2aCRCPhuz8dvlA1hyCvZvpusUp1jxtkjGp24YXy-ik-Vi-TEKPqRo4Q5G-6fa3PD07yWuZjlIdi46o/s1600/CIMG2319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWrdF4WMrytMnsYV_q6WXKFR9qW-YF6w2a8WUGAxEXZQLgc5MQBu9RN_kgzcdt2aCRCPhuz8dvlA1hyCvZvpusUp1jxtkjGp24YXy-ik-Vi-TEKPqRo4Q5G-6fa3PD07yWuZjlIdi46o/s320/CIMG2319.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Gratuitous wildlife </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;">The HAWG armed jeeps crossed to the southern bank of the
river and encountered MFJ Regulars and militia advancing from the East. A
savage firefight ensued in which the HAWGs lost two of their three vehicles but
caused so many casualties among the MFJ that they, as well as the HAWGs were
rendered combat ineffective. One of the HAWG infantry units, led by Mad Mike, was able to cross the river in this part of the field and helped to
see off the remnants of the two MFJ units that had engaged the jeeps.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhps5jLeMaidNvVz_ukuIynHT0c2VgMI3DBnAzJejLxwO0x_gGfg079tcQlEMhLMaWJ7FNFNmzxjZrraj31yaQBoSZWltS4R8zUgYWawxtI5v0Gv21-7GpzxZx35sLDXT9TPXA_p6HoXQA/s1600/CIMG2323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhps5jLeMaidNvVz_ukuIynHT0c2VgMI3DBnAzJejLxwO0x_gGfg079tcQlEMhLMaWJ7FNFNmzxjZrraj31yaQBoSZWltS4R8zUgYWawxtI5v0Gv21-7GpzxZx35sLDXT9TPXA_p6HoXQA/s320/CIMG2323.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Hawgs force the river crossing against heavy opposition</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The DC3 made a pass
over the central hamlet where the Mahdi was posted and dropped a barrel bomb on
the militia unit there. At the same time the Panhards had managed (in spite of
the mine field) to get into position to open fire on the central village. The
commander of the HAWG tanks had finally abruptly ended the BBC interference <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with his mission and was advancing on the
central hamlet. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of this was too much
for the garrison, which withdrew in disorder to the south, toward the military
camp. The garrison of the camp began moving up the road toward the fighting.
The last of the HAWG units occupied the northern hamlet. The Mahdi surveyed the
wreckage of his army and decided to withdraw from the field to reorganize,
rearm and fight another day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6p8Ezg1d0rMClscTSq088qWhLsjg112tTS3iCjhRBwN-Y2usvhC_TSKCtsg52s18n7gq3YezYu2I7Lg_uputbkWVtBJlF_QrfI51UFv0wlHvFf2_faXdZFfeRdu4W5PylmQCM-SO4IRw/s1600/CIMG2324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6p8Ezg1d0rMClscTSq088qWhLsjg112tTS3iCjhRBwN-Y2usvhC_TSKCtsg52s18n7gq3YezYu2I7Lg_uputbkWVtBJlF_QrfI51UFv0wlHvFf2_faXdZFfeRdu4W5PylmQCM-SO4IRw/s320/CIMG2324.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">The stricken field</span></span></div>
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Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-76669625581620695272016-07-31T21:55:00.000-07:002016-07-31T21:55:30.424-07:00Up the Great Gray Greasy ZambesiTrouble in the interior.....again. The Arab slavers and their tribal allies, the uWanna have resumed raiding the peaceful tribes near our coaling station at the mouth of the Zambesi river. A small expedition upriver to burn a uWanna village and take some cattle should serve to restore order. <br />
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<span style="color: red;"> The Governor decided to punish the natives and would not be gainsaid!</span><br />
So it was that Captain Poulet found himself disembarking from a decrepit paddle steamer deep in the territory of the fierce uWanna. He led his company of about 50 Marines, a handful of sailors from the boat and a gatling gun. Hauling the gatling might slow him down a bit but it would come in handy if he met resistance. The key would be to strike quickly and get out before the tribesmen had a chance to gather.<br />
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<span style="color: red;"> The heat! The insects! Let's get this over with and return to the coast. </span><br />
The heat was oppressive as the small expedition made its way inland. They were not halfway to the target village when they spotted Arabs advancing on them in the distance. The slavers had their spies watching the coast and had decided to interfere. They must be hoping to link up with the uWanna warriors to oppose the incursion. Cursing his luck, Poulet directed his small column toward a position where he could see off the rabble of slavers armed with swords, spears and a few ancient muskets. <br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Damned slavers, how came they here?!</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">As the Marines jogged into position on the ground Poulet had chosen, he ran an eye over the site. Yes, this would do very well. A stream to his front would slow the attackers. To his right an impassable ravine, His left and rear were somewhat exposed but his Bluecoats would hold, come what may. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">A good position, clear field of fire. Let them come!</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Just as he began directing his men into position, a Lieutenant called to Poulet and directed his attention off to his left. In the distance he could see a large number of uWanna warriors moving rapidly to envelop him and cut off his retreat to the river. This was starting to look like a proper battle! For just a moment Poulet remembered the stories of the terrible things done to the rare European who had the misfortune to fall into their hands. Shaking off the thought, he returned to the business of deploying his men. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> The uWanna Chieftain known to the Europeans as 'Pete' makes his dispositions</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Poulet had planned to form a line along the bank of the stream and direct all of his considerable firepower against the Arabs advancing slowly toward his front. The arrival of the fast moving, aggressive uWannas on the field had changed everything. Now he was cut off from the riverboat with enemies on three sides. He quickly changed his dispositions, setting his back to the ravine and positioning his rifles and gatling gun in a three sided "square". Everything now depended on the steadiness of his Marines and the awful stopping power of their breech loading rifles. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Form Square!</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The Marines had seen action before but they couldn't help but feel apprehensive at the swiftness and discipline with which the uWanna warriors formed up. On the other side of their position the Arab leaders seemed to be having some difficulty preparing their men for the attack.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> The lull before the storm</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The white men and their enemies stood in their ranks in silence for what was probably just a few minutes, but seemed much longer. At last the silence was broken by the uWanna chief who called out the order to advance, which was repeated by his several sub chiefs. The warriors jogged forward on two sides of the square, chanting their war song. On the third side the Arab leaders were doing all they could to move their men against the Marines, but those men knew better than the tribesmen the power of the white mans weapons. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> The tribal wave breaks on the wall of fire</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">At a word of command from their Chief, the uWanna warriors gave a great shout and broke into a run. The commands Present...Fire! were barked out along the line of bluecoats and the terrible volleys crashed out, blending with the chatter of the Gatling. The bullets tore great bloody holes in the ranks of the charging warriors. In a few places, knots of warriors managed to close with the enemy only to be cut down by the steady line of Marines. For most of the natives the fire was more than flesh and blood could bear. The charge faltered, stopped and then fell back, step by step still facing the enemy. Their Arab allies had failed to charge at all, and that account would be settled in time. Poulet, seeing the enemy withdraw, ordered the cease fire. The Marines waited in their position until mid day. It was clear the enemy had withdrawn and Poulet had just enough time to burn a nearby village and get back to the river by dark. </span><br />
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Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-66784312303804265492016-07-21T20:07:00.000-07:002016-07-21T20:07:31.927-07:00Battle in the bocageMike and I had a 1500 Bolt Action game this afternoon. The scene of action was Normandy, 1944. We used a scenario out of the rule book whereby his German kampfgruppe of Wehrmacht, Fallschirmjager and Waffen SS infantry supported by assorted armored vehicles were tasked with holding a crossroad against my two U.S. reinforced infantry platoons backed by a pair of Sherman tanks. <br />
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<span style="color: red;"> The crossroads viewed from the American lines East of the bocage</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The Germans started with an infantry squad and a light howitzer in position near the objective. One American platoon moved on them from the East and another from the South. They were supported by a pair of medium mortars. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> American infantry advance past the chateau toward the objective</span><br />
German infantry reinforcements took up position in the bocage edged field Northwest of the crossroads. Their small arms fire started taking a heavy toll of the American platoon moving up from the South. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">American infantry rush to occupy the hedgerows adjoining the German position</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Armored assets from both sides were deployed on the flanks of the main infantry battle around the crossroads. To the North a PZKW IV began to move on the American left flank. It destroyed a bazooka team, sniper team and a Sherman while the mortars fired on it with more enthusiasm than success.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The bazooka team tries to address the Panzer problem</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The Americans cross into the bocage</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Meanwhile, the Germans attacked the American right flank with a StugIII supported by an armored scout car and a howitzer armed halftrack. The Americans deployed their other Sherman to oppose this move while their forward air observer team called in airstrikes in support. The first target selected was the scout car. The aircraft didn't arrive but the Sherman took out the enemy vehicle. The Stug and Sherman engaged in a long range duel but another aircraft arrived over the battlefield and took out the Stug. The Sherman then engaged the enemy halftrack which fought back gamely but finally was destroyed by the more heavily armed and armored American. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The Stug and scout car burn while the halftrack advances </span><span style="color: red;">undaunted</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Meanwhile, back at the crossroads the more numerous American infantry were putting pressure on the German defenders from the East and South. Losses mounted on both sides.</span> One American squad passed through a gap in the thinly stretched German defense of the hedgerow and close assaulted an enemy squad. The Americans prevailed, but their squad was rendered combat ineffective in the effort. The hard pressed Germans could ill afford the loss and their commander determined that he had too few resources left to hold the position, and ordered a withdrawal. </div>
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Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-517518841916100052016-06-25T20:11:00.000-07:002016-06-25T20:11:02.104-07:00Swamp GasIt was a warm summer night in West Monroe Louisiana. The Robertson clan was sitting in Patriarch Phil's front yard after enjoying one of Miss Kay's excellent dinners when something large streaked across the sky and crashed into the woods just a few miles away. They weren't sure what it was, but it didn't look like an aircraft, so the 8 men of the family armed themselves and drove off toward the crash site. They pulled off the road near the crash and moved carefully through the woods following a path of downed trees and gouged earth. Entering a clearing they were stunned to see a crashed saucer shaped craft. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">The Robertsons enter the clearing....</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">and are stunned to see a crashed flying saucer</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">As they cautiously made their way forward the Robertsons were shocked to see a group of about 10 small men across the clearing making their way toward the crash. These were the "little green men" they had heard about on the History Channel! </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Phil Robertson says "Not in my back yard!"</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The men spread out and began moving toward the craft. The two youngest, John Luke and Cole had only their hunting rifles instead of the assault rifles carried by the others, so they were detailed to take cover in the trees and start sniping at the invaders. Cole was wounded almost immediately. John Luke killed one of the little green men and was wounded by return fire soon after. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Cole and John Luke were wounded covering the rest as they advanced</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">While the men jogged forward to take cove behind the saucer the aliens retrieved a small package from the craft and started withdrawing the way they had come. Phil, enraged by the wounding of the two boys, sprinted ahead of the rest and went full auto on a group of three aliens covering the withdrawal, killing one, wounding a second and suppressing the third. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> The alien commander looks on as Phil takes out three of his crew</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The return fire from the alien rearguard caused Phil to hit the dirt shaken but unwounded. He soon recovered and began trading shots with the alien rearguard. Alan ran up to cover him and was killed by the superior laser guns of the aliens. Meanwhile Willie and Jase moved around the other side of the crash site and suppressed one of the withdrawing aliens. Willie then moved up and shot him point blank. The firing tapered off as the aliens faded into the darkness carrying the mysterious package from the crash site that had been their objective. </span><br />
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Three of the aliens had been left dead on the field and two more captured, one of them wounded. The Robertsons had paid a heavy price with John Luke and Cole wounded and Alan dead. The Federal authorities arrived at the scene of the battle before dawn and took possession of the site. Within 12 hours the alien craft, bodies and prisoners had all been removed by the Feds, the Robertsons had been warned not to speak of it and the media had been told the crash had been a light aircraft. Phil tried to get the story out through various channels but found himself blocked at every turn. The alien prisoners were interrogated by their government captors and revealed their mission had been to retrieve a bootleg copy of the complete works of Willie Nelson. As a prank they left several pictures of that guy from the Ancient Aliens show behind in the crashed saucer. <br />
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Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-88972109648780234202016-06-18T16:47:00.000-07:002016-06-18T16:47:39.408-07:00Hoopla on the HellespontThe battle of Plataea had temporarily postponed the Great King's conquest of Greece but it was thought advisable to maintain a presence on the Greek side of the Hellespont. From this position the Persians could launch the next campaign into the Greek heartland and finish the business once and for all. Toward this end Xerxes brother in law and favorite general, Ardo the Terrible held the land with a potent army of horse and foot. In response, the Greek alliance dispatched an army under the famous General for Hire, Mysoxargon to confront the Persians. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">Mysoxargon deploys his flank guards to thwart the enemy horse</span></div>
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In due course the two armies met near the temple of Dionysius. The terrain was a flat plain broken by a few rough hills and a large pond. Mysoxargon placed the main body of his hoplites in the center screened by skirmishers. Smaller bodies of hoplites were told off to protect the flanks of the main phalanx. The center of the Persian army was composed of massed bowmen supported by skirmishers. Their cavalry was deployed on both flanks. <br />
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The battle opened with the Greek skirmishers being roughly handled by the massed Persian archers while the Persian cavalry moved to envelop the enemy flanks. Unfazed, Mysoxargon deployed his Hoplite flank guards near the rough hills such that the Persian horse had to face them head on rather than sweeping around. At the same time, as his battered skirmishers streamed to the rear, he drove the main body of hoplites straight forward into the arrow storm. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">The hoplites advance on the Persian center</span></div>
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The Persian right broke rather quickly as the hoplites weathered the shower of arrows and drove into and through the Persian foot. On that side the Persian horse never engaged, and fled when the infantry broke. On the Persian left the infantry lines were only partly engaged, but the horse did their best to overcome the hoplite flank guards. However, their repeated charges were driven off by the steady Greek line of spears. In the end the Persian army broke and fled the field. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">The last attempt of the Persian horse to turn the Greek right flank</span><br />
The game was played with Big DBA rules. The problem with DBA is not enough toys, so our version has 6" wide elements of various depths with lots of 28mm figures on them. For example, an element of hoplites has 16 men in 2 ranks, and an element of Persian bows has 6 spearmen and 18 bowmen on a deeper base. Movement, shooting ranges and the table size are in proportion. Overall, it provides a great looking game that can be brought to a decisive conclusion in a reasonable length of time. Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-84819112979472087482015-11-19T20:52:00.000-08:002015-11-19T20:52:21.656-08:00Turtle Island, Part 4 - The Legacy
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jim and I were standing the last watch before dawn. I had
no trouble staying awake after the story the housekeeper had told. I could
scarcely credit her tale but I had no other explanation for what I had seen
with my own eyes. With the first false dawn Margarate approached me. Her tone
was less imperious and more friendly than it had been earlier. She offered up
some small talk which I found tedious at this time of day, and at last I asked
her plainly what was on her mind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
bridled, but adopted a more business-like tone. She described how her husband
had kept a fortune in silver coins in a small chest in his study. When the
situation began to deteriorate, he secretly hid the chest in the warehouse by
the dock. She hinted that her father would not be pleased if we left the island
without recovering the chest. I explained to her that our departure was likely
to be a desperate business and it wasn’t likely we would have an opportunity to
search for the chest. At that moment a picture of that horrid pagan altar we
had seen in the warehouse when we landed was in my mind. Margarate started to
argue the matter, but at that moment the maid, Martha interrupted. With tears
in her eyes she said she had gone to check Seth’s wound and had found him dead.
Doctor Menting and Hector soon joined us. The doctor expressed his surprise at
the death, as the wound had not been a mortal one. While Menting went to
examine Seth the housekeeper entered the room and told us the slaves were
gathering about 100 yards from the front of the house. She showed no surprise
at the news of our man’s death, but said he must not fall into the witch doctor’s
hands or he would become like those things outside. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">....the slaves were gathering...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All of us were now together. The light was increasing and
there were a dozen or a few more of the slaves forming a ragged line across our
route to the dock. A few others could be seen in the distance moving slowly in
our direction. We had to decide quickly what we would do. We couldn’t bring
Seth’s body with us and we couldn’t leave him behind. At this juncture, Hector
spoke up. He asked the housekeeper what might be done to prevent Seth’s
transformation. She responded that the body must be burnt or the head removed.
Without hesitation Hector directed Menting to remove the head and rejoin the
group ready to move out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spoke to us
in an even tone but he wore the habit of command plainly and I think our
spirits were lifted by his steadiness. We were going to stay in a tight group
with the four men in front and the three women close behind. The line of slaves
blocking our path was broken up by scattered patches of dense undergrowth. We
would exit the house and move quickly toward a gap in the undergrowth to our
right front. Three slaves stood in that gap. About halfway to that gap Hector
would give the command Halt! Fire! We would drop those three slaves and bolt
through the gap. As we had observed the previous day, the slaves were slow and
clumsy. Our speed would be our salvation. Hector warned us that no one must
stop to reload, and any man that fell behind must be left to his fate, Speed
was everything. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">I was being left behind!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We broke from the front door, formed quickly as
instructed, and began to jog toward the gap. The slaves were in motion toward
us all along the line. About halfway Hector gave the command to halt and fire.
Our four muskets banged out a ragged volley. We were blinded for the moment by
the smoke but Hector shouted “Move!” and we began jogging forward again. I was
relieved to see all three of the slaves on the ground, but two others were now
near enough to dispute our passage. My crewman Joe moved the women through the
gap and to the right, away from the closest slaves while Menting and Hector
struck the two slaves with their musket butts. I moved to follow Joe and the
women when I felt a pair of claw-like hands clutching my leg. One of the slaves
I thought we had dispatched was dragging at me and snarling like an animal. I
think I am as steady a hand as most men, but at that moment terror overtook me.
I saw Menting and Hector running to catch Joe and the women. I was being left
behind! Several slaves were approaching me, attracted by the sound of my
struggle with the thing clawing at my leg. I felt despair and surrender rising
in me, the horror of becoming one of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">them</i>,
and then I found a last reserve of strength. I struck savagely with my musket
butt on the head of my assailant and twisted out of his grip. I slipped on the
blood and went down on one knee. As the monsters closed on me, I sprang to my
feet and ran. I felt fingers clutching at my coat but I focused all on just
running as fast as I could. My musket fell from my hand and was left behind.
The path the others had taken was now blocked, so I swerved farther to my right
and found another path.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">I sprang to my feet and ran</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had left my
pursuers behind but I didn’t slacken my pace until I reached the shore. I saw
the others gathered at the dock, but instead of boarding the sloop there was
some sort of argument underway. Doctor Menting had Margarate by the arm, Hector
was loading his musket and looking back at the slowly advancing slaves. Joe was
helping the men left behind to prepare to cast off. I ran down the beach to the
group just as Margarate broke away from Menting. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She ran to the warehouse intending, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose, to search for her husband’s chest
of silver. Just as Menting caught up with her, she pulled the door open and
recoiled in horror. There in the shed, seated above that awful pagan shrine was
a slave with elaborate symbols painted on his body and her husband and the
overseer! I reached the dock and could see the slave stand up, laughing
maniacally. The two white men were dead, but awake like the other slaves. The
painted man must have been the witch doctor. I ran down the dock and boarded
the Hermione. Hector stood at the end of the dock, eyes fixed on the advancing
slaves and called out “To me, Doctor!”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Menting
slapped the struggling Margarate hard and half dragged, half carried her to the
ship. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were able to push away from the
dock just as the slave things emerged from the path onto the beach. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the island faded in the distance we fugitives were
still sitting on the deck, in silence. Hector was in conversation with the
mate, who was steering a course for Saint Martins. I feared that if I stood and
walked over to join them my legs might fail me. Hector walked over, sat next to
me and offered me his flask. He smiled (for the first time since we met) and
said “You did well, Captain”. That, and the strong drink in the flask steadied
me and I was soon able to assume command of my Hermione. The voyage back to
Saint Martins was uneventful. The man Hector took his leave a few days after we
landed as, he said he had business in Havana. Doctor Menting spent a good deal
of time in the company of the widow Margarate. They were married a few months
later. I wish him joy of it but I think a good man like him could have done
better. Still, her father was a very wealthy man. For my part, I got to know
her maid, Martha on the voyage home. She was a sweet girl who I thought had
conducted herself with credit on the island. We talked for hours when I took my
turn at the helm, and by the time we reached Saint Martins, she had agreed to
be my wife. Over the years of our long and happy marriage we had rarely spoken
of Turtle Island, until the night of the Governor’s reception, and if God
grants it we will think of it no more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Note:</b> This was
originally a game that I played with Mike (who styles himself King of St
Maurice) using The Dead Walk zombie rules with some basic card draw stuff to
generate zombies and random events. After the game Mike began riffing on all
that we might do with the card deck to flesh out the characters and generate
actions they might take consistent with their personalities. I’m retired now,
so I did a solo rerun of the original later in the week using the additional ‘chrome’.
The story above is that game. Mike and I will continue to refine the thing for
use in other heroic adventure type games set in various periods. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-68478355948569120512015-11-16T19:36:00.001-08:002015-11-16T19:36:38.870-08:00Turtle Island, Part 3 - A long night
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For a while we stood to arms, expecting another attack
but none came. Dusk was coming on and we agreed it wouldn’t be prudent to try
to get back to the ship in the growing darkness. I feared for the safety of the
few crewmen I had left on board, but we heard no firing from that direction and
my first mate, a wise and experienced man was in charge there. We posted Jim
and Seth to watch the front and back of the house from second floor windows.
The maid, a young lass named Martha, tended to Seth’s wound and the housekeeper
prepared a meal for us while Menting, Hector and I talked with Margarate about
what had just happened. It seemed things had been even worse than she had
hinted to her father in her letters. Her husband’s drinking and brutality
disgusted her. He and his overseer worked the slaves without mercy, and at last
a sickness took hold in the slave quarters. One of the slaves had been an
important man in their land, a witch doctor of some sort. He undertook the care
of the sick men but, despite his best efforts the slaves began to die, two or
three a day at first and then ten or a dozen. The fool Colbert tried to bully
the native, who soon grew cold and defiant. One night as he sat over his dinner
the overseer insisted on speaking to him immediately. He reported that there
were no fresh burials in the scrub land that had been set aside for the
purpose. When he confronted the witch doctor the man smiled wickedly and
assured him no graves were required. </span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The residents in the manor house were used to the sound
of joyless singing coming from the slave quarters in the evening. When the
sickness came the sound changed to something akin to a primitive worship service.
The singing faded away over the next two days. The overseer, who alone could
communicate with the slaves, feared to approach their quarters, and the next
morning when the overseer failed to report for instructions, Colbert took his
gun and stormed over to the man’s cabin in a rage. When he returned Margarate
found him pale and shaken. He mumbled something about blood on the floor and
the man being gone. Colbert lingered indoors for the rest of the day, drank
himself into a stupor and fell asleep in the drawing room on the ground floor.
Margarate retired and heard nothing during the night. When she awoke in the
morning, he was gone. Later that same day our ship had arrived. She knew not
whether he was dead or alive and she didn’t care. </span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red;">She shared with us stories her mother had told her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">While we were talking, the black housekeeper
brought food. She lingered around the room fussing with one thing or another
until at last her mistress lost patience and told her to get out. Hector
intervened and asked her what she had to say. I can scarcely credit what she
told us even now. Haltingly at first, and then with more confidence as she
found she was not being mocked, she shared with us stories that her mother had
told her. Her mother had been brought from Africa as a slave and among the
stories she told were tales of witch doctors who had the power to raise the
dead and control them. She believed that our’s was such a man. Doctor Menting
spoke then about the slave he had examined briefly during our fight that day.
The man’s body gave every indication of having been dead for several days, and
yet he had attacked our party. Hector then proposed that we take turns standing
watch and be prepared to strike out for the ship at dawn. </span>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-26214038241678659912015-11-15T16:42:00.001-08:002015-11-15T16:42:54.725-08:00Turtle Island, Part 2 - The Pact
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had sailed in the Hermione before, but this was my
first time in command and everything seemed new and exciting. We enjoyed fair
weather all the way to Saint Martins. My mission was to meet with the head of
the Van Hendriks House, a respected Dutch trading firm, and secure an agreement
regarding commerce between our Houses. I arrived in port and that same evening
I dined with Abraham Van Hendriks. After dinner we retired to his library to
discuss business. I presented my proposal and was surprised by his response.
Instead of a negotiation, he said he would accept my terms as stated if I would
assist him in a personal matter. A year earlier he had arranged what he thought
was a fine marriage for his only daughter, Margarate, to a wealthy planter.
This man, Colbert, had come to the islands five years before and had
established his plantation on a small, uninhabited island. He named his new
home Turtle Island, and spent lavishly on a fine home and 100 slaves to clear
the land for growing sugar cane. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At first all seemed well with Margarate. Van Hendriks
ships that brought supplies to the island and returned with cargoes of sugar
always brought a letter from her full of little details about her household.
More recently, the letters hinted at her husband’s drunkenness and cruelty. He
and his overseer worked the slaves brutally. She had only the company of her
maid, Martha and the housekeeper, a black freewoman named Mary for consolation.
Margarate knew not where her husband might turn his rage next, and feared for
her safety. Van Hendrik wanted to bring his daughter home, but to send one of
his own ships would attract attention and turn the matter into a public
scandal. The favor he asked of me was to transport his trusted friend Doctor
Menting to Turtle Island to quietly bring his daughter home. This all seemed a
simple enough task to secure a very favorable agreement with Hendriks, so I
agreed and Hendriks promised to have his people, Menting and Hector at the dock
in time to sail with the morning tide two days hence. </span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the appointed time Hendriks people arrived. Doctor
Menting was a young man, tall and thin with an easy smile and a look of a
university student about him. His companion, the German Hector, was an odd duck.
He was not a young man, but looked to be a man of action. I was a bit unsettled
to see both men had included a musket among their gear. And so we set off for
Turtle Island. Our destination was but two days easy sailing to the North West,
which gave me time to get acquainted with my passengers. Menting was a fine
fellow with a great store of interesting tales. Hector was quiet but, despite
his well worn clothes, a gentleman and very widely travelled.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In due course we
arrived off Turtle Island. As we coasted around to the dockside we had a view
of the cane fields. We could see a few of the slaves moving about but no one was
working the fields. I hadn’t thought much about it until I saw Hector leaning
on the rail and watching. While I didn’t see anything worth observing he was
taking in every detail. We tied up at the dock and disembarked. I decided to
accompany Menting and Hector. For insurance I brought two of my most steady men
and we armed ourselves with muskets as Menting and Hector were. Just to the
right of the docks was a small warehouse with the double doors half open. I
would have passed it by but Hector suggested we look inside. As we swung the
doors back the smell was overpowering. Blood had been spilled here and there
was a grotesque primitive religious display of some kind that included human
remains. We backed out of the shed, checked the priming on our muskets and
moved inland. Hector and I were in the lead and the others close behind. We
could see the house a few hundred yards off through gaps in the undergrowth. As
we made our way along the path Hector tapped my forearm lightly and pointed off
to our left. A single slave was approaching us. He seemed listless but clearly
he had seen us and was moving our way. I called out a question to the man but
he ignored me and kept shuffling toward us.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7cXDyCOjQouTphfEpTcKZ1WZVD9x6FJJyZ7aYqBP3bsC36VKpLhmnUzpjlXyLLMR-bylLh5bCVQ7Jk-hetRNjbM4s_SnT3dwugWrXVZH2Dwkc1VnjUGuku5yrWJir-TMcMER9qWQ7XZ0/s1600/Wargames+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7cXDyCOjQouTphfEpTcKZ1WZVD9x6FJJyZ7aYqBP3bsC36VKpLhmnUzpjlXyLLMR-bylLh5bCVQ7Jk-hetRNjbM4s_SnT3dwugWrXVZH2Dwkc1VnjUGuku5yrWJir-TMcMER9qWQ7XZ0/s320/Wargames+011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> "The man is sick..."</span></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“The man is sick” said Doctor Menting. Hector leveled his
musket at ten yards and put a bullet through the slave’s heart. The wretch
dropped to the ground and we all looked at the German with shock and surprise.
Before we could speak Hector said “He was a threat, look”. He pointed off to
our right front and there were two more slaves in the same disoriented state
moving toward us through the undergrowth. “Take them” he said coolly as he
started to reload, and Menting and my two men stepped forward and leveled their
muskets. Before they could fire the slaves lunged forward snarling like
animals. My man Jim and the doctor beat one of the slaves down with their
musket butts while the other slave seized my other crewman, Seth, by the hair
and bit him where the neck meets the shoulder. Seth staggered back in horror as
I advanced and cracked his assailants head open with my musket butt.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu__avjrqPXUvxwTHdmwxpVsdMm1UI6Xmd6gZAlKceumtlivEdW1lNp9IwZIKNWb50af8i7g2V1_WpCAvC5MtA_0EkWPUr45k1R6kT9BexdvVfcahJ591z8P1RGeDcPjhuAXYQDXjt0OI/s1600/Wargames+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu__avjrqPXUvxwTHdmwxpVsdMm1UI6Xmd6gZAlKceumtlivEdW1lNp9IwZIKNWb50af8i7g2V1_WpCAvC5MtA_0EkWPUr45k1R6kT9BexdvVfcahJ591z8P1RGeDcPjhuAXYQDXjt0OI/s320/Wargames+013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <span style="color: red;">"Take them!"</span></span></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Doctor Menting moved quickly to assist Seth. He examined
his wound and found it superficial. He poured water on the wound to clean it
and encouraged us to move directly to the house so we could treat it properly.
Hector meanwhile was crouching next to the man he had shot. He called over to
Menting “Doctor, take a look at this man”. “Too late for him, I’m afraid” said
Menting as he walked over and kneeled next to the corpse. “Is he dead?” I said,
but Menting waved me off as he examined the man with a puzzled look on his
face. At last, he looked over at Hector and said “This man has been dead for
the best part of a week”. I was trying to make sense of that statement when Jim
called out “They’re coming!” and we looked around to see three more slaves
approaching from our right, through the undergrowth. Others could be seen in
the distance between us and the house. We hesitated, none of this was expected,
nothing made sense and then Hector barked “To the house! Run!” and we ran. Our
assailants were slow and we were able to avoid them as we approached the house.
The door swung open and a woman called to us “Come in, quickly!” We tumbled in
and she slammed the door and locked it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_LjRx-WKgTv34xQnHwvIc6paM8YA8A-myT6lbJY28ugwhra4X0d-ip6aJPHQN6UA9S_QaPLHEp2mr-hvYgUVX4PQfULC1yjrXkbIEr1hHDWyOWjSiML6ND9In1_qaoNK0Qp2bMRkJRw/s1600/Wargames+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_LjRx-WKgTv34xQnHwvIc6paM8YA8A-myT6lbJY28ugwhra4X0d-ip6aJPHQN6UA9S_QaPLHEp2mr-hvYgUVX4PQfULC1yjrXkbIEr1hHDWyOWjSiML6ND9In1_qaoNK0Qp2bMRkJRw/s320/Wargames+014.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <span style="color: red;">"To the house!</span> <span style="color: red;">Run!"</span></span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We were in the central hall of the house, where a broad
stairway led to the second floor. Doorways to the left and right led to the two
main rooms on the ground floor. Margarate, the maid and the cook stood in the
hall staring at us. Menting approached Margarate who, of course, knew him but
Hector interrupted. “You and you to the window in that room and start shooting,
Menting follow me, you (this to the wounded Seth) escort the ladies upstairs
and stay with them”. He had the habit of command and we all responded by moving
to our assigned posts briskly. Soon muskets were firing from both front windows
and two of the slaves fell in the front yard. After that initial volley, the
slaves turned as if on command and shuffled away toward the undergrowth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Cease fire!” called Hector, I suppose to
preserve our limited powder and shot, and soon our assailants were nowhere to
be seen. </span></div>
Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-76986058747647389132015-11-14T09:53:00.000-08:002015-11-15T16:46:33.620-08:00Turtle Island, Part 1 - An Unwelcome Memory<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It was a beautiful <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>autumn evening in Charleston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The new Governor was having a reception and,
as one of our towns most prominent citizens, I and my dear wife of 40 years
were invited. I’ve never been much of a dancer, nor have I the skill of idle
chatter. My wife was on the other side of the room with her friends and I found
myself discussing ships with the Governor, a man who had spent considerable
time at sea in his youth. When he offered to show me the collection of
curiosities he had acquired on his voyages, I accepted with pleasure. The first
few items were the usual clutter that the locals in far flung places will sell
to gullible white men, but I made a credible show of being interested. He had,
he assured me, saved the best for last. He led me to a cabinet about the height
of my chest and the width of my outstretched arms. He opened the doors, I saw
it and the years fell away. The breath was taken from my body and my heart was
frozen with fear. It was a primitive ritual display of bones and feathers of
sacrificed small animals interspersed with clay fire pots against a backdrop of magic symbols painted
on a tanned human skin. The centerpiece was a human skull also
painted with ritual symbols. I had seen one exactly like it during my first
voyage as Master, when I landed on Turtle Island in the Caribbean. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I regained consciousness the guests were
gathered around me and my wife was holding my hand. </span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As our carriage made its way through the empty streets toward
home my thoughts drifted back to the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>circumstances of my childhood. I was born William Fletcher. My parents were
indentured to one of the great plantations upriver of Charleston. My memories
of that time are mostly of working alongside of them in the fields. The year
that I turned 10 a coughing sickness swept through the area and took both my
parents. I stayed long enough to see their Christian burial by the plantation
folk and then set off for the city, having no desire to serve out the rest of
their contract. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My first impression of Charleston was of a place of
unimagined wonder. I was amazed by the size of the place, and so many people,
and most of all the ships. I’d never seen a ship and as I wandered along the
docks looking at one after another my heart stirred and the sadness I felt for
the loss of my parents was in some way lessened. The little food I had brought
with me was gone and, as I walked along the docks I tried to think on what I
might do to get by. There were men carrying burdens up a gangplank onto one of
the great ships and I wondered if I might help out and thereby earn a meal. A
young man in a fine brown coat stood to one side eating an apple and watching
their progress. He looked like he was in charge so I approached him but was
taken by shyness and couldn’t find words. The man looked down at me, smiled and
said “Good day to you, shipmate!” His face was so kind and his voice so warm
that everything that had happened in the last few days overwhelmed me and I
started to cry. He soon had my story out of me and in no time I was eating a
fine meal in a window seat of one of the taverns that lined the docks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In response to his questions I revealed my
circumstances. I had no kin, no place to go and I feared that I would be caught
and forced to serve out the remainder of my parents’ indenture contract on the
plantation. The man, John, was Master of the ship that was loading, and the son
of the house that owned several such ships. He was sailing that evening and
expected to be gone for about a month. He offered me a berth as cabin boy and I
accepted joyfully. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I took to the sea naturally and could never learn enough.
My duties were light and the crew thought I was lucky and adopted me as a sort
of mascot. I spent the free time working alongside various crewmen<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and learning what I could of their duties. By
the end of my first voyage I was a proper shipmate indeed. When we returned to
Charleston John brought me to the family home and introduced me to his parents.
His father was impressed by the overly generous account of my seagoing exploits
and his mother embraced me almost as a son from the outset. Over the next ten
years I was at sea more than on land. My responsibilities increased with my
growing skill and experience, and my adopted family even hired a tutor to teach
me reading, writing and mathematics whenever I was home. On my twentieth
birthday my father, for so I regarded him, made me Master of a small trading
sloop bound for the Dutch colony of Saint Martins in the Caribbean. So began
the strange voyage that I will tell you of tomorrow. Such things are better
told sitting by the fire with plenty of brandy after a good dinner. For now, I’ll
just say that I lived happily with my adopted family. When John was lost at sea
the tragedy brought me and my <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>parents
closer in our grief. My mother passed away a few years later and my father did
his best to keep me running the business on dry land. It was too much for him
then and I think he feared losing me too. When that great and good man went to
his reward I was surprised to find that there was no other family and that all
had been left to me. From that time to this I have continued his honest
business practices and the company has prospered greatly.</span></div>
Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-88900722080480662702015-09-21T20:17:00.001-07:002015-09-21T20:17:43.452-07:00Late 17th Century HighwaymenJust before Wargames Factory handed over marketing their figures to Warlord Games they had a big sale. One of the items I acquired was enough War of the Spanish Succession cavalry to build a regiment on the Charles Grant model. I was left with 8 extra horsemen, and painted them up for a skirmish game where the dashing road agent Willie Brennan and his sidekick Mick have to outsmart or outrun Colonel Farrell and his detachment of the local Yeomanry. <br />
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Here we see Willie and and Mick galloping across my desk with the Colonel in hot pursuit. The problem now is rules. Something that has the Colonel gathering info on Willie's next move while Our Hero engages carriages full of beutiful rich women, relieves them of their baubles (except those with sentimental value!) and leaves them charmed and with a great story to tell. Does anyone in this community know of such a rule set that they could recommend?</div>
Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-81666272555977346192015-03-26T17:12:00.000-07:002015-03-26T17:12:47.827-07:00The Long Peace is shatteredPhilosophers have puzzled over the extended period of 'Not War' along the border between Ardoberg-Holstein and St. Maurice. Some thought that these neighbors had simply learned to settle their differences without cannon fire and others believed they just couldn't remember what the fighting was about. As we now understand, the lull in the fighting had been due to economy measures implemented by their respective French and English paymasters. Several months ago an English envoy arrived at the court of the Elector with a proposal for a force to join a Hanoverian army of observation on the border of San Maurice. When the spring grass was capable of supporting a campaign and the English contract money had arrived, one brigade of foot and one of horse marched to join the Hanoverians. <br />
<br />
When the Elector arrived in the theatre of operations he found the St Maurician army had already crossed the river and was encamped near the village of Snitchel. The Allied army formed up with a brigade of two English and two Hanoverian regiments of foot on the left, a brigade of four Electoral regiments of foot in the center and a brigade of five regiments of Electoral cavalry on the right. The St Mauricians, equal to the Allies in numbers, deployed with their foot in the center and horse on both wings. <br />
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The English commander, Lord Muggles, considered the Electoral contingent to be under his command as it was an English subsidy that had brought them to the field. As in past joint operations, the Elector ignored Muggles' presumption and regarded the man as the most tedious of his three brigadiers. The Elector's battle plan was for Muggles to adopt a defensive stance on the left while the Electoral infantry in the center pinned the St Mauricians and the cavalry on the right delivered the decisive blow. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">St Maurician Hussars take one in the labanza</span><br />
Things began well enough as a raw Hanoverian regiment of foot repulsed the charge of the elite St Maurician Musketeers regiment of horse and the advancing Electoral cavalry brigade swept aside a single regiment of hussars in their path. Then things started to go terribly wrong. Von Hassenfeiffer commanding the Electoral cavalry was carried away by the majestic sight of his five regiments sweeping down on the enemy left. He was not unaware of the difficulty of breaking fresh lines of infantry with unsupported cavalry, but he knew his boys could do it! He knew they were unstoppable! His riders would shatter the enemy left and roll up their entire line. As the Electoral horse bore down on them the unintimidated St Mauricians poured disciplined volleys into their ranks and the horsemen reeled back in confusion. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">The 'unstoppable' Electoral horse are stopped</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The Electoral infantry press the center</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The English/Hanoverian brigade, stout fighters, indifferent commander</span><br />
For the rest of the battle the Electoral horsemen could do no more than launch poorly coordinated and ineffective attacks on the enemy left. Von Hassenfeiffer seemed to have lost control over his battered regiments. On the Allied left the English/Hanoverian brigade was under attack and was resisting manfully, although with little direction from Muggles. Slowly they were being whittled down. The only bright spot for the Elector was his infantry brigade in the center. What began as a pinning attack in support of the cavalry inflicted serious damage on the St Maurician center and left. In the end it was not enough and the Elector was forced to withdraw and leave the enemy in posession of the field.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">St Maurician infantry taunt the withdrawing Allied army in their incomprehensible language</span><br />
A pox upon he who styles himself King of St Maurice. Wait until next time! Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-78040702712658182992014-03-17T19:24:00.000-07:002014-03-17T19:24:31.757-07:00Confrontation
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We rode by easy stages all morning, following the river back
to Schmeckle. The sun was warm and the air smelled sweet, or perhaps it just
seemed so to me as I rode alongside my Anna. She seemed shy and uncertain of
herself, quite different from her demeanor when we first met. I found her coyness
charming and, without meaning to, I talked far too much about myself. In due
course we arrived at the village. We stabled our horses with the blacksmith
and, according to Brother Mattias’s plan (worked out with Brumm on the way
while I was making a fool of myself) we went directly to the Mayor’s house. His
housekeeper, an old woman with long, matted black hair streaked with white
answered the door. She told us that the mayor was engaged and not receiving
visitors. As she moved to close the door Brumm pushed past her with a gruff
comment about overbearing servants and the rest of us followed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We entered the sitting room and found the mayor staring out
the window. When he turned to face us I was shocked at his appearance. He was a
ruined man, haggard and unkempt. His red rimmed eyes were vacant, and he
visibly flinched as his housekeeper entered the room and walked to his side.
She turned to face us and the humble servant who had met us at the door
transformed before our eyes into a vision of horror. Her twisted visage was
terrifying, and I felt my blood freeze as she surveyed our little group
contemptuously. Smiling and pointing a long clawed finger at the mayor, she
said sweetly “He belongs to me”.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The hunters confront the witch</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Good morning, Emma” said Mattias, although not as
confidently as was his manner. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I will eat your soul, holy man” said the witch “but not too
soon. First you will watch your friends die.” She turned her gaze on Anna,
grinning malevolently, rolled her eyes back in her head and started to chant
“By Oak and Ash and Thorn I command thee…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wanted to run to Anna, to protect her with my life, if
need be, but my legs wouldn’t answer. I looked back at my love and the first
thing I saw was her face. She was pleading with the monster with her eyes. Then
I saw the pistol in her shaking hand, pointed directly at me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mad Emma was laughing, but the sound was without mirth,
conveying only malice. “Ah, true love!” she sneered. “Make your lover a gift,
my dear!” At this, Anna’s expression changed from one of fear to profound
sorrow. Slowly, she turned the pistol and placed the muzzle against her own
breast. “You will not!” shrieked Emma “You will obey me!” and the sound of her
voice unmanned me. The report of the pistol echoed off the walls of the small
room and Anna was thrown back and dropped to the floor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I awoke in my bed at the inn with Brumm by my side. “He’s
awake!” he shouted, and a moment later Mattias and the landlord crowded in.
“God be praised” said the Brother. We thought you weren’t coming back. The side
of my face, my shoulder and chest were heavily bandaged and burned marvelously.
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Anna?” I said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I’m sorry, Heinrich” said Mattias, taking my hand “she is
safe in God’s care now.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I felt overwhelmed with sorrow, and for a time I could not
trust myself to speak. Brumm and the landlord left Mattias and me alone. At
last I was able to ask what had happened. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“When……when Anna fell you turned on the witch. She began to
laugh, a horrid sound, but the sound died in her mouth when you drew your long
knife and threw yourself across the room upon her. The struggle lasted but a
moment and was terrible. She tried to tear the flesh from your bones but your
knife was at her throat. You took off her head, and a bloody mess you made of
it. As it came away and her black soul left her body there was a blinding flash
and the room was filled with a terrible smell. The Devil claiming his own, I
suppose. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We brought you back here to
care for your wounds, but we didn’t think you would make it. You have been
asleep these two days past. “</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remained abed for three more days regaining my strength
and mourning for what I had lost. Mattias stayed by my side, talking
incessantly and bringing me back little by little. Farmer Brumm came by each
day to check on my progress, but he was quite busy setting right the damage
that had been done to the community, as far as he was able. The mayor was a
broken man and would, in all likelihood, never recover. The village elders
chose Brumm to replace him. They could not have chosen better than that brave,
honest fellow. Brother Mattias rode part of the way with me on the road to
Ardoberg. At last our roads parted as he had to return to Rome to report on the
business in Holstein. He was hoping for a holiday of his own in that city
before another assignment came his way. It seems there is a wealthy widow of
middle years there who is quite fond of him. I asked, smiling, how that squared
with his vow of celibacy and he replied that it was not so much a vow as a
guideline, or recommendation, as it were. We wished each other good health and
parted ways. I hope we shall meet again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I resumed my position in Ardoberg and excused myself to my
superiors for returning so late. An unfortunate accident and a slow recovery, I
explained. I couldn’t very well tell them the truth. For a man of my years to
be going off on an adventure would be seen as evidence of ….unpredictability
unbecoming of a Civil Servant. I think often of my time there, and I wonder if
I will ever regain that feeling of dull contentment that used to define me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Notes:</strong> This was an actual game that Mike and I played. The
concept was to recreate a classic horror movie type situation with Mike and me
as the heroes, hunting down the evil witch. The concept came from a great board
game called A Touch of Evil, which I got for Christmas. We set the 16’x6’
gaming table with a village in the middle and mysterious locations in the four
corners to be investigated. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
miniature rules used were Chaos in Carpathia, and we had homemade campaign
rules based on the board game to drive the action between confrontations. As
luck would have it the witch dragged the town down into darkness before we
could find her in the game, but that wouldn’t have made a very good story so I
changed a bunch of stuff to make it more entertaining. Hooray for Hollywood!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-75092280087165676662014-03-13T20:54:00.001-07:002014-03-13T21:02:18.863-07:00Gathering darkness<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Herr Brumm was an avid hunter and proved to be a capable
tracker. We followed the trail steadily West for a time. I was unaccustomed to
moving across rough terrain at such a pace. My companions both seemed inured to
this hardship and I feared I would hold them back, or worse, be left behind.
Finally, we emerged from the wooded terrain and found ourselves in the home
field of an old manor house. It was a handsome structure, but showing signs of
neglect. While making our plans back at the inn Brumm had told us of the
reclusive Baroness Von Rundel, the last of her ancient family, who lived here
with a few retainers. This was one of the locations we had discussed while
laying our plans at the inn and, I confess, being suddenly confronted with the
possibility of a new danger was an unpleasant sensation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We presented
ourselves at the front door where we were met by the man Rapp, who served as
her butler. We requested to speak with the Baroness but, although he recognized
Brumm, he was on the point of turning us away when a woman appeared behind him
and said “Thank you, Rapp. I will receive our guests in the library”. The
Baroness, for it was she, was of middle height, perhaps in her early 30s, with
golden hair and grey eyes. Her carriage was distinctly aristocratic but her
face radiated kindness. We followed her to the library where we shared the
events of the last few days and how we had tracked the degenerate laborers to
the area of her manor. She told us that several of them had indeed entered her
home field not 30 minutes before our arrival, and had been run off by Rapp and
the dogs. Brumm was for continuing to follow them, but they had scattered in
several directions and Mattias felt we had more to learn from the Baroness.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> The hunters arrive at the manor house</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We spent the afternoon discussing the situation with the
Baroness, who insisted we address her by her name, Anna. Despite her
reputation as a recluse, she was a charming and gracious hostess. Her
intelligence and gentle manner were having quite a strange effect on me. I had
always been a confirmed bachelor but as the afternoon became evening and she
invited us to stay at the manor overnight rather than make the long journey
back to the village, I agreed with the enthusiasm of a much younger man. I
caught an amused glance from Brother Mattias out of the corner of my eye, but I
didn’t care. I felt that, perhaps I had found the woman I was meant to spend
the rest of my life with. You may laugh at a man approaching forty years acting
like a young sprat, but those who have felt as I have will understand. Farmer
Brumm retired to his room soon after dinner. Brother Mattias asked for, and
received, the use of her library and Anna invited me to join her in the drawing
room. We talked far into the night and by the time I retired to my quarters it
was clear to me that we had formed a bond. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I lay awake for a time happily thinking how I might approach
Anna regarding our future together, but the exertions of the day soon claimed
me and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I awoke with a start about an hour
before dawn. Everything was quiet, indeed unnaturally so. The quiet was
oppressive but I dared not break it. I lay very still thinking of my life, the
opportunities wasted, the failures. How disappointed my parents must have been.
What a fool I had been to think Anna might love me, that anyone might love me.
There was something more. The sadness overwhelmed me. The darkness in my soul
was like a living thing that would be with me always. I could not live on like
this, yet I lacked even the courage to end my miserable existence.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Mad Emma sends her curse winging through the night sky</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The knock on the door
broke the silence like a gunshot. Sunlight was streaming through the window.
How long had I lay in this state? The man Rapp was enquiring after my well
being. The others had breakfasted and were preparing to depart. I could not
find voice to answer. Soon Brother Mattias, Brumm and Anna were at my side. I
was ashamed that she should see me in this state. Mattias asked that we be left
alone for a time. He looked at my face and into my eyes for what seemed a long
time in silence and then he interrogated me closely. He told me that the witch
had reached out for me in an effort to destroy my will. I didn’t understand how
this could be, but Mattias showed it to me in his Hammer of the Witches book.
Immediately he set to work to counter Mad Emma’s spell. Throughout the day he
prayed over me, punctuated by long discussions about my life and my faith. We
stayed behind closed doors for most of the day, although Anna insisted on
interrupting several times to bring in food or tea. On these occasions she
would sit with me and talk while I ate. Her smile and the light touch of her hand
on mine did as much, perhaps, as Mattias efforts to bring me back to myself. Brumm
had kept busy all day visiting the surrounding farms to see what he could learn
about Mad Emma and her cohorts. By evening I had shaken the terrible curse that
Emma had placed on me, although I felt drained. We decided to stay one more
night and set out for the village in the morning. Mattias, Brumm and I all
stayed in the same chamber that night. Mattias hung the small brass cross that
he wore around his neck on the window and placed several objects; a small bag
of dirt, a glass phial half full of what looked like dirty water and the skull
of a common cat, around the room. He seemed to take great care in the placement
of these objects but when I asked what he was doing he just laughed and
referred to them as the superstitions of an ignorant man. Still, we slept well
and when I awoke I was feeling myself again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At breakfast Brumm told us what he had learned from the
local farmers. It seemed the bonds that held this community together were
starting to unravel. Since we had left the village another man had gone
missing, crude dolls made from knotted grass and other ritual magic objects had
been found in the church, causing the village priest to pack up and leave, and
several prominent citizens had openly discussed trying to make peace with Mad
Emma.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> We were losing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We decided to return to the village to try and stabilize
the situation. Perhaps with all of the activity in the village there might be a
thread that we could follow back to Emma’s lair. As we stood in front of the
manor preparing to set out, the man Rapp brought us provisions for our journey
and dropped his impassive butler’s mask long enough to wish us Godspeed. Anna
came around the corner of the house on horseback. Her stableman led three
saddled horses. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Baroness” Brumm protested “You can’t come with us. There is
terrible danger.” </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Herr Brumm” she replied “I am not accustomed to taking
orders in my own courtyard. In any case, I think I may be able to exert some
influence here and there that may be useful.” She glanced at me briefly and
smiled just a bit and my heart leaped in my chest. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And so it was that we skirted the wood and
followed the river bank back to the village.</span>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622602871432060510.post-33892028071345315402014-03-11T21:40:00.000-07:002014-03-13T21:01:49.411-07:00Part 2 - The best laid plans<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I sat in the common room of the inn with Brother Mattias far
into the night. The landlord had given up long since and had retired. The good
Brother enthralled me with stories of his adventures in strange lands. His
Order, it seems, was created by the Vatican for the purpose of rooting out
occult practices in the dark corners of Europe. I am a rational man, and in the
light of day in a civilized place I would have laughed off these tales as the
creations of a talented liar. Here in these brooding hills, sitting in this
little inn with only the light of the dying fire between us and the darkness,
his stories seemed real enough.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mattias spoke of unnatural creatures, servants of the Devil,
who would appear in some remote village and slowly work their evil until the
place was given over entirely to the dark forces. When news of such activity
came to the Vatican, one of the Irish Christian Brothers would be dispatched to
confront the evil. Some were lost, but great victories were won, too. This war
had been going on for generations without the people in the great centers of
European Enlightenment being aware of it, but in the countryside the common
folk knew, and were afraid. I asked why the Roman Church didn’t make this great
struggle known, and Mattias reminded me that 100 years before they had tried
that. As a result, a witch hunting hysteria swept across Europe and many old
women, but very few actual witches, were burned. Since then they had acted
quietly, and only in areas they were certain that evil was trying to gain a
foothold. As the first light of dawn filtered through the dirty window and the
last embers of the fire were dying Brother Mattias informed me that I had been
chosen to assist him in this great work. He smiled, congratulated me and
instructed me to get some sleep and meet him back here at noon to make a start.
By that time he had so worked his magic on me that none of this seemed strange
at all. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After listening all night to Mattias’s ghoulish stories one
would think that sleep would not be easy or peaceful, but in fact, I couldn’t
remember the last time I had slept so well. I awoke entirely refreshed about an
hour past noon, and made my way to the common room. I saw my new friend sitting
at the same table by the window. By the sheer number of cups and plates in
disarray on the table, I could see he was just finishing a substantial meal. As
I advanced into the room the Landlord was at my elbow telling me the Brother
had charged his meal to my account. I felt so rested and refreshed I smiled and
nodded my assent, then went to join him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I partook of a
little soup and bread, Mattias shared ‘our’ plan of campaign. In cases like
this, he said, the entity would terrorize the local people with misfortunes up
to and including murder. They would ply their dark arts to sow discord amongst
the population until they sank into despair and submission. His job, he
explained, was to find the enemy and destroy it. He produced an ancient tome
from a leather bag and placed it on the table. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“This” said Mattias “is the Malleus Maleficarum. It means
Hammer of the Witches.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I know what it means” I responded with a smile “I learned
my Latin at an early age.” This was met with a sour look, which I enjoyed
immensely. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pressing on, Mattias said “This will help us to identify the
signs that will ultimately lead us to her lair.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Have you ever hunted a witch?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No, not a witch, no, but the book will be our guide. We’ll
get her, sir, never you fear.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Well, let’s say we do find your witch. What will we do with
her?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mattias smiled brightly, having come to the heart of the
matter. “Well, ideally we would burn her, although if pressed for time taking
off her head will work just as well.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He spoke matter of factly, like a tradesman working out a
solution to a familiar problem. I was taken aback. I had come here for a relaxing
holiday and allowed myself to be gulled by this smooth talking stranger who was
now proposing that we hunt down and set fire to an old woman!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Have you lost your mind, sir? We can’t burn an old woman
alive!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Not a woman, my good man, a witch. How do you kill witches
where you come from?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We don’t…” Suddenly the door flew open and a man helped a
sobbing woman to a table. I kept my seat as I have always been a man who minds
his own affairs, but Brother Mattias walked over and sat with the couple. He
took the woman by the hand and they spoke in low tones. The man still looked
agitated and the woman distressed, but Mattias seemed to have a calming effect
on them. The landlord brought them ale and sat down. There they stayed for the
better part of an hour while I sat just out of earshot. Mattias seemed to be
doing most of the talking. At last the man and woman got up and left and
Mattias returned to our table. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Things are worse than I thought” he said. “That poor
woman’s brother has gone missing after a dispute with a gang of landless farm
laborers who seem to have fallen under the control of Mad Emma. Two days ago
their neighbor’s milk cow was killed in the night, and yesterday the miller
abandoned his mill and left for the city. His neighbor tried to get sense out
of him, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t say why. The man, a local farmer, says
people are afraid and are talking about making their peace with the witch. We
must act now or this village will be lost! The farmer has agreed to join us
here later this afternoon.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The landlord, who had seemed indifferent to the event s
unfolding in the area surrounding the village, had actually been too frightened
to speak. Seeing that we intended to take a hand in the matter, he agreed to
provision us and to allow his inn to be used as a meeting place for those
wishing to join us. He also directed us to the village blacksmith, where we
were able to purchase two decent pistols and two stout hunting knives. The
farmer, Hans Brumm, who had come in with the woman was respected in this
community and was known as a reliable man. As good as his word, he arrived in
the late afternoon and we made our plans over dinner. Beyond the village within a few hours walk at most there were several places where the witch might have her lair. A manor house owned by a reclusive Baroness, a castle that had been abandoned for years. The windmill
had only recently been vacated by the miller who had fled the area and a
ruined abbey that was said to be occupied by the renegade farm laborers who were
thought to be in thrall to Mad Emma. We decided to go to the Abbey the next day
and confront the curs in an attempt to gain information on where the witch’s
lair might be. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
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<v:stroke joinstyle="miter">
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</v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:formulas></v:stroke></span></v:shapetype><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At dawn the next day Brother Mattias and I met farmer Brumm in
the village square and began our journey to the ruined abbey. With Brumm as our
guide we made good progress and arrived at our destination within the hour. We
approached the ruins cautiously, hoping to surprise the vagabonds. We were
unsure of their numbers but Brumm told us they lacked spirit and could be
handled easily enough if one showed resolve. Mattias seemed up to the task and
I took comfort in Brumm’s steadiness. This sort of thing was new to me but I
was determined to play a man’s part and not let my companions down. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: red;">The degenerate laborers are surprised by the witch hunters</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We came upon the beggers sleeping. Without hesitation
Brother Mattias strode into the abbey courtyard where they lay around a burnt
out campfire. “Get up you louts!” he shouted. Brumm followed close behind,
shouting and kicked one of the sleepers awake. I came in third brandishing my
pistol and trying to look fierce. The laborers scrambled to their feet,
snatched up an assortment of agricultural tools that served as their weapons
and faced us. To my own surprise I shouted “Drop your weapons, damn you!” and
fired my pistol in the air. Our opponents started to move on us and I
immediately regretted emptying my weapon. Mattias’s pistol banged and sent a
ball close past one man’s ear. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brumm
stepped forward and dropped the ringleader with his musket butt. At this, the
rest of them dropped their weapons and ran off through the ruins and into the
woods like rats. I found myself shaking with excitement and tremendously
relieved. I had never imagined I would be in a situation like this. Would my
friends back in Ardoberg believe me? While I was composing myself, Brumm had
dragged his victim back on his feet by the scruff and was shaking him like a
terrier. Mattias confronted the prisoner.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What shall we do
with this fellow” he said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Brumm leaned around to look into the prisoner’s face. “We
hang him” he growled. “There is a fine stout oak just beyond the wall.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">They were clearly trying to frighten the man in order to
extract information from him on the location of Mad Emma’s lair and also on the
fate of the missing brother of that poor woman at the inn yesterday. I was
hoping the man wouldn’t notice we had no rope. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We know you serve the witch” Mattias said to the oaf. “Tell
us where she is and we’ll let you go.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“She protects us!” This from the oaf.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Is she protecting you now?” said Brumm as he threw the man
to the ground. “What did you do with Paul, my wife’s brother?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We did nothing! He’s run off, that’s all. He’s afraid of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i>!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I know you Sib.” said Brumm “If you are lying I will find
you and I will hang you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mattias knelt down next to the thoroughly frightened man and
spoke in a gentle tone. “We don’t want you, man. We want the witch. Tell us
where her lair is and we will let you go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I don’t know where she lives. When she wanted us to do
things she would find us.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“He is telling the truth” said Mattias. “Turn him loose”. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Brumm sent the oaf on his way with a kick. As the man
disappeared into the woods I asked Mattias what our next move was to be. “Give
him twenty minutes” he said “and then we follow him.” </span></div>
Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13449659796335063872noreply@blogger.com4