Autumn (3 cont)

Autumn (con.t 4) \

Intendent Bastille had strolled into town to take his morning coffee and there met L’Comte d’Beauphaup. As they walked back out the gates to the Gallian stonghold, d’Beauphaup wondered how the Soweiter League was going to take the violation of Offenbach’s neutrality.
Bastille winced internally and casually asked what violation could the good count mean?
“We’ve intelligence that the 5th Porque Line and the Libbenstal Dragoons intend to use their crossing of the Main to move around the congestion around your depot,” the count answered.
“We’ve no such units in the Gallian Army,” Bastille protested.
“Really?” the count asked. “V. Mack reports than his team has intercepted their advance men in the Offenbach outskirts near our batteries.”
“But, we have no such units!” Bastille protested.
“Interesting,” the count responded nonchalantly. “We thought that they were another batch German recruits as only their officers spoke any French, at it was pretty vile .... Oh! Excuse me, m’Lord, I must intercept those flower carts I promised Madame V. Kern an excellent selection for today.”
Bastille strode purposefully back to his office. As he passed the guards at the door, he caught the eye of an ensign. “Get contact with Maistre Pierre,” he commanded brusquely and climbed up to the chart room, where he began spreading out local charts. Lt. Legume stepped helpfully forward and was handed an hastily scribbled note for Gen. Chevert.

Meanwhile, in the fields northwest of Frankfurter, the parish of St. Gertrude was being swiftly transformed into St. Gertrude of Jesus. Nice new statues were added to the graveyard and the nave. Close inspection might reveal that they’d been painted so swiftly that bugs were stuck on them. The congregation was in an unusual state of excitement. Even though few of them were really Catholics, the presence of the polite and healthy young advanced seminarians undergoing some field work experience under Fr. Umlaut was causing some comment. Even the local Anglerican circuit rider was jealous.
To placate him, Fr. Umlaut promised to take some Protestant men in to study Rubrics too. This may have been a mistake as the local frauleins soon realized the later young seminarians were eligible. The Vespers services and benediction began to attract a small crowd.
Fr. Umlaut let it slip that he was looking for a good Mission team (Revival for Protestants) to better minister to the temporary crowd.
An Italian merchant who happened to overhear him at the inn mentioned that he might soon be meeting with an abbot who would probably gladly provide somebody. Fr. Umlaut was grateful, as the merchants usually pushed on through to Frankfurter. The merchant assured the rustic cleric that it was no problem. The merchant had simply been too tired and a little unwell and didn’t want to have to deal with the Frankfurter gate hassles in the late evening.
“Such an experience is bound to leave a Mark on someone,” the priest agreed.
“Well there’s marks and there’s Marks,” the Italian philosophized. “Some are easier to deal with than others. Most of them you can cover up.”
“Just so long as one doesn’t make a Habit out of it, “ Fr. Umlaut agreed. “Ah well, I hope you have good luck, friend. Alas, I must return to read my office before the light fails.”
The Italian toasted him with his stein and watched the priest amble back to the Rectory. Then he rose and went around to the stables where his servant was caring for the horses. “V. Mark is here,” he told the lad.
“For sure?”
“Yes, the priest tried to warn me. I suspect he’s being watched rather closely.”
“If V. Mark is here, then surely the Apostate is not far away,” the youngster enthused.
“That is quite possible,” the merchant responded. “Anyway,” he continued louder, “you need to take the mare out for some exercise tonight. Steer clear of all these military patrols, won’t you, I need the horse back in the morning, and it would be helpful you came back too.”
“I’ll do my best,” the lad grinned as the merchant returned to the beer garden.

A few moments later, he rode an aging mare out of the paddock and down the road. Soon After the road had turned around the hill, he came on an hussar who was inspecting his saddle straps. “Guten Abend!” he called cheerfully.
“Depends on how and to whom you’re bending,” the hussar joked as he straightened up.
“I’ll drink to that!” the lad responded, to which the hussar quickly produced a flask, took a swig and offered to share with “Proust!”
The lad thanked him and took a drink. As he handed it back, he apologized, “I didn’t mean to drink the whole thing.”
“The whole thing?”
“That’s my guess, I’ve got to find the good merchant’s train to give them their Marks.”
“On your Mark, then,” the Hussar responded. “I’ve to to get back to my billet too.”

As the lad rode on into the dusk, SomeRussian Guyovitch mounted and turned back towards the hunting lodge. Events were developing again.

Autumn (2nd cont)

Autumn (2nd cont)

The room was small by comparison with others in the palace. Unfortunately, this made the lurid ostentation of the gilded, rococo furniture, the ornate frames of the erotic paintings, and the excessive folds of burgundy drapes even more overly lush. King Ludwig set his goblet (the stem being a statue of an orgastic dancer from some vile Greek rite) down on the small round of bluestone within the ropes of gilded ornamentation of the table and asked, “Andrew Kern? The order is sure?”
A portly courtier whose face hid behind bushy cheek beards and mustache grinned. “The last witness to our little escapades in the hunting lodge, Sire.”
“He’s an, ah, irritation,” the king continued, “and must be scratched. But why should we be concerned with Prince Allbrick? He’s illegitimate, disowned, and apostate. We can’t even use him ourselves.”
A tall courtier in riding clothes responded. “He was the eldest, Sire; and there’s a rumor that Stanken plans to acknowledge him and give him an auto-de-fe reconversion. That’d put another cavalry genius and skilled plotter in place as Prince Regent should the Hurtshog not recover from his unfortunate wound.”
“That’s another irritation!” the King snapped. “How could Herr Badspielman miss? We’d gotten him placed right beside that bloated bum as an aide!”
“It seems that the swollen sausage is very agile and slippery when riding into a charge, Sire. We’re lucky that the Frankszonians didn’t realize that it wasn’t just a battle wound.”
“Too bad about Badspielman, though,” the portly courtier shook his head. “Why did he let himself get carried so close to an infantry formation?”
“He didn’t,” the rider responded. “That’s just where his body was recovered afterwards.”
A moment of silence followed as the two courtiers thought that a bullet could have been fired by more than just the public combatants. The king returned to his complaint, “Why must we risk an agent against this greasy Frankfurter? We’ve already lost an entire team in our last attempt on the Kerns.”
“His return of the things he took with him into exile is perhaps more important than his person,” the portly councilor commented. “A seal, a ring or two, and a very small scepter.”

(A computer crash erased the interesting byplay as Pederastein, the Portly Courtier, and King Ludwig continued their plotting. Alas, too ill to recreate it, but here’s a synopsis)

They will infiltrate Stagonian troops into the area around the hideout. After all, the Stagonians are already uniformed like Gallians and their attack would trigger a general Frankszonian uprising and destroy the Fhartzen standing with the Gallians, and thus remove them from rule. Such deceitful tactics were deemed vile enough.
This attack, however, is a cover for another plot. Originally, they’d planned to kidnap and kill the Urpprinz and frame Allbrick and Andrew Kern for the deed. This was altered, though, when they realized that it might be too vile ... and arouse an horrible coalition against them if exposed ... which would create the kind of political community of minor princes which Frankszonia had been advocating as a response to the pressure of the greater powers. Therefore, they decided to make the attack on the Urpprinz a cover for an attempt to steal the Urpprinz’s treasure box. There was information that the items brought back by Allbrick were kept there under the guard of two large black Turkish warriors.
Thus they will vilely deceive the Fhartzen and Kerns into destroying themselves!

Autumn, (1st cont.)

Autumn (cont. 1)

A somewhat worn but quite well made coach pulled up to a coach house in rural Stagonia. Three, well attired merchants stepped down and entered the common room. With thick Italian accents they place their orders and ask for the ostler to assist their driver. The innkeeper disdainfully noted their accent and their freshly minted Florins. He grumpily told his waitress to take care of the foreigners and stumped out to the stable.
“Zuckerman!” he called. There was a clatter from the rear of the stables and a somewhat bedraggled man emerged with his fork still in his hand. “There is an Italian coach out front. Their coachman wants to you examine a horse for some reason.”
“Ja, ja,” the ostler replied and walked out into the courtyard. The innkeeper noticed that the ostler tucked something under his tunic just before he stepped into the light.

“Gutten Morgen,” Zuckerman greeted the coachman who was bent down examining some of the straps on a lead horse. “Und vat ist der problem, mein Herr?”
The coachman straightened up and turned to the ostler. As he did so, he made a small gesture above his right eyebrow. Zuckerman looked around the empty courtyard quickly and turned back to the driver who said, “these horses are a trouble. I’d swear one of them was obtained from those Croats and the other is a Protestant.”
“Perhaps,” the ostler replied, “they’d pull better if we changed them from side to side.”
“Pasha was already switched over here,” the driver replied, “but with Andrew Kern beside him, he tends to fight the lead a lot more.”
“Have you tried giving Andrew a stein of beer before starting?” the ostler responded, concealing an involuntary jerk as he heard the names.
“It’d take a whole keg to get us all the way to Frankfurter,” the driver responded.
“Can your party stay tonight, Father?” Zuckerman asked. The Driver quickly hushed him and looked around furtively to make sure the courtyard was still empty. Zuckerman looked up at some crows squabbling in the branches overhead. “I know a good horse dealer,” he continued, “who might be able to help you. Herr Pederastien.”
“Doesn’t he supply mounts for the Stagonian Lieb Garde?” the coachman asked.
“Sometimes,” the ostler responded, “and some good grooms too.”
“Well, as God Wills It,” the coachman sighed.
“Ja, as “god” wills it,” the ostler smirked as he turned back to the stables.

Enter the Holy Man

Autumn

(I apologize for the bad German in my posts. Forty odd years ago, I could read and mumble a bit of Deutsche along with some others ... all that burned away in a high fever about 1968 or 69. So I’m using dim memories of phrases common around the house .... in hopes of someday reviving access to those memories).

Father Umlaut, a cheerful, portly priest was putting up the buckets and brooms in the sacristy of St. Griselda’s. As usual, he’d had to clean up after the morning Mass. There were few Papists in his parish, and the episcopal directive that paid positions such as sexton (and except for musicians) had to be given to the “true Faithful” rather restricted the available pool of talent for sextons and such. No matter, he needed the little exercise it gave him, and the extra prayer time before the Eucharist. He was grateful for the good nature of the villagers. His Altar Sodality was mostly Protestant (and the reason that his main altar cloths were quilts). He finished locking up the chalice and rinsing out the cruet (most churches used two, one for water and one for wine ... since he tended to pour straight from the bottle which was shared with folks after Mass .... it being always donated by one of the local vintners .... he only needed one cruet).
He went out into the Sanctuary again, genuflected, and happily turned towards the doors and their enticing view of Bruderhansen beer garden across the road. Abruptly, a shadow detached itself from the stairs to the choir loft. “Eine Moment, mein Vater,” it whispered.
“Certainly, mein Herr ....?” Fr. Umlaut responded.
“Herr Schwartzmann, Vater,” the man whispered.
“You need Confession?” The priest asked the stranger.
“Nein. Ich nichts hier bin, Verstehe?” it whispered back.
“Ah,” the normally cheerful cleric was saddened. More difficulties, and now in his parish. “Sigh”.
“Kommen Sie vor dem Hurtshog.”
“The Hurtshog!?!” Father Umlaut quickly lowered his voice. There’d been rumors of a wound and an infection in the battle at the Gallian Depot. Were Last Rites needed for their patriotic ruler? “I’ll get my anointing kit,” he whispered to the stranger and turned back to the sacristy.
“Nein, nein,” the dark man responded. “Aber, Kommen Sie schnell, bitte.” The man tugged at Fr. Umlaut’s cassock urgently, so they went outside together. Father saw a tinker’s cart waiting beside the church and clambered aboard with Schwartzmann. They soon plodded out of town, but as soon as the road curved behind the first hill, Schwartzmann shouted and the horse broke into a swift trot. Startled, Father Umlaut looked more closely at the mane, tail, and rump rushing ahead of him. This was no tinker’s horse!
After they’d jounced down the road for about a half an hour, the cart turned onto a faint trace which Umlaut knew led to a dilapidated estate which had been an hunting lodge in a previous century. No sooner had the cart passed through the tree line, however, two dragoons rode quickly out of cover and challenged them. Schwartamann simply stood up in his seat and lifted the huge,, floppy hat. The troopers saluted and turned back to their hiding places.
Seconds later, the cart came into view of a very refurbished mansion. Fr Umlaut swept his eyes around quickly and spotted mounted Cuirassiers of the Lieb Garde posted about the park. Once again, the good priest worried for the safety of Frankszonia. As they drove through the gates, he noted that the sentry boxes were filled with Jaegers who stood guard with the crispness of Grenadiers. Two civilians came out to help the priest down.
“Herr Schwartzman,” one of the men said quietly to the priest’s companion.
“Herr Badmann,” the tinker replied.
“We’ve got some hot Frankfurters boiling.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Schwartamann completed what was obviously a ritual. “He seemed familiar?” he asked about the other civilian who was leading the cart and its horse away.
“Von Mack,” Baddmann grinned.
“Ah,” Schwartzmann nodded his acknowledgment.

As the party entered the gloomy hall, Fr. Umlaut heard a baby crying somewhere nearby. A door opened and a Russian hussar and a Turkish officer stepped towards them warily. “Well, Mackie,” the Turk asked in the local German dialect, “is this your little saint?”
“Prince Allbrick?” Fr Umlaut burst excitedly.
“Nein, Nein,” Schwartzmann interrupted, “Er ist der Pasha Pastrami!”
“Right,” the priest winked at the “Turk” who then introduced his friend, SomeRussian Guyovitch. They apologized for their unfamiliarity with local customs as they led the priest into a chamber where two ladies were soothing a cradle and a group of officers were clustered near the fireplace. Hottotrot and Beauphaup were seated with another lady beside a wounded officer lying on a chaise. Then, the Hurtshog rose somewhat stiffly from the cluster of officers.
“Benjamin,” the portly noble greeted Fr Umlaut. “I’d take you by the hand, but they’ve got it tapped to my side,” he chuckled. “Your Highness,” he called to the women by the cradle, “If you and your brother would be so good as to join us?” One of the ladies rose and joined with Guyovitch and the Pasha. Umlaut recognized the Duchess v. Kern.
“This is a pleasure!” the priest hugged her jovially. “We were all afraid that you’d been killed in one of Stanken’s mad schemes.”
“Unfortunately,” one of the officers responded grimly, “the order knows we’re all alive too.”
“The order?” Umlaut was shocked. “That was suppressed!”
“Yeah, right,” the “Pasha” responded. “I had to shoot my way through them at Aschenberg.”
“And,” Guyovitch added, “since they’re suppressed, they can’t possible be combining with von Pederastein from Stagonia, right?”
“That’s sickening,” Umlaut agreed.
“We’ve thought of a way of spotting them, however, before they strike,” a tall, dark officer volunteered in an heavy accent. “They will be hunted even as they stalk us.”
“And that,” the Hurtshog chimed in cheerfully, “is where you and your empty church come into the game.”

It was very wet night ...

As v. Mack hastened down the stairs, he heard a noise and bustle from the ground floor. Quickly taking a post at a landing, he glared down at the figures milling around in the foyer. To his surprise, he recognized the long absent Comte l' Beauphaup. However, Mack's professional eyes noticed that instead of the usual cluster of fancily dressed youth, the accompanying men had the hardened look of seasoned dragoons.
Mack quickly slid down the hall to the doors of his employers and gave the special knock.
"Wonderful!" the Duches v. Kern declared as he stepped in. "Have you noticed that Frankszonia has FINALLY decided to officially recognize our presence?"
"Perhaps," Mack responded coolly, "they decided they'd need to while we were still present."
"Oh, I wasn't planning on leaving without SOME sort of meeting," The Duchess replied icily.
"It's not your plans, but those of Louis and Hugh d'Vile I'm worried about," Mack responded.
Somerussian Guyovitch lurched to his feet. "Where?"
"Close, and with a team for backup."
"They mean to get all of us!" the Duchess gasped.
Mack's trained ears noticed the tread of cavalry boots crossing the floor above them.

Meanwhile, back in Frankfurter ....

Von Mack, sitting near a window in a quiet cafe near the temporary residence of his nobles, observes a large man striding through the dark puddles of the wet night. That can only be Moosehunter, he thinks when the figure suddenly stops in a bit of shadow and seems to look directly at his window. Then, with a quick sideways jerk of the head down the street, the large man strides into the rain.
v. Mack quickly rises and tosses a coin to the barman, grabs his coat, and hurries out into the street. Moosehunter has vanished, as V. Mack expected, but a quick whisper from a sodden, late night vendor asks, "Some goat cheese, meine Herr? It's quite fresh, and there's more to be had at the Sign of the Broken Flute."
"Goat cheese?" v. Mack asks, then comments, quietly, "this looks more like some Muenster."
"There be plenty of monsters on the street tonight," the vendor responds. Then he quickly crosses the street, turns a corner, and vanishes.
V. Mack looks at the cheese in his hand, and notices the paper in which it is wrapped. He hurries back to his rooms and presses the paper against the chimney of his lamp to read "3 + karl v". Rapidly snatching up a case from his luggage, v. Mack hurtles out of his room towards the quarters of the V. Kerns.

Dispatch from Sonnenhauf near Klein Umstadt

From: General L'Marquie d'Hottatrot
To: His Grace, the Hurtshog Stanken Fharts v. Frankfurter

Sire:

I have met and foiled an attempt to penetrate the defiles of the OdenWald by the Colon Coalition.
Our scouts and sources report a concentration near Radheim.
It is possible that the foe will attempt to maneuver further north to near Schafheim to strike at us via Schlierbach. As this would expose them to an assault on their flank launched from good cover, I believe that they will first attempt to force a somewhat more constricted passage directly from Radheim to this place.
Our forces have deployed for a rear slope defense, but a curve in a watercourse east of here provides us with the opportunity to contest two bridge crossings. The first is actually in the defile, but the second is below the ridge which we are holding. Furthermore, the enemy would be constricted by the bend in the stream and have only bridge to his rear for his guns.

I have the honor to be your servant,
L'Marquis Hottatrot

Dropping from the Cathedral Eaves ...

Eaves Dropping

Mack knelt in the darkness, leaning into the shadow of the great pillar. He smiled ironically. Frankfurter was mostly Anglerican / Lutheran and pro-Protestant. Still it had a sizable population of Papists, including the scandalous Later-In-The-Day Saints. That cult had very enjoyable festivals and celebrations, so everybody pretended to belong. Still, most days, the Ducal Cathedral was almost empty. Naturally, the foolish children thought of it as a private place for their trysts ... not realizing that anybody who actually entered the building was almost always noticed by somebody, and gossip blazoned their romantic secret across the market in seconds.

So, his informant being an imaginative lass from the mercantile class (which actually runs Frankszonia), had arranged her “secret contact” there.

It was no loss. The mother of the family came from the Reich Duchy of Beerstein, so folks would already assume that he would contact them. Then again, she was healthy, pleasant looking, and quite cheerful. Having himself linked in gossip with her could only enhance his carefully contrived reputation.

So, suppressing a quiet chuckle in the stained glass colored shadows, he began to cross himself and to rise ... but froze instead.

Another had entered the nave. Unlike most folks, who went softly and even attempted furtiveness, the figure strode quickly over to the candle stands and dropped some coins into the collection box.

“Do you need a lighter, my son?” an older cleric queried from the sanctuary.
“Certainly, Light is Needed,” the stranger replied. Mack could hear the capital letters and the Italian accent.
“Adjutorum nostrum in Nomine Domini,” said the monk.
“Qui fecit Caelum et Terram,” the stranger responded.
There was a moment of quiet as the two regarded each other and swept their eyes around the dark interior. They seemed to miss Mack still reverently kneeling behind his pillar.
“He’s been spotted,” the stranger.
“How close?”
“Cavenderia.”
“And?”
“We don’t know yet. The General Secretary thinks he sailed on to Trieste and has alerted the Tyrol brothers.”
“But you?”
“Up through Croatia to Vienna and then across to the Main somewhere.”
The priest demurred, “A Turkish Captain General going through Vienna without being spotted?”
“He’s a Fhartz. They have a low opinion of the Wieners’ intelligence already, and he would be a traveling German noble. Hardly remarkable or even noticeable in the waltzes or beer gardens.”
“You’re right,” the priest mused. “He also is remarkably well suited to come as one of the Croats or an Hussar. What do you suggest?”
The stranger sat in a pew, and Mack noticed that in spite of his martial bearing he wore no sword. “I sent a Postulant to Father Feurenkopf. They’ll be watching the inns to the west of Vienna. I think we need to get higher up the Main and stake out the boats. He could easily make entrance from Offenbach.”
The priest began to pace nervously. “What shall we do if he makes it?”
“I honestly don’t know,” the stranger complained. “I know that the Secretary and his cronies have their ideas, but none of them are really used to working in the field. What’s old Stinky up to? This could be a subtle bit of pressure on the Reichs Rat in Wien. It could be a trigger for some rumpus inside Stagonia. It could be merely working out a new route to smuggle in more spices for their Frankfurters.” He grunted wryly, “it could even be a purely sentimental desire to visit again. They were quite close when the Hurtshog was little.”
“Do you think the Hurtshog might reinstate him?” The priest was very worried at this prospect.
“It’s possible,” the Italian threw up his hands. “Everybody forgets that the Apostate is legitimate, and he’d make a very skilled Regent if it came to that.”
“Gott in Himmel!” the priest paled. “We’d lose our status versus the heretics!”

One of the ornately carved doors creaked open somewhere and banged shut. The priest quickly turned to trimming the candles while the Italian rose and knelt before them. A young man, plainly dressed but in fine cloth, came in peering around. “Father Silenius?” he called from the back, is that you?”
“Yes, Richter. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Father Silenius turned to the Italian, “I’d be blest to hear your confession, traveller,” he covered quickly. “Come, let’s step into the sacristy to be private a moment.”

The two plotters exit, and the youth advances up the aisle, anxiously watching them go. Mack slips quietly away and down the stairs to the cellar. So he missed the quick light-footed entrance of a pretty farm girl who hurried up to Ricther and quickly gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek.
"Rose Marie," Richter greeted her. "I always love to see you, but here? Now?"

"You have to know," she grinned as if she were flirting but kept her voice low. "Beerstein is getting involved."
"Stagonia again?"
"Possibly, but this reunion ... there's Fhartzen whom the Reich Duchy Lace would love to see expelled and blown away."
There is a noise of a chair scrapping across the floor in the sacristy. Rose Marie flies back out again, calling, "You HAVE to come to our cookout!"

The General is indisposed

Somewhere in the Hessian scramble of states, a great army sits muffled against the winter cold. They are depressed as they seem to have stumbled on the threshold of a complete victory. Hesse-Seewald and Germania with British aid have stopped their advance. The cold, iron logic of the situation requires them to fall back on their ample depot near Frankfurter. Around their fitfully smoking campfires, the men are glad that the ground is firming up from the last winter storm. Marching in frozen mush is horribly uncomfortable, and the damage to their kit has all the sergeants practically incoherent. In their iced tents, they listen to the clatter and rumble of the endless wagon traffic bringing hay for the horses and taking the latest casualties ... most with frostbitten toes through the hills.

A low growl of noise seems unending from the thousands of men and their various implements and animals. Through this constant muted cacophony the sentries’ challenges and the clatter of couriers hooves occasionally places a stronger note in the mix. Tonight, however, some of the men at the fires stand up to watch, and some of the men raise their heads from whatever half frozen knapsack serves as their pillow. There is a rush of couriers, a cavalry horn sounds assemble, and staff officers and Brigadiers are seen hurrying about.

In his commandeered manor, General Chevert is irritably listening to an agitated Intendant Bastille. “This couldn’t have waited until the morning?” the General grumbles peevishly.

“Our own agents confirm the broad outlines of their warning,” Bastille asserts. “There could five or six thousand already mustered and more coming. It would be big enough to lob a lot of bombs into the depot, even if we keep them well out the supplies.”

“Really,” General Chevert replies, “shopkeepers, apprentices, farmhands, and the odd old noble who thinks himself a general!” He snorts disdainfully, “these seem hardly a threat.”

“You spend your summers on campaign, mon General,” one of Bastille’s aides intervenes. “These Frankszonians are weird. They pride themselves on their status as a Free State and as the traditional locale for crowning the Emperor. Their summer cook outs are accompanied by competitions in drill, manual of arms, and even marksmanship.”

“And I suspect that a lot of these wounded and prisoners going into Frankfurt are small units of Germanians or British, heavy on sergeants to provide the nerves for the force,” Bastille continues.

“Wounded and Prisoners to Frankfurter?” The General finally shows alarm. “They were supposed to concentrate on Mainz!”

“And, my agent pointed out another concern, General,” Bastille grabbed his advantage. “Many of the reliable and experienced Frankszonian units are involved in this affair down in Alesgarden. The people of Frankszonia are mostly Protestant and support the Elector against the Emperor. There is a good chance that some of the regiments in Frankfurter will turn coat. If they do, our foes could have twenty thousand men, many veteran regiments within yards of the Depot before any response could be made.”

“And Stagonia?” Chevert required.

“They definitely were involved in both the zombie affairs and in this recent mutiny which drew reliable forces out of town through the Stadt Wald ... and possibly in getting them mixed in with this Alesgarden Affair with the Reich Duchy of Beerstein.”

All of the aides now looked worried. Stagonia had the forces and the position to endanger all communications with Vienna and also would be a cancer in any defense of Bohemia. Since Aftschaftenberg was also in turmoil, the entire Gallian position could be fractured.

“What have you done already?” The General asked Bastille. Bastille was an excellent staff officer, and he had not shirked the firing line when his turn had come. The General was sure that the Baron had used his position to start some response already.

“I’ve sent the Marquis Hottatrot on with an escort of Hussars and Dragoons under Col. Mirage,” Bastille began, and defended his impertinence (which had already irritated the General), “ .... his men move fastest and the risk of a preplanned ambush could be best met his alert gifts for this sort of thing.”

“What’s done is done. What else?”

“The rest of the Frankszonian Nobles will be sent on back tomorrow with a flying wing of cavalry, light guns, and some freikorps.”

“I assume that you will accompany them, my Lord,” Chevert nodded.

“I suspect that the Hurtshog would cheerfully reinforce our depot guards with his own Lieb Garde and Cuirassiers in my absence, “ the Intendant acknowledged wryly. “It would be more efficient to steal our depot in one coup rather than the blood sucking they’ve used so far.”

“I am sure that his pet fop will write glowing reports of his sacrifice, energy, and dedication in service to our King and his Empress,” Chevert reflected. “I wonder what his real goal is?”

“Stagonia,” Bastille asserted.

Chevert looked at him for a moment and then back to the map table. “No, my lord Intendant,” he mused. “Stagonia is too far, too strong, and he knows we’d stop it until Stagonia stops sending us men, money, and supplies. Also, this whole thing stinks of that cabal’s little schemes. They’re trying to flush somebody out.”

There was a moment’s pause while everyone considered the irritations of the grating effect of the petty games of petty German princelings. One of the Intendant’s aides wondered aloud, “and where is Roquefort now?”

.....

First Blood in the Colon ....

First Blood ... OdenWald, near Rabach

First of all, I didn’t know which part of the Covenant army was facing Gen. Linnenblatt, so I took my farcical Order of Battle down there. Also, it was the first time in months that Edie had handled a camera (we’re snowed in, so it’ll be a couple of weeks). So I set this up as a preliminary skirmish using B.A.R. rules and a few of my Revell and Minden miniatures.

I had Oberst Taunjk leading his Grenzers supported by some grenadier companies through the Waldenburg to judge the practicality of the route (the main highway today).
The objective of General Hottatrot was to convince the Coalition that it needed the more open terrain of the more northern routes. So he took Jay’s Jaegers, the Frankgipani Hussars, and a battalion of his own Hottatrot Musketeers.

Hottatrot attempted to ambush Taunjk at a large estate north east of Rabach. Taunjk, however, halfway spotted the ambush and spread his grenzers out in a wide line and advanced. His forces had not spotted Jay’s Jaegers back in the woods and behind a ridge line until too late (happy card draw). The hussars had managed their fake flight without problem because the battalion coming down the road behind them had spotted the battalion guns at the estate.

Jay’s Jaeger’s eventually overwhelmed the battalion facing them, while the Hottatrot battalion, though badly shot up (the gun crew devastated) managed to hold on. Taunjk was regathering his own companies when he saw the Hussars returning to the field and withdrew behind the company of grenadiers.

Lessons learned,
1: even with just 24 man battalions, my little game board is not big enough to handle BAR.
2: Yes, one can forget almost everything one has read in the rule book in two weeks.
3: the card draw initiative creates some of the surprise of K.K.’s initiative rules (which I like, especially for solo play).
4: In spite of constant vigilance, the cats still managed to destroy one of my very rare Giant of Hong Kong Hessian Grenadiers (only have @ 6 left ... groan, gnashing of teeth).

Consequences,
The Farces of the Covenant of Colon are now approaching from the east via Radheim. There has been patrol contact at Hausenhof.
Hottatrot’s subordinates and staff are urging him to advance to the stream and gully from Gruenheckerhof to Eulheckerhof to exploit the forested rough ground on both flanks. Hottatrot has opposed this, however, and has elected to remain a Klein Umstadt and hopefully to engage the Colon forces before Sonnenhof.
His reasoning is that the forward position would enable the opposing army to also hold its ground without trouble, and even to mask a wide flanking movement to the north. At Sonnenhof, there is also a stream, though with two bridges and fordable for the length it is less of an obstacle. Hence, he hopes to draw the large Colon forces onto his own position in such a manner that his superior troops can exploit the open terrain to defeat them. Furhter, the rise from that stream to Klien Umstadt should enable him to spot any flanking maneuver in time to exploit the inevitable weakness this would cause to the Coalition forces.

The Farces of the Semi Colon army

(this is a major amplification of earlier material)

The SemiColon Farces
Given that I've inveggled an invitation to play a proxy game with my farces near Oldendburg in the Alesgarden affair, I have to think up the enemy. Now the leaders of the Colon armies are brand name whiskeys, it seems. These days, the wife and I drink very, very little, so instead of brand names, I've focused on associated terms ...:)

Coalition of Colon
(Analyzed under the affluence of inkohol ....)


Co: Lt. General “Der Alte” Kroak

Sub Commanders: Major General d’Styll & Graf v. Ginnheim

d’Styll’s Command:

Cavalry: General Moenshein
CR Das Stiffs 1 X 14 @ (7) {Cuirassiers}
CR Talleine 1 x 14 @ (7) {Cuirassiers}

Infantry:
* Brigadier Brandett
IR “Inflexibles” 2 x 12 figs @ (5 morale) {+close order drill}
IR Furst Run 1 x 12 figs @ (4) (+drill}
* Inhaber V. Trink
IR v. Trink’s Frei Korps 2 x 12 figs @ (4) {Light Infantry}
IR “Die Alte Vinters” 1 x 12 figs @ (3) {militia}

1 battery light guns
1 battery 12 lbrs.

v. Ginnheim’s Command

Cavalry: Brigadier Passout
DR Schotzglas 1 x 14 @ (6) {dragoons}
DR Passout 1 x 14 @ (6) {dragoons}

Infantry:
*Brigadier Glasserstein
IR “Alte Still” 2 x 12 figs @ (4)
IR Wagnerein 1 x 12 figs @ (3) {militia}
*Brigade Taunjck
Oberst Taunjck
1st - 3rd Grenz 3 x 12 figs @ (4) {Light Inf}

1 battery howitzers


Of course, it might help to re-introduce these valiant gentlement who will be commanding the patriotic (if mostly foreign) farce of the foe ....


The Semi Colon Army Command

Frankly Phonies

Major General d’Styll (a steamy character)
Brigadier Passout (very unperturbable)
l’Comte Bourbons (ostentatious but smooth)
Brigadier Brandett (pronounced “Brandy” of course, can sneak up on you)

Die Deutsche Marks

*Lt. General “Der Alte” Kroak (who moans that the great old troops are nevermore)
Has been hired on basis of his glittering resume (gilt paper costs a lot.).
The resume lists the following:
his outstanding achievements in training infantry (he sponsored a good drill team);
His successful governorship of Fort Kleine Bubbles at Glashaus (little bubbles in the glass ... what actually happened was his fastidious obsession with appearance caused the fort to be so clean that local epidemics never had a chance);
His partnership with several other noted leaders (he served as an aide-de-camp during peacetime).
* Brigadier Glasserstein (lacks initiative but takes orders well)
* General Moenshein (a very bright leader)
* Graf v. Ginnheim (a refugee from Frankszonian Imperialism)
* Commander of the Grenz: Oberst Taunjck (pronounced “tonic” ... is a great friend of V. Ginnheim)

The Britischerwurst

General Cooper (likes to keep things closed up)
Brigadier Juggers (Commands the 1/5th Dragoons)
General Mash (known for his sour disposition)
General Charles Coel (diplomatic and known for smoothing things out ....)

Intelligence services lead by the Margravaine Inebria

Le Affair Dishabille

Le Affair Dishabille

SUMMONS!?!
Summons ME?!?
Merde! That @#&*’! Insignificant, flatulent petty princeling!!!
Summons Me!!
The rest of the thoughts of the Baron Bastille are untranslatable, gutter French as he storms up the stairs of a country inn in Hesse Seewald. His aides and l’Comte d’Beauphaup try to remonstrate with him as he storms towards a door slightly more ornate than others in the hall.
Hesse Seewald manages to barely, BARELY, repulse us at their own gates, and this (lost in translation) cleaner of foul orifices DARES to SUMMON me! the Baron rages internally. He bursts through the door.
For a moment of a shattered microsecond, the Baron sees a large room. On one table, there is a steaming samovar and the rich odor of fresh coffee fills the room. Just beyond it, a tall uniform is talking with some rumpled evening clothes. Then time slams on its brakes.
Four large pistol muzzles facing him do not frighten the Baron, but the huge jump in his anger litterally freezes him incoherent on the spot. Indeed, he barely notices the impact of his aides who chase blindly after him.
Before the Baron can find his voice again, the guns are lowered and the dressing coat admonishes, “Have a care, m’Lord Baron! The danger is great and the threat is close upon us!”

to be continued ...

The probable site of the collision ....

On examining various historical maps for the hysteria of the forth coming battle, I’ve guessed that our “Oldenburg” is not the historic duchy way up on the Baltic or North Sea, but rather the once thriving town of Obernburg ... which is now a neighborhood of Gross Umstadt.
Glancing at a more modern map, and the satellite pictures of its neighborhood reveal that it would have made an excellent blocking position for forces coming out of the OdenWald.

From Ohlbachcerhof up to Klein Umstadt, and further north to Kleestadt ... it looks to me that the likely position would be the flat lands passing north of the high hills and defiles of the OdenWald and perhaps strike right at Sonnenhauf ... where I think Hottatrot will deploy to meet der Alte Kroak .....

Interestingly, this is near TippleBruder, and the FrangiPani Hussars who are with Hottatrot are quite familiar with the ground ....

:)

The SemiColon Farces

Given that I've inveggled an invitation to play a proxy game with my farces near Oldendburg in the Alesgarden affair, I figured I'd have to think up the enemy. Now the Kingdom of Beerstein sees all the leaders of the Colon armies as brand name whiskeys, it seems. These days, the wife and I drink very, very little, so instead of brand names, I've focused on associated terms ...
:)


Coalition of Colon
Analyzed under the affluence of inkohol ....

The Semi Colon Army Command

Frankly Phonies

Major General d’Styll (a steamy character)
Brigadier Passout (very unperturbable)
l’Comte Bourbons (ostentatious but smooth)
Brigadier Brandett (pronounced “Brandy” of course, can sneak up on you)


Die Deutsche Marks

Lt. General “Der Alte” Kroak (who moans that the great old troops are nevermore)
Brigadier Glasserstein (lacks initiative but takes orders well)
General Moenshein (a very bright leader)
Graf v. Ginnheim (a refugee from Frankszonian Imperialism)

The Britischerwurst

General Cooper (likes to keep things closed up)
Brigadier Juggers (Commands the 1/5th Dragoons)
General Mash (known for his sour disposition)
General Charles Coel (diplomatic and known for smoothing things out ....)

Commander of the Grenz: Oberst Taunjck (pronounced “tonic” ... is a great friend of V. Ginnheim)

Intelligence services lead by the Margravaine Inebria

Farces in the Field

Beerstein is engaged in a major struggle over the province of Alesgarden.
By happenstance, Frankszonia got drawn into the struggle. As we're old friends of Beerstein (as such things go in the Empire vs. Elector blog), we're obviously concentrating our southern forces (which had just had to handle a mutiny and another zombie incursion ... apparently instigated in part by Beerstein's foe as well as Stagonia) to their assistance.
Three regiments of Cavalry, eleven battalions or so of infantry, and a few guns ...

Force Commander:
* Francios l'Marquise de Hottatrot: (1 = meaning above average but not brilliant ... Hottatrot has proven that he is brave and a dynamic leader and able to function even if wounded) Lewd, plain looking but not fat; a gourmet but flatulent. Maintains a couple of ballerinas and is very keen on dance. Devil may care, reckless, audacious, etc cavalry man (though he has won his accolades with an infantry regiment he raised). Secretly fond of Rhine Wines.
Awarded the Grilled Frankfurter for his aggressive initiative and fight even though seriously wounded at the Battle of Bad Tannes ... now an initiative +1
Another tragic family secret is connected to some rumors:
a: he was born before his parents were married;
b: perhaps his real parents never did marry;
c: but his legal mom and dad dote on each other and are quite sensitive so he can't openly
research the problem ...
d: rumor also has it that his dandified legal father is more fond of young boys than girls ...
Hottatrot is also rumored to be involved with Frankszonian under the covers organs ...

Cavalry
* Brig. Shlidelisht: (1) An erratic cavalry genius.

* The Cellulite Cursers ... Cuirassiers; 2 x 14 figs (7) (a heavy cavalry brigade, white with blue
cuffs, etc., silver Cuirass (These are veteran fighters, the numbers meaning that there are two “regiments” of approximately 700 swords each)
* Frangipani Hussars 15 @ (7) Light cavalry, but very professional. They frequently are the quick reaction force in Frankszonia (and based on an historical Bravarian and then Austrian unit).
These Hussars are also frequently deployed as an “independent” force.

Infantry
* M. Gen. General Schwann (2+ Meaning very, very good) ( a driving and romantic personality, very concerned with mobility .... his units would get the Prussian double action bonus);

Brigade BallPark
* The Baron von Ballpark (0) (a beefy fellow whom rumor has linked with the infamous Pigg
in a Blanket scandal)

(Infantry regts. = # of battalions (morale rating) and list strength (600 men for these units)

* IR Phutyl Fusils 2 x (4) x 12 (These are largely Frankszonian nationals. They are “trained” but are usually kept out of the major actions in order to watch the units which are more heavily recruited abroad)
* IR Foot Longs, 2 bats @ 12 , (5) (Black with yellow turnbacks, ?small clothes, yellow lace)
These are veterans, and possibly the most experienced unit in the Frankszonian army. They are noted for their endurance and usually pass morale checks while in action.

Brigade Rosenschnauz (brevet Brigadier)
* Oberst Rosenschnauz: (0) heavy (as in 300 lb) drinker. (He got his start as a staff officer under Gen. Ballpark. While he has performed adequately and bravely, rumor has it that his promotion is due more to his wife’s .... ah ... dedication than his own. This is intended to be his big chance to prove himself).

* IR Hottatrot 2 x (5) x 12; (Battle Honors for Bad Tannes)
Veterans, professionals, and proud of their achievements and of the ... ah ... achievements of their Inhaber ...
* IR Grinderdiers, 2 bats @ 12 figs, rate (6)
Veterans, a standing regiment of Grenadiers. They are used both as a prestige unit and as a sort of “fire brigade.” As such, the majority of the rank and file are proven but foreign men.

Independent Units:
* Jay’s Jaegers 1 x (6) x 12 Rifle armed, but very sneaky. These are proven poachers ...
* 1 battery of 12 lbr cannon
* 2 batteries of “light” cannon (4 to 6 lbrs.)
* 1 Battery of howitzers

The King is Coming, The King is Coming!

The ladies gather chattering in Capitaine Malecki's residence. After their adventure and the excitement, the conversation is perhaps a little louder than usual. Even the fine vintages, including some fine old bottles of Chevert don’t seem to calm them. Some of the local battalion’s musicians gather outside to play a few pieces ... and to practice their regimental music. In all the noise, the clatter of hooves from a hard ridden horse and the challenges of the sentries are almost missed. Col. Enigma, who had been inside the house with the Princess Allisonia, however, has learned to always be on his guard when the Lady Pettygree is in the area.
Quickly pulling a pistol from his waistcoat, he steps beside a window and looks out past the drapes.
“Something’s happening,” Diana warns her friends, and in a moment, the cheerful party falls silent and alert ... a surprising number of other pistols appear from the voluminous folds of the ladies’ riding gear. The sound of the guards snapping to attention, and the command “Present ... Harms!” from outside, however, reassure them. Thus, when the door is opened, the young rider is not shocked by the sight of an unseemly number of gun barrels pointed at him. Rather, he minces inside in his silken brocade uniform, fluttering more lace than a rose bush has blooms. He pouts in attempt to appear serious, and bows to the assembled party.
“M’Lords and M’Ladies” (except it should be in stilted school French) the youngster proclaims, “I have the honor a message for Her Highness, the Princess Alisonia, and the Ladies Pettygree and Masquerade to be carrying.”
Even as the Princess begins a gracious reply, Lady Pettygree asks, “From whom does this missive come?”
“It is an urgent note from my Lord, L’Comte de Beauphaup, m’Lady.”
“The old fart’s private diplomat,” the captain declares. “What’s up, lad?”
“If my Ladies will read this missive,” the youngster responds, “I’m sure all will be made clear.”
Lady Cherish Masquerade quickly accepts the proffered envelope, breaks the seal and unfolds the stiff parchment. “Diana,” she exclaims, “King Basil could be here any moment!”

—
In Frankfurter, adjutants and notables are scurrying about in haste. L’Comte Bastille is interrupted in his interrogation of the new prisoners by an harried looking aide. The would be assassins are hurriedly stripped and locked away while the Gallians send their own swarms of messengers into the countryside and to the nearby encampment. Cloth merchants are raided for bolts of cloth to be used as bunting which swarms of apprentices and mechanics quickly nail over the main intersections.
At the palace, Moosart scrambles to get his little orchestra together while the Hurtshog consults with his diplomatic advisors and the StadtRadt leaders. “Can we put together a quick agenda?” is the question on everybody’s mind.
The consensus is that the presence of the lovely and widely admired foreigner noblewomen is a real boon, even if their presence was part of another nefarious plot by the occupying forces of Gallia. If they will participate, a reception and informal fete would give the city a night to spruce up. In the morning, a quick formal inspection of some show troops followed by the mandatory tours of the excellent ceramic works (and a good source of exquisite gifts for all the visitors) and the famous sausage works, followed by a tuba concert. Then a real ball to the music of Moosart’s musicians.
The guild syndics, of course, hope to corral the various diplomats with the party and obtain good contracts for the long lasting Frankfurter field sausages, artillery from the foundry shared with Offenbach, and similar condiments. Their primary anxiety is that the Hurtshog is going to try to intervene to make these contracts very favorable for the young King Basil, as his opposition to the Turkish hordes may open up new products for pork based products.

=—
As the afternoon wears on, the convoy of the Grand Tour is delayed by numerous check points. The closeness of major armies for Gallia and Hesse Seewald involves numerous little challenges for the diplomats riding with the party. Finally, a couple of chivalrous generals from the opposing sides generate special passes and each contributes a ceremonial escort ... a fact grimly noted by some nondescript shepherds as the party passes through one of the many woods near Frankfurt.
As the now enlarged party exits the hills overlooking the fortress town and its surrounding encampments, two squadrons of cavalry approach. The first to arrive is a somewhat dusty but otherwise impecable Col. Enigma and a troop of hussars. With a lovely caracole, he brings his troop into the double file reception lines along the road. Riding up to the royal coach, he makes is bow and politely welcomes King Basil and Reich Duke William on behalf of l’Comte Bastille, Intendant of Frankfurter, and General Broglie of the nearby Gallian army.
While the hussars, whose escorting troops seem to gravitate towards the vivandiers from Monte Cristo, squeeze in beside the considerable force already present, a glittering troop of Frankfurter Guard Cuirassiers arrives at a more sedate pace. General Hottatrot rides forward to deliver a somewhat florid greeting, but winks at the ladies as he delivers it. Ritter von Meltzer, in command of the convoy’s escorting cavalry, however, notes that a considerable number of dragoons had peeled away from the Cuirassiers during their approach march and seemed to be carefully searching the fields and copses off the road.
“Is there some problem?” he inquires of General Hottatrot ... indicating one of these hunting parties.
“Rumors, my man, rumors only,” the genial general responds. “Just taking precautions against any eventuality ... we are rather close to some angry folks here!” he laughs.
*Ja,* King Basil thinks, *rumors, Das is richtig ... und rumors in Morea wenn Ich comt also*

More Dip (lomancy)

The court of the Hurtshog welcomes the Count Wilhelm v. Corona from Saxe Beerstein.
In celebration, the Anglerians throw a special grill and fish fry while the Patriarch of the Later - in - the - Day Saints toasts with a special Te Deum!

Wiener General Picklemany wins laudits in Beerstein!

* Picklemany (2): Competent. Good leader, but tends to be conservative in approach to
campaigns: In tactical matters, he is perhaps one of our best learned and most versatile commanders. Fluent in Deutsch, French, Italian, and Turkish ... and can issue standard commands in English and Hungarian! (now in service with Ober Beerstein under HerzogWilhelm von Beerstein who invests him into the Order of the Goblet. General Picklemany was also invested into the Military Order of the Golden Crown for their gallant conduct which ensured our victory at Alesgarden).

His bravery and leadership managed to keep the Hungarian units in line even when they were almost overwhelmed by the Germanian forces. Alas, word is that he took a nasty fall from his horse, but the Duchess Lydia is personally seeing to his recovery!