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?”
.....
Showing posts with label Col. Enigma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Col. Enigma. Show all posts
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
A Quiet Fry Up, just a little fishy?
(Apologies for any misspellings of character names here ... a little discomfort healthwise, nothing serious, but I don’t feel like making all the corrections for my bad typing tonight) :_(
After some heated discussions, mostly involving who would be safest where, the whole party removes to the Redan Bastille (a reinforcement of the Frankfurter defenses obtained as a sop to local feelings during the construction of the nearby Gallian prison, both outside the main walls). Not only did all concede that it would be easier to intercept any attacks there, but also there were several crack units already deployed there in preparation for a grand review.
Gen. Broglie was puzzled, however, that the Sage Guard from Frankszonia would not be in the review. Not only was it a Guard unit, and thus usually a part of any formal visit, but also it contained some of the best drilled professionals in the area. Gen. Oscar Meyer grinned wryly and responded, “this week, a lot of the men in the Sage Guard Uniform are better drilled for hunting than for a parade.” The comment confirmed the suspicions that the military members of the party had already entertained about their local honor guard. The presence of squadrons of their own escort was comforting.
In spite of the terror of the previous hour, the Frankfurters cheerfully lined the streets and cheered from their decorated houses as the party paraded through the town under the brightly dyed fabric arches. Cuirassiers following the party scattered silver pennies among the crowd, and a large beer wagon stopped at each corner to hand out a keg. In the side streets, outdoor grills filled the air with enticing smells, promising a flavorful evening to partying throng.
“They seem awful cheerful,” young King Basil commented.
“I’ll drink to that!” The Hurtshog, who was riding with the other sovereigns, responded. “We take celebration as a serious commitment here.”
“So we’ve heard,” laughs Duke Wilhelm. “I wonder how the vivandiers are making out?”
“Fairly often, I hope,” Princes Stuftliana giggles.
“I’m sure,” Princess Alisona said with mock primness, “that their contributions to the general festivities are widely appreciated!”
—
When the party arrives at the redan and takes its place in a pavilion placed on the works, the Hurtshog convenes a quick council. “We have things to consider together,” he comments to his guests, and carefully chooses a spot downwind.
“Your security,” Col. Enigma complained, “seems rather like a sieve. I’d hoped for better after last time!”
“We don’t have the resources of Gallia,” Gen. Meyer snapped. “But we have more than our share of enemies who specialize in secret agents.”
“Gentlemen,” Gen. Broglie intervenes, “there is too much here to indulge ourselves. What information do we have?”
“First of all,” Gen. Meyer responds, “those guns at the Cathedral were northern made.”
“Northern?” Ritter Andrew asks. “I thought they would be Stagonian and from the southern forests!”
“We must consider,” Herr Kunnegunde (Frankszonian Chief Watchman), “that the guns were left behind. They may be a deliberate decoy.”
“But,” the Hurtshog continues, “there is also strong evidence of collusion among our many enemies. We’ve been on alert ever since we found out that Lady Pettygree was coming.”
“I’m hardly an enemy,” Diana protests.
“Indeed not, my Lady,” the Hurtshog responds. “Indeed, we have one regiment that would rather be here to defend you than our southern woods! However, is it not true that when you come this far into Germania, there is a Germanian agent of incredible skill who seems drawn to oppose you? After all, Comte Bastille, we have still received no word on what that little affair near here a couple of days ago was all about!”
Bastille and Broglie look at each other but say nothing.
“Right,” the Hurtshog continues, “and what information did your mother send you, Ritter Andrew?”
“She warns of ambushes, possible sabotage of the powder supplies, and the usual Stagonian poisonous wine.” The young man answered.
“Aha!” Kunegunde exclaimed, “We thought that was Roquefort again!”
“You knew about sabotaged powder and poison?” Bastille demanded indignantly.
“No, M’sr l’Intendant,” Kunegunde answered, “but you must ask the Hurtshog.”
As the group’s attention returns to the portly notable, he calls, “Baddmann! Bring in a keg.”
“So we can drink to it?” Gen. Broglie asked sardonically.
A well suited, middle aged man whom they had seen dancing with each of the ladies on the previous evening enters with another gentleman carrying a small wine barrel. A quick glance passes between Ritter Andrew and the second gentleman as the pair very carefully set the keg on a table.
“I’ve heard of your reverence for wines, your Highness,” King Basil comments, “but this is a tad extreme isn’t it?”
“Gen. v. Pilsner?” Gen. Meyer bows slightly, “if you would be so good as to step to the table to witness, please? Meanwhile, could the rest of you please step into the embrasures to enjoy the bands and the drills out in the drill field for a moment?”
The ladies and their men exchange worried glances ... what new fright is Frankfurter going to reveal? Lady Pettygree, however, pulls loose from Catherine’s worried grasp and steps forward with Cherish Masquerade. “We should probably also observe, General,” Diana insists.
Col, Enigma quickly offers to take her place, but she firmly places her hand on his chest and steps forward. Meanwhile, a double file of large grenadiers forms a solid wall between King Basil and Duke Wilhelm and the military clustered around the table. Baddmann and v. Mack are carefully and slowly working the top off of the keg.
“You will observe,” the Hurtshog begins, “that the keg bears the markings of the Chevert Estate and Vinyards.”
“But! ...” both Broglie and Bastille begin.
The Hurtshog stops them with a sharply upraised hand. “We know,” he nods his head. “Chevert is never shipped in barrels, the estate is very and properly proud of its glass works and its bottling process. An alert shipper brought this to our attention.”
“So that’s why you’ve been burgling the wine stores!” Bastille exclaims. “What is the poison?”
“You’ll be pleased to know, m’lord Comte,” Hzg. Fahrtz replied, “there’s not one drop of poison in the barrel.” He grimaces, “indeed, there’s not one drop of anything in the barrel.”
The collective puzzlement of the party is caught as Baddmann carefully lifts out a small spoonful of black and silvery powder. He flicks the powder onto the floor where it snaps, sparks, and smokes brightly!
“Mon Dieu!” Broglie exclaims. “We could all have small kegs in our quarters!”
“Which is why,” the Hurtshog answered grimly, “why we’ve planned for the fireworks and ball to be an affair in the park. I trust my Grenz and my Jaegers to catch assassins before they get too close out there.”
“May our own light infantry join yours, your Highness?” Gen. Broglie is polite enough to ask.
“We’d appreciate it, but be sure that the sergeants and officers know each and every face.”
“Of course!”
“And, your Majesty and your Highness,” the Duke turns to his guests, “if your escorts could also attend, with swords and whatever, I believe that my Chamberlain, l’Comte Beauphaup has managed to locate enough young ladies to partner them ... it will be a wonderful ball, hosted by the Guilds in your honor, Duchess Lynda. Unfortunately, there will be no masques or costumed waiters.”
“We must be honest with you,” Gen Meyer interjects. “We do expect some more ... ah ... interesting intrusions. But we are quite confident that they will be resolved as thoroughly as the affair Pettygree recently, no?”
The party smile rather nervously, and the ladies press their gentlemen with worried looks. At this, Princess Stuftliana, who had been acting as if a star struck girl to this point, stepped forward. “Dears, your presence would be very, very helpful,” she pleaded. “Besides, the Frankszonian people really have looked forward to seeing you at the ball. We have a wonderful seamstress here, and her girls can create and equip wonderful gowns with interesting features ... like this!” She suddenly displays an expensive pistol, seemingly from thin air. As the group’s collective shock settles, Stuftliana continues, “Alisonia, Diana, no whimpering. I’ve seen the reports on how well you handle pistols. I suspect that the vivandiers are no less qualified also. They are from Monte Cristo after all.” She grinned mischievously, “come, come, girls. Isn’t it time we demonstrated why we demand so much from our guys?” She looked out at the field where a Frankszonian militia unit and some Gallian musketeers were performing an “X” march through drill to the music of drums, trumpets, bugles, and a lot of tubas. “Let’s see if we can bore them as much as they do us!” Stuftliana concludes, laughing.
After some heated discussions, mostly involving who would be safest where, the whole party removes to the Redan Bastille (a reinforcement of the Frankfurter defenses obtained as a sop to local feelings during the construction of the nearby Gallian prison, both outside the main walls). Not only did all concede that it would be easier to intercept any attacks there, but also there were several crack units already deployed there in preparation for a grand review.
Gen. Broglie was puzzled, however, that the Sage Guard from Frankszonia would not be in the review. Not only was it a Guard unit, and thus usually a part of any formal visit, but also it contained some of the best drilled professionals in the area. Gen. Oscar Meyer grinned wryly and responded, “this week, a lot of the men in the Sage Guard Uniform are better drilled for hunting than for a parade.” The comment confirmed the suspicions that the military members of the party had already entertained about their local honor guard. The presence of squadrons of their own escort was comforting.
In spite of the terror of the previous hour, the Frankfurters cheerfully lined the streets and cheered from their decorated houses as the party paraded through the town under the brightly dyed fabric arches. Cuirassiers following the party scattered silver pennies among the crowd, and a large beer wagon stopped at each corner to hand out a keg. In the side streets, outdoor grills filled the air with enticing smells, promising a flavorful evening to partying throng.
“They seem awful cheerful,” young King Basil commented.
“I’ll drink to that!” The Hurtshog, who was riding with the other sovereigns, responded. “We take celebration as a serious commitment here.”
“So we’ve heard,” laughs Duke Wilhelm. “I wonder how the vivandiers are making out?”
“Fairly often, I hope,” Princes Stuftliana giggles.
“I’m sure,” Princess Alisona said with mock primness, “that their contributions to the general festivities are widely appreciated!”
—
When the party arrives at the redan and takes its place in a pavilion placed on the works, the Hurtshog convenes a quick council. “We have things to consider together,” he comments to his guests, and carefully chooses a spot downwind.
“Your security,” Col. Enigma complained, “seems rather like a sieve. I’d hoped for better after last time!”
“We don’t have the resources of Gallia,” Gen. Meyer snapped. “But we have more than our share of enemies who specialize in secret agents.”
“Gentlemen,” Gen. Broglie intervenes, “there is too much here to indulge ourselves. What information do we have?”
“First of all,” Gen. Meyer responds, “those guns at the Cathedral were northern made.”
“Northern?” Ritter Andrew asks. “I thought they would be Stagonian and from the southern forests!”
“We must consider,” Herr Kunnegunde (Frankszonian Chief Watchman), “that the guns were left behind. They may be a deliberate decoy.”
“But,” the Hurtshog continues, “there is also strong evidence of collusion among our many enemies. We’ve been on alert ever since we found out that Lady Pettygree was coming.”
“I’m hardly an enemy,” Diana protests.
“Indeed not, my Lady,” the Hurtshog responds. “Indeed, we have one regiment that would rather be here to defend you than our southern woods! However, is it not true that when you come this far into Germania, there is a Germanian agent of incredible skill who seems drawn to oppose you? After all, Comte Bastille, we have still received no word on what that little affair near here a couple of days ago was all about!”
Bastille and Broglie look at each other but say nothing.
“Right,” the Hurtshog continues, “and what information did your mother send you, Ritter Andrew?”
“She warns of ambushes, possible sabotage of the powder supplies, and the usual Stagonian poisonous wine.” The young man answered.
“Aha!” Kunegunde exclaimed, “We thought that was Roquefort again!”
“You knew about sabotaged powder and poison?” Bastille demanded indignantly.
“No, M’sr l’Intendant,” Kunegunde answered, “but you must ask the Hurtshog.”
As the group’s attention returns to the portly notable, he calls, “Baddmann! Bring in a keg.”
“So we can drink to it?” Gen. Broglie asked sardonically.
A well suited, middle aged man whom they had seen dancing with each of the ladies on the previous evening enters with another gentleman carrying a small wine barrel. A quick glance passes between Ritter Andrew and the second gentleman as the pair very carefully set the keg on a table.
“I’ve heard of your reverence for wines, your Highness,” King Basil comments, “but this is a tad extreme isn’t it?”
“Gen. v. Pilsner?” Gen. Meyer bows slightly, “if you would be so good as to step to the table to witness, please? Meanwhile, could the rest of you please step into the embrasures to enjoy the bands and the drills out in the drill field for a moment?”
The ladies and their men exchange worried glances ... what new fright is Frankfurter going to reveal? Lady Pettygree, however, pulls loose from Catherine’s worried grasp and steps forward with Cherish Masquerade. “We should probably also observe, General,” Diana insists.
Col, Enigma quickly offers to take her place, but she firmly places her hand on his chest and steps forward. Meanwhile, a double file of large grenadiers forms a solid wall between King Basil and Duke Wilhelm and the military clustered around the table. Baddmann and v. Mack are carefully and slowly working the top off of the keg.
“You will observe,” the Hurtshog begins, “that the keg bears the markings of the Chevert Estate and Vinyards.”
“But! ...” both Broglie and Bastille begin.
The Hurtshog stops them with a sharply upraised hand. “We know,” he nods his head. “Chevert is never shipped in barrels, the estate is very and properly proud of its glass works and its bottling process. An alert shipper brought this to our attention.”
“So that’s why you’ve been burgling the wine stores!” Bastille exclaims. “What is the poison?”
“You’ll be pleased to know, m’lord Comte,” Hzg. Fahrtz replied, “there’s not one drop of poison in the barrel.” He grimaces, “indeed, there’s not one drop of anything in the barrel.”
The collective puzzlement of the party is caught as Baddmann carefully lifts out a small spoonful of black and silvery powder. He flicks the powder onto the floor where it snaps, sparks, and smokes brightly!
“Mon Dieu!” Broglie exclaims. “We could all have small kegs in our quarters!”
“Which is why,” the Hurtshog answered grimly, “why we’ve planned for the fireworks and ball to be an affair in the park. I trust my Grenz and my Jaegers to catch assassins before they get too close out there.”
“May our own light infantry join yours, your Highness?” Gen. Broglie is polite enough to ask.
“We’d appreciate it, but be sure that the sergeants and officers know each and every face.”
“Of course!”
“And, your Majesty and your Highness,” the Duke turns to his guests, “if your escorts could also attend, with swords and whatever, I believe that my Chamberlain, l’Comte Beauphaup has managed to locate enough young ladies to partner them ... it will be a wonderful ball, hosted by the Guilds in your honor, Duchess Lynda. Unfortunately, there will be no masques or costumed waiters.”
“We must be honest with you,” Gen Meyer interjects. “We do expect some more ... ah ... interesting intrusions. But we are quite confident that they will be resolved as thoroughly as the affair Pettygree recently, no?”
The party smile rather nervously, and the ladies press their gentlemen with worried looks. At this, Princess Stuftliana, who had been acting as if a star struck girl to this point, stepped forward. “Dears, your presence would be very, very helpful,” she pleaded. “Besides, the Frankszonian people really have looked forward to seeing you at the ball. We have a wonderful seamstress here, and her girls can create and equip wonderful gowns with interesting features ... like this!” She suddenly displays an expensive pistol, seemingly from thin air. As the group’s collective shock settles, Stuftliana continues, “Alisonia, Diana, no whimpering. I’ve seen the reports on how well you handle pistols. I suspect that the vivandiers are no less qualified also. They are from Monte Cristo after all.” She grinned mischievously, “come, come, girls. Isn’t it time we demonstrated why we demand so much from our guys?” She looked out at the field where a Frankszonian militia unit and some Gallian musketeers were performing an “X” march through drill to the music of drums, trumpets, bugles, and a lot of tubas. “Let’s see if we can bore them as much as they do us!” Stuftliana concludes, laughing.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
A Morning's Entertainment
Imagine Johannes surprise when Erwin says in response to his question, "I brought four of my 'fancy' pistols. Would you care for a pair? And when did you ever know me to have an unloaded one about?!" Baddmann gave an approving grunt as the two double barreled pistols disappeared under his cloak.
Mack continued, "I learned this trick when I was in Canada. Buck and ball with a large charge of powder is the key. Makes a hell of a loud noise, you can hit almost everyone in a small room with at least a pellet or two, the cloud of smoke comes in handy if you have to retreat, and by the third shot most crowds have found better places to be, leaving one shot in reserve. Tonight, my friend, I am loaded for bear. Although I'll settle for stag!"
“More like a filthy old goat, I’m afraid,” Johannes responded. “We suspect that Roquefort and M’Lady are involved too.”
“No wonder every time I look around, I see an alert soldier of some type!” Erwin responded. “Looks like you’re going to try to swat flies with cannon balls!”
“That’s the general idea,” Johannes responded. “Hesse Cassel armies are too close to overlook the chance that either the guilds or the Resistance will make a serious effort ... and with all these agents in town, it’s likely that some of them are suggesting it.”
Even though, Johannes sounded like he was just grousing, v.Mack’s watchfulness had been suddenly amplified by what he’d heard. His eyes were moving from one deep shadow in the night bound street when he chanced on a face moving through a light, “Rottenbrat!” he hissed to Baddmann and quickly gestured at an otherwise nondescript laborer still putting up bunting.
In moments, their two horses were at the foot of the man’s ladder and four pistols were held close to some very sensitive areas. “Okay, Hans,” Baddmann growled, “come down very slowly and lean on the wall.
“Private!” he gestured to a nearby soldier, “call for the sergeant of the guard.”
As the soldiers clustered around him and thoroughly searched him, Hans Rottenbrat protested his innocence and productivity. V. Mack had already climbed the ladder for himself, however, and found a smelly, black rag in the folds of the bunting lying under a glass ball.
“So, Stagonia plans on Frankszonia having a hot time tomorrow?” he challenges the now silent and surly agent.
“Ver*%&#!!” Baddmann exclaims. “We’ve got miles of very expensive and brightly died cloth hanging on every house! It will all have to be checked tonight!”
“No need,” Rottenbrat asserts, “I just had time to put up one.”
After the prisoner is removed and handed over to the Gallians for deposit in the Bastille, Johannes and v. Mack hasten to the palace to spread the alarm. As. V. Mack delivers the letter to Andrew, Herr Kunegunde orders the town criers out while the tour party is still happily entertained inside the palace grounds. Several more incendiary devices are found in a couple of hours, and the city returns to its uneasy slumber.
___
In spite of Frankfurter’s fears, the night passed peacefully. The gathering at the palace, aided by the glittering presence of Princess Alisonia, Lady Pettygree, and Lady Masquerade is a social triumph. Princess Stuftliana choose the auspicious moment to make her reentry into the social whirl, looking exotically lovely in a simple gown from Frau Ewewarp. In recognition of the exhaustion of the day’s travel, the party breaks up at midnight.
In the hazy morning, Duchess Lynda and her ladies are awakened by sweet flute music being played by a quartet in the courtyard of the Beerstein embassy. After a breakfast featuring a selection of Frankszonia’s sausages, the ladies are especially delighted by the tour of the porcelain industry. Excellent Delft ware and brightly painted ceramics are displayed for their pleasure. They each get to select a set of some design that they personally find pleasing. After a short coffee with the other high level guests of the Duchy, they get a brief tour of the sausage factory. L’Comte Beauphaup apologizes for the shortness of the tour, but the factory in full production is hot, smelly, and very noisy.
To compensate for the chaotic racket of the sausage factory, the party is led to view the Frankfurter cathedral and the materials used in the coronation and annointing of the Holy Roman Emperor. While they tour the building, choirs take turns singing various hymns and historic songs from the choir stalls.
As they wander through the dusky corners of the Gothic edifice, a gentleman passes Lady Pettygree and whispers, “God save King Charles. Watch the wine.” Before she or Cherish can respond, the man is lost in the shadows. They step behind a pillar to discuss the incident with Catherine when an old woman brushes by who says, “Why do you tempt fate? Germania, though it gives you admirers also gives you deadly greetings. Look high and low!” Then, as a puff of incense causes the ladies to blink and sneeze, the old woman also is gone from sight.
Now thoroughly alarmed, the ladies seek out Col. Enigma who has so often protected them in the past. The whole party, however, is led out to the square, where in one corner a luncheon pavilion has been erected. There, brass bands of school children serenade them, one group presenting “The Tuba Sonnata”. The luncheon is lively ... exquistely grilled fish, bratwurst, and other items blend with the best beverages, laughter and chatter as the ladies and lords flirt and the children from the bands march by, red faced with pride.
Suddenly, the happy noise is shattered by the loud staccato of musket fire! As bullets smash into the crystal and china on the tables by Pettygree and Duke Wilhelm, the ever present guards spot the smoke from the roof of the Cathedral. Gallian and Frankszonian troops return fire, though the professional ear of the officers in the party notice that some of the Frankszonian “Guards” are equipped with rifles. Other soldiers dash into the building to try to catch these dastardly assasins.
The party members begin to scatter as the ladies scream and the men curse, but Col. Enigma catches a glimpse of an old lady beckoning by the Rectory. With loud commands he manages to herd the notables into the house and to get soldiers stationed at some of the windows. Ritter von Meltzer and Ambassador Sgnori Vittorio Moretti demand why they’ve been brought into this building with its large windows when the already garrisoned inn on the square had been closer. Even as the normally imperturbable colonel hunts for a good excuse, a loud, bright explosion tears out of the inn’s basement.
“I knew it!” Enigma exclaims and dashes off to find Lady Pettygree.
For about an half hour, the square is filled with competing troops ... cavalrymen from the Grand Tour, Frankszonian guards, and Gallian Grenadiers. As the confusion and furor die down, and as the smoke from the badly damaged inn settles, the Archbishop reports that the assassins seem to have escaped! “There are just too many hidden passages and acloves in the cathedral,” he explains. “Given the all the confusion outside, if the evil men had the foresight to dress in uniforms, they probably had an easy time making their withdrawal. We did, at least, find the three weapons they were using.”
Mack continued, "I learned this trick when I was in Canada. Buck and ball with a large charge of powder is the key. Makes a hell of a loud noise, you can hit almost everyone in a small room with at least a pellet or two, the cloud of smoke comes in handy if you have to retreat, and by the third shot most crowds have found better places to be, leaving one shot in reserve. Tonight, my friend, I am loaded for bear. Although I'll settle for stag!"
“More like a filthy old goat, I’m afraid,” Johannes responded. “We suspect that Roquefort and M’Lady are involved too.”
“No wonder every time I look around, I see an alert soldier of some type!” Erwin responded. “Looks like you’re going to try to swat flies with cannon balls!”
“That’s the general idea,” Johannes responded. “Hesse Cassel armies are too close to overlook the chance that either the guilds or the Resistance will make a serious effort ... and with all these agents in town, it’s likely that some of them are suggesting it.”
Even though, Johannes sounded like he was just grousing, v.Mack’s watchfulness had been suddenly amplified by what he’d heard. His eyes were moving from one deep shadow in the night bound street when he chanced on a face moving through a light, “Rottenbrat!” he hissed to Baddmann and quickly gestured at an otherwise nondescript laborer still putting up bunting.
In moments, their two horses were at the foot of the man’s ladder and four pistols were held close to some very sensitive areas. “Okay, Hans,” Baddmann growled, “come down very slowly and lean on the wall.
“Private!” he gestured to a nearby soldier, “call for the sergeant of the guard.”
As the soldiers clustered around him and thoroughly searched him, Hans Rottenbrat protested his innocence and productivity. V. Mack had already climbed the ladder for himself, however, and found a smelly, black rag in the folds of the bunting lying under a glass ball.
“So, Stagonia plans on Frankszonia having a hot time tomorrow?” he challenges the now silent and surly agent.
“Ver*%&#!!” Baddmann exclaims. “We’ve got miles of very expensive and brightly died cloth hanging on every house! It will all have to be checked tonight!”
“No need,” Rottenbrat asserts, “I just had time to put up one.”
After the prisoner is removed and handed over to the Gallians for deposit in the Bastille, Johannes and v. Mack hasten to the palace to spread the alarm. As. V. Mack delivers the letter to Andrew, Herr Kunegunde orders the town criers out while the tour party is still happily entertained inside the palace grounds. Several more incendiary devices are found in a couple of hours, and the city returns to its uneasy slumber.
___
In spite of Frankfurter’s fears, the night passed peacefully. The gathering at the palace, aided by the glittering presence of Princess Alisonia, Lady Pettygree, and Lady Masquerade is a social triumph. Princess Stuftliana choose the auspicious moment to make her reentry into the social whirl, looking exotically lovely in a simple gown from Frau Ewewarp. In recognition of the exhaustion of the day’s travel, the party breaks up at midnight.
In the hazy morning, Duchess Lynda and her ladies are awakened by sweet flute music being played by a quartet in the courtyard of the Beerstein embassy. After a breakfast featuring a selection of Frankszonia’s sausages, the ladies are especially delighted by the tour of the porcelain industry. Excellent Delft ware and brightly painted ceramics are displayed for their pleasure. They each get to select a set of some design that they personally find pleasing. After a short coffee with the other high level guests of the Duchy, they get a brief tour of the sausage factory. L’Comte Beauphaup apologizes for the shortness of the tour, but the factory in full production is hot, smelly, and very noisy.
To compensate for the chaotic racket of the sausage factory, the party is led to view the Frankfurter cathedral and the materials used in the coronation and annointing of the Holy Roman Emperor. While they tour the building, choirs take turns singing various hymns and historic songs from the choir stalls.
As they wander through the dusky corners of the Gothic edifice, a gentleman passes Lady Pettygree and whispers, “God save King Charles. Watch the wine.” Before she or Cherish can respond, the man is lost in the shadows. They step behind a pillar to discuss the incident with Catherine when an old woman brushes by who says, “Why do you tempt fate? Germania, though it gives you admirers also gives you deadly greetings. Look high and low!” Then, as a puff of incense causes the ladies to blink and sneeze, the old woman also is gone from sight.
Now thoroughly alarmed, the ladies seek out Col. Enigma who has so often protected them in the past. The whole party, however, is led out to the square, where in one corner a luncheon pavilion has been erected. There, brass bands of school children serenade them, one group presenting “The Tuba Sonnata”. The luncheon is lively ... exquistely grilled fish, bratwurst, and other items blend with the best beverages, laughter and chatter as the ladies and lords flirt and the children from the bands march by, red faced with pride.
Suddenly, the happy noise is shattered by the loud staccato of musket fire! As bullets smash into the crystal and china on the tables by Pettygree and Duke Wilhelm, the ever present guards spot the smoke from the roof of the Cathedral. Gallian and Frankszonian troops return fire, though the professional ear of the officers in the party notice that some of the Frankszonian “Guards” are equipped with rifles. Other soldiers dash into the building to try to catch these dastardly assasins.
The party members begin to scatter as the ladies scream and the men curse, but Col. Enigma catches a glimpse of an old lady beckoning by the Rectory. With loud commands he manages to herd the notables into the house and to get soldiers stationed at some of the windows. Ritter von Meltzer and Ambassador Sgnori Vittorio Moretti demand why they’ve been brought into this building with its large windows when the already garrisoned inn on the square had been closer. Even as the normally imperturbable colonel hunts for a good excuse, a loud, bright explosion tears out of the inn’s basement.
“I knew it!” Enigma exclaims and dashes off to find Lady Pettygree.
For about an half hour, the square is filled with competing troops ... cavalrymen from the Grand Tour, Frankszonian guards, and Gallian Grenadiers. As the confusion and furor die down, and as the smoke from the badly damaged inn settles, the Archbishop reports that the assassins seem to have escaped! “There are just too many hidden passages and acloves in the cathedral,” he explains. “Given the all the confusion outside, if the evil men had the foresight to dress in uniforms, they probably had an easy time making their withdrawal. We did, at least, find the three weapons they were using.”
Monday, July 6, 2009
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*
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*
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Gallian Lt. Col. Enigma Arrives At Frankfurt Am Main
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Gallian Lt. Col. Enigma Arrives At Frankfurt Am Main
The Morning of 25 July 1757
The Citadel within Frankfurt Am Main
Gallian l’Intendant l’Comte de Bastille (Military Governor of Said City)
Lt. Col. Enigma
Lt. Pierre: ADC to Bastille
Narrator:
Our vexed Intendant sits at his desk casting an eye out the window. He sees the final crowning atop the new jail just on the other side of the parade ground. A satisfied deep breath proves his satisfaction at its completion. Just then uncountable clip clops rising in intensity sound on the cobblestones below reverberating on adjacent building walls. Several horsemen come closer and stop below his office. Bastille rises and walks to the window to see an eye patched man with a scared and severe face in the officer uniform of the Royal des Carabiniers dismount from his large black charger, a stallion. ADCs scurry to open the heavy door to the building. Grenadier guards salute smartly. Bastille nods to himself saying, “He is finally here.” when….
Lt. Pierre: Monsieur l’Intendant, Lt. Col. Enigma has arrived requesting an audience.
Bastille: Certainement. Show him in. Welcome mon trés cher ami. How was your journey?
Enigma: Ah Bastille, it IS good to see you again. Fast. My journey was undelayed. My horse Rupert has amazing speed and staying power. He quite wore out the horses of my ADCs, the poor fellows but a good lesson for them in the necessity of intensity.
Bastille: Like you my dear friend. Allow me to serve you some Chevert wine, will you?
Enigma: Pardon, but no. May we move to the issue at hand?
Bastille: Oui. The situation is unchanged here. Confusion in every quarter. Only more Gallian soldiers will satisfy the problems both seen and unseen. Our Ordre de Bataille is:
In Frankfurt Am Main:
De Saxe Uhlans: 120 guarding Pettygree and Masquerade now housed here within the Citadel.
Militia Grenadiers: 480, in the citadel itself, the guards you saw here.
Brigade Flanders: Three battalions: 1,952 hommes.
Brigade Provence: Four battalions: 2,323 hommes here in Frankfurt Am Main.
Artillerie: 8 Battalion Pieces.
Now Just North Of The City:
L’Corps de Armée de Lt. Gen. de Poyanne is not far away. I believe he has some 25,000 hommes and twenty pieces of ordnance.
Arriving Any Hour Now:
Brigade Auvergne: Two battalions: 1,200 hommes (regulars).
Saxe-Raschstein Chevaulegers von Rutowski: 400 hommes.
Artillerie: 1 Battalion Piece.
Enigma: “Bravo. All good. And I can tell you the Auvergnes and Saxons were on the road just outside the west gate. They should be entering the city as we speak. I bypassed them on the road. Now let us speak about the afternoon parade and celebrations.”
Bastille: "Excuse me a moment my dear friend."
Narrator:
Bastille leans out the window. He can just see the first scarlet coats and black facings of the leading squadron of Saxe-Raschsteiners passing through the Citadel’s western gate. In a moment he is reseated to answer the inquiry, but for now dear reader we must suspend further prose till another time.
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Those with copies of Batailles de l'Ancien Régime will be pleased to see Lt. Col. Enigma three or four pages into the text - on the copyright page.
Bravo Enigma!
Bill
Okay, I think I'll get the Austrians to come in too, so I can grab their figures a bit to fill out the roster!
Heck, I don't have near that many Frenchable figures yet!
Thanks for the OB ... though ...
I'll be referencing it!
Arthur