I'm looking at three brigade size encounters, as the Gallians and the Frankfurters catch the Resistance forces coming through the mountain defiles. More details as soon as health permits ....
One collision will be Rudelheim militia and dragoons running into Highlander mercs and fusiliers and Hussars (Frankszonia under Broderick Woad) in open but rolling terrain. I think Murdock will be taking this one. This will be the western encounter.
Two: will be veterans versus Guard .... the resistance will be running the Old Retainers (elite unit), estate jaegers, and another line regiment with a regt. of curiassiers against a battalion of Guard, two converged battalions of Grenadiers and a regt. of Cuirassiers ... which are under the direct command of the Hurtshog. I think Bill Protz will be taking this one, as involves the resistance trying to sneak out of the woods on the Tannes berg (exiting a mountain pass).
Three: will be the Fisch Freicorps (2 battalions) and militia fusiliers with a brigade of dragoons and Marie's artillery under Parsleigh ... who will run into Gallian dragoons who will be swiftly reinforced by whomever is parked over the depot .... but the engagement will occur close enough that Marie's artillery or a squadron of dragoons will have an opportunity to try to fire the depot ....
Ideally, the Resistance forces will slightly outnumber their foes. If Frankszonia and Gallia win a scenario, the victorious units may try to interdict the retreat line of another Resistance unit ...
I'm trying to get some painting in, as that can be done in my bed (for a long while I couldn't even lean forward to touch brush to palette). Anyway, I've got another squadron of 14 Hussars on preliminary basing (and found the missing three riders tonight); a third squadron of 17 Hussars ready to prime (all Revell Plastics); about 30 Minden Prussian grenadiers (which would be two Koenig Krieg battalions) and 12 Minden fusiliers (another K.K. battalion) ready for priming.
Unfortunately, my primer bottles seem to have been swept up in the general haul out of stuff from the living room!
:)
Arthur
Showing posts with label Resistance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Resistance. Show all posts
Monday, June 7, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Mud on the Carpets!
Early morning and drizzly rain, the perfect time for a contingent of exhausted, mud splattered riders to crash through the various carts and stalls, splash across the square, and blunder into the palace grounds. As the guards snap to attention (trying to ignore the horrible splatters on their dress whites), the party squelches to a stop at the steps. They help each other dismount, demonstrating a degree of stiffness one would expect from courtiers and overweight nobles who had just endured a grueling, multi hour dash through increasingly foul weather.
As they clatter and clump (and I do mean clump) through the doors onto the marble floors and priceless carpets (much to the dismay of the maids who had just finished their morning cleaning). loud roars (commands distorted by fatigue) bring a few staff officers hurriedly into the hall.
"Your Grace!" one of the men exclaimed, "You almost beat your courier here, we're still gathering."
"Gathering? This late in the day? When we've troops in the field?" the Hurtshog was NOT pleased.
Another over large uniform came through the door. The soldier wearing it was obviously not as fussed about appearances as the first rush of staff officers. He also seemed to have slept, or perhaps not slept, in his uniform. "Your Grace," he mumbled with a polite reverence.
"Okay, what happened, Oscar?"
"Well, we were on that zombie hunt on the border with Maurice when there was a local mutiny."
"Mutiny!?!"
"Yes, Sire, mutiny. We suspect Stagonian agents of course, but before we could prove anything, our flanking brigade ran into a war in Saxe-Bearstein."
"Saxe-Bearstein? Saxe-Bearstein!! Gut Got, Meine Herr, ve haff to haff SOME friends left in the world!" The Hurtshog's facial color was definitely getting florid.
"Nichts! Nichts!" Gen. Meyer reassured his old friend. "We were able to get in on our old friend's side. Already been some fighting down there. We've got Generals Schwann and Rosenschnauz in command of a good expiditionary force."
"By now," the one rider who somehow managed to still look daper intervened, "Gen. Hottatrot will be in command."
Gen. Meyer gave an inaudible sniff of disdain, but continued, "we have a slightly more serious situation though ..."
"I know, little Rausen Marie," the Hurtshog interjected. "I'm hoping we got here before anything happens."
"Well, we're not sure, ...." the old general seemed at lost for a moment how to continue ...
"The depot supplies may have been sabotaged again," one of the staff officers hesitatingly offered.
Meanwhile, Baron Bastille was angrilly shedding clothes in his quarters while staff gathered around. This being a family friendly forum, his comments on Frankszonian politics will not be shared. As his comments about Generals with Royal Favor being even less discrete and potentially harmful to his health, they will also be quickly smothered under a pillow.
Col. Mirage, however, was even more incensed than everybody else!
"Why .... I mean WHY haven't they been shot for mutiny?" he icily demanded.
"Well, Sir," the worried Major responded, "It's just happened, and honestly they do have a solid point. Besides, the powder is worthless ... it hardly ignites, let alone explodes."
"Okay," Mirage's expression seethed with not okay, "what happened."
"Well, the sergeants refused to make the cartridges because they thought the powder had been poisoned."
"Poisoned?"
"To paraphrase, Sir, they said it smelled like a thousand cats had pissed in it."
"That would be some strong saltpeter," Mirage acknowledged. "Go on."
"Well, we tested a bit, and it just smoked and stank, .... And stank, .... and realy gagged us all, Sir."
"Has a chemist examined it yet?"
"That's in progress, Sir." Mirage interpreted this as a more urgent version of "we'll got on it right away, Sir." The major continued, "but I'd guess somebody took some charcoal kitty litter, ground it up, and mixed up the gunpowder in some of the barrels."
"Just how many is 'some,' Major?"
"About a hundred and thirty five, Sir," the happless officer answered. "We're still checking."
"Out of how many barrels checked, Major?"
"A little over a hundred and fifty, Sir."
*Good God! Merci or Merde, Generals Cheveret and Broglie need to know about this right away!* Col Mirage thought. Then he had an idea as how to spare himself the immediate fireworks. "Major," he ordered, "have your personel report to me. You must go instantly and report this to the generals!"
"Oui, M'sr," the Major managed a disciplined salute and withdrawel.
*Now,* Mirage wondered, *which Frankszonian noble has tons and tons of cats around ....?"
As they clatter and clump (and I do mean clump) through the doors onto the marble floors and priceless carpets (much to the dismay of the maids who had just finished their morning cleaning). loud roars (commands distorted by fatigue) bring a few staff officers hurriedly into the hall.
"Your Grace!" one of the men exclaimed, "You almost beat your courier here, we're still gathering."
"Gathering? This late in the day? When we've troops in the field?" the Hurtshog was NOT pleased.
Another over large uniform came through the door. The soldier wearing it was obviously not as fussed about appearances as the first rush of staff officers. He also seemed to have slept, or perhaps not slept, in his uniform. "Your Grace," he mumbled with a polite reverence.
"Okay, what happened, Oscar?"
"Well, we were on that zombie hunt on the border with Maurice when there was a local mutiny."
"Mutiny!?!"
"Yes, Sire, mutiny. We suspect Stagonian agents of course, but before we could prove anything, our flanking brigade ran into a war in Saxe-Bearstein."
"Saxe-Bearstein? Saxe-Bearstein!! Gut Got, Meine Herr, ve haff to haff SOME friends left in the world!" The Hurtshog's facial color was definitely getting florid.
"Nichts! Nichts!" Gen. Meyer reassured his old friend. "We were able to get in on our old friend's side. Already been some fighting down there. We've got Generals Schwann and Rosenschnauz in command of a good expiditionary force."
"By now," the one rider who somehow managed to still look daper intervened, "Gen. Hottatrot will be in command."
Gen. Meyer gave an inaudible sniff of disdain, but continued, "we have a slightly more serious situation though ..."
"I know, little Rausen Marie," the Hurtshog interjected. "I'm hoping we got here before anything happens."
"Well, we're not sure, ...." the old general seemed at lost for a moment how to continue ...
"The depot supplies may have been sabotaged again," one of the staff officers hesitatingly offered.
Meanwhile, Baron Bastille was angrilly shedding clothes in his quarters while staff gathered around. This being a family friendly forum, his comments on Frankszonian politics will not be shared. As his comments about Generals with Royal Favor being even less discrete and potentially harmful to his health, they will also be quickly smothered under a pillow.
Col. Mirage, however, was even more incensed than everybody else!
"Why .... I mean WHY haven't they been shot for mutiny?" he icily demanded.
"Well, Sir," the worried Major responded, "It's just happened, and honestly they do have a solid point. Besides, the powder is worthless ... it hardly ignites, let alone explodes."
"Okay," Mirage's expression seethed with not okay, "what happened."
"Well, the sergeants refused to make the cartridges because they thought the powder had been poisoned."
"Poisoned?"
"To paraphrase, Sir, they said it smelled like a thousand cats had pissed in it."
"That would be some strong saltpeter," Mirage acknowledged. "Go on."
"Well, we tested a bit, and it just smoked and stank, .... And stank, .... and realy gagged us all, Sir."
"Has a chemist examined it yet?"
"That's in progress, Sir." Mirage interpreted this as a more urgent version of "we'll got on it right away, Sir." The major continued, "but I'd guess somebody took some charcoal kitty litter, ground it up, and mixed up the gunpowder in some of the barrels."
"Just how many is 'some,' Major?"
"About a hundred and thirty five, Sir," the happless officer answered. "We're still checking."
"Out of how many barrels checked, Major?"
"A little over a hundred and fifty, Sir."
*Good God! Merci or Merde, Generals Cheveret and Broglie need to know about this right away!* Col Mirage thought. Then he had an idea as how to spare himself the immediate fireworks. "Major," he ordered, "have your personel report to me. You must go instantly and report this to the generals!"
"Oui, M'sr," the Major managed a disciplined salute and withdrawel.
*Now,* Mirage wondered, *which Frankszonian noble has tons and tons of cats around ....?"
Friday, February 26, 2010
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!"
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!"
Thursday, February 25, 2010
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?”
.....
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?”
.....
Thursday, January 28, 2010
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 ...
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 ...
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Ingredients added to the stew ...
Events Speeding Up?
Scene I: In the Tannes Mountains near Ausfhart:
Inside the hut, the other woman picks up a sewing basket and starts stitching on some cloth while the men argue about possible routes from the various Resistance camps onto the Frankfurter plan. The forces covering Russelheim are clearly a threat in the field. Should they be bypassed or struck first. Hans argues that the over all strength of Frankszonia must be conserved, and a mere demonstration might keep them in place long enough for depot strike to succeed. Lord Bleah disagrees as his Cheezer forces will have to march past the Frankszonian posts to join in the strike and on their withdrawal.
“Not if you come through this valley and turn towards Hesse Fedora,” Rausen Mariah responded. “The Alte Vater will keep the men in this pass out of the action either way.”
“A friendly neutral?” Emil wonders.
“Nein, Miene Herr,” the unamed man responds. “Even more than the Hurtshog, the Alte Vater has no desire to see Fhartzen hurt in strangers’ quarrels.”
“And,” the seamstress intrudes, “the gold that the Crown of the Britscherwurst will contribute to ameliorate the damage caused by the passing armies will be a great incentive to behave.”
“I thought so!” Emil exclaimed. “We were sure that this invitation would be a request for subsidies for your Resistance forces. Good, we’re prepared to offer ...”
“Nein! Nein!” almost all of the Frankszonians exclaim. “The funds really will be directed to the restoration of the old family seat and for the family reunion.”
Bleah and Emil exchange disbelieving but puzzled glances.
“Germania and the OysterReich are struggling to dominate Deutschland,” the nameless man begins to explain. “The Fhartzen favor the OysterReich and the Merry Teaser, but there are much greater issues which this struggle will pull into the fire.”
“Already, Russian Cossacks and Swedish pirates are moving into Poland,” the seamstress continues, “and the Porte is mobilizing forces. Whether the Trucks go after the Carzina or the Merry Teaser is really a moot point right now. The Merry Teaser will be forced to divert the Hungryones away from Germania and Hesse Seewald.”
“I hardly see how that would motivate we Britischerwurst to worry,” Emil complained.
“Where do you think the armies to hold Bohemia and Prague will come from then?” Rausen Mariah snapped. “The Gallians have already intervened there twice. Do you want a de facto Gallian province to appear all along your southern border?”
“So, you want our help to strike the Frankfurter depot,” Lord Bleah nods.
“And our money and perhaps a little activity to give you a place to run too,” Emil concludes.
“And confusion to the Gallians!” the nameless man exclaims.
Scene 2: a suite in a quality hotel in Frankfurter:
A merchant stands by a table on which he is examining several very fancifully dressed dolls. A valet enters and says, “A person to see you, Meine Herr.”
“A person?”
“I cannot rightly call him a gentleman, Meine Herr.”
“Oh, very well, but give me enough time to put these away first.”
“Sehr gut, meine Herr.” The Valet leaves, and the merchant swiftly places the large dolls in a well padded trunk and locks it. After a minute, a dirty, stinking, ragged relic shambles into the room.
“Teuffel!” the merchant exclaims. “Don’t sit down on these fancy chairs! You’d double the rates we have to pay for this dump. By Wotan’s blind eye, what have you gotten into?”
“Und eine Guten Abend to you, Graf Putzenhoel,” the human wreck responds with a surprisingly well inflected baritone. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything “vile” to drink around would you?”
“Nor to smoke,” the Graf grunts. “You know I have to smuggle these play pretties past the Germanian outposts. Getting caught with them would be expensive enough!”
“Ah yes, the Parisan fashion doll gimmick again?”
“Jah. They provide a nice introduction to Mistress Ewewarp and some of M’Lady’s entourage.”
(For the incognosci, they used to make big dolls with the latest Paris fashions and ship them around Germany so that the local ladies could copy the outfits ... the more anti-French potentates always tried to prevent this).
“Mistress Ewewarp? I know you’re a lecher, but fat old ladies are hardly my cup of tea,” the tramp laughs.
“You’ve not been in the service long, have you, Gummibaher?”
“Just since I made the mistake of playing with that vixen from the Baltic.”
“Playing?” Putzenhoel laughs. “The way I heard it, it was more like being eaten alive.”
“It was okay until one of the king’s girls came in without knocking,” Gummibaher grinned.
“Ha! Was gibts?”
“First of all, as you probably already known, Frau Ewewarp is absent from the city.”
“Humph!”
“And a carriage from the Margravate of Raubenstein has been recieved at the palace.”
“Raubenstein?”
“Jah, und there is a strange cavalry officer in their entourage.”
“The Kerns! Have they asked any questions yet?”
“Nein, but I’ve never heard of the officer before some affair in the Balkans last year.”
“Well, well,” Putzenhoel muses. “I may have to delay my urgent trip to the Bar Line for a bit ...”
Scene Three: A country inn somewhere in Hesse Seewald ....
M/Lord Bastille steps out of the common room into the courtyard and lights a pipe. He looks up at the clouds and the light snow falling with a smirk. He had that scheming petty Frankszonian Duke wrapped up nice and tight and away from making any trouble! His pleasant reveries are interrupted when a tipsy teamster bumps into the shrubbery and shakes some snow onto Bastille’s fine coat.
“Be careful, man!” the Intendant complains.
“Your pardon, m’Lord,” the teamster apologizes. “I seem to be a little dizzy,” he laughs and turns to look up into Bastille’s face.
“Mon Dieu!” Bastille swivels around quickly to be sure no one is watching. “What are you doing here, Master Peter?”
“Working overtime,” Peter answers. “This is a tough gig when all the apprentices and journeymen suddenly leave town.”
“Eh?”
“And I asked for charity from the Anglericans, but they’ve suddenly gone to all short form services and are buttoned up for the cold.”
“Ah,” Bastille nods knowingly, “So the Germanian tyrant is finally playing the religion card.”
“Perhaps,” Peter nodded, “but one of the Frankszonian generals who deserted to Germania was seen talking with Mistress Ewewarp, and she’s missing now too.”
“What is that silly Boche doing now?” Bastille was beginning to get irritated.
“Possibly nothing,” Peter responded. The Intendent waved that off angrily, but Peter pressed on, “the only dispatch rider I saw was coming here, and I’ve not spotted much traffic back to Frankfurter other than wounded and prisoners.”
“Wounded and prisoners?” Bastille’s eyebrows merged with his feathery hat. “Just how many wounded and prisoners and in what size groups?”
Scene Four: A chilly vault under the Frankfurter Cathedral:
A Cathedral Cannon is carefully sorting candles when another priest enters the room.
“Monsignor Virtu!” the Cannon greets him cheerfully, “What brings you here?”
“We need to get the lay brothers together,” the visitor responds with a heavy Italian accent.
The Cannon crosses himself anxiously. “Are you sure? They can be hard to control and can cause some terrible trouble when they’re set loose.”
The Italian is silent for a moment, casting a grave look outside the room. He returns to the Cannon and whispers in his ear, “The Apostate Prince Returns.”
Scene Five: A comfortable suite in a country inn in Hesse Seewald.
The Hurtshog and Beauphaup play chess beside a cheerful fire while General Hottatrot watches the snow fall outside.
“Close that window!” the Hurtshog cheerily orders the General. “Do you want to give your sovereign pneumonia?”
“Not really,” the general responds. “I just thought I heard the sign of a Frankszonian Ritter.”
The chess players both look at him and fall quiet. Outside, the steady clump of heavy boots rapidly approaches the door. At the knock, Hottatrot challenges, “Who goes there?”
“Hauptman MooseHunter, mein Herr.”
The chess players quickly rise while Hottatrot hustles the officer into the room swiftly.
“What’s happening?” the Hurtshog demands bruskly.
“Rose Marie has another crazy scheme going, Sir,” the copper skinned giant responded. “And with most of our reliable forces out of town and going in different directions, this could prove very embarrassing.”
“Does the Intendant know yet?”
“I passed one of his agents just outside of town, and stalled long enough to let him go in ahead of me.”
“Good.”
“But ...”
“Well?”
“Roquefort has gone to ground, Sir,” the Indian said. “We’ve lost track of him.”
“Perhaps the Gallian court has finally decided to reign him in,” Beauphaup suggested.
“They have, but he appears to have skipped even before his assassination scheme went sour,” Moosehunter cautioned.
“And we saw some Cheezer officers posing as wounded being “taken” south after the battle,” Hottatrot noted.
The Hurtshog made an abrupt gesture and walked to the window. He opens it and watches the snow for a minute. “Comte Beauphaup.” he said.
“Oui, your Highness?”
“Please find m’Lord Bastille. Inform him that he is summoned to an immediate conference with the Hurtshog Fhartz von Frankfurter.”
The other men stiffen at the tone and the word “summoned.”
“At once, your Highness,” Beauphaup responds and leaves.
Scene I: In the Tannes Mountains near Ausfhart:
Inside the hut, the other woman picks up a sewing basket and starts stitching on some cloth while the men argue about possible routes from the various Resistance camps onto the Frankfurter plan. The forces covering Russelheim are clearly a threat in the field. Should they be bypassed or struck first. Hans argues that the over all strength of Frankszonia must be conserved, and a mere demonstration might keep them in place long enough for depot strike to succeed. Lord Bleah disagrees as his Cheezer forces will have to march past the Frankszonian posts to join in the strike and on their withdrawal.
“Not if you come through this valley and turn towards Hesse Fedora,” Rausen Mariah responded. “The Alte Vater will keep the men in this pass out of the action either way.”
“A friendly neutral?” Emil wonders.
“Nein, Miene Herr,” the unamed man responds. “Even more than the Hurtshog, the Alte Vater has no desire to see Fhartzen hurt in strangers’ quarrels.”
“And,” the seamstress intrudes, “the gold that the Crown of the Britscherwurst will contribute to ameliorate the damage caused by the passing armies will be a great incentive to behave.”
“I thought so!” Emil exclaimed. “We were sure that this invitation would be a request for subsidies for your Resistance forces. Good, we’re prepared to offer ...”
“Nein! Nein!” almost all of the Frankszonians exclaim. “The funds really will be directed to the restoration of the old family seat and for the family reunion.”
Bleah and Emil exchange disbelieving but puzzled glances.
“Germania and the OysterReich are struggling to dominate Deutschland,” the nameless man begins to explain. “The Fhartzen favor the OysterReich and the Merry Teaser, but there are much greater issues which this struggle will pull into the fire.”
“Already, Russian Cossacks and Swedish pirates are moving into Poland,” the seamstress continues, “and the Porte is mobilizing forces. Whether the Trucks go after the Carzina or the Merry Teaser is really a moot point right now. The Merry Teaser will be forced to divert the Hungryones away from Germania and Hesse Seewald.”
“I hardly see how that would motivate we Britischerwurst to worry,” Emil complained.
“Where do you think the armies to hold Bohemia and Prague will come from then?” Rausen Mariah snapped. “The Gallians have already intervened there twice. Do you want a de facto Gallian province to appear all along your southern border?”
“So, you want our help to strike the Frankfurter depot,” Lord Bleah nods.
“And our money and perhaps a little activity to give you a place to run too,” Emil concludes.
“And confusion to the Gallians!” the nameless man exclaims.
Scene 2: a suite in a quality hotel in Frankfurter:
A merchant stands by a table on which he is examining several very fancifully dressed dolls. A valet enters and says, “A person to see you, Meine Herr.”
“A person?”
“I cannot rightly call him a gentleman, Meine Herr.”
“Oh, very well, but give me enough time to put these away first.”
“Sehr gut, meine Herr.” The Valet leaves, and the merchant swiftly places the large dolls in a well padded trunk and locks it. After a minute, a dirty, stinking, ragged relic shambles into the room.
“Teuffel!” the merchant exclaims. “Don’t sit down on these fancy chairs! You’d double the rates we have to pay for this dump. By Wotan’s blind eye, what have you gotten into?”
“Und eine Guten Abend to you, Graf Putzenhoel,” the human wreck responds with a surprisingly well inflected baritone. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything “vile” to drink around would you?”
“Nor to smoke,” the Graf grunts. “You know I have to smuggle these play pretties past the Germanian outposts. Getting caught with them would be expensive enough!”
“Ah yes, the Parisan fashion doll gimmick again?”
“Jah. They provide a nice introduction to Mistress Ewewarp and some of M’Lady’s entourage.”
(For the incognosci, they used to make big dolls with the latest Paris fashions and ship them around Germany so that the local ladies could copy the outfits ... the more anti-French potentates always tried to prevent this).
“Mistress Ewewarp? I know you’re a lecher, but fat old ladies are hardly my cup of tea,” the tramp laughs.
“You’ve not been in the service long, have you, Gummibaher?”
“Just since I made the mistake of playing with that vixen from the Baltic.”
“Playing?” Putzenhoel laughs. “The way I heard it, it was more like being eaten alive.”
“It was okay until one of the king’s girls came in without knocking,” Gummibaher grinned.
“Ha! Was gibts?”
“First of all, as you probably already known, Frau Ewewarp is absent from the city.”
“Humph!”
“And a carriage from the Margravate of Raubenstein has been recieved at the palace.”
“Raubenstein?”
“Jah, und there is a strange cavalry officer in their entourage.”
“The Kerns! Have they asked any questions yet?”
“Nein, but I’ve never heard of the officer before some affair in the Balkans last year.”
“Well, well,” Putzenhoel muses. “I may have to delay my urgent trip to the Bar Line for a bit ...”
Scene Three: A country inn somewhere in Hesse Seewald ....
M/Lord Bastille steps out of the common room into the courtyard and lights a pipe. He looks up at the clouds and the light snow falling with a smirk. He had that scheming petty Frankszonian Duke wrapped up nice and tight and away from making any trouble! His pleasant reveries are interrupted when a tipsy teamster bumps into the shrubbery and shakes some snow onto Bastille’s fine coat.
“Be careful, man!” the Intendant complains.
“Your pardon, m’Lord,” the teamster apologizes. “I seem to be a little dizzy,” he laughs and turns to look up into Bastille’s face.
“Mon Dieu!” Bastille swivels around quickly to be sure no one is watching. “What are you doing here, Master Peter?”
“Working overtime,” Peter answers. “This is a tough gig when all the apprentices and journeymen suddenly leave town.”
“Eh?”
“And I asked for charity from the Anglericans, but they’ve suddenly gone to all short form services and are buttoned up for the cold.”
“Ah,” Bastille nods knowingly, “So the Germanian tyrant is finally playing the religion card.”
“Perhaps,” Peter nodded, “but one of the Frankszonian generals who deserted to Germania was seen talking with Mistress Ewewarp, and she’s missing now too.”
“What is that silly Boche doing now?” Bastille was beginning to get irritated.
“Possibly nothing,” Peter responded. The Intendent waved that off angrily, but Peter pressed on, “the only dispatch rider I saw was coming here, and I’ve not spotted much traffic back to Frankfurter other than wounded and prisoners.”
“Wounded and prisoners?” Bastille’s eyebrows merged with his feathery hat. “Just how many wounded and prisoners and in what size groups?”
Scene Four: A chilly vault under the Frankfurter Cathedral:
A Cathedral Cannon is carefully sorting candles when another priest enters the room.
“Monsignor Virtu!” the Cannon greets him cheerfully, “What brings you here?”
“We need to get the lay brothers together,” the visitor responds with a heavy Italian accent.
The Cannon crosses himself anxiously. “Are you sure? They can be hard to control and can cause some terrible trouble when they’re set loose.”
The Italian is silent for a moment, casting a grave look outside the room. He returns to the Cannon and whispers in his ear, “The Apostate Prince Returns.”
Scene Five: A comfortable suite in a country inn in Hesse Seewald.
The Hurtshog and Beauphaup play chess beside a cheerful fire while General Hottatrot watches the snow fall outside.
“Close that window!” the Hurtshog cheerily orders the General. “Do you want to give your sovereign pneumonia?”
“Not really,” the general responds. “I just thought I heard the sign of a Frankszonian Ritter.”
The chess players both look at him and fall quiet. Outside, the steady clump of heavy boots rapidly approaches the door. At the knock, Hottatrot challenges, “Who goes there?”
“Hauptman MooseHunter, mein Herr.”
The chess players quickly rise while Hottatrot hustles the officer into the room swiftly.
“What’s happening?” the Hurtshog demands bruskly.
“Rose Marie has another crazy scheme going, Sir,” the copper skinned giant responded. “And with most of our reliable forces out of town and going in different directions, this could prove very embarrassing.”
“Does the Intendant know yet?”
“I passed one of his agents just outside of town, and stalled long enough to let him go in ahead of me.”
“Good.”
“But ...”
“Well?”
“Roquefort has gone to ground, Sir,” the Indian said. “We’ve lost track of him.”
“Perhaps the Gallian court has finally decided to reign him in,” Beauphaup suggested.
“They have, but he appears to have skipped even before his assassination scheme went sour,” Moosehunter cautioned.
“And we saw some Cheezer officers posing as wounded being “taken” south after the battle,” Hottatrot noted.
The Hurtshog made an abrupt gesture and walked to the window. He opens it and watches the snow for a minute. “Comte Beauphaup.” he said.
“Oui, your Highness?”
“Please find m’Lord Bastille. Inform him that he is summoned to an immediate conference with the Hurtshog Fhartz von Frankfurter.”
The other men stiffen at the tone and the word “summoned.”
“At once, your Highness,” Beauphaup responds and leaves.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A Get-together: A scramble in the woods
A get - together Scramble
The pearl grey mist swirls about vague, pre-dawn shadows like rope curtains. On the tree dark slopes, two indistinct lumps slip across wet, black stones and stumble, muttering, over gnarled roots.
“Ha! Poachers!” storms out above them, and they jerk to an awkward halt.
“Not poachers,” protests one figure, “but protectors!”
“Ja, ja,” their captor sneers, “und you vill the little birdies from der Hurtshog’s kitchen protect, eh? Nein, Nein!”
“Nein, Feldwebel,” the other captive answers with a girl’s musical voice. “We keep therm from turning into Frogs!”
“Ach, meine kleine Blumen,” the large figure of a jaeger sergeant steps down among the black pillars and dripping branches. “We did not if you for sure were coming know. Welcome to our Ausfhart Wald und valley.”
“Hans, Hans,” the girl chides him and gives him a quick hug. “I have your hunts always enjoyed.”
“Ja, und we have your style of hunting always loved,” the big man chuckles. “Wo ist?”
He gestures to the other figure whose shoes were slipping off the rocks.
“Emil,” the girl responds gaily, “stop slipping away and come meet Hans Baher.”
Hans catches Emil a second from disaster and leans the smaller man into a tree.
“These boots,” Emil complains, “are too stiff for this work. Our little plotter here won’t let me just ride in!”
The sergeant grunts cheerfully, “only a dwarf on his mine pony could where we’re going ride anyway.”
“Where are we going then?” Emil asks.
“Come!” Hans moves across the slope, leaving a billowing wake in the fog. Emil and the girl stumble along behind him onto a narrow path which cuts across a cliff hidden by tall firs.
“Careful, meine Herr,” Hans cautions, as he leads them on a narrow goat path across the face of a cliff. “It can get slippery.”
Emil clutched the cliff face on his right as he wobbled through the fog. “Where will we meet the others,’ he asks after one slip sends a small rock bounding down among the firs.
Hans and Rausen Marie steadied him. “Already there, Mein Herr,” Hans reassured him. “Achtung! Be careful,” Hans continued and then seemed to vanish into the cliff!
Emil came to a startled stop, and the girl blundered into him. For a moment they tottered and swayed together, clutching each other, tree branches, and random loose rocks. The little tussle ended with a loud slap and a muttered apology. Their little stumble, however, had moved them far enough for Emil to see into the mall gorge which cut into the cliff. Of course the path turned suddenly into the gorge a few yards above the boulders over which a mountain stream splashed.
“First,” Emil mockingly grumbled, “you try to break my legs. Now you want me to break my neck and to ruin my boots?”
He was rewarded with a brief giggle.
Though the rocks were wet and mossy, they weren’t slimy. Emil was quietly grateful for that. Then after a few yards, the gorge twisted, and the crack climbed swiftly. The three stepped out onto a clear terrace. A few goats nibbled at bunches of grasses on the glade. The stream flowed from beneath a dilapidated cottage leaning against the upper cliff face. Emil’s companions removed their hats and nodded respectfully towards the cottage. “We’re here,” the girl said.
The pearl grey mist swirls about vague, pre-dawn shadows like rope curtains. On the tree dark slopes, two indistinct lumps slip across wet, black stones and stumble, muttering, over gnarled roots.
“Ha! Poachers!” storms out above them, and they jerk to an awkward halt.
“Not poachers,” protests one figure, “but protectors!”
“Ja, ja,” their captor sneers, “und you vill the little birdies from der Hurtshog’s kitchen protect, eh? Nein, Nein!”
“Nein, Feldwebel,” the other captive answers with a girl’s musical voice. “We keep therm from turning into Frogs!”
“Ach, meine kleine Blumen,” the large figure of a jaeger sergeant steps down among the black pillars and dripping branches. “We did not if you for sure were coming know. Welcome to our Ausfhart Wald und valley.”
“Hans, Hans,” the girl chides him and gives him a quick hug. “I have your hunts always enjoyed.”
“Ja, und we have your style of hunting always loved,” the big man chuckles. “Wo ist?”
He gestures to the other figure whose shoes were slipping off the rocks.
“Emil,” the girl responds gaily, “stop slipping away and come meet Hans Baher.”
Hans catches Emil a second from disaster and leans the smaller man into a tree.
“These boots,” Emil complains, “are too stiff for this work. Our little plotter here won’t let me just ride in!”
The sergeant grunts cheerfully, “only a dwarf on his mine pony could where we’re going ride anyway.”
“Where are we going then?” Emil asks.
“Come!” Hans moves across the slope, leaving a billowing wake in the fog. Emil and the girl stumble along behind him onto a narrow path which cuts across a cliff hidden by tall firs.
“Careful, meine Herr,” Hans cautions, as he leads them on a narrow goat path across the face of a cliff. “It can get slippery.”
Emil clutched the cliff face on his right as he wobbled through the fog. “Where will we meet the others,’ he asks after one slip sends a small rock bounding down among the firs.
Hans and Rausen Marie steadied him. “Already there, Mein Herr,” Hans reassured him. “Achtung! Be careful,” Hans continued and then seemed to vanish into the cliff!
Emil came to a startled stop, and the girl blundered into him. For a moment they tottered and swayed together, clutching each other, tree branches, and random loose rocks. The little tussle ended with a loud slap and a muttered apology. Their little stumble, however, had moved them far enough for Emil to see into the mall gorge which cut into the cliff. Of course the path turned suddenly into the gorge a few yards above the boulders over which a mountain stream splashed.
“First,” Emil mockingly grumbled, “you try to break my legs. Now you want me to break my neck and to ruin my boots?”
He was rewarded with a brief giggle.
Though the rocks were wet and mossy, they weren’t slimy. Emil was quietly grateful for that. Then after a few yards, the gorge twisted, and the crack climbed swiftly. The three stepped out onto a clear terrace. A few goats nibbled at bunches of grasses on the glade. The stream flowed from beneath a dilapidated cottage leaning against the upper cliff face. Emil’s companions removed their hats and nodded respectfully towards the cottage. “We’re here,” the girl said.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
And updates
First of all, the big news is that the Hesse Seewald which was in position to liber ... ah, besiege Frankfurter has fallen back through the Fulda Gap in response to the Allied victory at Minden ... as I write, news of a great collision near the capital of Hesse Seewald, Gotha, is just beginning to arrive (see "Campaigns in Germania).
Of course, the Resistance continues its forlorn struggle (I've fourteen pages of rough draft to bang into the confuser), and the search for the wife's good close up camera also continues ... Amazing what two cats can accomplish in a single night in one room ...
:)
Arthur
Of course, the Resistance continues its forlorn struggle (I've fourteen pages of rough draft to bang into the confuser), and the search for the wife's good close up camera also continues ... Amazing what two cats can accomplish in a single night in one room ...
:)
Arthur
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
A Hunting we will go ....
The time approaches for the annual visit to Ausfhart by the Hurtshog, Stanken Fhartz.
The old castle of Einfhart has been renovated, and there's a family reunion scheduled for the annual late grape harvest (okay, it's probably later than that in real Germany, but I always liked Reisling Spatlaze Rhine wines).
Since the family is as politically united as Frankfurter itself, this is going to take some ticklish diplomacy ....
Intendent Bastille pours himself a solid cup of Benedictine (Chevert Wine is for more delicate occasions) as he sees L'Comte Beauphaup sashaying towards his office.
I'll have to paraphrase their conversation as I don't speak a word of French ...
Bastille gulps it down and turns toward the door to greet his visitor:
Bastille: Good afternoon, m'Lord. What is the occasion of the honor of your visit?
Beauphaup (taking a sniff from his pomander): Nothing especial, your Excellency ... we just require a few notes of safe passage through the lines.
Bastille: Through the lines?
Beauphaup: Well, there's the Hurtshog cousin, who's declared himself the true Hurtshog and attached himself to Hesse Cassel and his entourage;
Bastille: Permit hostile officers through the lines?!?
Beauphaup (ignoring Bastille's irritation and shock): and the Ritter Frazlewitz, the Hurtshog's illigitimate half brother ...
Bastille: Ah, the old Duke did have a reputation!
Beauphaup: NO, no. That crowd would be too dangerous, somebody might decide to attempt a radical form of legitimization, if you follow my meaning ...
Bastille (even more shocked): So, this "half brother" is not his father's child?
Beauphaup: Of course not, and there is also Bombastus Fhartz, though he'll be a special problem ...
Bastille (a little rocky): a (his voice rises an octave)"special" problem?
Beauphaup: Oh yes, he's a renegade. Casts cannons for the Turk, you know. The Papal agents will be trying to catch him, and Stagonia will be trying to buy him ...
Bastille (with heavy sarcasm): and what is the purpose of these "little requests"?
Beauphaup: Well, the old family castle has been renovated, you know: Nice French style gardens with clear fields of fire and so forth. The Hurtshog feels that a grand family reunion amid the wine fest would help him with the people outside of the city where the Resistance hides out.
Bastille: So he's throwing ANOTHER ball?
Beauphaup: Oh yes. It'll be all local girls except for whomever you and the other foreign notables bring.
Bastille: You expect ME to attend another of the Hurtshog's balls? (His voice rising and trembling)
Beauphaup: Of course! How could we hold a state ball without bringing such powers as yourself? The official invitations probably won't go out for a few weeks yet ...
Bastille: Excuse me, m'lord Count, but I feel some indigestion ...
Beauphaup: So sorry. I'll leave these documents with you ... perhaps some Fraumilch might help?
Bastille lurches abruptly for the closet, waving Beauphaup away.
Beauphaup shrugs, does an about face, and hands a portfolio to Bastille's aide as he minces out ....
The old castle of Einfhart has been renovated, and there's a family reunion scheduled for the annual late grape harvest (okay, it's probably later than that in real Germany, but I always liked Reisling Spatlaze Rhine wines).
Since the family is as politically united as Frankfurter itself, this is going to take some ticklish diplomacy ....
Intendent Bastille pours himself a solid cup of Benedictine (Chevert Wine is for more delicate occasions) as he sees L'Comte Beauphaup sashaying towards his office.
I'll have to paraphrase their conversation as I don't speak a word of French ...
Bastille gulps it down and turns toward the door to greet his visitor:
Bastille: Good afternoon, m'Lord. What is the occasion of the honor of your visit?
Beauphaup (taking a sniff from his pomander): Nothing especial, your Excellency ... we just require a few notes of safe passage through the lines.
Bastille: Through the lines?
Beauphaup: Well, there's the Hurtshog cousin, who's declared himself the true Hurtshog and attached himself to Hesse Cassel and his entourage;
Bastille: Permit hostile officers through the lines?!?
Beauphaup (ignoring Bastille's irritation and shock): and the Ritter Frazlewitz, the Hurtshog's illigitimate half brother ...
Bastille: Ah, the old Duke did have a reputation!
Beauphaup: NO, no. That crowd would be too dangerous, somebody might decide to attempt a radical form of legitimization, if you follow my meaning ...
Bastille (even more shocked): So, this "half brother" is not his father's child?
Beauphaup: Of course not, and there is also Bombastus Fhartz, though he'll be a special problem ...
Bastille (a little rocky): a (his voice rises an octave)"special" problem?
Beauphaup: Oh yes, he's a renegade. Casts cannons for the Turk, you know. The Papal agents will be trying to catch him, and Stagonia will be trying to buy him ...
Bastille (with heavy sarcasm): and what is the purpose of these "little requests"?
Beauphaup: Well, the old family castle has been renovated, you know: Nice French style gardens with clear fields of fire and so forth. The Hurtshog feels that a grand family reunion amid the wine fest would help him with the people outside of the city where the Resistance hides out.
Bastille: So he's throwing ANOTHER ball?
Beauphaup: Oh yes. It'll be all local girls except for whomever you and the other foreign notables bring.
Bastille: You expect ME to attend another of the Hurtshog's balls? (His voice rising and trembling)
Beauphaup: Of course! How could we hold a state ball without bringing such powers as yourself? The official invitations probably won't go out for a few weeks yet ...
Bastille: Excuse me, m'lord Count, but I feel some indigestion ...
Beauphaup: So sorry. I'll leave these documents with you ... perhaps some Fraumilch might help?
Bastille lurches abruptly for the closet, waving Beauphaup away.
Beauphaup shrugs, does an about face, and hands a portfolio to Bastille's aide as he minces out ....
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
A Very Dry Vintage
A Very Dry Vintage
It was a dark and very quiet night (okay, I couldn’t resist). With no moon, the stars over Frankfurter sprinkled back from the wavelets on the Main. Along the unloading piers for the Gallian depot, the sentry marches tiredly on. Quietly, after the sentry has passed, two figures suddenly appear on one of the barges and step quickly across to the pier to one of the ramshackle sheds thrown up by the Gallian suppliers. The smaller fiddles with the door for a second, steps through and then back out and nods to the larger. The large man, who even in this dim light looks like an old copper statue, ducks under the lintel and a moment later steps back out carrying a barrel. The two step back onto the barge and disappear. The whole action taking less than a few seconds.
In the dark, sentries exchange the sign and countersign, and the local private wearily plods back the wier to the other end of his beat. As he passes, a strange, long boat with both ends curved up and together slips silently out into the river. The two passengers steadily and stealthily dip their paddles into the water and cross over towards Saxenhousen.
“That was quick, Moose Hunter,” the short man in the front of the canoe whispered. “Are you sure you got one?”
“Third one I picked up, Johannes,” Moose Hunter replied. “It’s full, but there’s no liquid in it.”
They quietly finish their voayage and get pulled through the muck on the south shore by a couple of soldiers. The barrel is lifted onto a small cart, and the soldiers led by a young Fahenjunker and an Hauptman hurry through the dark streets followed by Johannes and Moose Hunter. They stop at what appears to be a run down boarding house and carry the barrel inside. The soldiers step outside again and march away except for the two officers who move slowly towards a darkened inn.
“So! Our little Gallian lap dog is stealing from his master again!” the Fahenjunker cheerfully commented.
“Hush!” the Hauptman answered quickly. Then he looked carefully around and lowered his voice. “It’s time you started to pay attention to things that a nobleman should notice. And it’s time you learned to keep your mouth shut too, now that Kunegunde has Bastille’s little house to take the blame for his actions.”
“I’m sorry, Father,” the youngster apologized. “What is it that you want me to notice?”
“Frankszonia has fought four wars with other Gallian allies ....”
“And the Hurtshog has carefully held back the best troops at the last moment to ensure that they win!”
“... But under the cover of those little squabbles, the Hurtshog has eliminated the pockets of territory cutting up out Stadtholdings and more than doubled our territory and resources.”
“So he’s a good little Hurtshog who is nicely improving his claim,” the youngster snorted.
“Wake up, Son! The Hurtshog and his councilors are quite serious about Deutschland vor Deutsche Volk. They’ve got this impossible dream of some sort of confederation of little states that can keep the big boys from tearing up our towns for their playground.”
“Isn’t that what the Wieners and their Reich are supposed to be doing?”
“Ja, and you can see for yourself how wonderfully well THAT is working.”
“So what? If our tiny army sneezes, Bastille and Broglie will impress whoever is unlucky enough to survive “
”If Germania and Hesse Seewald win another big one nearby, where will all those Gallian troops be? With the Resistance fighters who always seem to get away, the supposed deserters under Pepperoni and Braunsweiger, and few other friends like Hesse Fedora, I suspect that the Hurtshog will have enough to hold Frankfurter until relieved.”
“So we’re going to double cross the frogs?”
“Only if we have to. We are quite aware that neither Germania nor Hesse Seewald are really all that interested in having a lot of little autonomous duchies to deal with. Now hush. Not a word of this even to Mother or you sister and especially not to Fraulein Busch!” At this point, they open a dark door from which light and laughter spilled.
Back at the rooming house, two nobles carry lamps into the dark sitting room. They are accompanied by a scholar. One of them reveals a prybar and starts to open the barrel.
“Careful, Your Highness!” Johannes urges.
“Somebody has to, and too many have to be hurt for me these days,” the stout man answered.
As the lid rises, a dark powder is revealed. All turn to the scholar who comes forward, lifts a small pinch out and carries it to a lamp where he studies it with a magnifying glass.
“Well, Rabbi?” the other nobleman demands.
“You were right, General,” the scholar answers. “It’s not gunpowder. This looks more like the flash powder they put into fireworks to make the loud noises. Frankly, it could dangerous if somebody charged his piece with a normal measure.”
“Are you positive, Badmann, that the Gallians don’t know about this yet?” the Hurtshog asked.
“I’m not sure,” Badmann responded. “This barrel is marked the same as that spoiled juice that Bastille and all the Gallian peers drink.”
“Then there should barrels like this in the private quarters of almost every Gallian notable around here,” Moose Hunter grunted.
“Do we tell them?” the general asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” the Hurtshog mused. “We do brief our cleaning ladies and so forth right away ... let’s see if we can get this stuff before it goes off. This could be M’Lady’s or Stagonia’s handiwork, but Roquefort has his own nefarious agenda, and we’ve put a monkey wrench in it. He may be looking for some sudden job opportunities for his own agents.”
There was a moment’s silence, and the Hurtshog turned to the scholar. “I’m a bit thin right now, Rabbi,” he said, “but I think that boatman friend of yours and his family ought to spend the next Passover in Jerusalem on a small stipend. Otherwise, let’s get this to a more useful spot. Moose Hunter, Lady Pettygree is nearby. That means M’Lady is too. Hunt her and see if any threads come loose. Guten Nacht!”
The noblemen both walk quickly out of the room and disappear down the hall towards the back of the house.
It was a dark and very quiet night (okay, I couldn’t resist). With no moon, the stars over Frankfurter sprinkled back from the wavelets on the Main. Along the unloading piers for the Gallian depot, the sentry marches tiredly on. Quietly, after the sentry has passed, two figures suddenly appear on one of the barges and step quickly across to the pier to one of the ramshackle sheds thrown up by the Gallian suppliers. The smaller fiddles with the door for a second, steps through and then back out and nods to the larger. The large man, who even in this dim light looks like an old copper statue, ducks under the lintel and a moment later steps back out carrying a barrel. The two step back onto the barge and disappear. The whole action taking less than a few seconds.
In the dark, sentries exchange the sign and countersign, and the local private wearily plods back the wier to the other end of his beat. As he passes, a strange, long boat with both ends curved up and together slips silently out into the river. The two passengers steadily and stealthily dip their paddles into the water and cross over towards Saxenhousen.
“That was quick, Moose Hunter,” the short man in the front of the canoe whispered. “Are you sure you got one?”
“Third one I picked up, Johannes,” Moose Hunter replied. “It’s full, but there’s no liquid in it.”
They quietly finish their voayage and get pulled through the muck on the south shore by a couple of soldiers. The barrel is lifted onto a small cart, and the soldiers led by a young Fahenjunker and an Hauptman hurry through the dark streets followed by Johannes and Moose Hunter. They stop at what appears to be a run down boarding house and carry the barrel inside. The soldiers step outside again and march away except for the two officers who move slowly towards a darkened inn.
“So! Our little Gallian lap dog is stealing from his master again!” the Fahenjunker cheerfully commented.
“Hush!” the Hauptman answered quickly. Then he looked carefully around and lowered his voice. “It’s time you started to pay attention to things that a nobleman should notice. And it’s time you learned to keep your mouth shut too, now that Kunegunde has Bastille’s little house to take the blame for his actions.”
“I’m sorry, Father,” the youngster apologized. “What is it that you want me to notice?”
“Frankszonia has fought four wars with other Gallian allies ....”
“And the Hurtshog has carefully held back the best troops at the last moment to ensure that they win!”
“... But under the cover of those little squabbles, the Hurtshog has eliminated the pockets of territory cutting up out Stadtholdings and more than doubled our territory and resources.”
“So he’s a good little Hurtshog who is nicely improving his claim,” the youngster snorted.
“Wake up, Son! The Hurtshog and his councilors are quite serious about Deutschland vor Deutsche Volk. They’ve got this impossible dream of some sort of confederation of little states that can keep the big boys from tearing up our towns for their playground.”
“Isn’t that what the Wieners and their Reich are supposed to be doing?”
“Ja, and you can see for yourself how wonderfully well THAT is working.”
“So what? If our tiny army sneezes, Bastille and Broglie will impress whoever is unlucky enough to survive “
”If Germania and Hesse Seewald win another big one nearby, where will all those Gallian troops be? With the Resistance fighters who always seem to get away, the supposed deserters under Pepperoni and Braunsweiger, and few other friends like Hesse Fedora, I suspect that the Hurtshog will have enough to hold Frankfurter until relieved.”
“So we’re going to double cross the frogs?”
“Only if we have to. We are quite aware that neither Germania nor Hesse Seewald are really all that interested in having a lot of little autonomous duchies to deal with. Now hush. Not a word of this even to Mother or you sister and especially not to Fraulein Busch!” At this point, they open a dark door from which light and laughter spilled.
Back at the rooming house, two nobles carry lamps into the dark sitting room. They are accompanied by a scholar. One of them reveals a prybar and starts to open the barrel.
“Careful, Your Highness!” Johannes urges.
“Somebody has to, and too many have to be hurt for me these days,” the stout man answered.
As the lid rises, a dark powder is revealed. All turn to the scholar who comes forward, lifts a small pinch out and carries it to a lamp where he studies it with a magnifying glass.
“Well, Rabbi?” the other nobleman demands.
“You were right, General,” the scholar answers. “It’s not gunpowder. This looks more like the flash powder they put into fireworks to make the loud noises. Frankly, it could dangerous if somebody charged his piece with a normal measure.”
“Are you positive, Badmann, that the Gallians don’t know about this yet?” the Hurtshog asked.
“I’m not sure,” Badmann responded. “This barrel is marked the same as that spoiled juice that Bastille and all the Gallian peers drink.”
“Then there should barrels like this in the private quarters of almost every Gallian notable around here,” Moose Hunter grunted.
“Do we tell them?” the general asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” the Hurtshog mused. “We do brief our cleaning ladies and so forth right away ... let’s see if we can get this stuff before it goes off. This could be M’Lady’s or Stagonia’s handiwork, but Roquefort has his own nefarious agenda, and we’ve put a monkey wrench in it. He may be looking for some sudden job opportunities for his own agents.”
There was a moment’s silence, and the Hurtshog turned to the scholar. “I’m a bit thin right now, Rabbi,” he said, “but I think that boatman friend of yours and his family ought to spend the next Passover in Jerusalem on a small stipend. Otherwise, let’s get this to a more useful spot. Moose Hunter, Lady Pettygree is nearby. That means M’Lady is too. Hunt her and see if any threads come loose. Guten Nacht!”
The noblemen both walk quickly out of the room and disappear down the hall towards the back of the house.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
An interview with Intendant Bastille
Once again, the enigmatic Master Peter has come to see the Intendant. This time, he is accompanied by a tall, grey haired man with obvious military bearing and a pretty young woman with red-gold hair. Even though the spring thaw has turned the roads into muddy streams, their clean clothing speaks of traveling in a closed coach.
The Intendant examines them curiously. All Master Peter had told him was that these people had requested a private meeting to occur before the Hurtshog returned from the conflict with St. Maurice.
M. Peter: M'Lord, may a I present to you the Baron Grey and the Lady Rose?
Bastille: Nommes d'guerre?
Grey: (with a wry smile) sort of, my Lord. Sort of.
Bastille: (irritated grunt) Very well, if it must be so. What is it that you wish to speak about?
Rose: Your captives.
Bastille: My captives?
Grey: Yes, my lord. We wish to negotiate a prisoner exchange for our heroes in your dungeon.
Bastille: Prisoner exchange? (angrily) that's for soldiers, not treacherous plotters!
Rose: (angrily) Treacherous to who? We are not Gallians!! You ...
Grey: (Interrupting and placing a hand on Roses' shoulder) These people are captives taken because they've resisted an alien occupation of their homeland. They are not thieves, they did not try to overthrow your king. They thus share the same status as the musketeers in Hesse Seewald's line.
Bastille: (sardonic) I doubt that the Hurtshog would take such a view.
Rose: Then let them be held in a Frankfurter house and tried by a Frankfurter court, not immured in a Gallian cell.
Bastille: These people were found to be a threat to our lines and to our troops. We can't just let them go.
Grey: But what did any of them actually do? Not as much as a single battalion of Grenz or a squadron Hussars! And those men would be eligible for prisoner exchange.
Bastille: I do not have the authority to actually conduct such negotiation. I will however speak with Gen. Broglie concerning this, and I'm sure M. Peter will be glad to communicate anything further to you.
Rose: May we at least see the prisoners and do what we can to comfort them?
Bastille: A natural request (assumes stern stance) but at the present moment, out of the question.
Grey: We may not even see them?
Bastille: M. Peter will communicate with you. The question is not closed, I assure you; but at this time I cannot continue this conversation.
Rose: But ...
Bastille: You are dismissed, my lady!
Bastille rings a bell and guards enter the room, they escort M. Peter and his party out.
Bastille: (pacing) now here's a pretty kettle of fish. I wonder how the Hurtshog's court will take this complication. His spies are as pernicious as fleas!
The Intendant examines them curiously. All Master Peter had told him was that these people had requested a private meeting to occur before the Hurtshog returned from the conflict with St. Maurice.
M. Peter: M'Lord, may a I present to you the Baron Grey and the Lady Rose?
Bastille: Nommes d'guerre?
Grey: (with a wry smile) sort of, my Lord. Sort of.
Bastille: (irritated grunt) Very well, if it must be so. What is it that you wish to speak about?
Rose: Your captives.
Bastille: My captives?
Grey: Yes, my lord. We wish to negotiate a prisoner exchange for our heroes in your dungeon.
Bastille: Prisoner exchange? (angrily) that's for soldiers, not treacherous plotters!
Rose: (angrily) Treacherous to who? We are not Gallians!! You ...
Grey: (Interrupting and placing a hand on Roses' shoulder) These people are captives taken because they've resisted an alien occupation of their homeland. They are not thieves, they did not try to overthrow your king. They thus share the same status as the musketeers in Hesse Seewald's line.
Bastille: (sardonic) I doubt that the Hurtshog would take such a view.
Rose: Then let them be held in a Frankfurter house and tried by a Frankfurter court, not immured in a Gallian cell.
Bastille: These people were found to be a threat to our lines and to our troops. We can't just let them go.
Grey: But what did any of them actually do? Not as much as a single battalion of Grenz or a squadron Hussars! And those men would be eligible for prisoner exchange.
Bastille: I do not have the authority to actually conduct such negotiation. I will however speak with Gen. Broglie concerning this, and I'm sure M. Peter will be glad to communicate anything further to you.
Rose: May we at least see the prisoners and do what we can to comfort them?
Bastille: A natural request (assumes stern stance) but at the present moment, out of the question.
Grey: We may not even see them?
Bastille: M. Peter will communicate with you. The question is not closed, I assure you; but at this time I cannot continue this conversation.
Rose: But ...
Bastille: You are dismissed, my lady!
Bastille rings a bell and guards enter the room, they escort M. Peter and his party out.
Bastille: (pacing) now here's a pretty kettle of fish. I wonder how the Hurtshog's court will take this complication. His spies are as pernicious as fleas!
Friday, January 23, 2009
Recent Developments
Shortly afte my last post, I was hospitilized again ... a pesky and dangerous virus.
Fortunately, I acted in time and was home by Christmas. Recovery, however, has been slow and I haven't touched a paintbroush since! Alas!
Shortly before that incident, however, I did resolve the Battle of Ginnheim ... which, thanks to the initiative rules of Koenigs Krieg did NOT go the way I thought it would at all. I'd planned a big infantry collision with a Cheezer cavalry flank sweep. Unfortunately, the Cheezers were forced to reveal the cavalry concentration too early ... leading to a cavalry fight for the hill dominating the right of the Frankfurter line.
On turn three, an unbelievably effective cannon volley staggered the Cheezer cavalry brigades, which then were routed on the next turn by a throw away charge of also battered Frankszonian Hussars. Due to the flank threat, the Frankfurter line had not advanced, and the cheezers were able to make an orderly withdrawel ... Unfortunately, for once Edie's pictures didn't turn out good ... the lighting was inadequate and off color.
But now, they're headed right into Phaulie's Fusiliers and the Hebrew Nationals who were sent on a wide turning movement on the other flank! Assiming I continue to recover, this means another exciting collision in February ... Phaulie has to hold long enough to catch the Cheezers between him and the Hurtshog's pursuing forces!
On the Diplomatic front:
Diplomat from Cavenderia
“Lucio Bianco, is known for his pleasant demeanor and devotion to the Catholic Church, his family has been in this land pre-dating the Imperium. His even temper and ability to diffuse a situation have made him an ideal candidate for your diplomatic corp. Signori Bianco will be sent to Frankszonia.
We will of course welcom him with a grand Barbeque, a Te Deum Toast, and an Holy Mackerel Fish Fry!
:)
A
Fortunately, I acted in time and was home by Christmas. Recovery, however, has been slow and I haven't touched a paintbroush since! Alas!
Shortly before that incident, however, I did resolve the Battle of Ginnheim ... which, thanks to the initiative rules of Koenigs Krieg did NOT go the way I thought it would at all. I'd planned a big infantry collision with a Cheezer cavalry flank sweep. Unfortunately, the Cheezers were forced to reveal the cavalry concentration too early ... leading to a cavalry fight for the hill dominating the right of the Frankfurter line.
On turn three, an unbelievably effective cannon volley staggered the Cheezer cavalry brigades, which then were routed on the next turn by a throw away charge of also battered Frankszonian Hussars. Due to the flank threat, the Frankfurter line had not advanced, and the cheezers were able to make an orderly withdrawel ... Unfortunately, for once Edie's pictures didn't turn out good ... the lighting was inadequate and off color.
But now, they're headed right into Phaulie's Fusiliers and the Hebrew Nationals who were sent on a wide turning movement on the other flank! Assiming I continue to recover, this means another exciting collision in February ... Phaulie has to hold long enough to catch the Cheezers between him and the Hurtshog's pursuing forces!
On the Diplomatic front:
Diplomat from Cavenderia
“Lucio Bianco, is known for his pleasant demeanor and devotion to the Catholic Church, his family has been in this land pre-dating the Imperium. His even temper and ability to diffuse a situation have made him an ideal candidate for your diplomatic corp. Signori Bianco will be sent to Frankszonia.
We will of course welcom him with a grand Barbeque, a Te Deum Toast, and an Holy Mackerel Fish Fry!
:)
A
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Some more Bad LImericks ...
As the armies approach each other at Ginnheim, a dragoon suddenly gallops into No Man's Land with a megaphone and shouts:
This Resistance defends our Autonomy
Though all that they have is a monotony
Of Adulterous beggars
And soldiers with staggers
From indulging their officer's $#!@%y!
and
Poor Mary of the Rose and her Parseleigh
Are heroes, I'm sure, but just partially;
For their friends are so horrible
With habits incoorrigible
That even Stagonia treats them harsly!
He quickly darts back towards the approaching Black Kilts before any marksman can catch him ....
This Resistance defends our Autonomy
Though all that they have is a monotony
Of Adulterous beggars
And soldiers with staggers
From indulging their officer's $#!@%y!
and
Poor Mary of the Rose and her Parseleigh
Are heroes, I'm sure, but just partially;
For their friends are so horrible
With habits incoorrigible
That even Stagonia treats them harsly!
He quickly darts back towards the approaching Black Kilts before any marksman can catch him ....
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
progress report
For the forthcoming battle of Ginnheim, I've wrapped up some of the project I started back before I got slapped into the horse pistol ...
in 15's, 48 "militia" being Minifig French without turnbacks)and 8 more mounted British 5th lights (to go with my Britscherwurst 1/5 lights)
Unfortunately, during one of my enforced absences, the cats got into a turf dispute ... and a few of them decided to debate possession of my green / grass cloth. So I'll need to wait till it dries out to complete the game (the manuever phase is over, the Cheezers can hit first, but if Gen Woad (my wife) outlasts their assault, he'll soon be able to crush them into the Nidda river ....
:)\
A
in 15's, 48 "militia" being Minifig French without turnbacks)and 8 more mounted British 5th lights (to go with my Britscherwurst 1/5 lights)
Unfortunately, during one of my enforced absences, the cats got into a turf dispute ... and a few of them decided to debate possession of my green / grass cloth. So I'll need to wait till it dries out to complete the game (the manuever phase is over, the Cheezers can hit first, but if Gen Woad (my wife) outlasts their assault, he'll soon be able to crush them into the Nidda river ....
:)\
A
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Eventual Events
First, on the Frankszonia blog, I've updated the lists and profiles of folks who are supporting the Elector versus Gallia inside Frankszonia.
About this time,Baron Wiffen Fhartz von Inkblot zu Grossen and General Braunschweiger should show up in the Germanian headquarters seeking an audience with the Elector and the duke of Hesse Seewald.
Also, while Gen. Broglie and the Intendant Bastille are in conference, they are interrrupted by a commotion. An officer barges into the room with a sergeant and an old Moustache. The enlisted men's uniforms are spattered with blood.
"Report!" barks Broglie.
"Sire" the officer salutes clumsily, "there's been an poison attempt. These clods killed the poisoner before we could question him."
"Pour Certament!" exlaims Bastille.
"No! No!" the Moustache pleads.
"Sire!" the sergeant complains, "we caught him in the act of dosing the officer's mess kettle. We took him alive in spite of his struggles, but as we were forcing him into the hall, his blood suddenly spurted all over us. None of my men had so much as drawn a bayonet!"
"This note was found upon the assasin, my Lords," the officer contiued.
Gen. Broglie takes the scrap and reads, "Die Reine geffallen am der Main."
Bastille chokes for a moment as he wonders, is this the hand of the infamous Stille Fhartz or another nefarious bit of Frankszonian politics?
Meanwhile, the Hurtshog with his main forces is almost a day's march to the northwest, approaching Ginnheim. They hope to disperse the concentration of Resistance, Cheezers, and Hang Overians who are in an entrenched camp in the woods near Russelheim.
About this time,Baron Wiffen Fhartz von Inkblot zu Grossen and General Braunschweiger should show up in the Germanian headquarters seeking an audience with the Elector and the duke of Hesse Seewald.
Also, while Gen. Broglie and the Intendant Bastille are in conference, they are interrrupted by a commotion. An officer barges into the room with a sergeant and an old Moustache. The enlisted men's uniforms are spattered with blood.
"Report!" barks Broglie.
"Sire" the officer salutes clumsily, "there's been an poison attempt. These clods killed the poisoner before we could question him."
"Pour Certament!" exlaims Bastille.
"No! No!" the Moustache pleads.
"Sire!" the sergeant complains, "we caught him in the act of dosing the officer's mess kettle. We took him alive in spite of his struggles, but as we were forcing him into the hall, his blood suddenly spurted all over us. None of my men had so much as drawn a bayonet!"
"This note was found upon the assasin, my Lords," the officer contiued.
Gen. Broglie takes the scrap and reads, "Die Reine geffallen am der Main."
Bastille chokes for a moment as he wonders, is this the hand of the infamous Stille Fhartz or another nefarious bit of Frankszonian politics?
Meanwhile, the Hurtshog with his main forces is almost a day's march to the northwest, approaching Ginnheim. They hope to disperse the concentration of Resistance, Cheezers, and Hang Overians who are in an entrenched camp in the woods near Russelheim.
Known Friends of Germania and Hesse Seewald in Frankszonian Circles
Given the approach of the Hesse Seewald forces to within a good day's march of Frankfurter, the list of leaders of the anti-Gallian faction becomes more important.
The first part of the list are the relatives who have been assigned by the family to represent and to defend the family interests in the camp of the other side ...
* Cousins:
ReichsHerr Stille Fhartz ... a Germanian sympathizer and political intriguer who employs silent but deadly assasins.
Baron Wiffen Fhartz von Inkblot zu grossen: an elderly cousin who has been selected to become the position holder in case of Germanian victory at Frankfurt.
Hauptman Eyewassher Fhartz von Inkblot zu Grossen: son of the Baron. Nimble and a good ballroom dancer whose coup de oeil seems to apply more to the boudoir than to the battlefield.
Graf Ick Fhartz von Putterin: A scholar and horse breeder whose specialty is not causing trouble for anybody stronger than himself.
Baron Keine Fhartz von Baumb Middle aged, exitable and irrascible. His fortune derived from being a silent partner in several breweries.
* Pro - Germanian Military defectors:
* Lt. Gen. Pepperoni (an immigrant Italian family, very fussy ... Not from Salamis, which I think
is a Grecian town, but has family connections with Bologna ... ); Just promoted to command the
Wiener Front. (Now deserted to “Elector” forces)
* General Braunsweiger (1) (a Deli-ight of the Brand Name Burgers Alliance, considered an
expert in combined arms operations, but often is kept in fixed fortifications where - tho highly
successful - his units often get sliced quite thinly). (now deserted to Germania, as he is a fan of all things from Bar Line. He may have good knowledge of Frankfurter’s fortifications ).
** leaders of the anti-Gallian nobles ...
which may be of interest to neighbors as they're seeking to hire mercs:
* Hans Muckiethaler: evil banker who is generating instability hoping to be able to control the stadt bundt if the Duchy falls.
* Sagehunde Thyme, Graf von Eischerheim: elderly but vigorous veteran, will be the C.O. of the noble resistance.
* Oberst Weis Parsliegh: brave, honorable, smart ... the white knight of the noble resistance.
* Lady Rosen Mariah: the fiery young beauty who seems to be the unacknowledged princess of the resistance.
* Oberst Von Trollop: commander of the various companies of cuirassiers who have gathered in the nobles’ resistance.
* Graf V, Pfalz: has raised an infantry regiment, publically to be a Freikorps, actually as part of resistance.
* V, Fisch: Leads the Fisch Freircorps. Relatives to the well traveled Lord and Lady Fischer from Britischerwrust.
* V. Graphk: Leads the Graphk Cuirassiers, composed primarily of retired and semi retired gentry, widely known for their colorful outfit and language.
The first part of the list are the relatives who have been assigned by the family to represent and to defend the family interests in the camp of the other side ...
* Cousins:
ReichsHerr Stille Fhartz ... a Germanian sympathizer and political intriguer who employs silent but deadly assasins.
Baron Wiffen Fhartz von Inkblot zu grossen: an elderly cousin who has been selected to become the position holder in case of Germanian victory at Frankfurt.
Hauptman Eyewassher Fhartz von Inkblot zu Grossen: son of the Baron. Nimble and a good ballroom dancer whose coup de oeil seems to apply more to the boudoir than to the battlefield.
Graf Ick Fhartz von Putterin: A scholar and horse breeder whose specialty is not causing trouble for anybody stronger than himself.
Baron Keine Fhartz von Baumb Middle aged, exitable and irrascible. His fortune derived from being a silent partner in several breweries.
* Pro - Germanian Military defectors:
* Lt. Gen. Pepperoni (an immigrant Italian family, very fussy ... Not from Salamis, which I think
is a Grecian town, but has family connections with Bologna ... ); Just promoted to command the
Wiener Front. (Now deserted to “Elector” forces)
* General Braunsweiger (1) (a Deli-ight of the Brand Name Burgers Alliance, considered an
expert in combined arms operations, but often is kept in fixed fortifications where - tho highly
successful - his units often get sliced quite thinly). (now deserted to Germania, as he is a fan of all things from Bar Line. He may have good knowledge of Frankfurter’s fortifications ).
** leaders of the anti-Gallian nobles ...
which may be of interest to neighbors as they're seeking to hire mercs:
* Hans Muckiethaler: evil banker who is generating instability hoping to be able to control the stadt bundt if the Duchy falls.
* Sagehunde Thyme, Graf von Eischerheim: elderly but vigorous veteran, will be the C.O. of the noble resistance.
* Oberst Weis Parsliegh: brave, honorable, smart ... the white knight of the noble resistance.
* Lady Rosen Mariah: the fiery young beauty who seems to be the unacknowledged princess of the resistance.
* Oberst Von Trollop: commander of the various companies of cuirassiers who have gathered in the nobles’ resistance.
* Graf V, Pfalz: has raised an infantry regiment, publically to be a Freikorps, actually as part of resistance.
* V, Fisch: Leads the Fisch Freircorps. Relatives to the well traveled Lord and Lady Fischer from Britischerwrust.
* V. Graphk: Leads the Graphk Cuirassiers, composed primarily of retired and semi retired gentry, widely known for their colorful outfit and language.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Murky Mists of Miscellaneous Malfeasance ...
Murky Mists of Miscellaneous Malfeasance ...
A couple of folks have said that they’ve lost track of the various alliances and plots and counter plots in Frankszonia ... but the situation has to be spicy so that the sausage keeps well and doesn’t get too greasy!
Anyway, the first and foremost consideration is the position of the Hurtshog Fahrtz and his court. Bluntly, they’re pro-Frankszonia. Since we’re occupied by the Gallians at the moment ... whose occupation force ranges from five to ten times the number of troops we can raise, we’re perforce Pro-Gallian. Just as in historical Frankfurt, the loyalty of Frankszonia to the Empress depends upon whom is speaking and the situation ....
However, since Frankszonia was originally established as a mini-Prussia copy cat, the story line factored in all those Old Germanian Connections once Bill and der Alte generously decided to admit my humorous side show long ago ... in the pre EvE blog days! So, after some hare raising coup attempts pestered the Gen. Chevert and later the poor Intendant. In addition to the aristocracy based anti-Gallian “resistance” (who are now trying to connect with other anti-Gallian forces such as Hesse-Seewald), one must also consider the republican tendencies of the Merchants Guilds. Even more than the poor Hurtshog, they’re interested in the main chance and the highest bidder.
Now in addition to these factions inside Frankszonia, my gaming had already created the “Cheezers” ... including Limburger, Muenster, etc. Their activities were co-ordinated by the rascally Marquis de Roquefort who seems to have access to some great treasury. At the moment, the Cheezers are definitely on the side of Hesse-Seewald. The original Frankfurter alliance, however, had included the Britischerwurst and Hungover forces. These left our alliance at the outbreak of the Gallian / Seewald war, though we retain friendly correspondence.
Similarly, Frankszonia in the purely small country world had held long friendships with Hesse-Fedora and some other groups which are very pro-Germanian, and equally deep antagonisms with Vile Stagonia and other pro-Gallian local potentates. (Hence the Offenbach and TippleBruder affairs).
So on the outside chance I ever can get to the big games (which this latest hospital episode has thrown into doubt), there’s a Frankszonian Ducal army which would fight stoutly (and has fought stoutly) on behalf of Gallia ... (unless it’s right beside some Vile Stagonian unit, in which case we’d probably concentrate on very cautious maintenance of our position).
There is also a very strong force of infantry and cavalry following several of the emigre officers in the Resistance who would cheerfully fight fanatically against the Gallian gall.... (including those lick spittle petty puppets of the Hurtshog’s court) ....
So, as you can see, it’s all really quite simple. Not at all like the religious currents flowing up and down the Main ....
:P
A
A couple of folks have said that they’ve lost track of the various alliances and plots and counter plots in Frankszonia ... but the situation has to be spicy so that the sausage keeps well and doesn’t get too greasy!
Anyway, the first and foremost consideration is the position of the Hurtshog Fahrtz and his court. Bluntly, they’re pro-Frankszonia. Since we’re occupied by the Gallians at the moment ... whose occupation force ranges from five to ten times the number of troops we can raise, we’re perforce Pro-Gallian. Just as in historical Frankfurt, the loyalty of Frankszonia to the Empress depends upon whom is speaking and the situation ....
However, since Frankszonia was originally established as a mini-Prussia copy cat, the story line factored in all those Old Germanian Connections once Bill and der Alte generously decided to admit my humorous side show long ago ... in the pre EvE blog days! So, after some hare raising coup attempts pestered the Gen. Chevert and later the poor Intendant. In addition to the aristocracy based anti-Gallian “resistance” (who are now trying to connect with other anti-Gallian forces such as Hesse-Seewald), one must also consider the republican tendencies of the Merchants Guilds. Even more than the poor Hurtshog, they’re interested in the main chance and the highest bidder.
Now in addition to these factions inside Frankszonia, my gaming had already created the “Cheezers” ... including Limburger, Muenster, etc. Their activities were co-ordinated by the rascally Marquis de Roquefort who seems to have access to some great treasury. At the moment, the Cheezers are definitely on the side of Hesse-Seewald. The original Frankfurter alliance, however, had included the Britischerwurst and Hungover forces. These left our alliance at the outbreak of the Gallian / Seewald war, though we retain friendly correspondence.
Similarly, Frankszonia in the purely small country world had held long friendships with Hesse-Fedora and some other groups which are very pro-Germanian, and equally deep antagonisms with Vile Stagonia and other pro-Gallian local potentates. (Hence the Offenbach and TippleBruder affairs).
So on the outside chance I ever can get to the big games (which this latest hospital episode has thrown into doubt), there’s a Frankszonian Ducal army which would fight stoutly (and has fought stoutly) on behalf of Gallia ... (unless it’s right beside some Vile Stagonian unit, in which case we’d probably concentrate on very cautious maintenance of our position).
There is also a very strong force of infantry and cavalry following several of the emigre officers in the Resistance who would cheerfully fight fanatically against the Gallian gall.... (including those lick spittle petty puppets of the Hurtshog’s court) ....
So, as you can see, it’s all really quite simple. Not at all like the religious currents flowing up and down the Main ....
:P
A
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Interceptions
A courier arrives in Frankfurter for Intendant Bastille from Gen. Broglie:
Among other trivia about supply trains, depredations from desperadoes, and the piccadillos of German subordinate allies, a copy of an intercepted letter found on a Britischerwurst dragoon officer:
"To: My Lord, the Duke of Hesse-Seewald;
From: Shtille Fhartz
Re: Proposed cooperation
"Sire:
"We are eager to accede to your suggestion that we engage the forces along the Main from their rear while you operate on their front.
"Indeed, such an opportunity would be an answer to our constant petitions to the Divine to liberate our beloved Frankszonia from the odious occupation by the degenerate Gallians and their effete puppet, the Hurtshog v. Frankfurter.
"Unfortunately, even though we were able to divert the Empress's largess to Hesse Homburg to bring Prince Pepperoni's battalions and squadrons up to strength, the Cheezers are reluctant to engage the Gallian engorged forces of the Hurtshog. Especially because their usual provocateur and supporter, the Marquis de Roquefort is hesitant to come too close to the attention of M,sr. Le Charade at the moment.
"However, should you be able to dispatch a cadre of good officers and sergeants to the encampments between Limburger and Russelville, we expect that we will be able to raise sufficient battalions to make at least a credible diversion in cooperation with your actions.
The inclusion of good artillerists and their guns would be especially appreciated due to our losses at Bischof.
"Failing the dispatch of such a cadre, could your beneficence at least provide us with sufficient resources to sustain our forces and to recruit qualified mercenaries?
"Sincerely,
". Fhartz, Landgraf zu Beerfranks "
The Baron Bastille rings for his secretary as he considers the fact that Shtille Fhartz is rumored to employ silent but deadly assassins ....
Among other trivia about supply trains, depredations from desperadoes, and the piccadillos of German subordinate allies, a copy of an intercepted letter found on a Britischerwurst dragoon officer:
"To: My Lord, the Duke of Hesse-Seewald;
From: Shtille Fhartz
Re: Proposed cooperation
"Sire:
"We are eager to accede to your suggestion that we engage the forces along the Main from their rear while you operate on their front.
"Indeed, such an opportunity would be an answer to our constant petitions to the Divine to liberate our beloved Frankszonia from the odious occupation by the degenerate Gallians and their effete puppet, the Hurtshog v. Frankfurter.
"Unfortunately, even though we were able to divert the Empress's largess to Hesse Homburg to bring Prince Pepperoni's battalions and squadrons up to strength, the Cheezers are reluctant to engage the Gallian engorged forces of the Hurtshog. Especially because their usual provocateur and supporter, the Marquis de Roquefort is hesitant to come too close to the attention of M,sr. Le Charade at the moment.
"However, should you be able to dispatch a cadre of good officers and sergeants to the encampments between Limburger and Russelville, we expect that we will be able to raise sufficient battalions to make at least a credible diversion in cooperation with your actions.
The inclusion of good artillerists and their guns would be especially appreciated due to our losses at Bischof.
"Failing the dispatch of such a cadre, could your beneficence at least provide us with sufficient resources to sustain our forces and to recruit qualified mercenaries?
"Sincerely,
". Fhartz, Landgraf zu Beerfranks "
The Baron Bastille rings for his secretary as he considers the fact that Shtille Fhartz is rumored to employ silent but deadly assassins ....
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Bischhof Fight
The encounter was broken up by rain in the 8th inning.
Full report on Frankszonia site when I get film back in a week or two ...
Key points ... the Resistance had its Old Retainers battalion wiped out ... but we lost a battalion too. Frankszonia captured some artillery, one of the Resistance nobles, and recovered a battered Bischof (our artillery pitched a lot of balls, but found out that while we could hit the broad side of a barn, getting the guys behind the old stone walls was a very different matter ... sigh).
Messengers are being dispatched to report a "victory" to Intendant Bastille and Gen. Broglie, but a private note from Oscar Meyer warns them that the whole raid had been a diversion to clear the way for a column of renegades from Hesse Homburg led by Frankfurters opposed to Gallian occupation who are linking up with Cheezers out of Limburger near Russelville. The Brats intend to either harass Broglie's flank if he returns north or "to liberate" Frankfurt should he leave the depot unprotected.
While Frankszonia is rushing forces north in hopes of intercepting the columns before they unite, we'd appreciate some Gallian support here ...
from the Hurtshog ...
Full report on Frankszonia site when I get film back in a week or two ...
Key points ... the Resistance had its Old Retainers battalion wiped out ... but we lost a battalion too. Frankszonia captured some artillery, one of the Resistance nobles, and recovered a battered Bischof (our artillery pitched a lot of balls, but found out that while we could hit the broad side of a barn, getting the guys behind the old stone walls was a very different matter ... sigh).
Messengers are being dispatched to report a "victory" to Intendant Bastille and Gen. Broglie, but a private note from Oscar Meyer warns them that the whole raid had been a diversion to clear the way for a column of renegades from Hesse Homburg led by Frankfurters opposed to Gallian occupation who are linking up with Cheezers out of Limburger near Russelville. The Brats intend to either harass Broglie's flank if he returns north or "to liberate" Frankfurt should he leave the depot unprotected.
While Frankszonia is rushing forces north in hopes of intercepting the columns before they unite, we'd appreciate some Gallian support here ...
from the Hurtshog ...
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Situation In Germania: 17 August 1757 (2007
On: Emperor vs Elector
"Situation In Germania: 17 August 1757 (2007)"
Scene: Intendant Bastille's Office, Gallian Magazine and Citadel, Frankfurt Am Main
Date: 17 August 1757 (2007)
--------------------------
Narrator: Outside the familiar window overlooking the parade and now completed new jail, Bastille hears the clip clops of a rider come near and then stop below. A dispatch rider has arrived with news. Boots resound on the steps, stop, voices are heard outside the closed door followed by knocks.
Guard: Excuse me M. l' Intendant Bastille, but a dispatch rider, a very high officer, has arrived from Lt. General Chevert begging an audience this instant, if you please. [Bastille nods as a dusty eye patched Lt. Colonel of the Royal des Carabiniers enters. He is none other than....]
Lt. Col. Enigma: "Ah, mon ami. I arrive with vexing news."
Bastille: "Well, before that, please sit and refresh yourself with some cool wine and Germanian partridge. Allow me to pour you some Chevert. All is from Gallia to soothe the palate and digestion."
Enigma: "Oui, there is nothing better. I desire that above all things." [Minutes pass in small talk and companionable eating eventually followed by.]
Bastille: "I believe I may know your news but will not steal your thunder. I take it something is amiss?"
Enigma: "The Kings Army suffered a dreadful rebuff at Salzungen at the hands of Der Erbprinz of Hesse-Seewald. Though things looked very good especially on our right where my Carabiniers dashed into the enemy rear causing mayhem and destruction everywhere, we were eventually repulsed and scattered. Had we but had one more regiment! Well. The rest of the army was defeated in detail. I never saw such a thing. I escaped near a farm and only a day later found myself at the General's headquarters."
Bastille: "I heard rumors somewhat to that effect. What is next, pray tell?"
Enigma: "Lt. General Chevert has returned south to the fortress of Gemünden from whence he marched to engage Der Erbprinz. There he is recovering and restoring the Army and forming a line of battle with his flank resting on the fortress. It is his intention unless ordered to the contrary to offer one more battle there should Der Erbprinz follow up his victory. We do not yet know if he is coming south. Perhaps not with the situation at Minden looming."
Bastille: "Good. This will protect the right flank of Frankfurt Am Main. Meanwhile to the northwest Marshall de Broglie followed up his June victory at Gütersloh and is now fencing with the Britannians commanded by the Marquis of Granby who holds Minden. Now may I offer some cake and another glass?"
Narrator: Thus dear reader, we find Gallian Lt. Gen. Chevert returned to Fortress Gemünden and Marshall de Broglie near Minden. What will happen next? Will Der Erbprinz march south from Salzungen to Gemünden to engage Chevert? Will he march to aid Granby at Minden leaving behind a corps of obervation to watch Chevert? Will de Broglie strike Granby sooner or later? Or will something else occur? Time and circumstance will reveal all. Oh and Bastille is now considering filling the new jail, named after himself, with certain vexing elements in and about the city. Well, that's what he built it for, didn't he? Adieu.
---------------------------
posted by Gallia at 10:29 AM on Aug 17, 2007
Frankfurter said...
From Gen. Meyer
to: Gen. Intendent Bastille
I have word of a major setback to the corps of Gen. Chevert.
Hopefully, the three battalions of Frankszonians did their duty in a commendable manner ...
how badly were they hit?
Should they be consolidated?
Should the Hurtshog conduct a new recruitment drive or simply pass along some companies from the Nidda forces?
Could you assign some Gallian sub officers and sergeants to drill the militia companies and the three companies of the Reichs Armee here should they be required?
Your Servant,
Gen. Meyer
The letter is delivered by a tall, dark skinned American Indian dressed as a German noble, Lord Moosehunter. He requests a private audience with the Intendant. As the aides and servants retire:
Moosehunter: My Lord, the Hungover forces in the Russel Wald have begun to concentrate. They still appear chronically short of horses, but have enough to move their guns for sure. They can't act offensively, however, till next week at the earliest. Should we request the Imperial brigade across the Main to cross now or let them wait till after the festivities?
Bastille (with irritation): There are sufficient Gallian forces here to accomplish the taks.
Moosehunter (nods): Until Gen. Chevert calls them forward. This local rabble is hardly as dangerous as the Hesse-Seewald professionals!
The Hurtshog has too much invested in Gallian victory right now.
Bastille: And by his declaration, it is my decision, no?
Moosehunter (nodding again): That is correct. Moving on to another matter, our Herr Eberhard Kunegunde: Master of the Secret Police, has been alerted that you may have a list for him?
Do you have any that require ... ah ... delivery ... before tomorrow's festivities?
Bastille: I will consider this.
Moosehunter: Also, the Hurtshog has a personal request.
Bastille (irritated again): Yes?
Moosehunter: You have doubtless prepared for the swift security and withdrawal of the visting Gallian nobles. He would appreciate it if the Princess Stuftliana and the Urpprinz and their necessary party be considered as well. The doctors assure us that they are hardy enough for the rigors of such a journey, and Gallian hosting of their persons should offer significant advantages to both Gallia and the family Fahrtz.
Bastille (surprised): This is a major matter. I'm not sure ...
Moosehunter (reassuringly): We should have at least until Tuesday to act, and perhaps a more ceremonial departure with suitable carriages or by ship as would be appropriate for an exchange of state visits would be more suitable.
Bastille: and more obvious a target!
Moosehunter: ah, yes, speaking of which, we are placing some companies of the Porcelain Dragoons at your disposal over the weekend ... these men were originally Bavarians and their regard for Gallia is solid. The Hurtshog feels that such might be better suited for suppressing any incidents during the festivities than a purely Gallian force and unlikely to be susceptible to the blandishments of our mutual enemies.
Bastille: I'd have to put them under Gallian lieutenants to ensure their coordination.
Lord Moosehunter: We can drink to that! (offers a flask)
Bastille: Perhaps, you'd prefer some Cheveret?
Lord Moosehunter (devoutly, while returning the flask to his coat): I would be honored, m'Lord.
August 17, 2007 11:53 AM
Gallia said...
Narrator: Later that same day an Aide de Camp arrived from Lt. Gen. de Poyanne by the name of Lieutenant Christien. The gentle reader may recall, and if he does not, this kind reminder should suffice, that the aforementioned Lt. General has been posted near Frankfurt Am Main for a month with some 25,000 Gallian soldiers of all arms. It is about their sudden activities described in the dispatch for Monsieur l'Intendant de Bastille about which we are about to lean as we read:
-------------
Mon trés cher l'Intendant Bastille, I have the honour to report that my corps stole a march during the previous two nights using legerdemain arriving at the Russel Wald per our plan. At sunup my 25,000 men were arrayed in such a way as to prevent the escape of most rebel forces mobilizing there.
Calling for their surrender resulted in honorable refusal as expected. Thereupon I ordered the attack. In an hour the rebels were captured and dispersed. Considerable stores of munitions and food were also taken.
I thought the above plan practicable given the sad news of Lt. Gen. Chevert's battle at Salzungen. Removal of the foe in our rear area seemed to be the sound plan to better protect our interests.
On the morrow I intend to march into Frankfurt Am Main and encamp in the usual place. If it would please you Monsieur I offer a military procession through the streets of the city not unlike the style of the ancient Romans to impress elements still vexing us into submission or at least retreat. I have upwards of 8,376 dispiritied prisoners who will accompany the procession but who will not be allowed in the city.
Awaiting your pleasure with my news I am now riding for the city as I remain,
Votre Obeissant Serviteur,
Lt. Gen. de Poyanne
Gallian Corps d'Armée
August 17, 2007 2:35 PM
Gallia said...
Narrator: The dispatch from de Poyanne has enlivend M. de Bastille into a rare smile. He immediately sends Lt. Chistien back to the Gallian general with this note.
----------------
Mon trés cher Lt. Gen de Poyanne,
I beg to ask you will accept my sincere congratulations about your coup in the Russel Wald. Moreover, with confusions everywhere here in Frankfurt Am Main I am obliged by duty to say your arrival here on the morrow is propitious and vitally needed. A procession through the streets en-route to your encampment in the usual place will surely impress everyone - friend, foe and fencesitter alike.
I approve it heartily and also thank the Lt. General for disallowing the prisoners to enter the city though a few might do wonders.
After the repulse of M. de Chevert at Salzungen, your reinforcement of my garrison will undoubtedly quell any mischief planned by disaffected elements remaining here.
May your fortune continue Monsieur as I remain a most grateful and
Obeissant Serviteur,
M.de Bastille
Gallian Intendant
In The Citadel
and Gallian Magazine at
Frankfurt Am Main
PS If you bring along the rebel foodstuffs, I am sure the royal family here would be obliged to deliver same to loyal solders in our service since their digestions handle the sausages and the like better than we.
August 17, 2007 2:48 PM
Gallia said...
Narrator: Meanwhile at Fortress Gemünden (east of Frankfurt Am Main) Lt. General Chevert has been reassembling and reorganizing his Corps d'Armée.
--------------
Chevert Thinking Aloud:
The men are still coming in from the vexing affair at Salzungen. Let me see....
The fortress of Gemünden on my flank is secure enough with the reconstituted if battered battalions from the battle. Should Der Erbprinz arrive, I mean them to stay inside as a thorn in his plans.
The main road to the north and Salzungen is blocked by the unengaged Frakzonians. Will they hold? I doubt it but perhaps they will do their duty as an advanced screen. I do not intend that they do more than slow Der Erbprinz to give us time in the rear to be more ready. Their officers know their duty, but do their soldiers?
To the rear we have two lines of infantry and cavalry resting and recovering. Another week or two should suffice to repair their morale and circumstances.
Plus there is de Poyanne with his 25,000 near Franfurt Am Main - a useful reinforcement if I am pressed.
Narrator: We are now left with the following summary to wit:
1. Chevert is recovering at Fortress Gemünden east of Frankfurt Am Main.
2. Lt. Gen. de Poyanne, unbeknownst to Chevert has scored a coup against rebel elements in the Russel Wald and is now upon his march to encamp in Frankfurt Am Main.
3. l'Intendant Bastille is in near euphoria, well, euphoria for him anyway, with de Poyanne's imminent arrival.
4. Marshal de Broglie far to the north is covering the Britannian Marquis of Granby.
5. Where is Der Erbprinz?
6. What of the Masquerade? Doubtless Bastille and de Poyanne will collaborate to make it a peaceful affair. We hear Bastille has arranged for triple pay for the garrison to search out vexing troublemakers on the day of the Masquerade.
7. Have we heard nothing from Lady Diana Pettygree and her particular friend Lady Cherish Masquerade.
8. And Lt. Col. Enigma, the eye patched, scared and severe faced officer of the Royal des Carabiniers. Methinks dear reader he has ties to the Gallian ______, but I cannot say what.
Adieu.
August 17, 2007 3:11 PM
Frankfurter said...
An assurance to Gallia:
The three battalions sent to Gen. Chevert under Graf v. Ballpark are quite reliable. The Graf himself is a brave and hardy soul with a sound record. I.R. Chicken is a tested formation which withstood crossfire, gallantly advancing between enemy formations in order to cover the advance of the Black Skirts. The Battalion d'Hottatrot is also a tested unit which now has a reputation for aggressive initiative to uphold.
While I'm a tad upset that you beat me to the punch (I had enough figures to game out the Russel Wald scenario after I'd written up the Masquerade ...) the Hurtshog will be ecstatic at the news. By themselves, the rural nobles aren't really that much of a threat ... and can be readily quelled after the masquerade.
As for round up during the festivities, I was working on a scenario of an urban riot / uprising (because of the refusal to hire Frankfurter laborers)... I'd rather not complicate my story line for the masquerade with it ... and the Frankfurter secret police already have a nice selection of "usual suspects" they intend to deliver between the masquerade and the departure of the Ladies ...
who have been receiving many visits from the happy couple with their baby ....
By the way, will those troops be arriving Friday or Saturday? There are some royal progresses through town scheduled for that day, and coordination and even better, participation with them would enhance the occasion ....
:)
Arthur
August 18, 2007 10:33 AM
"Situation In Germania: 17 August 1757 (2007)"
Scene: Intendant Bastille's Office, Gallian Magazine and Citadel, Frankfurt Am Main
Date: 17 August 1757 (2007)
--------------------------
Narrator: Outside the familiar window overlooking the parade and now completed new jail, Bastille hears the clip clops of a rider come near and then stop below. A dispatch rider has arrived with news. Boots resound on the steps, stop, voices are heard outside the closed door followed by knocks.
Guard: Excuse me M. l' Intendant Bastille, but a dispatch rider, a very high officer, has arrived from Lt. General Chevert begging an audience this instant, if you please. [Bastille nods as a dusty eye patched Lt. Colonel of the Royal des Carabiniers enters. He is none other than....]
Lt. Col. Enigma: "Ah, mon ami. I arrive with vexing news."
Bastille: "Well, before that, please sit and refresh yourself with some cool wine and Germanian partridge. Allow me to pour you some Chevert. All is from Gallia to soothe the palate and digestion."
Enigma: "Oui, there is nothing better. I desire that above all things." [Minutes pass in small talk and companionable eating eventually followed by.]
Bastille: "I believe I may know your news but will not steal your thunder. I take it something is amiss?"
Enigma: "The Kings Army suffered a dreadful rebuff at Salzungen at the hands of Der Erbprinz of Hesse-Seewald. Though things looked very good especially on our right where my Carabiniers dashed into the enemy rear causing mayhem and destruction everywhere, we were eventually repulsed and scattered. Had we but had one more regiment! Well. The rest of the army was defeated in detail. I never saw such a thing. I escaped near a farm and only a day later found myself at the General's headquarters."
Bastille: "I heard rumors somewhat to that effect. What is next, pray tell?"
Enigma: "Lt. General Chevert has returned south to the fortress of Gemünden from whence he marched to engage Der Erbprinz. There he is recovering and restoring the Army and forming a line of battle with his flank resting on the fortress. It is his intention unless ordered to the contrary to offer one more battle there should Der Erbprinz follow up his victory. We do not yet know if he is coming south. Perhaps not with the situation at Minden looming."
Bastille: "Good. This will protect the right flank of Frankfurt Am Main. Meanwhile to the northwest Marshall de Broglie followed up his June victory at Gütersloh and is now fencing with the Britannians commanded by the Marquis of Granby who holds Minden. Now may I offer some cake and another glass?"
Narrator: Thus dear reader, we find Gallian Lt. Gen. Chevert returned to Fortress Gemünden and Marshall de Broglie near Minden. What will happen next? Will Der Erbprinz march south from Salzungen to Gemünden to engage Chevert? Will he march to aid Granby at Minden leaving behind a corps of obervation to watch Chevert? Will de Broglie strike Granby sooner or later? Or will something else occur? Time and circumstance will reveal all. Oh and Bastille is now considering filling the new jail, named after himself, with certain vexing elements in and about the city. Well, that's what he built it for, didn't he? Adieu.
---------------------------
posted by Gallia at 10:29 AM on Aug 17, 2007
Frankfurter said...
From Gen. Meyer
to: Gen. Intendent Bastille
I have word of a major setback to the corps of Gen. Chevert.
Hopefully, the three battalions of Frankszonians did their duty in a commendable manner ...
how badly were they hit?
Should they be consolidated?
Should the Hurtshog conduct a new recruitment drive or simply pass along some companies from the Nidda forces?
Could you assign some Gallian sub officers and sergeants to drill the militia companies and the three companies of the Reichs Armee here should they be required?
Your Servant,
Gen. Meyer
The letter is delivered by a tall, dark skinned American Indian dressed as a German noble, Lord Moosehunter. He requests a private audience with the Intendant. As the aides and servants retire:
Moosehunter: My Lord, the Hungover forces in the Russel Wald have begun to concentrate. They still appear chronically short of horses, but have enough to move their guns for sure. They can't act offensively, however, till next week at the earliest. Should we request the Imperial brigade across the Main to cross now or let them wait till after the festivities?
Bastille (with irritation): There are sufficient Gallian forces here to accomplish the taks.
Moosehunter (nods): Until Gen. Chevert calls them forward. This local rabble is hardly as dangerous as the Hesse-Seewald professionals!
The Hurtshog has too much invested in Gallian victory right now.
Bastille: And by his declaration, it is my decision, no?
Moosehunter (nodding again): That is correct. Moving on to another matter, our Herr Eberhard Kunegunde: Master of the Secret Police, has been alerted that you may have a list for him?
Do you have any that require ... ah ... delivery ... before tomorrow's festivities?
Bastille: I will consider this.
Moosehunter: Also, the Hurtshog has a personal request.
Bastille (irritated again): Yes?
Moosehunter: You have doubtless prepared for the swift security and withdrawal of the visting Gallian nobles. He would appreciate it if the Princess Stuftliana and the Urpprinz and their necessary party be considered as well. The doctors assure us that they are hardy enough for the rigors of such a journey, and Gallian hosting of their persons should offer significant advantages to both Gallia and the family Fahrtz.
Bastille (surprised): This is a major matter. I'm not sure ...
Moosehunter (reassuringly): We should have at least until Tuesday to act, and perhaps a more ceremonial departure with suitable carriages or by ship as would be appropriate for an exchange of state visits would be more suitable.
Bastille: and more obvious a target!
Moosehunter: ah, yes, speaking of which, we are placing some companies of the Porcelain Dragoons at your disposal over the weekend ... these men were originally Bavarians and their regard for Gallia is solid. The Hurtshog feels that such might be better suited for suppressing any incidents during the festivities than a purely Gallian force and unlikely to be susceptible to the blandishments of our mutual enemies.
Bastille: I'd have to put them under Gallian lieutenants to ensure their coordination.
Lord Moosehunter: We can drink to that! (offers a flask)
Bastille: Perhaps, you'd prefer some Cheveret?
Lord Moosehunter (devoutly, while returning the flask to his coat): I would be honored, m'Lord.
August 17, 2007 11:53 AM
Gallia said...
Narrator: Later that same day an Aide de Camp arrived from Lt. Gen. de Poyanne by the name of Lieutenant Christien. The gentle reader may recall, and if he does not, this kind reminder should suffice, that the aforementioned Lt. General has been posted near Frankfurt Am Main for a month with some 25,000 Gallian soldiers of all arms. It is about their sudden activities described in the dispatch for Monsieur l'Intendant de Bastille about which we are about to lean as we read:
-------------
Mon trés cher l'Intendant Bastille, I have the honour to report that my corps stole a march during the previous two nights using legerdemain arriving at the Russel Wald per our plan. At sunup my 25,000 men were arrayed in such a way as to prevent the escape of most rebel forces mobilizing there.
Calling for their surrender resulted in honorable refusal as expected. Thereupon I ordered the attack. In an hour the rebels were captured and dispersed. Considerable stores of munitions and food were also taken.
I thought the above plan practicable given the sad news of Lt. Gen. Chevert's battle at Salzungen. Removal of the foe in our rear area seemed to be the sound plan to better protect our interests.
On the morrow I intend to march into Frankfurt Am Main and encamp in the usual place. If it would please you Monsieur I offer a military procession through the streets of the city not unlike the style of the ancient Romans to impress elements still vexing us into submission or at least retreat. I have upwards of 8,376 dispiritied prisoners who will accompany the procession but who will not be allowed in the city.
Awaiting your pleasure with my news I am now riding for the city as I remain,
Votre Obeissant Serviteur,
Lt. Gen. de Poyanne
Gallian Corps d'Armée
August 17, 2007 2:35 PM
Gallia said...
Narrator: The dispatch from de Poyanne has enlivend M. de Bastille into a rare smile. He immediately sends Lt. Chistien back to the Gallian general with this note.
----------------
Mon trés cher Lt. Gen de Poyanne,
I beg to ask you will accept my sincere congratulations about your coup in the Russel Wald. Moreover, with confusions everywhere here in Frankfurt Am Main I am obliged by duty to say your arrival here on the morrow is propitious and vitally needed. A procession through the streets en-route to your encampment in the usual place will surely impress everyone - friend, foe and fencesitter alike.
I approve it heartily and also thank the Lt. General for disallowing the prisoners to enter the city though a few might do wonders.
After the repulse of M. de Chevert at Salzungen, your reinforcement of my garrison will undoubtedly quell any mischief planned by disaffected elements remaining here.
May your fortune continue Monsieur as I remain a most grateful and
Obeissant Serviteur,
M.de Bastille
Gallian Intendant
In The Citadel
and Gallian Magazine at
Frankfurt Am Main
PS If you bring along the rebel foodstuffs, I am sure the royal family here would be obliged to deliver same to loyal solders in our service since their digestions handle the sausages and the like better than we.
August 17, 2007 2:48 PM
Gallia said...
Narrator: Meanwhile at Fortress Gemünden (east of Frankfurt Am Main) Lt. General Chevert has been reassembling and reorganizing his Corps d'Armée.
--------------
Chevert Thinking Aloud:
The men are still coming in from the vexing affair at Salzungen. Let me see....
The fortress of Gemünden on my flank is secure enough with the reconstituted if battered battalions from the battle. Should Der Erbprinz arrive, I mean them to stay inside as a thorn in his plans.
The main road to the north and Salzungen is blocked by the unengaged Frakzonians. Will they hold? I doubt it but perhaps they will do their duty as an advanced screen. I do not intend that they do more than slow Der Erbprinz to give us time in the rear to be more ready. Their officers know their duty, but do their soldiers?
To the rear we have two lines of infantry and cavalry resting and recovering. Another week or two should suffice to repair their morale and circumstances.
Plus there is de Poyanne with his 25,000 near Franfurt Am Main - a useful reinforcement if I am pressed.
Narrator: We are now left with the following summary to wit:
1. Chevert is recovering at Fortress Gemünden east of Frankfurt Am Main.
2. Lt. Gen. de Poyanne, unbeknownst to Chevert has scored a coup against rebel elements in the Russel Wald and is now upon his march to encamp in Frankfurt Am Main.
3. l'Intendant Bastille is in near euphoria, well, euphoria for him anyway, with de Poyanne's imminent arrival.
4. Marshal de Broglie far to the north is covering the Britannian Marquis of Granby.
5. Where is Der Erbprinz?
6. What of the Masquerade? Doubtless Bastille and de Poyanne will collaborate to make it a peaceful affair. We hear Bastille has arranged for triple pay for the garrison to search out vexing troublemakers on the day of the Masquerade.
7. Have we heard nothing from Lady Diana Pettygree and her particular friend Lady Cherish Masquerade.
8. And Lt. Col. Enigma, the eye patched, scared and severe faced officer of the Royal des Carabiniers. Methinks dear reader he has ties to the Gallian ______, but I cannot say what.
Adieu.
August 17, 2007 3:11 PM
Frankfurter said...
An assurance to Gallia:
The three battalions sent to Gen. Chevert under Graf v. Ballpark are quite reliable. The Graf himself is a brave and hardy soul with a sound record. I.R. Chicken is a tested formation which withstood crossfire, gallantly advancing between enemy formations in order to cover the advance of the Black Skirts. The Battalion d'Hottatrot is also a tested unit which now has a reputation for aggressive initiative to uphold.
While I'm a tad upset that you beat me to the punch (I had enough figures to game out the Russel Wald scenario after I'd written up the Masquerade ...) the Hurtshog will be ecstatic at the news. By themselves, the rural nobles aren't really that much of a threat ... and can be readily quelled after the masquerade.
As for round up during the festivities, I was working on a scenario of an urban riot / uprising (because of the refusal to hire Frankfurter laborers)... I'd rather not complicate my story line for the masquerade with it ... and the Frankfurter secret police already have a nice selection of "usual suspects" they intend to deliver between the masquerade and the departure of the Ladies ...
who have been receiving many visits from the happy couple with their baby ....
By the way, will those troops be arriving Friday or Saturday? There are some royal progresses through town scheduled for that day, and coordination and even better, participation with them would enhance the occasion ....
:)
Arthur
August 18, 2007 10:33 AM
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