Editor's Note: In his 1986 book The Origins of War, author Arthur Ferrill advances the notion that Alexander III of Macedon ("the Great") basically perfected the art of war as practiced in the West. In fact, his military system was so good that it was capable of successfully taking on "all comers "for the next 2,000 years or so. To prove his point, he devotes a chapter to analyzing what might have happened if Alexander had been present at Waterloo in place of Napoleon. Owners of Clash of Arms La Bataille de Mont St. Jean will now have the opportunity to test his proposition. - KZ I. Introduction Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, opened his eyes slowly and took in his surroundings. This wall not the familiar English bedroom of his country estate, yet it was somehow familiar. He was not in his fluffy canopy bed, awaiting his final breath, but on a narrow cot. It was hot but there was no sun, only a gray half-light. Wellington was suddenly aware of a presence beside him and looked UP. Standing over him was a man in a black robe, his face hidden behind a leering devil mask. Only the eyes behind the mask had any animation. Finally, a gloved hand was extended to help the Duke to his feet. Wellington took it surprised at his sudden vigor. When he looked down, he noticed that he was no longer in bedclothes, but in a dark suit, covered by a blue cape. Beside the cot was a black bicorn hat with three cockades, one for England, Spain, and Portugal. "What is going on here?" Wellington demanded of the black figure. He noted that his voice had regained some of its youthful timber. Perhaps it was a dream, the dream of a dying man. "It is my duty and pleasure to welcome you to the afterlife. your Grace," came a husky voice from behind the mask. "Even in Hell we have our formalities. "Hell?" started Wellington. "It seems hardly as the chaplains described. No flames or torments or devils with pitchforks, except you, that is." "Well, I am afraid I am not quite the devil I was reputed to be," chuckled the figure, "at least, not compared to those at .... um, ah, la Maison. As for torment, well, there are many types. Right now, I suggest you pick up your hat, and your sword, there, and follow me. " Wellington noted a finely engraved saber next to the bicorn. He belted on the former and placed the latter squarely on his head. Then, he followed the man to a small knoll, where a large brass telescope was mounted on a tripod. "There is something familiar about this place," Wellington decided, surveying the gentle slopes, and large chateaux that dotted the landscape. "This is the farm at Mont St. Jean," the robed figure revealed. "So it is," breathed Wellington. "Yes, and this is the uniform I wore that day." The Iron Duke looked about, and saw men positioning themselves behind cover. To his right were formed up squads of cavalry. He recognized beautiful Scots Grays, and beyond them the other regiments of British cavalry. "You have taken me back to Belgium," Wellington realized. "Back to the morning of Waterloo. These are all my men -- the King's German Legion, the Iniskillings, the Scots Grays, all of them. And there are the Dutch, and the Brunswickers, too." "Your entire order of battle has been meticulously researched, " came an assurance from behind the mask. "What about Blucher?" Wellington demanded. "He's on his way from Wavre, " the figure told him. "He has been awaiting your arrival since 1819." "So there's no redemption for soldiers, then?" Wellington challenged. "Perhaps. Your thoughts now should be to the battle"' The Iron Duke surveyed the scene. Behind La Haye Sainte and Hougomont were black specks, marching resolutely forward through the rain-soaked fields. Upon a rise near La Belle Alliance, Wellington saw a knot of figures. Going to the telescope, he peered at them intently. "I was hoping to get a glance at Old Boney, " Wellington told his dark companion, "now that I know where to look. I don't see him, though." "Oh, I'm sorry," confessed the masked figure, "I have been remiss in my duty. You are not facing the Corsican Ogre today." "Don't tell me HE's not here!" Wellington's head came up indignantly. "If anyone deserved a berth in the infernal regions, it's HIM!" "Oh, he's here," the figure continued. "Um, ah, La Maison however, thought it might be more interesting to pit you, master of the defense, against one who was master of the offense. "Who?" "Alexander of Macedon." "You're joking!" the Duke snorted, his eye returning to the telescope. Through it, he saw a strapping, handsome figure on a huge, fiery horse. Bronze and steel glimmered in the strange light of Hades as the man turned to give orders to his subordinates. Swinging the telescope, Wellington focused on ranks of. Macedonian pikemen, supported by bowmen and stirrupless cavalry. Then, he pointed back at the figure of Alexander. Young and virile, this fellow seemed the incarnation of the ultimate, clean- limbed fighting man. "Alexander the Great," Wellington whispered. "Well, this is a challenge, at least of wits. His pikemen will go, down like wheat, though, when my riflemen open up. " "We shall see," the masked individual murmured. "At any rate, there is your army, sir, and the enemy is before you." "This hardly seems fair to those Greeks, though. "They are aware of gunpowder, your Grace," argued the masked man. "They choose the weapons they are familiar with. Would you prefer I call up a division of French Imperial Guard, or Frederick and his Prussians? Perhaps Andrew Jackson and his Yankees? I am sure Sir Pankenham can tell you about how he fared." "Poor Pankenham," Wellington remembered. "Very well, devil, or whatever you are. I will fight Alexander. Where is my staff?" "Here they come now." The figure gestured as a knot of horsemen approached. "I am afraid Lord Uxbridge is not among us yet, unless you would like his leg to appear; so his Infernalness has substituted a simulacrum in his place. To all intents and purposes, it is Uxbridge. We have done the same among the ranks. Picton is here, however, and awaits you." The figures dismounted and approached. The simulated Uxbridge looked much as Wellington remembered; but Picton already had the look of the dead about him, perhaps his wound from two days earlier at Quatre-Bras was affecting him. "Well, sir, the field is yours," the robed man concluded. "My fellows and I shall be watching from a special tower. You will be given the same circumstances as that day, though I am not sure if Alexander will wait until eleven as Bonaparte did. Bon chance, mon general." He saluted Wellington, who returned it smartly before addressing his staff. The figure then climbed a rise behind the farm of Mont St. Jean and ascended the tower. Up top were other robed figures, most without masks. The figure recognized Julius Caesar, Genghis Khan, and Attila the Hun among them. That trio had become fast friends over the timeless time of Hades. Other warriors were no doubt watching from other towers placed about the recreated battlefield. There was a scrape as the lift brought up another figure. He was similarly dressed in robe and mask. As he quitted the lift, the figure removed the mask to reveal dark, swarthy features and a rippling, blue-black beard. "Ah, Darius", the other greeted, "how is your Macedonian charge holding up?" "This is the first time I have seen him worried," the ex- Persian leader admitted. "He has never faced a defender with the reputation of Wellington. Still, he believes that his Companions will break any position. This is the first time in centuries that I have relished being made his personal devil. How is your first charge?" "Wellington is Wellington,.' the other stated, removing his horned mask. Beneath it were pale, rounded features with a sharp nose and a dangling forelock of brown hair. "He does not concern himself with being in Hell, or with the prospect of eternal damnation, or any other distraction. He has focused on his opponent. I only wish it were I facing him. This time, things would be different." "But that is part of your torment, is it not, my dear Bonaparte? " Darius reminded him. "To have Wellington so close, and not be able to fight him again?" "Merde!" snarled the ex-Emperor of the French, Napoleon Bonaparte. "Allow me some relief from that! Allez, let us watch the battle. "With that, they turned to survey the coming struggle... Alexander the Great at Waterloo Scenario Back to Art of War Issue #27/28 Table of Contents Back to Art of War List of Issues Back to MagWeb Master Magazine List © Copyright 1997 by Clash of Arms Games. This article appears in MagWeb (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. 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