"These are not men. They are devils"

Richard Houston shoved the figures into my hand. Lots of them. Mexicans and French. "Just to inspire you" he said; "can you put on a Camerone game at Nashcon? I'll bring the painted figures. You make up the game." Richard's like that. So, two months, one scratch-built hacienda and a set of rules tested by using my Western gunfighters as Legionnaires against Tim Lee's Mongols and Vikings as Mexicans - glad nobody saw us doing that! - we had a brutal, ugly, fast and furious kind of game to lay before the snarling masses of halfinebriate Saturday night gamers.

Saturday night at Nashcon is always sweaty and disgusting; the air conditioner always fails, it's the end of May in Tennessee, the atmosphere is like a Turkish wrestler's jockstrap and the wargamers are in the mood for mayhem. This game is aimed at that audience. First of all, it's unfair. The French have all the advantages. They shoot whenever they want to, get plus ones in melee, and have neat actual names (mostly) and personal details. The players have a squad each, and keep track of wounds and ammunition. Not bad for a bunch of misfit mercenaries.

The heroic Mexicans, who are normal ordinary blokes defending their homeland against invasion, are treated as recyclable insectoids who have very basic rules and fall off the table when grazed by a minie ball. I blush at this calumny, but the game's all about the romance of the Foreign Legion.

The Mexicans, I am told, don't give a cold burrito about Camerone. The rules cover most of what you'll need, the object being minimalist mechanics for an evening of savagery. We used 70 mounted Mexicans and 140 infantry, recycling in waves. If you actually have 800 Mexican horse and 1,200 foot, don't let 'em all come on at once --after all, it's Danjou's big day!

SO WHAT HAPPENED AT CAMERONE?

The defenders set up a perimeter around the courtyard, their efforts hindered by a number of Mexican snipers who apparently had managed to sneak into the upper floor of the hacienda building. At about 9:00 Colonel Milan offered terms to the legionnaires to surrender with honours before he assaulted the place. This was refused. A series of furious attacks was launched, punctuated by random firing into the hacienda yard.

Danjou dramatically called for his men to swear on his wooden hand that they would hold out to the last, then was dropped by a stray shot at 11:00. Vilain took over command, but was killed during the afternoon. The Mexican cavalry were succeeded in the attack by three battalions of infantry.

The French were able to maintain their position at the gates and the breach, but as ammunition ran low and the attackers managed to set the house on fire, it was clear that the defence was fading. By 6:00, only Maudet and four others were holding out in one of the outbuildings. Their last cartridges shot away, Maudet ordered a bayonet charge. A Mexican volley wounded Maudet and Legionnaire Wenzel, while Legionnaire Catteau, protecting his officer, leapt forward and fell with nineteen wounds. Constantin, Wenzel and Corporal Maine were then offered an honourable surrender rather than die at the hands of the vast number of Mexican infantry surrounding them.

This, they agreed to out of generosity to the remaining 1,700 Mexicans. These men, and some survivors, were taken away to the doubtful facilities of a Mexican field hospital. Most did not recover, but Corporal Maine went on to become an officer. One survivor, drummer Lai, pulled himself out from a mound of dead comrades to tell the tale. The story, of course, in appropriately romantic telling, remains the crowning glory of the Foreign Legion, and is recounted in every legion detachment each year on Camerone Day, April 30.

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