By lunch time my two Divisions were ready to attempt the crossing but had taken quite a number of casualties and all my sapeurs had perished laying the pontoon. "I suppose" said Seymour "You're going to try to rush the bridges with those tatty chaps in the brown uniforms and preserve your Old Guard who are rather better painted." This was precisely what I had intended to do but I merely ground my teeth and changed my orders so that the Grenadiers were now to lead the two assaults.
"What are they supposed to be anyway" demanded Seymour.
"Chasseurs de Montagne - Light troops" I answered.
"I thought they were a local force raised to fight in the Pyrenees in 1814. Hardly likely to have been in a major engagement with the Austrians," commented my nephew.
"They were" I replied coldly, chancing my arm "also employed in the 1814 campaign in the Vosges." Seymour smiled sceptically and we proceeded to make our moves. He threw five direct hits on the Grenadiers with his Howitzers firing case, wiping one regiment out and forcing the other one to retreat. What was left of it that is.
"Well" said Seymour with maddening cheerfulness, "I'Il leave you to view the stricken field while I get lunch ready. Aunt Jane showed me where everything was."
It was painfully true that what progress I had made had been slow and costly. There was some consolation on my left however. Seymourts Jagers had dashed forward and occupied the Hill at D but my Horse Artillery making repeated sallies out of the village at B, escorted by a Regiment of Red Lancers had inflicted heavy casualties on the grey-clad riflemen. Casualties to the Lancers had been negligible although they had lost their Colonel (a lucky tOl thrown after some volley firing by the Austrians).
Seymour had a good, not to say voracious appetite and between mouthfuls of cold chicken and salad and glasses of Pepsi-cola he explained to me very patiently just where I had gone wrong and how indeed the outcome of the battle was now entirely predictable. "In fact" he declared over coffee, "Aunt Jane said that you were supposed to have a rest after lunch so if you like to concede now, I'll clear the lunch away and you can have your nap while I clear the table and tidy up your shelves a bit."
"Seymour" I replied firmly, "I appreciate your consideration but I do NOT concede that I have lost this battle and I have no intention of taking a rest of any kind until I have soundly defeated you. We will clear away these plates and in ten minutes flat play will be resumed."
"Well" said Seymour "Aunt Jane did say that you were not to get too excited."
"I am not the least excited. I am perfectly cool and my plans are about to develop as you will presently see to your cost."
Brave words, but in fact it so happened that from the resumption of hostilities natural justice began to assert itself and the ill-luck which had dogged my dice-throwing during the morning was reversed. Seymour's ebullience began to wane as my infantry stormed the bridges and began to swing left towards 'C'. He watched in stricken silence as my guns set fire to the village at 'A' scattering his cavalry and destroying two of his Howitzer batteries. Furthermore one of my batteries taking a chancy long shot at the Commander of his left-hand Division, who had been rather carelessly exposed, eliminated him bringing his Division to a two move stand-still while a replacement was installed. My Horse artillery were continuing to pound his Jagers when he suddenly interrupted proceedings.
"Excuse me Uncle James but those Red Lancers escorting the Horse Artillery have suffered casualties for three moves in succession without inflicting any themselves. By Rule 41 they must now be morale-tested."
I protested indignantly "The guns which they have been escorting have been tearing your chaps to shreds. Those Lancers have only suffered 6 casualties but of a strength of 33. There can't be anything wrong with their morale!"
"Sorry, Uncle James that's the rule and furthermore as they have already lost their Colonel that means a deduction of two from their dice throw."
Savagely I threw the dice - a four. "Less two" shrieked Seymour triumphantly "that means they halt."
"That" I pronounced, quivering with rage "is the most absurd rule I have ever heard of, and you should amend it forthwith." Reluctantly I removed the Red Lancers from the table and the game went on. My columns prepared to assault the Bridge at ICI supported by artillery and the Division which should have been turning to their left to meet the attack were still waiting for their new Commander. Meanwhile Seymour's Engineers endeavoured to blow the bridge (dice throw of better than 3) but failed. I smiled grimly and was just about to begin writing my orders for the next move when Seymour moved a white-coated staff officer to the bridge with a roughly made white flag wedged under his arm.
"Parley" he shouted. I stopped and adjusted my glasses.
"Well? What happens now?" I enquired somewhat impatiently.
"No offensive movement or firing withing a 12 inch radius". He answered promptly. "While we discuss terms - its all in Rule 105B".
"Terms? What terms?" I demanded. "I was merely going to suggest that I gave up the bridge voluntarily on condition that you waited two moves before crossing."
"Not a chance, my lad. I am going to charge that bridge and nothing short of unconditional surrender is going to stop me." I rejoined grimly. "You've already delayed me one move with this nonsense and that is quite enough."
Then I remembered his engineers. "You are not I hope going to claim that as the enforced waiting move for your Engineers before they have another go at blowing that bridge?"
"Of course" answered Seymour complacently "that is one of the great uses of the flag of truce. You may not know it but Murat secured a vital bridge over the Danube after Ulm."
"I am quite aware of the incident to which you refer but I regard the whole thing as a most doubtful piece of gamesmanship."
In the event his cunning availed him not at all and he threw a 1 on his next attempt; I was over the bridge and locked in a furious melee. I now considered the position on Hill 'D.' His Jagers had pushed North but instead of 8 regiments he now had only just over 6 and I determined to charge them with my five regiments of cavalry. We drew another weather card and I was elated to see that the wind was now blowing from the north. The whole engagement now depended on the effectiveness of his Jager's firing as they were charged, and the smoke was now blowing in their faces. With trembling hands I wrote my orders and then began moving Cuirassiers, Grenadiers, Polish Lancers, Carabineers, and Chasseurs across the table. Seymour carefully counted his riflemen and threw the dice. He opened his mouth to announce the number of casualties he was claiming against my cavalry when I gently reminded him of the ten per cent reduction for smoke.
"Smoke?" he enquired blankly.
"No smoke from airguns." The room whirled and a red mist swam before my eyes.
"Air-guns!" I screamed.
"Yes. Girondoni .51 calibre rifled air-guns - standard for Austrian Jagers. I make that 30 casualties to your cavalry.
"Twenty-four" I said desperately. I was going to need every horseman in that melee, but I had an awful feeling that he was right. Of course I threw badly in the melee, the rest of the battle was a deadlock and Seymour, quivering with ill-concealed triumph announced "I think you are down to 60% Uncle James -- that means a two move stand-still. I chanced everything on a bluff "So I think are you, Seymour."
A furious body count ensued and I left Seymour to it while I made a hasty reference to a book on 19th century weapons and retrieved an essential piece of equipment from the top of a cupboard in the kitchen. I went back to the table and began to check Seymour's claim not to have suffered 40% casualties by a margin of two gunners and a drum-major. Unfortunately, I must have neglected to close the door behind me and it was suddenly flung open and Brian who comprises about seven stone of Irish Wolf Hound erupted into the room and hit the table trestle with the velocity of an 88mm shell. Trees, houses, landscape, horse, foot and guns cascaded to the floor and Brian emerged from the ruins with his favourite cricket ball clenched in his jaws.
Some order was restored with Seymour loudly claiming a win on points but as we sorted the regiments out and re-shelved them I played the trump card. "Those air-guns of yours Seymour - last used in 1801, I think. Bit outside our period."
He looked a little abashed and was in process of offering to call it a draw when the sound of a car coming up the drive and a cheerful hoot announced the return of the ladies from their shopping expedition. Everyone, including Seymour and I declared that it had been a very good day and in due course the visitors departed with Seymour threatening a return match in the near future. Later my wife enquired, "Who won?"
"Inconclusive," I replied and related the story of Brian's incursion.
"That's strange" said my wife "He's made such a nuisance of himself with that cricket ball that I've been keeping it on top of the cupboard in the kitchen and only letting him have it in the garden. How on earth did it get into your room?"
I glanced at the clock "Just time to switch on the television for War and Peace," I observed.
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© Copyright 1975 by Donald Featherstone.
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