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One of the Dunderheads is coming to stop overnight next week. on the Wednesday I’m cogitating a re-fight of the chaotic battle at Quatra Bras crossroads…
proper ‘Old Skool’ style.
Airfix toy sowjers and buildings, a brown cloth over the dining room table, crossroads made from parcel tape and the woods picked out by a cut up green towel, with half a dozen model railway trees kicking about and nowt else…
a proper tear in the time space continuum that’ll take us right back to the sixties!!!
"Wot did you do in the war Grandad?"
"I was with Harry... At The Bridge!"
The game’s set up, and to be fair…
it looks shocking!
Marshal Ney at the head of his Airfix Legions!
"Wot did you do in the war Grandad?"
"I was with Harry... At The Bridge!"
One of the reasons I love Napoleonicking with one of the Dunderheads is the gross incompetence they always bring to the field. It starts with a look of stunned terror at the size of the forces and proceeds to a massive traffic jam that I spend the afternoon running rings around and shooting the shit out of.
So it was with joy in my heart that Pete Dunderhead chose to be Marshal Ney. I informed him that the Frenchies had better get a spurt on as my side of the table would soon start filling up with proper soldiers as His Grace the Duke of Wellington and his Redcoats arrived…
“Marshal , we can smash them, there’s hardly any of the enemy at the crossroads.”
Observed Marshal Ney’s effeminately attired aide-de-camp (no pun intended).
“Not so fast sunshine,”
growled the copper haired Marshal.
“I’ve met this Wellington before in Spain, it’s what you can’t see wot’s the problem!”
Nevertheless, the French advanced rapidly all across the line…
Accurate artillery fire quickly has the Dutch Belgian riff-raff wavering.
Having placed his troops in good cover and with flanks secured, the Prince of Lemon crossed his fingers…
Crossed fingers are no substitute for steady infantry. The Dutch Belgians delivered a pathetic volley then bolted from the field!
First bit of good news, the Prince of Lemon got killed…
Second bit of good news. His Grace arrived in the nick of time to steady the line with some proper sowjers…
But even His Grace couldn’t be in two places at once, taking their cue from their mates on the right, the left flank dregs of Europe’s riff-raff legged it with equal gusto. British Light Horse tried valiantly to plug the gap…
The crisis of the battle arrived with heavy columns of French Infantry hitting all along the line.
French heavy Cavalry pitched in and the whole battlefield became shrouded in gunsmoke…
Sir Thomas Picton advanced at the head of his Veteran Highlanders, and got his melon blown off by a French cannonball!
As the British line wavered His Grace galloped to the rescue, but a sneaky Voltijoor drew a bead…
“Wellington is retreating!!!”
Roared Marshal Ney, as he saw the Highlanders fall back carrying the bodies of their own General and that of His Grace.
There was only one person more staggered than my good self at the outcome of our little swarhey and that was my mate Pete. Who snidely inquired how I thought it had happened after we’d adjourned to the Occifer’s Mess for the traditional postmortem and gallon.
"Wot did you do in the war Grandad?"
"I was with Harry... At The Bridge!"
You’re welcome chaps, thanks for the compliments, much appreciated. Willz, some of those Airfix warriors were grizzled Veterans by the summer of ’71 campaign…
at least in them days their thirteen year old General had, going through puberty, as an excuse for his incompetence!
"Wot did you do in the war Grandad?"
"I was with Harry... At The Bridge!"
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