Napoleonic Sharp Practice: The Liberation of Fra Angelico

 The story so far...

      We return to Spain and the next exciting installment of our narrative campaign of Sharp Practice set during the Peninsular War. 

     When we ended our last game a French force under the command of seasoned (probably with garlic, rosemary, some salt and pepper and a dash of olive oil as well as many battles in the name of the Republic and the Emperor across the length and breadth of Europe) veteran Capitaine Richard D'Astardly had "encouraged" the rabble rousing priest, Fra Angelico, to accompany him to the local French HQ at the town of Amarillo for a frank discussion of the local political situation with the French military intelligence section stationed there. 

     Bundling the priest into a coach with an armed guard, D'Astardly and his men beat a hasty retreat back down the road to La Casa Rosita, an inn of ill repute, where they were to meet with a relieving force dispatched from Amarillo. This force, led by Capitaine Etienne Coq Sportif but nominally under the command of Major D'Fecht of the military intelligence was making it's way hurriedly to the meeting point.

L to R. Drummer Lune, Ensign Carrion-De Notte, Capitaine
D'Astardly, Lieutenant Camembert and Sgt Moutley 

L to R; Sgt Mirabeau, Lt Lebeau, Capitaine Coq Sportif,
drummer and Major D'Fecht

      D'Astardly, believed that the failure of the Spanish to pursue him closely was down to them being their usual disorganised selves. In this supposition he was sadly wrong. Using their local knowledge Don Pedro, the Spanish leader and his forces had moved swiftly around the French forces right flank, aiming to head them off at the Casa Rosita, the self same spot where the French were to rendezvous.

Don Pedro upon his favourite horse, Beckham, and his two
lieutenants,Castanos of the Grenadiers and Chorizo of the
infantry

"El Grande" Don Paunchero himself flanked by his lieutenants,
Jose, Gregorion and Panza 

      However, unbeknownst to both the French and the regular Spanish forces, there was a third party interested in Fra Angelico; Don Paunchero, a local grandee, was the cousin and patron of Fra Angelico and Don Paunchero was mightily miffed at both sides for their treatment of his cousin and also miffed with said cousin for stirring up the authorities and drawing them into the area thus interrupting Don Paunchero's less than legal activities.
    Known locally as El Grande, Don Paounchero is of mixed descent from both Spanish and Portuguese nobility. He possesses lands that straddle the border between those two countries. A border which he himself and his confederates on both the Spanish and Portuguese sides, blithely ignore whilst carrying out their trading activities. They also give little heed to the taxes and tariffs that such trade normally generates and is expected to be paid to the governments of both nations.
     Don Paunchero, a well educated man, is a great believer in the writings of Adam Smith when it comes to commerce (even though Smith was a heretic) and so is not inclined to believe in taxes, tariffs and the likes, seeing them as a nuisance, a hindrance and beneath the contempt of a gentleman.
     That being said, so far he has found the invasion by the French and the resulting war financially lucrative dealing as he does with all sides in the conflict. But now the French have vexed him severely and he has set off at the head of a force of his men to save his cousin and to teach the French lesson, the cost of which he plans to reclaim at a later date from both the French and Spanish.

Rosita del Flores "La Caramba" deadly accurate and in
deadly earnest

     And as if this wasn't enough, Major D'Fecht was also the unwitting prey of an assassin. Senorita Rosita del Flores, a former flamenco dancer turned guerrilla fighter, widow of a local guerrilla fighter, Juan O'Demm, who had been captured, questioned and died at the hands of Major D'Fecht in a stinking cell in Amarillo. Rosita or as she was known locally, La Caramba, had sworn vengeance on D'Fecht and lay in wait for her chance to exact that vengeance at La Casa Rosita.

     And so the scene was set for a collision of men (and women), steel and ideals in the Liberation Of Fra Angelico

     The column of French troops made their weary way along the dusty, rutted track. Their marching feet sent up a cloud of dust which filled their noses and mouths and made them even thirstier than they normally would be under the burning Spanish sun. To the young troops, only recently called to the colours and the service of the Emperor, all their short experience of soldiering seemed to have consisted of marching; from their homes and their weeping families in the many different regions of France to the depots where they had been ordered to report to. And from there a short time afterwards south via Bayonne and into Spain and down into the hard, inhospitable country where food, drink and rest were in short supply. A country that neither welcomed them nor cared for them.
     And now they were once more marching, this time from their barracks in Amarillo under the command of Capitaine Coq Sportif, a man they both admired and feared. Capitaine Coq Sportif had given them little respite once they had arrived in Amarillo. He was their company commander and he had drilled them endlessly in their formations, in the use of their muskets, and in the use of the bayonet. And now he was leading them into the dreaded Spanish countryside to meet another column of French soldiers who were being pursued by the Spanish. Some of the young soldiers were excited by the thought of glorious battle but most of them were just scared. They had heard the horror stories of what lay beyond the garrison town walls and it terrified them.
     At the head of the column Capiatine Etienne Coq Sportif half listened to the carping of the intelligence officer marching beside him. They had been on the road for a day and a half now and in all that time the major had not stopped complaining "I tell you, Coq Sportif, it is pointless, utterly pointless to send me on this fools errand" repeated Major D'Fecht, starting on a favourite, to him at least, subject. "I cannot conceive why the colonel would think it a good idea for me to come all the way out here to take possession of this Franciscan rapscallion when my proper place is back in the garrison! I have a mountain of paper work that I must attend and Heaven knows but the Emperor must have timely, up to date intelligence of the enemies plans and dispositions, which I can only garner for him with my questioning of the prisoners and scrutinizing of the prisoners statements and our own reconnaissance reports, and yet here I am" D'Fecht paused to draw breathe and, as he did so, the sound of musketry reached their ears from up ahead. Thank God, thought Coq Sportif, the Spanish!
    

The young French conscripts and volunteers march through the
heat and dust towards the rendezvous

Ahead, in the distance, Capitaine D'Astardly's
column has been ambushed and they are taking a beating

     Don Paunchero lit a cigarillo then watched as a boy came scrambling up the goat track towards him. Don Paunchero sat on a log among the scrub and low pine trees on the hillside, surrounded by a group of thuggish looking men. There were about 30 of them in all and they were armed to the teeth with a mix of swords, knifes, French muskets and cavalry carbines as well as other muskets of uncertain vintage and provenance.  
     The boy, barely in his teens moved swiftly up the steep incline following the zig-zag path toward the group of men. "El Grande!El Grande! The French; they come!". Don Paunchero removed the cigarillo from his mouth and grunted "Where are they, Ronaldo?" The boy had stopped in front of him now and removed his hat "They are coming down the Amarillo road, El Grande; Gregorio said to tell you that they have a carriage and that Fra Angelico is in it". Another grunt "How many French, boy? Did Gregorio say?" The boy paused and thought  "Si; about 40, El Grande". 
     Don Paunchero stood up,  cleared his throat and spat then spoke to the men "Gentlemen, you know the plan. Do not shoot at the coach; Fra Angelico is in there and he must be saved; and he can only be saved if he is alive! Do you understand?" The men nodded. El Grande looked at them for a long moment, convincing himself that they did understand then continued "Do not hit the coach; let your musket balls find a Frenchman to rest in. There will be plenty of plunder and after we see off these fools we can retire to the Casa Rosita to celebrate our victory and to count the loot!" There was a mild cheer at the word loot and then El Grande said "Jose, lead the way; let's go!"

The first of Don Paunchero's bandits....sorry, partisans emerge
from the woods, ambushing the coach escort.

And almost immediately the French are disconcerted

As more bandits..sorry, partisans appear, D'Asstardly
sends Lt Camembert and his Volitiguers forward to
 disperse the bandits...sorry, partisans

The Voltiguers and bandits...sorry, partisans exchange fire but
it rapidly becomes a one way street as the Voltiguers are pushed
back

     Don Pedro took a drink from the goatskin of wine his servant had handed him. He took a deep draught then gave it back to his servant. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and watched as his beloved grenadiers marched past him and began to form up under their officers. They were still in good order despite their long, fast march down the parallel valley that had brought them out on the flank of those French dogs just as Don Pedro had planned. Now the French would be at his mercy. 

     But as the coach and the Frenchmen drew into view a flurry of shorts from the opposite side of the narrow valley broke the peace. "Are the French shooting the peasants, sir?" asked Lt Castanos, commander of Don Pedro's Grenadiers. Don Pedro ignored the question and pulling out a small hip flask from his coat tail pocket he cursed, thrust it back in his pocket then drew out a small telescope. Focusing it on the men firing he hissed through his teeth "Don Paunchero! I might have known!!"          Closing the telescope he spoke "Castanos, Don Paunchero's and his brigands are attempting to rescue the priest; take your men forward while the French are occupied and get that priest before Don Paunchero; hurry!!" Catsanos snapped to attention and saluted " Yes sir" and ran forward to his now formed up men "Forward men, to glory!!" He turned sharply and started to stride out towards the French column alongside his men. Don Pedro mopped his brow, then called over Lt Chorizo. "Chorizo, we will take the men around behind the casa and take those Frenchmen from behind; won't that be an unpleasant surprise for them?" he beamed. 

        

Lieutenant Castao's men, reaching a point within range of the
French, loose off a volley at the poor, bemused French

Coq Sportif sends Sgt Mirabeau and his skirmishers to
distract the brigands...sorry, partisans while the rest of
the column drive forward to assist D'Astardly's men

     The musket balls flew thick and fast around the French column. At their head, Ensign "Cherubino" Carrion De Notte shouted encouragements at his men. Now that they were returning fire they could not or would not listen to his orders so, in an effort to appear like he was in command, he shouted encouragements instead. "That's it, lads, lay it on thick! Give those murdering dogs their just desserts!" His men, barely paid heed to the young officer; already several of them lay bleeding on the ground and there appeared to be no let up in the partisans rate of fire. Slowly the French infantrymen began to fall back. Once more Cherubino flourished his sword blade in the direction of the enemy but by now he had his back to them as he faced his withdrawing men. "Stand still, won't you, you dogs! Stand still and fight for France and the Empero...!" Cherubino felt a stinging thud on his head then fell forward, his treasured bicorne falling in the dust, blood staining it. "Cowardly dogs" he thought as he slumped into unconsciousness. 

    Seeing their officer fall, the men edged further back. Then they heard Capitaine D'Astardly's voice ringing in their ears "Halt! Not one more step back!!" The men, encouraged by the sound of his voice, slowed their movement and continued loading and firing

The brigands...sorry, partisans keep up a furious rate of fire
at the French, forcing them back. In the foreground, Cherubino
lies inert on the ground as a kindly young maid stoops over him
to tend his wound

Capitaine Coq Sportif, seeing the effect the brigands...sorry,

partisans fire is having on the coach escort, decides to 

even things up a bit. Forming his young troops into line, he

lets loose a devastating volley at the nearest group of brigands

...sorry, partisans with a suitably gratifying effect as it forces 

them back towards the woods, the cowardly dogs! Meanwhile

Lt Lebeau leads a small column towards the coach

Caught on the horns of dilemma, the brigands....sorry,
partisans choose the slighlty lesser of two evils and
head for the woods, prefering to take their chances
with Don Paunchero's wrath rather than French muskets 

     The small group of Voltiguers pulled back using the cover of the powder smoke. Already four of them lay on the blood stained ground. Lt Camembert called on the remaining two to stay by him as he fired the musket he had taken from the dead hand of one of his men but these last two weren't listening. Three months ago, their platoon had been 30 men strong and now they were the last of his platoon; their nerve was shot. The butt of the musket kicked into Camembert's shoulder as he let loose a shot at a fleeting target in a green cloak. He called to his men to fire at the man in the green cloak who appeared to be an officer but, on turning around, he saw none of his Voltiguers. Then he spotted them, his last two men running back past the column and the coach. Gripping his musket and raising a hoarse shout, Camembert ran after them, calling on them to halt.

D'Astardly's Line Infantry are left to protect the coach as best
they can as they are squeezed from both sides.

A most unlady like pursuit, sniping at French officers from
bedroom windows

     In the upper bedroom of the Casa Rosita, the young woman primed her musket once more. Her first shot had missed the French officer and the sound of the firing further along the road had disguised the shot, much to her relief. The heavy musket reloaded, she stole a glance out of the open window towards the French column advancing up the road. If only she had a box full of cartridges, she could shoot them all she thought. Instead she had a small handful of cartridges and she must make them count. She hefted the butt into her shoulder and laid the barrel on the window ledge then steadied it with her left hand. She shifted her position till she was aiming at the tall,handsome, blond French officer. She felt the rage grow within herself and bit her lip till she had controlled it once more. Today monsieur, you die. Today you pay for the death of Juan; a man who's boots you aren't fit to lick she thought to herself as she squeezed the trigger. The musket roared and recoiled against her shoulder. She peered over the musket barrel as the smoke cleared. A smile lit her face, the Frenchman was nowhere to be seen. She had killed him; Juan was avenged... 

Coq Sportif attempts to get his men under control are useless
and his men carry on firing at the retreating brigands...sorry,
partisans.

     Pain jetted through Majo D'Fecht's head. His legs buckled beneath him and he slumped onto his backside, his eyes glazing as blood trickled down his face. Absently he raised a neatly manicured hand to his face. He felt the warm,moist fluid on his palm and drew his hand away and gazed at it. Blood, that's what it was, blood on his hand but who's blood? His head stung. The sounds of battle had faded but now came clear to his ears once more. He looked again at his hand, touched trembling fingertips to the gash on his head and winced at the pain. I've been shot, I've been shot he thought. Panic rose in his heart. They are shooting at me...I must get away. He looked up in terror as a hand grabbed his arm. The drummer shouted at him "Major D'Fecht, are you alright sir?" D'Fecht's bottom lip, quivered "They shot at me, Mann, they are trying to kill me, Mann; do you understand!!"  Mann stowed his drum sticks in his pocket and plucked a rather grubby handkerchief from the same pocket and pressed it against D'Fecht's wound. D'Fecht let out a howl and shoved Mann's hand away.     

      D'Fecht struggled to his feet, one hand clutching his wound and with the other he absently picked up his hat from the ground and shouted once more "They tried to kill me, Mann!" and then he turned and started to run back the way the column had come, staggering as he did so. Drummer Mann made to start after him then stopped, shrugged his shoulders "Sod you, you jumped up good for nothing prick" he shouted at the major's back, unheard above the din of battle and turned back to the captain; he'll be pleased at least he thought as he watched Capitaine Coq Sportif calling commands at the soldiers beside him. 

Major D'Fecht momnets before the attempt
on his life

     Former Sergeant now Fusilier Braun was furious, really furious. The impertinent Spaniards had killed too many of his friends; worse they had stopped him and the rest of the column from reaching the inn and it's refreshments and he wanted a drink; that and revenge. "Right lads, let's have at them or the bar will be shut by the time we get to the casa!" he shouted over the noise of the shooting "Form column!" The men quickly shuffled into place, Braun shoving one or two of them into the rear rank to give the small groups some depth and impetus. "Now lads, for the Emperor! Chaaaaarge!" The charge caught the brigands...sorry , partisans off guard. This wasn't what they expected and they drew back. The French men roared as they charged forward and clashed with the brigands...sorry partisans. A fierce fight ensued until the brigands..sorry partisans, those that were still on their feet, turned and fled. Braun's men started to chase after them but the burly ex-NCO grabbed the foremost man and held them back. "There's more of them cowardly Spanish scum this way lads; dress off!" The reduced groups formed up in a ragged column and prepared to charge the next group of brigands...sorry, partisans"

Fusilier Braun and his comrades chase off the brigands...sorry,
partisans before setting their sights on the next group

Don Pedro leads his men in an attempt to cut off Coq Sportif's
column

     The coach rocked as more musket balls struck it, piercing it's thin wooden sides and sunlight streamed through in shafts, lighting up the dancing motes of dust that had been disturbed by the force of the musket balls striking the coach. 

     Inside, Fra Angelico knelt with his rosary beads in his hands which were now clasped in prayer as he feverishly muttered prayer after prayer to God; asking Him to rain down death and destruction on the Frenchmen outside. Suddenly the interior of the coach was lit up as the door was yanked open. Capiatine Richard D'Astardly looked wonderingly at the kneeling form within. He had expected to find the monk's corpse lying riddled with musket shots but no, there he was, alive, untouched and praying to his God. 

     D'Astardly reached inside and shouting tat the top of his voice, said "Pardon me, Fra Angelico, but I really must insist you join us out here!" and so saying he yanked the monk backwards out of the coach and holding him in front of him, D'Astardly thrust the muzzle of his pistol against the monk's temple and started to move back.." Back behind the coach lads! Get into cover!" he shouted to his remaining men as Fusilier Braun and the remnants of his group rushed past the captain. "Well done, Braun" shouted D'Astardly to the tall, ruddy faced ex-NCO. "Now then lads, they want the monk alive! And we have him; he's our ticket out of here!" As the smoke cleared, the Spaniards saw the monk, they saw the pistol at his head and the Frenchman behind him and the shooting died away. Slowly, the Frenchmen began to withdraw.....

     Maria gazed at the unconscious soldier lying by the road. He is so beautiful she thought. So very beautiful, wounded and in need of help. She put down her basket full of fish as the musket balls whizzed around her. Grasping the young officer jacket at the shoulders she began to drag the unconscious form of Cherubino towards the Casa Rositta

Young Maria finds a treasure in human form

     Phew! That was a rip snorting fight. All through the battle D'Astardly and his men took a lot of punishment and not a few men wavered. They lost Cherubino and Sgt Moutley early in the action and Lt Camambert and his Voltiguers followed not long after. D'Astardly was up against it and if it wasn't for the sight of the approaching column he might have been "enjoying" Spanish hospitality by the games end.

     As it was, Coq Sportif's men managed to bring enough pressure to bear  on the brigands...sorry, partisans and Fusilier Braun's inspired charge gave them more pause for thought. If only Coq Sportif had been able to get his men under control once more the outcome might have swung in the Frenchmen's favour. But it was not to be and before the French forces moral dropped to zero the French players; Alan and myself, agreed to withdraw from the field of battle with the prisoner still in our hands but on the wrong side of the valley from the garrison town and safety.

     Major D'Fecht made good his escape, using up one of his nine lives in the process. However, La Caramba is still hot on his trail, realising her mistake 

     As for the Spaniards; Don Pedro's men were left in possession of the field of battle while Don Paunchero and his men trailed D'Astardly and his men from a distance; always in sight and ready to pounce.

     Thanks again to all the players; Robert, Peter and Allan (the reason why we are playing these games; to introduce Alan to Sharp Practice) and John for umpiring.

     Next up is the mission to rescue Lt Dumas-De Winter by the other members of his squadron; hope you can join me then for more Sharp Practice shenanigans.Till then..

Pip pip,

Jimbob