tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56403260265196065502024-03-13T13:34:50.401-07:00The Hetzenberg ChroniclesBeing an account of the doings in the Grand Duchy of Hetzenberg & environs.A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.comBlogger320125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-81833094255324907912014-12-24T08:04:00.000-08:002014-12-24T08:04:26.720-08:00A Very Merry Christmas!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nK84pW87Xw0/VJrjpOFD6eI/AAAAAAAADNU/ukDcH2KCXeM/s1600/Christmas-Tree-Fireplace-1024-127315.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nK84pW87Xw0/VJrjpOFD6eI/AAAAAAAADNU/ukDcH2KCXeM/s1600/Christmas-Tree-Fireplace-1024-127315.jpeg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A Very Merry Christmas to One and All, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">from the </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Grand Duchy of Hetzenberg.</span></div>
A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-54756635847580949222014-06-01T08:35:00.002-07:002014-06-01T08:35:32.587-07:00A brief pause<span style="font-size: large;">My wife has felt unwell for a while, and will require an operation this week to fix the cause. It's nothing 'serious' but she will require tending for a week or two after. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In all probability the Chronicles will continue anyway - I can work at the computer a few paces away should she need anything - but this is a notice that things may be delayed. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Best, A J </span>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-6613023299002972502014-05-19T09:14:00.002-07:002014-05-19T09:14:22.890-07:00Objects and motions<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }</style>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It took longer than Paul expected to
find the evidence he sought. It consisted of a sheet of aged paper
pinned to a battered square of cork, located on the wall next the
study door. From other notes pinned there Paul surmised it to be a
means by which the late Professor Knappenburger communicated with his
servant. He unpinned the note and examined it. The obverse had a note
concerning laundry. The reverse... Paul smiled with satisfaction.
Amid many a crossing out and blot he made out the following.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;">My Dear
Grafin,</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;">With
reference to your inquiry as to the validity of a marriage between
your cousin Graf Philip von Hetzenberg and a woman of common birth,
to whit, one Mary Amadeus. </span></i><span style="color: black;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;">I’m
pleased to inform you it is entirely permissible under our law for a
member of the Grand Ducal family to unite with a commoner in a
Morganatic marriage. Laws on the statute books governing Ducal
marriages dating back over two hundred years clearly permit such a
formal union. Our forebears in their wisdom saw matters of
interbreeding and too concentrated a nature of the Ducal
relationships to be clearly unfavorable to the bloodline as a whole.
Provision was therefore made to allow fresh blood to be introduced to
the family line, although the law has not been indulged in for some
decades. </span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><i> </i></span></i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><i> </i></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><i>I
trust this clarifies the matter and eases any concerns you might feel
regarding your friend’s situation.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"></span><i><span style="color: black;">I
remain, Grafin, your humble, obedient servant, I. Knappenburger.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">There
was no mistaking the Professor’s writing. </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Paul
rolled up the note and tapped it against his palm as he considered
the situation. </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><i>The
estimable Bartolomeo Gundaker is fallible, it seems. In his haste to
perpetrate his commission he overlooked a draft copy of the very
letter he sought to corrupt. </i></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">He</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
smiled. </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><i>What makes it
all the sweeter, the note was on the back of a missive intended for
him!</i></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">He
tucked the note in his innermost pocket and headed out the door. A
brief conference with the Chancellor left that worthy satisfied the
professor’s affairs would be taken care of. </span></span></i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Th</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">at
evening</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
saw Paul aboard the coach bound for </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">the
Grand Duchy of </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Hetzenberg.
He looked out the window as the vehicle rattled along the highway,
and thought of the approbation Ursula would heap upon him for his
success in </span></span></i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">help</span></span><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">ing her friend. It gave him a warm glow about the heart
to think of the radiant smile that would cross her beautiful face.</span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
* * * *</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
hull of </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><i>Styx II</i></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
vibrated </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">gently
</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">with
the steady </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">flow</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
of </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">water
against her hull</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
as the flotilla </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">rode
at anchor</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
in the gathering </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">night</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Beyond the little stateroom’s windows the Eissenwasser flowed </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">dark,
</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">strong
and steady to the sea, with no concern for the affairs of mankind
</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">embattled
about its banks</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">.
</span></span></i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Ursula
laid upon Horatio, her arms folded loosely on his bare chest, her
feet pressing against the cool wood of the aft bulkhead, so small was
the cot in which they laid. She felt sated and happy but, as intense
and fulfilling as their lovemaking had been, one question still
floated near the top of her mind. “You’re sure we’ll reach the
vicinity of Randstadt by tomorrow evening?”</span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">“</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Y</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">es,</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
beautiful.” Horatio stroked Ursula’s cheek and tucked a stray
length of </span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">damp
</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">hair
behind her ear. “</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">We're but a league above Kimmelsbr</span></span></i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">ü</span></span><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">ck. The
river’s quieter now the snow melt has passed. The wind stands fair,
and looks to be coming farther north yet tomorrow.”</span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">“I
hope so. I'm worried about Mary A. Paul will try his best, no doubt, but at the moment only I
can intercede on her behalf so she can marry Philip.”</span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">“</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">We’ll
get there, and we will help her. Don’t worry so!”</span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">“You’re
</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">right</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">,
my love,” she whispered, kiss</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">ing</span></span></i><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
him deeply. He
returned her kiss then yawned and stretched, awkwardly favoring his
wounded arm. Ursula rolled off him and he moved aside enough for her
to squeeze in beside him. “Get some sleep, hero,” she admonished.
“You had a long day.”</span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">“Just
so, my dear.” He put his arm around her and she nestled close, her
head upon his shoulder. His voice sounded drowsy. “We’ll get
there.”</span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Ursula
listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, felt the
rise and fall of his chest slow as his breathing settled into sleep.
She looked up through the stern-lights and watched the night deepen
to starry indigo, and wondered what Mary Amadeus was doing, and how
they would all fare on the morrow. Eventually, she fell asleep.</span></span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">* * * * </span></span></i></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }</style>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<em><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Several
leagues away Mary Amadeus laid in her camp cot, staring up at the
canvas above her head. A camp fire nearby cast shadows there that
seemed to morph into strange and terrible things. She could hear the
sentry on guard outside the fly of her tent, placed there by the
general. “I have no recourse but to inquire into this matter, my
dear,” he’d said with evident reluctance. “I cannot believe you
and Philip would be so foolish as to correspond in this way, but I am
bound by duty to treat the matter with the utmost seriousness.”</span></span></em></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<em><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></em></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<em><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">And
so she had been confined her to quarters pending the outcome. She
thought of the siege and the plan she’d made which would end it all
before many more lives were spent. </span></span></em><em><span style="color: black;"><i>And
now due to someone’s malice here I am, in peril of my life and
utterly useless. I wish Philip were here, and Ursula and Horatio! </i></span></em><em><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">She
turned over, punched the pillow into some form of comfort and tried
to sleep, but her thoughts whirled on deep into the night.</span></span></em></div>
</div>
A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-79198329425572152862014-05-04T13:34:00.000-07:002014-05-04T13:34:21.547-07:00A spot of bother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LQvZ7BkOCGI/U2aihEtiaxI/AAAAAAAAC_I/pT21JYuumfU/s1600/encampment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LQvZ7BkOCGI/U2aihEtiaxI/AAAAAAAAC_I/pT21JYuumfU/s1600/encampment.jpg" height="150" width="320" /></a></div>
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }</style>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Siege
operations about Randstadt had reached the third parallel and the
batteries had been positioned amid blasts of musketry from the
defenses. Mary Amadeus worked as hard as any to site the guns, and
she felt pride in the fact they had become operational again within
an hour. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
summons to General Rauppen-Schlepper’s pavilion reached her as she
came off the line. Repeated
salvos from the artillery had rendered her somewhat deaf, and the
aide had to repeat himself twice before she understood. She made her
way to the pavilion, sited in the headquarters area a safe distance
beyond cannon range. Sweeping the tricorn from her head, she checked
her hair still stayed neatly in its ponytail then nodded to the aide.
He opened the tent fly and she followed him inside. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
General sat at his desk reading a dispatch. Mary saluted as he looked
up. “Lieutenant Amadeus reporting, sir.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Good
afternoon, Lieutenant.” Rauppen-Schlepper’s time-worn features
remained set in a neutral expression, and she wondered why he didn’t
greet her with his normal affability. He reached for his pipe and
made a show of inspecting it, knocking out the dottle and refilling
it with his favorite blend from a tooled leather pouch. The aide
stepped forward with a taper. Rauppen-Schlepper took it and lit the
pipe. He nodded to the aide. “Leave us, Wilhelm, but stay within
call.” The aide saluted and departed, leaving Mary and the General
alone. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Is
something wrong, sir?” she asked.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Yes,
Lieutenant, I’m afraid there is.” He opened a drawer and
extracted two packets of papers, tied with a blue ribbon. He dropped
one on the desk in front of her. “Do you recognize the writing?”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">She
stooped to examine them and blinked. “It looks like my hand, sir.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“It
<i>looks</i> like yours?”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Yes,
but what..?” She sought for words. “I’ve not written to anyone
to this extent. I can’t afford the stationary on my salary. To whom
are they addressed?”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Young
Philip, heir to the throne.” He dropped the second packet before
her. “These are his replies.” </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Mary
shook her head. “I don’t know anything about these. Philip and I
have never exchanged letters beyond official reports to do with the
battery.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Rauppen-Schlepper
pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked weary. “They came into my
possession through some anonymous agency. That in itself is bad
enough but the content...” He tapped the letters with a stubby
finger. “The contents, my dear lieutenant, are explosive!”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“May
I read them, sir?”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Please
do.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Mary
picked up the packet, untied the ribbon and read the first letter.
Her heart began to pound and her face burned with embarrassment.
“They... they’re nothing I would’ve penned, sir!” </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“I
should hope not!” </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“This...
this is explicit!” She gestured helplessly to the letters. “I
don’t know anything like a tiny fraction of the things herein
described.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Rauppen-Schlepper’s
face grew grim. “It gets worse, Lieutenant. The last two letters
speak of the possibility of elopement.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Elopement!”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Yes.”
His bushy eyebrows came together and he stared at her. “You know
full well Professor Knappenburger’s correspondence states our law
forbids Morganatic marriages to the future head of state. Such
correspondence as lies before you is treason. Graf Philip will not be
punished beyond the family’s censure, but for a commoner such as
you... The sentence, should you be found guilty, is death.”</span><br />
</div>
A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-11458510506387254192014-04-27T17:56:00.000-07:002014-04-27T17:56:30.306-07:00Men of Letters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6sviaSDYJPQ/U12lzp3cZOI/AAAAAAAAC-0/YFNooglDThM/s1600/weissgerbergasse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6sviaSDYJPQ/U12lzp3cZOI/AAAAAAAAC-0/YFNooglDThM/s1600/weissgerbergasse.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }</style>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
capital of Saxe-Bearstein was not unknown to Paul Ehrgeiziger, but it
had been several years since he’d visited the city. However it
didn’t take long to locate the university, and the college porter
guided him to the Great Hall.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"> Paul
had chosen his moment well, for the midday meal at High Table had
finished some little time before. The faculty were in the process of
dispersing about their afternoon schedule, and the porter approached
the Chancellor with a bow. “Baron Ehrgeiziger to see you sir.” </span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"> The
Chancellor, a full-fleshed man with a sumptuous full-bottomed wig
squinted at the porter then Paul through a pince-nez. Paul and he
exchanged bows. “Welcome to our university, dear baron,” the
Chancellor said. He looked rather vague. “Forgive me, but I was not
aware you were due to call upon me..?”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“You
must forgive my not making a proper appointment, sir. I had occasion
to be in your fine city and took the opportunity to visit you. I had
a friend here, Professor Knappenburger.” </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
Chancellor looked grave. “A bad business, dear baron, A bad
business indeed.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Paul
nodded. “I am indeed aware of my poor friend’s untimely demise. I
am also aware that his servant decamped with some of his
possessions.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Ah,
yes. His fellow Pietro seemed trustworthy and few here had anything
bad to say of him – up to the time he vanished.” He scowled. “It
reflected poorly on the rest of the servants.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“I’m
sure it did, and without foundation for blame. Would you describe
this Pietro, and say from whence he came?”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
Chancellor rubbed his chin, dewlaps wobbling. “Of average height,
dark, swarthy, somewhat of a gypsyish look.” He touched the left
side of his neck. “He had a white puckered scare just visible here.
I saw it once when he had his collar undone on a hot day. As for his
origin, I believe he claimed to come from Padua.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“I
see.” Paul nodded. <i>Just as I thought!</i> “Well, sir, this man
is known to me by reputation. He’s a rapscallion of the first water
by the name of Bartolomeo Gundaker. He’s wanted in several states
for espionage, theft – and murder.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
Chancellor looked pale. Paul took him by the elbow and drew him
aside, out of earshot of others of the faculty bustling nearby.
“Naturally I can trust your discretion. A matter of great weight
hangs upon Professor Knappenburger’s last works, dear Chancellor.
It concerns a young lady’s fortune and future happiness.” </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
Chancellor frowned and nodded. “Do go on.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Professor
Knappenburger sent a document to this young woman, which we are sure
was forged. I detected the hand of the wretched Gundaker in the
work.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
Chancellor’s flaccid features turned red. “Such infamy!”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Indeed.
I seek to rectify the damage inflicted upon the good lady, but to do
so requires your assistance.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Name
it, sir, and if it’s within our powers it shall be done. I wish to remove any stain that may besmirch our good name.” He shuddered. "To think we harbored such a reptile in our bosom!"</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"> “I
must view any and all documents remaining from Professor
Knappenburger’s papers.” </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
Chancellor looked troubled. “I would be happy to oblige, dear
baron, but before I can allow you to view these papers I would
require some means to verify your identity.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Paul
produced his warrant from the Margravate security bureau, along with
a covering letter from Ursula. “I need not point out the young
lady’s name must not be spoken of in connection with this matter.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
Chancellor examined the letter. “Just so. These seem to be in
order. If you’ll accompany me, we shall go to the late Professor’s
chambers directly. I had them locked and sealed after his death, but
it seems he has little in the way of family. It’s proving hard to
locate a person who can claim his effects, and frankly, the
university could use his chambers...”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“The
next stop on my itinerary brings me close to Hetzenberg. I’ll see
what I can do for you.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“I’d
appreciate it.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
Chancellor led the way into the faculty chambers of residence and up
a flight of stairs. Once they reached the late professor’s door on
the top landing he wheezed to such an extent Paul feared he would
expire on the spot. The Chancellor mopped his brow with a lace
kerchief and grimaced. “I’m not accustomed to such exertion these
days, alas.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Paul bowed. “Pray
take your time, sir.” </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Eventually
the Chancellor produced a set of keys and tried them in the lock. “I
keep them with me at all times. Security, you know. Ah, here we are.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"> He
let them into the chamber. </span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Paul looked around at the comfortable
disorder that to his mind went hand-in-glove with academics and
sighed inwardly. “I can see this will take some time...”</span></div>
A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-39204293579710941012014-04-21T09:22:00.000-07:002014-04-21T09:22:19.105-07:00Liaisons amoureux et curieux <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bw-Gd4aCrc8/U1VEMYLxUFI/AAAAAAAAC9I/RKkx1SjCsfM/s1600/DawnOverLehmangraz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bw-Gd4aCrc8/U1VEMYLxUFI/AAAAAAAAC9I/RKkx1SjCsfM/s1600/DawnOverLehmangraz.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The now-quiet town of Lehmangraz.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }</style>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You’re the second invalid I’ve
had to tend this month.” Ursula poured two glasses of white wine
and handed one to Horatio.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He grinned and shifted his arm in the
fresh sling she’d tied. “Who was the other lucky fellow?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She sipped and eyed him. “Who says it
was a man?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, just a guess.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, it’s a lucky one. It was
Konrad. He’s on the mend.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I’m glad. Nice fellow.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ursula snuggled up alongside him on the
bed. From here she had a good view out the bay window. As commander
of the gunboat flotilla Horatio had a choice room overlooking the
naval yard and the river beyond. Parties of sailors, marines and yard
workers moved here and there, clearing up the worst damage suffered
in the raid. A miasma of wet burnt wood hung over all. She noticed
the marines seemed to move with almost manic energy, as if eager to
make up in some way for their deficiency in the recent fighting.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Horatio must have guessed her
thoughts. “To be fair they couldn’t help it, my love. They were
pressed into action half-trained and the enemy took them by surprise
to boot. I think they’ll shape up given time and patience.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They should have enough of both.
The army of Dunkeldorf-Pfühl took a beating, and Randstadt is under
siege. I can’t see an occasion arising where the marines will be
needed before the end of the war.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I wouldn’t speak too soon,
dearest. The light infantry raid caught us all on the hop.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ursula set her glass aside and twisted
around to press closer against his side. She gazed into his eyes and
stroked his cheek. “But their mission ultimately failed – thanks
to you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He gave a soft chuckle. “Oh, I’m
quite the hero.” Draining his glass he put it on the bedside table
and took her in his arms. “I missed you!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“And I you.” They kissed, and she
stroked his wounded arm. “Will you need to wear this for much
longer?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Only a week, according to our
surgeon. The rascal also wanted to bleed me, but I told him I’d
already shed enough blood for the cause.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She lowered her voice to a sultry tone.
“It won’t... hinder you at all?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
His smile widened to a grin. “Not in
the least...”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Matters had just become interesting
when the sound of pounding feet on the staircase interrupted their
idyll. Moments later somebody knocked on the door with a rapid
tattoo. “Urgent dispatch from General Rauppen-Schlepper, sir!”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Can’t it wait?” Horatio called
peevishly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The courier needs a reply, sir.”
The man sounded contrite. Ursula sensed he knew he intruded upon his
commander at a delicate moment.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Horatio groaned. “Sorry, my love.
I’ll have to take this.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ursula dived under the bedclothes.
“<i>Schieße!</i> What timing!”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Horatio rolled off the bed, donned his
dressing gown and answered the summons. He glanced at the message the
man handed him. “I’ll be down directly.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sir!” Footsteps clumped away.
Horatio closed the door and returned to the bed. “It’s from the
general, all right. It seems one Lieutenant Mary Amadeus has come up
with a scheme to shorten the siege of Randstadt and we’re required
to render assistance.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Mary A!” Ursula sat up and took
the message from him. She scanned it. “Old Rauppen-Schlepper
doesn’t say what scheme she has in mind of course, but knowing her
it’ll be a corker! Ah..!” She read the remainder of the script.
“He wants you to lose not a moment in setting out.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Such is the life of a naval
officer.” He eyed her, his expression one of mixed lust and
frustration. Eventually he groaned. “The General summons, and so I
must obey. When we set sail, will you come with me?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Of course!” She pulled his head
down and kissed him soundly. “From what I saw of her the <i>Styx II</i>
has a nicely-appointed cabin. Once we’re under weigh, we can resume
where we left off...”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
* * * *</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Paul
Ehrgeiziger entered the inn, located on a busy road not far from the
border with Hetzenberg. It was an establishment he’d frequented
before on clandestine missions, and the innkeeper knew him. The woman
nodded as Paul ordered an ale. She served him and leaned close to
whisper as she slid his change across the damp surface of the bar
counter. “The gentleman awaits you in the usual room, sir.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Paul
thanked her and made his way at a casual pace through to the rear of
the near-empty saloon and up the stairs. They opened onto a passage
off which were several guest rooms. Paul knocked on the third door
and entered without waiting for an invitation. The man sitting by the
window stood and bowed as Paul closed and bolted the door. “It’s
good to see you, Paul. After what happened earlier this year, I
feared all was up with you. Your message came as a great relief.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Paul
returned the bow. “It’s good to see you too, Artur. You look
well.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"> “As
well as can be expected.” Artur sat. A portly fellow, the warmth of
the day brought perspiration to his lofty brow, and he mopped it with
a large lace handkerchief. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Thank
you for responding to my note. Others might not have welcomed my
approach, given the circumstances of my... ah, departure from the
Margrave’s service.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Oh,
my dear fellow, to your ear alone can I sympathize! Our new lord and
master – and possible patricide – is a sad burden for our poor
state to bear. He has us running ragged in an attempt to find ways of
winning this war. The army is licking its wounds and is unable to
raise the siege of Randstadt. The Margrave won’t be told to cut his
losses.” Artur grimaced. “The near-success of the raid on
Lehmangraz filled him with new hope, more’s the pity.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“I
see.” Paul doffed his hat and sat down. “He’s not beyond
resorting to skulduggery...”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Artur
pursed his lips and frowned. “He’s not – but I have the feeling
you refer to a particular incidence of skulduggery.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Paul
put on a bland smile. “You know me too well, old fellow.” He
leaned closer. “It has been brought to my attention that someone is
trying to stir dissent in the upper reaches of the Hetzenberg court.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Artur
nodded. A knowing glint appeared in his eye. “Ah, that. To be fair,
that particular piece of business originated with the Dowager. She
hired Bartolomeo Gundaker.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Paul
leaned back in his chair. “You surprise me!”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Artur
chuckled. “Why so? You know the old woman. She’s as devious as a
boatload of monkeys!”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“She
has her own agenda, to be sure,” Paul murmured, thinking over his
past experience with the Dowager. He produced the letter given him by
Ursula. “Pray examine this.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Artur
donned a pair of pince-nez, took the letter and scanned it. After a
few moments he looked up. “It’s plain Professor Knappenburger’s
letter dashes any hope of this young woman marrying into the
nobility.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“So
it would appear.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“You
suspect this to be a forgery?”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“It
has been proven to be so.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“Then
yes, this is Gundaker’s work, I’m sure. It’s all of a piece
with his methods.” Artur handed back the letter. “You have a
sentimental attachment to this Mary Amadeus?”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Paul
hesitated. “Rather, I have a sentimental attachment to her friend,
and wish to return a favor.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Artur
nodded and tapped the side of his nose. “Say no more.” He mopped
his brow again. “Curse this heat! Well, I would advise you discover
the late Professor’s real reasoning on the subject. Any halfway
competent authority on law would be of help.” He pointed to the
letter. “That is merely a delaying tactic on the Dowager’s part.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“So
I surmised.” Paul folded the letter and put it back in his pocket.
“But to what end?”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-51148775722299375032014-04-16T09:37:00.001-07:002014-04-16T09:37:18.039-07:00My my, time flies...<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, it's been a few months since I posted here. Jean-Louis of <a href="http://mcristobylacew-abdul666.blogspot.com/">Monte Cristo </a>pointed this out recently on the <a href="http://emperor-elector.blogspot.com/">Emperor vs. Elector blog</a>. In my defense I have been busy with my professional writing career, with two manuscripts underway and a newly published novel. Even so I think a review of events in the world of Hetzenberg wouldn't go amiss...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }</style>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #3333ff; font-size: large;">The
Hetzenberg siege of the Dunkeldorf-Pfühlian town of Randstadt
continues, with artillery Lieutenant Mary Amadeus serving in the
lines. Mary feels miserable as the Grand Duke has forbidden his son
Philip to marry her. Her friend Grafin Ursula</span><span style="color: #3333ff; font-size: large;">
</span><span style="color: #3333ff; font-size: large;">has decided to take a hand in affairs,
and to this end has contacted a former enemy secret agent, Paul
Ehrgeiziger, to enlist his aid. Ehrgeiziger feels something is amiss
in the death of the legal advisor who discounted the idea of Mary and
Philip marrying. He </span><span style="color: #3333ff; font-size: large;">suspects also the
legal letter written explaining the ban on marriage is a forgery, and </span><span style="color: #3333ff; font-size: large;">promises
to make inquiries into the matter.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #3333ff; font-size: large;"> An
audacious raid on the Hetzenberg gunboat base almost succeeds in
destroying the flotilla. Ursula’s beau, the dashing Horatio
Horngebläse </span><span style="color: #3333ff; font-size: large;">defeats the raiders and
saves the two existing gunboats </span><span style="font-size: large;"><em><span style="color: #3333ff;">Acheron,
Cocytus</span></em><span style="color: #3333ff;"> and the newly completed
</span><em><span style="color: #3333ff;">Styx </span></em><em><span style="color: #3333ff;">II,
</span></em><em><span style="color: #3333ff;"><span style="font-style: normal;">although
he is wounded in the action</span></span></em><em><span style="color: #3333ff;">.</span></em></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><em><br /></em></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><em></em></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><em><span style="color: #3333ff;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> Mary
is contacted by an old friend who once lived in Randstadt. He tells
her of a series of caves running throughout the plateau on which the
town stands – one of which leads under the walls. Seeing an
opportunity Mary takes him to see General Rauppen-Schlepper... </span></span></em></span>
</div>
<br />A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-58638352275473436472013-11-12T13:53:00.002-08:002013-11-12T13:53:19.801-08:00Reviewing the lines<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What with one thing and another I'd quite forgotten just how much I had in the way of painted figures for both the Grand Duchy of Hetzenberg and the Margravate of Dunkeldorf-Pfuhl. The sum total leads me to see I require just one more infantry regiment to complete the Hetzenberg army, two cavalry regiments and an artillery battery to finish the forces of the Margrave.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not going to finish the two armies overnight. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Had I opted for 10mm as I first inclined I'd have finished them long ago. </span><span style="font-size: large;">There are also more than enough things I need to spend money on in real life. However, the end is reachable, and one of these days I <i>will</i> field the armies in deadly rivalry across the wargames table. Until then - and possibly after - the adventures of Mary Amadeus and Ursula will continue!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span> A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-76595781211431634232013-08-01T11:12:00.001-07:002013-08-01T11:12:41.201-07:00Resale value of Imagination armies?<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">That's the question occupying my mind at the moment. Many a gamer has gone down the route of purchasing figures and painting them up according to his own imaginary army's system. But, <b>can they be sold on?</b> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The reason why I ask is I'm considering downscaling the Hetzenberg and Margravate armies to 10mm, using the excellent Pendraken and Old Glory figures. Back in the day when the Grand Duchy of Hetzenberg was a gleam in my eye, 10mm was one option to follow, but I decided my aging eyesight wasn't up to the task of painting them. Now I have some decent reading glasses, the option is back on the gaming table. 25/28mm, although lovely to paint and handle, is just too expensive for me. There are also storage issues to contend with. So, I'm considering selling my current collection and using the funds to buy new 10mm. Any thoughts and comments welcome.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Now my life has settled down, and if the computer performance permits, Mary Amadeus <i>et al</i> should make a reappearance fairly soon. Watch this space...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-68647143319921133422012-08-08T14:03:00.000-07:002012-08-09T08:37:43.045-07:00A Tribute<span style="font-size: large;">It's been a long, long time since anything was posted here. The reason is my wife and I have been caring for her mother during a year-long battle with cancer. My other blog was easy to keep updated. Gaming took my mind off things. Writing fiction is a full-time task, so I'm afraid it had to lapse. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Ann is a fan of the Chronicles and looked forward to the new adventures of Ursula and Mary Amadeus. A lovely lady, very active as a volunteer in her community and various charities, she stayed upbeat and positive all through her illness.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Now I'm afraid her long struggle is coming to a close. Her family is with her now. Thoughts and prayers, please, for Ann.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When I'm able to do so, I shall continue with the Chronicles. Mary Amadeus shall return. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Edit:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Regrettably, Ann died yesterday evening. She's at peace now. Thank you for your kind thoughts and prayers. </span></div>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-80017549138778676962011-05-07T11:06:00.000-07:002011-05-07T15:27:13.999-07:00Stylish Blogger Award<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6uHn1yjNCIc/TcV-0a1fYAI/AAAAAAAABR8/LW7Nj2SepeU/s1600/stylishblogger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6uHn1yjNCIc/TcV-0a1fYAI/AAAAAAAABR8/LW7Nj2SepeU/s1600/stylishblogger.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Well! As the late, great Frankie Howerd used to say "I'm flabbergasted! My flabber has never been so gasted!" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://syldavianchronicle.blogspot.com/">Jiminho of Syldavia</a> has nominated The Hetzenberg Chronicles for the Stylish Blogger Award. It's quite an honor, and I'm pleased my work has gained recognition. I'm busy with real life stuff for a while, but more episodes of the Chronicles will be written soon.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In the meantime, as part of the Award, I have to relate seven things folks don't know about me. Hmm, what to say..?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1/. My first wargames figures were Airfix, both 1/72nd and 1/32nd.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2/. I got badly sunburned tracking unit positions all over the battlefield of Qu<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">é</span></span>bec one </span><span style="font-size: large;">day in M</span><span style="font-size: large;">ay in 1987. The things we suffer for our hobby...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3/. Both times I was in Paris (France) I got run over by cyclists, the second time in the doorway to a store.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4/. I had a spooky encounter in a passageway near the Hall of Mirrors in the Palace of Versailles.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5/. I had an <em>extremely </em>spooky encounter in a chateau near Budapest.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6/. I'm descended from 18th century pottery maestro Josiah Wedgewood.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">7/. Mary Amadeus exists - in the guise of a computer tutor I once had some years back. Ursula exists - in the guise of a re-enactor. 'Nuf said. ;)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, to my nominations. First up is <a href="http://adventuresinlead.blogspot.com/">Adventures in Lead</a> by that gifted gamer, "Furt." IMHO, his <em>Indostan</em> blog is a masterpiece of all a gaming blog should be. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Second up - and not gaming-related - <a href="http://momsday.blogspot.com/">Confessions of a Blonde Writer</a>, by my better half. A witty and informative blog on the life, times, trials and tribulations of an author! </span>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-58928116970247573712011-04-02T17:23:00.000-07:002011-04-02T17:23:36.780-07:00In the siege lines, Randstadt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GHD2JvLjaZY/TZe8yX9rZ8I/AAAAAAAABRU/Hmpxwiqzmns/s1600/siegeworks_image2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" r6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GHD2JvLjaZY/TZe8yX9rZ8I/AAAAAAAABRU/Hmpxwiqzmns/s320/siegeworks_image2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
‘Sister? Sister!’<br />
<br />
Mary Amadeus paused in her work and looked around. Nobody in the siege lines had ever called her by her old title. A man stood hesitating at the entrance to the gun park, a smile on his face as he looked at her. He held his hat in both hands and made a presentable figure in well-made traveling clothes.<br />
<br />
‘Do I know you?’ she asked, walking over and then stopped in surprise. ‘Bruno!’<br />
<br />
The former <em>misérable</em> broke into a grin as she recognized him. ‘I look rather different these days, sister!’<br />
<br />
‘I should say you do!’ Mary said, walking over to shake hands. ‘But then, so do I. How are you?’<br />
<br />
‘Well settled-in, thanks,’ he replied. ‘The archbishop gave me a place as a general handyman on one of his estates and my wife works in the scullery. It pays a decent wage and we’re treated well.’<br />
<br />
‘I’m very glad to hear it.’<br />
<br />
Bruno bobbed his head. ‘It’s all thanks to you and Grafin Ursula.’<br />
<br />
‘It’s the least we could do. I trust your family is well?’<br />
<br />
‘All well.’ Bruno ducked quickly as the main siege battery let fly a deafening salvo. Mary hid a smile. She had long grown accustomed to the noise, albeit a trifle deaf. Bruno looked keenly at the distant shape of Randstadt’s ramparts. Dust from pulverized stone hung in the air as the salvo struck home. ‘I never thought I’d get so close to my old home again,’ he said. ‘Our hut used to be just over there.’<br />
<br />
‘Any regrets?’ Mary asked.<br />
<br />
He scowled and shook his head. ‘No. It was a horrible life.’ Glaring at the town he went on, ‘you can burn it all to the ground as far as I’m concerned!’<br />
<br />
‘I don’t think we’ll go that far,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘Come to my quarters and take a sup of wine.’<br />
<br />
She led him to her tent. Her servant had turned back the fly to allow the interior to air in the warm April day, and bedding hung over a line nearby. The woman hurried to fetch a bottle of wine and goblets as Mary invited Bruno to sit with her at the camp table set up outside. ‘Not that I’m displeased to see you, old friend,’ she said as the servant poured the wine, ‘but I’m curious as to why you’re here.’<br />
<br />
Bruno waited until the servant went about other business before leaning close. ‘We’ve all been reading about the siege and battles and so on,’ he said. ‘Last week I remembered something which might be useful. My wife and I talked it over and decided you should be told. ‘<br />
<br />
‘You came instead of sending a letter?’ Mary asked. ‘It’s a long way from the archbishop’s estates.’<br />
Bruno looked around. The camp bustled with activity but none paid them any attention. ‘We thought it too sensitive,’ he said, leaning close.<br />
<br />
‘Now I’m really curious!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘What have you to share?’ <br />
<br />
Bruno gestured toward the distant gun line. ‘There’s a way into the town from outside. A way few know of.’ He leaned closer. ‘A <em>secret </em>way.’<br />
<br />
‘A secret way.’ Mary gazed at him thoughtfully. ‘Do you mean a secret passage?’<br />
<br />
‘Not a man-made one, sister.’ Bruno sat back. ‘They’re more in the nature of caves under the town. They run back from the river bluffs.’<br />
<br />
‘Interesting,’ she murmured. ‘How do you know of them?’<br />
<br />
Bruno sipped his wine. ‘Two years ago I worked on the docks. A pal of mine fell into the river and got swept away. He couldn’t swim. I can only dog paddle a bit but I grabbed a keg and jumped in after him. I soon caught him but we were carried downstream about a quarter mile beyond the walls. Somehow I managed to push against the flow and guide us to the bank. It’s rocky there, with plenty of hand and footholds. I got us ashore and made sure my pal was safe, then looked around.’<br />
‘There’s an overhang. I couldn’t see any way up from the river, but I could see a small cave opening screened by bushes a few feet above where we perched. I doubt it can be seen at all from the river unless a boat gets up close to the bank. My pal seemed half-dead and wasn’t able to move with the fright he’d gotten, so I climbed up and took a closer look at the cave.’ He shrugged and looked grim for a moment. ‘There seemed no hurry to send a boat after us from the docks. After all, we were just a couple of laborers.’ <br />
‘The opening was big enough for me to wriggle through and so I did. After a few yards I found a place big enough to stand in.’ He struck the ground with his boot heel. ‘There’s a whole series of tunnels and caves under this soil.’<br />
<br />
Mary felt her pulse quicken as possibilities flowed through her mind. ‘You explored them?’<br />
<br />
‘I explored a few later. Not at that time. My pal needed help and I wanted to be with him when the rescue boat arrived and took us back to town. I told no one but my wife of my find. It took a few days but I went back in secret with rope and a lantern. Those caves run for quite a way. One heads toward the town and under the walls.’<br />
<br />
‘You know this for sure?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes.’ Bruno grinned, his teeth brown and jagged. ‘I found a disused well shaft sunk into a small water-filled cave. It took some doing but I climbed up to the top. It’s covered with planks and rubble, but I saw enough through the gaps to make out a familiar neighborhood.’<br />
<br />
Mary thought for a moment then stood. ‘Bruno, you need to come with me. The general should hear this!’A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-42287112223406683012011-03-17T09:32:00.000-07:002011-03-17T09:42:08.585-07:00Some news!<span style="font-size:130%;"></span><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bPVlz3_A8o0/TYI4aIRTdkI/AAAAAAAABQ0/_ZjMXCRuXAc/s1600/Prelude%2Bnew%2Bcover.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 286px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585088509440652866" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bPVlz3_A8o0/TYI4aIRTdkI/AAAAAAAABQ0/_ZjMXCRuXAc/s400/Prelude%2Bnew%2Bcover.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">My apologies for the long absence in posting here, but I've been rather busy with an exciting new development. </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>The Hetzenberg Chronicles</strong> has been accepted by </span><a href="http://summerhousepublishing.com/"><span style="font-size:130%;">Summerhouse Publishing </span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">for worldwide release in eformat!</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Not only that, as seen above, the cover art for the first volume of the Chronicles, <strong><em>Prelude to War</em></strong> gets a spiffy new makeover! The original version is still available through Amazon subsidiary <a href="https://www.createspace.com/3424705">CreateSpace</a>.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">The second volume, <em><strong>The Heat of Battle</strong></em> is now going through pre-production and will appear in print sometime this spring. </span><br /><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Meanwhile, the adventures of Mary Amadeus <em>et al</em> will continue here as I find time. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Watch this space!</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"></span> </p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"></span> </p>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-40062545407479943702011-01-22T19:38:00.001-08:002011-01-22T19:49:18.553-08:00In Seinfeld<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TTukmniBQLI/AAAAAAAABNI/G_EZykGUzfI/s1600/Seinfeld.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 233px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 328px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565222747900035250" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TTukmniBQLI/AAAAAAAABNI/G_EZykGUzfI/s400/Seinfeld.jpg" /></a> <div></div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Bartolomeo Gundaker threaded his way through the crowds packing the market square. Although a war raged it occurred many miles away and the battle lines were currently stable. The good folk of Seinfeld went about their everyday business in the bright sunshine with little apparent concern for powers and politics. <em>Nor should they</em>, Gundaker thought. <em>What concern is it of theirs what their betters do?</em> Smells, of goods and humanity in their wide variety assaulted his nose and he tried not to show his distaste as he walked. He passed from the square into a narrow side road, feeling relief at escaping the press even though he regretted having to leave the sunlight. <em>This damn country is never warm enough!</em> </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><br />A hundred yards along the narrow way divided, the V shaped peninsula formed by the two lanes occupied by a tall half-timbered building in the local style. Bartolomeo used his field craft to ensure he’d not been followed then ducked into the doorway and pulled the bell handle. Almost instantly his ring was answered by a servant, who showed him up a set of wooden stairs to a small chamber overlooking the lane down which he’d come.<br /><br />A handsome woman of middling years and plain but finely-wrought clothing sat there by the window, peacefully engaged in embroidery. Two large mastiffs lay on the plain floorboards, their black eyes fixed firmly on him. Their noses twitched as they took in his scent. The musty scent of the dogs made Bartolomeo’s nose also twitch in irritation but he had no recourse but to endure the reek. He knew better than to annoy the woman who awaited him. She didn’t speak as he entered, merely raising her head from her sewing to look Bartolomeo in the eye. Her eyebrow rose in interrogation.<br /><br />“The Professore is dead,” Bartolomeo began without preamble. “I had the opportunity to substitute a forged letter for one written by him in reply to an inquiry by the Grafin Ursula. She sought to discover the validity of any marriage prospects between her friend and the heir to the Hetzenberg throne. It appeared a good means to sow discord in your enemy’s hierarchy. I forged the reply to the negative before killing the professore by cunning poison.”<br /><br />The woman studied her embroidery. From where he stood by the door it appeared to Bartolomeo to be some kind of sampler. After a moment she nodded, and a fine hand gestured for him to continue. “From all I have learned the Graf Phillip is quite devoted to Fraulein Mary Amadeus. I intend to enter the Hetzenberg siege lines disguised as a visiting military observer and gain the confidence of the Graf. When opportunity presents itself I shall place forged correspondence of a most intimate nature in the quarters of both the Graf and Fraulein Amadeus. An anonymous tip-off to the Grand Duke will uncover this reprehensible communication, resulting in a crisis between father and son.”<br /><br />The woman laid her embroidery in her lap and gazed out the window for several minutes. Bartolomeo waited in silence, very much aware the huge dogs’ eyes had not left him for an instant.<br /><br />“It is a good plan, Herr Gundaker,” the woman said eventually. For the first time she met his eyes and he fought the impulse to step back, so cold and calculating were they. She gestured to a satchel which lay upon a stool a few feet to his right. “Your payment is in there. The rest you shall receive one discord has been sown in the enemy’s command. That is all.”<br /><br />Bartolomeo bowed, and sidestepped to pick up the satchel. The dogs followed his movements. One growled; the sound seemed to rise from the basement. Bartolomeo swallowed and carefully stepped back to the doorway, the satchel making a nice heavy weight in his hand. “Farewell, lady. Until next time.”<br /><div align="left"><br />The woman nodded, her attention focusing on the embroidery once more. Bartolomeo backed out of the room and found the servant waiting silently to escort him from the premises. He exited by the same door he’d come in by, and walked back to the market place. </div><div align="left">*<br />The Dowager Margrafin watched him go from her window. Her servant entered the room. “Prepare for my departure to Schwebende Mühe, Walter,” she said. “We shall be leaving within the hour.” </span></div>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-27960523091375933102011-01-01T10:01:00.000-08:002011-01-01T10:14:43.649-08:00Happy New Year!<div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Happy New Year! The last day of the old year closed with a whoosh. A tornado touched down about a mile west of us a little after noon and tore up a city block's worth of damage. No-one was killed, thankfully; some minor injuries is all, but a number of houses were destroyed and a church roof torn off. We were lucky and had nothing more than a strong wind and heavy rain for a spell. Let's spare a moment of sympathy for those who suffered and had their celebrations spoiled, and hope the New Year is less dramatic!<br /><br />On a more pleasant note, the manuscript of my novel Rebel Hearts has just been accepted by </span><a href="http://www.extasybooks.com/ExtasyHolidaypage/index.html"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">eXstasy Books!</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"> Updates as they happen can be found over at my </span><a href="http://www.smilingassassin.com/"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">website</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">* </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">So, the New Year is less than a day old here in the United States. What of the future, gaming-wise?<br /><br />I hope to complete the army of the Margraf of Dunkeldorf-Pfühl, which lacks two cavalry regiments and its artillery. I do have a couple of guns and crew, which I'll paint when I find time. The main problem is most of my collection is still in the UK, and it costs a wheelbarrow full of cash to mail anything of any weight across the Pond. Add to that the fact that no less than <em>three</em> parcels mailed to me from the UK failed to arrive in the last year, and you can see my concern. Hopefully I'll find some way around the problem. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">My </span><a href="http://ajstable.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>Africa Station</a></em> </span></span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">project is advancing slowly. I have found inspiration for a couple of useful buildings, which I'll make one of these days. Writing-wise, I aim to have the next volume of the <em>Chronicles </em>out within a couple months, plus some new adventures of Mary Amadeus, et al. Watch this space...</span></div>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-8072267739296586052010-12-26T13:27:00.000-08:002010-12-26T15:31:34.389-08:00The Raid on Lehmangraz - part four<span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The fighting along the waterfront engulfed the <em>Cocytus</em>. Her crew had boarded her but moments before. Now they fought for their lives against a determined surge of jagers. Lieutenant Weissmuller urged his men on, the time to accomplish the mission and get away before the jager were cut off receding by the second. “One more charge, boys!” he shouted over the crack of muskets and the screams of desperate men. “Just one and she’s ours!” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">His men responded with a will, pressing up to the gunboat and onto her deck, her crew falling back or down as bayonets probed and muzzle flashes split the murky smoke. Weissmuller followed, waving his sword clumsily as his shoes slipped on spilled blood. He stood poised to board, but took time for a swift glance around. His men closed up, running out of the smoke from the blazing vessel close by. He nodded, turned, saw the dark shape of a vessel close by on the river… </span><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfIhiz58gI/AAAAAAAABK4/4wOak1eDDhk/s1600/Acheron%2Bfires"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555129143990546946" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfIhiz58gI/AAAAAAAABK4/4wOak1eDDhk/s400/Acheron%2Bfires" /></a><br /><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Horatio peered along the stubby barrel of the six-pounder, nodded as it came to bear upon the figures clustering on the dock then stepped back. He raised his sword. “Fire!” </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The gun captain brought the linstock down on the touchhole and the gun barked, jerking back on its breechings until they snapped twanging-taut. Horatio leapt into the shrouds to look beyond the muzzle smoke. Figures danced and fell on the dock but the enemy came on again. Two stooped to drag a fallen man aboard <em>Cocytus</em>. Horatio gritted his teeth; her crewmen were dead, surrendering or fleeing. The enemy would take her!<br /><br /><em>Acheron</em> rocked a trifle and Horatio glanced down at the water to see a current had taken her and was pushing them downstream. When he looked up a jager knelt on <em>Cocytus’</em> small quarterdeck, his firelock leveled directly at him. Horatio had time to gulp before the man fired. Something plucked at his right sleeve and a white-hot pain shot through his arm. Horatio swayed but remained on his feet, glaring across the increasing gap between the gunboats. An enemy officer appeared, staring back at Horatio, sword dangling in his grasp, a livid splash of red covering his brow. Horatio narrowed his eyes and ignored the pain in his arm. “Reload!” he snapped.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></p></span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><p></span></p><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfIwVfYFgI/AAAAAAAABLA/4RRJU1pl0p8/s1600/Eyeball%2Bto%2Beyeball"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555129398112818690" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfIwVfYFgI/AAAAAAAABLA/4RRJU1pl0p8/s400/Eyeball%2Bto%2Beyeball" /></a> <p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Weissmuller wiped blood from his eyes and glanced around the deck at his surviving jager. <em>How few they are!</em> He thought. The enemy gunboat crew had fled or was prisoner. The blaze aboard the vessel in the neighboring berth threatened to spread to the captured prize. <em>Time we weren’t here!</em> Weissmuller thought through the pain in his head. “Get this thing out onto the river!” he shouted, pointing to the long oars stacked in rails along the middle of the deck. “Use those!” </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">His men sprang into action, removing the oars and passing them out the sides of the boat. Weissmuller grasped a halyard and fought a wave of dizziness. <em>It won’t do to pass out now.</em> He gritted his teeth and gestured to the six-pounder cannon. “Sergeant, get that cannon loaded and pointed at the enemy vessel!” </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The strength of desperate men sufficed to push the gunboat away from the dock and the threat of burning. Clear water began to appear between shore and hull as the sergeant and his chosen men worked feverishly on the unfamiliar gun. Finally, as the gunboat slid clear of her berth, the NCO stood away from the gun and looked to Weissmuller. He glanced in the direction of the enemy vessel out there on the river. The gun looked to be pointing true. Weissmuller nodded and the sergeant dashed the linstock down on the touchhole. </span></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;">*</span></p><p><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Horatio grimaced as <em>Cocytus’ </em>six-pounder roared. A piece of blazing wad flew past his head with the stench of burning hemp, but he grinned with deep satisfaction as the roundshot missed by a country mile. The range had opened but was not great by any means. Alongside him <em>Acheron’s</em> chief gunner shook his head at the poor gunnery, a derisive expression on his weather-beaten face. “All ready, sir,” the man said calmly. </span></p></span><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“As she bears, Master Gunner,” Horatio said crisply.<br /></span><span style="color:#3333ff;"></p></span><span style="color:#3333ff;"><p></span></p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfJdQSodPI/AAAAAAAABLY/nYFujmiojNc/s1600/Horatio%2Bwaits%2Bfor%2Bthe%2Bmoment.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555130169811301618" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfJdQSodPI/AAAAAAAABLY/nYFujmiojNc/s400/Horatio%2Bwaits%2Bfor%2Bthe%2Bmoment.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The six-pounder fired. This time the grape spread wide and to immediate effect. Horatio saw men fall over on <em>Cocytus’</em> deck and hoped to God none of his men were among them.</span><br /><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Midshipman Steiner appeared on deck, a bloodied bandage around his thigh, and limped up to Horatio. “Reporting for duty sir!” the youth said, touching the brim of his hat. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“Ah, Steiner,” Horatio said with a smile. “You’re well enough to join us. I’m glad.” </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“So am I, sir.” Steiner’s gaze fell on Horatio’s arm. “But sir, you’re wounded!” </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“Not enough to matter,” Horatio said dismissively. The wound felt hot and aching but he could ignore it; too much else remained to do. “Here’s the situation.” He pointed at the <em>Cocytus</em>, and Steiner, veteran that he was, nodded as he took in the scene. </span></p><p><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;">In spite of casualties and for all their obvious lack of ability, the enemy soldiers had succeeded in winning clear of the berth. Someone gained enough control over <em>Cocytus’s</em> tiller to point her downstream. A few men had managed to spread some canvas abroad to capture the morning breeze. Horatio sucked his teeth thoughtfully, acknowledging in his mind the enemy’s bravery and daring. <em>But this will not do.</em> “As I suspected, gentlemen,” Horatio said, addressing his crew in a loud voice. “The enemy wishes to steal one of our boats. Are we to allow this?” A resounding roar of “NO!” sprang from the lips of every man aboard. “Very well!” </span></span></p><p><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Horatio glanced upward at <em>Acheron’s</em> masts. “Steiner, spread enough canvas to enable us to heave-to. Helm, hard to starboard until she bears, then hold her!” Horatio snapped. </span></span></p><p><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The helmsman nodded, appearing quite calm and composed. “Aye aye, sir!” </span></span></p><p><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Horatio strode forward until he stood by the main gun, and reached out to pat the breech. “Let’s give Old Gertie her chance to speak!” </span></span></p><p><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The crew grinned, expressions fierce. Horatio felt his heart lift as <em>Acheron’s</em> bows swung to point at the unfortunate <em>Cocytus</em>. Through all the alarums and excursions of the morning, from the moment the alarm was raised to the instant he realized he’d survived being shot at, he’d not had a chance to think clearly. Everything he’d done to this instant had been in reaction to the enemy’s movements. <em>Now they will dance to our tune! </em></span></span><span style="color:#3333ff;"></p></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfJdN4zX3I/AAAAAAAABLQ/-796zs_02lo/s1600/Old%2BGertie"><em><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555130169166094194" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfJdN4zX3I/AAAAAAAABLQ/-796zs_02lo/s400/Old%2BGertie" /></span></em></a><em><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></em><p><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>Acheron’s</em> bows swung and steadied on a direct line of bearing to the oncoming <em>Cocytus.</em> Horatio squinted along Old Gertie’s length then stepped back. “Fire!” </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The massive cannon roared and flung herself against the restraint of her breechings, impelled by a triple charge of grapeshot. As the dun colored cloud drifted away Horatio sprang into the shrouds and peered ahead.<br /></span></p><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfJdQSodPI/AAAAAAAABLY/nYFujmiojNc/s1600/Horatio%2Bwaits%2Bfor%2Bthe%2Bmoment.jpg"><p></a></p><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfJ0mJiPzI/AAAAAAAABLg/5jMLNCqgix0/s1600/Weissmuller%2Bdown.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555130570815717170" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfJ0mJiPzI/AAAAAAAABLg/5jMLNCqgix0/s400/Weissmuller%2Bdown.jpg" /></a> <p></p><p><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>Cocytus</em> looked in a dreadful way. Her shrouds and furled canvas hung in tatters, her bulwarks and scantlings showed great patches of white wood where the heavy lead shot had torn at them. Most of the enemy soldiers lay scattered upon her decks, clearly out of the fight. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“Reload, sir?” asked the gun captain. Horatio opened his mouth to reply then paused as a man staggered to his feet aboard <em>Cocytus</em>, a piece of torn sailcloth in his hand. The man lurched to <em>Cocytus’ </em>larboard bow and waved his scrap frantically. “We yield! In the name of God, don’t shoot! We yield!” </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“No, thank you, Master Gunner,” Horatio said crisply as his crew began to cheer. “Secure the guns and stand down.” He stared across at <em>Cocytus</em>. “Helmsman, lay us alongside!” </span></p><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfJcrM8W5I/AAAAAAAABLI/n8V1paM7J6c/s1600/Coming%2Bto%2Bbear"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555130159855328146" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRfJcrM8W5I/AAAAAAAABLI/n8V1paM7J6c/s400/Coming%2Bto%2Bbear" /></a> <p></p>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-10759537967771525492010-12-24T12:45:00.000-08:002010-12-24T12:52:12.510-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRUHzptWe1I/AAAAAAAABKw/UohrKYysWu0/s1600/7thcontiLaperouse.png"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 229px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554354299382168402" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRUHzptWe1I/AAAAAAAABKw/UohrKYysWu0/s400/7thcontiLaperouse.png" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TRUHlTTdfEI/AAAAAAAABKo/7Nt19r0KjQs/s1600/MaryA_1.JPG"></a><div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;">As Grand Duke Karl of Hetzenberg contemplates the world of 1756, may I wish all of you a happy holiday season. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;">The Chronicles <em>will</em> resume before too long!</span></div></div></div>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-32822527962593886742010-12-02T10:55:00.000-08:002010-12-02T11:32:43.566-08:00The Raid on Lehmangraz - part three<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TPfuX6mpthI/AAAAAAAABHE/qzcgH1Fzp68/s1600/MarinesIntoAmbush"></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Up on the high road from the village the Marines suffered hideous torment under the guns of the Sobelsburg jager. Lieutenant Horst fell badly wounded with three bullets through his coat before he was quite aware what happened. Around him his NCOs and junior officers strived to restore order but it proved useless. With their leader fallen, the Marines turned tail and fled back whence they came. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Captain Schnoedt watched events unfold and sucked his teeth as the supposedly superior troops ran toward him. He cleared his throat and glanced around at his men, seeing their wide eyes and sensing their unease. “Steady, my lads. It seems we shall have to do the work instead.” He pointed to the distant dockyard. “Our friends and kin are in peril. We needs beat this ambush to reach them.” Without giving the militia pause to think, Schnoedt drew his sword and waved it over his head. “Onward, in the Grand Duke’s name!”</span><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546162307500061154" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TPftO90zseI/AAAAAAAABG8/t96mjfMTEbw/s400/Marines%2Bunder%2Bfire.jpg" /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">His men followed, as Schnoedt felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest. The last of the Marines streamed past; the braver ones – or those more ashamed – took up the rear to help wounded comrades. </span><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Enemy bullets began to sing overhead. Schnoedt peered at the cloud of smoke lining a hedgerow behind which the ambushers lurked. Step by step the militia advanced, and the enemy fire began to find marks in his ranks, but still they stepped out with grim expressions. “Good lads, good lads,” Schoedt called as he directed them into line. A bullet plucked his hat and he reached up to straighten it. Casting an eye along the line he nodded. “Now, let's give those bastards a volley!” </span></p><p><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TPftOk5IrgI/AAAAAAAABG0/PhxcAac6TFs/s1600/Militia%2Btake%2Bon%2Bthe%2Bjagers.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546162300807327234" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TPftOk5IrgI/AAAAAAAABG0/PhxcAac6TFs/s400/Militia%2Btake%2Bon%2Bthe%2Bjagers.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"> The NCOs translated his orders. Muskets came up to the present, leveled on the hedgerow – and at Schnoedt’s shout of “Fire!” spurted mustard colored smoke shot through with flame.<br /><br />Almost immediately the enemy fire slackened. Schoedt nodded with satisfaction as his men reloaded. <em>There can’t be that many of them behind that hedge</em>, he thought. He glanced at the dockyard, where the fighting still seemed intense. Smoke rose above it now, thickening even as he watched. <em>There’s the real fight. We’ll see these bastards off the premises soon, I feel.</em> </span></p><p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TPftOdqeYCI/AAAAAAAABGs/mmx1y5xhpjw/s1600/The%2BOld%2BMan%2Bis%2Bkilled.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546162298866786338" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TPftOdqeYCI/AAAAAAAABGs/mmx1y5xhpjw/s400/The%2BOld%2BMan%2Bis%2Bkilled.jpg" /></span></a> </p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">His men presented arms again and again a volley crashed out. The enemy’s return fire slackened then dropped to an occasional pop and bang. Figures moved beyond the hedge, and Schoedt realized the ambushers were retreating. His blood was up, and for an instant he felt tempted to order a charge; but cooler intellect prevailed. They had to reach the dockyard. </span>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-51175160193405547722010-11-13T08:28:00.000-08:002010-11-13T08:36:34.294-08:00Hetzenberg Special!<p align="center"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/20_tm6rIguY?hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/20_tm6rIguY?hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">A holiday special announcement! </span></p><p></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/hetz-vol1">The print version of the Hetzenberg Chronicles, Volume One: </a><a href="http://tinyurl.com/hetz-vol1"><em>Prelude to War<br /></em>is now available worldwide at Amazon for just $12.95!</a></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Limited time offer to midnight December 31, 2010!</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span></p>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-77701145064969149222010-11-02T13:18:00.000-07:002010-11-02T13:29:38.060-07:00The Raid on Lehmangraz - part two<span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The bulk of the new gunboat lying on the slipway concealed much of the compound from Horatio’s eyes as he emerged onto the parade ground. The militia platoon charged with guarding the dockyard was forming-up under fire – but the musketry came not from the road but from a number of enemy troops already in the compound. In the growing light Horatio recognized the enemy uniform, one he had last seen crossing the bridge at Wentwitz. “Jagers, by God!” He turned. “Bosun?” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“Sir?” the man shouted. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“We can’t get to the magazine. The enemy’s already in the compound.” He gripped the man’s shoulder. “Their aim must be to destroy the gunboats. Take the crews to the boats and cast off, quick as you like!” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The Bosun nodded and began shouting orders. Without hesitation the well-trained crews began to rush around the foot of the slipway, heading for the gunboats berthed snugly to their jetties. Horatio turned as a militia sergeant ran up and saluted. “Sir, the lieutenant’s compliments and we’ll do what we can.” He gestured toward the road. The jagers there had opened a brisk fire, but the militia was mostly screened by the palisade. Chips of wood flew from the fence as bullets struck it. “We’re under pressure sir, but we’ll hold!” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“Good man! My thanks to your lieutenant.” </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The sergeant saluted and ran back to his unit. Horatio turned away, gripped the hilt of his sword and ran alongside his men. <em>I don’t even know the lieutenant’s name</em>, he thought. <em>It’s something I’ll have to rectify</em>. The snap and flare of musket fire from the farthest boat, <em>Phlegethon</em>, drew him onward. <em>Those jagers have penetrated deep into our defenses!</em> He felt a stab of agony in his heart. <em>The boat guards will be overwhelmed! Will we be in time? </em></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Their feet thundered on the dock planking. Horatio saw a crowd of jagers rushing toward the hapless <em>Phlegethon</em>. All fire from her deck had ceased. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TNByUcvZnFI/AAAAAAAABEk/gTKv0KWvWVU/s1600/MarinesIntoAmbush"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535049637676293202" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TNByUcvZnFI/AAAAAAAABEk/gTKv0KWvWVU/s400/MarinesIntoAmbush" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">At the farm Lieutenant Horst and his NCOs finally got his men into some semblance of order, after a flurry of confusion over dropped muskets, hats, pouches. All the while the sound of increasingly furious musket fire came from the east, the constant rattle interspersed with crashing volleys. </span><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><em>It’s like bloody Viehdorf all over again</em>, Horst thought. <em>Only now </em>I’m <em>the one in command</em>. He looked back from his position at the head of the company column. <em>Raw recruits, God help us!</em> He hesitated, on the verge of giving a speech, but a fresh blast of musketry persuaded him not to. Instead, he drew his sword and pointed it to the east. “Marines, by the left, forward!” </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The new Marine company stumbled into motion, some of the new recruits still having only a hazy idea about which foot was their left. Lieutenant Serle, a fresh-faced boy with some pretensions of military learning strode by Horst’s side. “Should we not put out flank guards?” he asked eagerly. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“We haven’t time for that nonsense,” Horst growled, leading his men down the farm track and onto the road. “The dockyard’s under attack. Speed is of the essence!” </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The youth touched his hat and stepped back. “Very good, sir,” </span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Horst turned his attention back to the road. <em>Speed is of the essence. I just hope we’re in time to foil whatever deviltry’s afoot! </em><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">*</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Similar thoughts were passing through Schnoedt’s mind as the Lehmangraz militia began to form up in the street. Few men had bothered to pull on even the regulation militia coat. Most stood now in whichever garments they had to hand upon the summons being sounded. Schnoedt regarded them all, nodding thoughtfully. <em>Raw troops, with a little training and a few superannuated veterans. Thank goodness we’ve had some recent experience of soldiering through guarding the dockyard</em>. The now-constant crackle of gunfire drew his attention to the east. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">“Men! Our fellow citizens are engaged in battle even as I speak. It is our bounden duty to go to their aid.” He looked over the assembled ranks. “Look to the commands given to you and obey smartly. Good luck and may God favor us all!”</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">A militiaman stepped forward leading <em>Umbrage</em>, Schnoedt’s horse. Schnoedt swung up into the saddle, and drew his sword. “Forward, Lehmangraz!” he shouted, and urged the mount into motion.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">As the militia headed out on the main road Schnoedt saw the Marine company issuing forth from the farm. <em>New troops, and very raw</em>, he thought not for the first time, <em>yet they have a touch of arrogance about them more suited to a veteran unit</em>. The Marine officer stumped along at the head of his men, a set and lowering expression on his face. Schnoedt thought of the few occasions he’d encountered Lieutenant Horst. <em>That one might benefit from being lowered a peg or two. Let’s hope it’s not to all our cost. </em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The Marines swung onto the road, beating the militia to the junction by a short head. Schnoedt raised a hand to halt his men, allowing the last of the Marines to file by, noticing as he did so that some were out of step. A split second later a crashing volley ripped into the Marines, sending men falling like leaves. Within moments the reasonably ordered formation disintegrated. </span></p><p align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TNByUslcl2I/AAAAAAAABEs/8QzXKkSjDR4/s1600/PhlogisthonOnFire.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535049641929512802" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TNByUslcl2I/AAAAAAAABEs/8QzXKkSjDR4/s400/PhlogisthonOnFire.jpg" /></a> </p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Horatio’s feet thundered on the planking as he headed for <em>Acheron</em>. Her boat guards were firing as and when they could see a target, no easy task given the clutter of buildings and dockyard impedimenta in their line of sight. The firing from <em>Phlegethon’s</em> direction ceased even as Horatio reached <em>Acheron’s </em>entry port. He rushed aboard, his thoughts grim. “Let go all!” he roared as his men found their stations. “Helm amidships. Pole her out, don’t wait for anything or anyone!” </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><br />Propelled by sheer brawn <em>Acheron </em>began to move, the men detailed to the task sweating. Horatio looked to his left, across<em> Cocytus</em> and saw smoke beginning to rise from <em>Phlegethon’s</em> deck. A second later the first flames appeared, staining the darkening cload with yellow and orange. He felt his heart seized by a brief moment of sadness. His men exchanged shots with the smoke-wreathed enemy, but there would be no saving the veteran gunboat. He felt thankful his own dear <em>Acheron </em>lay in the berth nearest the barracks. And now enemy soldiers were appearing on <em>Cocytus’</em> deck too!<br /><br />“Heave!” he roared. Within seconds <em>Acheron</em> slipped free of her confining berth and onto the broad waters of the Adse. With maneuvering room opening up around his command, Horatio breathed a little easier. He glared at <em>Cocytus</em>. “Make ready the main gun!” </span>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-10508632232878396642010-10-20T14:16:00.000-07:002010-10-20T14:54:17.064-07:00The Raid on Lehmangraz - part one<div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9e_RHqZ3I/AAAAAAAABDM/i5hZClmSi4g/s1600/DawnOverLehmangraz.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530243308454569842" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9e_RHqZ3I/AAAAAAAABDM/i5hZClmSi4g/s400/DawnOverLehmangraz.jpg" /></a> <em>The dawn peace over Lehmangraz - soon to be shattered...</em><br />* </div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The birds had yet to stir in the trees as the jägers filed silently down the slope to the edge of the woodland. Lieutenant Weismuller waited for them in a spot where the trees thinned and the pastureland began, sucking on a straw as he gazed from beneath lowered brows at the distant target. As the jäger platoons came up they were directed into position by the NCOs. Weismuller listened with half an ear, his eye measuring the ground anew, confident his men would follow orders with the minimum of fuss and noise. <em>I’m less confident about what faces us this morning!</em> he thought. </span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9esqV7YnI/AAAAAAAABDE/kB-Oefy1du8/s1600/JagersApproach"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530242988807774834" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9esqV7YnI/AAAAAAAABDE/kB-Oefy1du8/s400/JagersApproach" /> <p align="center"></a>Jagers in the woods<br /><br /></p><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">A thin pre-dawn mist filled the Adse Valley but it had already begun to disperse at the touch of a rising wind from the west. The rooftops of the naval dockyard showed indistinct but recognizable in the growing light. Three sets of masts rose above the line of the riverbank, marking the presence of the enemy’s hated gunboats. Weismuller cocked an eye at the eastern horizon where the light grew stronger every moment. Looking to the west he saw his first platoon trotting down the slope and across the field beneath the hill, en route to their ambush position. Thankfully their shadowy figures were unlikely to be seen by any dozy sentry in the dockyard or the village of Lehmangraz away to the west.<br /></div></span><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">The second platoon stood ready alongside him, its sergeant watching for the signal to move. Weismuller nodded, the sergeant saluted, whispered an order and the platoon moved out, heading directly for the hedgerow overlooking the highway and the dockyard beyond. Once the second platoon had moved out the third took their place. </span></div><div align="left"><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530244282119685842" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9f38ThBtI/AAAAAAAABDU/uLP3L0r2fTQ/s400/JagersAlongRoadside" /> <p align="center">Jagers creep steathily into position, unnoticed by the sentries at the gate. </p><p align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">By now the light had grown to the point where Weismuller could discern the logs of the rudimentary palisade surrounding the dockyard. He could make out the gate with two sentries boxes positioned one either side. Sentries patrolled there, as he’d seen the previous day on reconnoitering the target. Two men only, and local militia to boot. <em>Not much of a threat</em>. Behind him in the woods birds began to chirp the dawn chorus. <em>Time presses; I cannot wait any longer</em>. He drew a deep breath, raised his arm and jerked it forward. With a regular step he moved out, the steady, soft tramp of feet behind and to either side telling him the men of the third platoon followed. </span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">H</span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">e aimed for the hedgerow about a hundred yards further along the highway from where his second platoon now moved stealthily into position. The line of advance would bring him opposite the south-eastern corner of the dockyard enclosure. Closer-to, the palisade looked even less like a military obstacle than before. It was little more than a sturdy fence, there to deter pilfering of supplies from the dockyard stores. <em>The ‘Bergers will pay for such laxness!</em> Weismuller thought, feeling his spirits lift higher with the prospect of action. </span></p><p align="left"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9g4gYEGLI/AAAAAAAABDc/_cR9e7FsW_o/s1600/JagersWeismullerApproach.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530245391314065586" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9g4gYEGLI/AAAAAAAABDc/_cR9e7FsW_o/s400/JagersWeismullerApproach.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Dew from the long meadow grass soaked his gaiters but he didn’t heed it. The hedgerow loomed up and he saw the gate which let out to the road beyond. Weismuller stopped there, his hand resting on the top bar, and looked around as the men of the third platoon formed up into a rough column. Once they were ready he unfastened the iron hook holding the gate closed and pushed at the bar. The gate swung open, sped on its way by a further push from the platoon NCO. Weismuller drew his hangar and led the way with a rush onto the road. </span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">They crossed the uneven rutted surface at speed, reaching the palisade within three heartbeats. The first jagers begun to tumble over the barrier. A </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">shouted challenge rang out. Weismuller, reaching up to grip the wooden stakes glanced toward the gate. A scant second later the dawn peace shattered completely as a volley of musketry split the air. </span><br /></p><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9hmk6bZgI/AAAAAAAABDs/HDH4O8FrG6Q/s1600/JagersOverThePalisade"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530246182805923330" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9hmk6bZgI/AAAAAAAABDs/HDH4O8FrG6Q/s400/JagersOverThePalisade" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9hmT_hkkI/AAAAAAAABDk/z1GGgh1N90M/s1600/Jager2ndPltnOpensFire"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530246178263896642" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TL9hmT_hkkI/AAAAAAAABDk/z1GGgh1N90M/s400/Jager2ndPltnOpensFire" /> <p align="center"><palign="center"></a>The Sobelsburg Jager begin to fire... </p><p></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">*</span></p><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Horatio tumbled out of bed, nightshirt flapping. Erotic dreams of Ursula vanished in an instant amid the blast of musket fire. Experience and hard-won instinct guided his hand to the hilt of his hanger where it hung in its scabbard on the bedside chair. Shouts and yells sounded throughout the barrack block where the crews of the gunboats slept when ashore. Even as his sleep-fuddled mind focused Horatio heard a renewed burst of musketry from the direction of the road. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Stumbling to the window of his chamber he peered out into the dawn light. The sun rose at that moment, yellow rays spreading across the land. A thin mist, pushed along by the breeze failed to hide the shadowy forms of men emerging from the hedgerow the other side of the road by the dockyard. A militia sentry sheltered behind his box, hands busy with reloading. His fellow measured his length on the road nearby. A broad strip of wasteland separated the hedge from the road. It would take some moments for the evident attack to reach the gate. The lone sentry could not hope to hold it. Should the gate be lost… quite! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Cursing, Horatio threw his sword aside and fought his way into his britches. Some alert soul began ringing the alarm bell by the main door for all he was worth. Finally wrestling his britches on over his nightshirt, Horatio clapped his tricorn to his head, thundered out of his room and down the stairs. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><br />In the main barracks below the men tumbled out in reasonable discipline. Most had cutlasses, dirks and a pistol or two. Petty officers barked orders, and their eyes turned to Horatio for further guidance. “We’re under attack from the road,” he rasped from the stairs. “Break out long arms and ammunition from the magazine then fall-in on the parade ground.”<br /><br />The petty officers saluted briskly and began to shout new orders. Horatio headed out the main door and saw the local militia platoon appointed to guard the dockyard had begun to form up on the parade ground. They wouldn’t be a moment too soon. A glance toward the gate showed the shadowy forms of enemy soldiers running toward the dockyard.<br /><div align="center">*</div><div align="left">Captain Schnoedt of the Lehmangraz militia company awoke in mid-snore and gazed up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Warm early sunlight lit the room, and musketry sounded somewhere in the distance. It was not uncommon for hunters to be out early in the season, potting wildfowl on the river and marshes round about; but the noises greeting his ears now had a much different sound. Beside him his wife slumbered on. Pausing only to give her a soft peck on the brow, Schnoedt rolled carefully out of bed, rubbed his bleary eyes and padded barefoot to the window overlooking the main road. Wilhelm the carter and a milkmaid stood below, staring eastward into the rising sun, hands shading their eyes. Schnoedt raised the sash and leaned out the window. “Good morning! What’s amiss?” he called to them. </div><div align="left"><br />“It’s gunfire, Mr. Schnoedt!” the milkmaid called, bobbing him a quick curtsey. She pointed. “It’s coming from the dockyard!” </div><div align="left"><br />“I see smoke over there, Captain!” Wilhelm said. “It looks and sounds like musketry!”<br />The carter was a military veteran and a militiaman. <em>If he says musketry is on the wind, then musketry it has to be</em>. Schnoedt nodded. “Call out the militia, I’ll be down directly.” </span></div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><br />His wife sat up in bed as he turned away from the window. “What is it, dearest?” she asked.<br /><br /><div align="left">Schnoedt smiled. “A little contretemps down at the dockyard, my darling.” He began to dress. “It seems the militia may have to fight this day.”<br /></div><div align="left">She nodded. “I’ll get your pistols and sword.”<br /></div><div align="left"><em>Bless her,</em> he thought, tying his cravat. <em>The Knell of Doom could sound and she’d say the same thing... </em></div><div align="center"><em>*</em></div><em><div align="left"></em>In a farm on the southern outskirts of Lehmangraz, Lieutenant Horst of the newly-formed Riverine Marines urinated copiously into the chamber pot, yawning and smacking his lips as he gazed out the window. <em>Dear God!</em> he thought. <em>What did I drink last night? My mouth tastes like I’ve been licking cow chips! </em></div><div align="left"><br />He still wore his shirt and britches from the previous day. His room stood high in the turret situated in the northeast corner of the farm’s boundary wall. It offered a good view, although it was little compensation for dwelling in the farmhouse proper, his first inclination. The farmer possessed two beautiful daughters, a shotgun and a nasty gleam in his eye. Horst lacked the nerve to attempt seduction – <em>but wouldn’t it be nice?</em> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">As he daydreamed a shaft of sunlight pierced the horizon and struck Horst full in the face. He winced and turned away, sending a jet of piss across the floor. Cursing, he finished his business then contemplated the damp floorboards. “Bernhard!” he bellowed in the direction of the door. A scuffling sound came from beyond and a few moments later Horst’s orderly appeared, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Before Horst could direct the man to spread sand on the damp floor the sound of distant musketry resounded from outside. </div><div align="left"><br />“What the hell?” Horst exclaimed, turning to the window again.</div><div align="left"><br />From his vantage point he could see smoke rising from the area of the dockyard. Even as he watched the stab of yellow musket fire competed with the rising sun. Dumbfounded he continued to stare until his orderly coughed loudly. “Turn out the men, sir?” </div><div align="left"><br />“Yes, yes, dammit!” Horst roared. The man sped off, clattering down the spiral stairway to the farmyard. Horst reached for his sword, and realized his hands were shaking the way they had at Viehdorf. “Dear Lord, don’t let me foul up now!” he prayed, buckling the baldric about his waist.</div><div align="center">* </div><div align="left">To be continued. My thanks once again to "LittleJohn" of the <a href="http://littlejohnslead.blogspot.com/">Lead Gardens</a>, who kindly fought out the action at Lehmangraz and supplied the excellent photos.</div><div align="left"></span> </div>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-25201254857515221322010-10-12T18:18:00.000-07:002010-10-12T18:24:23.759-07:00A busy few weeks<span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">It's often said no plan survives contact with reality. We've both had a busy few weeks, not least of which has been a recent road trip to North Dakota for a friend's wedding. Five days on the road may be scenic, but it's tiring! Even so I plan to write up the battle report of the Lehmangraz Raid soon. I hope also to get going on Volume Two of the Chronicles - <em>The Heat of Battle</em> - before the month is out. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Cindy is recovering from her injury, thanks to her wonderful chiropractor. She's hoping to get back to writing her own works soon. </span>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-18637411052501776562010-09-13T08:40:00.001-07:002010-09-13T08:51:53.575-07:00Koh Koh Mah 2010<div align="center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TI5G9x4Aw2I/AAAAAAAABBU/SxLhr1w59Bw/s1600/KohKohMah.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516424620749669218" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TI5G9x4Aw2I/AAAAAAAABBU/SxLhr1w59Bw/s400/KohKohMah.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I'd like to invite anyone who's in Indiana next weekend to come visit the </span></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://www.kohkohmah.com/"><span style="font-size:130%;">Koh Koh Mah 2010 French-Indian War re-enactment event</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">.</span></div><br />*<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">It's one of the most popular and best organized events of its kind in the Midwest, with plenty of 18th century goodness to see and do. Cindy and I will be heading that way to rejoin the ranks of the 78th (Frazier) Highlanders and take up muskets against the perfidious French.</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">God Save the King!</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">*</span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">The Grand Duchy of Hetzenberg will be on hold for a few weeks. Cindy injured her arm on Friday 13th last month (I know!), and needs help to do even minor chores for a while. She's recovering but the medical process takes time to negotiate. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">*</span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">I'm also preparing for the <a href="http://www.archonstl.org/34/">Archon 34 </a>sci-fi convention in October, where I'll be exhibiting in the art hall. Worry not - Mary Amadeus and Ursula shall return!</span></div></div>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-53928677489471505352010-08-10T06:25:00.000-07:002010-08-10T06:28:36.339-07:00A (hopefully) brief downtime<span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Just a word to say I'm still around, but very busy with a couple of commissions. The enervating heat prevailing here in the Midwest isn't exactly helping matters either. I'll post the action report of the Skirmish at Lehmangraz sometime before the end of this month, and post the occasional non-18th century piece over on my <a href="http://ajstable.blogspot.com/">other blog</a>. </span>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640326026519606550.post-68012755101964794082010-07-27T06:33:00.000-07:002010-07-27T06:49:11.196-07:00The Rumtopft Dragoons on parade<span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Presenting Hetzenberg Dragoon Regiment 1, <em>Rumtopft</em>. These fellows are fresh off the painting block, all varnished with Pledge/Klear/Future. I decided to leave them somewhat shiny as I like the effect. </span><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TE7hBSC0XHI/AAAAAAAAA_s/JzoByG_4UDY/s1600/Rumptopft+9f.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498579607205731442" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TE7hBSC0XHI/AAAAAAAAA_s/JzoByG_4UDY/s400/Rumptopft+9f.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TE7hBPq3PkI/AAAAAAAAA_k/S8bYbPP7xn4/s1600/Rumptopft+9e.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498579606568386114" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TE7hBPq3PkI/AAAAAAAAA_k/S8bYbPP7xn4/s400/Rumptopft+9e.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TE7hAk9dQQI/AAAAAAAAA_c/EwuMvKyG7r8/s1600/Rumptopft+9d.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498579595103650050" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p99-gIsRHA8/TE7hAk9dQQI/AAAAAAAAA_c/EwuMvKyG7r8/s400/Rumptopft+9d.JPG" /></a> </div><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">At the moment I have no plans to expand the Grand Duchy's army beyond this regiment, two more of line infantry (IR 3 <em>Brabenachel</em> and IR 4 <em>Kranke</em>)<em>, </em>and a light infantry battalion. The Margraf's army needs a two-regiment cavalry brigade, two batteries of artillery and perhaps another regiment of foot. All the above with time and funds permitting...</span> <div></div></div></div>A Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07834159033854153921noreply@blogger.com5