General von Tschatschke's guns fire on de Latte's 11th Hussards and the red-coated Mittauer Volunteers (not shown).
“Your flask is probably in your pocket, old cask,” observed General von Tschatschke with wry amusement from his side of the wargaming table.
“Ah, there she is,” said General de Latte. “Imagine losing track of her like that. He uncapped his pocket flask and took a swig.
“Nothing like a little hair of the dog, eh de Latte?” agreed von Tschatschke. “Have some more.”
“What? Oh, why yes,” agreed de Latte. “Nothing like it. Helps you forget all about the events of the previous evening. Good for what ails you and all that. Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”
“Now, how about we move on to assessing our artillery effects for this turn?” suggested von Tschatschke, leaning forward a bit on his walking stick.
“Yes, let’s do that without delay von Tschatschke, without delay!” said de Latte, jumping up from his seat and realizing as soon as he had that the effects of last night’s indulgences had yet to wear off. He sat down once again in the red damask armchair with a thump. From the far side of the table, General von Tschatschke noted his guest’s obvious discomfort with great relish as he began presenting his case for the lone battery of grey-coated gunners in his tabletop army.
“Well, old cushion, the left gun in my battery is directly before your 11th Hussards, less than 6” in fact, so any shots it fires will hit automatically. No need to throw a ranging die first, agreed?”
“That sounds right,” concurred de Latte, who felt suddenly as though the room was moving around, over, and beneath him. Von Tschatschke grinned like a wolf and continued.
“So, all I need to do is roll a single D6 to determine the number of casualties my left-hand gun will inflict.” Von Tschatschke placed a red die in a cup covered with navy blue velvet, shook it a few times, and threw. “Aha! It’s a 4! So, four casualties for your hussars, I’m afraid, old valise.”
“Not so fast,” cautioned de Latte, who noted that he felt rather warm. His head lolled slightly. “Aren’t all hits on cavalry halved?”
“What? What? Oh.” said a temporarily nonplussed General von Tschatschke, “Blast! I believe you are correct. All right. Only two figures to remove then. I say, de Latte! You aren’t looking well.”
“No, no. I’m fine, just fine,” insisted the Frenchman whose complexion had become as pale as the finest table linens during the last several minutes of discussion. “Do go on.” Not one to be distracted by minor details, like the health and well-being of his guests, von Tschatschke did just that.
“My right hand gun is 7-9” from the left-most eight figures in your formed body of Mittau Volunteers. At that range, I need to throw at least a 2 on a D6 to find my range.” He rolled the first die and threw it onto the table. “Well, I’ve thrown a 4, so they at least have their range. Casualties are determined by rolling a D6, the precise number of hits suffered will be the number shown on this second die.” Von Tschatschke shook and threw a second die. “Hell and damnation! A paltry 1, so your Mittauers suffer only one casualty. Blast!” From the red damask armchair across the room, General de Latte interrupted his host's grumbling.
“I say, von Tschatschke. Might it be possible to order some breakfast? Perhaps some food might get me back on my feet.”
“Already done, old crochet hook, already done. Should be ready about the time we finish calculating your own artillery effects. Hope you’re hungry, what?”
“What?” responded de Latte, somewhat puzzled. “Oh, yes. Famished might be a more accurate description. Now, I’m going to fire my red battery closest to Eispicke Village at the Jaegers therein. My two guns are 24"-25" from the center house, containing eight jaegers.” He dropped a couple of blue dice into his own velvet-covered cup, shook it a few times and threw them onto the table. “I rolled a 3 and a 6. Now, let’s roll for casualties. Ha! I rolled another 6. At long range this becomes a three and due to the targets being under cover, this is halved again. 1.5. Rounding up, this becomes 2 casualties for your jaegers. Phew, what a palaver!”
General de Latte's "Red Battery" fires on the Stollenian Jaeger zu Fuss, cut-off but holding out for the moment in Eispicke Village.
“No matter, my dear de Latte. I’d written those poor chaps off already, a consequence of being caught well forward of my front line, I’m afraid. It happens in war, you know. Can't be helped." Returning to his seat, de Latte nodded weakly and continued.
“Now, if the remainder of my artillery is within range of the von Laurenz chaps and can draw a line of sight, then fire away. All four guns. . .” he began before General von Tschatschke cut him off.
“Ah, but the remainder of your artillery is 35"-37" from my Von Laurenz musketeers," noted von Tschatschke with more than a hint of triumph in his voice adding, “and you have all sorts of friendly infantry and cavalry between your guns and my musketeers. Isn't firing largely by line of sight?”
“Let’s leave it at that then,” said de Latte. “Didn’t you say something about breakfast though?”
“Brunch rather, old ironing board. It has just gone half twelve,” replied von Tschatschke.
“Never mind all of that,” said de Latte impatiently, “what are we having? I’m ravenous. I think.”
“Fresh kidneys, bacon, and toast with 90-second eggs,” said General von Tschatschke.
“Oh. 90-second eggs you say?” All at once, de Latte’s enthusiasm for food drained completely away.
“Yes, 90-second eggs,” answered von Tschatschke. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Oh, um. . . Suddenly I don’t think I feel that well after all. Excuse me for a moment.” General de Latte stood abruptly and listed sharply to the right as though he were on deck in heavy seas, stumbling from the drawing room toward the main hall.
“De Latte? De Latte!” thundered General von Tschatschke, “I say! De Latte, you’re looking about as green as that tabletop!”