A tale of two worlds

The Battle of Horst’s Ferry.

Part One.

Semaphore 21 stood beside the Mars Grand Trunk Canal at the town of Horst’s Ferry. Rearing almost 200 feet into the air its vast bulk was covered with gears, lamps, cables and signalling devices, making it look a little like a Christmas tree during the day and a strange and ominous giant at night. The Drune called the Semaphore of the Royal Signal Corps ‘Om – Nagi’, which translates to ‘silent watchers’.

The pre-dawn wind was blowing in chill across the plains from the low line of the Mephisto Hills to the west, making the tower creak and sway. Not that this troubled Signaller ‘Java’ Thwaites in the slightest as he sipped at his fourteenth cup of tea that evening as he stood watch. What did trouble him was that with the exception of the Trunk Canal stations 20 and 22 to either side of him there were now no lights to be seen from the west. Well, signal lights that were. Every few minutes the horizon would light up as guns rumbled many miles away. They grew louder as the wind picked up.

He heard the heavy footsteps on the ladder of signaller Toby. He’d just been despatched from central and was unused to the climb. He was puffed by the time he got to the top. “Sir, we’ve lost the last relay. Kitchener has fallen. That’s as well as White Plains and Derby Canyon. There’s nothing left between us and them now sir…”

“Sir…what now sir?”

His voice trailed off a bit as the fullness of this news sunk into his own brain. They stood in the darkness for a moment, the only sounds the rumble of artillery, the creaking of the tower and the sharp clink of bone china as signaller Thwaites set his cup onto his saucer.

“Corporal, there’s always time for a cup of tea.”

The first refugees started arriving just as the sun was rising. Firstly they came in steam driven vehicles….cars, lorries… wheelbarrows. The settlers, wide eyes and frightened children, wounded soldiers strapped to limbers and groaning whenever they hit a bump. Horsemen pulled carts and carriages loaded with worldly possessions. The ferry had been running to the far shore on half hourly intervals. Now it was down to ten minutes. The docks were a mess of soldiers without officers, children trying to find loved ones, noise, smoke and confusion.

There was the sudden and deafening sound of a Gatling gun being fired. Corporal Wellard of the Guards surveyed the scene from atop the roof of the ‘Painted Lady’ wharf inn and wondered what strange crime he had committed to be put in charge of this lot. Not being a man of a great many words, the Corporal stood atop the sandbag pile and at the two hundred faces looking up at him who were suddenly all attention. Heroic speeches failed him.

“Right you lot!” he yelled in his ‘special occasions’ voice.  “I know you are tired and I know you want to get on that boat but by crikey I can ‘it every one of your God fearin’ bonces from up ‘ere with my mate Mr Gatlin…so get in line!!”

Finally the mob became a queue of some description, thanks mainly to a squadron of well-disciplined lancers who gently but forcefully herded the people.

Meanwhile Torvald Horst surveyed his domain. The float tree plantation had been built with the blood and sweat of his family for two generations and no-one was to take it from him. He loaded his 12 bore shotgun with pig-shot and looked at his men. “They don’t take our land. You fight them for it boys. You fight them dirty. You fight them hard. And when they bear down on you, you look them in the eyes and you fight them some more”. The float trees were glowing now as if on fire in the low rays of the sun. His men positioned themselves around the farm, raised the sights on their Mauser rifles and waited.

The last boatload departing, Captain Shamrock and his Drune crew have landed one last time to pick up the last defending soldiers.

But wait! Another large refugee convoy is approaching from the west! And hot on their tails seems to be the entire Prussian aerial Navy who are bombing them as they flee! Shall we leave them to their fate?  No sir..that is just not the done thing!

The lancers line up, the sunlight glinting on their steel tipped bamboo spears. And somewhere high up in Semaphore tower 21 was the sound of a kettle boiling…

The Prussians are carrying out lightning swift strikes all along the western edges of the British Martian Protectorate and have sent Queen Victoria’s forces reeling back towards the capital, New Brighton. The Grand Martian Canal stands as a line of defence in the way of the Prussian advance but also threatens to cut off a great many refugees and retreating men as they desperately try and make their way back to new defensive positions. One ferry crossing point is at the hamlet of Horst’s Ferry, a modest collection of buildings serving the ferry passengers and acting as a trading post, plus of course the two dozen or so floatwood plantation workers.

We chose to play on a 12 ft by 6ft table to allow the aerial component of the game a bit more freedom of movement…plus it was great fun to get so much terrain on one table!

The Forces;

British

20 of 1st Battalion Berkshires

20 of 35th Bombay Infantry

1 unit of 10 Bengal Lancers

12 Settlers led by the famous ‘Horst’ himself

3 Signallers manning the semaphore

22 non-combatant refugees

1 Gatling gun manned by 3 naval brigade crew

1 Small steam artillery piece

1 Large walker ‘HMMS Elgar’ with crew of 6 Navy

8 Crew aboard the paddle steamer ‘Donegal Lady’

Prussians

3 Light to medium aerial navy attack craft, each containing Clanks with grenade launchers

1 Medium bomber aeronef

12 Prussian attack marines

60 ish (?) Infantry including regulars and Sea-battalion

2 Attack spider walkers with heavy Gatling Cannons.

The Prussian objective was primarily to destroy the ferry to cut off the escape route and secondly to try to destroy the semaphore tower to cut communications.  Their third objective was to create terror and panic by bombing the refugees.  For the British the objective was to hold the crossing until all refugees and troops could be evacuated.

The game began with the refugees coming onto the table and fleeing along the plantation road with all three aerial navy craft in hot pursuit. On the other table edge the first spider tank appeared with two formations of infantry.

The defenders were pretty well dug in behind barricades and sandbag defences, with several platoons broken down into smaller formations atop roofs, on terraces etc).   The settlers and Indian infantry held the right flank, the British regulars the centre and crossing point and the lancers had the left. The town was also partly defended from ground attack by a dry gully that ran down to the canal.

The aerial navy came on at a good rate of knots and the Bengal lancers rode out to meet them, perhaps hoping to do some damage by prodding their armoured hulls with their lances…. As they swept under the first craft they were met with grenades from above which instantly killed the leader! But leaderless they still rode on to where a unit of Sea-battalion were threatening to overtake the civilians, who had also taken casualties that turn from the bombing.

The next turn saw most of our ground forces biding their time as they closed to within range. The Lancers began to close with the Sea-battalion but alas took another pasting from above, this time losing three more horsemen.  However, they passed their morale and continued.  Hurrah!  Even better, one of the air navy failed it’s sustain role and began to lose altitude alarmingly.

The refugees rolled well on their charges but took another four casualties to bombs before reaching the sandbag barricades which they started to leap over, disrupting the troops behind. HMMS Elgar finally managed to get a shot off at the first spider tank but missed the first of four times.  The Gatling guns finally opened up however and if doing little damage at least made the spider tank captain consider pausing just outside of short range until his supporting infantry caught up…a move that allowed me precious time to try to get those refugees on that boat!  The lancers at last clashed with the Sea-battalion; a mutually destructive move that saw three casualties a side and both units break.  The last two lancers didn’t stop running until they were on the ferry!

A second failed sustain saw the first air navy ship plummet to the ground, decapitating a row of float trees whose tops strangely floated off into the ether.   However, the grenade launching clank and ‘wind up’ man survived and continues their pursuit of the refugees.

Things were finally hotting up with the ground troops, with two waves of Prussians attacking the farmhouse complex, where they found the natives very stubborn.

One sole rifleman took down four of the Prussians in hand to hand before finally being bludgeoned. Twice units of settlers broke but rallied and returned to the fight, even with the first spider tank bearing down and squashing a few.  One unit of Bombay infantry had moved up to assist them and just about managed to hold them off…until spider tank number 2 arrived!

Meanwhile back in the town the Berkshires atop the semaphore had a good clear shot at the second air navy ship as it came into range.

It was hit with small arms fire, Gatling gun and small cannon which caused it to lose steering control and crash into the ground, with most of the crew perishing in the ensuing fireball.

Establishing a Forward Outpost.

Part Three

… and lands a perfect hit!  Completely obliterating one of the fighting machines.

Slicers gain on the fleeing villagers.  The Slaver Tripod pushing them into a frenzy.

One after another the tanks of the brave forces of humanity are destroyed.

The ammo train feeding the Anti Tripod Gun becomes a rather attractive and vulnerable target.

Firing its last shot the Anti Tripod Gun unleashes its vengeance on the Scout Tripod.

With smoke obscuring visibility, the forces of man retreat, leaving the battlefield firmly in the hands of the Martian invaders.

Establishing a Forward Outpost.

Part Two

Both human and Martian forces trade shots doing little damage to each other whilst the civilians continue to flee the wicked blades of the Lobototon Slicers.  Even as they run a heat ray strikes out leaving a charred skeleton where once there was flesh and blood.

The Martian battle line, towers over the small farmstead as Tripods move into range of the waiting infantry.

The forces of humanity are not without a few tricks up their sleeves.  Forlorn Hope teams use grappling hooks to attack the approaching machines.  Planting explosives to cripple the huge machines.

The Red Martian, so named by the blood of its victims it sprays upon its armed shell, unleashes bursts of its heat-ray turning three tanks to molten lumps of metal.

Infantry push the assault on the Martians legs whilst tanks fire shot after shot into the globe like bodies.

Gunner Simmons takes careful aim…

Establishing a Forward Outpost.

Part One

No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that human affairs were being watched from the timeless worlds of space.

No one could have dreamed that we were being scrutinised as someone with a microscope studies creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.

Few men even considered the possibility of life on other planets and yet, across the gulf of space minds immeasurably superior to ours regarded this Earth with envious eyes and slowly and surely, they drew their plans against us.

At midnight, on the 12th of August, a huge mass of luminous gas erupted from Mars and sped towards Earth.  Across two hundred million miles of void invisibly hurtling towards us came the first of the missiles that were to bring so much calamity to Earth.

As I watched, there was another jet of gas. It was another missile starting on its way, and that’s how it was for the next ten nights, a flare, spurting out from Mars, bright green, drawing a green mist behind it.  A beautiful, but somehow disturbing sight.

Ogilvy, the astronomer, assured me we were in no danger.

He was convinced there could be no living thing on that remote forbidding planet.

The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one, he said.
The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one, but still, they come.

Then came the night the first missile approached Earth.  It was thought to be an ordinary falling star but the next day there was a huge crater in the middle of the common and Ogilvy came to examine what lay there.

A cylinder, thirty yards across, glowing hot with faint sounds of movement coming from within.

Suddenly the top began moving, rotating, unscrewing and Ogilvy feared there was a man inside trying to escape.

He rushed to the cylinder, but the intense heat stopped him.  Before he could burn himself on the metal.

The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one, he said.

It seems totally incredible to me now that everyone spent that evening as though it were just like any other.

From the railway station came the sound of shunting trains, ringing and rumbling, softened almost into melody by the distance.

It all seemed so safe and tranquil.

Despite the immense power of the Martian invaders, from the moment the invaders arrived, breathed our air, ate, and drank, they were doomed.

They were undone, destroyed, after all of man’s weapons and devices had failed, by the tiniest creatures that God in his wisdom put upon this earth.

By the toll of a billion deaths, man had earned his immunity, his right to survive among this planet’s infinite organisms. And that right is ours against all challenges. For neither do men live nor die in vain.

Unfortunately, the Martians have learnt from their first invasion and now at the beginning of the second decade of the twentieth century the Martians have launched their second invasion, this time the forces of humanity are better prepared.

All Quiet on the Martian Front is a simple yet engaging set of rules for battles set in an alternative history much in the vein of the story by H G Wells.

This battle was played out on a 6′ x 4′ table in my games room.  The Martian invaders, which in our campaign history are Mechaloids, evil protagonists that are seeking the Keys of Power.  In this scenario the Mechaloid fighting machines are harvesting the local population of a small rural setting in the United States whilst trying to establish Power Nodes throughout the countryside.

The Forces of Earth on the Allied side are attempting to destroy the Power Nodes whilst also ensuring that refugees can reach the safety of the ruined town site.

Mighty metal warlords come across the horizon unleashing sheets of flame whilst Mk II Steamer Tanks rumble slowly down the cobbled roads.

Infantry form up along hedge lines, willing to sell their lives in the defence of Earth and Mk II Mobile Artillery take up position.  Howitzers taking aim on the metal monstrosities.

At the front line a Field Gun Battery unleashes a barrage of fire in an attempt to draw the Martians attention away from the fleeing civilians.

A 90mm Anti-Tripod Gun launches shot across the battlefield, striking the Power Node.  Unfortunately, the shot only causes superficial damage.

With a terrifying moan the Tripods surge forward.

Conclusion.

It was a great game, The French player put up a cracking defence and played like a true Gent.
Some last minute (Very last minute) terrain was quickly knocked together by both of us and helped to create an interesting and different battlefield.
The French look great and it was nice to see another nationality being drawn into our conflict.

For those interested the forces consisted of:

French
4 Archaeologist.
10 Foreign Legion.
16 Regular French Infantry.
8 Drune Diggers/Labourers.
1 Two Legged Patrol Walker with 3 crew armed with a Flamethrower.
Captain Legras of the French Foreign Legion (Hero)
Henri Comte d’Artois (Hero)
Raymond O’Keefe (Leader) immune to the ‘Orrible Monsters Rule.

Prussians
20 Sturmtruppen.
12 Navy.
2 Scout Armoured Cars with 3 crew each and armed with Gatling guns.
Colonel Muller of the Kaisers Shocktruppen (Hero)
Spiegler of the Kaisers Secret Police (hero)   Armed with a repeater long nosed pistol.  Will shoot any Prussians that fail morale checks.
Mercenary American Archeologist.
1 traitor amongst the Drune diggers.

Raiders
20 Raider Infantry with Big swords
12 Raider Cavalry with Big swords
1 Raider Hero

Spiders
4 Giant Spiders that enter at random points (They are treated in a similar way to vehicles and take 3 hits to kill)

The Prussian Navy, taking cover behind the sand dunes, trades shots with the French walker.  Neither able to cause any damage to the other.  Meanwhile Raider infantry are hotly pursued by a giant spider.

In a remarkable show of bravery, the fanatics turn back on their tormentor and bring the big beast down.

O’keefe, his last stick of dynamite gone, charges at Colonel Muller.  Both men of incredible skill with a blade.  Both heroes.  A clash of titans.

More spiders emerge from their burrows.  Sixteen eyes watch the Prussians.  With nowhere to retreat the attack must push on.

As the French death toll rises the few remaining men turn to the fight between the two Heroes.   Whist their backs are turned Spiegler creeps through the ruins behind the French.
With a great show of skill O’Keefe parries then trusts his knife deep into the chest of Muller.   As he falls to his knees, dropping his sword to the ground, he reaches out but falls lifeless to the floor.

With spiders, raiders, and Prussians closing in, the few French survivors decide on desecration being the better part of valour.  Although not conclusive the forces of Prussia hold the upper hand.   Not by much, but by enough.  Well that’s providing they survive a night with the spiders.

The Sturmtruppen advance under horrific amounts of fire, their resolve put to the test time and time again as men fall under the rain of bullets.
However, these are no normal soldiers, these are Mullers men, and their morale shows no signs of breaking.

Spiders, attracted by the sounds of fighting, catch the Drune raiders unaware.

Finally, the French walker stirs to life and unleashes a hellish blast with its heavy flame thrower directly at one of the Prussian Armoured cars.  Rivets pop and steam erupts from every opening.  The scream of burning men tears across the battlefield.
Hearing the brave crewmen roasted alive the Prussian Navy vows to avenge the fallen and forms up in firing line.

The Prussians push on the attack.  Sticks of dynamite bounce off the hull of the second armoured car as it pushes forward.  A lucky blast having jammed its turret it finds itself without a target.  Shots fly dangerously close to the explosives shed but thankfully not one sets the store off.

As Raider Cavalry attacks the rear of the French camp, they find themselves set upon by the Drune Labourers.   A well-aimed shovel puts an end to the Raider Leader and several others are pulled from their horses and beaten to lifeless pulp.  In the confusion one of the Drune Labourers skulks off and locks himself in the toilet.   Despite a promising start the diggers are no match for the crazed fanatics, and they are mowed down.

This Battle happens sometime after the Battle of Sandringham.   The conflict has escalated, and the war is now fought on two fronts, Earth and Mars.

Several ‘keys of power’ have been hidden across both earth and Mars.  These keys are what keep the Martians tied to Mars.  they can be used to unlock a barrier allowing the indigenous population of Mars to travel beyond its gravity once again.

The setting is a French archaeological dig to recover one of these lost keys.  At the time the French have no idea what the keys is or indeed for.  The Prussians on the other hand know full well how valuable the item is and have plans to break the barrier.

Anyway onto…

The Lafitte Incident
Part One

A prelude…

Trooper Dumas of the Legion Terra-Rouge looked out over the dark shapes of the ruins that surrounded him and huddled further down into his coat. The twin Martian moons gave little light to the landscape, but enough for him to shudder at the eerie sight of the twisted and misshapen columns that surrounded him. The lost city of Ganash could stay lost for all he cared. He could hear laughter coming from camp. Sounded like Raymond has just won another game of ca va. He silently cursed the sergeant for taking away his smokes but remembered his words “blinds a man at night and your enemies know just where to aim..two inches above the glow..”  Not for him to argue with the sergeant. Not that anyone did. Sergeant Lafarge WAS the legion. No one knew how old he was or how long he’d been on Mars. There were many stories about him. But the most famous was that of the siege at the fort at Gauche. Over two thousand Termions has attempted to dig under or climb over the battlements for six months. When the Martian war was over the defenders were relieved. Out of five hundred legionnaires only six were found alive. It was said that Lafarge was found with the bodies of fifty Termions piled around him, and had fashioned a crude club from the femur of one enemy, having devoured his flesh.
Dumas shoved his hands so far into his coat that he found an old stub of a Drune charoot he’d forgotten about. Leaning his rifle against the wall he crouched down behind the large stones so that no-one in camp would be able to see him and lit it up. For a split moment he noticed that the glow was reflected by numerous eyes that stood directly in front of him and that the stars above were blotted out by the great legs of the gigantic beast. But that is all he noticed as his head was split in two. About two inches above the glow of his cheroot.

The next morning dawned on the dig site. Lines of Drune labourers were already silhouetted on the skyline, making use of the early morning cool. The soldiers of the French expedition were milling around camp or forming search lines.  In the officers tent Raymond O’Keefe was amusing himself by flicking dung beetles onto the research table of Gaston, the half deaf researcher from the Sorbonne, who was poring over the findings of the day before, including some rubbings of the central pillar hieroglyphics. The flap opened and in strode the tall shape of Henri, Comte d’Artois and leader of the expedition. His normally placid face looked drawn.
“Do stop annoying Gaston..he has got some work to do..”
“Sorry old bean. Any news on your chap?”
“Not yet. They found this next to one of those foul-smelling holes” he placed a stub of cheroot on the table. “Think he may have fallen in. Also, they found some blood.”

Gasto’s head arced up “Hmm, Blood you say? Yes, I think that about sums it up for these inscriptions on the pillars.”
“You’ve found something?” Henri bent over his worktable, flicking as he did so a dung beetle out of an inkwell.
“Well, the older stuff still baffles me, but the crude work is definitely Termion, but very old. From the Drune cipher we know that these symbols mean blood, and this one means sacrifice. But I’m struggling to understand this one. Appears everywhere, this eight pointed star.”
“Well all this is fascinating gentlemen” O’Keefe said swinging his legs off his camp-bed and strolling to the tent flap “but a face doesn’t shave itself. Back soon.”
Gaston raised one eyebrow at Henri in a way that stated, “why did we have to bring him along?”. Henri smiled. “Ignore him, he’s an old friend. And besides, we may yet have need of his skills”.

A moment later O’Keefe re-entered the tent, his face half shaven and a tear in his shirt quite apparent. He strode up to the worktable and took another look at the picture. “That is not a star gentlemen, that is a spider?”
Henri smiled “You English are so impetuous. How can you know this?”
But O’Keefe was already opening a box under his bed and pulling from it a stick of dynamite.
“Because my dear fellow” he said stuffing the fuse into the casing and pausing to light it with the pipe that was now half hanging from the dropped jaw of his friend “you have a spider problem”.
Striding outside with O’Keefe, the archeologists were met with the sight of the roof of the officers latrine lifting off to reveal a huge white bulbous thorax . The side walls already had several legs which had split through the timber and the door reading ‘officers only’ had somehow got wedged on its mandibles. O’Keefe flung the stick directly at its eyes.

Ten seconds later the largest pieces of beast and timber latrine had ceased descending on the startled Frenchmen, who lay spread around the crater which had once been the toilet.
“Mon Dieu!” Henri Comte d’Artois exclaimed.
“What is it that we have discovered?”
“Well old chap..” O’Keefe looked at his friend “always check under the toilet seat would be a good start I’d say”.

The detonation shook around the old city. Stones toppled from their perches of aeons and pillars tilted more precariously. And not a mile distant many eyes were watching.
Colonel Muller of the Kaisers Shocktruppen took the field glasses from his sentry and looked over at the plume of dust emerging from the French camp. More blasting? That one seemed to be on the surface though. Perhaps an accident? He winced a little as he noticed the dark shape of Spiegler appear next to him.
“Problems Muller?.”
Spiegler of the Kaisers own secret police knew just how to twist words. It sounded to Muller like “YOUR problem Muller..”.
“Probably nothing. Our spy still indicates that they found the main chamber yesterday. The item is already in their keeping. We still go at dusk”.
“Good. And the good Professor Snapes will do the rest I am sure. Any news on your missing men?”
“Not yet, but we found traces next to one of those stinking holes. My men are exploring it now.”

And further into the city more eyes watched both the Prussians and French. The Drune chieftain and his tribal leaders would not sit by idly as the desecrators destroyed the city of their ancestors or bring forth the power trapped within. At dusk they would be put to the sword.

And as the sun slips it’s grasp upon the shattered stones of Ganash for yet another day, the sound of the clicking of mandibles rises from the stinking chasms that surround our brave explorers….

Colonel Muller slid shut the fine hand-crafted telescope he had been using to watch the French.  The night was fast approaching, and he knew he needed to get this attack underway.  He would have preferred to have waited until total darkness fell across the campsite, but he could feel the soul piercing stare of Spielger drilling holes into his back.  There was something very wrong about that man, something very wrong indeed.
He tried carefully to recall the telegram he had received from headquarters.
French uncovered the item stop retrieve at all costs stop command relinquished to secret police stop assets expendable stop

What did it mean assets expendable.  He was travelling light as it was.   With his small force of elite sturmtruppen, veterans of many campaigns, and two newly commissioned armoured cars this would be a lightning-fast attack, but an attack that had no expendable components.

And what of the American.  He had already betrayed his own country in turning to assist the Kaiser.  Apparently, a specialist in his field.   An Archaeologist, a man who scrapes through mud and dirt to find things from times gone by.  What use would a man like that be to the war effort.

Muller was not impressed with how in only a few short days he had in effect lost complete control of the situation.  At least he could trust his men.

As night closes in the French are posting sentries, the archaeologists are around the camp studying the items recovered earlier that day, whilst the Drune Labourers head back to camp for some well-earned rest.

Under cover of the fading light the small force of elite Prussians moves towards the dig site. Even the Howling of the harsh Martian winds cannot hide the sound of steam engines.

From the west, a thunder of hooves, as a horde of Drune Raiders charge through the site of the ruined city.  Close on their heel’s hordes of raiders on foot, screaming like dervishes.

The Raiders throw themselves upon the French Foreign Legion.  In this sudden and brutal act of carnage many French fall to the savage blades, including Captain Legras. The French fire volley after volley into these fanatics but the fast-fading light makes it almost impossible to hit anything.

Darkness finally falls and something large and nasty stirs…