Silly alt-hist/place swap BS [CHAPTER 4 up]

[Stuart Mackey]

Well, I didn't assume that things would work out that way, since unlike you I haven't seen what you haven't posted.

Of course, I make suggestions based upon prior postings, all of which one must assume are rectal extractions as none are the postings of the author in question .

[weemadando]

Waterloo, 18 June 1815
Hougoumont
The attic of the chateau had been prepared for fighting, there were firing holes knocked in the wall and roof, and the detritus of soldiers awaiting action was evident. The position had been prepared only yesterday, but to it’s occupants, yesterday was nearly two centuries ago. There were no muskets or red coats in the cramped, musty and humid space. The two men currently there wore a head to toe covering of brown and tan camouflage. Around them were anachronistic devices: radios, spotting scopes, automatic weapons, laser designators, night and thermal vision systems. Stopping short of one of the loopholes in the attic was the distinctive muzzle brake of a .50 calibre Barrett rifle, the loophole itself had been partially masked with torn pieces of fabric from a dress in a cupboard to further conceal the flash of it’s firing from any observers. To the sniper’s left was his spotter, his 40x scope bringing the distant lines into sharp focus. “Target, 2 o’clock. Mounted officer.” He consults the range card that they’ve been constructing. “Range is eight hundred and seventy five metres. Wind is ten kilometres per hour from the southwest.”
“Grey horse, blue coat, white trousers, black bicorne with white feather?”
“That’s him. Elevation is plus twenty metres.” The sniper finishes making minor adjustments to his scope and aim to compensate for the wind, distance and elevation.
“Dialled in. On trigger.”
“Fire.” The recoil of the gun is tremendous, even with the muzzle brake. The draped fabric at the loophole flaps madly for a moment as the gasses blast it aside. The booming noise of the round’s rolls over the courtyard of the chateau. Nearly nine hundred metres away the round impacts the French Colonel. Designed to pierce light armoured vehicles, it blows through his clothes and his ribcage, shattering a rib and blasting fragments of bone into the surrounding flesh. It then passes through his heart shredding the left ventricle, before passing out through his back, marginally deflecting off another of his ribs as it does. The bullet has torn open a half inch hole, but the force applied to the body create a rapid expansion and then collapse of a much larger cavity within the torso. This pressure wave within the chest ruptures a large portion of his left lung and stutters his heart into arrhythmia momentarily before the muscle seizes completely having mostly torn itself apart with the ventricle's support no longer existing. The cavity rapidly fills with blood from the sundered heart and lungs. The shot has the effect of being immediately fatal in innumerable ways, and even had the colonel survived the initial trauma, the blood compressing his lungs, the sucking chest wound, damage to his heart and the inevitable sepsis from the fragmented bone and cloth fragments in his chest would have put paid to him. He collapses forward, then slowly slides from his horse – one foot remaining firmly stuck in the stirrup as the well trained horse stamps in anxiety at the smell of blood. Twenty metres behind him another man screams in pain, clutching his leg where the destabilised and tumbling round had cleaved into it, ripping his thigh open, severing the femoral artery and shattering his femur before exploding out the back of his leg and ploughing into the dirt, finally expending it’s lethal energy.

“Hit. Target 11 o’clock – spotter, in cover behind cart. Range one thousand, two hundred and fifty metres.”
“White hair, telescope, blue jacket?”
“Confirmed. Wind unchanged. Elevation is plus thirty metres.”
“On trigger.”
“Fire.”


Command Tent of Armeé du Nord
“Unacceptable! I cannot cower here like some deserter!” The raging voice fills the tent, cowing most of the subordinates as Napoleon stares directly at the target of his wrath, “This is treason to hold me here Ney.”
“Sir, I am not holding you here because of any ill intentions I hold for you. I am pleading with you to not present yourself to the enemy sharpshooters. We’ve lost near to forty officers this morning, I saw Reille and Soulte fall myself. The English sharpshooters today are the best we’ve ever encountered. And now because us Lords and Generals are in hiding behind the hills, they turn their attention to any officer that they can lay their guns upon. I will not have the death of an Emperor on my conscience!”
“Then you must agree Ney, that we cannot afford to wait a moment longer.” His statement is punctuated by the dull thudding sound of another shot. “With every minute we wait, we come one step closer to being an decapitated army, flailing helplessly without leadership or command. We must attack now, in order to close the distance and engage with Wellington’s force.”
“My Emperor, we cannot see the enemy army. We do not know what they have planned.”
“If they are not yet in the field, then we can advance on their positions before they have time to fully form. Wellington loves to hide behind the ridges, but he has no screening force this time. If we can cross the field with only harassing fire from his sharpshooters, then we can have this army pressing onto him at near to full strength before his artillery can be brought to bear. He hides from us because he knows that his petty force of squabbling nations cannot win. There is no unknown here Ney. There are men there: Englishmen, Dutchmen, Belgians and Prussians. Such a medley cannot stand against us. Signal the attack now. We must act to save France before this opportunity is lost.”


Al-Amarah, Iraq, 8 August 2006
Eastern Outskirts
“Guards, make ready!” The air is thick with dust, smoke and the stench of ruined sewers, rotting flesh and spoiling garbage. The market square is large and well attended – it is the only reliable source of food in the city, much of it shipped from Iran across the nearby border or from the shipments coming into the port at Basra to the South. It bore all the signs of the ongoing insurgency however, burnt out and blasted car chassis from prior bombings, blood stains on the flagstones that people couldn’t be bothered cleaning as they’d be replaced soon enough. The line of red coated infantry stretches across one side of the square, herding the retreating crowd to the far end of the market. “Advance by ranks!” Comes the shout from a sergeant at the end of the line. From somewhere in the crowd comes a rattle of fire. The already panicked crowd scatters as another weapon joins the first. “Halt!” Front rank kneel, second rank take place!” The drill is well practiced, the movement impeccable. Even as twelve of their number collapse, the places are rapidly filled. “Take aim! FIRE!” The barrage of lead shot fills the square with smoke and screams as the crowd catches the majority of the fire. A RPG streaks from a rooftop across the square, impacting just short the line of infantry. It’s detonations sprays them with gravel and shrapnel and raises a pall of dust. The third and fourth ranks step forward and take their place in the rolling advance as more insurgents join the fight.


Al-Amarah - Al-Halfayah road, 4 kilometres outside of Al-Amarah
A horse clatters to a stop on the dry, dusty road. It’s rider dismounts and runs to the small wadi where the commanders have gathered in the shade of an outcropping. “Sirs, the Coldstream have entered the town and have met with resistance. They are clearing it now. The Royal Horse Artillery are moving to support them. They report rapid firing weapons and rockets.”
“Hold the guns. Order the Coldstream Guards to remain in position. We don’t know who these people are and we cannot risk irreparable damage to relations when we may all die of thirst without them. Send a force of Lancers around the West of the town to search for other wells or to see if the river is not as befouled to the North.” Wellington took a careful sip from a flask, one of the few they had left. “And ensure that we have a picket on the other Southern road, it’s much larger than this one so there may be more traffic.” The messenger departs again, taking two others with him to relay the new orders.
“So Sir, are we to wait here until we know more?”
“De Lancey, had I half a clue what was happening I would right now be laying out a plan of action for you. But this,” he gestures as the desert surrounding them, “This is not where we were. pop And we are in what I assume to be Arabia. We have more than seventy thousand men and horse here in this waste. My first priority, before any war, is their safety. I see no dust to mark the marching columns of the French. And we have seen that the city is clearly not occupied by the Little Emperor. It is like no city any of us have seen before. This land is unfamiliar to nearly all of us and it is clearly a harsh land to live on. I have no intent to waste time debating the metaphysics of our predicament when the only possible outcome would be to parch me more.”


Basra - Al-Amarah road
“Get that camera rolling now! Don’t miss any of this!” Rachel Chambers was the embedded reporter with the 2th Battalion, 19th Light Brigade (formerly known as The Mercian Regiment). They’d spent much of their rotation thus far in Basra doing routine patrol work in what was still a relatively quiet zone of Iraq. This morning had come a frantic immediate action call from HQ for them to deploy to Al-Amarah. Not many of them had been this way before, but they’d all heard about it. The Princess of Wales Regiment had gone through hell up here. Enough hell to warrant a Victoria Cross amongst many other awards. And now two companies of The Rifles 4th Battalion who had been posted there had failed to make their scheduled radio check-ins. The nightmare scenario played in everyone’s heads – an overrun garrison that hadn’t had time to raise the alarm. And then reports of massed infantry formations had been called in by the USAF F-15 which had passed over. Had Iran crossed the border? God knows they were riled enough at the moment. They’d piled into their Mastiff’s, WMIKs and Warriors for the drive North, going harder and faster than recommended, following the orders to advance to contact. But then they’d come across this roadblock a few kilometres short of Al-Amarah.
“I’ll have it in a second!” The cameraman hoists the camera onto his shoulder in the back seat of the WMIK near the head of the column. The viewer comes to life and the bizarre scene is pulled into focus through the lens. A horse-drawn artillery piece stands each side of the road, aimed at the convoy, while red coated infantrymen provide flanking support for them. In the centre of the road, about fifty meters short of the cannon is the perforated remains of an old Mercedes and the people who had been in it. Rachel takes out her sat phone and selects a speed dial. No one makes a move to stop what would normally have been a severely punishable breach of operational security. They are all dumbstruck at the sights ahead of them. The call is answered in London after only one ring.
“Get me live now Ian!”
“Is that you Rachel?”
“Ian. Drop whatever you are running right now and pick up the stream that I’m setting up.” She hammers madly at her laptop, willing it to react faster, “It’ll be coming through in about twenty seconds.”
“What is it that you’re giving us?”
“I don’t have a fucking clue Ian. Just put it up, audio and all and don’t stop the feed until either us or you are taken off air by MoD.”
“Rachel, what the –“
“I’ve gotta go Ian.” She hangs up the phone as the connection is confirmed and the stream of data starts going out. “On our left! Get that!” The camera swings at Rachel’s order and catches a unit of cavalry sweeping in from a concealed position in a gully well back from the road. A voice calls out from the roadblock ahead.
“Halt!” English, Rachel thinks, a weird accent, but definitely English, “In the name of King George, I demand that you halt and send forth an representative.”


10 Downing St, London, 8 August 2006
“Reports are still coming in Prime Minister, what we do know is that an overflight has confirmed army strength infantry forces emplaced around Al-Amarah and stretching along the road towards the Iranian border.” The briefing officer looked pale, it was bad enough when he had to bring in news of an ill-fated patrol or a downed aircraft. But this was two whole companies who had dropped off the grid and what looked like an invasion force surrounding them.
“Is it Iran?”
“There was no air cover that the American pilot encountered, no SAMs, not even triple-A. For an invasion force of this size to be left utterly unprotected, that’d be unlikely.” The door to the briefing room bursts open. A Prime Ministerial secretary makes a simple statement:
“Sir, turn on BBC World – right now. You have to see this.”

[weemadando]

So, it's a reboot of sorts. Should be a lot tidier and I'm expanding on a lot of ideas. Also - research. The actual unit postings I'm not sure on, but the unit names and histories should all be correct.

[Mr.Radar]

Great work. That "reboot" is definitely an improvement over the original. I can't wait for the next chapter.

[Edward Yee]

You shut your whore mouth weemadando, that first write wasn't horrible, it was WTFawesome!

Seriously though, this is greatly cleaned up, and in its own way very awesome to boot. I see that you've moved the timeline around, but more comments on that later (off to work).

I wonder if Napoleon's being disingenuous here regarding the "mere" harassing fire, considering that the same "harassing" fire is what's essentially inducing L'Armee du Nord to have to close on "Wellington's position" in the first place...

Re: the "challenge" from Wellington's Army to the 2/19 -- send the Gurkha! LOL...

[Night_stalker]

Oh, I wonder how Wellington will react to the Queen sending a rep to meet him in person...

[weemadando]

You shut your whore mouth weemadando, that first write wasn't horrible, it was WTFawesome!

Seriously though, this is greatly cleaned up, and in its own way very awesome to boot. I see that you've moved the timeline around, but more comments on that later (off to work).

I wonder if Napoleon's being disingenuous here regarding the "mere" harassing fire, considering that the same "harassing" fire is what's essentially inducing L'Armee du Nord to have to close on "Wellington's position" in the first place...

Re: the "challenge" from Wellington's Army to the 2/19 -- send the Gurkha! LOL...

Waterloo was a do or die battle for the French, a decisive victory would have meant that they would have been able to either move to get the upper hand militarily once more, or at the very least have a favourable position to negotiate terms.

Napoleon realises that he needs that decisive victory and that it's a high risk/reward scenario ahead of him. Wjen he's faced with losing his command and control structure before he can even join the battle, it becomes a case of "Il nous faut de l'audace, encore de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!"

[Night_stalker]

or "The Guard dies, but the Guard does NOT surrender".

[Stuart Mackey]

Oh, I wonder how Wellington will react to the Queen sending a rep to meet him in person...

Wellington will be as Wellington and be the professional he is/was.

[RecklessPrudence]

This looks damn good - not having read the first two pages for fear of spoilers, I won't comment much more than that, but you seem to have gotten the characters (for lack of a better word) down, from what little I can remember of Wellington and Napolean's ...characters (with a different meaning this time, for added confusion!). And you don't seem to have fallen into the trap that so many alt-hists do, of describing technology in exhaustive detail and leaving characterisation (there's that word (or a derivation thereof) again!) to take a back seat.

Sorry, not very eloquent today. There's probably a dozen different ways I could have worded the above better, with less repetition and confusion potential, but I can't think of any of them at the moment, so I'll have to go with what I've got.

[xt828]

Just thought I'd say that this is a good read and looks like it could go interesting places.

[weemadando]

Waterloo, 18 June 1815
Wellington’s tent
The tent is filled with the detritus of a historic campaign: maps, letters, ledgers and notes. A historians dream, but of little use to Captain Alan Dahl. “These maps are rubbish,” he exclaims, “We can’t use them the way we’re used to. There’s no decent elevation markings, little consistency to distances and measurements and even if we mark this one up, there’s no way to distribute it to everyone. And we can’t just nick off down to the services and pick up a Michelin guide or turn on the GPS. Nothing is going to change just because we wish it would. We have to make the stand here and hope like hell that we get reinforced.”
“Well Sir, at least we all know Waterloo back to front.” Notes Leftenant Richardson.
“That is one of our advantages right now, we’ve all had this battle drilled into our brains by the gents at Sandhurst. We’re looking at an opening attack on the Hougoumont Chateau and then a wheeling attack along the line from that point, right? Hougoumont on our right, Papelotte on our left and La Haye Saint in the centre being the strong-points in our line?”
“That’s right. We’ve got Hougoumont locked down as tight as we can with 2nd Platoon, A Company and the SAS guys that were bunking with us. La Haye Saint has another 1st Platoon, A Company squads and one of A Company’s gimpy sections. Papelotte is the weakest in terms of numbers – the under strength 1st Platoon from C Company, but they’ve got some of the best lines of fire and have found multiple fallback positions in the village. As long as they have the ammo, they’re not going to be overrun.”
“How bad is the ammo situation?” Asks Dahl.
“Well Sir, I won’t say we’re lucky, but there are some bright spots.” The Lakes District accent comes from A Company’s Quartermaster Serjeant, “We got enough 5.56 – close enough on two thou rounds per man, but most of that is in the boxes that are still on the trucks from the last convoy and isn’t in mags yet – so we’ll need runners to carry empty mags, refill and return if this goes long. 7.62 for the gimpies is a little better because everything we’ve got is in belts anyhow – about two hundred belts – twenty thou rounds total. The more obscure stuff – 40mm for the grenadiers, .50 cal for the Brownings, that’s a bit lighter on the ground. But Sir, if you don’t mind my opinin’ – this is use it or lose it. There’s no point holdin’ back if we’re just gonna be overrun because we din’t swing for the fences.”
“Duly noted Serjeant Button. Get everyone who’s not front line right now into moving ammo to the strong points. Are the fox holes ready?”
“2nd Platoon C Company has spread it’s squads in foxholes between the strongpoints. We’ve got a really porous line, but excellent fields of fire. Wellington chose the field well.”
“How about the convoy? What kind of shape are they in?” Dahl smirks, the convoy had come in late and hadn’t dared head out again in the dark, being able to use them would be an amazing advantage.
“We’ve got the two Mastiffs and three WMIKs who are all crewed and loaded for bear. We’re going to siphon the fuel from the Mogs to keep them in action.” Replies Serjeant Button.
“OK, those are our ready reserve. I want 3rd Platoon A Company with them, ready to fight as armoured cav. And there might be a very important mission for them later. Any word back from Leftenant Hayes yet?”
“None since he left for Brussels this morning.”
“We can only hope that he’s not just written off as a loony when he gets there. Though arriving in a Land Rover with the Prince of Orange’s entourage should be a pretty sound argument for getting an immediate audience. Still no joy with the Prussians?”
“No Sir. It could be that we’re looking in the wrong place – or that they aren’t there to be found.”
“OK – now for the depressing part.” The covey of officers and NCOs gather close around the map table as the look on Dahl’s face just continues to get darker, “We’re in fucking 1815. At Waterloo and it seems to be just us versus the goddamn French Army. We’ve got no air support, no arty, no armour, no resupply, no medivac and no fucking backup. We don’t even have the capacity to set up an aid station worth a damn. We all need to be there for the men, because this will be like nothing that any of us have been through before. If by the end of the day we’re still alive, then our troubles will only just be starting. This battle is going to get ugly and is probably going to be as bad as the bloody Somme. But when we pulled our heads out and realised what was happening, we took a vote and agreed to make this stand regardless. Every single one of our men out there has more than two hundred frogs staring back at him. But we have the advantages. We already know Napoleon’s game-plan. We’ve got two hundred years of experience on him. And more than that, we are The Rifles. We’ve beaten him here once. Let’s do it again for old time’s sake.”

French Lines
Napoleon wears the clothes of a lowly horse groom as he moves with a small, similarly disguised entourage through his army. Most of the officers have by now realised that blending in with their men is a very good idea, those who are still reluctant to are not lasting very long. Napoleon flinches as he watches a Colonel in the Grand Battery get hit. His neck seems to explodes, showering the men he had been berating with a spray of blood as his head dangles loosely from a few preserved strands of sinew. “Savages,” Napoleon sighs, “Do they know nothing of the rules of law? I had supposed that Wellington might have matured since his days of veiled banditry on the peninsula.” The Emperor looks across the field, there is still no sign of the massed ranks of Wellington’s force – merely a few men in muddy uniforms who had been digging holes. “Ney,” Napoleon queries, “Those holes, what do you suppose they intend to do with them?”
“Perhaps they are preparing embrasures for cannon? But they seem small for that purpose. They might be intended to foul a cavalry assault, but they are too far apart to be effective for that purpose. My Emperor, I do not rightly know what their intent would be – but we can continue to postulate if you wish.”
“No need Ney. I think that you have determined their reason. Wellington means to make us waiver and hold so that his Prussian allies can arrive before the battle is met. The Grand Battery is ready – half the guns are now making ready to be hitched for the march. On the hour Ney, we close the distance and join the battle. We take Wellington’s ridge as our own and bring our guns to bear on his retreating force.”


1st Squad, 3rd Platoon, A Company fox holes.
Rifleman Watters was the youngest of the men defending the line. Only a few scant months past his 18th birthday, the young man from Newcastle had arrived in Iraq two weeks prior and only gotten to his posting on a convoy three days ago. With his fox hole near to the centre of the line between Hougoumont and La Haye Saint he felt exposed, despite the fortification, and far too alone. “Incoming!” The shout comes at the same time as the crash of the cannon firing. The percussive shell exploding harmlessly well short of the defensive line. “No need to wince son,” he’d been paired with Serjeant Cox, a child of Jamaican immigrants and fifteen year veteran of Her Majesty’s services, “They’re not gonna hit us in here. Just keep watching your sector and stay alert.” More explosions and thudding impacts sound along the line as the Grand Battery does its best to intimidate the enemy. Another shout comes down the line: “Cavalry!” The Grand Battery slows, then stops its firing as the force of Cavalry closes on the line of holes.
“OK Watters, it’s light cav – they’re probing to see what our strength is, this isn’t the main attack. Remember the orders?” Watters stares back at Cox for a moment, Shock, Cox thinks, Can recognises it well enough nowadays. Come on son. Snap out of it and give me the answer.
“Single aimed shots.”
“That’s right. They’re riding headlong into a modern battle line – overlapping fields of fire from accurate, automatic weapons. They’ve never encountered anything like us before. We don’t want to show our hand too soon in case they get cold feet and we don’t get the chance to really put the boots in. Just treat it like a day at the range - because for now they aren’t going to make it much harder.”

8th Lancers, No Man’s Land
Lieutenant Reims had been with Napoleon throughout the campaigns of La Grand Armeé and now La Armeé du Nord. His Lancers had fought with distinction at every battle where they had been used. And now they were going to be the first to join the battle against the last ditch alliance of those who still stood before France. The horse beneath him surges forward as the mass of horsemen accelerates – only a few hundred metres to where the mysterious line of holes. He hears the sound of gunfire rise above the thunder of the hooves – steady, methodical shots. Not the ragged roar of a musket volley, but a chorus of single barking shots in rapid succession. But there is not the usual smoke from the shooting, nor does there seem to be any enemy standing before them doing it. There! He catches the motion from the corner of his eye at one of the holes to his left. He tries to focus – but series of pale flashes obscure the object he saw. Only another two hundred metres, he thinks as he spots more flashes coming from other pits. Then realisation hits him as he looks to his left and right to check his men’s readiness – he has spurred too fast and is ahead of his unit. Reims turns in his saddle to look behind him. A few scattered horsemen are wheeling and fleeing, but the rest are scattered on the ground, dead or dying along the path which they had been charging. Anger and terror swell in his chest and cloud better judgement – he lowers his lance and charges towards the nearest pit. Closer, closer still he gets, then a shape, which becomes a face, comes into focus amidst the muck at the edge of the hole. Another flash and –

Rifleman Watters foxhole
The rider comes loose from the stirrups and tumbles forward from the horse, impacting the ground and rolling for a moment before coming to rest a few metres short of the fighting position. The horse takes off for the French lines, rapidly gaining ground on the rest of the retreating force without the weight of its rider to slow it. “Cutting it a bit close there weren’t you son?”
“They didn’t stop.” Watters rambles, “They didn’t stop, they just kept coming. Why didn’t they just stop?”
“Like I said son, they’ve never encountered anything like us before. We’d wiped them out before they realised what was happening. That was about a hundred fifty odd cavalry and we took them out without a single loss. Hell, I’d guess we also managed to do it for less than five rounds per target.” Watters is shivering now, the slaughter he’d just seen was beyond anything he’d expected. Push it down, he thinks, Just fucking push it down and push on. Cox watches closely as the shivering stops and Watters eyes open and focus somewhere in the middle distance. Watters opens his mouth and shouts out a chant. A few laughs come from nearby holes, but a repeat of the chant, louder and more impassioned as Watters shouts at the sky, venting his fear and guilt is quickly picked up along the line by other scared, tired and homesick young men.
“Well, you’ve gone and done it now Watters.” Cox chides with a grin on his face. He can hear the chant coming from the Hougoumont now. “There’s nothing for it I guess.” Cox joins in on the next round, his booming voice joining the ever growing chorus.


Command Tent of Armeé du Nord
“Remarkable!” exclaims Napoleon as he stomps across the breadth of the tent, “Simply amazing.” Ney is unsure as to whether or not to respond, the Emperor could truly be in awe or he could just be trying to contain his fury. And to misjudge his mood right now could have terrible consequences – not just for him, but for the army.
“Some of our more keen eyed men,” Ney begins cautiously, “And some officers who dared to use their telescopes, report that the holes appeared to contain infantry – perhaps two or three per hole.”
“Two or three men per hole? And eight holes in that stretch of the line.” Napoleon stares at Ney, “So it took under twenty seconds for twenty men to wipe out the Lancers? “ The question seemed to be rhetorical and Ney knew better than to bite, “Well, it is clear that the English have some new tricks. But they cannot hope to have such a small force hold the line against a stronger advance. Did you note Ney, how they cower in these holes like a rat in a burrow? And this chanting that they now do – I can barely understand it. Something about ‘Come forth bone should you believe yourself suitably firm’. That is a rabble Ney, not an army, Wellington’s deployed force lack the discipline and numbers to withstand us. Harrass their line near the Hougoumont with our artillery. We shall attack the chateau in force, then roll up their lines. Their defences are thin, there is not enough depth,” Napoleon gestures to a map of the field with the enemy positions marked, “By attacking along their line once the Chateau is neutralised only one or two of their holes can support the one under attack. We shall overwhelm them, one burrow at a time while never lifting the threat from the full breadth of the line.”
“Your plan is commendable Sir, but I fear it leaves us open to a counterattack should Wellington chose to attack from the reverse slope while we are thus engaged.”
“I understand your concerns Ney, such a trap has been sprung on us and many others before. But we must cross this field and meet Wellington in force. If we do, then we can have our colours outside Brussels by dawn. Wellington just means to hold us here with his actions. For the sake of France Ney, we must take this risk.”


Brussels, Southern Gate, 18 June 1815

Leftenant Hayes stares at the argument ahead of him between the Prince of Oranges hangers-on who had agreed to accompany him and the officer of the watch at the gates. The Land Rover was only one of the points of contention as far as he could tell. The man with the weird clothes and the strange looking gun was an even harder sell. Then again, it wasn’t like the man with the metal horseless carriage, the strange clothes and gun had just turned up with some minor nobility who may be his hostages and been demanding to speak to the British Ambassador. “Fuck it,” Hayes mutters under his breath as another officer arrives to join the argument, bringing a new level of volume and angry gesturing to it. He readies his L85A2 and fires a three round burst into the mud at the side of the road. The argument halts as everyone stares in disbelief, Hayes let’s the weapon dangle by it’s sling as he raises both hands. “For fuck's sake ye pack of waffles! You might be willing to wait all damn day, but I'm fairly certain that Boney isn't."

[Stuart Mackey]

Nice. I do hope that they make arrangements to get their 21st century pay, as adjusted for inflation, so long as its not less than local time pay... with appropriate compensation for 21st century knowledge

[Edward Yee]

I assume you mean if the time-displaced Rifles join the remaining British Army of 1815?

weemadando, I do appreciate that this Napoleon understands the risk involved in his upcoming maneuvers, even if he's getting the situation wrong. In turn, I hope that there's a "light armored cav" (de facto) for the Rifles, but I hope that they won't just have the 40mm grenades for indirect fire? Hoping for GMGs on their part, whether tripod mounted or on the Mastiffs/WMIKs, and I'm guessing that there'll be claymores to help with the defense-in-depth of the "left flank" (Rifles' POV). There's of course the .50-caliber marksmen's rounds, but I'm hoping that there's at least light mortars...

Incidentally, any reason you're referring to the SA80 instead of the L85A2?

Here's hoping that the leftenant won't be needing those two other rounds (besides the first), but it's nice to see the foul-mouthed bloke this time.

[weemadando]

I assume you mean if the time-displaced Rifles join the remaining British Army of 1815?

weemadando, I do appreciate that this Napoleon understands the risk involved in his upcoming maneuvers, even if he's getting the situation wrong. In turn, I hope that there's a "light armored cav" (de facto) for the Rifles, but I hope that they won't just have the 40mm grenades for indirect fire? Hoping for GMGs on their part, whether tripod mounted or on the Mastiffs/WMIKs, and I'm guessing that there'll be claymores to help with the defense-in-depth of the "left flank" (Rifles' POV). There's of course the .50-caliber marksmen's rounds, but I'm hoping that there's at least light mortars...

They have mortar sections, just like any other company strength unit. They're just yet to come into play.

Incidentally, any reason you're referring to the SA80 instead of the L85A2?

I don't know what you are talking about comrade.

[Night_stalker]

Hmmm.......

Nope, no foreshadowing at all with those pictures. Plus, too early to kill off Stalin.

[Kuroji]

Considering where they just cropped up in history, it is entirely possible that there will be enough people with sufficient knowledge to be able to reproduce some older firearm designs. No, there's no way they'll be cranking out assault rifles... but carbines are very possible. Not to mention ammunition manufacturing and how the powder is designed.

Assuming most of the soldiers survive this conflict, they'd probably be rolled into a think tank of some kind to advise the monarchy, and give spoilers for the next two centuries. Even just the scraps of technology that could be made would be very significant, and with knowledge of the mistakes made that they can avoid, they can ensure that the sun indeed never sets on the British empire.

Of course... they need to survive the French first.

[weemadando]

There is a longer term plot for both arcs of this story. But it's a case of whether I'll get time to fully develop them.

[Edward Yee]

Regarding "the sun indeed never sets on the British empire," that's assuming that that hadn't become inevitable (that any such British hegemony would be temporary at best) even before Waterloo... but yeah, survive the French you lot!

I'm mainly following the tactical side of this, but I'm guessing that the SAS team won't have a lot to do here other than "particularly sharp/adept light infantry who can be trusted to hold (alongside the squaddies) against the brunt of L'Armee du Nord," seeing the lack of "SOF enablers" (to use a Robert Gates term, I believe) for them to be performing missions such as special reconnaissance and "American-style direct action,"* considering that there's only five available combat vehicles.

Am I'm reading Napoleon's plan correctly as "soften up Hougoumont and wheel about to hit it first, then turn and attack La Haye Saint, then Papelotte, while threatening all three at once from their own fronts" and that the concern that Ney and Napoleon discussed was the risk of L'Armee du Nord giving up its own left flank to the (not present) Seventh Coalition?

It's up to you as to how long it'll take you to have the time to write it, but as long as this story doesn't die til its time is up, take as long as you need to write the parts.

* I have my own layman's concerns with USSOCOM mission creep/regression, hence my take on this term.

[weemadando]

Yeah, the idea is to harass the whole line, but to launch the major attack on Hougoumont, then from there "roll up" the rest of the line as he can see that their defences lack a lot of depth.

[Edward Yee]

Now that interests me, as now I'm wondering if the defense of Papelotte is intended to be entirely against the "frontal harassment," as opposed to "as a second fallback if Hougoumont and La Saint Haye both fall"... although, I would think that the 2006ers' idea of defense in depth is a "wee bit" different from his idea of it?

[Stuart Mackey]

Now that interests me, as now I'm wondering if the defense of Papelotte is intended to be entirely against the "frontal harassment," as opposed to "as a second fallback if Hougoumont and La Saint Haye both fall"... although, I would think that the 2006ers' idea of defense in depth is a "wee bit" different from his idea of it?

Probably, but remember what happened to ze Germans at Mons etc in 1914, crossed with Omdurman 1898.

[Stuart Mackey]

Oh, Ando, you do recall that Wellington had some 17000 far out on his right at Hal to guard against Napoleon trying something funny out that way? Like Grouchy, who was off playing silly buggers, they did not take part in the actual battle but for a obviously different reason.

[Simon_Jester]

Now that interests me, as now I'm wondering if the defense of Papelotte is intended to be entirely against the "frontal harassment," as opposed to "as a second fallback if Hougoumont and La Saint Haye both fall"... although, I would think that the 2006ers' idea of defense in depth is a "wee bit" different from his idea of it?

Probably, but remember what happened to ze Germans at Mons etc in 1914, crossed with Omdurman 1898.

I am, perhaps, confused.

Could you expand on this?

[Stuart Mackey]

Now that interests me, as now I'm wondering if the defense of Papelotte is intended to be entirely against the "frontal harassment," as opposed to "as a second fallback if Hougoumont and La Saint Haye both fall"... although, I would think that the 2006ers' idea of defense in depth is a "wee bit" different from his idea of it?

Probably, but remember what happened to ze Germans at Mons etc in 1914, crossed with Omdurman 1898.

I am, perhaps, confused.

Could you expand on this?

Think of the Modern UK company as their counterparts of 1914 using fire/manovour/concealment and 15-20 aimed rounds per minute from their SMLE .303 rifles, at the Sudanese army army of 1898 armed with flintlocks, no artillery and poor command and control. It will not matter much about fall back positions or defense in depth, although their will be plans for that, because the modern company is about to replay the first days of the Somme from the German perspective and from very favorable terrain (their is a video on you tube that shows what the original battle field looked like, and it is a formidable position, much more so than now, which is the effect of the Prince of Orange vandalizing the place for his damned victory mound, the zitty arsed twat.).