Richard summed it up perfectly on his blog: “This was a very convivial occasion with lots of chat, mickey-taking and laughter amongst friends. Well done to Postie for his superbly rendered table. He always manages to produce a visual feast.” Hard to argue with that.
The game itself was a fictional encounter set somewhere in North America during the French and Indian War (1754–63). For those less familiar, this conflict saw Great Britain and France clash, alongside their respective Indigenous allies, and is generally considered part of the wider Seven Years’ War. Stuart (Postie), never one to think small, laid on a table worthy of the setting: a sprawling 6' by 12' battlefield packed with dense forest, a settler village, and a British log fort guarding a river crossing. And yes, there were trees. A lot of trees. Possibly enough to qualify as managed woodland.
Dan, Surjit, and I took command of the British forces, supported by Provincials and allied Indigenous troops. Opposing us were Richard, Ray, and Colin, leading the French and their own Indigenous allies. The scenario opened with a sizeable French force advancing along the main road, while additional elements—represented by blinds—moved unseen through the forests on either side. Our Provincials formed a thin but determined line across the road, buying time for a chaotic column of settlers, wagons, and livestock to make their escape towards the dubious safety of the fort.
We also had a unit of Rangers and another of Indigenous allies to deploy as blinds in the woods. In a moment of optimism (or tactical overconfidence), we placed both on our left flank. This would later prove… educational.
Along the road, the Provincials conducted a steady fighting withdrawal, delivering volleys before falling back, always keeping just ahead of the French advance. It soon became clear that not all the French blinds were empty. Colin’s troops appeared on the French left, while two units of Indigenous warriors emerged on their right—uncomfortably close to my concealed forces. When the blinds were lifted, it became apparent that I was slightly outnumbered.
At that point, discretion suggested retreat. Unfortunately, speed favoured the enemy, and withdrawal likely meant being run down anyway. So, in the finest tradition of questionable battlefield decisions, I chose aggression instead. Fortune favoured this moment—we had the initiative (a recurring theme throughout the game)—so I pushed forward and opened fire, hoping to thin their numbers before the inevitable melee.
Meanwhile, the main action on the road continued much as before: the Provincials trading space for time, picking off French troops while staying just beyond charge range. A cow did make a break for it into the woods—clearly unimpressed with the chain of command—but most of the civilians kept moving. Dan advanced two units of British regulars along either flank, and by turn five or six, they were nearing the fight, poised to significantly increase our firepower.
Back in the woods, things became… less orderly. My Rangers and Indigenous allies collided with Richard’s warriors in a brutal, swirling melee. Over three turns, both sides tore each other apart in close combat until, eventually, there was almost nothing left. The few survivors staggered away, leaving the forest eerily quiet once more.
The French still had one more move to make. Reinforcements arrived by canoe along the river. Four boats carrying indians equipped with ladders, clearly eyeing the fort as their objective. Unfortunately for them, they may have left it a little late (perhaps the upriver rapids proved more troublesome than expected). The British garrison, ever cautious, had kept a strong force inside the fort, ready to receive them.
At this point, the French commanders made the sensible call. Their advance along the road was closing in, but fresh British troops were arriving on both flanks, threatening to more than double the firepower facing them. With mounting casualties and objectives slipping out of reach, discretion won out over valour. The game was called, and we retired indoors for the far more pressing objective of tea.
Credit to the French players, they were hampered by some truly dreadful initiative rolls, winning it only once or twice all game. That allowed the British to dictate the tempo, maintaining the fighting withdrawal while steadily wearing them down. Dice can be cruel, and on this occasion, they were firmly wearing red coats.
Once again, Stuart delivered a beautifully presented game, rich in atmosphere, full of visual detail, and a joy to play on. And, as Richard noted, the day was as much about the company as the combat: plenty of laughter, terrible puns, and the usual good-natured mickey-taking. As is tradition, the battle ended not with recriminations but with handshakes, congratulations, and plans for the next encounter. Now, if we can just keep everyone healthy long enough to actually play it…