Grantville Gazette 38

'And why aren't we working in tercios? You've got all the blocks sorted out into their respective weapon types. They should be combined.'

Thomas shook his head. 'Tercios is a Spanish formation.'

'Not exclusively. Other nations use it at as well.'

'It's a fine formation, Elsinger, but we don't have enough men for tercios.' Thomas' frustration was growing again. 'That only works well with thousands. We've less than eight hundred. If we start mixing our unit types, they'll be less effective. We need concentrated firepower for narrow passes. Besides, we are in effect working in tercios anyway, since I allow stacking, so pike blocks can stack with cavalry, with guns, and so on. Now, let's proceed.'

Thomas picked up two ten-sided dice and handed one to Elsinger. 'You're going to get destroyed,' Goepfert whispered into Thomas' ear. Thomas nodded. 'Perhaps.'

They rolled off in the wooden box. 'Okay,' Thomas said, 'you rolled six and I rolled three. Now we add our respective combat strengths to our rolls to get a total of six and ten. Let's check the combat result table.'

Thomas had opted for ten-sided dice for combat because it gave more result gradation as opposed to a single six-sided die, or even two sixes. Being able to roll a natural zero also gave you the option of using it as a zero or a ten depending upon your combat model, and allowed for critical success or failure. The numbers that they rolled were pretty average.

Thomas checked the chart and said, 'Your roll of four greater than me gives us a result number of two with asterisk, which means that I can either take two damage points, stand my ground and roll another round of combat as a melee engagement, or I can take one damage point and retreat one hex and allow you a free pursuit. I would only take that option, however, if I could retreat to terrain which would give me a better defensive bonus.' Thomas pointed to the map. 'As you can see, there are no such terrain elements in that area.'

'Ah!' Elsinger said, almost giddy. 'Then you'll take your two points of damage and be destroyed.'

'Not yet. Remember, I have skirmishers in the hex, which allows me the option of trying a screened retreat.'

'It'll never work.'

Thomas ignored the comment and rolled his die. 'I add my skirmisher unit's screen value of three to my seven and I get a ten, which is twice the value of your cavalry unit's current movement value. So this allows me to retreat my wounded pike unit one hex. I still take a point of damage, which will prompt another morale check, but my successful screen prevents you from pursuing. And . . .'

'Now it's our turn,' Goepfert said, leaning over the map, 'and his cavalry is stuck in position, fighting off stubborn gunmen, while my cavalry can sweep around there . . . and charge from the rear arch.'

Thomas smiled. Finally, they were understanding things, seeing how the rules affected movement, how their combat and skirmish values (which they had helped to formulate in the dead of winter last December) affected enemy cavalry movement. They were seeing how each commander's psychological profile (steady, rash, cautious, bold) altered the overall combat effectiveness of their units. They were getting it, and he was relieved.

'Yes,' Elsinger said, tossing his die down and tipping his cavalry block over, 'but if you had rolled poorly at any time during this exchange, you would have-'

'I might have routed or exploded in place, which would have given your cavalry an overrun bonus and you would have been able to reposition yourself for a counter attack. Yes, I know the rules.'

Thomas put down his die. 'This is not about winning and losing, gentlemen. If I had rolled poorly, I would be as satisfied in defeat as I am in victory. Kriegspiel is not about victory. It's about practice-being able to put our men through their paces without actually expending them in the field, without forcing them to slog their way through passes choked in snow, at altitudes that make the most stalwart soldier lose consciousness. We can keep from expending materiel that we cannot afford to lose. We can practice tactics, like we have been doing, again and again and again, and see what works, what doesn't, and then adjust our numbers, our variables, until we're satisfied that we've got it right. Each time we win here, we try it again and employ a different tactic. We see what works, what doesn't, and hopefully on the battlefield, you will employ the lessons we've learned.

'Gentlemen, I know what's said of me. I know I'm kalbfleisch, and I know losing Dettwiler was a serious blow to the morale of our men. Even my father contemplated striking a deal with Gremminger. But what's done is done. All I can do is use the gifts I've been given by God. I'm the lowly third son of a powerful father who's nearing death. My oldest brother awaits this event with eager humility. My other brother worships our Lord in Lucerne. I have this,' Thomas pointed to his head, 'and mathematics. Mathematics is the universal language, and it is possible, with careful and diligent manipulation, to use it to model war. That is what we do here. That is what I learned in Grantville.'

'But sir,' Goepfert said, quietly, 'there may come a time when you will have to put the dice down and lead your men.'

Thomas nodded but felt the tears of fear well in his eyes. God help us all.

They were silent for a long moment. Thomas blinked, shook his head, and said, 'I think you're right, Elsinger. I think our skirmish values are too high. We'll reduce them to a five and try again.'

Before they finished setting up for another go, a messenger entered the tent.

'Yes, what is it?'

The boy nodded and said, 'My Lord, Captain Buss says that Gremminger has received Spanish mercenaries.'

'Bastard Hapsburgs!' growled Elsinger.

Thomas's heart sank. 'How many?'

The messenger shook his head. 'Could not get close enough for an accurate count, but he suspects one hundred, one hundred fifty . . . maybe more. And, My Lord, some of them have up-time rifles.'

'What kind?' Goepfert said.

'We do not know, sir. But they're rifles for sure. Our man watched them drill. They're powerful. At least twice the effectiveness of our own guns.'

'How are they positioned in the ranks?'

'They aren't in the ranks, my Lord. They comprise one unit of twenty. And they're being fitted as riders.'

'Cavalry?' Goepfert seemed shocked.

Thomas grit his teeth and backed away from the table. A unit of twenty Spanish riflemen on horseback, firing at twice the effectiveness of his own snaplocks. They'd probably field at three times effectiveness in practice, though, for just having those weapons in hand would embolden them beyond their normal strength. They certainly could not fire effectively on horseback, especially in this rocky terrain, so they will likely dismount and take a defensive position like cavalry did in the American Civil War, or like Irish hobilars. But they would be fast, mounting and moving out of harm's way and appearing somewhere else to harry his men. Thomas shook his head.

Gremminger, you sneaky son of a bitch.

He turned back to the tables. 'Okay, the die is cast. Gentlemen, return to your commands and get your men ready. It's time to face the Catholics.' He leaned over the map and began resetting the blocks into their starting positions. 'I want continual reports, by the hour. Understand?'

'Yes, my Lord,' Elsinger said. 'What will you be doing?'

Thomas looked up and smiled. 'I'll be here . . . running the numbers.'

****

'Dismount!'

Captain Mendoza gave the order as his cavalry cleared the tiny creek running down the center of the pass. Men came off their horses even before they slowed and some tumbled into the water, breaking their fall by dropping their Enfields and catching themselves before impaling their bodies on the sharp rocks below the melting ice. Mendoza cursed and helped a man to his feet, gave him back his rifle and pushed him to the bank. 'Get ready to fire!'

About a hundred yards ahead of their position stood a thin line of pike, taking cover behind piles of rocks and fence rails. Mendoza knelt down, loaded his weapon, and set the barrel carefully in the crook of a tree. He cocked the hammer and waited until every man was ready.