"I don't underrate the value of military knowledge, but if men make war in slavish obedience to rules, they will fail." –Ulysses S. Grant
[X] Plan Bait and Switch
-[X] Fort Erie is the main objective, and you cannot let the supplies and men inside it slip away to Canada. And if you delay, they will have time to prepare their defenses.
-[X] Yes, now is the time to strike while they are unaware and unprepared for our approach!
--[X] Leave behind a detachment of men to guard your flank and rear while you attack.
---[X] Half of 3rd and 4th Canadian
--[X] Leave behind a detachment to commit spoiling attacks to keep the enemy you aren't attacking distracted.
---[X] Half of 3rd and 4th Canadian, all Cavalry and Little Hawk's troops
June 12, 1776
Fort Erie, New York
Rogers' Distraction
1D100 = 49+5+5+5 => 64 (Decent enough distraction, it seems.)
Robert Rogers grinned, his weathered face illuminated by the flickering light of the campfires already burning along the riverbank. His men moved with a purposeful energy, piling firewood into towering pyres on both sides of the water.
"Come on, lads!" Rogers called out, his voice rough but charged with excitement. "We're about to light the biggest fire Canada has ever seen!"
The men cheered, their spirits buoyed by the audacity of the plan. The pyres were meant to create a blazing barrier, blocking the enemy from moving further up the river and forcing them to retreat—or face fiery chaos.
Rogers paused to survey the scene, his eyes narrowing as he gauged the strategic brilliance of his handiwork. Everything seemed in place. The timber was stacked high, the traps set, and the men ready to strike at a moment's notice.
But then a shout broke his concentration.
"Uh, Colonel, we have a problem!"
Rogers spun around, his sharp gaze landing on one of his scouts, who was hurrying toward him with an anxious expression.
"What is it?" Rogers barked, already scanning the river for signs of enemy movement. His mind raced with possibilities: reinforcements, a surprise attack, something gone wrong with the traps.
"They haven't sent any forces upriver yet!" the scout replied, his breath fogging in the cold air.
"No, sir," the scout said, his voice tinged with frustration. "It's not that. The timber—it's too wet! We're going to need more gunpowder to get it burning properly."
For a moment, Rogers stood still, the weight of the setback settling on his shoulders. The success of their plan hinged on those fires.
He sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Damn this cursed weather," he muttered, before shouting orders to the nearest group of men. "Bring me one round of powder! Just one—no more! And make sure that the kindling is dry. I want these fires to burn, and burn bright!"
His men scrambled to obey, hastily unpacking a small measure of precious gunpowder and working to replace the damp kindling. Rogers knelt beside one of the pyres, inspecting their work with a practiced eye. The timber might be wet, but he had no intention of letting that stop him.
As the men labored, Rogers straightened and glanced downriver, his keen instincts on edge. He could feel the pressure mounting, the sense that every moment counted.
"Lads," he called out, his voice carrying over the bustling activity. "This fire isn't just for us.and we'll be feasting on british ale and wine when we are done!"
The spark was struck, the kindling caught, and soon the first flames licked hungrily at the towering stacks of wood. Rogers watched as the fire began to spread, his grin returning as he imagined the enemy's reaction when they saw the inferno waiting for them.
"Let them come," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the crackling flames. "We're long gone before they come.."
Robert Rogers' Stealth
1D100 = 66+5+5+5 => 81
Royal Navy Awareness
1D100 = Nat! 1+10-10 => Nat!Fail! 1 ( The hell?!)
British Guards
1D100 = 58+5-10-5-5 => 43
American Stealth
1D100 = 68+10+5 => 83
First American Assault
1D100 = 24+10+10 => 44
First British Defense
1D100 = Nat! 5+10-10-5 => Nat!Fail! 0 ( Not again, not again!! )
General Jonathan Halbert stood at the edge of the treeline, gazing at the imposing fort in the distance. The sight of the ships weighing anchor and drifting away filled him with a sense of urgency and dread. The fort itself was alive with activity—wagons being loaded, men shouting commands, and the faint shimmer of bayonets catching the light. Halbert exhaled sharply and turned to his men, steeling himself for what was to come.
"We're going to march in silence," he ordered, his voice calm but firm. "Tell the men to prepare. I want a rifle squad at the vanguard."
One of his officers saluted and passed the word down the line. Within moments, a handful of riflemen from Rogers' contingent stepped forward, their expressions a mix of determination and apprehension.
"Gentlemen," Halbert said, addressing them directly, "do not fire unless you have a clear shot at an officer or an opportunity to secure a significant advantage. Understood?"
"Aye, sir," they replied, snapping quick salutes before jogging ahead toward the cover of the trees.
Nearby, Colonel Benjamin Tupper stood with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the men preparing to move. "I don't like this, sir," he muttered.
"Neither do I," Halbert replied tersely. "But we don't have a choice. We're out of artillery, and every moment we delay gives them more time to fortify. This is going to be bloody. Very bloody." The bitterness in his tone betrayed his frustration, and the weight of the moment pressed heavily on him. "See to your brigade, General."
Colonel Tupper was silent for a moment, and for a moment, Halbert worried that he would continue to object. Then, he stiffened and saluted, and Halbert returned it with a nod.
As Tupper then left, Halbert turned to his young aide, Lt. Tommy Navarre, who sat uneasily on his horse. "Tommy," he said, his voice softening slightly, "catch up with the riflemen. Lead them."
"Sir?" Tommy's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why me?"
"Because I've got no one else to spare," Halbert replied. His voice dropped lower. "And because you're the best fighter I have. They'll need someone who can think on his feet, someone who isn't afraid to act."
Tommy hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Aye, sir." He dismounted, handed his reins to a nearby soldier, and sprinted after the rifle squad.
|==================================|
Corporal Geoffrey Rush had joined the Continental Army with dreams of becoming a gentleman. Without the wealth to purchase an officer's commission, he had hoped to earn his status through merit. But the reality of war had proven far grimmer than his ambitions.
Standing with his squad, Rush observed the fort from their concealed position in the underbrush. The gates were open, and wagons were being loaded with supplies. Despite the ships leaving, the men in the fort seemed oddly unhurried, as if confident in their security. Rush squinted, noting two figures pacing along the wall, one with an ornate sword and the other gesturing like an engineer. They were shouting commands, their attention focused on the wagons below.
Something about the scene nagged at him. Then his eyes fell on one wagon in particular, its contents exposed: barrels of gunpowder. Rush's breath caught.
"Sir!" he hissed as Tommy approached. "Look at that wagon—the one near the gate. It's loaded with powder. If we can ignite it…"
Tommy followed his gaze, his expression tightening as he realized the potential. "You've got a plan?"
Rush didn't answer immediately. Instead, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and began climbing a nearby tree. His men exchanged puzzled looks as he wrapped his legs around a sturdy branch, hanging precariously to gain a better angle.
"Rush!" Tommy called. "What the hell are you doing?"
Rush adjusted his grip, aiming his rifle downward toward the powder-laden wagon. "I need elevation. If I can hit one of those barrels…"
"You'll blow the whole thing to hell," Tommy finished, a mix of realization and horror in his voice.
"Exactly." Rush glanced down at Tommy, his face flushed from exertion. "Get the men to charge. Draw their attention. I only get one shot at this. Make sure the Wagon doesn't move, or anyone stands in the way."
Tommy hesitated. "Are you sure about this?"
"No," Rush admitted. "But we're out of time, and I'm doing what I think is right. Now go!"
Tommy nodded reluctantly and turned to the men. "You heard him! Move! Get to the gate and start fighting!"
The squad hesitated for a fraction of a second before springing into action, running full tilt toward the fort. Shouts erupted from the defenders as the sudden movement drew their attention, and men who had been loading wagons took defensive positions but did not secure the gates or move the wagons. Muskets cracked, and the air filled with the acrid stench of gunpowder.
Hanging from the tree, Rush steadied his rifle, his hands trembling slightly. He whispered a silent prayer, asking for steady aim and divine favor. The world around him seemed to fall away as he focused on his target, the powder barrel gleaming in the afternoon light.
He exhaled slowly, squeezed the trigger, and fired.
Time seemed to freeze. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then a deafening explosion tore through the fort, engulfing the gate in fire and smoke. Screams and chaos erupted as debris rained down on the defenders, and the front gates of the fort were completely destroyed by the explosion. Rush dropped from the tree, his legs giving out beneath him as the shockwave rippled through the ground.
As Rush recovered from the shock of the explosion, adrenaline coursed through his veins like wildfire. He didn't have time to think, to feel, or to acknowledge the agony in his feet as his boots all but disintegrated off his feet, leaving his soles bare to the cruel earth. Sticks and sharp grass tore at his skin, but he ignored the pain. He ran harder than he ever thought possible, legs burning, lungs screaming for air.
He was falling behind—his men and Lieutenant Navarre were already near the fort walls, but that only spurred him on. As he sprinted, he reached into his cartridge box with shaking hands, bit into the paper, and poured the powder down the barrel of his rifle. He dropped the ball in next, letting it settle, then used his momentum to ram the charge home with a single fluid motion. The rifle was ready, and so was he.
When Rush finally reached the others, his chest heaving and his vision blurred with sweat, they turned to him in astonishment. None of them could believe what they were seeing—a man who had just sprinted over five hundred yards through gunfire, barefoot and battered, yet still standing tall, his rifle ready for action.
"Rush!" Tommy barked, his voice cutting through the cacophony of battle. "You made it?"
Rush grinned breathlessly, nodding as he glanced around. Behind him, Halbert's regiment was closing in fast, their disciplined ranks advancing toward the chaos of the fort. Smoke still billowed from the shattered gate, and the defenders were in complete disarray, some shouting orders, others retreating further into the courtyard.
"Tommy!" Rush yelled, his voice raw but steady. "Plan?"
Tommy's eyes scanned the scene for barely a second before a fierce smile spread across his face, his mind already racing ahead. The man was quick, almost too quick as if he'd thought through the possibilities before the explosion even happened.
"The gate's open but they are expecting us," Tommy said, pointing toward the smoking entrance. "But we don't walk in. Climb the walls, secure the ramparts, and fire into the courtyard! Pin them down!" He then prepared to draw his sword.
Rush nodded sharply, understanding the brilliance of the plan. Charging through the open gate would funnel them into a potential killing ground. But taking the walls would allow them to rain fire on the enemy and sow even more chaos.
"Lads!" Rush shouted to the others, his voice raw but commanding. "You heard him! Find a way up! Move!"
The squad sprang into action, rushing toward the nearest section of wall. Tommy led the charge, grabbing a fallen length of timber from the explosion and jamming it against the stone. It wasn't much, but it gave them just enough leverage to start climbing. Rush followed, his raw feet scraping against the rough surface as he pulled himself up with a strength he didn't know he had.
Gunfire cracked from the courtyard as the defenders scrambled to regroup, but the smoke from the explosion still cloaked much of the area, giving them precious cover. One by one, the men reached the top of the wall. Rush was among the last to crest the rampart, his rifle slung over his back as he hauled himself up.
From their elevated position, they could see the full extent of the chaos below. Soldiers were shouting, officers desperately trying to rally their men. The powder wagon had turned into a smoldering wreck, scattering debris and broken bodies across the yard.
Tommy didn't hesitate. "Positions! Fire at will!"
Rush and the others took aim, their rifles cracking as they picked off officers and gunners trying to organize a defense. The courtyard descended further into confusion as the defenders scrambled for cover. Rush reloaded as quickly as his hands allowed, his fingers slick with sweat and powder residue.
Below, Halbert's Massachusetts Regiment surged forward, their muskets gleaming in the hazy light. The combined assault was relentless, and Rush could see the resolve of the defenders beginning to falter. They had seized the initiative, and now it was only a matter of pressing the advantage.
"Keep firing!" Tommy shouted, his voice ringing out over the din. "Hold the wall!"
British Morale Check
1D100 = 73+10-10-5-5 => 63
Royal Navy
1D100 = 45+10-15-5 => 35
Robert Rogers
1D100 = 69+5+5+5+5 => 89
Robert Rogers stood at the edge of the tree line, his eyes locked on the ship steadily gliding toward the shallows. A sly grin tugged at his lips. The sound of creaking timbers and faint voices carried across the water, but the tension in the forest was palpable. His men were silent, their breaths held as they awaited his command.
"Only two ships, sir?" one of his men whispered, his voice tinged with incredulity.
"Yes," Rogers replied, the smile widening. "Which means our plan worked. They're sending fewer because they believe the rest will keep us pinned down elsewhere. But tell me—are the lads in the trees above, and along the line?"
"Yes, sir. All accounted for," the man confirmed. Then, hesitating, he added, "But, sir, what exactly are we—?"
"Look there," Rogers interrupted, pointing to a shallow stretch of water where the riverbed rose treacherously close to the surface. "When we fire, they'll panic. They'll have no choice but to veer toward the shallows to avoid taking more losses from our muskets. And when they do..." He let the sentence hang, his grin sharpening. "They'll run aground. Then we'll hit them hard, pour fire onto their deck, and take the ship for ourselves."
The soldier blinked, staring at Rogers as if he'd lost his mind. "That sounds... impossible, sir."
"Perhaps," Rogers said, his tone light but firm. "But we're going to try it anyway. If there's one thing I've learned, lad, it's that audacity often wins the day."
The soldier nodded, though his face still betrayed skepticism. Rogers turned his gaze back to the water, his grin fading as his focus sharpened. This was the moment. If he'd miscalculated, if any part of the plan faltered, it would mean disaster for all of them.
Rogers exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cool air. He steadied his aim, the rhythm of his heartbeat matching the deliberate movements of his hands. His musket was primed, his eye fixed on the helmsman of the lead ship. He whispered a quiet prayer—though whether it was to God, fate, or sheer luck, even he wasn't certain—and gently squeezed the trigger.
The crack of the shot split the air, and the helmsman jerked violently as the bullet struck true, blood spraying as he collapsed over the wheel. The ship began to drift, the unmanned wheel spinning erratically. Rogers' men didn't wait for further orders. One after another, the concealed riflemen fired, each shot calculated to pick off sailors in critical positions—men at the rigging, officers barking orders, anyone who could right the course of the vessel.
The chaos began to unfold exactly as Rogers had predicted. With the wheel unmanned and the crew scrambling, the ship veered hard toward the shallows. The keel scraped violently against the riverbed, and the vessel lurched to a halt, stuck fast.
"Now!" Rogers barked, and the men above leaped into action.
From the treetops, agile marksmen slid down ropes or climbed quickly to the ground, leaving their rifles with their fellows below. Drawing tomahawks and knives, they sprinted through the underbrush toward the stranded ship. On deck, the enemy crew fired their cannons blindly into the forest, the thunderous booms splitting branches and sending debris raining down. But the dense canopy provided ample cover, and the erratic cannon fire failed to dislodge the attackers.
The sailors, desperate and disoriented, tried to return musket fire, but Rogers' men in the trees had a commanding vantage point. High above the deck, the riflemen continued to reload and fire with deadly precision. Each shot sent another sailor toppling, reducing the ship's capacity to fight back.
As the attackers closed in, Rogers kept a careful eye on the battlefield, gauging every move. His gamble was paying off. The sailors were pinned, their movements restricted by the tight confines of the deck and the unrelenting fire from the forest. Some tried to abandon ship, leaping into the water, but the muddy shallows slowed them, making them easy targets.
When the lead group of Rogers' men reached the ship, they didn't hesitate. and without any grappling hooks they just used rope, their belts... and even just climbed in front on the gun ports, gambling that they would either survive, or be killed instantly by cannons. The sailors, already demoralized, fought valiantly but futilely. The element of surprise, combined with Rogers' precise planning, ensured the skirmish was short and decisive.
|==================================|
Rogers' Second Attack
1D100 = Nat! 98+10+5 => Nat!Crit! 113 (Oh, for– )
Do the Ships Surrender?
1D100 = 19-10-10+10 = 9 ( Of course, what else would I expect?)
The first ship surrendered, her colors struck as one of Rogers' captains—more brazen than wise—scaled the rigging under fire. Bullets whizzed past, enemy and friendly alike, but the man pressed on undeterred. With a reckless determination that Rogers couldn't decide was inspired or sheer lunacy, the captain reached the deck, sword drawn, and barked the demand for surrender directly in the face of the ship's terrified officers. Against all odds, they complied.
"A madman," Rogers muttered, watching the scene from a distance. "But he's alive. Perhaps the dispatches will call it bravery instead of insanity."
Even as the crew of the first vessel began laying down their arms, Rogers turned his attention to the second ship. The second prize had run aground further downriver, its hull firmly lodged in the sandbank. Cannon fire had ceased, and from what he could see, the sailors were scrambling about the deck in a state of panic.
He cupped his hands to his mouth, his voice booming across the water. "Surrender, you cowards! Lay down your arms, and we'll grant you the honors of war!"
For a moment, there was no response. Rogers wondered if his voice had carried, or if the beleaguered crew had simply decided to ignore him. But then, as he watched, the flag atop the ship's mast wavered and began to lower. A ripple of cheers spread through his men as the second ship struck her colors.
It was done. They had won.
Rogers allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction, though his mind quickly turned to other concerns. Victory here was significant, but it was only one part of a larger campaign. He looked to the forest's edge, where his men were rounding up prisoners and securing the ships. He had what he needed—two valuable prizes that would serve their cause well—but there was little time to waste.
His thoughts drifted to General Halbert and Colonel Lee, both engaged in their own battles elsewhere. He wondered how they were faring. The success here gave him hope, but he knew better than to assume their fortunes had turned as decisively. They were fighting a far more entrenched and numerous enemy.
Still, he allowed himself a grim smile. "If Halbert has half the audacity my men do, they'll be giving the enemy hell by now."
General Jonathan Halbert was incensed, truly, incandescently furious for only a brief moment, when he realized what his young aide had done. Once again, Tommy had thrown caution to the wind and executed one of his absurd, borderline suicidal maneuvers. Halbert then realized that he was rubbing off far to much on his junior officers with his stunts... or perhaps it was the Lee was rubbing off on him too much? He has almost assuredly brought this upon himself... and he was happy.
Clearly and completely happy that they were not all dead.
Who, in their right bloody mind, would shoot a barrel of gunpowder, cause an explosion that could have killed them all, then sprint 500 yards across an open field under enemy fire, and finally scale a bloody fort wall as if it were some grand climbing competition? Madness. Sheer, unrelenting madness.
But they were his madmen. And for all his irritation, Halbert had to admit that their audacity carried a strange, undeniable charm. It was a kind of brilliance that no amount of discipline or conventional strategy could replicate. It was also the sort of thing that could get them all killed. But then again, he should not have been surprised.
Halbert had planned for a standard, organized assault. Build a line, volley fire, wear the enemy down with discipline and musketry. Yet here he was, shouting himself hoarse as his men broke ranks, charging like a mob of berserkers to support Tommy's insane plan.
"Move, lads! Quickly!" Halbert roared, spurring his horse forward to keep pace. The battlefield was chaos. Some of his men ran in wild sprints, clutching their muskets as if they were pikes... some who only had pikes. Others fell to stray shots from the walls, but those still standing pressed on with a determination that defied logic.
A few of the fallen struggled back to their feet, clutching wounds but refusing to be left behind. Others weren't so lucky, trampled in the surge of boots as their comrades raced toward the fort. The cacophony was deafening, shouted orders, the crack of musket fire, and the distant cries of the wounded mixing into a single, relentless roar.
Through it all, Halbert tried to maintain some semblance of order. "Keep together!" he bellowed, his voice raw. "Stick to your officers! Advance as one!"
To his surprise, his men seemed to respond. Small groups of ten or more clustered together, rallying around their officers and noncommissioned leaders. They advanced with a rough sort of cohesion, ducking behind any cover they could find as the enemy on the walls fired desperately into the mass of charging soldiers.
Above them, Tommy and his squad were locked in vicious hand-to-hand combat with the defenders on the ramparts with his sword in hand, as well as a pistol that he seemed to have taken... from one of the enemy officers that were sprawled across the wall. The young officer had managed to secure a foothold, and his men were now fighting like demons, their rifles flashing in the smoky light with accurate fire. It was clear they were buying time for the rest of the force to arrive.
Halbert's men finally reached the outer walls and began pouring into the fort through the shattered gate, but it was very particular, saving any bit of ammunition unless they could kill. Inside, the scene was chaos. The defenders, regulars of the British Army, had retreated to their barracks and were pouring devastating fire from the windows and doorways. Halbert's soldiers scrambled for cover, some returning fire, others simply trying to stay alive.
In the midst of the fire fight, Halbert spotted something that made his blood boil anew—some of his men raiding the kitchens. The scent of warm stew wafted through the air as soldiers tore into the supplies, stuffing bread and meat into their packs and mouths as if they hadn't eaten in weeks.
"Get out of there, you fools!" Halbert roared, riding toward the scene. "We're in the middle of a battle, not a damned feast!"
The chastised soldiers scrambled back to their positions, red-faced and sheepish. Halbert shook his head, muttering curses under his breath. This was the reality of commanding an army like his, a mix of raw recruits and hardened veterans, all driven by desperation, hunger, and a fierce determination to survive.
Amid the chaos, Halbert dismounted and took stock of the situation. His men were holding their ground, trading fire with the defenders while others began to scale the walls to reinforce Tommy's squad. The British were stubborn, but their cohesion was faltering under the relentless assault. But they still held.
Halbert turned to his nearest officer, a grizzled sergeant with a face like an old tree. "We need to push them out of the barracks," he said. "Get some of that burning lumber. Smoke them out if you have to. Burn them all if you have to."
The sergeant saluted and barked orders to the nearest squad. Moments later, a volley of fire came, before there was... more fire. Logs and sticks were thrown.
But the barracks remained standing... surrounded by the enemy, stalwart in the face of great opposition. But Halbert's forces had won for now.
"Sir! Colonel Brown sends his compliments!"
AMERICANS vs MOHAWKS
Americans
1D100 = 51+10+5 => 66
Mohawks
1D100 = 91-5+5+5 => Art!Crit! 96 ( Why are my dice like this?)
Colonel John Brown cursed as musketballs and arrows sang through the air all around him, his horse braying anxiously all the while. His brigade had been ordered to keep the Mohawks occupied in the South, and so he'd immediately set his men on a race to surprise the Mohawks. Unfortunately, the Mohawks had been ready for an attack, and instead, it was he and his men that had been ambushed. Behind every tree and shadow, there seemed to be a Mohawk with musket loaded or bow drawn ready to rain metal death upon them.
A man in front of him fell dead, having been pierced by at least three arrows, and Brown let out another string of curses.
"Lt. Harlow!"
Brown called out, and his aide quickly rode over. "Sir?!"
"Ride on to General Halbert and tell him we need reinforcements over here with all possible speed," Brown yelled over the sound and fury of battle. "Tell him we're getting picked off like cotton here; we won't be able to hold for too long without help! With my compliments."
"Yes, sir!" Harlow saluted before yanking his steed's reins and rode north as quick as he could. Brown sent a quiet prayer up to God for Harlow's safety before snapping back to the present. "Lt. Smith! Get to Captain Dinwittie and Little Hawk. Tell them..."
Current Gross Casualties
Americans:
45 at Fort Erie, 192 in the South, 237 in total.
British:
186 at Fort Erie, 66 in the South, 252 in total.
The majority of Fort Erie has been taken and most British soldiers have been killed or captured, with only the barracks holding out in defiance of Halbert's forces. Down to the south, however, the Second Brigade and other units have met stiff resistance by the Mohawks, with them even being pushed back. Colonel Brown has required reinforcements as quickly as possible. Neither Lee nor Rogers are anywhere in sight. What does Halbert do?
[] Focus all efforts on taking the last of Fort Erie, hoping that Brown's men will be able to hold out until either Halbert or Lee are able to reinforce them.
[] Send out a limited force to reinforce Brown's men while the rest deal with Fort Erie.
-[] Write-in which unit/s you wish to divert for Brown.
[] Wheel out the entire First Brigade and rush to Brown's aid down south. Lee would have you hung by your breeches if you abandoned the fort after taking it.
What does Halbert order Brown to do with his men?
[] Hold his current position and do not give ground.
[] Do a fighting withdrawal toward the fort, giving time for help from Halbert or Lee to arrive.
[] Disengage from the Mohawks and retreat to the fort with all possible haste.
If Halbert sends a relief force, does he go with that force to take command of the south or not?
[] Everything is going as well as it can. Colonel Tupper can take care of the fort from here, the south needs Halbert's personal leadership.
[] No, Halbert cannot afford to be distracted from the main priority at the moment. Besides, Brown might not appreciate what he might think to be micromanagement.
I am going to pull a Meriwether Lewis with the way these rolls are, good grief... If I had a nickel every time infantry took out a British ship in this quest, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened more than once, right?
Anyways, here's the Christmas Day update as I promised. Hope you all enjoy!
If you don't know yet, I have nominated this quest for two categories of the Users' Choice Awards, which are happening right now. If you could kindly spare some time and vote for my quest in these categories, it would make my day.
Thanks once again to @Magoose for his help with this update.
Revolutionary Fun Fact–During the American Civil War, Jefferson C. Davis, a Union General unfortunate enough to share a name with the President of the Confederate States, shot and killed his superior Bull Nelson after the latter had lambasted the former. Somehow, Davis was not arrested, but he never rose in rank again.
You know that this will do more damage to the British morale than any of the deaths on this battle, we stole not once but twice a ship from the pridefull British Navy, it doesn't matter that we did have an ambush and was expecting the ships the important is that ''upstart Americans did it again'', and the really funny thing is that i can see the jornals going all '' It was all those boys from Mad John and they did it again''.
Kek after that i could see Washington thinking that Jonathan is the gift that did keeps giving, i really really hope that we steal one more ship again just to get ''Once is a fluke, twice is a coincidence, three is a pattern'' because after that the British will really think that there must be some sort of traitor in their ranks because they can't keep losing ships like that right ?
Hmmm on one hand we almost have the fort. On the other hand out men outside said fort need help. Currently leaning on sending them help just not sure who to send.
I am going to pull a Meriwether Lewis with the way these rolls are, good grief... If I had a nickel every time infantry took out a British ship in this quest, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened more than once, right?
You know that this will do more damage to the British morale than any of the deaths on this battle, we stole not once but twice a ship from the pridefull British Navy, it doesn't matter that we did have an ambush and was expecting the ships the important is that ''upstart Americans did it again'', and the really funny thing is that i can see the jornals going all '' It was all those boys from Mad John and they did it again
I bet that there would be a lot of ''How would the American Revolution go without Jonathan Halbert'' or '' What if Jonathan was in X front'' would be a real interesting one too, and this one that the history channels will farm for years ''How the Mad John completely destroyed the British in Canada''
A real funny is that if the British do so bad in the domestic front that with our victories it spark a revolt in Ireland as they see a colony trying to break the shackles and see that they are winning and decide to give it a try too.
A real funny is that if the British do so bad in the domestic front that with our victories it spark a revolt in Ireland as they see a colony trying to break the shackles and see that they are winning and decide to give it a try too.
On the one hand, I'm morbidly pleased to see an actual stiff British defense - it serves a lot of our purposes to have them be so, and it's a matter of pride (ridiculous as that is) to have your mettle tested and still win.
On the other, this is one of the worst possible situations and I'm very unhappy about our boys getting in this particular knock-down fight.
The latter takes precedence over the former every time. So...
[X] Plan Wrap This Up, The Hookers and Eggnog Are Waiting
-[X] Send out a limited force to reinforce Brown's men while the rest deal with Fort Erie.
--[X] Half Each of 1st Massacheusets (under Hawkins, give him command of relief force) & 1st Canadian
-[X] Do a fighting withdrawal toward the fort, giving time for help from Halbert or Lee to arrive.
-[X] No, Halbert cannot afford to be distracted from the main priority at the moment. Besides, Brown might not appreciate what he might think to be micromanagement.
Alright, we can't leave our dudes hanging, but our dudes aren't well trained enough to leave without Halbert's control lest they break the assault and devolve to looting, we need to secure the rest of the fort properly before shit blows up any further, and any relief force we sends needs to minimize transit time lest the Mohawks ambush them.
So do a half and half 1000 man relief force to help Brown, and have him do a fighting retreat so he links up with Hawkins quickly as possible. If we've secured the fort by then, we can cmit properly to a knock down drag out with the Mowhawks.
@Duke William of do we have a decent count of how many enemies are still in the fort?
Well I can definitely see the rolls in the quest as a Christmas miracle for this day with how the dice have rolled. Though I can imagine that the dice are laughing with glee at how @Duke William of reacts to their bipolar rolls.
If no one else noticed then yes I am trying to do some Christmas poetry and rhymes for my response to these rolls though I don't think I will do poetry and such as I am not good with anything relating to them.
And in my opinion it would be a good idea to do a fighting retreat as if the enemy is expecting a fight, it means that you have walked into their chosen battle ground, try to make them follow brown to the incoming reinforcements of General Lee.
In that case, inside the fort - past the worst of the defenses - and with more than double that high estimate in total staying behind, I think keeping 1500 muskets and 500 pikes works out. Thanks much.
[X] Plan Wrap This Up, The Hookers and Eggnog Are Waiting
-[X] Send out a limited force to reinforce Brown's men while the rest deal with Fort Erie.
--[X] Half Each of 1st Massacheusets (under Hawkins, give him command of relief force) & 1st Canadian
-[X] Do a fighting withdrawal toward the fort, giving time for help from Halbert or Lee to arrive.
-[X] No, Halbert cannot afford to be distracted from the main priority at the moment. Besides, Brown might not appreciate what he might think to be micromanagement.
[X] Plan Wrap This Up, The Hookers and Eggnog Are Waiting
-[X] Send out a limited force to reinforce Brown's men while the rest deal with Fort Erie.
--[X] Half Each of 1st Massacheusets (under Hawkins, give him command of relief force) & 1st Canadian
-[X] Do a fighting withdrawal toward the fort, giving time for help from Halbert or Lee to arrive.
-[X] No, Halbert cannot afford to be distracted from the main priority at the moment. Besides, Brown might not appreciate what he might think to be micromanagement.
[X] Plan The Fort Must Fall
-[X] Focus all efforts on taking the last of Fort Erie, hoping that Brown's men will be able to hold out until either Halbert or Lee are able to reinforce them.
-[X] Do a fighting withdrawal toward the fort, giving time for help from Halbert or Lee to arrive.
"He who defends everything defends nothing."
—Frederick The Great
Focus on taking the fort first. Brown needs only to delay them while steadily withdrawing. Just one last push, and we can capture the fort.
)
)
