Bloodthirsty my eye

I was at the club on Tuesday, but I had somehow let my camera battery run down and I am seldom accompanied by my mobile phone hence no pictures, I had asked for some from one of the club members who was taking photographs of his own game, a very nice Cross and Crescent combat, but it must have slipped his mind.

It was Muskets and Tomahawks and an American colonial force along with some British irregulars had to take and burn a village, slaughtering everyone in the area. I was in charge of what I was told were a bloodthirstier than normal band of Indians, everyone ooooh'd and said I had the fiercest guys on the table. The game was a disaster for the Americans, they had to ford a raging stream before getting to the village, their first attempt found five of them swept away and scrambling for safety, despite this they were the only Americans to eventually cross and never moved far from the riverbank, pinned down by sniper fire from the village. They gave up in the end and waited for their artillery which did not get into a firing position until the end of the game. The British irregulars did manage to reach the village, push back some of our brave lads and occupy one building. I moved my scary savages towards the British, who foiled me by forming a firing line in the woods and calmly waiting for me to approach and get shot. I might add here activation is by a card system and I was sure most of my cards were out, so no way was I rushing forward. During the next turn the gambler in me took over and I moved up to the British to get within charge reach, I was wrong, they got a volley off but it was pathetic, thankfully. Then the gods took pity and my card came up again, charge!

I don't know what happened to the very scary, angry Indians on the way to the fight, but the bunch I had were only moderately peeved. I only just won the fight and for a moment looked like losing when a big, burly Highlander joined the fray. During the second round I caused the British to recoil and managed to wrestle Jock to the floor and slit his throat before my boys had to run back. Not what I had been led to expect from my red devils. Despite this I had attained my part of the victory conditions so my partner and I declared a win for the French and a draw between ourselves.

The pictures have turned up, so here they are:

The French holding more huts than the British.

Once again I am in woods, centre back.

The British (Scots) irregulars, with big Jock on the far left.

 My fearsome, slightly put out Indians.