They approached the nondescript scrap of scrub and the danger seemed to have passed. Then it started. Seemingly harmless clouds of white smoke appeared to his front from the scrub. Birds flew up into the air. The smoke grew cloud grew and obscured his front, musket balls whizzed by like angry swarms of hornets. At least his skirmishers, the Voltigeurs, handled themselves well, taking this "shock" in their stride, they were his best trained troops. They could fight and fire like demons under the experienced eye of Big Pierre - he called their mechanical actions Sharpe Practice (see below, at least La Panne's men seemed to be more numerous that these Portuguese, but worryingly they were matching Big Pierre in his professionalism):
To La Panne's horror a regular line of brown clad infantrymen approached in line to the sound of a monotonous drumbeat. The sound rolled down towards them, for a moment he thought we was back in Austria fighting Grenzers. The moment passed as a crackle of gunfire swept into the French skirmish line and brough La Panne to his senses. His skirmishers were looking a tad ragged now. Big Pierre was shouting encouragement but twice as much fire was incoming than outgoing. La Panne barked orders to hasten his own troops forwards, but his boys could barely keep stride and keep their lines properly dressed. To ask for more much speed would be asking for chaos (see below, march to the sound of the guns and into the smoke):
The French were being badly pressed and losing the firefight. With two units to fight Big Pierre could not bring either unit under telling fire and his best was to "hold his ground" - to the Portuguese this was good sport, they were dropping Frenchmen (see below, then suddenly the Portuguese skirmishers to the right withdrew after being caught by an accurate volley, briefly they was a ray of hope, but then a second unit of Portuguese skirmishers now appeared to Big Pierre's left, curse these phantoms):
Big Pierre's skirmishers dropped back to reform behind the main French Line, they were a sad and bloodied sight. The two regular formations faced off against each other. Crashing volleys spoke out across the battlefield and brave men dropped dead while others fought off the shock and confusion of battle. The French had won the better position through Big Pierre's bravery, it provided a small difference in cover, but the Portuguese Line unit outshone its French counterpart. It seemed to fire three volleys to La Panne's every two. The men were beginning to buckle and also the Portuguese skirmishers had rallied quicker than the French. La Panne cast an anxious look at his second formation of French Line down in the valley, they would not get to him in time. It was time to retire (see below, there are more holes and more shock on the French forces, with great difficulty La Panne escaped, even if his forces were depleted they would still be useful):
Musing in the cool of his tent, after touring the charnel house that the Regiment called a hospital, it was clear that his opposition was well drilled in the art of war. Old Sergeants shook their heads in disbelief and told him that the Portuguese were different this year. They now "meant it" when they came to fight, the British had instilled some of their "Iron" in the Portuguese bellies. La panne ruminated that he had truly missed the boat when he missed a posting to Russia. If he was not careful Spain would be his grave.
Another good outing for Sharpe Practice. I am getting rather fond of this set of rules. I need to start painting my own Frenchman now!
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