A Flintloque Scenario by Simon Evans
Sharke and his Rifles lie in wait for a Ferach Wagon laden with booze in this classic scenario which includes rules for ambushes in your games of Flintloque.
Sergeant Montage shifted his musket slightly, seating it more comfortably in the crook of his right arm as he trudged along beside the supply wagon. It was a pleasantly cool day, excellent marching weather, and Montage was a seasoned enough campaigner to appreciate the fact. He just wished he was somewhere else. He was a Voltigeur, an elite light infantry Elf, not a baggage guard, and it rankled that he and his section had been reduced to nursemaiding supplies way behind the front lines. Sure, it had to be done, but why couldn't it be done by some other bugger?
He looked around him at the rest of the section, strung out in two files; either side of the wagon. Without being aware he was doing it, he checked their tactical spacing, their alertness, the way they were carrying their muskets. He noticed one of the recent replacements, Escargot, had slung his musket over his shoulder. Montage called over to him, "Oi, Escargot, get that weapon in your hands you waster. If the sling was meant to be used you'd get an instruction book for it". Several of the older members of the section grinned, and Escargot unslung his musket, muttering an apology. "Don't apologise lad, just don't make the mistake again" his Sergeant replied. Nothing like a spell behind the lines to make you drop your guard mused Montage, spitting into the verge. Still, the youngster was shaping up well. If he survived the next few battles he'd the makings of a good soldier.
"'Ere Sarge". A voice interrupted his reverie, brought him back to the task in hand. It was Fusilier Eclair, ex-poacher and the section's champion forager. He had stopped and was crouched by the side of the road, looking at something, Montage strode over. "What have you got?" Eclair picked the screw of paper up and passed it to him. "It's a cartridge, but look at it. If that's not Orc issue you can cut my legs off and call me stunty". Montage examined the cartridge, then tore it and tipped the powder and bullet into his calloused palm, "I think you're right Eclair, this powder's very fine, like a rifle cartridge". They looked at each other. Montage raised his voice to the rest of the Elves. "Listen up. There could be an Orc raiding party nearby, so wake up and keep your eyes and ears peeled, because if you don't some big ugly greenjacket'll do it for you". He returned to his place, easing the lock of his musket back to half-cock and scanning the woods to his front as he did so. Not like the uglies to be that careless he thought; overconfidence can be a killer.
Not a hundred yards up the road Lieutenant Sharke had watched and listened thinking the same thing. Instead of ten slightly drowsy and less than fully alert Elves he and his Orcs were now faced with ten wary and prepared Elves. He turned to Sergeant Harpy. "We'll pull back and set a new ambush a few miles ahead. Give 'em time to relax again". Harpy nodded and turned to pull the section out of their positions. "And Harpy", Sharke said quietly. "Soir?" replied the big Bog Orc.
"I want an ammunition count when we stop. Find out who's Iost a cartridge, because I want to have a little chat to him about fieldcraft." Harpy nodded grimly - Sharke's 'little chats' usually made their point in a painfully physical manner.
The section melted back into the trees. The dying time was postponed. For the time being...
Sharke's Wagon continues here on the official website of the SFSFW, the people who published Ragnarok 23 back in 1996.
Sharke's Wagon was originally published in the Autumn of 1996 in Ragnarok, the official journal of the The Society of Fantasy and Science Fiction Wargamers (SFSFW), an international body dedicated to promoting the fantasy and science fiction genre within wargaming and the hobby in general.
Back then the SFSFW didn't have a website and I published it on Orcs in the Webbe on the 3rd December 2007 as part the 2007 Advent Calendar.