No retreat, no surrender!

Sorry miss but the dog ate my homework… 

Actually Margot or Kiki sat on my iPad and deleted the batrep for this battle by accident (well they said it was an accident - but we did run out of cat treats in the week so it could have been passive aggressive payback for that I suppose?). 

Anywhoo I still have the pictures I took of the affair so without much of the usual blow by blow fluff here’s a pictorial explanation of what happened to the brave defenders of Victoria’s realm. Consider it a sort of Broom Battle Picture Library.

Sergeant Hobbes and the wounded Corporal Figgis had escaped the emerging Prussian soldiers (see last vsf post) and had made it to the bridge over the Lud, just east of Peveril. On their approach shouts from across the river alerted them to a rash of freshly dug mounds and an instruction to “get a ruddy move on”.

Unseen but closing fast was a large force of Martians intent on crossing the bridge in order to get at any “food on the hoof” in the nearby town. 

To avoid the pathogens that had wiped out their initial reconnaissance force the Martians had begun herding captive humans into machines that extracted and sterilized their blood. Though a coldly efficient solution whose industrial scale could help sustain the larger invasion force, it faced a completely unanticipated problem in a now vengefully non compliant civilian population - typified by the proud badge wearing members of the “take one with you” movement who would ingest lethal toxins or immolate themselves on the alien energy barriers rather than provide sustenance. 

Suffice it to say there were a lot of Martians now on British soil and most of them were bloody hungry.

Hobbes, Figgis and the rest of the section survivors head toward the bridge, chivvied on by soldiers defending the far river bank. Can you guess what the square markers in each hex represent? Note also the wisps of smoke rising from behind the hill.

On the other side of the river they encounter a scratch force of defenders tasked with buying time for the  civilians in Peveril to be evacuated.

Concealed in the tree line on the riverbank is a 6 pounder and crew covering the approaches to the bridge. The crew have erected their ceramic / asbestos shield in the hope of lasting longer than 20 minutes* against a heat ray wielding Tripod.

Troopers from the 23rd Lancers with lance bourne sticky bombs wait nervously in the tree line for the onslaught to begin.

And here they come!

Remember boys…aim low!

Alien hover / disability scooters…whatever next?

Smoke on the horizon…but lunch awaits just over the bridge.

Spang! The 6 pounder opens up and scores a direct hit on the nearest Tripod. Momentarily dazed the alien machine fires back…with deadly black smoke. Good job the gunners were wearing their gas masks! Around the tripods feet the Martian Infantry swarm forward to suppress the defenders gunfire.

Hobbes spreads his men out into a firing line as the Martian scooters swoosh towards the river bank.

Yup you guessed it. Those squares were mines triggered by a turn end numbered card draw. Mine number 9 goes off too late to catch the “speeding” mobility scooters. Lucky buggers!

But they were not so lucky this time…gotcha!

The Martians had retuned their small arms from the cinematic but useless “pew pew” setting to nundanket’s suggested “zhush”, pinning the brave defenders in place until… what’s that coming over the hill is it a monster?** No it’s a Wobbler! The Bazalgette armoured steam Walker (to be precise) finally makes its combat debut! 

In the nick of time the clanking swaying behemoth stomped its way to the bridge…and broke down.

Casualties begin to mount as the new “zhush” setting on the Martian weapons take their toll. Tragically Corporal Figgis is reduced to ash as he tries to collect a gambling debt from a wounded colleague. Oh yes some artillery bods died too, when their masks stopped working (they’re only guaranteed for 5 minutes in a toxic environment you know).

The two colossi traded shots, the canon on the wobbler scoring solid hits, but the heat ray from the Tripod failing to hurt the brave British artillery men behind their asbestos lined armour. With both armies nearing their “bottle out” casualty levels things quickly came to a head.

The starboard Gatling didn’t jam…but it did turn these purple monsters into something resembling jam, so there’s that.

Charge! The lancers take advantage of the wobblers appearance to splash across the river and hit the  nearest Tripod where it hurts. That’s in the legs by the way. I don’t think the Martians have genitals. No need if you do your reproduction by budding I suppose. Shame that. They’re missing out.

The lancers cut their way through the supporting Martian Infantry and speared the nearest Tripods legs with two sticky bombs. As they wheeled to make their escape they pulled the friction detonator chord and moments later…Kaboom!

Tragically one of the Lancers fell to yet more “zhush” fire but as the Tripod toppled the Martians found they’d had a different kind of belly full to the one they’d been expecting…a belly full of British steel. Resolve broken the beastly aliens began to withdraw. What? Oh bloody hell, go on then…HUZZAH!

The Martians had fancied themselves the natural conquerors of our solar system, but in their hubris they had stirred to life a far more powerful foe than they could ever have imagined, for the most naturally warlike species, the species with the greatest capacity for destruction had always been mankind.

* 20 minute lifespan from deployment to engagement. Apologies to messrs Elton and Curtiss.

** With yet more apologies, but this time to The Automatic.