The Seven Years War: 1756-1763

[Lord Durham]

This is one of Gen.Suvorov's scenarios that I'm going to take a stab at. I've decided to go whole hog and play Prussia on hard/aggressive with FoW on for some added tension.

I have no idea how this will end, since I'm playing amd writing as it goes.

I have strived to make this AAR as historically correct as possible, but mistakes will creep in. If something is blatantly incorrect, then let me know and I can use the old 'edit' button.

I hope someone out there enjoys this. And please, feedback is a nice thing. Tell your friends to drop by. I'm putting a lot of work into this for your reading pleasure


* * * * * *


Berlin: January 1, 1756


You know when you do something often enough it comes as second nature? It applies to sleep. I have been waking up at the same time every morning for years now. It's as if God, in His glory, nudges me from the land of dreams to face a new day.

It doesn't hurt to have a servant scratching at the door, just in case.

I opened my eyes and stretched. It was still dark when I glanced at the window, though I knew dawn would break soon. I exhaled a breath, slowly, and watched the curling mist as it mingled with the winter cold. Oh well.

Tossing back the covers, I sat up and let my legs dangle over the side of the canopied bed. I moved my feet around until I found woolen slippers, then stood. I stretched again.

A soft moan came from the bed. I turned and watched the source of the noise. Ute, the kitchen girl, yawned and opened her doe-like eyes. Oh how I was tempted to climb back in, but a higher duty called.

"Up, milady. To work with you. And tell that servant to stop scratching. She'll wear the door away."

The girl flashed me a smile. She loved it when I called her 'milady'. I grinned in return. "Go now."

I walked to the window, and heard a rustle behind me. I didn't dare look back. My King would be very displeased if I was late. A moment later I heard the door open and close. I looked out the window. There was a dusting of snow on the cobblestone-street, cut by a fresh set of carriage tracks and a series of footprints. There were people out and about even earlier than I. It was time to dress.

* * *

I eschewed a carriage in favour of walking. It was a short journey, and the air was brisk and exhilarating. I drank in its freshness and savored its feel.

I walked past the palace square until I reached a side entrance of the palace itself. A guard let me in. A servant took my overcoat, gloves and hat, while another led me down a long corridor to the study.

There were perhaps a dozen people already gathered. Many of them nodded at my entrance. I worked my way through the oak-paneled room mumbling greetings. There were a couple of benefits of these early morning meetings. One was the lack of formality. No wigs, and no powdered faces. The other was the vast spread of breakfast that King Frederick insisted on. It had to do with one of his four principles of military philosophy, and it was the one I enjoyed most. It went: "The foundation of the army is the belly." I couldn't agree more. I grabbed a plate and loaded it, then placed it on a side table that was my station. A servant came by with a steaming cup of tea.

* * *

King Frederick strode through the door of an anteroom, deep in conversation with two of his advisors. Some forty three years of age, the King looked fresh and invigorated. He had an oval head, long nose and large penetrating eyes. The eyes betrayed a brilliant mind. The troubles before us would require such a mind.

I set my cup down and opened an ornately carved pine box that held my tools of trade. As the King sat in a chair at the head of a long pine table, I laid out a blank piece of parchment, cut a new edge on a quill, unstoppered an inkbottle and waited, poised.

Moments later the last of the nobles hurried in, and a servant quietly closed the main door.

I dipped my quill into the ink well and wrote at the top of the page:

Record of His Majesty, King Frederick II of Prussia: January 1, in the Year of Our Lord, 1756.

"Guten morgen, gentle sirs," Frederick began. His voice was soft. The room filled with return greetings. He looked at me. "Herr Franz Spunkmeyer, kindly refresh our memories from yesterdays meeting."

I nodded and shuffled through a stack of parchment, found the one I sought, and read from it. "Your Majesty, Noble Lords, esteemed advisors. I need not remind you that we are presently at war with the Austrians and her allies France, Saxony, Sweden, and Russia. Furthermore, it is perfunctory to remind you that our allies count England and Hannover."

All eyes swung to the map of Prussia that covered one wall of the study.





Frederick broke in. "Our cause is just! The military buildup by our dear slut Elisabeth of Russia confirms their plans to expand at our expense. And that other darling, Maria Theresa of Austria still pines for Silesia!"

The nobles laughed, grumbled and nodded assent. Eyes swung from the map back to me.

I cleared my throat and continued. "Our current dispositions have Colonel Jager with 5000 infantry in Brandenberg, Colonel Felton with 4000 infantry, 1000 cavalry and one gun in Anhalt." I stopped at that point, expecting a comment or two. When there was none I continued, "General Dohna resides in Kustrin with 9000 infantry, 1000 cavalry and 3 guns. Major General Seydlitz and General Finck have 17000 infantry, 3000 cavalry and 13 guns in West Prussia." I stopped to clear my throat and take a sip of tea. "And in Silesia lies the bulk of our army, consisting of 240,000 infantry, 10000 cavalry and 10 guns along with General von Shulenburg, Field Marshall Lehwald, Lieutenant General Heinrich and General Ferdinand."

Frederick nodded sharply. "And that's where I'll be heading once this meeting is over." He paused and looked at me. "Correction. That's where we'll be heading after this meeting is finished."

I think I did an admirable job of disguising my dismay. What would I tell Ute?

King Frederick broke into my reverie. "There is more, no?"

"No... er... yes." I looked at the manuscript again. "The Duke of Cumberland has over 20,000 men in Magdeburg, Your Highness, and Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick has over 30,000 men in Hannover."

I put the paper down and sat back. There was silence as the men waited for Frederick to speak. A servant took the moment to refill my cup and move around the rest of the table.

Finally, "What reports do you have on enemy movements?"

I fumbled around for another document. "No new reports, Your Highness. There is the Swedish army of 11,000 men in Western Pommerania, a Saxon army of 1000 men in Saxony, and over 70,000 Russians in Kurland, sitting on our eastern border."

Frederick steepled his fingertips. "The Saxons and Swedish are no threat at the moment. And I dare the Russians to advance during winter. Now though, where are the Austrians?" He looked up and pointed at a clerk. "I need more cannon. At least 50 pieces. Have the foundries in Brandenberg produce them. And cavalry. Raise me at least 2000 in Kustrin."

His staff rose to face him, and as one they let out a cheer for victory. King Frederick smiled grimly, stood, and moved to the door. "We leave now! And woe to our enemies!"

The men cheered again.

I tried to think how I was going to break this to Ute.

[Forster]

Good reading LD. I would have thought the Papacy would be enough to keep someone busy for awhile.

[Lord Durham]

That's why I chose a short scenario... just a little action on the side...

[Coeur de Lion]

Looking forward to it And particularly want to see how England proves how inept the AI can be

As for Prussia's strategy, with FtG stats of 20/20/20/8 you'll probably wipe the floor with all of them. I guess your eye's on Austria to start with before returning to deal with Russia. Choosing to avoid pitch battles unless Freddie's or if they lose an assault.

As for France, do you have to sail there or is there a land route?

[Rictus]

Excellant writing, once again betraying yourself as a writer and, possibly a professional one at that.

I remember doing this scenerio, and absolutely kicking ass. It was fun to play, naturally. I have no doubt you will do likewise.

[Lord Durham]

CdL: England has a double whammy: The AI, and historically the Duke of Cumberland wasn't much better than a bag of hockey pucks when it came to leading armies. Should be interesting. Chances are I'll sit tight until the snows melt. Men and money is something that Frederick cannot afford to squander. As for the French, there's no direct land route I can see off-hand. Suits me fine. I'll probably have my hands full anyway.

Rictus: *Blush* I like to write. That's all I'll say. Thanks, young Jedi warrior. Hey, I hear The Force is now an official religion in your neck of the woods. Grab your light sabre and line up!

What settings did you use when you tried SYW?

OK. I have a minor problem. The scenario didn't come with the Swedish leader file. It's by no means a show-stopper, but I e-mailed G.S. to see if one is available. I'll wait a day or two before continuing. I can always back edit...

[Carolus Rex]

IMO, It is a major show stopper!

Good reading thus far.

[Rictus]

I had it on normal/normal, but thats only cos I'm a coward

Yeah, stupid census. At least two of my friends put down Jedi for their religion, I was sorely tempted but common sense prevailed sadly.

[Lord Durham]

Carolus Rex posted:
IMO, It is a major show stopper! Good reading thus far.

Thanks. Show-stopper? As in I shouldn't write until Sweden gets a leader file? Well, General Suvorov read my PM but decided not to answer. I'll assume he forgot.

So what I did was dig up some information on the Swedish general that was in W.Pom. at the time when the scenario began, gathered a few more names, and made my own file. I won't vouch for the accuracy, but at least Sweden doesn't have to rely on no-names. So on with the show.

Historical note: Sweden didn't enter the war until 1757, but who's looking...

BTW, all feedback and suggestions are welcome. This AAR is pretty open-ended and undecided.

[Lord Durham]

Magdeburg: January 10, 1756

William Augustus was a bitter man at the age of thirty-five. He was the second son of King George II of England, and had been titled the Duke of Cumberland, an honour that began with Prince Rupert of the Rhine more than eighty years before. He prospered well under his father's kingship, and should have been grateful for it.

But his legacy was one of defeat and darkness. Seeking to emulate the great Duke of Marlborough, he found himself on the receiving end of a humiliating defeat by the great Frenchman, Marshal Maurice de Saxe, at the Battle of Fontenoy in 1745. In truth, his troops faired well that day, and the 'Black Watch', a newly formed Scots regiment, almost carried the battle in a fierce attack.

Almost. When de Saxe counterattacked with three heathen Irish regiments, Cumberland's tired troops routed, and the rest became disaster.

Several months later William was recalled to England to deal with the Jacobite Rebellion in Scotland. After a year of hard and treacherous campaigning, he managed to defeat the Scots under Bonnie Prince Charlie at Culloden. His treatment of the enemy wounded and his subsequent dealings with the Scots were justified, in his mind. They were a base born, rebellious lot, and only stern action would cow them. It was for King and country, after all.

But history now regarded him as the 'Butcher of Scotland', though no one would dare say that to his face. Hardly an endearing legacy for his children, if he had had any.

A return to the continent in 1747 saw him defeated yet again by Marshal de Saxe at the Battle of Lauffeltd. After that he slipped into obscurity for several years, playing royal guest to Frederick of Prussia and Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick.

Then, in 1756, he was granted an opportunity for redemption.

* * *

The Duke of Cumberland sat in an ornate, plush velvet chair. He was in the library of a lavish home that had been provided courtesy of his host, Frederick of Prussia. Surrounded by tapestries and paintings depicting the emerging Prussian greatness, he reread the contents of a dispatch clutched in his hand. One word jumped at him.

War. Cumberland tilted his head back and listened to the comfortable crackling sound of the fireplace. The aroma of the wood assailed his nostrils, and conjured visions of his youth in England. He looked at the dispatch again.

Frederick was no doubt riding to Silesia as he sat here reading this missive. He nodded knowingly. It would appear the reports that passed his way of enemy troop movements had been true.

Troop movements in January. Cumberland shivered at the thought, and reached for a tortoise-shell snuff box that had been a gift from his father. He opened it lovingly, took a pinch and inhaled. The action calmed him.

He had to be calm. There was so much to do.

* * *

The Duke of Cumberland had an army of twenty thousand seasoned British soldiers at his disposal in Magdeburg. The question was what to do with them.

He pondered that question the following morning in the study of his home, surrounded by his staff, as they scrutinized a map of the area.

They decided that for the moment that France was a non-factor. They were separated by the countries of Hessen and Munster. A neighbouring army of thirty thousand Hannoverian troops would be more than capable of watching out for any French troop movements.

To the south lay Saxony, but the Prussians already had an army of five thousand men operating in that country. And the Saxon army was laughable at best.

They looked north to Sweden. They were the closet opposition, and posed the most immediate threat. Yes. Directly to their north in the province of West Pommerania was reported to be a Swedish army of undetermined strength.

William Augustus made a decision. If he could deny the Swedes a land base on the north shores of Europe, that would help eliminate the threat of one enemy. The Swedes would be forced to expend manpower and resources to retake the province.

But first they would have to locate the Swedes, defeat them, and conquer West Pommerania.

The Duke of Cumberland began to dictate orders. They would depart as soon as possible, winter or not.




Troop dispositions in January 1756

[Lord Durham]

Konigsberg: January - March: 1756


Borchersdorf - January 20

The first indication that Wilheim knew something was wrong came on the morning of January 20, 1756, when he spotted a crowd of people staring eastward.

He was in the town of Borchersdorf with his family on their weekly shopping trip to stock up on supplies. The morning was brisk and clear as he stood by his wagon, waiting on his wife and boys to begin the return journey to their farm. Shifting a package of fresh fish from hand to canvas bag, the tall farmer decided that curiosity got the better of him.

He walked over to the crowd and peered east. Far in the distance he saw a plume of smoke. It was like a dark stub rising gently and drifting to his right. Then he saw another, just to the left of the original. That brought exclamations and finger pointing from the townspeople.

Wilheim felt a lump of stone in his belly. He mumbled, "Fire. Those are fires."

One of the women looked at him and soon the word 'fire' was racing through the crowd. The crowd had grown substantially since the farmer's arrival, and Wilheim felt uncomfortable with the press of people. He stepped away and turned to see his family standing by the wagon. He walked over.

"What is it?" his wife Krista asked. She was not an unattractive woman, short in height and plump, her round face framed with a bonnet.

The boys Eric and Manfred echoed her question. Wilheim put his arm on Krista's shoulder and said, "I think we should visit Uncle Josef in Konigsberg."

The boys let out a yelp of joy. Visiting Uncle Josef meant lots of sweets and interesting things to do. Krista smiled at their delight, but took her husband aside and whispered, "What is it, Wilheim?"

The tall man looked east, back in the direction where their farm was located. "There's fire in the distance. I fear it's the Russians. It could be a raid, but I'd rather be cautious for your sake and the boys."

Without another word they all climbed into the wagon and took the road west to the capital of East Prussia. Behind them they could hear the growing alarm of the townspeople.

* * *

Konigsberg - January 25

Uncle Josef was a successful businessman who ran an import and export company dealing in dry goods and foodstuffs. The fact he owned several warehouses along the docks of the Pregel River, and several trading sloops, made him an important man in the eyes of Konigsberg's garrison.

Wilheim and his family arrived in the city before events overtook them, so they were safely ensconced with Josef when the first plumes of smoke became visible on the horizon. The advance warning gave Uncle Josef time to prepare his warehouses and send his ships out for at least one more run for further supplies.

For Konigsberg would need them. The rumour soon spread that the Russians had invaded with a vast army, and were heading to the capital, laying waste to the countryside in their passage.


Wilheim made himself useful by acting as a liaison between his Uncle and the garrison commander, Colonel Gottlieb. Not much was required of him at the moment, but he would ultimately be responsible for ensuring food was distributed to the soldiers. The real bonus of the position was the passage it gave him to traverse the city walls.

On the morning of the 23rd he saw his first Russians. They were Hussars, according to the Prussian commander. He watched as the cavalry looted and burnt some local outlying farms, then rode off to disappear from sight.

The city of Konigsberg had swollen in size due to the steady stream of refuges from the local towns and farms. Those who had no relatives to house them slept in the streets and parks. The garrison commander feared that disease would not be far behind.

Two days later the Russian army crept into sight. It was a long snake of soldiers and supplies, running off east to the horizon. Wilheim found himself on the walls watching the sight in awe. He had never seen so many men in his life. And they were here to kill him.

* * *

Konigsberg - February 17, 1756

Wilheim and Krista huddled in their bedroom located on the second floor of Uncle Josef's mansion. It was late evening and both were tired from a long day of work. Wilheim was running supplies up to the men on the walls, while Krista had volunteered to help with one of the local hospitals. Both were too horrified by the carnage they had witnessed first hand to talk. Instead they took solace in each other's arms.

In the distance they could hear the continuous boom of the Russian cannon as it lobbed shot after shot at the city walls. It had been going on nearly three weeks, with no respite in sight.

The casualties had not been heavy to date, as the enemy was content to blockade the city and use their cannon. The blockade itself was partly successful, but some of the more determined traders managed to get through with much needed supplies. Uncle Josef had lost only one ship so far, so he considered himself lucky.

Sleep came slow to Wilheim and Krista that night, and when Wilheim awoke the next morning he found the boys in bed with them, clinging tightly for assurance.

Outside the boom of the cannons continued.

* * *

Konigsberg - March 2, 1756

Wilheim and Colonel Gottlieb were standing on a battlement sharing a loaf of bread and jug of water. They idly watched the Russian entrenchments and the ant-like soldiers that scurried around the enemy gun emplacements. A commotion from behind the walls of circumvention caused Colonel Gottlieb to perk up.

"What is it?" Wilheim asked.

The Colonel swallowed his bread. "The Russians are massing behind their earthworks. I'm afraid they've tired of bombarding us." He ran off shouting orders.

Wilheim looked out over the wall at the Russians. Tired of bombarding? The realization hit him. They were planning an assault!

* * *

The attack began by noon of the same day. A silencing of the Russian cannon preceded it, a silence the tall farmer found oddly disturbing. Wilheim had decided to hang around out of a morbid sense of curiosity to witness this event. He wished he hadn't.

The Russians formed into long lines, many of the men carrying ladders. A large concentration faced the Sackheimer Thor, one of the main entrances to the city. A breach had formed in the walls near there. The garrison had reinforced the breach, knowing the contest for that piece of land would be a brutal affair.

With a flurry of drums the Russians approached the walls of Konigsberg. Wilheim watched with distracted attention as they came within range of the Prussian muskets and cannon shot. Men dropped singly or in-groups as they were felled by musket balls or the wicked canister loads that the Prussian artillerymen had switched to.

Still the Russians advanced to a slow cadence. It took minutes for them to reach the walls, minutes in which the Prussians inflicted heavy casualties, but reach the walls they did, and the assault began.

* * *

Wilheim had forgotten about supplying the men with food. Instead he ran up and down the length of the battlement pulling dead and injured away from the walls. He had formed an impromptu squad of refuges to help with the task of taking the wounded back to one of the many aid stations.

The assault was furious. Several times the Russians gained the walls, only to be driven back by the equally determined Prussian defenders. The action at the breach was barbaric; with no quarter asked and no quarter given. Dead and dying piled both sides of the crumbled wall; their blood soaked bodies making footholds treacherous at best.

Wilheim had just passed off a wounded soldier when there was a crack of musket fire to his left. He looked over to see a group of Russians on the wall, driving back the precious few defenders that manned the area. He called to a sergeant off to his right and pointed. The man took a look and went into action, leading a group of soldiers toward the melee.

Later the farmer would call it a moment of unquestionable stupidity, but the sight of the Russians inside the walls and the thought of his wife and children drove him to action. He bent down to pick up the musket that had belonged to the injured soldier. It wasn't much different from the one he used for hunting, and this one had a bayonet attached.

With no hesitation he ran along the battlement. A fierce Russian, his soot-covered face sporting a huge mustache, saw him and raised his sabre. Wilheim realized he hadn't checked the musket to see if it was loaded. The Russian charged toward him, arm rising for a killing blow. Wilheim pulled the trigger and a moment later the gun discharged. The Russian stumbled, looking down at his belly in surprise. Protruding from it was a metal ramrod. The farmer was just as surprised. The Prussian soldier must have been loading his weapon when he was injured, and the ramrod was still in the barrel. If Wilheim hadn't been so grateful that the Russian before him was falling to his knees, he would have been sheepish for not checking.

But it saved his life. The Prussian sergeant and his men reached him and charged past. Wilheim got caught up with them, and before he knew it he was in the thick of battle. He was scared. He had no training, so he spent his time moving around and trying to stay clear of swords and bayonets. Three times he stepped in to help a Prussian by stabbing the enemy when the enemy was otherwise engaged.

After what seemed an eternity the wall was cleared, and the ladders were tossed back to the ground.

Wilheim slumped down, letting the gun fall from his grasp. He threw up.

Later the sergeant wandered by and gave him a pat on the shoulder. The farmer threw up again.

Moments after a series of signals sounded from beyond the walls, and the Russians retreated back to their lines.

Konigsberg had held, for now.

[Coeur de Lion]

"Looks like all that duelling at the Academy served you well", Brechreiz called out to Blumenfeld who was busy wiping blood from his heavy sabre.

"Always knew it would", Blumenfeld shouted back, "and far more interesting than all that boring history stuff that we learned from the old dinosaur. What was his name again?"

"I think you mean Eisenstein", Durheim interjected.

"I agree with Blumenfeld", Stoerenfried joined in. "What's the use of knowing all about history when you've a hundred thousand Russians banging on the city walls trying to kill you?"

"Oh, I disagree", argued Durheim. "Far better to understand the underlying root of national emnities when being confronted by mere symptom"

"Always the same bullshit from you Durheim.", Blumenfeld laughed. "Ever the swat. Just tell me what use is all that knowledge when you've got a Russian bayonet up your arse?"

"Well it might help me to avoid the bayonet in the first place" Durheim protested. "And what's more, I'll remind you that it got me this rank which keeps me a bit further back from all the fighting"

"Which is all very well", Brechreiz added, "unless you're surrounded like we are now."

Durheim agreed to concede that.

*****************************

Meanwhile, back at the University Building: Department of Prussian Studies, Professor Eisenstein was rushing about ordering staff around. "Get those books hidden away!! The Russians are coming!! They'll burn everything!!"

[Deaghaidh]

I'm just waiting for you to face off against the french, then I'll jump in as part of the french Irish Brigade.

Looks like you're going to have Free Company quality battle sequences. Hurry up Frenchies! I want to join in!

[Lord Durham]

CdL: You just couldn't resist, could ya'
That was actually a nice tie in with your rather dormant Prussian AAR. If anyone hasn't read it, they should take the time. It's excellent.

At least now I know where class was

Deaghaidh: What a pleasant surprise. With your great writing skills I'm kind of surprised you haven't shown up in Palermo with a battalion of Irish Devils looking for work. You're more than welcome, you know. As for this AAR, I hadn't really intended it to be interactive, but perhaps certain battles that people find interesting could be scripted out in advance (unlike the Papacy stuff that is totally unscripted, believe it or not) It's definitely food for thought.

[Deaghaidh]

I've thought about writing in Ristard Deaghaidh and his band of hooligans from Connaught (formerly of the "Who killed Cromwell" Thread) into the Free Company, but since I have enough of a struggle keeping up with my updates in my own AAR I decided against it. Plus, I think my ignorance of battle styles and tactics from the era would shine through loud and clear.

[Lord Durham]

I could always do a flashback with Cumberland to the Battle of Fontenoy so you could lead the victorious Irish charge and kick English butt!

BTW, I PM'd you in a blatant attempt to change your mind...

[Sharur]

Wow, LD, excellent work! If I'd known you were that good, I'd have started reading the Papacy thread, except that it's so looong... (this coming from someone who's in the Italy aar )

Keep up the intricate details, I've never seen an aar do that outside of maybe a scene or two towards the beginning. They're a wonderful read!

[Deaghaidh]

BTW, LD I sent you a PM RE the FC

(okay, those last two acronyms were just excessive )

[Lord Durham]

Thanks for the kind words Sharur. Tell your friends!!!

I'm afraid a lot of people don't realize the good work we do on the Papacy thread because of its size. That's why I've created the two spinoff threads to cover the AAR itself and the RPG portion. If you want to jump in to read the latest battle just click on the 'currently running' link in my sig.

And if you wish to contribute, be my guest. We do everything we can to ease people in.

[Coeur de Lion]

Nah, the Prussian thread isn't excellent. Just a bunch of kids larking around. I didn't write anything more on it because of Rex Francorum's Prussian Interactive which I wanted to allow to play past the point in the game before I added anything so as to avoid telling a previous story too soon.

You never know, I might bring it all back up soon since I'm going to have lots of free time on my hands in a few weeks

Talking of which, Couer de Lion will be leaving the forum at the end of next week. He will be leaving responsibility for any continuing work in the capable hands of his closest of friends, one Lionheart

Going back to the point about "cross-fertilisation" of AARs, I wonder whether I should start introducing Battle Nuns, Templars, Magyar Cup Bearers, sabre-wielding colonials and other assorted characters into my "Spain owns the world" thread?