Infantry Supporting Fire Exposed

When a French attack column crashes into a defended line on the wargaming table, few mechanics trigger more heated debates than supporting fire from adjacent friendly units. While 18th-century military doctrine explicitly built defensive formations around mutual support, historical evidence and period mechanics show that static infantry could only deliver a tiny fraction of their full firepower to aid a neighbor.

Period tactical manuals, clearly demonstrate that no unit was ever meant to fight in isolation. Defensive arrays relied heavily on interlocking fields of fire. For instance, hollow infantry squares deployed in a checkerboard pattern (échiquier) spaced 100 to 120 paces apart created lethal crossfires against charging cavalry, a layout that proved crucial along the Mont-Saint-Jean ridge at Waterloo. Similarly, line infantry relied on enfilade fire (tir d'enfilade) to catch attacking column flanks in a funnel of crossfire, a tactic Arthur Wellesley famously deployed at the Battle of Talavera in 1809.

Despite the foundational doctrine of secours mutuel, static infantry in a shoulder-to-shoulder line faced extreme physical constraints that prevented them from bringing anywhere near full firepower onto a target charging an adjacent unit. Standing two or three ranks deep with men spaced just 21 to 24 inches apart, soldiers could physically swing their musket barrels only 15 to 20 degrees to either side without endangering the comrade next to them. Consequently, an adjacent static regiment could bring only 10 to 20 percent of its total musketry to bear, as only the few platoons on the immediate inside flank held a clear line of sight. Furthermore, as the charging column closed within 50 yards of the target unit, the firing angle for neighboring static troops became so acute that continuing to shoot risked hitting their own allies in the side, dropping static supporting effectiveness to zero at the moment of impact.

To deliver significant supporting fire, adjacent infantry had to physically maneuver by wheeling their end companies inward to form a concave bracket or L-shaped trap. This maneuver could raise firepower effectiveness to 30 to 50 percent or higher, but it required strict drill discipline under dense black powder smoke and left the wheeling unit's outer flank completely exposed to secondary attacks.

Artillery operated under entirely different physical rules. Guns were spaced six to ten yards apart to allow crew movement and pivoted on a single axle. A gun crew could easily traverse a cannon carriage 30 to 40 degrees in seconds without altering the unit's overall formation alignment. This mobility allowed adjacent batteries to routinely deliver 60 to 100 percent of their full firepower across a neighbor's front. At ranges over 300 yards, batteries poured solid roundshot down the flanks of advancing columns. As the target closed within 300 yards, gunners loaded devastating canister shot, switching to double-canister under 50 yards to sweep away entire ranks in a single blast.

Commercial wargame designers heavily reflect these historical realities across popular rulesets. Systems such as General d'Armée, Field of Glory: Napoleonic, and Bataille Empire penalize static adjacent infantry fire by roughly 50 percent through arc and dice-pool modifiers, while keeping flank artillery canister fire at full lethality. Black Powder caps all closing fire to a single die per unit, limiting supporting infantry to roughly 33 percent effectiveness. Empire V and VI restrict fire strictly to the physical figures falling inside a narrow 45-degree cone, while Lasalle abstracts the process entirely by forcing players to spend command momentum on Interrupt actions rather than granting free charge support.

When our umpire umpire steped in, it was to correct a mistake of his own making in his home brew rules. His mid game correction capped defensive fire of static neighboring infantry during a charge, and history it seems, was firmly on his side. Period commanders actively relied on mutual support, but allowing static infantry to pour full firepower into an adjacent combat ignores the geometric realities of linear musketry. To achieve high-potency supporting fire on the battlefield, a commander either had to maneuver their companies into an angled position ahead of time or anchor the line with a dedicated battery of artillery loaded with canister.

The Battle of Caldiero

Yesterday five of the Rejects got together for a game in the shed-o-war. Despite the heat, we managed a seven hour game using Richards own early Napoleonic rules and his miniature collection. The Battle of Caldiero, fought on 12 November 1796, took place during Napoleon's campaign in Northern Italy. Having defeated the Piedmontese and forced the Austrians back, the French Army of Italy had trapped an Austrian force in Mantua and repelled an earlier attempt to relieve the city. By early November, however, Napoleon faced a renewed Austrian offensive as two enemy columns advanced from the north with the intention of joining near Verona before marching on Mantua.

Judging the Austrian force approaching from the east under Alvinczy to be the greater threat, Napoleon ordered Vaubois to delay the northern column while he concentrated his main force around Verona. Alvinczy's advance guard occupied positions between Caldiero and Colognola, with the remainder of the Austrian army some distance behind at Villanuova. Napoleon planned to defeat the isolated advance guard before reinforcements could arrive, using Augereau to pin the enemy at Caldiero while Massena attacked their right flank through Colognola.

In this scenario, the French achieve victory by forcing at least half of the Austrian advance guard to retreat, rout or be destroyed, or by inflicting greater casualties than they suffer. The Austrians must retain control of both Caldiero and Colognola until the end of the battle. Harsh winter weather, including snow, sleet and mud, can severely affect movement, artillery, cavalry charges and musketry, while terrain features such as vineyards, woods and fortified villages further influence the course of the fighting.

The Action

The French apporach the two heavily defended tolwns and the ridge line held by the Austrians

The village of Stra, forward of the main Austrian line, was heavily defended,

Slightly back from Stra was the town of Caldiero. This would be a tougher nut to crack as most of the building here were stone built. 

The ridge between Caldiero and Colognda

Colognda was another town held by the Austrians and was fought over fiercely during the battle

Inspecting the troops. They may look rather ragged, but all of the French regiments were veterans.

Cannon fire marked the begining of the battle

French reinforcements in the form of Dragoons moved around the rear of the army to protect our right flank. 

Outnumbered two to one these Austrians probably don't stand a chance

The French advance begins, and casualties begin to mount immediately.

In the Centre, Stuarts troops advance towards the ridge. Point blank musketry and canister would thin their ranks by the end of the day.

Although the French had half the artillery of the Austrians, their gunnery was better giving them an extra dice every time they fired....pity we couldn't hit the broad side of a barn all day! 

My Dragoons canter round the rear of my infantry, full of confidence. 

The first assult of the day. My Grenadiers attack the village of Stra

Snapshot of the positions early in the fight. Look at all those neat blue lines...it won't stay this way for long!

I take Stra fairly easily, and the Austrians have to pull back their gun to save it from capture. With my left flank secured I can advance past Stra an on to Caldiero. 

My Boys in Stra. The Grenadiers were relentlessly targeted after this and eventually had to fall back and rally. But they never got to see any more action. 

Staurts regiments have pased through the Vinyards and are ready to assult the ridge. With the austrians on favourable ground, and flanked by artillery, any assult will be costly. 

Beyond the village my infantry begin massing for the attack on Caldiero

The Austrian Hussars charge and my heavier Dragoons successfuly counter charge. I have a slight advatage but the result is in the hands of the dice gods... 

...and the dice gods laughed in my face. 

In the distance Stuarts assult on the ridge has begun. My troops are now positioned to assult Caldiero

Stuart launches his assult on Colognda and was repulsed. 

The assult on the ridge was more succesful, but at a great cost. We would later come to regreat getting carried away here. 

Forced out of Stra I was alble to immediately retake it, but again, casulaties are mounting. 

This little village saw a lot of bloodshed.

In the final turn I launch my assult on Caldiero.

I manage to take the town. One objective down, and one more to go. 

Staurt captures Colognda. Thats the second objective taken, but the question remains, have we done enough to win the battle? 

The Outcome

Napoleon's attack achieved only partial success. The French managed to seize Caldiero after heavy fighting, but Masséna's attempt to turn the Austrian right at Colognola failed, denying Napoleon the decisive breakthrough his plan required. With atrocious weather disrupting operations and Austrian reinforcements arriving throughout the day, the French were unable to exploit their initial gains. As the balance of the battle shifted, Napoleon ordered a withdrawal, allowing the Austrians to reoccupy Caldiero while retaining Colognola throughout the action. Although the Austrians won the battle, the victory proved short-lived, as Napoleon regrouped and defeated Alvinczy at Arcole just days later, restoring the French strategic advantage.

In our game Stuart and I managed to equal Napoleons result, capturing Caldiero and Colognola, but just like the Corsican Ogre, at great cost. Meanwhile despite Austrian reinforcements not arriving before the end of the game, they were not far away, so the French could not hope to hold their position. We had taken severe casualties in our centre and like Napoleon would have had to relinquish the field. The game was called as a narrow victory for the Austrians. 

The Battle of Fort Dan (French Indian War)

The Posties Rejects gathered in the Shed-o-War for only our second face-to-face game of the year. Illness has played havoc with everyone’s schedules, but (touch wood) we may finally be turning a corner. If Sunday’s game is anything to go by, it was well worth the wait.

Richard summed it up perfectly on his blog: “This was a very convivial occasion with lots of chat, mickey-taking and laughter amongst friends. Well done to Postie for his superbly rendered table. He always manages to produce a visual feast.” Hard to argue with that.

The game itself was a fictional encounter set somewhere in North America during the French and Indian War (1754–63). For those less familiar, this conflict saw Great Britain and France clash, alongside their respective Indigenous allies, and is generally considered part of the wider Seven Years’ War. Stuart (Postie), never one to think small, laid on a table worthy of the setting: a sprawling 6' by 12' battlefield packed with dense forest, a settler village, and a British log fort guarding a river crossing. And yes, there were trees. A lot of trees. Possibly enough to qualify as managed woodland.

Dan, Surjit, and I took command of the British forces, supported by Provincials and allied Indigenous troops. Opposing us were Richard, Ray, and Colin, leading the French and their own Indigenous allies. The scenario opened with a sizeable French force advancing along the main road, while additional elements—represented by blinds—moved unseen through the forests on either side. Our Provincials formed a thin but determined line across the road, buying time for a chaotic column of settlers, wagons, and livestock to make their escape towards the dubious safety of the fort.

We also had a unit of Rangers and another of Indigenous allies to deploy as blinds in the woods. In a moment of optimism (or tactical overconfidence), we placed both on our left flank. This would later prove… educational.

Along the road, the Provincials conducted a steady fighting withdrawal, delivering volleys before falling back, always keeping just ahead of the French advance. It soon became clear that not all the French blinds were empty. Colin’s troops appeared on the French left, while two units of Indigenous warriors emerged on their right—uncomfortably close to my concealed forces. When the blinds were lifted, it became apparent that I was slightly outnumbered.

At that point, discretion suggested retreat. Unfortunately, speed favoured the enemy, and withdrawal likely meant being run down anyway. So, in the finest tradition of questionable battlefield decisions, I chose aggression instead. Fortune favoured this moment—we had the initiative (a recurring theme throughout the game)—so I pushed forward and opened fire, hoping to thin their numbers before the inevitable melee.

Meanwhile, the main action on the road continued much as before: the Provincials trading space for time, picking off French troops while staying just beyond charge range. A cow did make a break for it into the woods—clearly unimpressed with the chain of command—but most of the civilians kept moving. Dan advanced two units of British regulars along either flank, and by turn five or six, they were nearing the fight, poised to significantly increase our firepower.

Back in the woods, things became… less orderly. My Rangers and Indigenous allies collided with Richard’s warriors in a brutal, swirling melee. Over three turns, both sides tore each other apart in close combat until, eventually, there was almost nothing left. The few survivors staggered away, leaving the forest eerily quiet once more.

The French still had one more move to make. Reinforcements arrived by canoe along the river. Four boats carrying indians equipped with ladders, clearly eyeing the fort as their objective. Unfortunately for them, they may have left it a little late (perhaps the upriver rapids proved more troublesome than expected). The British garrison, ever cautious, had kept a strong force inside the fort, ready to receive them.

At this point, the French commanders made the sensible call. Their advance along the road was closing in, but fresh British troops were arriving on both flanks, threatening to more than double the firepower facing them. With mounting casualties and objectives slipping out of reach, discretion won out over valour. The game was called, and we retired indoors for the far more pressing objective of tea.

Credit to the French players, they were hampered by some truly dreadful initiative rolls, winning it only once or twice all game. That allowed the British to dictate the tempo, maintaining the fighting withdrawal while steadily wearing them down. Dice can be cruel, and on this occasion, they were firmly wearing red coats.

Once again, Stuart delivered a beautifully presented game, rich in atmosphere, full of visual detail, and a joy to play on. And, as Richard noted, the day was as much about the company as the combat: plenty of laughter, terrible puns, and the usual good-natured mickey-taking. As is tradition, the battle ended not with recriminations but with handshakes, congratulations, and plans for the next encounter. Now, if we can just keep everyone healthy long enough to actually play it…

The Battle of Swanage Bay – 23rd April 1471

There’s something satisfying about reimagining history, especially when it involves a stretch of coastline that never actually hosted a battle. The Battle of Swanage Bay was one such “what if” encounter: a desperate clash where the Lancastrians, cornered against the sea, tried to stave off Edward IV’s advancing Yorkist host. The scenario was set in April 1471, during the later stages of the Wars of the Roses. Our imaginary confrontation placed Somerset’s Lancastrian army with its back to the water, scrambling to form a defensive line on the gentle slopes above Swanage Bay.

Somerset commanded the centre, Devon held the left, and the Prince of Wales (the ill-fated Edward of Westminster) oversaw the right flank, entrenched around the small coastal town. Their goal was simple enough: hold their ground long enough to regroup, or better yet, break out before being driven into the sea. Facing them were the Yorkists: King Edward IV commanding the central force, the Duke of Gloucester (the future Richard III) supporting to his right, and Lord Hastings leading the flanking column moving on the town.

I took command of Somerset and Devon’s Battles, while Surjit commanded the Prince of Wales in the town. Across the table, Colin controlled both Edward IV and Gloucester, while Richard handled Hastings’ assault on the Lancastrian right.

The Lancastrians’ predicament was clear — there was nowhere to retreat. Our line needed to move off the beach and occupy the high ground before the Yorkists brought their superior numbers to bear. My archers and crossbowmen were our best asset, and getting them onto the hill would let me make the most of their range. Meanwhile, the Prince of Wales took a defensive stance within the town, using its barricades and narrow streets to slow Hastings’ advance. The plan was to anchor our right on the town, hold the centre, and hope my archers could thin the Yorkist ranks before they reached us.

Across the table, the Yorkist plan was more straightforward: Hastings would smash into the town and try to collapse our right flank, while Gloucester and Edward IV would press our centre and left, driving us back toward the shoreline. This game promised to be a brutal, close-range tussle... as it turned out, that was partly true.

Fortune briefly smiled on the Red Rose. We won initiative for the first and only time that day, but it turned out to be decisive. My archers loosed a deadly opening volley, and Colin’s Yorkist archers immediately began to suffer. My dice were on fire, and within a couple of turns, his bowmen were either broken or reduced to a shadow of their former selves.

With the enemy’s missile fire blunted, I began to feel cautiously optimistic. Surjit’s archers in the town were also holding their own, their defensive position making them hard to reach. However, Hastings’ troops were pressing in, and one of the Prince’s Shire Archer units took enough casualties to trigger a morale check, which, unfortunately, they failed. The Prince’s command faltered. Forced to retire a full move, his troops gave ground, abandoning the strong defensive position in the town. Suddenly, our right flank was in trouble.

We paused briefly to consider our options. Surjit would need to fall back in good order, giving himself room to reform. The hope was that Hastings’s men, needing to change formation to enter the town, would lose momentum and give us breathing space. That was the plan, at least, but the dice gods had other ideas.

While chaos unfolded on our right, I redoubled my efforts on the left. My crossbowmen wiped out a unit of Yorkist handgunners belonging to Gloucester’s Battle, while my longbowmen concentrated on a group of lightly armoured Billmen. The results were devastating. In a couple of volleys, the Billmen were cut down, forcing Gloucester’s entire Battle to take a morale test. Colin picked up the dice with a look of grim determination, rolled… and scored a six, the worst possible result.

In one glorious moment of Lancastrian luck (and Colin’s despair), Gloucester’s entire command collapsed, routing off the field. Retinue archers, billmen, and handgunners all scattered, leaving Edward IV’s men suddenly exposed and unsupported in the centre. With Gloucester’s Battle gone and Hastings’ assault facing a slog through the town, the writing was on the wall for the Yorkists. They could have fought on, but discretion won out over valour. Edward IV wisely called a withdrawal, saving what remained of his force for another day.

For the Lancastrians, it was a much-needed victory, though one that came as much from good dice as good tactics. Somerset’s centre held firm, Devon’s flank performed admirably, and the Prince of Wales’ men, though battered, lived to fight another round (on another gaming night). From a gaming point of view, the Battle of Swanage Bay was a delight; unpredictable, cinematic, and full of drama. It captured everything that makes the Wars of the Roses such fun to play. The fragile balance between morale and mayhem, the way a single unlucky roll can unravel a seemingly solid plan, and the constant push and pull of medieval warfare.

It also reminded me that even a “what if” battle can tell a compelling story. The idea of the Lancastrians making a desperate stand on the Dorset coast (archers firing from the dunes, the sea at their backs) feels perfectly plausible within the ebb and flow of that chaotic civil war. In the end, the Red Rose triumphed at Swanage Bay, and although history might not record it, our dice certainly did.