A Quick Game of Close WarsReturning to Venus and the Cruffin expedition
There are times in life when work and the responsibilities of being an adult make it a little difficult to find enough time for a ‘real’ game, but Donald Featherstone, in his seminal book War Games, has the answer. In Appendix 1, he outlines a very simple set of rules for fights between small numbers of men. These rules are not as comprehensive as those found in his book Skirmish Wargaming, but they are very quick to set up, and a game with about twenty figures on each side takes around 30 minutes.
I have a rather eclectic collection of figures, but over the last couple of years I have been building up terrain for 15/18mm sci-fi games, so the scale was not a difficult choice. Choosing which range to put on the table was a little harder. I decided to settle on my Venusian project, which I originally started for Congo and which I will, hopefully, finish one day. The figures have not seen the table since March 2024.
Skirmish Narrative
After weeks in the forests of Venus, Reginald Cruffin and his men had seen more than any previous expedition had managed, but with supplies dwindling and sickness beginning to spread through the column, Cruffin decided that he would have to approach the Vhiss'tal tribe and see if they would be willing to trade.
The chieftain of the tribe, Ssthevar, was unwilling to deal with the interlopers. His cunning reptilian mind reasoned that he had no need to trade for something that his warriors could seize by force of arms.
Hearing the whoops of the approaching Vhiss'tal warriors as they ran through the crystalline forest, Cruffin put Alana Quartermain in charge of the right flank while he took personal command of the left. The approaches of the two leaders could not have been more different. Quartermain spoke softly in the Martian tongue, while Cruffin barked out orders as though he were still aboard HMS Thunderchild. No sooner had the troops dressed their ranks than a howling mass of Vhiss'tal warriors burst from the undergrowth.
The crack of the Martini–Henry and Snider-Enfield rifles punctuated the war cries of the tribesmen, but the effect of the section volley was less than Cruffin had hoped for. His Martian Askari and Ruga-Ruga fired wildly, their shots going far astray. Only the disciplined volley of the seconded men of the 50th Foot found its mark, bringing down several of the advancing tribesmen. But even their success was not enough to check the charge of the ferocious Venusians.
The Vhiss'tal warriors entered the fray like whirling dervishes, their spears stabbing left and right, cutting down Martian Askari, Ruga-Ruga and men of the 50th Foot alike. Horn Pipe Bill, Cruffin's batman, threw himself before a spear thrust meant for his commander, saving the officer from being skewered alive but joining the growing number of bodies that littered the field.
The moment of respite allowed Cruffin and the last surviving Askari to flee the combat.
The valiant members of the expedition bent but did not break beneath this primitive fury. On the left flank, Captain Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff steadied his Ruga-Ruga and, in a characteristically clipped manner, directed a devastating fusillade into the Vhiss'tal braves, shaking their resolve before they could close for combat. Many of the Ruga-Ruga fell beneath Vhiss'tal spears, but they had done enough to throw the attackers into confusion and force them to retreat.
While on the right flank, Alana Quartermain rallied her troops with her cool, steely voice. She ordered her men to show the Venusians what the Pattern 1876 felt like when wielded by troops of stout heart. Both the Ruga-Ruga and the Kentish men did good service with their bayonets, finally breaking the resolve of the Vhiss'tal warriors.
A valiant cheer broke out from the surviving members of the expedition; they had survived a clash with these deadly warriors.
Reginald Cruffin smiled with pride at the way the expedition had performed. He would have to see to the training of the Askari; they had not been up to muster.
The fates had smiled upon him, though. Horn Pipe Bill had escaped a fatal wound when a spear thrust was deflected by a hip flask, leaving his old Martian shipmate bruised but not seriously hurt. His thoughts turned to Ssthevar, the chieftain. He had learnt that trade conducted down the barrel of a Martini–Henry rifle exacted a heavy toll in blood. Cruffin hoped that, now the unpleasantness had been dealt with, the two sides could come to some kind of agreement.
