A Bridge Too Far Away

 

        Marshal Maximo Pavolich looked up at the gray gloomy hills, sprinkled with scraggly pine trees and wreathed in perpetual mists. He grumbled "Small wonder the inhabitants of this wretched land are wild barbarians, no civilized man would want to live in such a place. Why on God's earth are we trying to conquer it?" The unending dampness made his bones ache and gave an unhappy rattle to his breathing. He turned in his saddle and looked back at the withered remains of his army struggling up the narrow rock-strewn path that sufficed for a road in Boozonia while wondering how they found the strength to continue. He wished for a proper battle rather than this endless skirmishing with brigands and sneaking barbarians. 

         Presently a lone cavalryman rode back down the path toward Maximo. A blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his brow but he carried himself with a confident air.  Spotting the Marshal he altered his path to directly approach his leader. As he reined-in near the Marshal he saluted smartly and asked permission to address his Lordship. Maximo waved him forward, "Speak lad; what news do you bring?" The messenger bowed deeply, "Good news M'Lord. There is but one bridge left to cross before we approach Laphroaig and the light troops and Dragoons have taken control of it." The Marshal turned to his aide-de-camp, "Quickly now spread the news to the troops that we will soon be out of these dreary forests and into proper countryside. Send forward a detachment to reinforce the light troops and secure the bridge against interference from those appalling animals that inhabit this area." Turning back the cavalry captain he smiled and said "How badly I have forgotten my manners, see my Physician and have that wound tended and then see my cook about some food, you look positively famished." As the young man moved away the Marshall smiled up at the sky, perhaps it wasn't such a horrible day after all.

 

a nameless hamlet on the edge of the Boozonian Highlands 

the Ferndalians approached from the west

(which is the bottom of the picture in this view)

Meanwhile, back in Epicurea

         The return of The Plague caused no end of problems for the armies and their generals. This was in addition to an unusually severe series of storms that battered the continent. Military operations slowed to a crawl as maneuver became increasingly difficult and troops dropped like flies at the slightest exertion. 

          Only the iron will of of Peter the Famished forced his troops forward across the execrable roads of Boozonia, battling guerilla bands of Highlanders and dragging an enormous artillery train for the eventual siege of Glenfiddich. In the east his armies withered while keeping the Freedonian and Boozonian troops sequestered in Gruyere. The one gleaming spot on the map was the impending fall of Upper Vienee as it strangled slowly under his relentless blockade.

           In the once-confident capital of Bourguigonne the citizens rioted against the Council and called for Her Royal Majesty to come and take over the province. Much to everyone's surprise she slipped out of Upper Vienee and presented herself to the acclaim of the populous. Even more to everyone's surprise she promptly set about energetically reorganizing the entire province with an eye to using as a power-base to regain the whole of Gluttonia. Her precise and exacting mind dusted the cobwebs off of the moribund tax and patronage systems and reinvigorated the military.

          In the greater area of Gluttonia simple survival dictated that the armies spent most of their time scrounging supplies and forage leading to a laissez-faire attitude toward combat. The only real front was in the north where increasingly exhausted attempts to relieve the blockade of North Vienee by the Freedonian armies while the active forces of Proper-Mealers continued to batter the western defences of Old Vienee forcing the Small-Platers into the city proper and facing a perilously hungry winter.

          In the Middle Sea the wild storms had battered the fleets so severely that they were unable to get to proper grips with one another; losing more ships to Poseidon's wrath than to combat. The Pirates were particularly bad off as they had lost their supplies to the Freedonian fleets late in the season and could barely keep their ships afloat.

       Away in the west Freedonia found herself beset with problems, none of which on their own would have been crippling but in concert they were most vexing to His Most Catholic Majesty Louis the Ravenous. In the North the Huet le Mont was on the brink of open rebellion from the action of Nordlander agitators; the freshly-annexed citizens of the Soubise and Guigal valleys seemed to be little enamored of their new status as citizens (and taxpayers) of Freedonia and needed severe garrisoning, the Western Fleet had not been able to return due to the horrid weather and troubling rumors were spreading of a concerted effort by the natives of the New World to eject the colonists.

      Without access to their Pirate allies the Mindorans decided to build their own fleet and set forth on their own. This met with predictably poor results in the storm-lashed seas; the fleet being driven ashore on the coast of Nylia where they were poorly received as conquerors and a great many were rounded up and sold into slavery in the south of the Nylian Empire.