Inniskilling Fusiliers command chappies and first blooding
I still have a couple of groups of eight fusiliers to do for my 'Skillings, but in preparation for a learning game of Sharp Practice 2 this week I have finished up my commanding officer, an ensign bearing the regimental colours, a drummer and a reverend. All are 15mm Blue Moon figures.
By the time I am done, my base force will be the better half of a company of the 27th Inniskillings along with a scouting party of a dozen Mohawk and a clutch of civilians. I know that, even then, it is unlikely that such a group would ever have had custody of the regimental colours, but... it'll look nice to occasionally pop it out on the table.
Below are a couple of photos from my introductory game of SP2. We only had small forces, three groups on my side, and four groups on the French-Indian side. This is not the place for a full review of the rules - I'd like to understand them better first - but it was a fun wee game in which Captain Hotspur gave the Frog a bloody nose and my bookish cultural attache to the Mohawk, Lieutenant FitzJames, engaged a noble savage in a duel and won!
The dense woodlands of the American northeast are no match for the boys from Fermanagh.
Swift musketry decimates the French regulars.
FitzJames and his Mohawk bury the hatchet with their Francophilic opposites.
By the time I am done, my base force will be the better half of a company of the 27th Inniskillings along with a scouting party of a dozen Mohawk and a clutch of civilians. I know that, even then, it is unlikely that such a group would ever have had custody of the regimental colours, but... it'll look nice to occasionally pop it out on the table.
*EDIT*
Below are a couple of photos from my introductory game of SP2. We only had small forces, three groups on my side, and four groups on the French-Indian side. This is not the place for a full review of the rules - I'd like to understand them better first - but it was a fun wee game in which Captain Hotspur gave the Frog a bloody nose and my bookish cultural attache to the Mohawk, Lieutenant FitzJames, engaged a noble savage in a duel and won!
The dense woodlands of the American northeast are no match for the boys from Fermanagh.
Swift musketry decimates the French regulars.
FitzJames and his Mohawk bury the hatchet with their Francophilic opposites.
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