Northwest Damage!

Trapped in the buildings that make up the Gelderland trading post, the civilian employees of the Gelderland New Mittelheim Trading Company huddle in the gloomy interiors listening to the sounds of battle. If they feel regret now at taking up employment in such a wild land, then this regret is hardly new. The particular regret that they might feel at being embroiled in the immediate danger of an enemy raid is, as it were, merely the first story of a whole house of regret, this story of which is built above a very roomy ground floor of dismay and disenchantment, the foundations being laid as soon as they stepped onto the shores of New Mittelheim and discovered what passed here as indoor plumbing. All had been promised that employment in New Mittleheim's American colonies would open new doors; but this was a lie - it involved opening only one door: the one that led outside to back breaking work; which, coincidently, was exactly the same door through which in the evening they were then chased back through and then locked up.

In the first floor of the warehouse, Herr Plugholl and his fellow civilians can agree that they now more fully appreciate the horrors of warfare on this uncivilised and barbaric frontier. These horrors include the prospect of death, scalping, and and the flatulent consequences of having to subsist for the whole morning on nothing more than beer and leather loincloths. As they contemplate even more ways in which to make themselves the smallest possible target, one of Plugholl's subordinates then makes this already quite trying morning even less enjoyable by uttering words guaranteed to cause concern to even the bravest occupant of a structure composed predominantly of wood: 'Can anyone else smell burning?'

One of the key reasons why he can smell burning is, of course, because the warehouse is on fire (above). In the storage area of the ground floor, Vulgarian allied natives look with a measure of pride upon the really quite impressive conflagration that they have managed to start. Not well acquainted with such European concepts as 'health and safety', however, they have been rather lax in their risk assessment: an assessment of the risk, for example, associated with setting light to a building that they are standing in.  As they hang around on the ground floor, congratulating themselves on a job well done and complaining to one another that the smoke and heat seems to be getting worse, (above, right) a second band of native pyromaniacs approaches a nearby building with a gleam in their eyes and several torches in their hands.

This new group of Indians also gets into the swing of this exercise in thermal remodelling. As the Vulgarian native auxiliaries stand back and admire the growing damage caused by their handiwork, manifest in the lovely glow of a real fire, Major Schwim und der Vasser realises that he needs to take some dramatic action before the twisted Vulgarian firestarters succeed in burning everything down. (Above) The remains of both ranger platoons sprint from their forest hideaway and head around the back of smouldering building, intent on instilling into the Indians some painful lessons in fire safety.

(Above) With a roar, if that is the right way to describe a barrage of high pitch squealing, the lead elements of Glosgau's Rangers hurl themselves at the natives. The latter are up for it, fired by blood lust and a very long and detailed list  of grudges (with footnotes and appendices) against their colonial oppressors. (Below) The ensuing fight is savage, and initially very balanced; but a sudden rain of lucky blows dispatches the indians, wiping them out entirely.

(Below, centre) With only a slight pause to admire the consequences of another productive exercise in settler/native interactions, the rangers regroup to face the indian war party that is still admiring its work in the warehouse. (Below, right) Sadly for the trading post, though the rangers may have killed the indians, their legacy lives on, not least in the form of orangey flames that begin to billow from the house. Life, of course, poses many questions of significance for a man. But for the civilians cowering in this building, none is more significant than a question that seems to be on many people's lips this morning: 'Can anyone else smell something burning?'

(Above, bottom) As the alfresco barbeque that is this battle really begins to get underway, the Gelderland regular troops, following the Vulgarian Indians, have started to arrive at the trading post itself. (Above, left) Discretion being the better part of not being burnt alive, Herr Plugholl leads his employees in the fine art of fleeing the warehouse. Sadly for Plugholl, one of his subordinates then makes the fatal mistake of uttering the words: 'Surely, this just can't get any worse.'