WIth catlike tread

Having made some small changes to the Winter Sports rules, we had to test them out to see if they were too much, not quite enough, or the Golidlocks of rules tinkering--just right! (As a reminder, the three changes were replacing "False Alarm" with "You Men, Over There!", widening the range of modifiers for night to 1/2/3 from 1/2, and making "automatic " spots actually 4+.)

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So, once again the lads of the Canadian Black Watch crawled out into the night, cursing the darkness, the mud, the wire, and the way that--despite the terrain having been blasted into a moonscape of stark emptiness--their officer still managed to find a path that ran across briars that reached up under their kilts and clawed at them. "Couldn't it be B Company?" they asked plaintively. "We've just finished making coffee." (Tim Horton's was still 3,000 miles and 47 years away.)

And dark it was! The officers, learning from their last experience, had picked a night that was both dark of the moon and very foggy. Mother Nature would be doing her best to cover the advance of the Canucks; with any luck, they would be able to get close to the German lines this time before anyone knew they were there. The assignment was to retrieve a couple of prisoners that the Germans had captured off a wandering wiring party a few nights before. But as far as the Highlanders were concerned, the main challenge was just going out and coming back without being spotted, floodlit by flares, and machine-gunned to pieces. Especially with the Lewis Gun section, who seemed incapable of moving even fifty feet without a din of clanking, crashing, and thumping.

On the Boche side of No Man's Land, Reserve-Infanterie-Regiment Nr. 261 was feeling quietly confident. Their own raid had not gone so well, but they had had a chance to thoroughly re-wire the area in front of their position since the Englanders had last come over. The gaps cleared by the British were gone, a few noisemakers hung, and new lines of fire for the Spandaus laid out. No one would be sneaking up on them, and if anyone got close, they would meet a hail of lead!

Having quietly (or mostly so) stolen up towards the Prussian lines, the Canadians couldn't believe their luck. In part because they had been carefully guided by Lt. McPherson (who had reconnoitered the ground the previous few nights with Sgt. McDonald) and partly because the Mississaugans down the line had obligingly set up a tremendous racket about an hour before, it appeared that the squareheads had not detected even a hint of their approach.

Unbeknownst to the kilties, a world-record game of skat had broken out in one of the troop shelter, and unless the patrol had come bearing a Jack of Bells, the chances of it receiving any attention were low. Even the sentries, fortified by "a little" schnapps "to keep the cold out" were bending their ears towards the xxx for a shout of victory, not into the hostile darkness for the sound of ammunition boots.

Well, at least someone was paying attention! Soldat Schultheiss, whose family were strict Calvinists, was shaking his head in disgust. Good, Christian men wasting their time in drink and card-playing! They should be attending to their duty, not...wait! What was that? "Alarm! Alarm!" Schultheiss sprinted for the nearest shelter, blowing his whistle vigorously. But amidst the commotion in the dugout (a dispute had broken out about scoring), no one heard him. Frustrated, Schultheiss ran on, looking for an officer. "Someone has to know what to do!"

The argumentative Gfr.Bauer had at last conceded that he had misplayed his null game when he looked up to see a face protruding through the blackout curtain. It was a horrid, ugly face, covered in black soot and looking like the veriest devil. But even more horrifying were the two grenades the frightful creature was brandishing. While the stream of gibberish coming from his lips was incomprehensible, the gestures he was making with the grenades were unmistakable. Slowly Bauer rose to his feet, wondering if there were some way to quickly slide his winnings into his pocket without seeming to make a sudden and dangerous move. Sadly he concluded there was not. Covered by the rifles of the sooty bomber's companions, the Germans began filing out into the trench.

At last Schultheiss's whistle blowing paid off. As he ran down the duckboards towards the nearest communication trench, he met his Leutnant and a Vizfeldwebel coming the other way. They quickly directed him to the rack of emergency flares and trotted past him towards the breach in the line. The forward dugout must be rousted out! Schultheiss let off a white flare, and he saw in its light that a Gruppe of men were already making their way towards him along the front line trench, and the duty Maxim crew were rolling into their fighting position and feeding a belt of Patronen into their piece.

But the Canadians had not been willing to sit on their prize. A couple of trench cleaners, running forward with bayonets at the ready, encountered the German officer and NCO before the latter could find their men. Over their strenuous objections, they were added to the "bag" of prisoners.

Eingreiftruppen were pouring into the communications trench, however, and Lt. McPherson could see that retrieving the Canadian prisoners would be a feat beyond his squad's ability that night. They might be able to wreak a little revenge for their previous pasting, however. He got his riflemen moving back through darkness towards the gaps in the wire, shoving and pushing their reluctant guests with them. Sgt. McDonald's section, which had positioned itself as his flank guards and which was exchanging occasional rifle shots with the other frontline German troops, began to withdraw also. Would the Germans follow?

At least some of them would. Uffz. Hinrich was not willing to see so many of his comrades led off like sheep. "After them, men!" he shouted, clambering up the nearest ladder and onto the ground in front of their fighting position. Half a dozen men followed him obediently.

Which was just what the Lewis Gun team had been waiting for. A burst caught two men full in the chest, dropping them like ducks on the wing. Several more suffered wounds of varying severity before they tumbled back behind their sandbags and logs, cursing bitterly. Into the darkness disappeared the Highlanders, carrying with them a German subaltern, several NCOs, and half a dozen rank and file.

It had been a good night for the Canadians.