Gerüchte über den Tod dieses Threads sind stark übertrieben. :cool: (Gibt es welche? Ich weiß es nicht. Aber ich klopfe gerne Sprüche.)
Seit dem letzten Regiment hat das reale Leben ziemlich hart zugeschlagen, auch wenn ich nicht ganz untätig war- Bis auf einige letzte Bestellungen bisher fahnenflüchtigen Zinns habe ich hier und da am feinsten Planwirtschaftsfließband emsig an drei weiteren Regimentern auf einmal gebaut, womit ich gut zur Hälfte durch bin. Das hat Spaß gemacht, solange es währte, aber mich darin bestärkt, sie auf keinen Fall als ein langes Fließband
anzumalen. Himmel. Als diese Woche dann Zeit und Wetter mal mitspielten habe ich mich, inspiriert vom Don himself, zum Pinselschwingen animiert, aber diesmal- teils aus Gründen der Unvollständigkeit, teils um humaner zu mir selbst zu sein- entschieden, das
38th VA Volunteer Infantry Regiment in 8erblöcken zu bemalen. Bisher klappt das gut! Trotz sprühgrundierungs-begünstigender, aber schweißtreibender Affenhitze. Die nächsten 8 male ich dann im Biergarten an...
Oh, und ein weiterer Lichtblick am allzu nahen Horizont: In ziemlich genaue einer Woche gehts zum ersten Meet&Greet mit Regulator und Werit, das ursprünglich erst im Mai, dann im Juni hätte stattfinden sollen: Man sieht, historische Kriegsspieler haben Geduld. :thumbup: Und Spucke.
Egal. Bild jetzt. Schon gut! Diesmal sogar mit... Regulator-inspirierter historischer Anekdote! Im Ernst jetzt.
We were hikin\' up Subwoover Hill at the double-quick, because why not, it\'s not like it was (minié-)balls-burnin\' hot. The relentless Pennsylvania July sun burnin\' down on our fancy hats... or maybe just a daylight bulb. Far across the fields and farms around town, our strained eyes could already make out our brigade- The 9th and 57th proudly formin\' up around their colors, old man Armistead himself overseeing their ranks like a proud, not-yet-assembled monument. No, seriously. He looked all cast metal and his arm was sort of missing, his pose all \'to glory march!\', but lookin\' kinda wrong while lyin\' on the ground as he did. Like a lazy dog enjoyin\' the summer sun, only much more awkward, yes sir. Anyway, with an effort, we could make out some splendid dismounted Union cavalry forming up behind fences, far away in the flickerin\' distance, like in an entirely different thread.\"Best damn ground I\'ve seen all day\", I unleashed my best, cigar-chewing Tom Berenger impression.\"That\'s bad for us, ain\'t it, Sergeant, Sir?\", Trip panted.\"Naaah, never mind that. Good ground takes the fight out of them yankee boys. Gonna break like a bunch of brakey things. Like twigs. Breakers. Old Abe\'s marriage to that crazy hag. Dunno.\"\"Hmh.\" The boy seemed unimpressed.\"Mark my words. In two days, General Lee himself\'s gonna come up to George, all \'General, you gotta see to your division\', and fancy old Pickett will be like \'No-can-do, Sir, they\'re partyin\' too damn hard.\'\"
\"Wonder where Heths boys are\", one of the the volunteers huffed, interrupting my heat-induced fever dream of total confederate victory and moonshine for all.\"They\'re being historically incorrect. Forget \'em. Old Virginia will give \'em the cold steel\", I growled, brandishing my six-shooter.\"So, about that cold steel... just sayin\', Sergeant, Sir, it\'s a pretty damn hot day, and I\'m wonderin\' where to get any.\"\"Shut it, or I\'ma pistol-whip your butt back to momma down in Virginia, son.\"\"Olde Virginiah!\", tothless old man Ben yelled. Gramps had broken his ankle earlier that day while attemptin\' to kick a fancy-hatted scarecrow he had mistaken for Lincoln himself, now hobblin\' along supported by his son, Gramps jr. the Third, or \"Trip\" as we called \'im. \'Cause he kept trippin\'. Not in the 1960s sense though, wrong American bloodbath, son.\"Damn right it\'s olde... but, about the whippin\' thing, Sarge...\", one of the boys huffed under his breath. \"Not sure I find that agreeable or even gentlemanly, sir, not quite what we\'re fighting for, I fathom, and just maybe, we could have a vote...\"
Violent pistol-whipping ensued. \"So, what was it again what we\'re fighting for?\", I called out to the company, after reestablishin\' some good order, fancy hats bein\' picked back up.\"States rights!\" \"For our sweethearts, for our wives, for...\" \"For rich folks to keep tradin\' and abusin\' human beings!\" \"To get George Pickett\'s name in the papers!\" \"Olde Virginiah!\"\"Cut the ruckus!\"A collective sigh went through the ranks. Rank. Whatever. Hard to keep track of. \"Secession\", the boys answered as one.\"And why did we secede?\"\"Slavery\", they chanted, tiring of the lesson already.\"Damn right for slavery, and all the whippin\' that includes, pistol-whippin\' and otherwise. Now rally \'round our colors before we get overtaken by the literal greys\", I bellowed, referring to the other regiments and companies forming up far behind down the road, who took the whole \'grey\' thing utterly out of proportion, lacking any other color than that of raw plastic.\"What colors, sir?\"\"The ones you just got on your splendid wool uniform, boy, still all glossy and wet.\"\"Great, that\'ll totally ruin the picture.\"I sighed , unleashing another disciplinary bucketload of pistol-whip like it was some flavored mayonnaise. Something, something, war is hell.\"... and remember, you\'re the first base of the proud 57th! I expect perfect conduct!\"\"But there\'s a marker line btween the six of you an\' Billy \'n\' me, Sir, I think that means...\", Johnny complained.\"All your base are belong to Virginia.\"\"Huh?\"\"Give it two and a half centuries, give or take, and you\'ll get a good laugh out of that.\"Content with the sudden, awkward silence, I led the boys up to the line, bellowing my report of our arrival to the ever-dignified Brigadier-General Lewis Arm(less)istead, all majestic and metallic while shakily being held up by two men in his silly charge pose, tin hat on bent tin sword. He greeted us in his usual, fatherly manner.\"Guys, what the F...irst Manassas. You\'re, like, not even based. An\' is that Space Wolves Grey primer \'round your feet?\"I barely repressed my urge to pistol-whip his unpainted face.
... Regulator wird mich umbringen. 
Autor
Thema: Sezessionsfantasien eines Wahlbayern: Kamil\'s ACW [15.03.: 33rd Tennessee] (Gelesen 23068 mal)