Bande of Pike & Shotte - 'The Lucky Dogs' Mercenary Company

[rapier17]

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The Bande of Pike & Shotte is an English Company of Mercenaries from England, formed circa 1648/1649. With the resolution of the Second English Civil War these men, hardened by war, forged by battle and with no wish to return to dull civilian life, are left adrift in an England still suffering from the first and second wars. Gathered up by the former-Royalist Captain James Digby, these veteran souldiers are given direction and purpose. Political stance, nationality, religious views – none of these truly matter in 'the Lucky Dogs', as these hard-bitten soldiers call themselves. Loyalty, trust and a ton of gold is all they ask for now, besides food, drink and a good wench of course.

Originally, true to their name, the mercenaries were split in to two divisions, pikemen and musketeers, but, as time moved on and casualties mounted, the Bande has come to focus primarily upon the use of the firelock as opposed to the pike. When they need to be equipped with the pike they will present a ferocious unwavering barrier of sharpened steel but it is as a group of skirmishers, fighting in a  loose formation that takes advantage of cover and concealment, where they excel now.



Formation of the Bande of Pike & Shotte

In early December 1648, as the snow settles upon the rooftops of Nottingham, five men meet within the Ye Olde Trip to Jersulam public inne. From first glances, even without their firelocks stacked against the wall and their variety of tuck swords, side swords and rapiers, they are obviously souldiers. Four of the men are dressed in common clothing, their coats a variety of faded reds with one in grey and the fifth man dressed richly as befitting his birthright. All of them wear the worn faces of veteran fighters, most of them have powder burns scarring their skin, their hair lank except for one whose head is as bald as a matchlocks stock. Between them they drink and discuss, discuss and argue, argue and eventually agree. They seal their agreement with a toast and drink to their enterprise, to their future. That night, as bitter winds cut through the streets and snow swirls above the rooftops, the men get drunk on their pact, to raise a company of mercenaries to fight in distant lands.

The reasons for forming the Bande

The five mentioned, James Digby, David Stryker, Bleddyn-dwn, Wil Lambert and Richard Flockton, are all veterans of the first and second of the English Civil Wars. Between them they see no future in England, that the outcome of these conflicts will not give them what they want. For James Digby it is the slight of seeing his King removed from his throne and held prisoner by common men. David Stryker feels as Digby does and worries that Puritanism will be forced upon every Englishman regardless of his own beliefs. Bleddyn-dwrn is one of the rare men who truly relishes a fight, while Wil Lambert and Richard Flockton know no other life except as that of souldiers, Lambert the deadly marksman, Flockton the experienced Serjeant. To them the end of the Second Civil War, as it will become known, marks a possible era of peace and for those three it is too late to find new professions.

There were many others who think as they do or have their own reasons for wishing to leave the shores of England and in Nottingham Captain Digby and Serjeant Flockton gathered these veteran souldiers, recruiting them as men of the pike and matchlock, and with the company finally numbering over 150, they leave England the very day before Charles I is beheaded.

Arrival on mainland Europa

With the close of what will be known as the Thirty Years War the previous year, it is Digbys estimation, through his experience from fighting for Sweden in the 1630s, that it would not be long until a fresh outbreak of hostilities occurs on the continent and with the wounds of the Thirty Years war fresh in Europa, the Bande of Pike & Shotte, having become known as 'The Lucky Dogs', land in Eastern Europa in late February 1649, during the early years of the Khmelnytsky Uprising and immediately seek employment within the Polish forces.

By 1654, when the Bande left Poland, they had been viciously whittled down. Abandoning any idea of maintaining a force of pikes, they turned solely to use of the snaplock firelock. In Sweden they managed to bolster their numbers with mercenary souldiers from across Europa, including Scandinavian men and found that their reputation had preceeded them. Guaranteed employment within the Swedish forces they joined one of the two Swedish armies invading Poland and distinguished themselves upon the fields of battle. Once again as time wore on and the campaigns continued they began to be cut down once more until, despairing of fighting as a body of musketeers, Digby turned to a suggestion of Flocktons, that the Lucky Dogs should act as that new type of souldier, the skirmisher and dragoon.

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Captain James Digby is better known upon these forums as Leifr Eiríksson (formerly Eiríkr Rauði), former developer of the Mount&Blade: Warband modification 'Vikingr' and once head of the Shieldings Clan.

Serjeant Richard Flockton is better known upon these forums as rapier17. A former 'long-term' player of the mod Vikingr, rapier17, also known as Leo, raised & led the Saxon clan Fyrd of Lewes which, under his leadership, enjoyed a long period as one of the largest and most organised clans within the Vikingr mod. 

Between us we have plenty of experience with the game, with the Deluge, having played it in the past when it was the Unofficial With Fire & Sword mod, and both of us, as well as most of our members, have a keen interested in the c17 period. We are especially interested in the English Civil Wars which, along with its prelude and aftermath, we regard as one of the most fascinating periods in English history. The only division is in our allegiances – Eiríkr is a staunch Royalist, rapier17 a Parliamentarian.



Unlike clans we have run in the past, Eiríkr and I intend for the Bande to muster solely for events and to play together as and when we can or want to. There will be no obligation to attend training events, as there won't be any, no demand to give up time to attend events/matches you do not wish to participate in.

The 'officers' of the Bande are merely there to give the members direction, to have figureheads the Bande can form and rally upon in the midst of battle, as well as take orders from.

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Our intention, with recruitment, is to find like-minded people who wish to enjoy the Deluge without being overly serious about playing it, which is why we are intending to recruit purely by invitation. Whilst there won't be any training days/evenings as such, we will 'train' by playing together on public servers and mould ourselves in the flames of battle rather than on the training field.


Rather than contain multiple ranks with a big structure and masses of organisation, the Bande of Pike & Shotte employs three simple ranks;


The Captain of the Bande is the visual leader of the unit. He is there as a familiar figure to form and to rally on. Where the Captain goes, the Bande follows. It is the Captain who arranges contracts and who pays the members of the Bande their wages. He is also responsible for outfitting his mercenaries with clothing, weaponry, ammunition, equipment and food, paid for from his own purse. The monies earned from mercenary contracts, however, more than recoup this amount.

Only one man can be the Captain of the Bande and that is James Digby.


The Serjeant is the organiser of the Bande, acting as both an adjutant and junior officer. Within the Bande it is the Serjeant who forages for food, performs any adjutant duties, including paperwork, and generally maintains the discipline within the unit. Whilst the Captain may lead, it is the strong voice of the Serjeant that the men listen for.

There is another rank which comes under that of Serjeant but doesn't have a battlefield command and that is the Quarter-Master. In charge of the Bande's supplies, ammunition, spare weapons & equipment, the quarter-master may not have a battlefield rank or command but his role and how well he does it will heavily affect the Bande's capability in battle. He is the Bande's banner carrier.

The current Serjeant is Richard Flockton.
The current Quarter-Master is Egil Haraldson


The souldiers will handle either pike or matchlock depending on our intended role. Primarily they will find themselves in the role of marksmen & as musketeers, either skirmishing in areas where formed units can not fight properly, such as woods or rocky outcrops, or in ranks trading volleys with enemy units. With their pikes they provide an efficient counter to enemy cavalry. All souldiers in the Bande are expected to be able to ride a horse and be able to fight as one of the new 'Dragon', or dragoon, souldiers.


We don't have a clan 'tag' for our members to display. All you need to have is an ENGLISH forename AND surname, connected by an underscore ( _ ). For example;

James_Digby
Richard_Flockton

The names must be relevant to the period and to underline our status as an English mercenary company. By looking at our roster you will notice that we do have some members with Scandinavian names - those are Scandinavian members of the Bande who were members at its founding.

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James Digby was the third cousin twice removed to John Byron, First Baron of Newstead Abbey, or so he often told in the local pubs. The veritable Digby was often prone to fits of wild mood-swings, befitting a man of his stature and dubious family connections. The mid 1630s saw him leave for the continent to fight for coin during the Thirty Years’ War. On return to England in 1640, Digby took to sleeping with his musket, drinking ale and habitually chasing the local wenches. The raising of the King’s banner in Nottingham, August 1642, gave him reason enough again to risk life and limb. The next decade would see Digby toil through blood, soil and sweat. As fortunes soured, he left the King’s cause in 1648, vacated the meagre estates he had accrued through the fortunes of battle and took to mercenary work once more. 



Richard Flockton changed his vocation from lawyers clerk to drummer boy one dull day in 1625. He was present in the Thirty Years War from 1625 to 1634 when he returned to England as a veteran musketeer. From 1635 to 1641 he was a member of a Trayned Bande in Hampshire and fought in both of the Bishops Wars. He joined the Parliamentarian forces in 1642 and fought as a musketeer, an artilleryman and as a dragoon for the first two English Civil Wars. He joined the Leveller movement in 1648 for a joke but found he agreed with their aims.

The Hat
Flockton's hat is something of an oddity in the Lucky Dogs. Flockton claims that he has had the same hat since around 1635, a plain black hat, with a low crown and medium sized brim. It has earned an odd status amongst the Lucky Dogs. It is seen as being sort of lucky and it certainly makes it easy to spot where the Serjeant is on the battlefield. However no-one in the Bande will go near it, even with an 18 foot pike, because of the dangers it might present to their health. When Flockton disciplines members of the Bande, shouting in their faces, he believes it's the vehemence of his words that forces the unfortunate souldier to lean back away from him. In truth they don't want to be any closer to that hat than is necessary!













Apart from his birth in 1614 in a small village in Westfalia, the most important event in Caspar's life was wedding - at least until 1630. His humble plans for a life in the village were shattered when a pillaging regiment of Protestant soldiers burned his farm. With his parents swinging by their necks from an oak tree and his wife , Caspar just started walking East. He traveled through a land gripped by warfare. He passed through dry fields and stayed in busy taverns, walked in tranquil woods and empty villages, until he found himself amidst the army of General Wallensteins where, in admiration of the great commander, he turned to the life of a souldier.

In his first serious battle in Lützen Caspar was to see another face to warfare. Deployed amidst the weak left wing, they stood and watched as Pappenhiem's curassiers fought against the Protestant cavalry under King Gustav. With his pike broken, he found himself propped against a dead horse's body and staring into the thick, stinking smoke of battle. In this hour of blood, dirt and crying men, he knew he had found a new life. The blood in his mouth was bittersweet, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Snatching up a matchlock musket, reassured by its comforting weight, he joined the remnants of an Imperial unit. As the cavalry milled about, locked in a melee, a number of Protestant cavalrymen broke free of Pappenheimer's cuirassiers. Caspar's grip on the matchlocks stock was tight, the world seemed sharper, his stance solid on the bloodied soil. With Adolphus in the lead, and the Protestant cavalry approaching, the remnants of the Imperials fired a volley. Smoke erupted from their weapons and as a vagary of wind wafted it away, the Protestant cavalry were wheeling away, several riderless horses with them, including the easily recognisable mount that had carried King Gustav.

From that day onwards Caspar knew he could never return to the life of a farmer - he was a souldier now. Not for him would be the peace of a settled home, the small-life of a peaceful village. He had been kissed by war, felt the excitement of battle and wanted more. The rhythm of his life was to be the thump of boots on roads, the aroma to be that of the burning slow-match as he aimed his weapon, the sound to be the snarling cough as he discharged his weapon. He continued to follow Wallenstein until his opinion of the man turned. As the memory of his political & religious fervor faded into the dusk he found himself disgusted with Wallenstein's apparent lack of will to continue fight. Although he still felt the thrill of battle, he knew he would have to move on. Finally, after the victory at Steinau, he left Wallensteins army and began to journey across Europa. By the close of 1648 this had led him to England and to Nottingham where, in the 'Ye Olde Trip to Jersulam' public inne, he found the company of warhounds he had been looking.

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Sometimes upon the battlefield there are those moments that defy the laws of physics, that beggar reason and make a mockery of absurdity. These moments drawn as much as they may be from skill, timing and luck deserve to be rewarded. Within the Bande we reward those moments with a medal or armband depending on how the award has been earnt. Each of the armbands or rewards is named after the first person to achieve them.

This badge is awarded to those who, under the eyes of the Bande's officers, manage to strike down an opponent from extreme ranges or successfully execute an extremely difficult shot.

The wind whipped away the bank of powder smoke to reveal a fresh unit pikemen preparing to cross the valley floor. Serjeant Flockton stared at them for a moment and spat. “There's your target. Medal an' five scillings to any man who can kill one of 'em!”

The musketeers, crouched upon the brow of the slope, grinned at the impossibility of the task. The range was near three hundred yards and they were lucky if they hit beyond fifty. On the left of the line Wil Lambert ignored the pikemen. With a soft hiss of metal against leather, he drew his tuck sword and thrust it point first into the ground. He sat down with a grunt and crossed his legs. Carefully he slid the muzzle of his wheellock 'twixt the swords guard and hilt.

Within the guns breach a powder charge lay, the grains well-ground and packed tight by cloth wadding. Pressed hard against the wadding lay a ball two-thirds of an inch wide, wrapped in a piece of greased leather. Another piece of wadding lay atop the bullet to keep it in place. Both layers of wadding would contain the explosion, putting as much power behind the ball as possible.

About him Wil heard the coughs, snarls and bangs of matchlocks, wheellocks and snaplocks discharging towards the enemy unit. He lowered himself onto his back and tucked the thick wooden butt into his shoulder and peered along the weapons crude sights. Remembering the futility of the exercise he raised the barrel and, as the first tap of a drum came across the valley, pulled the trigger.

Awarded for fighting on, despite being outnumbered, outgunned and with only minimal chance of survival. Awarded either for surviving or for putting up a truly heroic fight.

With a bellowed roar, the firelock belched fire and smoke, a tongue of orange stabbed brightly into the darkness, briefly illuminating the ruined tower. The lead ball, no wider than a man’s thumb, took the Polish General in the base of the spine, lifting him from his grazing horse and slamming him cruelly into the stone wall.
The noise of the shot echoed away, a thick pall of foul smelling smoke wreathing the ruin. Captain Digby threw himself across the horses back, firelock clutched in his hand. He turned the horse out into the night. Reluctantly the tired beast obeyed.

James trotted the horse across the battlefield. Bodies lay strewn across the field, small fires flickered where wadding had set the dry grass alight. In the distance the crack of firelocks echoed through the darkness. Digby turned the horse towards a barn no more than thirty paces away. The sudden crash of a firelock discharging made him ram his heels back into the horse’s flanks. It tried to respond to the urgent demands of its rider. There was another explosion as a second firelock discharged its bullet. Beneath him the horse shuddered as the lead ball slapped into its rump. It screamed and lurched forward, toppling the Captain from the saddle.

He rolled over and over, tumbling down the slope, flattening the sweet scented grass until his body collided with a low stone wall. Breathing heavily he rose up. He half-clambered and half-rolled over, dragging his snaplock with him. He peered over the wall back up the slope and made out two figures moving slowly down the hill. With practised hands he began to reload the firelock.

The wooden stock rattled quietly upon the stone wall. James exhaled slowly as he stared down the length of the barrel. Gently, he pulled the trigger.

The firelocks butt hammered at his shoulder, the flash from the pan robbing him of his night vision. Acrid smoke coiled up into the night sky, stinging his eyes. He dropped the butt to the ground and poured a fresh powder charge into the smoking barrel. He glanced up over the wall as a shape spat flame and smoke. The bullet ricocheted off of the wall. James’s fingers groped in his pouch for a bullet, plucked one free at random and dropped it into the muzzle. Another glance showed the shape was much closer now, no more than twenty paces, a dull gleam clutched in one hand.
Snatching up his powder horn, he dribbled a pinch into the pan, closed it, lifted the butt to his shoulder and fired.

If the musket had been properly loaded with wadding, the bullet would have missed, for as Digby pulled the trigger, his target hopped to one side to avoid the oncoming bullet. The lead ball, without the wadding to hold it tightly on to the charge, without having been rammed down the barrels length, rattled briefly as it flew down the barrel, flew at an angle from the muzzle and plunged deep into the Poles stomach. He fell to the ground with a shriek, clutching at the hole which pumped blood dark into the night.

Waving the smoke aside, Digby peered into the night as two more figures materialised, no more than ten paces away. One stopped, whipping his firelock into his shoulder. The explosive roar split the night apart, the ball fluttering past the Captains head. The Poles companion took his time, lining up the weapon and gently depressing the trigger.

Digby dropped to one knee as the weapon fired, the bullet slapping past his ear, missing by a hairs breadth. With an oath the Pole dropped the gun and drew him sword, as Digby rose up, rapier in his fist.

The blades met with a dull scratch, parted and met again. Digby cut, parried and thrust at his opponents, his blade everywhere at once, dazzling them with its speed. The blows rang out into the night as James pushed his opponents back. He grunted as he moved, graceful as a dancer, putting years of experience into practice.

He could have beaten them, could have fought them off, possibly even killed them, except for the horseman sat several paces to his left. With a calculated motion, the horseman raised the pistol at Digby and fired.

Dawn was breaking over the battlefield. The dead lay as though they slept, as did most of the wounded. Some, their broken bodies wracked with pain, still screamed and shouted, calling for help, their mothers, anyone.

Digby lay where he fell. His eyes were closed, oblivious to the world. A boot nudged at his ribs, but he didn’t stir. Serjeant Flockton knelt beside his Captain, his fingers gently exploring the hole in the leather jerkin, finding the lead ball trapped between the jerkin and the buff coat. He grinned at the unconscious Digby.

“You lucky bugger.”

The Veterans Armband is awarded to members who attend 5 Deluge Events whilst fighting as a part of the Bande of Pike & Shotte. It is worn on the upper right arm and surmounts any other armbands worn. When worn by pikemen it is edged in white to give it some distinction from their black buffcoats.

Full credit for the caricatures found under the spoilers must go to the brilliant Iron Mitten, whose fantastic images can be found on his blog here.

[Eiríkr Rauði]

Sirrah!

[Mitchel]

You guys....your thread is AWESOME. Best of the lucks, I hope see you in the battle too 

[Celtichugs]

Hip! Hip! Huzzah!

[Kovas]

Nice!

[gokiller]

Looks awesome! Goodluck

[gaham1]

Did you draw those pictures.

[Eiríkr Rauði]

 

Reading glasses, you may wish to invest in a pair.

[rapier17]

No, the images were, shamlessly, pulled from the internet, from the blog of Iron Mitten. I put in credit & a link to his blog at the bottom of the post.

[gaham1]

Reading glasses, you may wish to invest in a pair.

Im an idiot.

[Æthelwulf]

Lovely work Leo. Laaavly. Glad to be a pikeman, not everyday I get to hold something that long. Alas.

[Dansk viking]

Hip! Hip! Huzzah!

Awesome introduction! I will look for you on the fields of battle.

/Nils Gammelsen, Friskytte af Kongens Naade

[Hengist]

Greetings to you British bande!

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My name is Caspar Hagendorf and after some boring years of farming, trading and getting older,
I have chosen to return to my prefered profession:
Killing for anyone who is good company and has a well-filled wallet.

I have seen that you plan to fight as a bande and if you really are lucky dogs as you claim to be and not lice-ridden stray dogs, I would enjoy fighting with you. You sound like you know how to win battles and get some fun and money out of them.

I must apologise though; I'm not English, but a man from Westfalia. Nor do I carry an English name. If this poses a problem, I guess I will have to send word to my cousin in England who would be up to the task as well.

[DannyT]

Excellent thread gentlemen! I would like to offer my services. I'll change my name to Carver Doone while playing with the clan if you will have me.

[Eiríkr Rauði]

Fine evening, Carver. If you wish to put your luck in with our company, we must first come to an understanding that we give out our hard earned gold schillings to worthy men.

Our intention, with recruitment, is to find like-minded people who wish to enjoy the Deluge without being overly serious about playing it, which is why we are intending to recruit purely by invitation.

In short; we're online in the Deluge most nights. As of this patch, we're playing with the rose heradry and typically English names. The next patch will see our own banner implemented. Kick it back, relax and play with us when you find us.