This year, our club has been all about naval battles, which I’m very happy about. This time, we're playing Gods of War: Togo. I suggested one of the new scenarios for the game: a bombardment of the port. Instead of ports, I used lighthouse markers, and I think this is their first appearance in a game since I painted them.
UMPIRING: Bartek Żynda
1. Forces.
2. The Game.
For that evening, I had prepared two point variants: one for 1,000 and one for 1,500. However, it turned out to be a quieter night at our club, with only four players in our group, so I chose the 1,000‑point option. Tim commanded the American fleet and, in addition to his flagship, had the USS Ericsson, while Alasdair commanded the USS Indiana. On the other side, we divided the Spanish into two squadrons: Jimmy, as commander‑in‑chief, on the Pelayo with Cristóbal Colón, and me on the Infanta Maria Teresa and the Furor.
The situation went badly for the Americans from the start. They positioned their ships poorly—too close together—and failed to adjust their speeds. The USS Ericsson sailed too slowly and the USS Indiana too fast, causing the larger American battleship to ram and sink the smaller torpedo boats.
The Spanish finally set their bold plan in motion. Jimmy’s squadron surged ahead to obliterate the American lighthouse, while my ships held position, steel-nerved and waiting, to shield our own beacon. Our vessels were thinly armoured compared to the American warships, but we possessed one crucial advantage: sheer speed. Jimmy slammed the throttles to full, hurling his squadron straight into the widening storm of American gunfire. In this deadly exchange, the Americans held the upper hand.
Cristóbal Colón was the first to pay the price. A rain of American salvos tore into her hull, sparking roaring fires that devoured the ship and dragged her beneath the waves. Yet amid the chaos, Pelayo broke through the gauntlet. With a thunderous impact, she struck Indiana hard enough to rip open her side, sending seawater flooding into the wounded American ship.
Then my squadron plunged into action. Infanta Maria Teresa unleashed her guns on Iowa, but the shells flew wide, while an American salvo struck true, tearing into our hull and opening a dangerous leak that I barely managed to contain. Before we could recover, a second roaring broadside smashed into us and crippled my rudder. Realising that one more hit could finish us, I refused to gamble with the lives of my crew, and the cruiser pulled out of the fight.
As we fell back, our torpedo boats hurtled into the fray. They loosed two furious salvos, but the first was launched from far beyond effective range, and the second veered off target at the last moment—even though it had already left the enemy ship reeling and disabled.
The clash between Iowa and Infanta hurled the American captain into chaos. As he fought to regain control, he misjudged the ship’s course, and the great vessel tore into hidden rocks. Steel screamed, hull plates buckled, and the ship shuddered under the impact—badly damaged, yet still grimly afloat.
Forced to pull back, Iowa turned away, her guns already seeking new prey. A line of Spanish torpedo boats swept past her beam, racing in for the kill. Iowa’s main batteries roared to life. A thunderous salvo crashed down among the attackers, and in moments the sea boiled with wreckage and flame as the Spanish boats slipped beneath the waves.
Desperate, the remaining Spanish crews loosed their torpedoes and drove straight for the crippled Indiana, intent on ramming her and sending her to the bottom. But before they could strike, Iowa spoke again. Another devastating broadside slammed into the oncoming vessels, shattering their charge and saving Indiana from destruction.
USS Indiana lunged after the Pelayo, driving forward despite the water pouring through her battered hull. Riddled with leaks, the American ship still closed the distance and opened fire on the Spanish battleship. The Indiana’s salvos roared uselessly into the sea, while the Spanish gunners answered with deadly precision, each impact tearing open new wounds in her armour. Water surged in. The list grew worse. At last, overwhelmed and broken, the Indiana rolled onto her side and slipped beneath the waves.
Now unopposed, the Pelayo bore down on the American lighthouse. At knife-fighting range, she unleashed volley after volley. The night sky flashed with muzzle bursts as stone and steel shattered under the relentless barrage. Moments later, the lighthouse crumpled and collapsed, its guiding beam snuffed out. The battle was over. Spanish victory was not merely clear—it was absolute.
3. Summary
Once again, the game proved the strength of its writing. The Spanish, wisely but with some risk, divided their fleet into two squadrons, a move that saved their lighthouse from destruction. The Americans chose to launch a full-scale attack on Jimmy's squadron and nearly achieved their goal, sinking the Cristobal Colon, but this didn’t stop Pelayo’s second ship from reaching her objective. Their second mistake was sending the damaged Indiana against Pelayo, a task that should have been assigned to the Iowa. Finally, after a long wait, Tim joined the Island Ramming Club—a distinction that almost everyone in our group has earned at some point.
4. Links.
SESWC:
FLICKR:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/asienieboje/albums/72177720333691907
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