Pie Another Day!

Chamberlain Fecklenburg is attending Rupprecht at his breakfast. The prince seems to be about to consume an enormous pie sufficient to feed a family of twenty.

'Are you on a diet, my lord?' enquires the chamberlain.

'Indeed, Fecklenburg', replies Rupprecht. 'Indeed, I am. I have concluded that, since I as yet have no issue, I should be more careful with my health: at least until the succession is assured by an heir'.

'A wise, if surprising, conclusion, sire'.

The prince gestures to himself. 'My body is a temple, chamberlain'.

Fecklenburg nods. 'Then can I commend you, sire, on your very extensive outbuildings; and also the troop of monkeys that might well live in your belly-button. But you do not seem to be consuming your pie, my lord'.

Rupprecht nods, gloomily. 'I have a pie, Fecklenburg; but I don't appear to have a table to put it on. You couldn't come here and bend over could you?'

'Sire', says the chamberlain, shocked. 'Such a thing is surely beneath your chamberlain!'

'No: I think it would be above you, chamberlain, on your back'. He nods at the pie. 'Come now - you would not deny your prince?'

'My lord, there are important matters of state that need to be discussed!'

'But my breakfast is cooling rapidly! I like my pies like I like my women, Fecklenburg - hot!'

'And covered in gravy, sire?'

'No!' says the prince. He pauses. 'Not generally, at least'.

'My lord, if you might put aside your repast for a moment! Our Nabstrian allies have been defeated in their attempt to storm one of the Kurlandian border fortresses. This means that the Grand Duchess Catherine's army can remain in the field against us'.

'Which field? If it's a field far away from us, then we can just leave them there while we stay in the palace here. Unless it's a field with pigs in. Then, obviously, our state must annexe it!'

'My lord, it is a figure of speech - I mean that they are still actively campaigning against us'.

'But why? What have I ever done to annoy my neighbours, Fecklenburg? I am a gentle and placid man, who desires only to feel the gentle caress of peace ...'

'What have we done to annoy our neighbours, sire?' says Fecklenburg slightly incredulously, as he reaches to a bookcase, removing a volume. The prince doesn't seem to be listening.

' ... to rest amidst the ample bosoms of harmony; to rub my face in them; and then, to squeeze ... ouch!' The prince snorts as a large and heavy volume is plopped into his lap.

'My lord', says the chamberlain, 'here is an account of our foreign policy over the last thirteen years: it contains some clues, I think, as to why, if we are not the most hated country in Mittelheim, that's only because some of the inhabitants haven't met us yet'.

'But I think under my stewardship that we have been very measured in our policies; reflective; judicious ...'

'You might wish to skip the analysis of the substance of our foreign policy, my lord - it constitutes one short paragraph of chapter one - a chapter which, coincidently, consists of one short paragraph - and move onto chapter two: foreign policy failures'.

'Chapter two seems to take up the whole of the rest of the book ...'

'Indeed, sire. Also, you might also want to consult some of the entries in the Index, in particular entries under 'F' such as 'Failure', 'Farce', and 'Flatulent'; also 'B', for 'Battle', 'Buffoon', and 'Blubbery'. 

'Does it mention pigs?'

'Look under 'P' for 'policy''.

'Pigs seem to be the only entry under Policy'.

Fecklenburg shrugs resignedly.

'My lord, there seems every likelihood that our army will soon be engaged in a battle! If not Kurland, then, in all probability, Fenwick-Gelderland!'

'The army of Fenwick-Gelderland?' says Rupprecht, sounding concerned. 'But I do vaguely remember that their army is quite good'.

'The Spartans of Mittleheim, sire. In recent years, entirely unbeaten'.

'So how will we beat them, Chamberlain? Through bold manoeuvre?' 

'Bold manoeuvre? By General Barry-Eyland? Der Turtlekoenig? It seems unlikely'.

'Perhaps he could cheat? You know how he likes to invent new rules'.

'Well, obviously, he'll cheat, sire. But perhaps he needs something else in this hour of need?'

'He could cheat ... more?'

'Well, obviously he will cheat more, sire. But perhaps something else as well?'

'Oooh - I wonder what it could be?'   

Bogorovsk, the Final!

And so, dear reader,we reach the final crescendo; nay, climax; nay denouement; nay, horse, in the struggle for control of the Kurlandian town of Bogorovsk! It has been a rollercoaster ride, thus far: a crap rollercoaster, of course, with squeaky wheels, low speed, and a small child in the car behind vomiting loudly into the footwell.

(Above) As with the other side of the siege, the Nabstrians here have made good progress with their saps and artillery positions. Three such positions, one newly placed, are on the glacis and ready to commence breaching fire upon the bastion to their front. Luckily for the Kurlandian defenders, only one artillery battery has been brought up by the Nabstrians.

(Above) The attacking and defending guns exchange fire, to no great effect. But it is now that Retchin launches upon this flank, his great military innovation: a sortie. That sorties have not been a feature of previous Mittleheim siege encounters has many explanations: a lack of imagination, perhaps; a lack of aggression; and also, a lack of rules. But Retchin is a commander of a new stamp: aggressive, and, having not seen the new rules, entirely ignorant of any of the problems of such an enterprise. A man who knows no fear about attacking because he genuinely knows nothing about how one goes about doing it. He launches two sorties: one against the enemy battery, and the other against the pesky enemy sappers!

(Above) The Kurlandian infantry rises from the covered way! The Nabstrian battery fires at close range with grape. Alas, it would appear that it's the fruit and not the artillery munitions, because the attacking regiment suffers no great damage and swarms over the emplacement, bayoneting the gunners and, in the Kurlandian style, once they find the holes, ravishing the Nabstrian artillery pieces.

The Kurlandian invalid battalion assaults the Nabsiran sappers. Or at least, one might label it a charge in the same way that one could declare a cat to be a lion: it's about the right sort of species, even if the details are rather different, especially if one were to try and put one's head in its mouth. The charge involves more squeaking than one might expect, the noise coming from bath chairs, and also the wooden pounding of false legs rarely heard outside of a pirate reunion. (Above) Knackered old has-beens though the attacking infantry might be, their drooling horde overcomes the defending Nabstrians, who are wiped out!

(Above) Embarrassment alone might at this stage have signalled a Nabstrian withdrawal, but the rout of the sappers breaks the morale of von Rumpfler's army. The defending Kurlandians have won! General Rumpfler writes dispatches home claiming a successful diversionary action against the Kurlandians. He claims to have suffered low losses, which isn't entirely wrong given how short many of his troops are. General Retchin declares a glorious victory, the largest for the Duchy in living memory: although, given how much the Kurlandians drink, 'living memory' is basically around four hours. Retchin further adds to Kurlandian military doctrine by declaring the utility and necessity of defensive sorties, even if he's still not clear exactly what they are.

Bogorovsk, the Seventh!

Lady Luck clenches her fist at General Rumpfler, and then. gently extends her middle finger. Thanks to his decision to keep his guns off the walls in the early stages of the siege, Retchin still has most of his artillery left. If one combines this fact with Rumpfler's unfamiliarity with the concept of enfilades, then suddenly, possibilities emerge for some Kurlandian successes!

(Below) The right-most Nabstrian battery takes flanking fire from the bastion and is annihilated! No programme of Professional Military Education, however expensive, is adequate defence against a 24lb cannonball up the jacksy.

In addition to being enfiladed, the Nabstrian artillery lacks infantry support: not surprising, given that the Nabstrian foot can see the state of the artillerymen's jacksies. Retchin siezes the moment, or at least, something that seems like the moment, although it might actually be his nose, and decides to conduct an activity never before attempted by Mittelheim forces - a sortie from the fortress! Kurlandian veterans nod their heads judgmentally. A sortie requires things hitherto unheard of in Mittelheim siege battles: rules for sorties, for a start. But Retchin has come prepared with his own set of rules for such an activity - rules which are no doubt fair, balanced, and in no way dodgy. Choosing to attack at dawn, because it seems like the dramatic thing to do, he orders his troops forward. 

Retchin withdraws his guns from the bastion and then orders General Barfolovamisev to attack. (Below) One of the latter's regiments of musketeers forms a column of assault and surges forward! Though the defending artillery is entrenched, it is outnumbered and taken in the flank. The battery is quickly overrun.

(Below) Lady Timsbury of Somerton considers the unfolding situation. Whilst many might attribute the Nabstrian difficulties to some faults in the placement and support of the siege batteries, she is quite clear that the real foundation of their problems is the lack on the part of the Nabstran gunners of real engagement with their post-graduate written work. Sharper analytical skills and a grasp of international relations theory would no doubt even up the brutal hand-to-hand combat. Sadly, it's clear that the gunners haven't been doing their homework, and they are cut to pieces. On the plus side, though, Lady Timsbury always makes sure that she gets paid first. Perhaps what the Nabstrians are in need of is a really extensive, and as it happens expensive, programme of remote learning. Remote, in that the student is sent to live for six years in a hut on a small Baltic island, where the only conveniences are hot and cold running slugs, and even the halibut leave poor reviews. In such places, one lacks the distractions that stand in the way of really intense study, and also of going mad.

(Below, left) The woodcut shows the results of the impact of the second of Barfolovamisev's attacks. His other musketeers have attacked from the covered way, driven back the enemy sappers, who flop uselessly in the open, and then, thanks to the limited visibility imposed by the early hour, retreat, unmolested by enemy defensive fire, out of carving back to the covered way.

(Above) The situation at this portion of the siege has been transformed. Moreover, the Nabstrian morale is now rather low - so, about normal, then. All now hinges on events at the left-most bastion: events, dear reader, that we shall now turn to. Who knows what stories of heroism, enterprise, and daring-do we might encounter? It's not impossible, though, that if you are an experienced observer of Mittleheim warfare, you might just be able to guess.

Bogorovsk, the Sixth!

The Kurlandian battery opens fire. (Below) Alas, however, the gunners are too well steeped in the doctrines of Mittelheim artillery. This is a doctrine which seeks to surprise the enemy and, to be fair, their own troops, by missing all the time and rarely ever inflicting any casualties. This wrong-foots the enemy, laying them open to more effective forms of attack such as tickling or pillow fighting.

Still, for General Retchin there are surely a range of other interesting and effective options. Or so one might think.  Although the enemy artillery is on the glacis, and so too close to be the target of a trench raid, the enemy saps are not. A company of Kurlandian grenadiers, accompanied by a unit of sappers, launches a bold attack upon the enemy supporting trenches, seeking to fill them in (below).

Alas, the only thing that gets filled in is the sappers themselves. There are, in life, many sad sights to be seen: the weeping of a child; the howl of a hungry hound; an English penalty shoot-out. But there are surely few things sadder than seeing a trench raid defeated by a trench that has no enemy troops in it whatsoever. One can only surmise that the Nabstrian works were inhabited by some particularly doughty badgers; or some very long and surprisingly elastic worms. Whatever the reason, Retchin again finds himself lounging on the sofa when Mister Cock-up comes calling.

Things don't improve, however.

(Above) The Nabstrian batteries reload and pound the bastion. Clearly poorly trained, they hit their target, rendering irrelevant their carefully husbanded pillow cases.

On the other side of the siege works, things aren't much better either.

(Above) Before one can say "This is likely to sting a bit", Nasbtrian sappers have popped no less than three artillery positions on the glacis. Worse, Rumpfler is able to move up three batteries to occupy these new positions. The defending batteries fire but have the predictable effect - which is to say Jacques Merde.

Worse, the busy Nabstrian sapper companies then plop two more emplacements in front of the Kurlandian bastion. From these positions, Rumpfler's artillery will be able to commence breaching fire. At so short a range, and with a target that is literally larger than a barn door, some of their fire is bound to hit. You'd think.

And so, as General Retchin makes up a bed for Mister Cock-up, the situation for the defenders looks dimmer than a Guard's officer on a foggy morning. 

Bogorovsk, the Fifth!

Of course, the sappers are cut to pieces. And then, to compound Rumpfler's problems, the Kurlandians launch yet another trench raid, but this time with two companies of grenadiers! Now, their target is the other sapper company on this flank. However, the defenders are supported by infantry in a nearby trench. The Kurlandians really believe that they have got the hang of raiding trenches. Which, one might suppose, isn't so surprising, given that the process of a surreptitious nighttime manoeuvre that ends in a quick act of messy violence is quite like most Kurlandian marriages, except that trench raids are better paid.

Surprise! (above) Overconfident and overweight, after a sharp tussle, the grenadiers are forced to withdraw, but without serious casualties.

(Above) General Retchin has yet to wheel forward his fortress guns. At the moment, he feels that the enemy is still too far away. He needs targets that are nearer, and preferably quite fat and tall; and also, if possible, with a round aiming point marked on their bodies. However, the moment for their deployment might be arriving.

(Above) In front of the other bastion, the Nabstrian sappers have now made their way onto the glacis. For the troops, there is a moment of disappointment when they find that there is no French ice cream here, but this disappointment is compensated for by the fact that they are now too close to the fortress walls for the defenders to be able to launch trench raids against them.

The enemy troops in the covered way are those of Baron Felix Kraptin, and consist of a regiment of veteran invalids and a regiment of local militia. These defenders are probably better than no garrison at all, although opinion might be somewhat divided on this point. From his position behind the second parallel, however, Horst, Freiherr von Friedegge, understandably fancies his chances if it comes to a storming action.

Quite quickly, the Nabstrians begin to get mit it, and put in place the makings of some offensive positions. As any Mittelheim officer could tell one, third parallels are for girls - the sort that keep wanting to talk about feelings, emotions, and an even division of household chores. Best just to jump straight to building batteries. (Above) One position is quickly established at close range to a bastion. (Below, top) Then, on the other wing, two more are put into place!

Rumpfler also sends his one-time paramour and now dangerous spy, Nora Hindquarters, into the fortress. She successfully sows discontent amongst the population with tales that the outer defensive works are made of earth, and not frozen dairy products, and that tales of chocolate flakes there too, are mere fantasies. (Above) Retchin manages to deploy his guns forward - the Nabstrian defensive fire misses and the Kurlandians poise, guns loaded, ready to fire ....

Bogorovsk, the Fourth!

Like a Mittleheim waistband, the Nabstrian works creep inexorably outwards. Each of Rumpler's pioneer companies is put to creating its own sap (below). If there is one thing that Mittelheimers have a reliable knowledge of, not least because it is forms such an important part of their culture and culinary heritage, it is mud. Wriggling gleefully in the filth, the troops tunnel their way through the earth like moles on their way to a hot, but poorly lit, date.

Having learnt from the experience of previous siege operations, the Nabstrians have identified the risks involved in being too cavalier in pushing forward unsupported saps. As a result, and most disappointingly to the Kurlandian defenders, the next flurry from the sappers brings forth a set of trenches (below).

In a rare moment of coordination, the supporting infantry is able to move up almost straight away (above and below). This provides the sappers with support in case of an enemy attack. Kurlandian infantry continues to wait in the covered way. They have not yet decided to take their lives (and probably a range of saggy body parts) in their hands, and move up to the firing step, a position from which they can both fire and be fired upon.

Siege warfare, however, is in many respects about geometry, angles, protractor-thingies, and, you know, paying attention to where one's troops are relative to the enemy guns. (Above top) Whilst the Nabstrian infantry are safely protected in their trenches from enemy fire to their front, this is not the case in relation to another enemy battery (out of wood cut and to the right) that is now in an excellent position to fire right down the side of their defences. This is what is known in other parts of Europe as an 'enfilade': in Mittleheim, though, this sounds rather too much like 'lemonade', and for Mittelheim gunners risks confusing serious artillery work with fizzy beverages. Thus, the Kurlandian gunners prefer to refer to what they intend to do as a 'spank you with my gun'. 

It is a sound spanking that they mete out. A barrage from a heavy battery on a flanking ravelin skips munitions right down the trench, routing the defenders (above), although the comments from the defenders that they have 'spanked the Nabbies with their balls' seem unlikely to appear in the official history of the action. 

Barely pausing to goad the Nabstrians with some ripe and inventive allusions to their mothers and their proclivities towards cavorting on hot dates with moles, the defenders then compound the damage by launching a night trench raid with one of their grenadier companies (above)! What Rumpfler needs is some early luck that will bloody Retchin's nose, and, metaphorically, stuff some moles up his nostrils (not least to remove the temptation from the Nabstrian mothers). Can the sappers drive off the small attacking force? I mean, probably not, but you never know: the grenadiers might get lost, or tired, or get attacked by irate and horny moles whose dates have failed to turn up.

Bogorovsk, the Third!

The Nabstrian forces begin the process of sapping forward, intent on creating a third parallel. The general has four sapper companies at his disposal, one company of miners, and fourteen regiments of infantry, including two of grenadiers and one of guard infantry. Four regiments are under the command of Michael von Pfannensteil, scion of one of the great military families of the burgravate; General Heinrich von Zwöllen-Glantz commands the grenadiers and guard; Baron Florian von Meyer-Fleischwund commands three regiments of musketeers;  Horst, Freiherr von Friedegge commands the remaining four regiments, all of musketeers.

(Above, right) Rumpfler has established three main battery positions. He has five siege batteries, two heavy batteries, and two batteries of mortars. The mortars and one heavy battery are placed in the first parallel, with the remainder divided between two batteries in the second parallel. The general is a firm believer in the Christian principle of 'women and children first'. As such, he intends that both batteries of mortars will bombard the town, to terrorise innocent civilians and, if the Gentle Lord wills it, to set them alight. 

At this early stage, though, the general declines to fire, saving his powder for later. Instead, as his sapping commences, Rumpfler decides to commit one of his spies in order to spread unease amongst the population.

His choice is Roderigo the Spaniard (above). What led Roderigo to Mittelheim is a mystery. But this big, butch, bearded, ex-blacksmith is a master of disguise. A smudge of lipstick, a quick change of clothes, and a twist of his chorizo, and Roderigo is ready to undertake any manner of subterfuge. Or so Rumpfler hopes. 

Alas, Roderigo has made a fatal mistake. Sent to foment unhappiness amongst the population of Bogorovsk, he has chosen an entirely unsuitable ensemble -  a rococo style robe à la française, with a fitted bodice, elaborate trimming, and a full, pleated skirt supported by petticoats. The problem is - it's just too good. The style in Kurland this season is the same as every season - robe à la badger tres rough. Roderigo has made the same mistake as many Europeans trying to blend into Mittelhein: he's too competent.

Needless to say, Roderigo stands out like a Nabstrian spy in a rococo style robe à la française, with a fitted bodice, elaborate trimming, and a full, pleated skirt supported by petticoats. Quickly identified as an enemy agent, he is executed and then interrogated: an order of events that the Kurlandian secret police later begin to recognise may not be optimal.

News of Roderigo's demise is met with the necessary solemnity for someone who has given their life for the Nabstrian cause. 'What a loser!' snorts General Rumpfler angrily. (Above) Having expended one of his three spies, the general orders his sapper companies to continue with their efforts. Each company continues to dig forward: two on the left and two on the right, giving Rumpfler the sort of operational flexibility that mirrors his moral elasticity.