Ape Interpretation!

The Yum Kipper War continues to rage throughout Mittelheim. Amidst the escalating violence and suffering, it should surely befit all serious-minded Enlightenment rulers to consider best how peace and order might be restored and how justice and prosperity can be delivered to the peoples of this region. This means, of course, that Prince Rupprecht of Saukopf-Bachscuttel is fast asleep. Chamberlain Fecklenburg stands in front of the prince.

'Waaah! I didn't do it!' cries the prince, suddenly awaking.
'Didn't do what, sire?' asks Fecklenburg.
Rupprecht wipes away the dribble from his lips. 'Whatever you've come to complain about, Fecklenburg. Unless it's good news, in which case your congratulations are a justifiable recognition of my skills in masterly inactivity.
'Are you alright sir?' replies the chamberlain.
'You startled me, chamberlain! Stop sneaking up on me!'
'I knocked for ten minutes, my lord, before entering'.
'Well, knock louder!'
'I came in anyway, my lord, and have been loudly singing our national anthem for ten minutes, in the hope of rousing you'.
'And I didn't wake up?'
'No, sir. Although you did join in with the chorus'. 

The prince seems about to say something but then stops suddenly and looks around.
'Fecklenburg', says Rupprecht finally, 'the traditional woodcuts of our exploits seem to have been replaced by some form of painting!'
'That is true, sire. One of the Christmas monkeys turned out to be rather skilled with a paintbrush. We have kept him; and his artistic perspective on our exploits, I thought might be an interesting contrast to our usual illustrations. I have called the process "Ape Interpretation", or AI'.
Rupprecht surveys things curiously. 'Interesting, chamberlain. Your green base seems to have become a carpet'.
'Yes, sire'.
'And also, Fecklenburg, you seem suddenly to have grown a moustache'.

Fecklenburg touches his upper lip. 'Odd, my lord. And also, your gout seems to have disappeared'.
'Why, yes! This is pleasing, but also disturbing. What other things might suddenly appear, or', he looks down worriedly, 'suddenly disappear? Anyway, why have you disturbed my princely executive time?'
'There is news, my lord. Some of it is good, and some of it is bad. Which would you like first?'
'Is this a trick question, Chamberlain?
'No, sir. Some of the news is good and some is bad, and you might like to have that delivered to you in a specific order'.
'It's definitely a trick, Fecklenburg. I'll give you one answer, and then you'll say something that makes it look like I should've given the other answer, and it will make me look stupid!'
'I don't think that trick questions are necessary to prove that, sir'.
Rupprecht pauses, that portion of his brain concerned with analysis, a vestigial growth attached to the parts used to calculate the size of his breakfast, tries to work out if he has been insulted.
'I think, sir', says Fecklenburg, moving swiftly on, 'that you're overcomplicating what should be a straightforward interaction'.
'It's a trick question! Like when you asked me if I wanted breakfast, and when I said "yes" it turned out that it was lunch time!'
'I think, my lord, that that's not a comment on your intellect but rather a result of your extended temporal and intellectual somnambulance'.
'Exactly what I mean! I didn't need an ambulance at all'.

'Indeed, sir. Well, let me give you the news in a random order, then. The bad news is that our allies, Nabstria, have been defeated!'
Rupprecht frowns. 'Booo! This is very bad news indeed. This is quite the worst news I've ever heard! The Nabstrians are close and valued allies! And the good news?'
'It's that our allies, the Nabstrians, have been defeated'.
'Hurray! That's the best news I've ever heard. We hate them!'
'Quite so, my lord. But their defeat, and that of our other allies, the Margravate of Wurstburp, leaves us very exposed. I have ordered the raising of new troops! On that note, I thought that you might wish to review the newest regiment in your army'.

Rupprecht considers this. 'Why not, Fecklenburg! In any case, we had better leave before your Ape Interpretation causes your moustache to disappear and my gout to return!'

Vahringblancks, the Last!

Violent exchanges of musketry take place. Nabstrian lethal volleys are countered by Kurlandian cries of 'Stoyte krepko, parni!', which translates into German as 'Steady, lads!', and into Scottish as 'Did you spill my pint, Jimmy?' It's the Kurlandians that come off best, and one of the Nabstrian regiments collapses and flees. Exploiting the advantage, the Grand Duchess orders her infantry to charge (below)! 

General Rumpfler's musketeers, as it turns out, don't like it up 'em. Or around them. Or, really, anywhere in their general vicinity. (Below) Rumpfler's front line is entirely routed. Even the erstaz gunners, who had otherwise performed so creditably in this battle, decide that discretion is the better part of getting bayoneted in the face. They make their excuses and leave.

In the nick of time, though, the Nabstrian cavalry joins the fray. They launch an immediate charge on the enemy troops to their front.

Both regiments catch the left wing of the Kurlandian infantry in the flank (above). Outnumbered, disordered, and Kurlandian, the defenders' disadvantages pile up like body parts at a quiet Mittelheim night out. Only a miracle can save them! Alas for the infantry, this is less a fray and more of a 'fraid not. The Mittelheim miracle wagon passes by without stopping.

(Above) There is no divine intervention, and the infantry are comprehensively ridden down, ridden up, ridden sideways, and then ridden over. Despite this success, the accumulated losses in Rumpfler's army mean that his troops teeter on the edge of moral collapse: like Prince Rupprecht of Bachscuttel in a bathhouse full of pigs dressed as nuns. The trousers of Nabstrian morale are now firmly down around the ankles of their courage. All that can save them now, perhaps, is a glorious cavalry charge! 

But Rumpfler demurs. Uncertain about what that means, he also throws in the towel. And just in case the Kurladian savages aren't familiar with using towels, he also offers Honours of War. On balance, he concludes that his remaining infantry is likely to be defeated before his cavalry can break the enemy. Grand Duchess Catherine accepts with traditional Slavic docorum, greeting the general's offer with a fist pump and a cry of 'Get in!'

The battle has been hard fought. The Nabstrians have lost three trained regiments of foot and one of conscripts. A regiment of conscript cavalry has also been lost, as have both artillery batteries. The Kurlandians have lost one trained regiment of foot. Their regiment of conscripts is promoted to trained status. Another regiment of infantry is promoted to elite. The Berndt-Lippe Carabiners are also promoted to elite. In addition to winning, the ratio of losses means that the Kurlandians have also inflicted carnage upon their adversary.

Vahringblancks, the Eighth!

(Below, bottom) Through the miracle of combined arms warfare, the successful exercise of which in Mittelheim is indeed miraculous, the Nabstrian troops drive back the Kurlandian cavalry. Faced with steady infantry, the Grand Duchess' horsed regiments can inflict little harm - as long as the Nabstrians don't kiss them, or lend them any money.

(Above, top) The clash of infantry, on the other hand, proves to be quite a different kettle of fish. Though why one would want to put fish in a kettle, and why one wouldn't question the extent to which such a libation, by definition, might be entirely unlike an exchange of infantry fire, isn't quite clear. Anyway, whatever the state of the hot beverages, the volleys of musketry by both sides begin to do great execution.

(Below) The infantry have deployed into close range of one another and begin a sanguinary contest of fire. In this fight, General Rumpfler begins to miss the presence of the two regiments that he detailed off to confront the Kurlandian cavalry. Casualties, like Rumpfler himself on his nights off, begin to mount alarmingly on the Nabstrian side.

(Below) As is evident, however, the Nabstrian successes on their right do mean that the Grand Duchess' infantry line has an exposed flank. Rumpfler decides to try and exploit this by ordering his remaining cavalry to move to the centre of the battlefield. Naturally, though, they are facing in the wrong direction, and one regiment is still perched in the swamp, their undergarments damper than a sumo wrestler's codpiece.

First, therefore, Rumpfler needs to extract his elite cavalry regiment from the marsh, a delicate exercise that requires them to reverse (above, right), and then to about-face (below). These manoeuvres are executed with the grace that one might expect from troops whose horses' ears have to be labelled "left" and "right", and the bodies "up" and "down".

And so finally, dear reader, we reach the final, rudely-shaped portion of this battle. Can the Nabstrians bear down on the exposed flank of the enemy infantry before things go awry for their own musketeers? Or can the Kurlandians seize the hill before this happens? Things don't get more exciting in Mittelheim! Which is disappointing.

Vahringblancks, the Seventh!

On the Nabstrian right wing, the battle now becomes a form of Mittelheim military ballet. This being Mittelheim, the ballet is notable chiefly for the large plappy feet of its participants, the rolls of lard peeking from beneath their tutus, and the ways in which the pirouettes remind one less of ballet and more of the inexpert and lumbering exploits of some short-sighted and very horny hippos.

(Above) The Nabstrian infantry drives forward, pushing the Kurlandian horse back in the direction from which they came. (Above, top) In a development that signals a shift to the decisive element in this battle, however, Grand Duchess Catherine coordinates the retreat of her cavalry with the advance of her infantry.



(Above) Weighing his options, Rumpfler pushes his right flank infantry forward one more time. It's just too much fun seeing the Kurlandian cavalry heading back to the same position that they started the battle at. Meanwhile, his cavalry remains in position, rising damp from the marsh causing a degree of chafing amongst his elites.



(Above) Now, however, the necessary preliminaries of any battle in Mittelheim have been completed. The artillery has created some dramatic smoke; the cavalry has ridden forward and then retreated back again. The respective commanders have riled one another with poorly hidden barbs regarding recollections of the rules of war and the weighting of their dice. 

Finally, Grand Duchess Catherine, seeking to regain the initiative, commits her infantry to a decisive attack upon Vahringblancks Hill!

Vahringblancks, the Sixth!

Rumpfler reorders his cavalry, forming a line to protect the otherwise exposed flank of his infantry (below). To be fair, the 'reordering' mainly involves one unit moving, and the other, his elite regiment, continuing to experience the rising damp that comes from squatting in a marsh.

(Above) The Kurlandian cavalry wheel, clearly preparing themselves for another assault. One thing that you couldn't accuse them of is being reluctant to fight. Although one thing that you could accuse them of is being reluctant to bathe. 

Rumpfler has other ideas, however. At his order, his two rightmost infantry regiments wheel into march column (below). In other armies, this would no doubt signal an attempt to manoeuvre in support of their cavalry. This being Mitteleheim, however, this option is only one of a range of choices that includes routing, deserting; changing sides, going on holiday, or marrying one another.

Thankfully for the Nabstrians' chances in this battle, the infantry seems to have chosen Option A. They manoeuvre to their right and form lines (below).

With enemy infantry moving up, Catherine recognises that she needs to effect a quick breakthrough. With the vigorous clashing of coconuts, her cavalry dash once again into the fray (below). In true Mittleheim fashion, they target the weakest adversary, and then gang up on them, making unkind comments about their parentage, weight, and musical choices.

The stern line of Nabstrian cavalry refuses to be ridden down, however. The Grand Duchess' cavalry fail to break the enemy, and their ardour for the fight, like soft tissue in a Mittelheim plague, drops off. The Kurlandians are forced to fall back (below).

For Rumpfler, the situation on his right flank now looks much more promising. The enemy cavalry have retired right into the sights of his musketeers who, if they can only remember what their muskets are for, should be able to inflict perhaps decisive damage upon their enemies! 

Vahringblancks, the Fifth!

As the Nabstrians advance, however, there is suddenly a strange sloshing sound, and the rasping croak of frogs. A marsh! And one that doesn't seem to be on Rumpfler's maps! (Below) Our distance from the general makes it impossible to hear what he is saying. However, by the expression on his face, his hand gestures, and the way in which he is gnawing his hat, it is possible to deduce that he has found this new state of affairs to be sub-optimal.

Possibly as a result of his slight frustration at the geographic japery that has just been inflicted upon him, Rumpfler issues an order not generally found in military manuals even in Mittelheim. His direction "Sod it! Who cares - let's charge anyway" nevertheless is enacted immediately by his cavalry! (Below)

Despite the presence of more frogs and bog water than is usually good for cavalry actions, Rumpler's elite ride down their adversaries! With conscript-level strangled cries, the Kropotkin Dragoons are driven from the battlefield. (Below) Grand Duchess Catherine can only look on in dismay as the Nabstrians are left positioned for another flank attack - this time, the target is the Berndt-Lippe Carabiniers

Determined not to cede the initiative, Catherine orders the Carabiniers to drop back, and then charges again with the two remaining units: mercenary hussars and the Nicolayevsk Horse Grenadiers. The charge succeeds in riding down one of the Nabstrian regiments (below).

Much to the Duchess' chagrin, however, a sudden bout of confusion overtakes the horse grenadiers. In Kurlandian, the phrases "Advance forwards, march!" and "Tit about a bit, for a while" are dangerously similar in promunication. The horse grenadiers wheel themselves through their comrades and then set off forward into what is known in military circles as "The Wide Blue Yonder" (below).

Why they have done this will no doubt be straightened out after the battle - a straightening porcess that will also be enacted, no doubt, to their colonel's face and knees.

Rumpfler assesses the swirling cavalry melee - the situation remains in the balance: what can be done to gain him an advantage? He could, of course, set off a fire alarm and then steal some of the enemy units in the confusion, but no one would believe that this was an accident - again. Sternly taking the measure of the situation, he issues new orders ...

Vahringblancks, the Fourth!

With the deployment completed, the battle begins! There is a mutual exchange of artillery fire. In this, the substitute Nabstrian gunners demonstrate their utter lack of a grasp of Mittelheim artillery doctrine, by hitting the enemy and causing them casualties.

The Kurlandian artillery replies, firing upon the Nabstrian cavalry. Being regular Mittelheim gunners, they miss, exactly in accordance with their training.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given the Kurlandian deployment, on the Nabstrian right wing the battle develops into a clash of cavalry. With the addition of  a unit of mercenary regulars, the Duchy's horse outnumber their Burgravial adversaries four regiments to three. 

(Above) However, Catherine has deployed her regiments in mass formation, whereas Rumpfler has deployed his in line. This means that the latter are extended along a wider frontage. (Above, left) Secure in the knowledge that they are being fired at by three batteries of enemy artillery, and so are safe from any serious harm, the Nabstrian elite cavalry edge forwards little.

(Above) The two bodies of horse close with one another. The two forces pause in front of one another, exchanging insults and probably also some fleas. (Above, top) Grand Duchess Catherine can see the looming threat from the Nabstrian elites. Rumpfler no doubt intends to use this unit to try to engage in something that rhymes with "spanking", but that this time won't get him expelled from the Burgravial Christmas celebrations.

(Above) Charge! Trusting to numbers and throwing their stirrups right into the action, the Kurlandians thunder towards their enemies. Alas, there is the sort of brief flurry of exertion and then disappointed withdrawal not seen since Prince Rupprecht of Bachscuttel's wedding night. The Nabstrians, it turns out, also have their own set of stirrups to throw into the fray. The defending Nabstrians succeeed in repelling the attack.

(Above) The Duchy's cavalry falls back to regroup. Now, like ex-King Wilhelm of Gelderland in his underpants, their flank is hanging out so badly that a heavy spanking does indeed seem to be in the offing. The Nabstrian elites rub their hands, amongst other things, and prepare to attack!