Happy New Manure!

'What do I think?' says Entendre slowly. 'Sanitaire, could you enlighten yon lieutenant as to some of the limitations associated with using a pile of manure as protection against siege artillery?'
'That's ... that's a big pile of manure,' whispers Sanitaire incredulously.
'Och, Indeed,' Entendre replies. 'But, like King Wilhelm's belly, the Burgravina of Nabstria's muttonchops, or my incandescent rage, I think we can agree that just because yev an excessive quantity of something does nae necessarily mean that it makes for adequate artillery protection.'
'I mean,' continues Sanitaire with his reverie. 'Fair play to these fellows. Lieutenant Pois, where did yer get a horse big enough to produce this amount of manure? I mean - did the horse provide it voluntarily? Or did yer scare it.' He views the manure pile again, 'A lot.'

Pois frowns. 'Uncle, you seem ... unenthusiastic about this structure.'
'Nephew,' says Entendre, 'There's a reason that none of the great publications of Vauban have a chapter entitled "On Manure." My cat has coughed up furballs with more structural integrity than this ... this ... Vauban plop.'
'Well, sir,' says Pois, 'I see that you are disappointed, even though I have created exactly what your plans demanded. So let us instead consider this, then, a work in progress.'
'Progress towards what?' replies Entendre sharply. 'Getting on my wick? Dragging our family into laughable disrepute? No, no, no - this will not do. Unless you and your men build a regular artillery bastion by tomorrow lunch time, I shall shove a wheelbarrow up your jacksy.'
Sanitaire chokes and then looks around furtively. 'My good Entendre - this is Fenwick. One cannae just go around saying words like "jacksy". Or "wheelbarrow".'
'Or melons,' adds Pois helpfully. 'Or plums, cucumber, sausage or, as it turns out, dumplings which, I don't mind telling you, can make having stew for dinner a surprisingly dangerous activity.'
'I care not,' hisses Entendre. 'Nephew, I'll have that fortification by midday, or you'll suffer a close encounter with a one-wheel cart that'll make yer eyes water!'
Pois splutters - 'But sir, you ask the impossible. It cannot be done.'
Entendre scoffs. 'I assure you laddie that I am entirely confident that I can make that wheelbarrow fit.'
'No sir, the bastion sir,' replies Pois. 'We cannot construct such a thing in only one night. There must be at least,' he looks around for his ruler; can't find it; and proceeds instead to counts his fingers, 'ten or more stone bricks required for its construction.'
'Gather yer men, laddie, and go to it.'
'It cannot be done,' says the lieutenant morosely.
'Build this bastion, nephew,' says Entendre with finality. 'Because if a pile of manure is all that is here tomorrow to defend our outworks, I'll give ye yer own personal demonstration of what happens if one suffers a rapid assault to one's vital parts without adequate protection.'
With that, the two majors leave.

Later, we find Entendre on the battlements of Fort Pippin. He is staring wearily at the sky whilst Sanitaire peers through his telescope.
'Can you see them at work, Sanitaire?' asks Entendre.
'Och, yes Dougal, I can.'
'How much progress have they made?'
'Well,' replies Sanitaire. 'Not so much really. Actually, they now seem to be measuring up the wheelbarrow.'
'Dammit, Sanitaire. We must have that bastion. The enemy are near. I feel a great encounter in the offing!'

The Cat Sat on the Bastion!

At the Fenwickian stronghold of Pippin Fort, the mercenary engineer major Dougal Entendre has taken his own route to working off the Christmas excess - by building a stone bastion to defend the approaches to the fortifications. Though the Imperial fortress is now well-supplied thanks to the arrival of a much needed supply column, the approach of the forces of the Spasmodic Sanction is surely imminent. Colonel Victor von Shroedinger-Skatt, Captain-Governor of the defences, was disappointed with the ease with which the artillery forts along the river Strudel were lost. He has therefore ordered a substantial strengthening of the outworks here. Whatever happens, Pippin Fort must hold out until the Imperial army can disentangle itself from the current campaign and march to the rescue!

Entendre surveys the progress made thus far on the new bastion. He is accompanied by his compatriot, major Gordon Sanitaire. Also present is the lieutenant of engineers directly responsible for constructing this new defensive edifice. The lieutenant, like the two majors, is also a Scot of Huguenot extraction. His name is Peter Pois and he also happens to be Entendre's nephew. Pois' presence is not an accident, since it was Entendre's influence that secured for the young man his position in the Fenwickian army. Entendre originally intended that his nephew join the British army. Pois' poor education, love of port, lack of common sense, and ability to find humour in the suffering of the poor seemed to make him a perfect candidate for a commission in one of the guards regiments, or perhaps the cavalry. Alas, however, Pois' bourgoise background and his inability to pass the port in the right direction soon stymied this option. In consequence, Pois travelled with Entendre to Mittelheim, where the major has secured for his nephew a commission in the Imperial army. Thus far, Pois has performed perfectly adequately, although, without any actual engineering to do, his chief tasks have been to dress himself, operate a ruler without injuring anyone, and to avoid any salacious references to fruit or vegetables. These tasks he has generally performed well, although there was tricky incident in which Pois, inordinately proud of his skill with a ruler, offered to show the Captain-Governor's wife his 'twelve-incher.' However, Pois now seems to be in a bit of trouble. Surveying the plans for the new bastion, Entendre addresses his nephew with a raised voice. Let us move closer, dear reader, and listen in on their conversation.

'I just don't see what the problem is, uncle,' says Pois. 'I have carried out your instructions.'
'I dinnae think yer have, Peter my laddie,' replies Entendre. 'I asked you to build an impressive stonework artillery fort according to these plans.'
Pois glances at the papers in Entendre's hands. 'But uncle - it is impossible for me to build such an edifice,' says Pois. 'Look at the size of it. See,' he says, waving a short stick of wood. 'My ruler simply isn't big enough. It goes up to twelve inches, and this artillery bastion must be at least ... at least ...sixteen or seventeen inches or something like that.'
Entendre frowns. 'Well, I think that my plans actually call fer something with twenty foot ramparts of stone, in a triangular lay out.'
Pois shrugs his shoulders incredulously, 'But where am I going to get a ruler that long? In any case, I submitted my own plans to you for your comment. And I have constructed the bastion according to your suggestions.'
'Alternative plans?' interjects major Sanitaire. 'I wasnae aware of those.'
'No you wernae,' replies Entendre. 'Because the Lieutenant's "alternative plans" comprised of a sheet of paper with a badly drawn picture of a cat.'
'Uncle, you have often enjoined that I should think outside of the box,' replies Pois.

'Aye, laddie,' says Entendre. 'But that, I dinnae think, was what I meant. Yer "plan" was the result of what might happen if you were thinking outside of the box, and the box itself, which turned out to be quite heavy, fell and then hit you on the head. I told you then, laddie, that what you had drawn was a big pile of manure: and to reinforce that point I wrote on yer "plan" the words "a big pile of manure".'

'Quite so, uncle,' replies Pois smugly. 'And behold!' he says, pointing.

The two majors turn to look.

'John the Baptist's oddly shaped testicles,' blasphemes Sanitaire.

Entendre's mouth works silently up and down, like a mime artist on a trampoline. He then closes his eyes. Always a believer, in the face of bad news, of counting to ten slowly before saying anything, the major just to be safe now starts at a thousand ... 

Faltaire’s New Mortar!

As the ‘Brummer’ is wheeled away, its place is taken by a very large mortar, manhandled into place by a large team of sweating gunners…

‘But that is simply enormous!  I’ve never seen a mortar of such a size!’  Exclaims von Rumpfler.
'Indeed, my dear Faltaire, agrees the Burggrave. 'This is quite a whopper!'
‘Ah, well, yes, you see my dear General, operating on  the "tavern wench" principle that bigger is generally better, I worked with Herr Frupp and his considerable knowledge of metallurgy and gun-founding to design simply the biggest mortar ever conceived.  '
Rumpfler peers at the bronze behemoth. 'Surely nothing of this size has been seen in Mittleheim since King Wilhelm last was seen bending over!'
'Even with the use of standard, double milled gunpowder, it should be able to throw a shell over any battlement yet devised’, replies Faltaire.
‘Well, this should be interesting…’ muses the Burggrave.

The gun crew ready the mortar…
‘Make ready!’, ‘Aim!’ ‘Fire!’

As the sergeant puts his linstock to the touch-hole, there is an almighty report in one of the loudest explosions of the eighteenth century…

A vast cloud of gunpowder smoke envelops the dignitaries….

 ‘Well, I say!, (cough, splutter)’,  says the Burggrave, ‘that was simply, (cough) marvellous!’
‘Yes, indeed, sire, (cough) with such a weapon we should be able to raze any town (cough) in the Empire of Grand Fenwick (cough) to rubble!’ von Rumpfler says grimly.
‘I am so (cough) glad you like it, my dear Burggrave!’, exclaims Faltaire.
‘Oh yes, indeed!  (cough) I just hope we haven’t woken the Burggravina….’ worries Burggrave Falco…

Irate (and rather deaf) Burggravina's notwithstanding, Nabstria's new artillery park is quickly manhandled onto barges waiting on the river Queltch. Though the garrison of the Fenwickian citadel of Fort Pippin do not yet know it, their situation is soon to become much less comfortable and a lot louder ...