Splash and Nab!

Emir Rhoddri's attack now begins to develop a little more momentum. The lead group of pirates has resolved the tangled metaphysical problem of how one might as a pirate cross a stream. Concluding that, though they don't have a vessel, there must be other ways of crossing bodies of water, the pirates first attempt to shape a boat from leaves and twigs. This effort might be judged as not wholly successful; if, of course, we define 'not wholly successful' as something that is situated between 'not at all successful' and 'not successful at all'. Finally, though, they conclude that it might be possible to cross by the expedient of jumping; and, having splashed across it, begin to look forward to nabbing the sheep in the distance (below).

The emir meanwhile is dealing with other tricky difficulties.

'You can't have the trumpet, Binky', he says, scolding his monkey. 'Bad Binky!'

Binky eeks repeatedly.

The emir signs in exasperation. 'Because you keep sticking it into my ear, you little rascal!'

Binky eeks again.

'No, you can't the kittens either'. More furious eeking from Binky.

'Because you keep sticking them into my ear as well. You can keep the rhubarb - what harm can you do with that?'

On the road from the interior of Rotenburg, Baron Hunchmausen's troops finally begin to arrive. The poor march discipline of his troops is one reason for his tardy arrival. The other, however, are the numbers of civilians packing the roads: whole families and their possessions, fleeing the ravages of the Rotenburg government, hoping to surrender to the Burberry pirates and be taken to a life of relative indolence as a slave.
The baron surveys the field. In the distance can be espied garishly caparisoned vagabonds that must surely be the enemy!
Hunchmausen's mood is surprisingly jovial, given the frustrations of his recent march.
'Prepare the men, captain. I feel splendid; fated; dark witches have promised me a favourable future!'
The captain looks surprised. 'That sounds a bit ominous, sir. Aren't dark witches associated with evil: you know, black magic; the devil; poorly fitting shoes; under-cooked sausages, and such like?'
'Well, yes, usually that is so, captain. But these seemed a better quality of evil witch; and surprisingly empathetic for dark crones of satan. I have been promised that fortune will make me duke of Nussholz and Pomme-lesia'.
'Nussholz and Pomm-lesia?' replies the captain.
'So, you've heard of it?'
'Well yes - its ...'.
'Ah. And am I right in surmising that it is a nice place?'
'"Nice" -  well that depends upon what sort of things that you like, sir. Do you like bucolic countryside, warm sunshine, happy peasants?;
'Yes, indeed'.
'Well, sir, then don't go to Nussholz and Pomme-lesia. There are circles of Hell with a more relaxing ambience. My cousin says that it is a squalid flop-heap, peopled with the by-products of a crossing between toads and black puddings.'
'So', says the baron, refusing to be downhearted, 'it's a bit of a fixer-upper. I like a challenge. Which leads me to the battle in hand, of course. First, I must defeat the enemy!'

(Above) Restoring some semblance of order, the three companies of musketeers he deploys into an open column; although, given their very loose comprehension of drill, almost any formation adopted by his men was likely to look a lot like an open column. The baron determines that he will send these troops directly forwards down the road, column formations benefiting from road-bound movement. His light troops will also advance, before peeling off and crossing the Zwei at the bridge. After softening up his ill-disciplined adversaries with some stern volleys of musket-fire, he then intends to break the enemy with the sort of vigorous and decisive action that will see the enemy off - once he thinks of something.

(Above) Five of the eight groups of pirates are committed to crossing the Zwei. Emir Rhoddri hopes that his men, some of whom are skirmishers, will be able to take cover behind the hedge and the barn, and snipe at the enemy regulars.
'Binky, get the rhubarb out of my nose', says Emir Rhoddri, contemplating the evolving situation. Binky hops up and down on the emir's shoulder, chattering loudly.
Kuchuk Huseyin seems to listen carefully. 'But my lord - I think that Binky might have a point: I think that he is saying that we need to send the remainder of our force across to the other flank and cut off the approach from the bridge. We must sustain the initiative; succeed in getting inside our enemy's decision-cycle; triumph in the contest of relative OODA loops'.
'Is he really saying that?' asks Rhoddri, looking sceptically at his second in command. 'I mean to say - OODA loops?'
'A cycle of observing, orienting, deciding, and then acting, your lava-cakeness', replies Huseyin.
'Yes', says the emir, 'Yes. I think that my scepticism wasn't the result of not knowing what an OODA loop is, but rather that you think that my monkey is talking about one. How could that be?'
'There are some surprisingly accessible sources of schooling available in Algiers, my lord - and very reasonably priced'.
'Yes, Huseyin, my loquacious right-hand man. I think the point I'm trying to make is that I'm not sceptical about whether Binky can afford an education; rather, I am drawing attention to the fact that most might think that a rigorous regime of mathematics, history, geography, and philosophy might be wasted upon him because he is, in fact, a monkey'.
'But I've found that he has a refreshingly inquisitive mind, my lord'.
'You wouldn't think that it was so refreshing, Huseyin, if it was your nose he was trying to stick fruit up'. The emir frowns. 'And in any case, how is it that you know what he's saying? When did you learn to speak monkey?'
Huseyin looks defensive. 'I man should always have a hobby', he replies.

(Below) Meanwhile, the lead group of pirates approach the first of their chosen targets. These lads, it's fair to say, are rather inexperienced in life, being mainly goatherds from the Atlas mountains and street urchins of Salle and Tunis. Since joining the crew, of course, they have seen many things on their travels: things of wonder - the pillars of Hercules; the vast oceans of the Atlantic; the glacial volcano peaks of Iceland; the frost-rimed cleavages of the women of northern England; and they have also experienced many terrible things: thirst, hunger; the storms of the North Sea; English food; German comic opera. But they still remain at heart simple lads. Thanks to this inexperience, many still have only a hazy idea of what a 'sheep' might be. Being not entirely clear, they head for the nearest possible target - a flock of surprisingly woolly goats.

(Above, at the top) As the pirates hop over the hedge into the fields, and approach their nervous looking objectives, in the distance, serried ranks of grey-clad troops come into view. Finally, the Rotenburg infantry begin to move into a position to interrupt affairs.
'Form line! Form line!' cries the baron ...

Smash and Grab!

In the environs of the crossings of the river Zwei, three groups of strangely attired visitors burst out of the local forest, and can be seen hurrying forwards (below). In the midst, we can see Emir Rhoddri Pasha, which means that these disreputable rogues must be none other than pirates from the Burberry Coast! The emir turns to his second-in-command, Kujuk Huseyin. 'Now then, Huseyin. Where the devil are the rest of our lads?'
Huseyin gestures behind. 'They are following closely, my lord, and should appear in our vicinity at some strangely random point in time determined by the characteristics of the scenario upon which we are about to embark, dread lord'.
'Excellent!' replies the emir. 'Excellent! So, what might be our objectives? It is probably wise for us to attach some purpose or other to this funsome frolic'.
'My thoughts exactly, lord. I've taken the liberty, your Welshcakeness, of drawing up a list of things that we should pinch from the locals'.
'A list of objectives?' asks Rhoddri pasha. 'I'm not sure I approve: as pirates, should we be constrained by the tight corset of lists? Shouldn't we instead let ourselves roam free in the, ah, negligee of free choice? Fewer defined objectives, and more, oooh, parrots, plunder, and, er ... rhubarb'.
'Rhubarb is exactly the problem, my lord', replies Huseyin. 'In our last application of such a philosophy to an exercise in plunder, we scored much less in terms of gold, jewels, and slaves that we should have'.
'What did we get?' asks the emir.
'Well, dread lord, rhubarb, obviously; ladies clothing, mainly in larger sizes; a garlic press; two kittens; and a trumpet'.
'Disappointing' admits the emir.
'Especially for the men, my lord. Who knew that kittens couldn't play trumpets? So, I have this time written down a list of objectives. The more we obtain, the more successful we will have been.'

'Excellent', replies Rhoddri. 'So what's on our shopping list then, Huseyin, my fine and forward thinking subordinate?'
Huseyin reads from a scrap of parchment. 'Some sheep'.
'Excellent, Huseyin'.
'A barn, the burning of'.
'Good.'
'Some haystacks.'
'Do we need needles?'
'Ha, ha, sir - very good. No: two haystacks, the burning of'.
'Marvellous'.
'Some barrels'.
'Oh yes'.
'Some more barrels, from a different place'.
'I like it'.
'And some locals'.
'Oooh, lovely'.
'That's it sir. The more we get, the more successful we can account ourselves. I presume that the enemy, should they deign to turn up, will have purpose to drive us off, but won't know exactly what our intentions are'.
'Excellent. But ... couldn't we add a small drum as well?'
'A drum?'
'Perhaps the kittens would like that better'.

As the pirates continue to drift into the vicinity, it is as well, dear reader, to check the rate of deployment of Baron Hunchmausen's defending troops. The baron, of course, is comporting himself with his usual efficiency (below), and it is fair to say that his zone of deployment is not overcrowded with Rotenburg soldiers. As more of the emir's maritime marauders appear, the Rotenberg troops  continue to remain conspicuous by their poorly dice-rolled absence.

(Below, at the top). More pirates have arrived, and we can also see the full, luxurious sweep of the river Zwei, the woodcut of which perhaps doesn't do it full justice; the river being more of slow flowing ribbon of glittering green-blue, than craply cut felt that won't lie properly. From this vista we can seen the bridge over the river Zwei. We can also see, in the top right, a small field full of sheep (for the stealing of); a small barn (for the burning of); and some haystacks (likewise, destined for kindling). The area as a whole sports several small areas of vegetation, and some strangely flat-topped protuberances, as do the two local peasants that can just be made out at the crossroads on the right. Near the bridge is a pile of barrels (for the stealing of). More are stored in the building nearby.

The emir halts, suddenly, and looks amongst his men. Binky, his pet monkey, is hitting him slowly but determinedly over the head with what looks a lot like a stick of rhubarb.
'Stop it, Binky. I thought, Huseyin, that you were deploying some cavalry.'
Huseyin nods. 'I thought so, your barabrithness. But it turned out, after some experimentation, that horses seemed to be tricky to control, sir; so our cavalry has dispensed with them'.
The emir frowns. 'Aren't horses generally considered integral to the concept of cavalry?'
Huseyin shrugs. 'I like to think that we have dispensed with the worst aspects of cavalry, such as the unreliability of horses, whilst still keeping some of the best elements - the restless energy; initiative; and manure'.
'How?'
'I have told our men to run faster'.
Rhoddri considers this, and then seems about to say something. Then, clearly thinking better of it, he simply says, 'Let's just see how that works out then, shall we. Now, let us about it: it is time to smash the enemy, and grab some loot!'

(Above, left) The early stages of the operation don't quite go to plan. One unit of the pirates tries to cross the stream, but just cannot seem to get a hang of the moving and crossing thing. Time passes, as the pirates seem unable to overcome the challenge of this modest aquatic barrier.
'What is going on?' asks the emir angrily.
'They're multi-tasking', says Huseyin gloomily.
'Pfft', says Rhoddri. 'If by multi-tasking, you mean doing several things badly at the same time, then I would agree.
Binky begins to 'eek' excitedly, He points to several groups of the pirates, and then seems to mime them running towards the barn and the small enclosure full of sheep.

Hueyin peers forward interestedly. 'It would seem, dread lord, that Binky might be trying to lay out a plan of attack for us'.

'Nonsense', says the emir. 'He just wants another go of the trumpet. Still ... it's not a bad idea. Make it so!'

Binky let's out an 'eek!' and bangs the emir on the head enthusiastically with his fruity drum stick.*

The Rotenburg response is certainly very relaxed (above). In fact, the dice and card gods relentlessly twist Muchhausen's tactical testicles, frustrating his attempts to deploy his men. The Rotenburg deployment area could be described as 'spartan' except that, at this stage, even some semi-naked greek hoplites from an earlier age would be an improvement. Still, the good about luck is that it tends to even out in the long run. Right?


* Which, just to be clear, is the rhubarb.

Hunchmausen's Column!

We are standing, dear readers, beside a fine cobbled road, somewhere near the coast of Rotenburg. Two locals are deep in conversation. Their talk has ranged across the wide panoply of topics usual for locals in this part of Mittelheim: current affairs (who in the village currently is trying to tumble with Anya the barmaid); politics (who in the village has fallen out over the affections of Anya the barmaid); economics (apparently, in relation to Anya the barmaid, one rarely gets so many of them to the pound); science (if there were really such a thing as gravity, how does one explain the shape of Anya the barmaid's cleavage?); and philosophy (if there were no one else there in the forest with Anya the barmaid, could her cleavage really then be said to exist?) These weighty ruminations are interrupted by the sound of an approaching horde. The smell suggests some herd of beasts; the shouted orders suggests perhaps soldiers of some description; the shambling of the feet suggests an afternoon walk by a crowd of local alcoholics with only the very haziest conception of the relationship between right and left.

(Below) In a few moments the conundrum is resolved - this is a clearly a column of soldiers! Sadly, the cheering of the Rotenburg locals turns to boos when they realise that this is not a force of Burberry pirates come to liberate them by taking them into slavery, but a unit of landgravial troops that has come to try and restore the normal order of things.

As the Rotenburg force comes closer, a casual observer who was less wise to the ways of Mittelheim might be tricked by the uniforms into thinking that this was a formation of professional soldiers from the Age of Reason. Those in the know, of course, would understand that the words 'professional' and 'soldier' in Mittelheim are an oxymoron; though this wouldn't help most Mittleheimers who would no doubt think that an 'oxymoron' was simply a cow with numeracy problems. One might more accurately describe these troops as unprofessional soldiers from the Age of Reason; but this might, as others could fairly say, be deeply offensive to those European troops of the Seven Years War that were merely unprofessional. A separate scale of measurement would probably be required for the accurate assessment of these Rotenburg musketeers: a scale in which such descriptors as 'unprofessional' would simply be taken as read (though not by the soldiers themselves who, of course, can't read); and in which the  metrics would instead run at one end from such words as 'shambolic', 'bandy-legged', and 'priapic' for the better quality of men, through to words such as such as 'floppy', 'sticky' and 'necrotic' at the other. As to being from the Age of Reason, anyone with the smallest knowledge of the states of Mittelheim could say with some certainty that, if Reason had ever reached the frontiers of this region, then he or she would certainly have been stopped at the border and prevented from entering, on the grounds that they were bringing into Mittelheim qualities largely irrelevant to the normal functioning of things here.

(Above) At the head of the column of troops is our friend, Baron Hieronymous Karl Friedrich von Munchhausen. The baron is in Mittelheim incognito, and is hiding his identity by passing himself of as Baron Hunchmausen. Like any self-respecting military gentleman of the time, the baron has changed sides and is now in command of a force of Rotenberg troops destined for the coast to do battle with heathen pirates. He leads a weak battalion of three companies of militia, and a company of jager.  In theory, this should certainly be an adequate force for the task at hand. However, the baron has, over the past few days, had the opportunity to weigh up the strengths and weaknesses of his men, and the results weigh quite heavily towards the latter. The baron has concluded that what he has been given aren't so much the scrapings from the bottom of the barrel. Rather, the metaphorical barrel has been turned over, and a considerable quantity of scraping has been done from the bottom of the bottom of the barrel. His troops are gurning loons: feral creatures; not intelligent in the normal sense, but equipped with the sort of low cunning exhibited by very short rats. Feeling at some risk from his own men, who might conceivably pillage and ravage the baron if he mistakenly dropped some honey on himself, Hunchmausen is now sure that, mercifully, action against the pirate enemy seems imminent ....