Wherein the army of the the Margravate of Badwurst-Wurstburp, under the command of General Bazyli Antonin Unpronunski, encounters the army of the Empire of Fenwick, commanded by Marshal Ignacio Grace-a-Dieu Cavandish.
Marshal Cavandish yawns, an act which almost causes him to swallow his own telescope. He is about to turn to his aide-de-camp, Captain Fabius Nitzwitz, and tell him this, before realising, of course, that this is the army of Fenwick; and hence, "swallowing one's own telescope", like "holding a lovely pair of melons" or "buttering one's own parsnips", is not something that can be uttered out loud unless (a) one also wants to cause all in the vicinity to start 'fnarring' and 'snurking' themselves into a sweaty heap, and (b) one has a good lawyer. Cavandish sighs - as a man who genuinely likes butter on his parsnips, his sojourn in the Empire of Grand Fenwick has been a continuous cavalcade of frustrating double entendre.
Nitzwitz, also, is looking through his own telescope (this is also probably yet another activity that in Fenwick would come bracketed with speech marks and six months in prison). 'It would seem, my lord, that the enemy army has been reinforced by even more of those villainous ex-Jacobites: damn those syphilitic porridge gobblers!'
Nitzwitz, also, is looking through his own telescope (this is also probably yet another activity that in Fenwick would come bracketed with speech marks and six months in prison). 'It would seem, my lord, that the enemy army has been reinforced by even more of those villainous ex-Jacobites: damn those syphilitic porridge gobblers!'
Cavandish considers this for a moment. 'I don't think that porridge gives one syphilis, captain'.
'I don't know, sir - my old uncle ate porridge once, and he died of syphilis'.
'Wasn't he the uncle that spent fourteen years living in a brothel?'
'Correlation, I'd say sir; not causation. My old uncle swore by the health benefits of living in brothels. Plenty of exercise, and regular changes of bedding'.
'I'll bear that in mind for my retirement', says the marshal. 'In the interim, let us consider how we shall deploy our troops ...'
Having won, as any right-minded person could have guessed, the scouting contest, Cavandish has elected to go on the defensive. (Above) The Fenwickian army has been arrayed for combat. Unpronunski's choice of battlefield, however, appears to have been successful in at least one key way. The Fenwickians find themselves defending a position obscured by a pair of low hills. These hills restrict significantly the ability of the imperials to use the advantages of their artillery. Because of this, Cavandish has elected to distribute his guns amongst the first line of infantry: that way, whichever section of the line the enemy attack, at least a portion of his artillery will be able to fire. Or so one might think. His right flank is anchored on a stream. His left flank abuts a field. On the extreme left, the marshal has refused his flank slightly, in case the enemy attempt to move around this position. For reasons that will become more obvious than Landgrave Choldwig's belly button, this is probably a fair assessment of the likely shape of the coming encounter.
(Below) For the rest, to say that Wurstburp has placed the weight of its forces on its right, would be like stating that King Wilhelm of Gelderland's underpants are a little snug. All ten infantry regiments have been massed there in three consecutive lines. It really doesn't require a session with Madam Zelda "Fortune Teller to the Rich and Gullible" to predict what the Wurstburp plan is going to be. On the other hand, Madam Zelda is quite reasonably priced, and has an admirable stock of amusing tales about the French: so having her come and predict the Wurstburp plan wouldn't be such a terrible waste of time.
As Madam Zelda herself might note perceptively, it seems likely that the Wurstburp infantry "will be going on a long journey", probably around the small wood in front of them and then towards the Fenwickian flank; after which they will "meet a tall dark stranger", or rather, a battalion of them, this being the Fenwickian unit at the very end of Cavandish's line. No doubt, soon after "something that was lost will then be found" - Wurstburp courage, probably: but we can assume that it will then be lost again quite quickly.
'You don't think that this plan is too obvious, do you?' asks General Unpronunski, tentatively.
'It's brilliance', replies Prince Karl firmly, 'lies in its simplicity'.
'Hmmm', says the general dubiously, 'if simplicity were brilliance, then wouldn't King Wilhelm have a doctorate in moral philosophy?'
'You accord the enemy too much regard. "Spartans of Mittelheim"? When we've finished them they will no longer be the "Spartans of Mittelheim:" instead, they'll be the "Donkeys of ... Donkeyland".
'But isn't it highly likely that the enemy will see us coming? Not least because we are in full view of them and the only direction that we can reasonably move in is towards their left flank?'
'We shall distract them elsewhere: we shall fire our cannons'.
Unpronunski blows a raspberry. 'If I wanted more smoke, I'd just light a pipe', replies the general testily.
Some moments pass. Unpronunski seems strangely reluctant to commence the attack.
'It is time, general', says the prince, 'time to order the advance. We must defeat the enemy before night falls, and also before ...' he rummages around in the vicinity of his sporran, wincing '... this chafing becomes unbearable'. Orders are issued, and with a weak "Huzzah!" the Wurstburp assault columns step off!
'I don't know, sir - my old uncle ate porridge once, and he died of syphilis'.
'Wasn't he the uncle that spent fourteen years living in a brothel?'
'Correlation, I'd say sir; not causation. My old uncle swore by the health benefits of living in brothels. Plenty of exercise, and regular changes of bedding'.
'I'll bear that in mind for my retirement', says the marshal. 'In the interim, let us consider how we shall deploy our troops ...'
Having won, as any right-minded person could have guessed, the scouting contest, Cavandish has elected to go on the defensive. (Above) The Fenwickian army has been arrayed for combat. Unpronunski's choice of battlefield, however, appears to have been successful in at least one key way. The Fenwickians find themselves defending a position obscured by a pair of low hills. These hills restrict significantly the ability of the imperials to use the advantages of their artillery. Because of this, Cavandish has elected to distribute his guns amongst the first line of infantry: that way, whichever section of the line the enemy attack, at least a portion of his artillery will be able to fire. Or so one might think. His right flank is anchored on a stream. His left flank abuts a field. On the extreme left, the marshal has refused his flank slightly, in case the enemy attempt to move around this position. For reasons that will become more obvious than Landgrave Choldwig's belly button, this is probably a fair assessment of the likely shape of the coming encounter.
(Above) On the extreme right, beyond the stream, Marshal Cavandish deploys all three regiments of his cavalry. It keeps them out the way; and, who knows, it might be possible to bring them usefully into the fray at some point. Stranger things have happened. Especially in Mittelheim; where, to be fair, the benchmark for "strange" is set quite low. The notable officer, Giovanni de Tripodi, commands one of the cavalry regiments. Though Cavandish would much rather that he was deployed with the infantry, Tripodi believes that only the cavalry have the status, style, and prestige that befit a true gentleman - which shows how much he knows. Better at producing manure than they are a decisive battlefield effect, the landgravate's cavalry settle in for what will probably be another day featuring the dangerous consumption of beverages and a fearsome quantity of just sitting around a bit.
On the other side of the battlefield, and guided by Prince Karl, Unpronunski elects for a risky deployment. (Below) The entire centre and left wing of the Wurstburp deployment is comprised of nothing but the margravial cavalry - three regiments. On the right of the woodcut can be seen a new Jacobite addition to Unpronunski's horsed arm - formed from survivor's of Baggot's Hussar's, these have now a different colonel, and are named Baggin's Hussars.
(Below) For the rest, to say that Wurstburp has placed the weight of its forces on its right, would be like stating that King Wilhelm of Gelderland's underpants are a little snug. All ten infantry regiments have been massed there in three consecutive lines. It really doesn't require a session with Madam Zelda "Fortune Teller to the Rich and Gullible" to predict what the Wurstburp plan is going to be. On the other hand, Madam Zelda is quite reasonably priced, and has an admirable stock of amusing tales about the French: so having her come and predict the Wurstburp plan wouldn't be such a terrible waste of time.
As Madam Zelda herself might note perceptively, it seems likely that the Wurstburp infantry "will be going on a long journey", probably around the small wood in front of them and then towards the Fenwickian flank; after which they will "meet a tall dark stranger", or rather, a battalion of them, this being the Fenwickian unit at the very end of Cavandish's line. No doubt, soon after "something that was lost will then be found" - Wurstburp courage, probably: but we can assume that it will then be lost again quite quickly.
'You don't think that this plan is too obvious, do you?' asks General Unpronunski, tentatively.
'It's brilliance', replies Prince Karl firmly, 'lies in its simplicity'.
'Hmmm', says the general dubiously, 'if simplicity were brilliance, then wouldn't King Wilhelm have a doctorate in moral philosophy?'
'You accord the enemy too much regard. "Spartans of Mittelheim"? When we've finished them they will no longer be the "Spartans of Mittelheim:" instead, they'll be the "Donkeys of ... Donkeyland".
'But isn't it highly likely that the enemy will see us coming? Not least because we are in full view of them and the only direction that we can reasonably move in is towards their left flank?'
'We shall distract them elsewhere: we shall fire our cannons'.
Unpronunski blows a raspberry. 'If I wanted more smoke, I'd just light a pipe', replies the general testily.
Some moments pass. Unpronunski seems strangely reluctant to commence the attack.
'It is time, general', says the prince, 'time to order the advance. We must defeat the enemy before night falls, and also before ...' he rummages around in the vicinity of his sporran, wincing '... this chafing becomes unbearable'. Orders are issued, and with a weak "Huzzah!" the Wurstburp assault columns step off!
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