Wuppenhas, the Sixth!

As the battle begins to move into its final stages, circumstances for the the army of the Palatinate of Saukopf-Bachscuttel decline faster than a Vulgarian economic miracle. (Below, top) Barry-Eylund decides that the red-coated Milchfrau Lieb Garde, isolated in the marsh, must be brought forwards in a charge upon the exposed flank of the enemy battalion in front of it. With a soggy cheer, the guard regiment wades forwards with the bayonet. Showing the elan for which elite Mittelheim soldiers are rightly famous, the unit hits the undefended flank of the enemy and then immediately routs. To be fair, and illustrating the sorts of qualities one might expect from an elite unit, the rout is conducted with impressive elan, the troops sprinting rearwards with commendable speed, soiling their britches in quantities impossible for ordinary musketeers.

Reflecting the morale of the Bachscuttel army as a whole, circumstances, which weren't  terribly pert in the first place, begin to sag markedly. (Above) The single regiment left in Barry-Eylund's front line is heavily outnumbered and the ensuing musketry duel, like Prince Rupprecht himself, is badly lop-sided. But the doomed regiment holds for a while, frustrating the Fenwickian command.
'What is the hold up, Nitwitz' says Tripodi, looking up from his writing table where another stack of beautifully written orders are about to be whisked away efficiently to Cavandish's army. 'Their army is clinging to the edge of the precipice of defeat. Be a good fellow and stand heavily upon their fingers'.
'Yes sir; but the remaining regiment of their front line is proving to be rather resilient: they are holding on, barely'.
'Barely? They're fighting naked?' Cavandish's Chief of Staff nods slowly, with not a small measure of respect. 'Well, push on regardless- we must bend them to our will'.
Nitwitz looks on as the enemy regiment survives another volley. 'Hmm, my lord. We will probably need to cut as well as bend'.
But soon, this Bachscuttel regiment can take no more and it, too, tests its cardio-vascular fitness in the doomed relay-race of rout (below). The centre of Barry-Eylund's line is now a horrifying charnel house of corpses; a blood soaked tableaux of dead and wounded, the latter crawling slowly hither and thither crying 'Help!' and 'Redrum! Redrum!'

A brief moment of hope emerges for the Bachscuttlers. Musketry and canister fire does for one of the left hand units in the Imperial column. Immediately after, one of the right-hand regiments, in the heat of battle, launches an unwise bayonet attack on the Bachscuttel troops to their front (below).

(Below) The Bachscuttlers are victorious, although the successful regiment is now badly disordered.
Looking on at the developing fight, Major Bohner claps excitedly and points.
'See, my lord!' he says to the weary looking General Barry-Eylund. 'See how circumstances now change in our favour! I never lost faith in you sir, - I always knew that you had an especially cunning long-term plan!'
'I had a long-term plan?' says the general. 'Did I?'
'Drawing them in sir! Waiting like a crafty snake with a post-graduate qualification; ready to strike!' enthuses the major.
Barry-Eylund shrugs and points at the piles of Bachscuttel dead. 'Calling that a plan I think isn't just stretching the truth, it's making it fully elasticated.'
'What's elastic, sir?'.
'I really have no idea, Bohner. But if this is a long-term plan, then it's so long-term that there will be generations of mammals as yet to evolve opposable thumbs that are still unlikely to see its fruition'.
'What's evolution, sir'.
'No idea, Bohner. But write it down: it might come in handy some day'.

Barry-Eylund has five infantry regiments remaining, but two of those are so far back as to be irrelevant. Of the three that now comprise his front line, one is a guard regiment, a worrying fact in itself, and the two facing the immediate imperial attack are only regulars (below). Tripodi orders one of Cavandish's regiments to swing leftwards and brings the Kurassier von Fliegerweiner under enfilade fire.
Nitwitz shouts a loud 'huzzah!' and then sits down to recover his breath. (Below, bottom) The Imperial staff have had to push Cavandish's bed all the way up the battlefield so that it is properly positioned at the decisive point of the battle. 'Let them feel our wrath!' cries Nitwitz. 'Which they will discover is frighteningly proportioned and always ready for action!'

The ensuing turns are calamitous for Barry-Eylund and his army. The cuirassiers are destroyed by musket fire, and a combination of musketry and a bayonet charge break both of the Bachscuttel regular regiments (below). There is now no longer any Bachscuttel right flank to speak of: just a wide gap between the Bachscuttel cavalry and the remaining guard regiment. All that stands in the way of the three remaining Imperial infantry regiments are a few grassy tussocks, some clumps of nettles, and a small middle-aged rabbit named Brian.*

As Major Bohner contemplates the situation, Barry-Eylund lights a pipe.
Bohner sags visibly. 'Sir, I have an apology to offer'.
The general nods reflectively. 'If, Bohner, you are about to say that it might have been better on reflection to have done a little turtling and protected our flanks, then you can take your apology, stick it in this pipe, and you can puff away'.
Bohner nods sadly. 'But sir: I remain convinced that your plan can still snatch victory from the jaws of defeat'.
'I don't really have a plan', admits Barry Eylund, 'because almost everyone in my army is now dead. My plan now consists of nothing more than a set of really quite fruity expletives, and a general hope that things might improve'.
'Is there no hope, my lord?'
'Well, Bohner', says the general, 'on a more positive note, in the event of a defeat I have a horse, and you do not'.



* Though, as any of the denizens of other local warrens could tell you, Brian actually can be surprisingly combative after a little too much dandelion and burdock.