Saturday 29 June 2019

Actually, I've Seen More Impressive Specimens!

With loud cheers, the remaining two squadrons of Hott's Horse canter from the woods, intent on wreaking havoc in the artillery park itself. Sadly, the escapades of the first squadron have created more than enough noise to alert the Gelderland pioneers and the Nabstran artillerymen. The foot soldiers quickly arm themselves with muskets and deploy.

Even as the Fenwickian cavalry advance, they seem to have about them a faint whiff of rubbishness: that gentle odour of deeply ingrained crapness one normally associates with such things as English cooks or Prussian comedians.
'Are you sure that those fellows are attacking us?' asks one Nabstrian to another. 'They just look a bit too ... well, genial and hopeless.'
'They've got their sabres out', replies his comrade. 'And they're riding towards us, shouting "Death to Nabstria" and such things as that. That's usually a sign of an attack'.
His comrade nods and primes his musket. 'They just don't really seem to be up for it, though', he says pointing at the slack horsemanship and general lack of vim and vigour on the part of the attacking cavalry. 'They might be just delivering flowers'.
'You got me flowers?' asks his friend.
'Well, no', replies his friend. 'I mean, I didn't want to rush things ...'


(Above) To the left of the woodcut, and just out of sight, the Nabstrian artillery crew fire off a ragged volley. One hussar falls from his saddle and a measure of disorder is inflicted upon the rest of the squadron. This isn't how it was supposed to be: this raid was supposed to be a devastating blow against the besieging forces - a dashing action that would scatter, burn, cut, scribble on, or roll over gently, all of the enemy personnel and equipment in this encampment.


(Above) Forming a ragged line, the pioneers fire into the flanks of the third Fenwickian squadron, emptying many saddles. It is clear that this cavalry raid is an especially incompetent one, with all the energy and action of a Spanish siesta. Decisive action is needed to restore the situation! To this end, both the Fenwickian squadrons launche a charge straight down the track to their front with the firm intention of giving the Nabstrian gunners an instructive drubbing with their sabres. At least, it has the outward signs of a cavalry charge - horsemen, the waving of sabres, a modicum of robust shouting. But the results are, to say the least, disappointing; a fact that just goes to prove the old adage "Never send a Mittelheim cavalryman to do a cavalryman's job". Or any job, really except perhaps those that require a lot of sitting around and being rather ineffective - being British prime minister, for example.


(Above, bottom) Thus, although more than half of the artillerymen are cut down, and the remainder are left heavily disordered, the artillerymen are not routed. Moreover, their numbers are replenished by the handy arrival of the jager, who mill menacingly around the crossroads. (Above, top) In addition, the Fenwickian cavalry have been reduced in the fight to a number that could be counted on the fingers of one hand: a hand, moreover, that had suffered a freak accident with some nasty agricultural implement such as a scythe or a brush and that had been left severely digitally challenged.

Hott surveys the wreckage of his forces and orders a retreat. His few remaining troops flee the battle leaving a trail of corpses and broken smells. The Spasmodic Sanction artillery park is safe, and the siege can continue apace! The surviving Gelderland and Nabstrian soldiers raise a loud cheer: 'Hurrah!' they shout excitedly 'It's coming home! It's coming home! It's coming! Eighteenth century linear warfare's coming home!' 

In Fort Pippin, things are rather more gloomy. Reading the message of defeat brought by a nervous looking carrier-seagull, Governor Schroedinger-Skatt curses loudly. 'Damn and blast!' he expectorates. 'Goblin's kneecaps! Nun's wobblers!' he continues. ' Hedgehogs' jiggley bits!' After a short while, he manages to compose himself. 'There's nothing for it' says the governor. 'We have to slow down the enemy seige activities. We must prepare a sally!'

2 comments:

  1. Good God! That was a close call. I thought for a moment that the Burggrave's newly cast siege guns might be spiked by those Fenwickian rascals. He would have been most displeased and discomfited...

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    1. Yes, although the Fenwickians were eventually driven off, for a short while the situation was as uncertain as the spelling of the word “siege”.

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