Wuppenhas, the Final!

The battle hangs in the balance. It's not, in all honesty, a very good balance: imagine a particularly porky pig trying to cross over the body of General Barry-Eylund by means of quite a small tight rope whilst Marshal Grace-a-Dieu Cavandish helpfully pelts the porcine acrobat with pies. Still, ever the optimist, or perhaps fatalist, the general searches around for some available manpower to throw into the Wuppenhas bratwurst machine. With a due sense of incipient disappointment, the general orders his nearest regiment, the Schokolade-Feyer Garde to launch a bayonet attack upon the enemy to their front (below).

The Bachscuttel guard unit bring to the fight all of the qualities for which they are justly famous: weak chins; large mess bills; and a frightening dislike of their social inferiors. Utilising the latter, the regiment goes to town on the ordinary working men that comprise their Fenwickian opposition; they shoot, they stab, they roar - if they could, simultaneously, extract from their working class adversaries some kind of regressive tax contribution, they no doubt would. Shocked by this unusual display of autocratic application, the imperial troops break and run!

'Bah!' cries Captain Fabius Nitwitz from a hilltop vantage point. 'We're running out men.'
The imperial Chief of Staff, Giovanni di Tripodi, nods, contemplates briefly, and then produces with his quill another beautifully written missive that is whisked off to one of his regiments'.
'It's time, I think', says Tripodi, 'to commit our mercenaries to a risky enterprise. That enemy guard regiment has its flank to the marsh. We shall order forward our mercenaries!'
'Through the marsh?' asks Nitwitz, surprised.
'Even so', replies Tripodi, the natural born quiller. 'If one must take risks with one's troops, then who better to take them with than Wurstburp mercenaries?'

(Below, top right). The imperial mercenaries, red flags waving gayly, trudge through the marsh and head eagerly for the flanks of the Schokolade-Feyer Guard!

The Wurstburp troops trudge manfully through the marsh. Though their ranks are disordered by the difficult terrain and the resistance of some of the local toads who don't like the way that the Wursburpers lower the tone of their homes, the mercenaries manage to push their way towards the flanks of the enemy regiment. Leaving his remaining guard regiment to its fate, Barry-Eylund uses the time, first, to retreat his cavalry out of the range of the imperial infantry (above, top left). The Fenwickians jeer, noting that Bachscuttelers are doing what they do best: scuttling backwards. Second, Barry-Eylund orders up one of the regiments from his left flank.

Soon, the Wurstburp mercenaries are in position. Their commanding officer prepares them to charge.
'Men!' he shouts. 'It is time to regain our honour! Charge! Charge! Forward and attack all those that deserve it!'
There is a moment of silence. The Wurstburp mercenaries look at the colonel blankly.
'Them! Them over there!' cries the colonel pointing at the flank of the Schokolade-Feyer Garde. 'They deserve it!' With loud howls the Wurstburpers run forwards (Below).

Weighing in favour of the Wurstburp merecenaries, they have their enemy in the flank; and also, of course, their opponents are Bachscuttel elite troops, the very embodiment of military disappointment. Weighing against them, however, they are outnumbered, they are disordered, they are standing in a marsh, and they are Wurstburpers. After a short fight, the 'nays' have it - with a cry of "Hurrah! Last one to collect their pay is a sissy!" the mercenaries break and run.

As the light begins to fade, the last acts of the battle of Wuppenhas begin to be played out. Sir Thomas Burgess eyes the enemy line and notices that sad state of the lead Bachscuttel cavalry regiment, the Hussaren von Kriegwurst, which is as disordered as a badly cut piece of African topiary. Seeing an opportunity to end the battle, Burgess orders his cavalry to attack (below)!

The splendid elite Fenwickian horseman plough into the shabby ranks of regular Bachscuttlers. The latter have less fight in them than a depressed pacifist who has mistakenly glued his hands to his kneecaps. Barry-Eylund's cavalry regiment is simply swept away. Burgess' troops then rein in:  a single enemy cavalry regiment remains in their way, the Chevauxleger von Blitzenstollen (above left)!

Barry-Eylund views the situation calmly. 'Bohner, it's time to make smoke and then ride off in the confusion. Or run off, in your case'.
Bohner looks aghast. 'But sir, we can still save the situation!'

The general frowns, contemplating the wide panorama of corpses in front of him. 'What with?' he says.
Bohner gesticulates. 'A last desperate charge, my lord: a heroic last enterprise to wrest victory from defeat!'
'But what with?' replies Barry-Eylund, gesturing to the mounds of dead Bachscuttelers.
'Those fellows!' Bohner points to the remaining Bachscuttel cavalry regiment, the chevaux-leger.
Bary-Eylund groans. 'So you want to leave our fate in the hands of a charge of the shite brigade?'
'But surely we must try, sir!'
'Must we?'
'But sir, isn't death better than the disgrace of retreat?'
'Is it, though?' says the general. 'Is it?' Barry-Eylund sighs loudly. 'Very well, Bohner. Let us see what happens!' With that, he orders forward the Blitzenstollen Chevauxleger: with a glitter of drawn swords, they begin a vigorous charge! (Below). This is the decisive moment of the battle, for both armies have no more morale to lose: the next unit that routs from the field will seal the battle's outcome!

For a moment, the two regiments are a swirling mass of cutting, stabbing cavalrymen. Then, to Barry-Eylund's disgust, the chevaux-leger are forced back by their Fenwickian adversaries! The regiment retreats and then reforms a little distance from the enemy. But the chevaux-leger still have some fight left in them. "Cometh the hour, cometh the man" they say: and with the hour growing dark, a hero stands forth - none other than Colonel von Blitzenstollen himself!
'Men', he cries, 'fear not, for this has been only a temporary setback! Let us gird ourselves and throw ourselves once again into the fray! The enemy too is almost broken. One last push! Yes, it is true that we might all perish in the attempt! It is true that we might be hideously mutilated; scorched and maimed, perhaps, beyond the recognition of our own mothers! But that is a small price to pay for glory! One last push, what do you say, my fine ...'
There is the sound of a single pistol shot.
Blitzenstollen looks down at his tunic to see a spreading stain of red. 'But I was only mid-monologue ..' he croaks. 'I've got so much more to give ...'. With that he slides from his horse.
All eyes turn to a small chevaux-leger trooper who holds gingerly a smoking pistol.The trooper shrugs apologetically. 'It, ah ... It, ah, just went off in my hand.'
The other soldiers look at one another and then say 'Fair enough'. With the death of this hero, the Bachscuttel army finally breaks!

(Above) The battle is over, and there is little enough left of either side.
Bohner covers his face, tears in his eyes, before snuffling 'We are lost, my lord. We now face a difficult choice - to stay and fight nobly to the last man or to sully ourselves with a retreat: a terrible choice that requires great ...'
'Retreat!', says the general. 'Let us quit this field right this minute!'
The order is given. What follows is not so much a retreat, as that sort of movement that might take place at a children's birthday party when one of the party goers draws from the lucky dip an unexpected boa constrictor. Though with less cake. Probably.
Barry-Eylund watches resignedly as his force quits the field. He sighs. 'I had anticipated the sweet smell of victory, Bohner; but now I am assailed by the stale sweaty sock smell of defeat'.
Bohner dries his eyes with his kerchief. 'Indeed, sir. Also, my lord, we must in addition consider the terrible defeat that we have caused to our allies, what with our defeat losing the war for the Spasmodic Sanction. They will be terribly disappointed'.
The general considers this point and then says: 'That fact, Bohner, I think in relation to this particular dark cloud, I would place under the heading of "silver linings"'.