A Little Less Conversation!

'Launch a sortie against them that overwhelms their third parallel; destroys it; and puts back their operations such that our relief army could indeed arrive before the fort falls?'
'Aye, sir, that's what I'm suggesting'.
Captain-Governor Schroedinger-Skatt nods, contemplating this suggestion carefully. From their position on the fortress walls, the captain-general and his two engineering officers, Colonel Dougal Entendre and Major Gordon Sanitaire, grimly survey the enemy's works. The three men have the haggard, haunted look familiar to any who have endured the depredations of an extended siege. Hollow-eyed and emaciated, they ruminate on Entendre's plan.

'Perhaps', says Major Sanitaire weakly 'perhaps we could just wait a little longer?'
'Nay, nay, laddie' Colonel Entendre says sadly. 'We're out of everything. Mustard, napkins, balsamic vinegar; and now, even sausages'.
'We could eat other things', replies the major, 'even ... even ... rats'.
'No' replies the captain-general sternly, 'We cannot'.
The major nods. 'Yes - I suppose eating rats should indeed be beneath us as gentlemen: some things are worse than death. We have already done unspeakable things in the name of survival: Jam instead of mustard; paper instead of napkins; and ... and ... there were the hotdogs - slices of bread instead of a split finger roll.'
'No', says Schroedinger. 'I mean, we can't eat the rats because we've run out of them. Actually, we started eating them before we finished the sausages. Delicious'.
'Aye', agrees the colonel. 'The cook had a special herb rub for them: outstanding'.

The three turn their attention back to the target for the suggested attack: the enemy third parallel.
'It is risky', says the Captain-General.

'Aye sir', the colonel replies. 'But "attack is the best form of defence" they say'.
Schroedinger nods. 'Yes, well "they" presumably are the people who don't actually have to do the attacking, but get to stay behind, drinking coffee'.
'We would need to gather a body o' brave men for the job, certainly sir', says Entendre.
Sanitaire snorts. 'That would be a very small body, sir'.
'Really?'
'Yes, less of a "body" and more of a small frail limb only tenuously attached to a body'.
'Still' says the captain-general, 'A quiet and disciplined advance by our troops - that will surprise the enemy, surely?'
'A quiet and disciplined advance by our troops would also surprise me sir', says the major, sadly.

Schroedinger comes to a decison and turns to Colonel Entendre. 'We must try it', he says decisively. 'We must gain more time. Moreover, the men have heard some digging sounds. It might be that the enemy are again attempting to mine our positions'.
'Are you sure, sir' asks the colonel.
'Well, what about that hole that appeared in front of the wall? That could it have been a mine'.
Entendre looks sceptical. 'I think, sir, that a mine would have been nearer to our walls, surely. And also, have less pot plants. Anyway, they filled it in two days ago'.

Suddenly, there is an enormous explosion! Worse even than if King Wilhelm of Gelderland had broken wind down an unexpectedly large tuba. Dust and debris rains down; in the town, a pall of smoke hangs over a nearby street. Picking himself up off the floor the captain-general peers towards the area; he blasphemes and then says in a shocked tone - 'They .. they’ve blown up the nunnery!'

Parallel Whines!

It is a truth universally acknowleged, that a besieging army in possession of a third parallel must be in want of an assault upon the enemy glacis. Brevet Brigadier General Ernst Leopold von Rheinfunkt, commander of the forces of the Spasmodic Sanction currently besieging Fort Pippin, is considering intently just this topic. (Below) Work continues on the third parallel, with the communication trench well advanced. Gabions have been placed and will soon be covered with earth to complete the connecting trench to the second parallel. Examining through his telescope the progress made on the last of the parallels, Rheinfunkt ruminates on the most efficacious next steps for his army.

'What?' says Horace de Saxe, from his wicker carriage.
'I said "efficacious"', replies the general. 'As in, we must consider the most effective next step'.
'Why do we need plants?' replies Horace. 'Will we be using them as cover for the advance of our troops. Like the king in that play by Shakespeare. You know - M .. M ... ah ... Much Ado About ..um .. a Midsummer... Henry'.
Rheinfunkt sighs. 'That's "herbaceous" - so no'.
It has been a long Christmas, with not much festive cheer for the Nabstrian and Gelderland troops. The rank and file have spent a cold and gloomy time in the trenches. For the officers, some attempt at least was made to lift their spirits with a banquet. Rheinfunkt's cook had promised a "yummy Yule-tide extravaganza". Serving up a lavish dish consisting of a partridge stuffed inside a chicken that was itself stuffed inside a swan, Rheinfunkt was of the opinion that it would have been more enthusiastically received if the chef had first killed the animals. The swan, in particular, had given everyone a very accusatory look.

(Above) Work is also underway to expand the length of the parallel. This will allow artillery to be brought forward and the largest possible assault force deployed in the position. Rheinfunkt is still worried, however. Operations here must be completed as soon as possible; his troops, though, seem to be wasting too much time. The general isn't surprised: he has a low opinion of his men, considering them to be soft and floppy: the snowflakes of generation M. Some, indeed, had deserted when they found that there would be no presents on Christmas morning. For Rheinfunkt, Christmas wasn't about such material things as sweets and spinning tops - it was about character-building traditions: communal singing; church; rickets; religious genocide.
Noting now that some of the troops seem to be knocking off for a rest. Rheinfunkt scowls.
'What time is it, Saxe?' he asks.
Horace fiddles with his watch. 'What time would you like it to be, Rheinfunkt?'
'What?' says the general. 'Well, I think that it might be around three, but ...'
'Three it is,' replies Horace, pushing the hands of his pocket watch to three o'clock and then holding it up for the general's inspection.
'What sort of watch is that?' says Reheinfunkt. 'Doesn't it have a clockwork mechanism?'
'No, no', replies de Saxe. 'It's digital'.

'Digital?'
'Yes, I just use my fingers. That way, in war everything happens for me on time'.

'I don't think ...', says the general, rubbing his temples, 'that it works like that, Saxe. Time just doesn't work like that. There's immutable laws - physics; science; reason; sanity'.

'For success in war', says Saxe sanctimoniously, 'one must think outside of the box'.

'Yes, Saxe. But one must at least recognise that there is a box. What you're in danger of doing is less "thinking outside the box" than it is pretending the box is a sheep from a small village near Dresden and then marrying it. We must continue to approach this operation with professionalism, and with due regard to such constant and critical factors as time, the enemy, and the customs of war. Then, victory will be ours. Our siege progresses; the enemy are trapped; there is no sign yet of the Fenwickian relief force. The enemy are like a tiny shrimp that has been eaten by a nasty fish'.
'Really?'
'Yes - they are in  a very bad plaice'.
'Indeed, general. Just so long as they don't launch a sortie against us that overwhelms our third parallel; destroys it; and puts back our operations such that the enemy relief army could indeed arrive before the fort falls'.
Rheinfunkt sighs. 'You just can't can't help yourself, Saxe, can you ...'