You're Only Supposed to Blow the Bloody Boars Off!

Chief Engineer Plugg slowly chews an apple, whilst lighting the fuses on the two powder kegs strapped to his pigs. He then points purposefully towards the Fenwickian bastion and ravelin. The pigs trot happily off in the direction of Fort Pippin. As an afterthought, Plugg also throws his apple in that direction. The pigs cheerfully increase their speed. (Below) One, Boris, takes the lead. His compatriot, Dominic, follows up.

Rheinfunkt watches the pair of curly tails disappear into the gloom.

'Remember, Plugg', he says sternly. 'You are required only to blow up the pigs and the enemy fortifications. Nothing else'. The general pauses. This being Mittelheim, he feels compelled to be more specific. 'Not me', he says firmly. 'And not our troops, Plugg', he adds. 'Or, just to be clear, our artillery. Or our supplies, or baggage. Or our horses. Although', he continues, 'if you can find some more Nabstrian wounded, then they would also be a fine target. And also', he suddenly adds, 'I would certainly consider the inadvertent detonating of Horace de Saxe as a regrettable but necessary measure of collateral damage'. He looks as Plugg. 'I'm just saying'.

The porky partners reach their respective destinations. (Below) Boris trots to the top of the ravelin. The Fenwickian garrison is at a wary state of high alert. It goes without saying, then, that there are no sentries here.

Back in the Gelderland lines, Rheinfunkt can't help feeling a small measure of sympathy for the two porcine pioneers. On the whole though, it has to be said that although this operation is unlikely to end well for the pigs, this is probably a better situation for them than living more years in Mittelheim. Whatever afterlife awaits pigs, and related animals of the porcine species, it will certainly have less meanness, casual cruelty, and gluttony for sausages than is displayed in Mittelheim.

(Below) Dominic stands by his target - the bastion wall. He oinks contentedly. He has a good feeling about his situation. If only he could make this separation from Boris permament - his future, he feels, will surely feature a stratospheric rise in his position. As it turns out, this is a warning if any should be needed, of the dangers of getting what one wishes for.

(Below) On the ravelin, Boris the pig considers the fuse on his powder keg, which now burns down to the barrel itself. He considers this situation sadly and utters a reflective oink.

There is a moment of silence. The first faint streaks of pink and orange signal the arrival of dawn. It is a new day. Birds, forgetting for a moment that they live in Mittelheim, begin to sing joyfully. The earth rushes in its rotation to bring by God's grace another morning, ripe with the prospect of glorious sunshine, optimism, good deeds, love and understanding. In other places, of course. Here, because this is Mittelheim, the morning will commence with the detonation of pigs and a gigantic bayonet charge.

The earth heaves as three enormous explosins rend the air ...

'I bin wondering where that other powder keg had gone', says Plugg, nodding.
Rheinfunkt stares at him. 'Only ... pigs ...' he chokes. ' I said ... only ...'
'There, there, Rheinfunkt' says Horace de Saxe, reassuringly. 'You said how much our plague tent was annoying you. And, technically, neither our wounded, or our tents were included in your restrictions. Anyway, see - our troops are moving forward into the attack!'

The Pig Bang Theory!

Having made up for the theft of his army's wheelbarrow by draconian levies upon the local population, taking any item into which earth can usefully be deposited and moved - including carts, chests, sedan chairs, hats, and female cleavages - Rheinfunkt has successfully extended the third parallel. From this, his forces have crowned the enemy glacis and are now in a position to commence an assault upon the enemy's main fortifications.

(Above) The troops quietly move themselves into position, a movement that only fails to disturb the Fenwickian sentries because it sounds so similar to the random perambulations of wandering livestock. The main part of the assault will be against the nearest enemy bastion. Three companies of regulars - so termed, no doubt, because they regularly disappoint their officers with their lax drill and poor grasp of the finer points of the difference between left and right - form part of the attacking force here. However, the key vanguard of the assault, the spear tip, as it were, of the manly thrust of this attack, comprises of five companies of elite grenadiers. Superior to ordinary Gelderland troops in every respect, these fellows are as fine a product as the archaic, corrupt, financially suspect, and poorly organised military systems of Mittelheim can produce.

(Above) On the Gelderland right wing, four more companies of troops move into position. Here, Rheinfunkt's men will attempt a frontal assault on the other Fenwickian bastion. They are to be issued with ladders to aid them in overcoming the enemy walls. This operation is so dangerous that it has been left to troops that have volunteered - volunteered, that is, not to be shot as long as they agree to pick up some ladders and undertake an assault on the other enemy bastion. Their commander whispers with the Gelderland mortar crew. The assault troops, with their ladders, will be supported by the Bachscuttel mortar. However, the commander's confidence in some tight coordination  between his attacking troops and the mortar in his assault upon the enemy fortress are not increased by such questions from the mortar crew as 'What enemy fortress?'; 'What attacking troops?'; and, 'What mortar?'

(Above) General Rheinfunkt goes over the plan one last time with his newly appointed Chief Pig Engineer.
'You're sure this will work', asks the general.
Herr Plugg nods vigorously. 'The theory be inder sputable'.
'"Indisputable"', corrects Rheinfunkt.
'Than an all, sir', says Plugg. 'Boris goes fer the ravelling'.
'"Ravelin"', corrects the general.
'An Dominic goes fer the potatoe'.
'You mean "bastion"'. The general frowns. 'Also, you name your pigs?'
'Aye sir. They all exhibit traits that suggest their names. So Dominic: now, his face says that he's almost a diabolical genius'.
'Almost?'
'Well, he ain't a genius. An' Boris, well, he just looks confused'.
Rheinfunkt looks worried. 'Is it wise to involve a pig that looks confused, given that this is such a desperate and important enterprise?'
'No - he's clear about his directions, sir - he just ain't sure about what to do when he gets there. But the fuse will take care of that'.

Rheinfunkt nods. 'Fair enough'. He pauses and then looks at the sky. 'So, it is time'. He looks about himself. Then, he stands erect upon his horse* and says loudly to all about him 'Unleash hell!'

There is a moment of embarassed silence. One of his staff officers then says 'Um, okay, sir. But what about the pigs?'

The general frowns. 'No, I meant, release the pigs - but I was trying to create a sense of occasion with a dramatic flourish'.

'Oh. What about a drum roll? I could get some drummers for one of those'.

'No, the moment has gone'.

'Or', says the officer, 'some really vigorous triangle banging?'

'No, I've lost my inspiration. Just release the pigs'.
Herr Plugg nods. It is, in the history of warfare, hardly the most memorable of opening lines, but the final attack upon Fort Pippin commeces with Herr Plugg saying louldy, 'Dominic, Boris - run!'

* Self-evidently, not something that could be done in Fenwick.

Careless Pork Costs Lives!

'You're pigs are lit!' shouts Rheinfunkt. In any other place in the world, this might sound out of the ordinary. But in Mittelheim, of course, such a phrase is probably uttered scores of times each day.

'Put out your pigs, Herr Plugg!' adds Horace.

The "engineer" stares at the fuses. 'It be fine, sir', he says slowly, adjusting his "back pocket". 'Ain't no reason to panic'.

'Of course there is!' the general retorts. 'This is exactly the sort of situation in which panic is not just well merited, but more or less a requirement! This is a situation in which we have pigs, an ill-educated bumpkin, two lit fuses, and a pair of worryingly large powder kegs. That says "panic" to me in just the same way as if both of those pigs were able  to sing the Spanish national anthem, but replaced the actual words with "'Tis the time to greatly panic!"'

Rheinfunkt points at the pigs. 'Staff officers - extinguish those pigs!'* Sadly, however, the general's staff seem to have absented themselves (below). Though in general the future is difficult to predict, its short-term ramifications become much easier to guess when the situation comprises of the close proximity of two burning powder kegs. On the basis of judgements informed by this evidence, Rheinfunkt's headquarters appears to have repositioned itself some distance to the east.

'For God's sake, man!' Rheinfunkt roars to Herr Plugg. 'Do something sensible and save us all!'
Herr Plugg nods placidly and says 'It be fine, sir. I bin and have me pigs well trained. See, the fuses be all lit ...'
'Yes, yes!' says the general. 'This is a condition well understood and which not coincidentally lies at the foundation of my current anxiety'.
'.. and I says to them "go"!' says Plugg, pointing generally. With some happy oinks, the two pink and porky pals patter happily off (below).

'Gah!' cries the general. 'But that's the direction of our camp! You're sending them towards our camp!'
Plugg nods slowly. 'You be needing a demonstration, sir'.
The general hops up and down in his saddle. 'A demonstration of what? If I needed a demonstration, I could just have one of exquisite military moronism by giving Saxe here a log of wood and asking him to find the middle page! Call your pigs back!'
'I haven't trained 'em to return, sir. They have exploding casks on them. Calling 'em back be a bit dangerous'.

The oinks disappear towards the camp. There is then a sudden explosion, and a wave of warm and deliciously savoury air wafts over everyone.
'Fools!' shouts the general, his features contorted into an even more incomprehensible configuration than normal. 'Incompetents! Lackwits! Dunderheads! Buffoons! Clowns! Stupid ...' he wracks his brain '... thingies!'
'Fear not, general' says Horace de Saxe, looking through his telescope towards the camp. 'For our porcine powder kegs haven't hurt any of our troops, but have instead exploded the hospital tent filled with abandoned Nabstrian wounded and plague victims!'
'Well, well, well', says the general immediately recovering his good humour. There is nothing that makes him happer than seeing dead allies; except perhaps, seeing dead allies whilst he is on holiday. 'How big is the hole?'
'It's really quite impressive'.
'Larger than King Wilhelm's belly button?'
'Indeed, larger even - although it might not contain quite as much mud'.
'Let me look'. Rheinfunkt peers through the telescope. 'You know Plugg, my newly appointed Chief Pork Engineer. I think that you might indeed have hit on a workable solution to our problems. Prepare more pigs! Ready the troops! We attack at dawn!'




* Another one of the many phrases that is heard rather more commonly in Mittelheim than it is anywhere else in the world. Except Norfolk.

A Rash Endeavour!

'You have got to be joking', says Rheinfunkt, in a manner that would indicate that, even if it were a joke, it was one of those painfully unfunny Prussian jokes involving a short Frenchman and a long baguette.

Herr Plugg has returned. But he is not alone, being accompanied by two very large pigs of a sort known in Mittelheim as a 'Wilhelm'.

The general points at the pigs. 'Look at their faces. Are they alright? They don't look right - those pigs don't look normal to me, Saxe'.

Horace de Saxe shrugs. 'What's normal for a pig, general? Who can say'.
Rheinfunkt chokes. 'Well, not this, I'm sure! See - one looks mad, and the other looks like an evil genius! They look like the English royal family!'
Horace nods. 'Two qualities, I should say, Rheinfunkt, exactly suited to getting us out of our present difficulties'.

'So, he has two pigs', replies the general, unconvinced. 'Unless they are especially pugnacious porkers who know some other pigs who happen to own their own collection of siege artillery, I fail to see how this might help us to overcome the problem of breaching the enemy walls'.

Horace smiles slyly. 'Watch, general, and you will see!'
Plugg begins to man-handle his pigs.
The general looks askance. 'What is he doing ... what's he ...'
'Sssh, general', says Horace, 'watch him tugging his pigs'.

Rheinfunkt sighs wearily. 'Only in Mittelheim could one be invited to watch a man pull his livestock'.

'But in a normal way', Horace adds quickly.

'Yes', says the general. 'And only in Mittelheim would one need to be assured that the interaction was normal'.
The tugging stops; to be replaced by a good quantity of heaving, as large objects are strapped to the gurning livestock.
Rheinfunkt peers. 'What's he doing? What's he strapping to their back? That can't be ...'.

'Oh yes', says Horace, 'and now you see Herr Plugg's engineering genius!'
Plugg smiles proudly. 'Behold, my lords!' he says, giving a gap-toothed smile. 'Here be the means for the blowin' up of the enemy walls!'
'But this is madness!' responds Rheinfunkt. 'This is a suggestion that is beyond rash! It's so far beyond rash that it's ... it's ... something that, if it had a telescope and looked behind it, it would only be able to see rash as a tiny, tiny dot in the distance! You're mad!' he says pointing at Plugg accusingly.
'I ain't mad, your worshipfulness', replies Plugg. 'An' I got the shertificat to prove it'.
'Where! Show me the certificate!'
Plugg pauses. 'I been left it at home'.
'It is fine, good general', says Horace. 'It's all perfectly safe until the fuses are lit'.
'You mean', says Rheinfunkt tightly, 'like they are now?'
Horace leans forward from his carriage and looks at the fuses on the barrels.
'Oh ... yes', he says.

Grunt No Quarter!

'Well, this is dismal', says General Rheinfunkt in a dispirited fashion. His gloomy demeanor is not just because he is in the company of Horace de Saxe. Far worse even than the presence of this philosophical fool is the condition of the general's army. As he listens to the reports from his staff officers, the news just continues to get worse. In addition to the casualties in the Gelderland army caused by the plague, his Nabstrian allies have decided to do a brave Sir Robin and abandon the field - the threat of disease is too much for them. His army thus has been shorn not only of a good proportion of its manpower, it has also lost use of the fine Nabstrian siege train. To breach the enemy walls, Rheinfunkt's army now has only field pieces and a single Bachscuttel mortar.

'I have a solution to all our problems!' says Horace, interrupting proceedings. All eyes turn toward him.

'I should feel relief', says Rheinfunkt, sadly. 'And yet, for some strange reason, I don't'.

Horace leads the general to the outskirts of the camp. He reaches a small hill and then gestures towards a figure waiting upon it. 'Behold, general! The answer to our problems!'
'Who', says the general warily, 'is this?'
In front of them is a grubby looking peasant. He smells quite distinctly of pigs.
'Let me introduce you to  Arnold Plugg, mercenary engineer: lately from Austria and now available for hire!'
There is silence.
Horace coughs, embarrassed. 'Do say hello to him, general'
'I can't see him', snaps Rheinfunkt. 'There is a grubby peasant standing in the way'.
'No, my lord: this is the man himself, awaiting your pleasure'.

Rheinfunkt looks aghast. 'My pleasure? My pleasure would be if he took that fork and stuffed it up your ...'
'General! General!' interrupts Horace, 'I should say that that is no way to speak to a fellow military professional.'
'I would agree completely. So it's lucky that he is just a fetid pig farmer that is wasting my time. Look at him. Does he look like an engineer? Do real engineers look and smell like that?'
'My lord, my lord', says Horace placatingly. 'It is true that this fellow is somewhat unconventional in his demeanor and approach. But isn't that always the case with a genius? Believe me, using his techniques we shall soon have a hole blown in the enemy walls: and then we shall storm Fort Pippin, death to all and no quarter granted!'

'But look at him!' says Rheinfunkt. 'How many military engineers dress themselves in such a way. Is he Spanish? And look: he's wearing a cod piece - how bad must he be that he is routinely in such danger of being kneed in hs groin that he needs some protection there?'
'Don't worry, general! All will be revealed! Herr Plugg -  off you go and bring back the components of your stratagem'. The fellow turns and trots off to a nearby cart.

Rheinfunkt blanches. 'Look, he hasn't even got any trousers on! One common feature of all of the military engineers that I have ever met is that they have been very clear about the need to wear britches'.
'I think that those are indeed britches', protests Horace.
'Then why', says the general, 'can I see a flap at the back?'
'Perhaps it's a pocket?' suggests Horace, weakly.
'A pocket?' What would any sane man keep stored in there?'

Rheinfunkt furrows his brows. This creates an effect rather like two hairy caterpillars walzing badly. Though, to be fair, the number of dance-trained caterpillars is probably quite small.
'You are wasting my time, Saxe!' bellows the general. 'Again!' he adds.
'Wait! Wait!', says Horace earnestly. 'You'll see. When he comes back - the answer to all our prayers!'
'If it's an answer to my prayers', says Rheinfunkt, 'he'll be bringing back a shovel that I earnestly hope will be applied to flattening your head and then burying you both!'
A few moments later, Herr Plugg returns. He is not alone.
'No', says Rheinfunkt. 'No, no, no, no, no'.
'Oh yes, I should think so ...' says Horace.