That's a Lovely Breach: I Shall Inform My Dear Friends!

At the breach, the Gelderland attackers make a breakthrough! Implausibly fumbling the combat, the defending Fenwickians are broken faster than King Wilhelm of Gelderland's will power in a shop full of bosom-shaped custards. Blubbering and flubbering, they stream down the nearby access ramp. The other group of routing Fenwickians can now add self-righteous certainty to their emotional mix of stupifying terror and cowardice - seeing a unit of comrades also doing a runner, they no-doubt feel validated in their decision to shift into some spineless sprinting.

Spineless sprinting, of course, should be physiologically quite difficult, but one can always trust troops from the region of Mittelheim to make sure that such impediments as the laws of biology and physics bend to the necessity of a good rout. (Above, bottom) The rout thrusts into the zone of danger yet another Fenwickian company of musketeers. Recognising that now is the best chance to utilise the disorder of the victorious enemy grenadiers, this company also lowers bayonets and charges forwards (below). Behind them, a column of Fenwickian grenadiers moves smartly up. Or rather, not just a company, but the company of Fenwickian grenadiers. Importantly, these are last unbroken Fenwickian troops available to defend this part of the fortress.

(Below) Huzzah! Compensating for the cowardice of their craven cronies, the Fenwickian musketeers drive the enemy grenadiers before them. Bleating and wailing, the Gelderlanders throw aside their muskets and pour back down the breach and into the covered way. Behind them, the first lot of Gelderland routers have continued their gutless gallop, and head in the direction of the second parallel. Lady Luck, who has already swung drunkenly from the arms of the Fenwickians and into those of the Gelderlanders, now waltzes back again.

Death, watching from nearby, takes a few steps back. Lady Luck, booze, and excessive dancing is a mix that hard experience tells him will have a range of predictable outcomes. There will be excessive swings of fate, implausible incidents, far-fetched feats, copious tears, probably finishing in an excessive quantity of non-corporeal chunder. On the subject of events unlikely and implausible, somehow all four of the ladder companies have reached the walls. Such a circumstance can be explained only by the miraculously poor shooting of the defending troops, and the continued advance of an attacking force almost too stupid to feel fear.

(Above) The ladders are placed against the walls and the troops prepare to climb. This process takes longer than might be expected. Unfortunately, the troops being merely almost too stupid to feel fear means that some glimmers of alarm and uncertainty do begin to force their way to the front of the bovine minds of the Gelderland musketeers. There is an awkward pause. Luckily, a poor sense of direction means that most of these concerns eventually get lost on the way. There is a minor outbreak of sudden politeness in some quarters, with a bit of "After you"; "Oh no - I insist, after you"; but soon, the troops begin to climb.

(Above) To the left of the Gelderland line, one of the companies even manages to find a bit of wall that is undefended. Of course, the ladder itself is quite a considerable adversary, what with the troops needing to remember that, once on them, one should face upwards; that the options available for travel should probably be limited to up, and not sideways; and that one might need to use one foot at a time when climbing them, and not, say, both. Still, the officer is quickly standing unopposed on the battlements, motivated by glory or perhaps an earlier chance to change sides. Lady Luck, it seems, may well be flopping back into the arms of the forces of Gelderland. Or is she ... ?

Thrice Unto the Breach - And Stop Bloody Complaining About It, Dear Friends!

The situation in the bastion now certainly favours the defenders. (Below) The attacking Gelderland assault troops are backed up behind the lead companies. But these companies are trapped at the top of the breach, their exit blocked by the arrival of more companies of defending Fenwickian infantry. The spineless Fenwickians, realising that the status quo suits them, maintain their position and, rather than charging their adversaries, content themselves with some musketry and some light mockery. Musket balls, jibes, ribaldry, and some inflammatory thigh slapping are thrown at the enemy. For the Gelderland grenadiers, the physical wounds inflicted by the shooting are as nothing compared to the injuries to their pride caused by the Fenwickian ridicule; not suprising given that none of the nusketry actually hits.

(Below) Realising that risks must be taken if the attack is to succeed, the forward Gelderland companies charge. These risks, of course, are rather unequally distributed. The officers, at the rear, are firmly of the opinion that such risks need to be taken in the service of victory. The frontline troops, on the other hand, view risk as something to be mitigated by such necessary expedients as ducking, fainting, and changing sides. The Gelderlanders hope is to batter their way through the Fenwickian troops and so allow the following infantry into Fort Pippin. The attackers rely upon their steely Grenadier experience and morale to give them sufficient advantage; that, and their propensity for cheating.

(Below) Though they have the advantage in quality and numbers, it takes no time at all for the attacking troops to throw it all away. Less cut and thrust and more slap and tickle, the grenadiers make a mockery of their elite status. In the ensuing melee, the Fenwickians show decidedly more vim, vigour, vavoom and v-word commitment, and the attacking troops are soon broken.

(Above) The grenadiers stream away from fight, routing back down into the covered way. There are plenty more where they came from, however. Girding their loins, or doing other loin-related activities that are mercifully obscured by the bad light, more attacking troops rush up the debris and rubble of the breach. Musktery is exchanged, because why not, though it has the predictable results: a few men are rendered temporarily deaf; one or two are shot with ramrods; but the main effect is simply to improve everyone's morale by hiding the enemy from sight.

Clearly firm believers in the longstanding military principles of mass and maintenance of the aim (though also adherents to less well-known principles as "hit the small ones first" and "hide if things look dangerous"), the grenadiers press forward with the bayonet and attempt once again to break through the defending troops (below). There can be no doubt that this is a critical moment. Probably as critical as the last critical moment; and certainly a lot sweatier.

(Below) Meanwhile, at the other bastion, the assaulting ladder parties have already achieved miracles - it being miraculous, that is, that they seem actually to have reached the walls. Casualties on the advancing troops have been much lighter than expected, thanks to the bad light and risible boggle-eyed shooting of the defending artillery. How hard can it be to hit enemy troops advancing in line, especially when they are advancing across an open field, and waving ladders that, in addition to slowing them down, also provide the same sort of camouflage as carrying large flags emblazoned with the motto "Here I Am - Shoot Me"?

Nevertheless, supporting Fenwickian infantry are also moving up to this bastion as well. Things don't look good for the Gelderlanders - only extraordinary luck, or a sudden catastrophic double entendre,  seem likely to unravel the defences now!

Once More Unto the Breach, Dear Friends!

The Gelderland attackers press the defending company hard! Motivated by their determination, or possibly just the bayonets of the troops behind them, the assault troops advance. Behind the first three companies of grenadiers, more Gelderland troops are massing, pouring over the crowning works, and moving along the enemy firing step. A single Fenwickian company is all that blocks their path. However, to make use of their numbers, the Gelderlanders must burst through this chokepoint created by the damaged bastion.

(Above) At the top of the bastion there is a vicious fight. This physical altercation has the sorts of vocal  expletives, eye-watering disarticulations and painful poking rarely seen outside of King Wilhelm of Gelderland's birthday parties. Despite their best efforts, however, the attacking grenadiers can make no headway and the Fenwickians continue to hold their position. (Below) Indeed, the first company of attackers suffer heavy casualties. Elements of the second company filter forwards to take their place.

(Below) On the other flank, the Gelderland musketeers make reasonable progress. Enemy artillery begin to open fire, but the bad light limits the casualties suffered by the attackers. The speed of the attack is aided by the support that they receive from their supporting Gelderland mortar. It's not that the mortar actually hits any of the enemy, so much that its random aim encourages the ladder troops to get as far away from it as possible.

(Above) The defencing gunners receive support from imperial musketeers that begin to arrive at their bastion. On the other bastion, however, things begin to go awry for the defenders. (Below) Before one can say 'is there any chance that you could hold these melons', the defending Fenwickian company cracks suddenly like a chocolate codpiece and flees!

They have succeeded, however, in blunting the Gelderland advance, and now (above, right) two more companies of Fenwickian troops have arrived to continue the defence! The Gelderland attackers are now in danger of experiencing the same general development in conditions as many of King Wilhelm's mistresses -  early enthusiasm and momentum; the rapid onset of fatigue;  inadvertent culmination; followed by a messy withdrawal and and a sharp argument about who is to blame.

Once Unto the Breach, Dear Friends!

The smoke from the explosion, orange-tinged in the dawn light, soon clears. The detonation of the two pigs has been completely successful in its objectives. (Below) To the right, the defensive ravelin has been reduced to a pile of entirely unrealistic looking rocks. To the left, the bastion has been heavily damaged, leaving a route up for the assaulting troops.

On the other flank, the ladder companies climb awkwardly from their trenches and begin to advance as swiftly as they can towards the fortress walls (below). They can attack confident in the knowledge that they will receive supporting fire from the very best Bachscuttel mortar crew - the very best, of course, because it is the only Bachscuttel mortar crew. With the stirring cry of 'Hmmm ... which bit do I light?', there is an explosion, and the first munition sails out of the barrel and heads somewhere westwards. This is disappointing, given that the fortress is northwards.

(Below) In front of the bastion, Gelderland troops are crowded behind the crown of the glacis. With silent determination, or perhaps just sullen resentment (it is still too dark to tell), the leftward column begins to move forwards. It consists of three companies of grenadiers. This force is tasked with breaking through the defences: the troops following will then exploit the success of this leading force; or, possibly, just retrieve the remains of their bodies. If only they had a wheel barrow.

(Above) The defensive artillery in the bastion have been completely destroyed in the blast. Covering the hole in the bastion is a single available company of Fenwickian musketeers without supporting cannon. They peer out into the gradually lifting gloom and fix bayonets, ready to receive the enemy attack columns, or anything else that happens to appear. The officers keep the troops silent - partly to avoid alerting the enemy forces to their presence, and partly to reduce the chances of the dangerous utterance of  phrases involving such words as 'column' and 'hole'.

(Above) The Gelederland troops move forwards, heading through the covered way and up the bastion. The lead company of the column forms the forlorn hope. Or, as it might be better termed here, just a 'forlorn', since 'hope' is in very short supply. In other armies, the forlorn hope would be volunteers, motivated to undertake this most dangerous of missions because of the promise of significant rewards - promotions, pay, and booze. Because these troops are in an army from Mittelheim, they are volunteers in the same sort of sense as Boris and Dominic the pigs. That is, they aren't quite sure what's going on, but they are willing to play along in the hope that they will get a larger breakfast.

As the lead company of grenadiers reaches the top of the breach, they are disconcerted to hear a loud 'Huzzah!'. The company of Fenwickians goes through the motions and fires off a volley from their muskets. Naturally, however, they do no damage, their fire being as inaccurate as an English government report on the numbers of plague deaths. (Above) Moving quickly to the main event, the Fenwickians then charge forwards, intent upon sealing the breach here; or at least gaining the time for more reinforcements to move up in support!.