Bashibazouks!

'Now', says Casimir with interest, as the djiveleks wander off, 'Who are these fellows?'

'Albanians, my lord', replies Bulbous. 'Albanian bashibazouks'.
'Bashibazouks?' says Casimir, closing his robes more tightly to increase the security of his valuables. 'Let's keep them at a safe distance'.

'I've never met an angrier bunch of people', says Bulbous, sadly, as he watches the Albanians punching one another as they assemble. 'They say that bashibazouks have anger management issues: but that isn't true, my lord - they can manage to get angry very, very effectively. There's almost nothing that can't induce them to dispense frenzied violence - slights against their honour, mild threats against their person, troublesome lids on jars of gherkins: one minute you think it's all going well; and then, bam! it's brutal honour killings of your grandparents'.

Casimir nods. 'Well General, it's not unexpected. Since bashibazouk translates as 'crazy head', I think that the force is unlikely to be made up of ex-accountants'.

'Wisely put, my lord. One would think that these would be a little happier, though, given that they are volunteers'.
'Volunteers?' says the Hospodar with interest. 'Why would they volunteer to come to Mittelheim?'
'I have investigated that very issue, sire', replies Bulbous. 'They think they're in Egypt. In the Sudan to be exact'.
Casimir nods. 'Which explains why they look fierce, but also confused. Didn't they read the small print of their contracts?'
'No lord, because they cannot read - small print, large print, and, handily, road signs and place names'.
'But haven't they twigged? Hasn't the lack of sand or camels given them a clue?'
'Lord, they have only the haziest idea of where Egypt is; or what sand might be; and as for camels, well, if you've never actually seen one, who's to say that they don't look exactly like a cow: of which they can see plenty'.
'I like these troops - fierce, and utterly uninformed - the perfect choice for the Zentan army!' says Casimir, pleased. 'But when they do find out that they're actually in Mittelheim, I suspect that they might be quite irked'.

'No problem, sire - I'll just let them work out their temper on the jars of gherkins'.

Trainees!

There is a long, sonorous clanking sound as the artillery is wheeled off. Moments later, this is replaced by the sorts of sounds made by a large body of undisciplined irregulars trying to pretend to be a large body of disciplined regulars. This sound is somewhat analogous to a family of otters trying to pass themselves off as the Spanish royal family.

'The djiveleks, dread lord', says Bulbous. 'The trainee janissaries! Each of these two units trains replacements for our two janissary ortas. They've been training troops for more than a century'.
The hospodar nods. 'Well, they should be well trained then'.
Bulbous shrugs. 'You'd think so wouldn't you, my lord'.
'How much training does one actually need to be a janissary?' asks Casimir with interest.
Bulbous considers this. 'Well, my lord, longer than one might think. There's the musketry training of course; the bullying; the time in prison; the time spent deserting; more prison time - it all adds up'.

Casimit nods reflectively. He then points at the troops as they attempt to form some semblance of a line. 'Are those dunce's hats that they're wearing?'
'Oh no - by no means, lord. Those are traditional djivelek hats. Besides, I had them rub the 'D's off. They just happen to look like very silly conical yellow caps'.
Casimir frowns. 'And you wouldn't say that their hats are too silly, Bulbous?'
'Oh no sir! Consider - doesn't it require a particular kind of double-hard bastard to go out in public with hats such as those, without a care of being mocked?
'I see your point, Bulbous, I see your point. Well, splendid. Now, who else have we got?'

Artillery!

The janissaries troop off. Then, there are shouts, accompanied by creaking, moaning sounds.
'Is that Radu pasha, my Bland Vizier?', quips Hospodar Casimir.
'Indeed not, great lord, whinging kill-joy though he is' replies General Taras Bulbous. 'See! Here approaches your artillery park!'
'Ah!' says Casimir approvingly. 'Sixty-pound siege mortars - for when you've absolutely got to kill ever single Mittelheimer in the room'.

This humble publication has already elaborated upon previous mortar-related disappointment. But the Zentan ordnance is artillery as it should be - massive and with a big hole at the end.

'It's not quite as numerous an artillery park as I had envisaged for my army', reflects the hospodar.

Bulbous nods. 'In that, my lord, we have forsaken some of the ponderous weight of traditional Ottoman armies, and replaced it with the goat-like agility of an irregular force less encumbered by the constraints of slow-moving cannon or a tactical doctrine that actually works'.
'I suppose that's fair enough', says Casimir reasonably. 'Experience seems to show that the main role of artillery is simply to add some dramatic smoke effects to the fighting'.
'This is so, my lord: although the pair of large balls in front of the left-hand artillery piece I think poses a potent challenge to the integrity of the Fenwickian army, should anyone  comment publicly upon them'.

Janissaries!

Two regiments of palace infantry parade in front of the Hospodar.
'You will know, of course, my lord', proclaims General Bulbous, 'the histories of these units: how they originally formed the Ottoman garrison of the Sanjak, and were left behind when the main ottoman forces withdrew'.
Hospodar Casimir nods. 'Yes. "Remained behind" or "were abandoned" - the records I think aren't quite clear, and I have my suspicions as to which it might be'.
'They are tough fighters, my lord'.
'Unarmed milk maids don't count, Bulbous'. 

'By all accounts, my lord, one can find some surprisingly tough milk maids in Mittelheim'.

'Perhaps. Still, the troops do look properly trained'.

'Indeed my lord. Only by having a core of trained troops in our army can we more or less guarantee that a portion of our force is left behind when the irregulars advance'.
'Indeed, Bulbous. I've often felt that cooperation and synchronisation are overrated attributes in an army'.

Bulbous points. 'See, my lord - in the front are the 47th Orta. In former days, they were assigned to guard the military baklava'.
'Excellent - and the others behind?'
'The 58th Orta, my lord. They guarded the baklava from the 47th'.
'Interesting', replies Casimir. 'And who guarded the baklava from the 58th?'
'It was a moot point, my lord - because all of the baklava mysteriously disappeared'.

'Who'd have thought', says Casimir dryly. 'Now, are those handkerchiefs on their heads?'
'No my lord, they are the dress uniform headgear of the janissaries'.
One of the soldiers removes his cap and blows his nose on it
'Although', continues Bulbous, 'as headgear it is surprisingly versatile'.

Sipahi!

There is marching, singing, the boisterous burning of local buildings and exuberant beating of villagers that signals the close proximity of a Zentan army in fine spirits. As Hospodar Casimir settles on his cushions, the first elements of the army deploy for review.

'Who are these fellows?' asks Casimir?

'Your palace sipahis, my lord' replies General Taras Bulbous. 'Those of the left flank and those of the right'.

'My left and right, or theirs, general?'

Bulbous considers this. 'I'm not entirely sure, great lord'.

 

Casimir surveys the troops as they prance around. 

'Their spears look a bit bendy, general - will that be a problem in combat?'
'Not at all, my lord - they will soon fall off, solving the problem. On that note, the standard bearer has had to resort to gluing his pole in two places - so any likely cut and thrust will soon become thrust and snap'.

The second unit presents itself.

'That fellow on the left doesn't look well', says the hospodar.

'No my lord', replies Bulbous. 'He is especially bendy on account of encountering a lid somewhat shorter than his cumulative height'.

'More glue?' asks Casimir.

'Really quite a lot, my lord. But here, the sipahis are leaving, and now your janisseries approach!'

Bulbous!

There is a commotion in the corridor. There are cries of 'left hand down a bit!' 'To your right!' and 'Right hand down!' Then a strangled cry, and the shout 'No, not down on my right hand!' Finally, to a flourish of trumpets, the doors open, and in struggles a palanquin upon which sits a distinguished looking gentleman.

'My lord! Great Hospodar! Shadow of God and such!' cries the figure on the palanquin. 'It is I, General Taras Bulbous, commander of all your armies!'
'I believe, not to be picky, that we actually only have one army', replies Radu Pasha.
'Indeed lord!' replies Bulbous. 'But if we had more than one, I'd gladly command those too, so enthusiastic am I to serve the interests of Zenta and its glorious Hospodar!'
'Well said', replies Radu Pasha, 'Even if it is a tad grovelly'.

General Bulbous is indeed commander of all the forces of the Sanjak of Zenta. Or at least, those portions of the army which are amenable to taking orders, which is a rather variable quantity. He was appointed as a man who demonstrated tenacity, barbarity, ruthlessness, and a penchant for mindless performative violence, qualities Radu Pasha remembered as being quite impressive given that it was just the interview stage of the process.

'What brings you into the presence of your lord and master?' asks the vizier.

'Well', says the general archly, 'grovelling, obviously. But beyond that, I can report that the army is assembled for the summer campaign in Mittelheim. I can report that the troops are in good heart and eager for a fight, and not just with one another. I come offering my lord an opportunity to review the troops'.

'Excellent', replies Casimir. 'If you can perform a three-point turn with your palanquin, I think that we might head down to the field now and take a look at the troops'. 

Zenta!

In the Zentan capital of Nehrenvar, Hospodar Casimir, 'God's Umbrella and Also Possibly His Hat', is in conversation with his Grand Vizier Radu Pasha. The subject - terrible rumours of war emanating from Mittelheim, carrying with them the prospect of death, destruction, and the accumulation of human misery.
'Excellent news, Radu Pasha', says Casimir, beaming.

As previous editions of this painfully cheap publication have noted, the Hospodar has been keen to stoke the fires of conflict in Mittelheim as a way of escaping the call from the Sublime Porte to participate in the upcoming campaign in Persia. As a result, Casimir concocted a plan to disrupt Mittelhem's peace and sow discord. As the recent events in Schrote, and their consequences, have indicated, he has been rather successful

'Yes, my lord', replies the vizier. 'Excellent - and may I say a testament to your skill and deep sagacity in affairs of strategy and statecraft'.

'Yes, Radu slave, you may say that. And may I say, in my turn, that those words mean all the more to me because I know that you always, always tell me the truth'. The Hospodar arches an eyebrow and smiles at his vizier.
Radu bows, feeling, as he always does after a smile from Hospodar Casimir, deeply uplifted: if, that is, one's definition of the word 'uplifted' is feeling that a small part of one's soul is being water-boarded.

'Anyway, Radu Pasha', continues Casimir. 'Your presence here must signal some developments in matters of policy'.
'Indeed, my lord. The Bachscuttel ambassador wishes to see you. And also a newly arrived envoy from The Empire of all the Fenwicks'. 

'Later', says Casimir, waving dismissively. 'Much, much later'.

'More immediately, Dread Lord, the troops are assembled'.

'Excellent! Well, let's rustle up a few eunuchs, and toddle out to the parade, shall we?'

'Before that, my lord, I think that ...' Radu Pasha is interrupted by sounds of a commotion in the corridor outside.