Merry Christmas!

And so we limp towards the end of yet another year! However yours has gone, dear reader, you can rest assured in the knowledge that it has probably gone better than Ritter von Dweeb's, the Bachscuttel ambassador to Zenta.

The Ritter has been sent to Hospodar Casimir's torture chamber. It isn't actually called a torture chamber, because Casimir felt that that label was judgemental and set the wrong tone for his court. Though he might be a grasping loon, Casimir still feels it important that his court should appear to embrace some aspects of the Enlightenment. In the new spirit of rational enquiry, then, the torture chamber has been renamed the Hall of Investigation, just as the execution chamber has become the Hall of Separation.

Being tortured is, in itself, a perfectly good excuse for being in a bad mood, especially at Christmas. Dweeb's temperament, though, has been worsened even further by the presence of Hashmi Agha, Casimir's Equality and Diversity Officer. Hashmi is annoyingly cheery, and a eunuch who clearly loves his work. The Hospodar, who also loves tool-related persuasion, has come down to see how things are getting on: or indeed, being pulled off.

'Greetings slave! How goes your investigation of the Bachscuttel ambassador!'
Hashmi shrugs. 'He doesn't seem very happy, Dread Lord'.

'Well', replies Casimir, 'perhaps he doesn't like Christmas. I'll tell you what, why don't you strap him to the rotating torture wheel: let's turn that frown upside down!'

'A marvellous idea, my lord', says Hashmi. 'But that might take some time, and I don't know how long you want me to stretch this out'.

Casimir nods. 'Oh, a foot or two, I think. Let's put him on the rack!'.

Dweeb emits a yelp as Hashmi winds the mechanism again.

'Ow, ow! Aren't you supposed to ask me questions and only threaten to torture me if I don't tell you the truth?' cries the ambassador.

Casimir shrugs. 'Ask you questions? Well, I don't want to insult your intelligence'.
'I'm willing to take the chance' groans Dweeb.
'No, no', says the  Hospodar. 'Let's just take it as read that I've asked you some questions and you've told me everything that I want to hear'.
'No, Lord Hospodar -  try me: perhaps I won't be as insulted as you think! I'll convert - I'll turn Turk. I'll become Muslim'.

'Oh no, you don't want to do that'.
'I think I might ...' replies Dweeb as Hashmi winds the rack.
'It's very tiring - there's a lot of praying at inconvenient times'.
'Being tortured is quite tiring too ...'
'Yes, but converting won't stop that!'
'I didn't think that you were allowed to torture co-religionists?'
'No, no, Dweeb - I can't enslave Muslims. But I can certainly torture them. About a fifth of my subjects are Muslim: how could I maintain a sense of fairness so important to the legitimacy of my rule if I couldn't torture them as much as I torture everyone else. Besides, technically, I'm an Orthodox Christian'.
'Really?' replies the Ritter. 'I didn't know that'.

'Well', says Casimir evenly after a period of investigative stretching. 'Time marches on. I should probably get you to say something really incriminating in case that it turns out to be useful later'.

Hashmi brandishes a saw. 'That's fine, Dread Lord - I’ll get him to open up'. He approaches Dweeb. 'Now ambassador, this might sting a bit!'
Dweeb yelps. 'You’re holding a saw!'
'Stop being a baby!'
'But it's almost Christmas!'

'You're right, ambassador'.
'Wouldn't mercy be in the spirit of the times?' wheedles Dweeb.
'Hmm, I'll tell you what would be in keeping with the spirit of the times', replies Casimir, selecting a small pair of pliers. 'Pulling some crackers!'

***

And so, we hope here in Mittelheim that your festive season is a jolly one, and mercifully free of saws, pliers, or other instruments of unpleasantness, and that this coming year brings you more of what you want, and a bit less of what you don't.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New year! 

Hamertheim, the Final!

Count Orlok's Regiment succumbs to enemy volley fire. With few options left, and no easy way to leave the country, Rentall decides to hurl his cavalry once again at the Bachscuttel right (below). The attack cannot, of course, succeed: for all the usual reasons, such as being Vulgarian; but also because the cavalry are disordered and the enemy infantry are fresh. As the Vulgarian horse stream back, General Bachscuttel offers Honours of War, and the Vulgarians accept!

(Below) Rentall's left wing, intact and raring for a fight, can only look on and rue the lost opportunities. General Barry-Eylund's predilection for treating warfare as an exercise in gardening, complete with water features, has stymied the Vulgarians.

The battle has been another triumph for any irregular concerned with getting their pension. The Vulgarian extreme left, all four irregular units of it, has moved not one foot. Captain Kleinvarken salutes Colonel Kurtz. 'Another successful battle for us, sir! No casualties at all!'

Kurtz nods. 'We might not have lost any men, captain; but you must know that there are other costs!'

'What might those be', asks Kleinvarken slowly and in a manner that indicates that he would rather not know.

'Self-abnegation!' cries the colonel. 'Annihilation of the soul! Horror! Horror! Hollow death! What then can follow after the destruction of one's essence!'

'I could ... get you some hot chocolate', says Kleinvarken.

Kurtz considers this. 'Yes, that would be nice'.

(Below) Opposite them, on the Bachscuttel left, a similarly inactive Bachscuttel irregular asks plaintively 'Has the battle started yet?'

As the remaining Vulgarian troops withdraw, Bachscuttel occupies the field. Barry-Eylund has suffered no losses. One each of his cavalry and infantry regiments reach elite status. The Vulgarians have lost one trained cavalry unit and one elite infantry regiment. The Bachscuttelers have therefore inflicted Carnage on their adversary, although Vulgarian depots will ensure that their replacements are properly trained. Worried about his own prospects of obtaining a pension, Cameron von Muller quits Vulgarian service. Theodore Creasey arrives to ingratiate himself with Barry-Eylund.

Hamertheim, the Sixth!

Alas, even the efforts of the Vulgarian Garde du Corps come to naught! The Bachscuttel troops are all fresh and in good order and the enemy cavalry can make no impression upon them: except, perhaps, the impression of a body of horsemen who have to retire having failed in their attack. (Below) the Vulgarians fall back, and the Bachscuttel infantry prime their muskets, giggling.

Further down the line, things do not improve for General Rentall. A bout of confusion strikes the elite Count Orlok's Regiment. For reasons probably linked to the frenzied mating of siblings somewhere in his family tree, the colonel of the regiment orders his troops from the safety of Hamertheim Hill. They advance forwards to an entirely isolated position  and squat in front of two Bachscuttel units, including the Milchfrau Lieb-Garde (below).

Volleys of musketry are exchanged. (Below) Having nothing to offer in reply, except harsh language and a dose of fleas, the Vulgarian cavalry are roughly handled in all the wrong places. One regiment breaks and runs! 

On the Vulgarian right wing, the remaining regiments of Rentall's infantry, fresh and entirely unused, can only curse the marsh to their front.

'Dish ish mosht vexshing!' expectorates Rentall.

'Gottle a geer!' replies Baron Tostov solicitously.

 

Hamertheim, the Fifth!

'You're going to open fire with your artillery, sir?' asks Duke Neucheim in confusion. Neucheim's query is understandable. In Mittelheim, artillery fire generally has the reputation of being about as effective as pelting an enemy with crumpets.
'No, firsht, I shall lull dem into a falsh shensh of shecurity by making da enemy tink dat datsh all I've got', replies the general.

(Above) On cue, one of the Vulgarian batteries opens fire with canister on the Bachscuttel Milchfrau Lieb-Garde. It does no damage. Only small numbers of the Bachscuttel grenadiers can reply in kind, and they also miss.

But what Rentall has realised is that Barry-Eylund has misdeployed his flanking units. One of them is deployed a little way behind the others. If Rentall orders his three right-most infantry regiments to wheel left towards the Bachscuttlers, he will be able to mass the fire of three of his infantry units against only two of those of the enemy. The Bachscuttlers will probably start losing the fire-fight; Barry-Eylund will have to focus on rallying his musketeers; the enemy attack against the Vulgarian cavalry will halt; and Rentall will have stolen the initiative from the enemy.
'Advansh to victory!' orders Rentall.
His musketeers wheel left. As the troops advance, there is suddenly a squelching sound. A Vulgarian subaltern looks down and realises that his men are approaching what appears to be a marsh.

'I'm sure that wasn't on our maps', he says glumly.

It is true. The small-minded rules-lawyer, General 'Just Call Redmond' Barry-Eylund, makes it clear that no one is allowed to have any fun by ensuring that the Vulgarian advance runs up against a hitherto unknown area of marshland (above).

The Vulgarian infantry (above) can only look at what might have been. The poorly deployed Bachscuttel flank hangs there, flapping aimlessly like a Mittelheim bishop pretending to be a duck. 

Tired of the cackling rules-goblin that commands the enemy army, Rentall decides that there is now nothing for it but to commit to a full-on cavalry charge. (Above) The flower of the  Vulgarian cavalry (accompanied, it has to be said, by quite a few weeds and some actual geraniums) thunders forwards, swords glinting, and stirrups in!

Hamertheim, the Fourth!

The Bachscuttel infantry push relentlessly forwards (below). It isn't often that one can apply the word 'relentless' to Bachscuttel troops, except perhaps, in the context of their efforts to avoid a bath; and so General Barry-Eylund finds this portion of the battle quite invigorating. Certainly, this is the sort of generalship all Mittelheim officers are well-suited for: a situation in which a commander merely has to watch his troops march straight forwards towards the enemy whilst remembering not to fall off his horse. It is impossible to avoid looking even moderately soldierly, as long as one has remembered to wear one's britches.

(Below) The main Bachscuttel line pushes right up to the Vulgarian cavalry. So close are they that they can smell the enemy. As it turns out, the Vulgarians smell of a mixture of lavender, orange peel, and sandalwood: that someone has then shat on. Gagging, the Bachscuttlers halt. The flanking units begin to wheel to the left in order to protect the main line from any unwanted Vulgarian interference: which would be any contact at all with a Vulgarian.

(Above) Barry-Eylund begins to evidence some excitement.
'Well, within musket range now, Bohner', he says, nodding with satisfaction. 'I can't ever expect much from my  troops; but walking slowly forwards in a straight line is something that my lads really seem to have a talent for. Mostly'.

(Below) Alas for the general, in a frankly quite startling display of military flexibility, the Vulgarian cavalry 'retrograde' and fall back beyond the range of the Bachscuttel muskets. Trust the Vulgarians to display a flair for retreating even more quickly than expected.

Nevertheless, the cavalry are running out of space, and the Bachscuttel infantry, having really seemed to have got the hang of the tactics of walking slowly forwards in a straight line, are likely to continue moving forwards, making life rather difficult for the Vulgarian horse. Looking at the developing situation, Rentall concludes that he must try, if he can, to regain the initiative. The usual Mittelheim methods of gaining the initiative, such as pulling a hat over someone's eyes and then punching them, or burning things and blaming it on the Turks, probably won't help in this situation. What's required is something really cunning: so cunning, it might make a weasel with a doctorate in cunning feel quite uncertain about the quality of his footnoting. 

'We need shum shtrategem to gain da enemy's attention', says Rentall.

'We could throw a ball of wool, and, you know, like kittens chase that sort of thing ...' suggests Duke Neucheim.

'Pah! Dat won't work! Why don't I jusht flash my pocket watch at dem!'

'That would never ... oooh, shiny!' says Neucheim.

'Gottle a geer!' comments Baron Tostov, perceptively.

'Yesh!' says Rentall. 'Datsh it! I've jusht tort of a cunning plan ....'

Hamertheim, the Third!

Having been shamed into attacking, General Barry-Eylund has developed a plan so conservative that it is only distinguishable from a fortified defence by the fact that the trenches have less tinsel on them. The enemy irregulars will no doubt attempt to lap his flanks: a horrid proposition by anyone's standards. Barry-Eylund therefore decides that he will hold on his left flank and focus his attack by advancing on the right.

(Above) On his left flank, the general places both of his units of irregulars. These will defend the small wood and hold off the enemy light units. Behind them, one of the Bachscuttel cavalry is deployed in line to seal off any Vulgarian attempt to move behind the copse. Next to the wood, Barry-Eylund places all three batteries of his artillery and orders them to dig in. Hopefully, they will be too busy digging to do anything that might later embarrass them: like trying to fire.

(Above) The remainder of the cavalry will also support this flank. The infantry in front of them are stacked up behind one another because they will advance a short distance and then wheel left. The reason for this is evident from the woodcut below.

All of the rest of the Bachscuttel army is deployed in linear fashion, because nothing says 'Mittelheim military plan' more than putting everyone into a big, long line and then marching them slowly straight towards the enemy.

(Above) Barry-Eylund's intentions are as obvious as a Bavarian sausage joke. His infantry will advance against the enemy cavalry. After destroying them or driving them off, he clearly hopes that he can then wheel his forces left and take Hamertheim Hill from the flank.

As the last of the Bachscuttel infantry deploy into their allotted positions, there is a brief moment of silence. Then, with a flourish of drumming, the attack begins!

Alles ist bereit! Marsch!

Hamertheim, the Second!

Even in Mittleheim, it is not usual to deploy troops into a rhomboid, hexagon, or parallelogram; and so General Rentall goes with the tried and tested deployment of a line. On the left flank, he deploys all three regiments of his regular cavalry. In front are the Vulgarian garde du corps. Alongside the national advantage of 'cavaliers', this makes the Vulgarian horse quite a tough proposition if the enemy decide to engage them with their own mounted troops.

The infantry and guns form the centre of the Vulgarian position. The leftmost portion occupy one of the hills (below). Rentall places his headquarters here since it gives him the best view of the battlefield. His guns are dug in. This will make it more difficult for them to move; but then, as artillery, mostly everything is difficult for them anyway - firing for effect, getting up in the morning, putting on their britches, or impersonating competent artillerymen.

On the right-hand side of the centre (below), the rest of the infantry and guns form a continuation of the line. Rentall has eschewed the use of reserves. Reserves are fine, if you like that sort of thing: but Rentall has only five regiments of musketeers and has decided it is more important to present a longer defensive position to the enemy.

Last. and by some measure the least, the Vulgarians have on their extreme right deployed their irregular units: two regiments of cavalry and two of infantry (below). The lord alone knows what it is that these troops might achieve: although if it includes washing themselves, then that would be something.

'Perhapsh it might have been better if we had attacked', says Rentall ruefully. 'At leasht den we could have focushed our forshes against one part of da enemy line'.

'Gottle a geer', replies Baron Tostov, sympathetically. Tostov looks a little worse for wear. Worse, even, than he did when he attempted to eat a volley of Vulgarian cannonballs.

'I shall accompany the baron as he reviews our troops. Perhaps he might even give a speech!' says Duke Neucheim. There is a squealing sound as he wheels the baron off along the line. The duke pauses a little way on to pick up one of the baron's arms, which seems to have fallen off.

'Gottle a geer!' roar the Vulgarian troops. 'Death to Bachscuttel! Long live Vulgaria!'

Hamertheim, the First!

Wherein the army of the Voivodate of Zenta under General Hertz van Rentall encounters the forces of the the Palatinate of Saukopf-Bachscuttel, commanded by General Redmond Barry-Eylund.

The region of Hamertheim in western Gelderland has long been considered an area worthy of visiting. This is because its extensive woodlands block one's view of the rest of Mittelheim. The footfall here, however, is now even higher than normal. This is because the area has now become the site of the latest battle in the Wars of the Gelderland Succession! Oddly, though, and doubtless for reasons of their own, the commanders of the Vulgarian and Bachscuttel armies seem to have decided to challenge one another to fight in possibly the least wooded 'forest' area yet encountered by man (below). It is an area that counts as 'forested' in exactly the same way that it might count as 'rolling sea', 'an iceberg', or 'a small black forest gateaux'. The wide plain that constitutes this 'forest' is interrupted by two small copses, two low hills, a road, and two middle-aged badgers.

The Bachscuttlers approach rapidly from the north (top right) and encounter Vulgarian forces marching along the road from the south (top left). Neither side, however, seems keen to take up the burden of the offence. Scouts from both sides are sent out, and in the ensuing blizzard of direction-free wandering, it is the Bachscuttlers who come out on top, an outcome that it extremely pleasing to General Redmond Barry-Eylund, a man widely known by the sobriquet of 'the Turtle King': and not because he likes dragging himself over beaches. Or laying eggs.

'Excellent!' comments Barry-Eylund. Barry-Eylund is well-known for his defensive mindedness. There's really nothing he likes more than winkling himself into a tight defensive position, and then sitting passively, running down the clock, whilst rules-meistering his opponent into submission. The general turns to his aide, Major Bohner. 'Splendid, Bohner! Though you may be surprised to hear this, given my reputation as a daring, offensively minded risk-taker, I intend putting our forces onto the defence!'

Bohner considers this. 'My lord, it's really not as much of a surprise as you might think'.

Across the other side of the field of battle, General Hertz van Rentall is studying the Bachscuttel camp through his telescope. 'Pffft', he says dismissively. 'Dat Barry-Eylund fellow ish going on da defenshive again'.

Rentall's second-in-command, Captain of Infantry Duke Walter von Neucheim, jumps from his horse. 'Watch this, sir', he says turning around and tugging down his britches.

'My lord, I think you might need to see this', says Bohner, handing the general a spy glass. 'But you have to promise not to get angry'.

Barry-Eylund focuses the telescope and then wishes that he hadn't. 'What in God's name! He's waggling his thingie and gyrating his wotsits! Are they mocking me?'

'No doubt, sir, they are trying to goad you into attacking. Luckily, a seasoned veteran like yourself, my lord, would never fall for that agai ....'

'Charge!' bellows the general. 'Form the men up and attack!'

 

And so, despite initially opting to defend, Barry-Eylund is mocked by the Vulgarians into changing his mind and taking up the role of attacker! It is such strength of will and single-minded focus on the maintenance of the aim that has made the general the man that he is today ...