Ehrwig, the Fifth!

Ah, cavalry - the hopeless horse-constumed coconut-cloppers in the pantomime that is Mittelheim warfare. (Below) Furst Augustus orders all three regiments of his right wing cavalry to engage in an attempt to swing around and fall upon the enemy infantry column. Off they go!

(Above) Relying now on his cavalry to relieve his infantry (an activity expressly forbidden in Fenwick's military doctrine), there is only one additional action that Augustus feels is open to him as a commander. He orders his aide to bring him a drink.
'Actually', says the Furst, after the drink arrives, 'just leave the whole barrel'.

(Below) The cavalry race around the flank in a desperate attempt to save the shrinking Rotenburg infantry line. As a pantomime though, this isn't that entertaining.  The usual 'Oh yes it is!', 'Oh no it isn't!' banter is pointless, because, being Mittleheim cavalrymen, it's obvious that they wouldn't; so they haven't; and so it obviously isn't. Equally, the 'they're behind you!' debate is also entirely redundant because, for someone to be behind them, the cavalrymen would have had to go forward, which they are rarely keen to do, except when there's an opportunity for cruelty to peasants.

In the imperial camp, Marshal Cavendish remains confident, if sleepily so. Keith, his horse, seems to have wandered off, so he cannot turn to him for advice. Normally, at this stage in a battle, the marshal would be relying heavily on the counsel of his trusty steed; not least because Cavendish is usually asleep by this time and his horse, by virtue of bearing the weight of the marshal's buttocks for so long, is in the best position to interpret his thinking. But the marshal knows something that the Furst doesn't. He knows that right about now, just in front of the enemy cavalry, something unpleasant is going to appear ...

'That's not on the map!' groans Augustus, as his lead cavalrymen splash and squish into a hitherto unforeseen bog. 'No! No! No!' he laments.

(Above) As it turn out, however, the marsh is positioned in such a way that the Rotenburg cavalry can cross it in one move. Displaying a hitherto never before seen commitment to their mission, the cavalry just ride through the marsh, accepting a measure of disorder. In front, the plump, jubbly flanks of the enemy infantry hang out invitingly.

Furst Augustus roars enthusiastically and then gesticulates inventively at his adversary. It's time for a drink! He has had his barrel refreshed, and, given the sudden improvement in his circumstances, this isn't even a euphemism. Tally ho!