Groeninghumpe, the Eighth!

With his Albanians out of command (below, far right), that portion of the Zentan line must descend into inactivity. Instead, Bulbous decides to focus his efforts against the highland regiment just in front of the woods (below, left). 

For this dangerous mission, it's time to test the power of mad-looking millinery. Sending orders to his two units of Djivileks (trainee janissaries), the general commits his bonkers-bonced troops into the attack. One unit is committed to a frontal assault; the other joins in from the flank (below): with only double the numbers, the Zentans are still well short of the numerical superiority necessary for them to develop a sense of courage. But their hats are very tall and yellow, so perhaps that will compensate.

Just because he can, and probably because he likes them even less than the rest of his army, Bulbous throws another of his irregular units into hand to hand combat. Assuming the Borats actually have hands, that is, and not just some sort of primitive prehensile tails (below).

Given the importance of this attack, Imam Fatih is interrupted in his coffee break, and is tasked once again with encouraging the Zentan irregulars. Having run out of tales of Zentan bravery, a collection of folk tales that was never very extensive, the Imam fires up his troops with stories about the excesses of their Wurstburp enemy (below).

Never very sensitive to the feelings of others, although quite keen in the right circumstances to feel others, the Zentans are easily encouraged to believe the worst of their adversaries. It helps that their Wurstburp enemies are strangely garbed, and so it is easy to misrepresent their kilts as some kind of odd cocktail dresses, and to convince the Djivileks that their enemy are not claymore wielding hooligans who might be quite dangerous, but are instead lovely ladies engaged in a relaxing and genteel afternoon of cutlery sharpening.

Bulbous’ attack is fully as effective as one might expect from troops training to be troops that never actually seem to fight. (Below, top) The hand of fate favours the Wurstburpers. The Zentans win, but not by enough to break their adversaries. The Djivileks to the front fall back into the woods.

(Above, bottom) The other unit of trainees must also retire, but as they retreat they encounter other friendly units and must keep heading backwards down a long line of other troops. In the end, theirs is less an exercise in falling back, and more a military rearward half-marathon. Separated from their irregular brethren by the regular sipahi cavalry, it’s clear that Bulbous is unlikely to be in position ever to get them back into command range. 

Bulbous snorts. ‘Fudge!’ he says, or something similar. To maintain the pressure on his enemy, he turns again to his irregular cavalry. But is that wise?