Merry Christmas!

As Sebastien Le Prestre, Marquise de Vauban, once noted, no Christmas is complete without a poorly conducted siege operation. By that standard, this is surely a bumper festive period. (Below) The northern suburbs of the Wurstburp capital, Munchausen. The south of the town abuts the river Procksi, giving the capital its full name of Munchausen-By-Procksi. 

This woodcut gives a reasonable indication of the defences: four bastions; two ravelins; and a defensive glacis. Two regiments of Wurstburp infantry are deployed forwards in the covered way.

(Above) An alternative perspective on the town; but changing the angle doesn't make it look any better. Each bastion contains a battery of garrison artillery. Two more regiments of infantry man the main defences; if 'man' is the right word for anything occupied by troops of the Wurstburp army.

(Above) A view from Munchausen towards the Vulgarian first parallel. At this distance, the Vulgarian siege works could be mistaken for a properly coordinated engineering exercise. 

(Above) The Vulgarian first parallel. Five batteries of heavy siege artillery are positioned in redoubts. Anybody arguing that the redoubts are just large squares of felt is clearly just an engineering amateur.

(Above) The first parallel; and also, quite a lot of sheep; and also, a pen. 

It is surely obvious to any gentleman of quality that  a siege operation bears a remarkable similarity to the process of having survived this past year: slow, desperate, filthy digging through dirt; marginal advances; poor events rolls; dysentery; rain; more digging; latrines; rainy digging; marginal dirt; desperate latrines; poor event rolls and then back to the start; rinse and repeat.

Here in Mittelheim, we wish all of the readers of this modest publication, both of you, a restful festive break and a sincere hope that this next year gives more of what you want and a lot less of what you don't. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!      

The Red Badge of Porridge!

In the town of Munchhausen, capital of the Margravate of Badwurst-Wurstburp, the residents have woken up to dire news: the Vulgarians are here! Following up the retreat of the remnants of the Wurstburp army after their defeat at the Battle of Groeninghumpe, the Vulgarians seem intent on forcing a siege and knocking Wurstburp out of the war! With the Vulgarian siege train trundling into position, it is at a moment like this that the defenders of the capital could most benefit from the impact of some wise and inspirational leadership. Alas, the margrave, Kasper Johan von Porckenstauffen, is in the north at his hunting lodge; and also, of course, he isn't wise or inspirational. This leaves as the senior officer present in the capital the recently re-discovered King-Not-Over-The-Water-But-In-Fact-Quite-Close-By Wilhelm Penwick-Fuppet. Or it would if he could actually be found. Three figures are present in Wilhelm's Court in Exile. They look despondently at an empty throne.

'I'm sure that our king will be with us shortly', says Wilhelm's companion Lady Flora Spreadswell, sounding more hopeful than certain.

'I doubt it', says General Unpronunski. 'Have there been any sightings Lord Duncan?'

Lord Duncan De Sordelay shakes his head sadly. 'Alas, we have not seen him for many days. Rumour says that he has lost himself in the infernal depths of subscription-based bakery services'.

'Subscription-based bakery services?' asks the general.

'Indeed', replies Lord Duncan. 'OnlyFlans: perverse patisserie antics in which backstreet bakers flaunt their buns in members-only clubs'.

'Why would the consumption of buns be an illicit activity?'

'You haven't seen the size of them, madame. Wilhelm has lost himself entirely in this wanton world of pastry promiscuity. And now, in this hour of need, there is no one to lead us'.

'Perhaps all is not lost', says Lady Flora. 'For yesterday, an individual with some very specific and relevant expertise found his way to our town; and now, cut off by Vulgarian forces though we are, it may be that his leadership and expertise will provide us with a decisive advantage in the coming battle'.

'It's Horace de Saxe, isn't it', replies the general, in the same tone that one might say that one had been visited by the fourth Ghost of Christmas, the "Ghost of Christmas In-Laws". It's Horace and that means that we're all going to die; by some means that is slightly worse and a lot longer than if he wasn't here to give us bad advice'.

'Indeed not, sir' replies Flora. 'It is this gentleman'. A figure wanders into the chamber (below).

'Fear not', says the interloper. 'It is I, Carl von Lackwitz'.

'Your problems are over, for I am experienced in matters relating to fortifications, revetments, and whatnot. Why, I was present at the assault upon the great city of Grosschnitzelring'.

'Well, that sounds hopeful', replies Lord Duncan. 'And you were instrumental in bringing about a successful defence of the city?'

'No, not so much', admits Lackwitz.  

The general considers this. 'So, sir, you claim to be an expert in sieges but this knowledge has not actually improved your chances of bringing success?'

Lackwitz nods. 'Yes, it's pair of ducks'.

'You mean a paradox?' asks Duncan.

'Sorry, yes, a pair of dogs' says Lackwitz. 'But I should imagine that by the power of the law of averages I might help to bring about success this time around'.

'The law of averages isn't perhaps something that we should rely on in the first instance', says Unpronunski dubiously. 'It hasn't helped me thus far'.

'But Lackwitz has so much more to give!' says Lady Flora earnestly. 'A man of his evident charisma and forceful personality will surely be able to inspire the troops!'

'A good speech might help', admits Unpronunski. 'The ex-Jacobites are courageous troops with a fondness for lost causes. Which is lucky given their recent performance on the battlefield'.

'I shall speak to the men and provide them with the benefits of my philosophical thoughts on the nature of war. I will need to sound sensitive and intelligent but also, I think, threatening in a psychotic manner'.

'Then you should use a Scottish accent', says the general.

Lackwitz nods. 'And what does that sound like?'

'Fill your mouth with porridge and then speak Norwegian'.

'What does Norwegian sound like?'

'Like Danish, but you have to speak through a pillow'.

'Languages are so complex!' says Lackwitz in exasperation. 'Why can’t everyone speak German like me? It’s easy - I picked it up as a child'.

Some discussion then ensues on the best way of defending the town against the Vulgarians. Lackwitz becomes bored and then wanders off.

 

Lord Duncan sighs. 'Is there any chance that we might defeat the Vulgarians?'

'Oh no, it’ll be fine' says Unpronunski.

'Really?'

'Oh, yes'.

'Great!'

'Yes, what I find more worrying is that Wilhelm's throne seems to have a pentacle in front of it'.

'Surely not ... oh, actually ....'

Outside, there is the ominous detonation of heavy cannons that signals the start of the investment of the town ...

Policy and Strategy!

In Grand Fenwick, events are afoot that are likely to reduce a tad the house prices in the Margravate of Wurstburp.

'You wanted to see me?' asks Lady Timsbury of Somerton. She stands in a chamber of King and Emperor George's palace in Gelderland. Though George has not yet been formally crowned as ruler of Gelderland, it is surely only a technicality, and nothing whatsoever could now go wrong that would prevent his coronation. Not ever.

George's chief councillor Minister Werner von Wormer bows to Lady Timsbury. 'Yes, my lady. I have brought a message: and yet another present from your admirer'.

Lady Timsbury sighs. 'It's not that wearisome painter fellow Heironyonous Tosch is it?'

'The very same, madame'.

'What has he sent me this time?'

'It's another painting of Richard III'.
Lady Timsbury snorts. 'For goodness sake - not another Dick pic!'
She looks at the picture and frowns. 'This one seems strangely painted'.
Wormer looks at the message he is holding. 'Tosch claims that it's been digitally re-mastered'.
'Digitally re-mastered?'
'Yes, he's used his fingers to move the paint around'.

Wormer hands Lady Timsbury the message. 'Why does he  pursue you so, my lady? Did you have a relationship with him?'

'Goodness no! I mean, yes I went to the opera a couple of times with him; and then out to a dining establishment on a few dozen occasions; and then, of course, I lived with him for three years. For goodness sake, I barely know the man, and yet he keeps harassing me!'

Wormer gestures to the message. 'Also, he would like some access to your children'.

Lady Timsbury shrugs. 'Well, yes, obviously I had children with him. But what else was I supposed to do? We were in Wales at the time: there was nothing else to do. And now he won't leave me alone!'

Wormer nods slowly. 'So, the living in Wales with him; and the, ah, children: was that the time before or after the unfortunate, ah, accident involving your husband?'

'Pffft', says Lady Timsbury airily. 'Time: it's such a relative concept'.

'Anyway, Lord Wormer, I have more important issues that I wish to discuss with you. Matters both of policy and strategy'.

'Really, madame? Is there a difference between the two?'

Lady Timsbury rolls her eyes. She points to a large pile of folios on a nearby chair. 'Module 1, Unit 2 of King's College's marvellous programme of professional military education!' Give me some money and I shall enrol you!'

'So is that a yes or a no?' enquires Wormer.

'No freebies!' says Lady Timsbury tartly. 'The important point that I wish to press upon you is the need to exploit the success won by your alliance over the Margravate of Wurstburp'.

'I quite agree, madame'.

'Really?'

'Yes - I thought a small party would be in order: nothing too much, of course - it's only Zenta. Maybe some cheese and wine, a bit of bunting'.

'No! No! No! The principles of strategy demand that we fully exploit this success through follow-on activity! Why it is one of the many important principles contained in Module 2; Unit 3. 'Kicking an Adversary When They are Down'.

Wormer considers this. 'Well, I could add a hot fork buffet I suppose: and more bunting'.

'No - for goodness sake, man! The army of Wurstburp has been roundly defeated: so their lands are wide open to further operations. Strike straight for their centre of gravity!'

'Their what of what?'

'Without an army, there is nothing to prevent a direct attack upon their capital city!'

Wormer nods. 'Why ... yes, madame: on reflection, you are correct. And this is ... from the material contained within your course on professional military education?'

'Indeed, Wormer: delivered by a world-renowned institution that isn't Hull University!'

'And I am sure it is competitively priced and comes with excellent academic support from enthusiastic tutors?'

'World renowned, I tell you!' says Lady Timsbury firmly. 'And one clear lesson is the need to exploit success! March upon the Wurstburp capital!'

'That sounds quite dangerous, my lady: it's a long way. And also, I've already ordered the bunting'.

Lady Timsbury sighs in exasperation. 'But this is the advantage of being in an alliance - just get someone else to do it and take all the risks'.

Wormer considers this revelation. 'Madam, this is sage advice! Why, we could ask the Vulgarians to do it! They're nearer, and also, we hate them, so we don't care if they fail'.

'Indeed sir! If there is one thing I've learnt in Mittelheim, it's that allies are only enemies that haven't read between the lines properly'.

'Why, this is marvellous. Professional military education really seems to be worth investing in - if I sign up, can I have a discount?'

'No. World renowned! If it's not expensive, how could it be any good? I shall draft you a message to the Vulgarians: take the idea to the King!'

Wormer bows. 'I shall do so immediately, madame ...'

It Was the Best of Times, it Was the Wurst of Times!

'Greetings, my princess of pulchritude', says Hospodar Casimir guardedly.
'Husband', replies his wife, the Hospodina Eudokia Asanina. Her tone makes it difficult to determine whether the she is using the title as a greeting or as an accusation.

That there should be certain tensions evidenced in Casimir's relationship with Eudokia was probably inevitable given the circumstances of their co-joining. It wasn't the best start to a marriage. Her family was small; and they got quite a lot smaller after Casimir has most of them beheaded. They were also poor; or at least, they were after Casimir also then stole their fortune, which he used as part of the bribes to have himself elevated to hospodar by the Ottoman grand vizier.

Nevertheless, the relationship seemed to work; largely because of its strong foundations in honesty and commitment - Eudokia honestly didn't want to spend any time with her husband, which was probably good because Casimir was a committed psychopath. Still, Radu Pasha had noted that Casimir accorded his wife a great measure of respect and seemed to take pains to hide from her the worst of his excesses. This wasn't easy given how excessive his excesses were. Eudokia, in turn, evinced no fear of her husband, and whatever she actually said it always sounded like she was telling him to go and tidy his bedroom.

'And Husrev Pasha', says Casimir, turning to the fellow accompanying the Hospodina. 'What brings you here as well?'

'Dread lord', replies Husrev bowing. 'I am Chief of the White Eunuchs; and so I am chancellor for the august Hospodina'.

'Chief of the White Eunuchs?' replies Casimir frowning. 'But weren't you Chief of the Kitchens?'

'There was an incident, my lord', interjects Radu Pasha. 'The cheese thing'.

'Oh, oh yes, the thing with the cheese' says the Hospodar nodding slowly. 'And I banished you to the eunuchs. Well, how are you finding things in the ...ah ... eunuch ... work space'.

'Well, you know, sire. It's on and off. When they need a eunuch that's specifically white, well, it's hurry hurry hurry. But if they don't need a eunuch; or they need a eunuch but the colour isn't a priority, then things are much quieter'.

'I can imagine that would be the case. Did you need much training?'

'No, no, lord. There were just some, ah ... preliminary adjustments that I had to make'.

'Adjustments?'

'There was an operation', my lord interjects Radu Pasha. 'The sausage thing'.

'The sausage ... oh, I see. Well, 'says Casimir turning again to Eudokia, 'you have arrived at a moment, my turtle dove, of important discussion of matters of state'.

Eudokia tilts her head. 'I would swear, husband, that I heard the word "debauchery" mentioned'.

'Oh, no, no, no, no, no', says Radu Pasha. 'You probably misheard me, my lady, when I was talking about the balloon. "Balloon", "debauchery:" they can sound quite similar when pronounced by someone as worthless as myself'. 

'Exactly' hurries on Casimir. 'So, back to the debauchery: what might this new technology be used for?'

'Well - silly things, sire', says Radu. 'Floating in; kidnapping people; floating out. It seems dangerous, costly, largely futile; and also potentially very embarrassing. Rather like ruling Wurstburp'.

'Well, let's not keep these plans then. We should send them on to someone else. Any ideas, slave?' 

'Well, my lord husband' interrupts the Hospdina. 'There might be someone that you can send the plans to. Send them to the Vulgarians, husband. They have an appetite for madcap adventure. And also, you hate them: so it doesn't matter if they use this technology and fail laughably'.

'Why yes, madame: that is sage advice indeed', nods Casimir. 'What a marvellous and serendipitous tide of fate it was that washed you up upon the shores of my life, my dear'. 

'Tide of fate?' replies the Lady Eudokia. 'Yes. Of course, there's also the fact that you had me kidnapped; killed most of my family, and then threatened to kill the rest if I didn't agree to marry you'.

'Well yes', replies Casimir evenly. 'There was that as well'.

Meanwhile, thoughts of Vulgaria are brewing in the minds of other important Mittelheim personages ...

Victory!

'Well, slave - this is indeed most excellent news. And the Wurstburpers were completely routed?'
Radu Pasha nods. He has just informed Hospodar Casimir of the great Zentan victory at the the Battle of Groeninghumpe. 'Yes, dread lord. We sniped at them for a while; then they chased us for a while; then we charged them for a while; and then they ran off'.
'It's not quite as epic an account of the battle as I might wish for; but never mind - we can elaborate upon it for the official history', replies the Hospodar. 'I'd like less kilts, bagpipes, and timorous skirmishing, and more dashing charges, skilful generalship, and roguish indifference to death'.

'Your will, my hands', replies Radu bowing. 'I shall get our best writers of romantic fiction right on it'.

'And what were our casualties like?' Casimir enquires.
'Very heavy, my lord',  says Radu brightly, 'especially amongst the irregular cavalry'.
'Well, this is better and better!' beams Casimir. 'Maintaining our forces will now cost us much less. And having to recruit more irregulars will also remove even more of the undesirable elements from the Borat and Giezza communities: which is almost all of them'.
Radu pauses and then changes tack. 'There is ... ah ... one fly in the ointment, my lord. There is a ... ah ... degree of unhappiness, my lord, amongst the Borat and Giezza tribes given that they have lost so heavily. Some dark mutterings, given that the scale of their losses means that their funeral pyres aren't readily distinguishable from major forest fires'.  
Casimir waggles an admonishing finger. 'Then, slave Radu, we need to turn those frowns upside down! You can't say "funeral" without saying "fun": so let's encourage the people to look at the sunnier side of things by telling them that if they continue to mutter darkly, I shall have them all burnt as well'.

'A wise and sagacious decision, great lord. I shall send the good news to them immediately'.

Hospodar Casimir nods and then seems to remember something. 'Now, Radu: this leads me to that pamphlet on balloons that you recommended for me'.

'Indeed, sir. One of the interesting fruits of my visit to Sirhirbaz Pasha's laboratories. And by "one", lord, I probably really mean "only". Except for those interesting things that were literally fruits - I had never seen a guava before'.

'It does sound like he needs to be incentivised', says Casimir ruefully.

'Alas, sire, the incentivisor is broken: the ropes snapped while we were applying some encouragement to Ambassador von Dweeb'.

'How long will it take to fix?'

'The Equality and Diversity Officer has taken a look, sire. He declares it to be quite damaged: "proper knackered" I think was the technical term that he used. It seems that the Bachscuttel ambassador's moral flexibility is accompanied by an equivalent degree of physical flexibility as well: even after we pinged his cuirass off'.

'Well, we should make some decisions about what to do with the pamphlet. Although, before that we have a few other issues that probably need resolving. Isn't my wife visiting soon?'
'Yes, my lord, she ...'
'Hmmm, but don't I have debauchery at three?'
'That's at two my lord: it's torture at three, and then tea at four, but ...'
'Well, perhaps we should bring the torture and debauchery forward. I want the place cleared up before my wife arrives'.
'Yes, sire, she ...'
'In fact, let's combine the torture and debauchery to move things along'.
'Ah, ah', says Radu with a rising note of panic in his voice.
'Actually, let's combine all three: but make sure the tea isn't too hot in case of spillages'.
'Ah, ah ... your wife, lord ...' protests Radu.
The hospodar stops and looks at Radu's face. He sighs. 'She's behind me isn't she'.