Carry on Spying!

"Espionage": the realm of cerebral skullduggery. Or so it is in other places. In Mittelheim, cerebral skullduggery tends to be the preserve of grave diggers, since espionage requires skills for which most Mittelheimers are poorly suited - skill, wileyness, an ability to read road signs. Alas, with the guns of both sides being at extreme range, the belligerents decide to save their limited supplies of powder and to look instead for other ways to annoy their adversaries. For reasons best explained by inexperience, over-optimism, and too much port, they decide simultaneously to employ spies to cause disruption and dismay to their enemies. 

From the sally port of the fortress, a mysterious figure slips out into the night and makes his way stealthily towards the enemy trenches. His intention is to sow dissension in the enemy troops and to cause some of them to desert ...

(Above) A mysterious stranger swathed in a grey cloak presents himself to one of the Vulgarian regiments.
'Halt mysterious stranger swathed in grey who has just presented himself to our regiment!' cry some Vulgarian sentinels. 'Who goes there?'
'No one important or remotely suspicious', replies the figure. 'I merely come here, looming out of the night, mysterious and swathed in grey, to ask you "have you ever considered the advantages of deserting your regiment and quitting the field of combat?"'
The sentinels look at one another. 'No, not really', they reply.
'Fair enough', replies the figure. 'You can't blame me for asking'. He turns to leave.
'Hang on a minute', says another sentry. 'Are you a spy?'
'Er, no?'
'Then why have you wearing a badge that says on it "I'm a spy"?'
'Dammit! I forgot to take it off!'
There is a short struggle and the fellow is taken off to be shot. Given the standards of vulgarian marksmanship, this is a long and painful death, especially given that the head is not really a vital appendage for any Mittelheim soldier.

Meanwhile, in Munchausen By Procksi, a figure sidles carefully through the darkness (below). The streets are eerily quiet, not least because painting up civilians is boring. This winsome wench is a remarkably talented Vulgarian spy. Or so one might think by her credentials.

'Madame!' cries a nightwatchman, looming out of the dark. 'Madame! Why are you out at this time of night? There is a curfew in case of attempts by our Vulgarian adversaries to infiltrate our defences with spies!'

'Vell' replies the lady in a husky voice. 'It not verrrry likely dat I am Vulgarrrrrian spy. Just a lonely girrrrl looking for da grrrrain depot vot I can put dis bomb in'.

''Ha, ha, ha, ha, madame', chortles the guard. 'Yes, that's very funny, now just you run alo... oh, hang on - that does actually look like a bomb that you're holding!'

'Not da bomb!' says the lady defensively. 'Just da biiig irrrron pudding! But ...' and here she leans forwards, 'but you haff such a long and warrrrm thrrroat. Let me kiss you ...'

'Madame, I couldn't! Never! I'd die first! Oh, go on then ...' he says. 'Ow! You bit me!'

'Not to be big baby!' says the woman sternly. 'Now, you underrrr my spell!'

'I don't think I am ...'

'Hold dis big irrron pudding vhile I light it!'

'I don't think that's the ...'

'Now, all good: you take to grrrain depot'.

'But, you've just lit my ...'

'Now, I turrrn into bat and fly avay!'

'Madame, you're literally still here in front of me ...'

'I fly avay!'

'You're walking backwards whilst flapping your hands ...'

'Avay! Avay! Avay!'

'You're still walking backwards, madame, and you're just lowering your voice to give the impression of distance'. 

'Pffft!', says the lady. Hiking up her dress, she sprints off into the night.

The sentry puts the bomb down and starts hurriedly slapping his shoes which the mysterious lady has set light to. Then, he looks at the fused iron sphere at his feet. He looks around; shrugs; and rolls it into an alleyway, before wandering off.

With a score of 'Dead Spies - 1, Useful Impact - 0', the siege continues ...