The Guns of Naverhon, the Third!

The Zentan's janissary dysfunction continues. Try as the Sanjak's commander does, he just can't get his slave-soldiers up. (Below) The Albanians have moved to the edge of the wood, and they are at least on the right side of field of battle to cause some mischief to the engineers, if they can reach them.

(Below) Whilst hanging around in woods and skirmishing from a distance is probably the Albanian way, there is quite a lot of open ground to cover if they decide that it might be necessary to close with their adversaries.

The Zentans decide to open fire, and a contest of musketry begins. It's a rubbish contest, of course: Albanians versus pandurs is the military equivalent of an under ten's recorder contest. The wily Zentans then decide to switch targets and focus on the slowest of the groups of engineers. A few hits are sufficient to rout the latter and they quit the field! (Below) the surviving engineers cower behind the mercenary firing line.

The Zentans switch targets back to the enemy pandurs. As the firing continues, the accumulation of casualties begins to have an effect. (Below) One unit of Albanians recoils back into the woods. More significantly, however, the lead platoon of pandurs takes hits and then routs backwards.

(Above, right) Suddenly, there is a large hole in the Rotenburg line, and the lead element of engineers is now exposed!

The Guns of Naverhon, the Second!

Fate smiles upon the Rotenburgers; gormlessly, perhaps, but favourably, nevertheless. As the Zentan troops hang around, admiring the local scenery, the mercenaries are able to begin executing their plan; although the word 'plan' might be stretching the meaning of the speculative guesswork that underpins their activities.

(Above) The engineers start making their way off the road. Behind them, the pandurs and musketeers attempt to form a firing line; or a firing wiggle at the very least. This line will provide cover as the engineers make their way up towards the road exit.

(Below) The pandurs are masking the fire of the musketeers, of course. The musketeers use the opportunity to form a two-deep formation ready to fire by ranks.

The Zentans continue to dawdle, handing the initiative to the mercenaries. (Below) As the engineers bathe in the luxurious safety of the cover of their infantry support, the pandurs begin loosing volleys off into the woods to their front.

Most of the casualties are squirrels, of course, but the odd Albanian is also taken out. The Albanian wounded are unlikely to be well treated if they are captured by any of the woodland animals. 

(Above) On the other flank, a platoon of musketeers and the remaining pandurs form up ready to fire. The pandurs find themselves a handy wall to hide behind. Thanks to the dilatory behaviour of the Zentan janissaries, things are already beginning to look a little difficult for the Zentans. Still, there's plenty of time for the mercenaries to knock loudly upon the door of Mr Cock Up. 

The Guns of Naverhon, the First!

In the wild northern reaches of Zenta, near the village of Naverhon, we turn our gaze to a small encampment of Rotenburg mercenaries. These fellows have long been employed in the service of Hospodar Casimir, their skills being applied to the production of high technology weapons; although the term 'high technology' mainly refers to the height of what has been produced, rather than its sophistication. A prime example of this are the WMD, or 'Wagons Moste Destructive', that have been produced by adding cannons to ox carts. This blending of artillery and sub-optimal transport has had the effect of producing a weapons system that makes the cannons less accurate and the wagons slower. It has also made the ox even more truculent by giving them the self-confidence that comes from access to small-bore artillery. 

At this moment, some of the mercenary artificers are standing around one of their latest creations.

'What's this?' asks one, with interest.

''My latest creation', replies another. 

'It's very small', adds a third.

'Indeed, that's the point. It is a miniature mortar produced according to a design drawn up by my grandmother'.

'Miniature weapons designed by your grandmother?'

'Why yes - I call it "Nanotechnology"'.

This scholarly exchange of views is interrupted by the sudden sounds of drumming. Alarm! Alarm!

(Above) A little way to the east, Zentan troops seem to be approaching. By the silly cut of their caps and the sourness of their demeanor, these must be janissaries. Taken from their parents at the age of seven and then converted to Islam, these troops are just as angry as one might expect if one were looking at ex-Mittelheim children who have suddenly been prevented by their new religious strictures from drinking strong alcohol.

The general air of military indiscipline is reinforced by the arrival of some Albanian mercenaries. (Above) To describe these troops as badger-biting loonies would be to have caught them in one of their rare moments of quiet reflection. 

(Below) The Rotenburg mercenaries exit their tents and begin to try and form up.

'I don't understand', says one. 'Why are the Zentans suddenly so angry with us? I thought they liked us?'

'Hmmm', replies another. 'I had noticed the mood changing over the last day or so. Didn't you see those lasses yesterday who mouthed obscenities at us and then drew a finger slowly across their throats, before pointing at us'.

'I thought they were just saying how much they liked us', replies the first. 'My wife often does the same thing when I come back late from the tavern'.

The Rotenburg mercenaries consist of two parties of engineers, two platoons of Rotenburg Pandurs, and one platoon of Rotenburg reserve infantry. Being poor quality, ill-disciplined sweepings from the sort of prisons where even the cockroaches suffer from depression, these troops are a cut above the usual Rotenburg soldiery.

The mercenaries try and put themselves into some kind of order. (Above, right) The engineers are the key troops. In order to succeed, the engineers must exit from one or both ends of the road.

The mercenary commander decides to try and shepherd the engineers to the west. In the trees to the front, the Rotenbergers can hear the sound of angry Albanians. The is indistinguishable from just hearing the sound of Albanians. The Pandurs and infantry begin to try and form a firing line behind which the engineers can shelter. 

Meanwhile, a third platoon of Pandurs appears. They have been hanging out with the bears in the woods. It is clear that one issue of importance to the battle is whether these Pandurs can get to the scene of the fight before the janissaries do ...

 

You've Nailed Him to His Perch!

'As you requested, my lord Casimir: behold! The Rotenburg ambassador!' cries Radu Pasha, gesturing.
There is a moment of silence as the assembled court look at the contents of the floor in front of them.

'Hmmm' says Hospodar Casimir finally. 'He doesn't look very well'.

'Has he lost some weight?' asks Sihirbaz Agha, the Sanjak's Chief (and to be honest, only) Scientist. 'He looks a bit peaky'.

 'He's dead', says the Hospodina Eudokia Asanina. 'He is, to use the English vernacular, "brown bread". Indeed, given how very dead he looks, one might say that he is "seven-seed multi-grain bread"'.

'Are we sure?' asks Sihirbaz. 'Because I had a long conversation with him yesterday in the gardens'.

'He's dead', says Radu Pasha sighing.

'No, he's just resting ...' replies Sihirbaz vehemently.

Radu snorts. 'Look, I know what a dead ambassador looks like; and I'm looking at one right now!'

'No, he's not dead: he's definitely resting!'

'Well, if he's resting, then we should wake him him up!' says Radu. 'Wake up mister ambassador, I've got a lovely cuttlefish for you!'

'There!' cries Sihirbaz. 'He moved!

'No he didn't!' says Radu. 'That was you poking his head with your foot!'

'He's resting!' insists Sihirbaz.

'Wake up! Wake up! See?' replies Radu, thrashing the ambassador with his stick.

'I think he was just waking up when you stunned him with your cane' insists Sihirbaz.

'No!' cries Radu. 'This ambassador is demised!'

'He could just be pining ...'

'He's not pining! He has passed on!'

'Pining for ... some fjords'.

Radu gesticulates. 'He's not pining for some fjords! This ambassador is dead! He's a stiff! He is an ex-ambassador!'

The hospodina raises an eyebrow. 'Cease this! Look at him: he's shrunken, naked, skeletal, and also, and this should be a reasonably strong clue, he's not breathing'.

'He could be breathing softly', says Sihirbaz, unwisely persevering.

'I doubt it', say Eudokia, 'because he hasn't got a nose'.

Sihirbaz sighs. 'He's dead: and I thought that he was just a good listener'.

'This is inconvenient', snaps the hospodar. The assembled courtiers, minus the hospodina, shift nervously. Whilst the phrase "this is inconvenient" doesn't sound much like the phrase "I am unhappy, and I intend to manifest this mood by skinning all here assembled alive, before then dipping them in a pot of chilli salt", in Casimir's court the two sentences were functionally identical. 'I wished to inform him of my intention to massacre the Rotenberg mercenaries currently stationed in my territory', continues the hospodar. 'But now I can't'.

As has been noted in an earlier edition of this modest publication, it had been the case that Rotenburgers had been employed to aid the Sanjak in its search for technically sophisticated weapons. This had never delivered much of use. The equipment produced by the Rotenburgers was indeed technically sophisticated; as opposed, that is, to being actually sophisticated. The northerners had seemed incapable of producing anything that didn't either spontaneously combust or result, on construction, with a product in which several small, but as it would transpire, quite important, unidentified parts were inexplicably left over. Flat-pack wooden artillery did indeed reduce many of the challenges of military logistics; but the weight and roundness that caused such problems in transportation it turned out also made quite an important contribution to their ability to project large metal cannonballs. The Rotenburg artificers simply declared this discovery to be 'some inevitable bumps in the road' before going back to playing cards and drinking port. Even after some of them were subjected to a few inevitable bumps on the head with some wooden clubs (none of which were flat-pack) it was difficult to induce in them any real sense of urgency or, indeed, competence.

'Goodness, husband!' says the hospodina tartly. 'It cannot make a jot of difference if one declares one's intentions before the ambassador or not. I'm sure it will be quite as much fun to surprise the Rotenburgers and massacre them in their beds. We are, after all, at war with Landgrave Choldwig!'

'Hmmm', replies the hospodar, mulling this over. 'I suppose it increases the chances of capturing some prisoners. And entertaining them would pass the time whilst we waited for the Vulgarians to besiege another town. Where are they heading?'

'By all accounts, they are moving their forces by river to Bachscuttel'.

'Excellent! I really don't like Prince Rupprecht: and it doesn't help that there is so much of him to dislike'. Casimir looks at the remains of the ambassador. 'You know' he says philosophically, 'I think I prefer the ambassador like this. He's much less argumentative'. He peers forward. 'Is that a hole in the back of his head?'

Radu pasha also leans forward. 'I think it is indeed my lord'.

Casimir nods. 'And what do you know - he's also much more open-minded'.