We're Jamming!

Tired of fiddling around with a strategy of the indirect approach, the Vulgarians begin to concentrate on some of the more direct basics of siege warfare. (Below) The sappers re-organise themselves, and the siege artillery begins to rain destruction on the defences.

The fire of the guns is slowed a little because of some difficulties with the orders that have been sent to them.

'Why are these orders so sticky?' asks one Vulgarian gunner, slowly unpicking some paper.

Another sucks his finger. 'These missives seem to be covered with jam ...'

(Below) The concentrated Vulgarian fire begins to have an effect. One of the Bachscuttel heavy batteries suffers a number of hits from enemy fire and is silenced. That the crew can no longer be heard chattering inanely about coconut halves and swallows is undoubtedly a merciful relief: but the loss to the defence of the fire of this battery is a serious blow. 

In parallel, there are more opportunities for espionage. This time, the Vulgarians send Oscar the ginger cat (below). This is an unordothodox move given that Oscar (a) cannot speak; (b) is not great at sketching the defences - he has an eye for perspective, but he will never really achieve his potential until he manages to evolve some opposable thumbs; and (c) tends to prioritise fish over his mission objectives. On the plus side, Oscar isn't captured - because, let's face it, no one is likely to suspect a ginger cat of being a master spy - but he also fails in his mission, because he is a ginger cat and actually not a master spy.

(Above) Oscar's meowing does, however, interrupt Don Pajero, who is clutching a small bundle of orders. He has a knife in his hands and seems to be spreading something over the papers.

Governor Zwöllenglantz points at the Don. 'What is he doing?'

Sister Molestus shrugs. 'We captured some of the enemy orders'.

'Excellent! And have you been decoding their orders and passing the information on to my headquarters?'

'No sir - even better, we've been jamming the enemy communications'.

'You've been jamming them?'

'Yes sir: Don Pajero has been spreading marmalade on them, and then handing them back to the Vulgarians. It'll take them weeks to clean the mess off'.

The governor counts to ten. It's not enough.

'God's ill-fitting hessian underwear!' blasphemes the governor. 'Are you idiots?' 

Molestus suddenly covers her face with a hand. 'Of course, my lord - we've been such fools!'

'Yes, you have!'

'Indeed, my lord. It's so obvious: marmalade isn't a jam.'

(Below) If their diversion into feline skulduggery hasn't hit the mark, the Vulgarian artillery does. The Bachscuttel heavy battery is now completely shot to pieces and the guns dismounted. This doesn't much reduce the accuracy of the Bachscuttel fire, of course, but the garrison's morale continues to decline.

(Below) The Vulgarian sappers now begin to dig a second parallel. What can the defenders do? There's only one option left available. Don Pajero snorts in disgust and tosses the marmalade aside. It's time for the lemon curd!

This siege really is beginning to be handled with a measure of competence that is difficult to credit to any military force in Mittelheim. It can't last: or can it?