Spare the Rod!

Having shortened the range, as well as a considerable number of the defending troops, the Vulgarians are able to make the most of their superiority in gunnery. Another of the defending batteries is silenced.

The defensive forces, like a small Lacedaemonian, are now a little spartan. In an effort to try and slow the seemingly inexorable forward movement of the enemy sappers, two companies of Bachscuttelers are committed to yet another night-time trench raid (below).

One thing that the Palatinate troops have really begun to get the hang of is trench raids. Of course, it is a form of warfare that any Mittelheim soldier would be ideally suited for by both temperament and life experience: creeping forwards in the darkness; springing upon unprepared targets; throttling the life out of still sleeping victims. Indeed, it has much in common with Mittleheim techniques of child rearing.

(Below) The assault is successful: one of the sapper units is driven back and the other is subjected to something that bears a great resemblance to Mittelheim 'tiger parenting', since the latter also consists of stuffing the recipient's mouth with rags, beating them with poles (or any other handy foreigner), and then burying them in mud. This is, according to many, character building; and also, of course, quite terminal.

(Below) In the town, the Bachscuttel grenadier battalion remains in reserve. Governor Zwöllenglantz has moved down from the defences in an effort to try and rally some of the remaining gunners.

'Fear not, my fine fellows!' cries Zwöllenglantz. 'A few minor flesh wounds cannot dampen our spirits!'

One of the artillerymen considers the ragged remains of his battery. 'We’re screwed, sir' he concludes.

The governor frowns. 'Could you elaborate, my man'.

The soldier considers this. 'We’re really screwed, sir' he replies morosely.

With the defending fire weakening, the Vulgarian sappers are able to return to their saps and continue digging. That the floor of some of the saps seem rather lumpier than they did earlier, and give out pained moaning sounds when trodden on is not something that seems to dispirit them. (Below) The sappers begin the start of a new trench line just at the bottom of the glacis. More Vulgarian troops begin to mass in the second parallel, ready to move forwards once the third line has been constructed. 

The Vulgarian troops begin to detect the unmistakable whiff of victory. It smells quite similar to arm pits, however, so it is certainly too early for the attackers to count their chickens - which is good, because their supply wagons contain quite a lot of chickens, and their maths is quite poor, given that their childhood was often spent being gagged, beaten, and buried. (Below) Deadly supporting fire wears down another defending battery.

With the accumulation of losses, the Bachscuttelers morale is now probably quite low. Only honour now sustains their resistance. Alas for Zwöllenglantz, the soldiers of the Palatinate generally only use the word 'honour' when prefixed with 'your' and in the context of tricky court proceedings often concerning theft, gropery, and home schooling. Perhaps, though, all is not lost ....