Bogorovsk, the Seventh!

Lady Luck clenches her fist at General Rumpfler, and then. gently extends her middle finger. Thanks to his decision to keep his guns off the walls in the early stages of the siege, Retchin still has most of his artillery left. If one combines this fact with Rumpfler's unfamiliarity with the concept of enfilades, then suddenly, possibilities emerge for some Kurlandian successes!

(Below) The right-most Nabstrian battery takes flanking fire from the bastion and is annihilated! No programme of Professional Military Education, however expensive, is adequate defence against a 24lb cannonball up the jacksy.

In addition to being enfiladed, the Nabstrian artillery lacks infantry support: not surprising, given that the Nabstrian foot can see the state of the artillerymen's jacksies. Retchin siezes the moment, or at least, something that seems like the moment, although it might actually be his nose, and decides to conduct an activity never before attempted by Mittelheim forces - a sortie from the fortress! Kurlandian veterans nod their heads judgmentally. A sortie requires things hitherto unheard of in Mittelheim siege battles: rules for sorties, for a start. But Retchin has come prepared with his own set of rules for such an activity - rules which are no doubt fair, balanced, and in no way dodgy. Choosing to attack at dawn, because it seems like the dramatic thing to do, he orders his troops forward. 

Retchin withdraws his guns from the bastion and then orders General Barfolovamisev to attack. (Below) One of the latter's regiments of musketeers forms a column of assault and surges forward! Though the defending artillery is entrenched, it is outnumbered and taken in the flank. The battery is quickly overrun.

(Below) Lady Timsbury of Somerton considers the unfolding situation. Whilst many might attribute the Nabstrian difficulties to some faults in the placement and support of the siege batteries, she is quite clear that the real foundation of their problems is the lack on the part of the Nabstran gunners of real engagement with their post-graduate written work. Sharper analytical skills and a grasp of international relations theory would no doubt even up the brutal hand-to-hand combat. Sadly, it's clear that the gunners haven't been doing their homework, and they are cut to pieces. On the plus side, though, Lady Timsbury always makes sure that she gets paid first. Perhaps what the Nabstrians are in need of is a really extensive, and as it happens expensive, programme of remote learning. Remote, in that the student is sent to live for six years in a hut on a small Baltic island, where the only conveniences are hot and cold running slugs, and even the halibut leave poor reviews. In such places, one lacks the distractions that stand in the way of really intense study, and also of going mad.

(Below, left) The woodcut shows the results of the impact of the second of Barfolovamisev's attacks. His other musketeers have attacked from the covered way, driven back the enemy sappers, who flop uselessly in the open, and then, thanks to the limited visibility imposed by the early hour, retreat, unmolested by enemy defensive fire, out of carving back to the covered way.

(Above) The situation at this portion of the siege has been transformed. Moreover, the Nabstrian morale is now rather low - so, about normal, then. All now hinges on events at the left-most bastion: events, dear reader, that we shall now turn to. Who knows what stories of heroism, enterprise, and daring-do we might encounter? It's not impossible, though, that if you are an experienced observer of Mittleheim warfare, you might just be able to guess.

Bogorovsk, the First!

Gauging the weather, dear readers*, this must be summer. Gauging the smell, this must be the border town of Bogorovsk in Kurland. Gauging the competence of the besieging force, this must be the Nabstrian army.

Testing the power of the law of averages, General Hieronymous von Rumpfler has decided to confront once again the troops of the Grand Duchy of Kurland. This time, though, he has besieged the enemy within a town, a condition that should reduce the enemy's mobility and allow the Nabstrians to leverage one of the key strengths of their army - their ability to move mud from one place to another destination that is quite close by. Utilising this skill, the besieging army has already managed to construct the first two parallels of their siege lines.

Content with the progress thus far, Rumpfler has found time to meet various important personages attached to his headquarters (below). One is Bishop Munschrugge, who has come to bless the efforts of the Burgravate's army. This is an activity that, to an outsider untutored in religious doctrine, might seem functionally the same as getting wildly hammered on the general's store of port, and then exposing his buttocks to passers by, on the basis that the Good Lord blesses those who turn the other cheek. Also here, however, is Lady Katherine Timsbury of Steventon, an advocate of something known as 'professional military education'. If we move closer, we might be able to hear the conversation ...

'And so, general, I think that I have demonstrated the great value that might accrue to your army if you signed up to the King's College's extra special programmes for the education of military officers'.

'But Lady Steventon, is it not the case that you have been selling these courses to our adversaries?'
'Of course - my institution takes its ethical responsibilities very seriously'.
'So, you would be against war, and conflict, and violence, and things such as that?'
'No, no: it's just that we sell to both sides so that we cannot be accused of unethical favouritism'.
'Well, how much are these courses?'
'I would be embarrassed to say, sir'
'Well, that's very ...'
'But I'll happily write it down here on a contract ....'
'How much? Jumping Jesus', the general blasphemes. 'That's as much as I spend on port in a month!'
'Well', says Timsbury, coyly. 'Perhaps, under the circumstances, I might do you a special deal'. She crosses out something and then writes something else.
'Jesus pole-vaulting Christ!', exclaims Rumpfler. 'That figure is higher than the first one!'
'Well, sir, there's been a sudden jump in demand'.

'But my army is large', says the general. He watches two of his sappers hit one another with shovels. 'And the need is very great. How can you possibly find sufficient tutors to begin the education of my army?'

Lady Steventon produces a pistol. 'Well, general, if it bleeds ...', she cocks the pistol, '... it can teach. Just give me a cart, some restraints, and directions to the nearest village'.
'There's also the additional work', says Rumpfler. 'My troops are already busy'. He gestures to some sappers who are experimenting with which end of a shovel seems a more efficient mechanism for moving soil. 'How will they have time for this process of education?'

'You may have heard', says Lady Steventon, 'of the new-fangled technique of Ape Interpretation?'

'AI? Yes, madame. But you can't mean that ...'

'Indeed, sir - you can just get the monkeys to do the donkey work. Or the donkeys to do the monkey work - I don't suppose that it matters'.

'But won't the fraud be exposed when you mark the work, madame?'

'Mark the work? ha, ha, ha, ha ... oh, you're actually serious'. Lady Katherine strikes a solemn pose. 'At the King's College, we feel that marking work is a judgmental and inequitable process that crushes the creative faculties of our students. So, we gently drop any written work down a set of stairs and let God sort them out'.

'That doesn't seem quite right', says Rumpfler. 'I mean, it seems quite wrong ...'

'I think', says Lady Katherine, 'that one of the many advantages of taking our courses would be that you would begin to understand that everything is contested and just a matter of perspective - except, of course, our prices'.

'Well, excellent', says Rumpfler. 'I think that with some quality postgraduate professional military education, we have a ninety per cent chance of success!'

Lady Timsbury watches as one of the sappers begins to eat the dirt that he has just shovelled.
'Ninety per cent seems quite high, sir ...'

* I use the plural more in hope than certainty.

Lip Balm Death!

(Below) The Vulgarian siege lines look unfeasibly like an actual military line of sieges. The usual characteristics of Vulgarian military activity - troublesome attitude, wheezing decreptitude, and perennial lassitude - seem strangely absent.

The architect of this sudden competence, Lady Timsbury of Steventon, surveys the developing engineering works in the company of General Hertz van Rentall.

'Dish ish mosht pleashing', says the general in his highly variable Dutch-accented German. 'I don't shink I could have imagined a better shet of sheige works after da lasht hash de troopsh made of tings'.

Lady Timsbury smiles serenely.

'That, sir, is the power of professional military education. The pen, you see, is mightier than the sword'.

'Datsh true, madam', nods Rentall. 'Eshpeshially when you threaten to shtab da chief engineer in da eye wid da pen if he doshn't do better'.

Lady Timsbury nods with satisfaction. She smears a small quantity of ointment on her lips drawn from an ornate tin in her bag. The smell of violets drifts out.

Lady Timsbury nods with delight. 'Can you smell that? Can you smell that, sir?'

'What, madam?' replies the general.

'Lip balm. Nothing else in the world smells like that. I love the smell of lip balm in the morning. It smells like ... victory!'

Despite the positive effects of their regular siege operations, the Vulgarians still can't stop themselves dabbling in the nonsense that is espionage. (Above) A winsome Vulgarian spy insinuates herself into the town square which is currently the main rallying point for discomfitted Bachscuttel troops. At this rallying point, the shaken defenders fortify themselves with stirring tales of the Palatinate's military past. This really doesn't take very long, leaving them a lot of time to contemplate their very limited life expectancy if they move back up to the bastions.

The spy intends to try and reduce the Bachscuttel morale. She fails of course, because it can't really get any lower. Indeed, so depressing is it to be in the company of the remnants of the Bachscuttlers that the spy becomes rather weepy and flees. 

There's only one option left for the Bachsuttel defenders. Proving beyond doubt that they are a one-trick pony; a single-stringed violin; a jack of one trade; a single sausage breakfast, the defenders launch another trench raid in an attempt to see off the enemy sappers. After all, doing exactly what they did last time, and the time before that, is exactly what the Vulgarians won't expect. Right?

Research Framework!

With the agreement of General Hertz van Rentall, Lady Timsbury has been allowed to introduce the Vulgarian Chief Engineer, the Dutch mercenary Major de Goudenlid, to the benefits of professional military education.
'It costs how much?' expectorates the major, incredulously. But I cannot afford that! I am just a member of the middle-income gentry: my peasants will never be able to rustle up that amount'.
Lady Timsbury tuts. 'Well, then: you'd better hurry up and sack the town, so that you can get the enemy to contribute to your process of education'.
'It sounds like your education is based quite a lot on theft', observes de Goudenlid miserably.
'You see' says Lady Timsbury brightly, 'you're already learning'. She holds out her hand. 'And that "continuing education" will cost you a bit more'.
'I'm not sure I can afford any of it', replies the engineer morosely.
'Nonsense!' replies Lady Timsbury briskly. 'Besides, this education is provided by a world-leading English university'.
'Hull?' says de Goudenlid, hopefully.
'No!' replies Lady Timsbury with annoyance. 'The King's College'.
'So, King's go there?' asks the engineer, impressed.
'No', replies Lady Timsbury. 'And also, it's not a college. But these are mere details. I can assure you that your process of education will be cheaper than you think, because we can make it shorter than you expect through the application of three key academic tools'.

'Well, that sounds more hopeful' says de Goudenlid.
'Yes; first we shall apply the principle of Recognition of Prior Experience, or RPE. Do you have any accumulated experience that might be relevant to an academic qualification?'
'Hmm', considers de Goudenlid. 'I'm Dutch; and I have been for quite a long time'.
'Excellent' replies Lady Timsbury. 'I think that covers all of the first year's curriculum. Second', she continues, rummaging in the folds of her gown, 'let me introduce you to Mister Research Evaluation Framework' she waggles a large wooden ruler in a threatening manner.
'That seems like a ruler, madame' says the engineer with some trepidation, 'and not, as such, a framework'.
'It's a learning framework', replies Lady Timsbury, 'because either you progress quickly, or I will hit you with it. Mr REF is the very quintessence of modern pedagogical techniques for accelerated research'.
'You punish me until I research more quickly?'
'You see, you're already learning at a more rapid rate!'
'But what about support for research quality rather than a superficial focus on mere quantity of outputs?'
Lady Timsbury does not answer - because she is laughing too much.
'And the third technique?' asks de Goudenlid.
'I shall swear at you,' says Lady Timsbury. 'A lot. Now, get a fornicating move on with this siege. And if you do not improve', she waves Mr REF, 'this fornicator is going to fornicating fornicate you'.

Under the close eye of its newly educated and motivated Chief Engineer, the Vulgarian siege begins to develop in quite unexpected ways ...

Professional Siege Education!

(Below) The Vulgarian encampment is a sprawling agglomeration of military flotsam and jetsam; and that, of course, just describes the troops. The disorder resembles the sort of a situation that would apply if the siege were, metaphorically, a flat-pack wardrobe with no instructions and a suspicious lack of fixings: if, that is, the wardrobe also smelled very bad, and was in the process of being built by a large group of benobo monkeys with hangovers and no access to an allen key.

Into this chaos a new and transformative element is about to be introduced. (Below, right) General Hertz van Rentall, the Vulgarian commander is in the middle of trying to induce some order into his troops. This involves applying some inspiring types of performative execution, accompanied by the distribution of Dutch short-cake biscuits. So, it's something of mixed morning for many of his men. The general is interrupted by the arrival of a coach. Who could be on board this conveyance?

'Ranald Drumpf!' wails Rentall. 'Itsh dat tiny-handed, crazshy-coiffured, orange-exteriored ignoramus!'

Rentall, it is fair to say, is not Ranald Drumpf's greatest supporter. Amongst other things, Drumpf's previous arrival on a Mittleheim battlefield was not accompanied by a great deal of military success for the Vulgarian forces. Happily for the general, however, the new arrival is not Drumpf at all!

Why, it is Lady Timsbury of Steventon, arriving post-haste from Fenwick where she has introduced the Empire to the benefits of Professional Military Education! General van Rentall is most relieved!

'Madame, dish ish unexshpected. Da meshages I reshieved indicated that you vould be arrivink nexsht week!'

'General, when they told me that you were engaged in an expedition against the Palatinate of Saukopf-Bachscuttel, I knew that I had to get here as quickly as possible! I knew straight away that your military success here would depend upon the extent to which you could leverage the power of postgraduate post-nominals'.

Rentall shrugs. 'Perhapsh, yesh', he says politely. 'But also I could fire some cannon'. 'Madame', he continues, making conversation, 'I can I tell from your acshent dat you are not from Mittelheim?'

Lady Timsbury curtsies. 'It is so, general - I am from England'.

'Oh, England', nods Rentall with interest. 'Which part?'

Lady Timsbury considers this. 'Well, all of me really'.