Schwimwehr, the Last!

They say that all good things must end; luckily, the same is true of mediocre things, like Mittelheim battles. And so, dear reader, we reach the final stages of the battle of Schwimwehr: a battle that will go down in the annals of military history as a battle, that took place near  Schwimwehr. Few songs are ever likely to be penned about this encounter, and almost none that don't involve a woman from Venus, but it's final stages are marked by the usual drama.

Rentall orders two of his remaining regular regiments forward in a do-or-die assault upon the Rotenburg line. (Above) On the right, Graf Orlok's Regiment charges the confused Rotenburg conscripts. The Orlok's are heavily disordered, but their adversary isn't in much better condition and, as conscripts, are more used to licking windows than engaging in honest hand-to-hand combat. 

(Above) On the left, the Liebgarde Feratu-Osterburg, the very finest of the Vulgarian regiments, the invincible Nosferatu elite, advance to contact twice their number of enemy infantry.

Alas for Rentall and for the Vulgarian cause, the Vulgarian guard cannot break the enemy line. After savage fighting, the Rotenburg regular regiment is overwhelmed and routed but the Rotenburg mercenaries succeed in driving the Osterburg's back. Even worse, a quick round of volleying from Furst Augustus' line proves that the Nosferatu are not so invincible. On the contrary, they prove to be really quite vincible and, being well vinced by the enemy musketry, the guard are driven from the field (above).

To compound matters, the Rotenburg conscripts prove to be more spritely than expected, and Count Orlok's regiment is also driven back Below). Rentall curses, and because he curses in Dutch it sounds even ruder. Less Nosferatu and more Tosferatu, his army has let him down. There is now nothing to stop the enemy from advancing forward and occupying the critical roadway. The game is up; the goose is cooked; the fat lady has sung. Rentall concedes the battle.

The Vulgarians are defeated! Or are they?

On the far left of the Vulgarian line, Captain Kleinvarken looks unhappily at the swamp.

'So, Colonel Kurtz, when I asked if we could fire when we climbed into the swamp, you said "no". And yet it turns out that the answer should have been "yes"'.

Kurtz considers this gloomily. 'Well, there were a few qualifying factors that were too negligible to include in that assessment'.

'Those factors being?'

'Well, mainly that the answer that I should have given was "yes". But, then, in my defence, I delivered the wrong answer with the right amount of confidence. So really, it's your fault for believing me. I asked the Rotenburgers, and they said that we couldn't fire if we were in the swamp'.

Kleinvarken considers this. 'But they are the enemy'.

The colonel shrugs. 'Who'd have thought that they would lie? They sounded so confident'.

As the battle comes to an end, it becomes clear that, not for the Furst time, Augustus might have been treating the rules of war as less of a set of stringent regulations to ensure equitable treatment of both sides and more like a pirate code. There are no hard feelings, of course, and so, as General Rentall bids adieu to the cheating Rotenburg donkey-fondling monkey sucker Furst Augustus Saxe-Peste, the two armies disengage.

Furst Augustus remains cheery, however. For Rotenburg, any sentence that contains the word "victory" is worth celebrating, even if that word is bracketed by the phrases "It's not a" and "you cheating b*stard". The Landravial army has lost only a single regiment, although it is one of their precious trained units. On the plus side, however, three of the existing units of conscript infantry are promoted to trained status. Saxe-Peste's cavalry has also benefited from their time spent hanging around somewhere to the rear, and the regiment of conscripts is promoted to trained, and another unit reaches elite status.

The Vulgarians have lost two regiments of regular infantry and one of cavalry - these the Vulgarian depots will replace with trained troops. The Liebgarde have also been lost, but they retain their guard status.

Having inflicted four losses and having suffered one, the Rotenburgers also receive a point for having inflicted heavy losses on their enemy. 

Schwimwehr, the Ninth!

The battle begins to reach its critical moments! Despite their many advantages, the Vulgarian cavalry are driven off by the Landgravial Guard (below). Perhaps the amphibians in the marsh imposed too much frog of war.

All riled up, General Rentall finds an alternative method of twisting Furst Saxe-Peste's melons. One of the Rotenburg conscript regiments is suddenly seized by a confusion so vigorous that it causes them to interpenetrate the units in front, taking their place in the first line (below).

For the conscripts, this is not wise. It is, indeed, the very definition of something that is decidedly unwise. There are reasons why Saxe-Peste placed these troops in the second line of the attacking formation. Some of the reasons are evident in the physical condition of the conscripts: the bandy legs; the drool; the hairy limbs; and their penchant for bananas. Other reasons could easily be found in the tactical handling of their weapons, the quality of which could be described in that portion of a Venn diagram that overlaps two circles marked 'Ineffective' and 'Blancmange'.

Rentall's satisfaction is short-lived, however. Exchanges of fire ensue in which at other parts of the line the Rotenburg's lethal volleys begin to tell. (Above) Another one of the Vulgarian regiments collapses in the heat of the musketry fire. There is now a hole in the Vulgarian line, and the vital road is uncovered!

(Above) Two of Rentall's five infantry regiments have now been routed, and the remaining three infantry units are split into two separate groups. Even in Mittelheim military doctrine, this is recognised as a Bad Thing about which Something Must Be Done. With no allies to blame and with no one smaller to hurt, the Vulgarians make one last throw of their curiously weighted green dice.

Schwimwehr, the Eighth!

Abandoning his Landgravial Guard to whatever watery wastery they can pass their time with, Furst Augustus searches for other ways in which he might put pressure on Rentall: sitting on him until he stops breathing is his preference; but failing that, and having been stymied in his earlier charge in the centre, the Furst decides to take advantage of an excellent series of musketry volleys on his left.

(Above) Saxe-Peste orders a charge against a badly disordered enemy unit, and pushes one of his regiments forward! Desperate hand-to-hand fighting ensues: desperately bad, that is. Still, war is a relative activity, and it turns out that the Rotenbergers are relatively better at bayonet fighting than their adversaries: in the same way that otters are relatively better at badminton than snails.

(Above) The Vulgarian infantry unit is routed and driven from the field of battle. Alas for General Rentall, this regiment turns out to have been very popular with the rest of the army. Perhaps they were good listeners. Whatever the reason,Vulgarian morale droops lower than a long moustache on a short Bulgarian! Here at least Rentall has a reserve to plug the gap, but the pressure is now on the defending Vulgarians, with all four of their remaining infantry regiments part of the firing line.

One option available to the Vulgarians might be to move their irregular infantry into the marsh (below, at the top) and from there fire upon the Rotenburgers. But, as Furst Augustus has already claimed loudly and confidently, this just isn't allowed; and, even if it were, it's an option that only thigh-slapping shandy boys would resort to. In Mittelheim, the main role of irregular infantry is to frighten geese, although military doctrine lacks clarity on why this would be an urgent operational role.

Rentall decides it's time to regain the initiative with a cheeky charge of his cavalry. In Mittelheim warfare, though, this is rarely a good idea: initiative requires action; action requires intrepidity; and intrepidity, like nubility, jocundity, and bipedality requires a thesaurus, one of any Mittelheimer's least favourite dinosaurs. (Below) Despite this, with a slight wheel to the right, Rentall's cavalry throw themselves into the fray!

The cavalry charge with a certain measure of confidence. The enemy are Rotenburg guard, true: but that simply means that they are a bit taller than average, which just brings them closer to the Vulgarian sabres. More to the point, the defending infantry are deployed in the marsh, a feature that is to effective linear warfare what geese might contribute to irregular operations. It looks like it's time for Furst Augustus to broach the brandy again!

Schwimwehr, the Seventh!

It's bad news for the Vulgarian cavalry. But then, isn't it always? If only they were currently enrolled in a competition focused on acquiring the most disorder in the shortest space of time. Then, they would surely be guaranteed to win an exciting prize. The cavalry charge through the marsh, disordering themselves; their attack is quickly driven back by the defending infantry, disordering them even more; they are then disordered again as they retreat; alas too quickly to pick up their prize. One wonders indeed whether the term 'disorder' might be a strong enough term for the colossal bundle of bedlam that characterises their condition. Luckily, the problem is resolved almost straight away when a volley from the infantry completely routs the Vulgarian cavalry regiment from the field.

Though he has now worked off some of his frustration, it is clear to Saxe-Peste that no further progress will be made on this flank. The Furst decides to shift to a new and more direct approach. 'Grenadiers forward!' he orders, and 'charge!'. 'Hold the line! Hold the line!' shouts Rentall in response. The centre clashes in bloody hand-to-hand combat! (below). Even in Mittelheim, the term 'hand-to-hand combat' generally does involve the use of muskets and bayonets and not actual hands, although there is still rather more eye-poking, hair pulling and wrinkled sack wrenching than would be normal in most Enlightenment tactical military doctrine.

There follows an extended period of mithanthropic mayhem as the Mittleheim murder muppets melee with one another! But to the chagrin of Saxe-Peste, the Rotenburgers fail to make a breakthrough and their line falls back (below). In fact, it's a close-run thing, with one of the attacking units themselves teetering on the brink of routing.

This isn't the only bad news for the Rotenburg commander. General Rentall can't help himself and tests the Furst's temper with even more marsh-related miscreancy. A great bout of confusion overcomes the Rotenburg Landgravial guard, and they find themselves strangely tempted to undertake an ambulatory excursion into the slushy water feature in front of them. The water looks so inviting, what with the delightful crust of algae, the choking toads, and the same smell of gassy flatulence that reminds them of home. They stagger forwards, splashing through the marsh. (Below) Now unable to fire and with portions of the line hanging out in places ripe for an enemy cavalry counterattack, the troops come to a halt right in front of the Vulgarian cavalry.

Furst Saxe-Peste is drinking brandy again. Marshes seem to be on his mind; and also various ways that these geographical features might be forced painfully into Rentall's bodily cavities. It doesn't look good for the Rotenburgers ...

Schwimwehr, the Sixth!

General Furst Augustus Saxe-Peste is drinking brandy. Lots and lots of brandy. While this isn't likely to improve his powers of concentration, it does at least force him to interrupt his swearing and so breathe occasionally. The general's petulant profanity mixes references to swampy water features, the enemy general, bodily orifices, large spikey objects, and the sort of vigorous transit through narrow straits that might make the eyes of Magellan himself start to water.

(Above) With the Rotenburg infantry stymied in their advance, the Vulgarian cavalry are able to about face and redeploy beyond musket range. Suddenly, the pressure on the Vulgarian army is released.

(Below) Thwarted in his attempts to trap and destroy the enemy cavalry, Saxe-Peste orders his infantry to commence volley fire. Or at least, that's probably what he is trying to order, although his instructions to his troops do sound a lot like he is still keen that Rentall should take his marsh and investigate the extent to which it might fit in that place of the Dutchman's body which is currently resting upon his saddle.

Not that he is petulant or anything but the Furst makes it a priority to find ways in which Rentall can be punished for his marsh mischievousness. Suffused with swampy spite, Saxe-Peste finds just the thing, (Below) Suddenly, overwhelmed by the heat of the moment, one of the Vulgarian cavalry regiments gives a loud 'huzzah!' and charges forwards into the swamp and then into the Rotenburg infantry.

It is a brave move. And also, of course, immensely stupid. If cavalry were meant to charge through marshes, then they would have flippers instead of hands and gills instead of noses. Actually, some of the Vulgarians do have both of these given that in rural Vulgaria the term 'my wife and sister' doesn't always refer to two people. But still, this is a charge that will require some quite extraordinary luck if it is to succeed.

It is also a slightly controversial act. Captain Sebastian Wankrat, Furst Augustus' orderly, hurries to speak to the general. As he meets Saxe-Peste, the latter is standing in front of a fire. He has in front of him a book and he is ripping out each page, screwing it up, and then throwing it on the fire.

Wankrat salutes. 'Sir, is it the case that troops that have acted in the heat of battle can charge through difficult terrain?'
Saxe-Peste shrugs. 'Well, captain, they seem to have done so. I think that the restrictions only apply if they are in or behind cover'.
'Well, sir, we could check the rule book. Do you know where it is?'
'Nope', says the Furst, ripping out the last page of the volume in his hands and throwing it in the fire. 'No idea'.

Schwimwehr, the Fifth!

Continuing to reflect the triumph of optimism over experience, the Vulgarian artillery fires upon the advancing Rotenburg line. Like an old opium addict in the bath, they produce a lot of smoke but their balls swing uncomfortably low into the water in front of them. The enemy infantry are unaffected.

(Below) On the other flank, Rentall's cavalry suffers casualties to Rotenburg infantry fire. The enemy has crept forward until they are at the closest of ranges and now pour volleys into the Vulgarian horsemen to their front. The cavalry must now draw on their training to provide a solution. Sadly, four days spent tied to a horse and five months attending wild gala dinners do not immediately provide many useful suggestions.

(Below) The Vulgarians draw off, but they are hemmed in. What can they do now? Are they just destined to be cut down in their saddles? How can escape their situation? And where is it exactly that babies come from? The enemy infantry shuffles forward, closing the range again. This is exactly the sort of tactical situation to avoid. Attack, and the cavalry are likely to lose badly; retreat, and the infantry will simply continue to advance.

Rentall considers his options. In such circumstances, there is only one possible response. Rentall turns to Duke Neucheim.

'Neucheim, get me a map!'

'At once sir!'

'Neucheim, get me a marsh!'

'But there isn't a ma ... goodness, sir, what's that?'

'Gottle a geer!' chortles Baron Tostov gleefully.

 

Schwimwehr, the Fourth!

On the Rotenburg left, the Vulgarian cavalry adjusts itself: after all, those saddles aren't always comfortable. (Below) The regiments of Vulgarian horse wheel to the left, more fully to menace the advancing enemy foot.

(Below) Saxe-Peste's infantry line grinds forwards. Or obliquewards. Or whatever word describes the process of going wards when one is also heading to the side. On the left, his front line is now within musketry range of the enemy cavalry who have no space with which to move around the enemy flank. No doubt the general has the intention of forcing the cavalry to commit themselves to a frontal assault upon his infantry's bayonets. 

On the other side, the Rotenburg infantry move sufficiently to avoid the marsh. Some of the second line begins to wheel to the right, though, because of the potential threat from the Vulgarian irregulars. Of course, this would be more of a threat if the irregular infantry could fire whilst they were in the marsh. Alas, they aren't allowed: though in this case 'not allowed' refers to an extra-special interpretation of the rules by the Rotenburg commander - an interpretation which could be described as 'imaginative but somewhat contestable'. If, that is, by 'somewhat contestable' one meant that it was entirely wrong and that by 'imaginative' one meant something that was in fact a bald-faced lie, but one told with panache and confidence.

Also on the Rotenburg right, the cavalry is having an altogether less strenuous battle. Nevertheless (bottom) Saxe-Peste has ordered his horsed troops forward. This is partly in order to fulfil one of the key principles of Mittelheim warfare which is that one's own artillery should whenever possible be masked. This prevents them from firing and so reduces the chance of them embarrassing themselves.

However, a second reason for the cavalry to advance somewhat is that the Vulgarian irregular troops have also begun to creep forward (above, top right). The last thing that any gentleman needs is Vulgarian irregulars threatening to lap his flanks, so the cavalry have been ordered into a position where they can charge any of the enemy cheeky enough to cross the stream.

Saxe-Peste is happy with the progress of the battle thus far. His plan is unfolding as he had hoped, and he has also hidden the rule book. Now, anything is possible.

Schwimwehr, the Third!

The battle commences with an opening salvo from the Rotenburg artillery. 'Salvo' though probably implies more of an impressive roar than the actual sound made by the artillery, which is more akin to a losing entry in a squirrels-only yodelling contest. One of the batteries is masked by the Rotenburg infantry, and so it is just a single battery that can fire. It aims for the enemy irregulars and misses, of course. Hitting the target would set a dangerous military precedent that might require every battery in the armies of Mittelheim to inflict damage upon the enemy: imagine the work that that might generate for artillerymen everywhere. Furst Saxe-Peste uses the time to try and acquire more initiative

                     

(Below) The Vulgarian gunners return in kind, concentrating their fire upon the enemy infantry. This too has no effect, the Vulgarian artillery maintaining solidarity with their brother cannoneers in the opposing army. General Rentall, though, is able to spend the time acquiring more stratagems.

 

Still, the guns generate an impressive amount of smoke, an effect that many would argue is reward enough for the enormous sums of money spent training, equipping, and sustaining the artillery arms of the respective belligerents.

(Below) The Rotenburg infantry advances. At this stage, they march directly forward, a manoeuvre that most, though by no means all, Mitteleheim troops are reasonably well-versed in. When they are closer to the Vulgarian battle-lines, Saxe-Peste will order his troops to oblique to the left in order to avoid the marsh and bring his muskets to bear against the enemy cavalry.

(Above, at the bottom) It looks like this might be quite a restful battle for the Rotenburg cavalry. The landgravial mounted arm “hold themselves in reserve, ready to intervene at the decisive moment”. As any experienced observer of warfare in Mittelheim knows, this is just a euphemism for exploring their cavities with their fingers.

  

                                
            
(Above) A view of the Rotenburg infantry lines. -  regular troops to the front and conscripts to the rear. Ahead, the Vulgarian cavalry gird their loins - and what loins they are. TheVulgarian horse are of an excellent quality. Whilst the Voivoidina Carmilla's Horse are trained, the Regiment Karnstein are elite, and von Ruthven's Osterberg Cuirassiers are guard. In addition, all of the Vulgarian cavalry are 'Cavaliers'. If only they had the Rotenburg cavalry to fight against instead of the enemy infantry. But Rentall is too experienced a general to trust his mounted arm with any role that doesn't just have cheese and pickle in it.

Schwimwehr, the First!

Wherein the army of the Landgravate of Rotenburg under General Augustus Saxe-Peste encounters the forces of the Voivodate of Vulgaria, commanded by General Hertz van Rentall.

In the distance, shuffling lines of troops from the Landgrave of Rotenburg appear. It is apparent that the Vulgarians have lost the scouting competiton, and that they must therefore defend. Rentall begins to deploy his troops. First, he decides to make use of the local terrain to interfere with the enemy's options. The Vulgarian left deploys to take advantage of a marsh and stream (Below).

This wing of the Vulgarian army is composed of Rentall's irregulars and his artillery. On the far left are two regiments of light cavalry; these are deployed behind the stream. As irregulars, they are immune to the effects of difficult terrain. Rotenburg regulars, on the other hand, view the water as a challenge that could only be made more terrifying by the addition of some soap. All three batteries of Vulgarian artillery are dug in with gabions and are positioned behind the marsh for maximum protection. Linking these two forces are both regiments of irregular infantry, deployed one behind the other.

The irregulars are under the command of the Dutch mercenaries, Captain Kleinvarken and Colonel Kurtz. As has been noted in previous editions of this publication, Colonel Kurtz is not known for his jolly outlook on life. At the moment, though, his conversation with Kleinvarken is of a more professional character. 

'What's your view on whether we can fire if we climb into that swamp', asks Kleinvarken.
'No, definitely not', replies the colonel.
'Have you checked the rules of war?' says Kleinvarken.
'I don't need to: when it comes to the rules of war, one simply needs to make a pronouncement with enough confidence'.
'So, colonel, you don't think accuracy is desirable, or checking the rules of war?'
'No, just confident delivery'.
'But what if we got into the marsh and then found out that we could fire?'

'Impossible: just listen to the confidence in my voice as I deliver that pronouncement'.

In the centre, Rentall deploys his five regiments of regular foot. Four are deployed in the first line, with only one in reserve. The Vulgarian army is well trained, but rather small. In this, it is very much like the mind of Landgrave Choldwig of Rotenburg: except for the "well-trained" element, that is.

(Below) On the right flank the three Vulgarian regular cavalry regiments are deployed. 'Cavaliers' all, one regiment is also elite, and another comprises the horsed Garde du Corps. If they can find someone to fight, then these chaps are likely to do some nasty damage.

Rentall watches as his adversaries begin to deploy for their attack. At least the enemy are not from Bachscuttel, with the embarrassment that comes with their peculiar form of "Turtlekrieg". The Rotenbergers will come forward, and the Vulgarians have the qualitative advantage! Huzzah!

Tostov!

We turn, dear reader, to the Vulgarian army as it wends it way from the newly captured town of Schwettinbad. The army intends to regroup in the territory of its ally, the Empire of Fenwick, and is now traversing the Duchy of Bahnsee-Kassel in a south easterly direction. The headquarters of its commander, General Hertz van Rentall, is interrupted by the arrival of a knot of horsemen. Who could they be?

'General, splendid to see you and compliments upon your latest victory!' cries one of the new arrivals. 

Why, it is Captain of Infantry, Duke Walter von Neucheim. Duke Neucheim has with him his close companion, Baron Tostov. Neucheim looks well, as he should since he has been on leave and so has avoided the boredom and disease attendant in serving during the recent siege. His compatriot, Baron Tostov, doesn't look quite as well due to some injuries sustained in a previous battle.

'I come bearing grave news!' says the Duke, leaping from his horse. Tostov also dismounts, although for him this involves more of a sort of falling off into a heap.
'Da Baron ish, ah, well?' asks Rentall, looking at the heap of Tostov in front of him.

'Gottle of geer!' says Tostov, as the Duke tries to reassemble him.

Neucheim balances Tostov's wooden head on his barrel-like body: barrel-like because it, in fact, a barrel.

'Duke', says the general wearily. 'Perhapsh itsh time to recognishe dat dish rushe wid da baron won't fool anyone anymore'.

'The baron is here!' shout the soldiers nearby. 'Hurrah for Tostov! Hurrah for Tostov!' The celebrations are taken up and down the line, and soon the whole Vulgarian army knows that their hero, Baron Tostov, is once again ready to fight!

Rentall sighs and shakes his head.

'And what ish da news dat you bring, good duke?' asks Rentall, as one of Tostov's fingers falls off.

'You are being pursued, my lord' says Neucheim excitedly. 'The Rotenburg army is close by and means to bring us to battle!'

Rentall nods philosophically.

'And dosh da Baron Tostov have any advish in dis situation dat we find ourshelves in?'

'Gottle of ...'

'No!' says Rentall holding up his hand. 'Duke, does da baron have any advish dat doshn't involve a bottle of beer?'

Neucheim considers this. 'Nope' he says, finally.

'Dat's what I tort' says Rentall. 'Luckily, I do. I have a plan! Let ush order da troopsh into battle formation!'

And so, near the small village of Schwimwehr, the Vulgarians prepare to test their mettle against the Rotenbergers. Rentall has plan. Of course, this is a Mittelheim plan; so, if the chances of the plan actually working aren't exactly zero, then they are so very nearly zero that it really isn't worth the effort of trying to put a decimal point in.

Capacious Exploding Orifices!

 'A sudden startling level of competence by the Bachscuttelers delivers an unexpected and quite remarkable victory!' said no one, ever, in the history of warfare. The attacking grenadiers of course are driven off by the defending Vulgarians. The Bachscuttel sappers, seeing this, drop their shovels and run as well.

To the distinct whiff of coal-dust, beer, and chips and gravy, the Vulgarian miners establish a mine head and begin digging towards the town's defences (below). Having run out of nuns, the defenders can only look on gloomily as barrows of earth are removed and barrels marked "Gunpowder: Do Not Snort" are wheeled in to replace them.

To add to the Bachscuttler's woes, a heavy siege mortar is dragged forwards and placed in the new artillery position (below). There's nothing that Vulgarians like more than handling large barrels, and this one is a whopper. So capacious is the capacity of the muzzle that it is named by the gunners "Wilhelm's Cake-Hole" 

As mortar rounds begin pounding the fabric of the town, Governor Zwöllenglantz decides it is time to end the battle before the attackers can breach the walls. His troops are out of morale; and food is running low - the prospect of hunger stalks the town like a stork with a scythe and a poor sense of humour. Only gunpowder remains plentiful: but that is because there is precious little left to fire it from except grenadiers' backsides.

The governor has done everything possible to fight off the attackers: if that is, the concept of 'everything' could be defined as the mindless repetition of trench raids and the working of nuns well beyond their regulation hours, and doing not much else.

Zwöllenglantz asks for the Honours of War. As this is Mittelheim, it takes quite a time to find some of them; but eventually the Bachscuttel garrison is permitted to quit the town unmolested. The troops are allowed to leave with their arms, which is handy because without them it would be difficult to make their hands work. 

The town of Schwettinbad has fallen to Vulgaria! General Rentall immediately begins implementing the Vulgarian form of martial law. The main element of this seems to comprise of a violent pogrom against purveyors of garlic, salt, and bedroom window locks. A new and progressive tax system is introduced to discourage sun-bathing and to encourage investment in larger cleavages. A strange explosion of love-bites and lassitude quickly begins to afflict the inhabitants of the town.

News of this defeat will surely not be well-received by Prince Rupprecht! 

Nun Shall Pass!

The battle begins to reach its final denouement; or, as it might be termed in Mittelheim, the end. As the defending Bachscuttlers look on, the Vulgarian sappers quickly raise a new artillery battery position right in front of them. If the Vulgarians get some guns into it, the fire from it is going to really, really hurt. From here, the attacking guns will be within breaching range of the walls and so able to begin the process of battering down the fabric of the fortress, just as they have already battered down the fabric of the Bachscuttel morale. The latter was never likely to be that challenging, given that if it were indeed a fabric, Bachscuttel morale would be a rather frayed pair of underpants, probably worn on alternate days by respective members of the platoons.

What to do? What to do? Governor Zwöllenglantz reviews his options. He can afford to do this quite a lot because it's not a very long list even if he writes it in very big letters. There are no doubt, a wide array of clever strategems that might be available in a siege to an enterprising defending force: tarring and lighting pigs; stuffing goats; smearing elephants in honey and chasing them with bees into the enemy positions; secrets forays to stuff comedically large pineapples into the barrels of the attacking artillery. Most in fact seem to involve variations on cruelty to animals and fruit; or cruelty to animals with fruit. But the governors options in both cases are limited given the lack of both: Bachscuttlers don't eat fruit; but they really do eat almost any animals, even if they seem oddly covered in bees and honey. So, the governor once again plays a collection of the Bachscuttel greatest siege hits.

Wearily Sister Molestus trudges the well-worn path to the Vulgarian lines. It is generally acknowledged in circles familiar with espionage that one of the important attributes of a spy is that they should be relatively unknown. It is somewhat worrying, then, for the sister that, as she approaches the enemy line, she is received with the words "Oh hello, it's you again, Sister".

Alas, there's only so many times a woman dressed as a nun can claim to be seeking a 'lovely bunch of strong men' to help her with her 'entirely naked fellow sisters who are in a nearby inn and have become trapped in the bath tub'. Alerted by the nun's suspiciously detailed knowledge of bathing, an activity that no one in Mittelheim is terribly well acquainted with, the Vulgarians apprehend her. Accusing her of being dirty Bachscuttel spy, which, to be fair, she actually is on both counts, the nun is beaten with musket butts until she passes out; although, in deference to the fact that she is nun, the troops apologise profusely while they are doing it and also skip their normal practice of rummaging around in her underclothes.

And then, of course, it's time for the Bachscuttel trench raid. This one is made slightly more interesting because the company of grenadiers are now leavened with a group of sappers.

If the grenadiers can storm the position, the sappers will then fill in the new battery. The sappers are notably well-rested given that they haven't done anything at all during the whole of the preceding fighting. This is it - the final act. It would hardly be a surprise to communicate, dear reader, that the Bachscuttel force has already run out of morale. This means that they cannot rally any troops and that they will automatically surrender if the walls are breached. Only if they can break the Vulgarian morale before the latter happens do they have any chance of preventing the fall of the town!

There Can be Only Pun!

Somewhat surprisingly, it does indeed seem that doing the same thing again as the Bachscuttelers have repeatedly done before has caught the Vulgarians napping. Who knew that the rapid approach of  enemy assault companies against one's trenches might indicate that the enemy was raiding one's trenches? Moreover, although Bachscuttel is a place where the phrase "getting back into the swing of things" usually just means hanging more people, the previous practice really does seem to have warmed up the attacking troops. The raid has some success, and with cries of "Chase me! Chase me!" the Vulgarian sappers scatter to the rear.

The Bachscuttlers decide to pile the pressure on the defending Vulgarians. It's not a great pile, to be sure: more the sort of small heap produced by a naughty puppy - but still, there is at least an attempt to multiply the confusion caused by the raid. It's time, once again, for the furtive shuffling of spies.

'It's time to commit the nun' has never really been a phrase that indicates a battle is going well. Nevertheless, Sister Molestus finds herself again ordered to betake herself to the Vulgarian lines in order to sew some mayhem (below).  

Alas, even the best of her needlework puns fails to move the Vulgarian troops. Taking stock of the situation, they've already moved onto some soup word play, and don't broth-er paying any attention to her.

'I've got to get out of this place', whispers Sister Molestus to herself. She kicks one of the Vulgarians in their bouillons and then sprints off.

In the first parallel, two companies of Vulgarian troops shift to some pudding-related fun and decide to desert (below). It is a sad fact that in this siege the most dangerous threats to the Vulgarian troops have been their lax hygiene and their own legs. More of them have either deserted and run off or shat themselves to death than have been laid low by Bachscuttel gunnery or muskets.

The remaining Bachscuttel infantry begin to gather in the covered way (below). With little artillery firepower left available it would seem that Governor Zwöllenglantz might be considering an all or nothing assault with his infantry to destroy the enemy's third parallel. In Bachscuttel, of course, the phrase "all or nothing" isn't really as balanced an option as one might suppose, since the "all" element is usually rather quite similar to the "nothing". Still, you have to admire the governor's sense of adventure.

Such an assault might be just in the nick of time. With a third parallel now undergoing construction, the Vulgarians begin to muster the makings of some new artillery positions. But in the trenches, one can also hear phrases such as 'Get thee whippet aht o' my beer' and 'It's grim up north, it is': firm evidence that miners have been ordered to the front!

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?

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 ....