Apres Moi, Le Deluge!

The Wurstburp defenders watch their Vulgarian adversaries paddle disconsolately around in their muddy trenches. Sickness spreads through the latter's army. Trench foot, trench nose, and trench belly button lay many of the besiegers low. Morale plummets: appalling weather, dysentery, misery - this isn't warfare; it's an English bank holiday.

(Above) There is sally port in the defences of the town. Ruminating on the exposed state of the Vulgarians, there are signs that a sortie might be being considered by the defenders: these signs include the movement of troops; the shifting of supplies; and the uttering of airy and utterly non-specific enquiries such as 'Where's the section in the rules on sorties?'

In the meantime, the Vulgarians try once again to infiltrate a spy into the fortress. Having failed in her designs the first time, the spy re-enters the town in the form of a bat: a form that looks quite a lot like a middle-aged woman with a beehive hairdo, leaping up and down and flapping her arms. Equipped with nothing more than a cup,a tall hair-do, and a cleavage that would past muster as an impressive toast rack, she moves rapidly through the streets, intent upon reaching the Wurstburp granary.

There are many words that might be used to describe this means of ingress into a enemy fortress: 'unorthodox' might be one; 'unwise' would be another; 'unhinged', might also suit.

Sadly for her, the spy runs into a patrol who have been ordered to be on the look out for anything unusual. Even by the poor cognitive standards of Mittelheim sentries, tall women flapping their arms, crying "I fly! I fly!" are generally recognised as being somewhat out of the ordinary.

'That's, ah, somewhat out of the ordinary', says one sentry to his comrade as he watches.

'But, is "somewhat out of the ordinary" the same as "unusual"?'replies his comrade. 'Because we've only been told to look out for the unusual'.
'Is that too narrow a remit for a patrol in a town under siege?'

'Hmmm, well, I suppose we could have a chat with her and see what she's doing out at night'.

'Madame, upon what business are you about the town at such a late hour of the evening?' 

The spy turns. 'Away! Away!' she cries. 'I shall mesmorrrrrize you! Brrrrrrrrr!' she waves her hands around in front of the sentry's face. 'These are not the bats you're looking for'.

The two soldiers look at one another. No enemy spy could surely be as rubbish as this? On the other hand, this is Mittelheim ...

'Madame, I think you should come with us ...' they say. And so, another great Mittelheim exercise in skulduggery comes unstuck! 

In Mittelheim, once in a lifetime events can be relied upon to happen weekly. And so it is again. As Lackwitz strips off his coat and shirt in preparation for another heatwave, the heavens open again and another unprecedented storm engulfs the battlefield. Almost all of the Vulgarian positions are plunged nose-deep in muddy water, driving the defending troops out of their trenches.

There's only so many times that Lady Luck can kick the Vulgarians in their dangly bits before they conclude that she isn't just playing hard to get. After a month of siege operations, the Vulgarians have nothing to show except a dead enemy spy and a lot of fungal foot infections. The besiegers have had enough.

Defeated by the weather, which, let's face it, was always likely to be a more wily adversary than any Mittelheim army, the Vulgarian troops are forced to retreat. The Wurstburp ranks are then left to deal with a strange and disorientating feeling: the feeling of victory. Suspicious of this feeling, and worried that the warm glow might simply be a temperature brought about by the early stages of typhoid fever, the troops of the Margravate revert to a mind-set with which they are more comfortable: bitter recriminations, finger-pointing, and morale-boosting beatings. 

The Rain in Spain Falls Mainly on the First Parallel!

One can tell immediately in Mittelheim military campaigns when a bout of 'decisive action' is about to ensue. Clear signs include the sound of kettles being put on to boil, the unmistakeable rustle of pyjamas being retrieved from napsacks, and the whiff of naive optimism that presages the firing of cannon. 

(Above) Wurstburp gunners, clearly inexperienced in war, fire their batteries in an attempt to inflict casualties on the Vulgarian sappers. This has the usual effect: a few of the enemy stand up and ask 'what was that noise?'; the remainder continue playing cards.

(Above) The saps begin to approach the Wurstburp glacis. Upon the walls of the town, Captain Lackwitz surveys the weather prospects.

'I sense a heatwave in the offing, gentlemen', he says to some nearby staff. 'Relentless sunshine; unending drought; heat-stroke; shortages of water; swarms of locusts'.

No sooner has he uttered this commentary than fat raindrops begin to fall from the sky. 

For the Vulgarians it had all seemed now to be going swimmingly; which is ironic, really, given that it now starts to rain. A lot. Such a deluge of water has not been seen such Wilhelm of Gelderland got stuck in his bathtub and had to be extracted through the use of an artillery hoist and the very liberal application of lard. Many of his servants never recovered their sight. 

(Above) The blue markers indicate flooded positions. The Vulgarians in the respective fortifications are displaced by the weight of watery intrusion. There is much grumbling, searching for hats, cloaks, ducks, and any other accoutrements that might repel the wearying sheets of rain that fall from the skies.

(Above) Days are wasted as troops try and bale out their flooded positions. The only consolation is that an event so random and unprecedented as this ferocious storm is surely a once in a lifetime event. Of course, that depends upon whose life we're talking about ... 

Is that a Transverse Sap in Your Britches, Or Are You Just Pleased to See Me!

It's more helpings of siege spaghetti all round! (Below) The Vulgarian sappers dig forwards slowly. Clearly of the opinion that second parallel's are just for girls, they seem intent on sapping all the way to the enemy glacis. What they might intend to do there is anyone's business: but it's pretty certain that Vauban wouldn't approve.

Things begin to heat up. Already, as Vulgarians, morally exposed, the sappers also add an equivalent degree of physical exposure as well. (Below) Having zigged when they probably should have zagged, some of the sappers are exposed to enfilade fire from the enemy ravelin and bastions.

The defending artillery miss, of course. But it's the principle that counts: these are sappers, not slappers, and they should know better than to flaunt their dangly bits in full view of the enemy.

Rain falls, slowing down the progress of the attacking forces. But with a few days more effort, the Vulgarian troops seem to be making some additional progress.

(Above, left) The Vulgarians construct a battery emplacement at the end of one of the saps. If they can deploy some guns in this position, then they will be in range to conduct battering fire on the Wurstburp walls. It's all to play for: if you like games that are slow, dirty, and low-stakes, that is. Now would be the time for some decisive action!

Feel the Weight of my Gabions!

Pacing themselves, the Vulgarian troops are still behind the first parallel (below). Their siege guns remain silent. This has exactly the same effect on the enemy as if they were actually firing, but uses up a lot less gunpowder.

More sappers begin digging (below). The aim, of course, is to establish a second parallel and new artillery positions closer to the enemy walls. Or so one might think if one were unfamiliar with warfare in Mittelheim.

As the sappers advance, they they get closer to the enemy and also further away from the support of their own troops. Deciding it is time to do something to discomfit their enemy that is more active than just hiding their dice, the Wurstburpers launch a trench raid! Two companies of grenadiers are committed to the attack and each company targets a sap!

(Above) One company storms forward!

'Attack! Att...' cries the commander.

'It's fine!' say the sappers. 'We surrender'.

'But we haven't actually attacked you yet!'

'No, really - it's fine. We don't need to go through the whole rigmarole of desperate hand-to-hand combat. Let's just say we've lost. Take us back to the fortress so that we can have a rest and a lie down'.

'But ... wouldn't you be ashamed to have put up no meaningful resistance?'

'No, not really'.

'But wouldn't you feel unmanly?'

'We're Vulgarian sappers. Even the rats bully us'.

'Well ... fair enough: but it's all rather disappointing. I was hoping for a tough fight and a glorious death'.

'Maybe later, when we've had some lunch?'

'Fair enough. Here, let me help you out of the sap'.

'Lovely'.

In the other sap, things go less well for the grenadiers (below). With two sapper companies present, the odds are more even, and these sappers seem much tougher, and also quite angry. There is a sharp and dirty punch-up, only distinguishable from the average Vulgarian night out because this affray has no musical accompaniment. The grenadiers are driven back with loss.

Operations continue. As they develop their saps, it is clear that the Vulgarian approach to siege operations has something of an Italian inspiration. Alas, this inspiration is less Trace Italienne, and more Spaghetti Bolognese (below). 

Instead of a pushing forward the saps and then digging trenches to create a second parallel, the Vulgarians start to connect their saps into a warren of siege passages. Whilst this seemingly rabbit-inspired digging configuration no doubt presages some nefarious 'Black Hops' operations and it also saves time, it doesn't necessarily support the most organised approach to assaulting a fortress. There is a reason that Vauban conducted sieges according to the sober principles of engineering, and this wasn't just because he was killjoy know-it-all. 

To the rear of the Vulgarian positions, the army's physicians are already busy (below).

'Ow! Ow!' cries the patient.

'Stop being a baby!' says one of the doctors. 'What did you expect? This is an amputation not a tickling contest!' 
'An amputation? But I only sat down here for a rest!'

The two surgeons look at one another. 'Well, that's a trifle embarrassing for us. But look at it on the bright side: you'll save a lot of money on shoes'.

Carry on Spying!

"Espionage": the realm of cerebral skullduggery. Or so it is in other places. In Mittelheim, cerebral skullduggery tends to be the preserve of grave diggers, since espionage requires skills for which most Mittelheimers are poorly suited - skill, wileyness, an ability to read road signs. Alas, with the guns of both sides being at extreme range, the belligerents decide to save their limited supplies of powder and to look instead for other ways to annoy their adversaries. For reasons best explained by inexperience, over-optimism, and too much port, they decide simultaneously to employ spies to cause disruption and dismay to their enemies. 

From the sally port of the fortress, a mysterious figure slips out into the night and makes his way stealthily towards the enemy trenches. His intention is to sow dissension in the enemy troops and to cause some of them to desert ...

(Above) A mysterious stranger swathed in a grey cloak presents himself to one of the Vulgarian regiments.
'Halt mysterious stranger swathed in grey who has just presented himself to our regiment!' cry some Vulgarian sentinels. 'Who goes there?'
'No one important or remotely suspicious', replies the figure. 'I merely come here, looming out of the night, mysterious and swathed in grey, to ask you "have you ever considered the advantages of deserting your regiment and quitting the field of combat?"'
The sentinels look at one another. 'No, not really', they reply.
'Fair enough', replies the figure. 'You can't blame me for asking'. He turns to leave.
'Hang on a minute', says another sentry. 'Are you a spy?'
'Er, no?'
'Then why have you wearing a badge that says on it "I'm a spy"?'
'Dammit! I forgot to take it off!'
There is a short struggle and the fellow is taken off to be shot. Given the standards of vulgarian marksmanship, this is a long and painful death, especially given that the head is not really a vital appendage for any Mittelheim soldier.

Meanwhile, in Munchausen By Procksi, a figure sidles carefully through the darkness (below). The streets are eerily quiet, not least because painting up civilians is boring. This winsome wench is a remarkably talented Vulgarian spy. Or so one might think by her credentials.

'Madame!' cries a nightwatchman, looming out of the dark. 'Madame! Why are you out at this time of night? There is a curfew in case of attempts by our Vulgarian adversaries to infiltrate our defences with spies!'

'Vell' replies the lady in a husky voice. 'It not verrrry likely dat I am Vulgarrrrrian spy. Just a lonely girrrrl looking for da grrrrain depot vot I can put dis bomb in'.

''Ha, ha, ha, ha, madame', chortles the guard. 'Yes, that's very funny, now just you run alo... oh, hang on - that does actually look like a bomb that you're holding!'

'Not da bomb!' says the lady defensively. 'Just da biiig irrrron pudding! But ...' and here she leans forwards, 'but you haff such a long and warrrrm thrrroat. Let me kiss you ...'

'Madame, I couldn't! Never! I'd die first! Oh, go on then ...' he says. 'Ow! You bit me!'

'Not to be big baby!' says the woman sternly. 'Now, you underrrr my spell!'

'I don't think I am ...'

'Hold dis big irrron pudding vhile I light it!'

'I don't think that's the ...'

'Now, all good: you take to grrrain depot'.

'But, you've just lit my ...'

'Now, I turrrn into bat and fly avay!'

'Madame, you're literally still here in front of me ...'

'I fly avay!'

'You're walking backwards whilst flapping your hands ...'

'Avay! Avay! Avay!'

'You're still walking backwards, madame, and you're just lowering your voice to give the impression of distance'. 

'Pffft!', says the lady. Hiking up her dress, she sprints off into the night.

The sentry puts the bomb down and starts hurriedly slapping his shoes which the mysterious lady has set light to. Then, he looks at the fused iron sphere at his feet. He looks around; shrugs; and rolls it into an alleyway, before wandering off.

With a score of 'Dead Spies - 1, Useful Impact - 0', the siege continues ...

That's a Lovely Pair of Bastions You've Got There!

Captain Carl von Lackwitz stands upon one of the bastion defences of the town of Munchausen-By-Procksi. He has been conversing with several Wurstburp engineering officers. Coming from the technical services, these fellows are better educated than most, indicated by the fact that they can read (even if they do often have to mouth the words), and that they can dress themselves in the morning.
'That was an unusual speech that you gave to the men earlier, Lackwitz', says one.

'Really?', replies Lackwitz, leafing through the pages of a book.

'Yes - quite ... ah, left field. One might normally expect that a speech designed to bolster the morale of the troops and encourage them to fight doggedly to the last man would contain a selection from the usual sort of familiar themes'.

'What themes, sir?'

'Well, you know, the stuff about bolstering morale and being encouraged and fighting doggedly to the last man'.

'I sought to appeal to a different aspect of the men's temperaments. Which elements did you find surprising?'

'Well, there were more references to cheese then I expected', says the officer.

'And also', adds another, 'that part that covered your disappointment at the contents of your Christmas stocking'.

'But what about the part where I told the men that, even if they all died, I would still be likely to survive and get promoted?'

'Probably not as inspiring to them as you might have hoped'.

'Bah - well, cobblers to them: they will probably all get bayoneted by the Vulgarians anyway'.

'Yes', replies the third officer. 'Yes - I think it was probably phrases like that the reduced the impact of your speech. Still, the walls here are strong and we still have hope whilst the enemy have not yet begun to bombard the walls.' 

'Especially', says Lackwitz gesticulating at his book, 'especially since you have access to the newly re-drafted version of my book on war and strategy!'
The engineers look at one another, shifting nervously. 'Actually, Lackwitz, you've already read us several sections of it and I don't think that ...'
'"War"', cries Lackwitz striking a pose. '"is a continuation of polygamy by other means".'
There is momentary silence.

'Are you sure that "polygamy" is the best word?'

Lackwitz frowns. 'Well, I did originally go for "pottery", but in the end I wasn't sure. Perhaps there is another "P"word that would fit?'

'Parrot!' expectorates one of the engineers.
'Peregrine!' cries another.

'No, no, I ...' replies Lackwitz.

'Porcine!'

'Perambulation!
'Pederast!'
'This is taking an unfortunate turn. I just want another another "P" word'.
'Wet shoes!'
'That doesn't begin with a "P"!'
'In my case it does: I can never aim straight!'
'Potato!'
'Policy?'
'Ah, now there you have something!' says Lackwitz nodding. '"War is a continuation of potato by other means"'.

(Below) On the other side of the fortress, flags are visible in the covered way. Unusually, these are regimental colours and not flags of surrender. But there is of course plenty of time yet. From the fortress, it is evident that the Vulgarians have not been idle. 

(Below) The Vulgarian sappers have been digging with the same enthusiasm that Mittelheim street urchins might apply to picking their noses: an extensive, careful excavation; the production and difficult transportation by wheelbarrow of unpleasant and muddy detritus; occasional pauses to view with satisfaction the quantity and quality of material removed; occasionally eating some of it to see what it might taste like.

Vauban himself noted the scientific basis for siege warfare, a basis that should allow the prediction of the exact moment when the besieged town will be forced to surrender. In this case, and at the current rate of Vulgarian progress, the fall of Munchausen will take place 42 days hence, at dinner time, at some point between the dessert and cheese courses. This being a Mittelheim military operation, though, why would the belligerents confine themselves to the patient application of military doctrine when they could instead tit about with other hare-brained schemes ...

Merry Christmas!

As Sebastien Le Prestre, Marquise de Vauban, once noted, no Christmas is complete without a poorly conducted siege operation. By that standard, this is surely a bumper festive period. (Below) The northern suburbs of the Wurstburp capital, Munchausen. The south of the town abuts the river Procksi, giving the capital its full name of Munchausen-By-Procksi. 

This woodcut gives a reasonable indication of the defences: four bastions; two ravelins; and a defensive glacis. Two regiments of Wurstburp infantry are deployed forwards in the covered way.

(Above) An alternative perspective on the town; but changing the angle doesn't make it look any better. Each bastion contains a battery of garrison artillery. Two more regiments of infantry man the main defences; if 'man' is the right word for anything occupied by troops of the Wurstburp army.

(Above) A view from Munchausen towards the Vulgarian first parallel. At this distance, the Vulgarian siege works could be mistaken for a properly coordinated engineering exercise. 

(Above) The Vulgarian first parallel. Five batteries of heavy siege artillery are positioned in redoubts. Anybody arguing that the redoubts are just large squares of felt is clearly just an engineering amateur.

(Above) The first parallel; and also, quite a lot of sheep; and also, a pen. 

It is surely obvious to any gentleman of quality that  a siege operation bears a remarkable similarity to the process of having survived this past year: slow, desperate, filthy digging through dirt; marginal advances; poor events rolls; dysentery; rain; more digging; latrines; rainy digging; marginal dirt; desperate latrines; poor event rolls and then back to the start; rinse and repeat.

Here in Mittelheim, we wish all of the readers of this modest publication, both of you, a restful festive break and a sincere hope that this next year gives more of what you want and a lot less of what you don't. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!      

The Red Badge of Porridge!

In the town of Munchhausen, capital of the Margravate of Badwurst-Wurstburp, the residents have woken up to dire news: the Vulgarians are here! Following up the retreat of the remnants of the Wurstburp army after their defeat at the Battle of Groeninghumpe, the Vulgarians seem intent on forcing a siege and knocking Wurstburp out of the war! With the Vulgarian siege train trundling into position, it is at a moment like this that the defenders of the capital could most benefit from the impact of some wise and inspirational leadership. Alas, the margrave, Kasper Johan von Porckenstauffen, is in the north at his hunting lodge; and also, of course, he isn't wise or inspirational. This leaves as the senior officer present in the capital the recently re-discovered King-Not-Over-The-Water-But-In-Fact-Quite-Close-By Wilhelm Penwick-Fuppet. Or it would if he could actually be found. Three figures are present in Wilhelm's Court in Exile. They look despondently at an empty throne.

'I'm sure that our king will be with us shortly', says Wilhelm's companion Lady Flora Spreadswell, sounding more hopeful than certain.

'I doubt it', says General Unpronunski. 'Have there been any sightings Lord Duncan?'

Lord Duncan De Sordelay shakes his head sadly. 'Alas, we have not seen him for many days. Rumour says that he has lost himself in the infernal depths of subscription-based bakery services'.

'Subscription-based bakery services?' asks the general.

'Indeed', replies Lord Duncan. 'OnlyFlans: perverse patisserie antics in which backstreet bakers flaunt their buns in members-only clubs'.

'Why would the consumption of buns be an illicit activity?'

'You haven't seen the size of them, madame. Wilhelm has lost himself entirely in this wanton world of pastry promiscuity. And now, in this hour of need, there is no one to lead us'.

'Perhaps all is not lost', says Lady Flora. 'For yesterday, an individual with some very specific and relevant expertise found his way to our town; and now, cut off by Vulgarian forces though we are, it may be that his leadership and expertise will provide us with a decisive advantage in the coming battle'.

'It's Horace de Saxe, isn't it', replies the general, in the same tone that one might say that one had been visited by the fourth Ghost of Christmas, the "Ghost of Christmas In-Laws". It's Horace and that means that we're all going to die; by some means that is slightly worse and a lot longer than if he wasn't here to give us bad advice'.

'Indeed not, sir' replies Flora. 'It is this gentleman'. A figure wanders into the chamber (below).

'Fear not', says the interloper. 'It is I, Carl von Lackwitz'.

'Your problems are over, for I am experienced in matters relating to fortifications, revetments, and whatnot. Why, I was present at the assault upon the great city of Grosschnitzelring'.

'Well, that sounds hopeful', replies Lord Duncan. 'And you were instrumental in bringing about a successful defence of the city?'

'No, not so much', admits Lackwitz.  

The general considers this. 'So, sir, you claim to be an expert in sieges but this knowledge has not actually improved your chances of bringing success?'

Lackwitz nods. 'Yes, it's pair of ducks'.

'You mean a paradox?' asks Duncan.

'Sorry, yes, a pair of dogs' says Lackwitz. 'But I should imagine that by the power of the law of averages I might help to bring about success this time around'.

'The law of averages isn't perhaps something that we should rely on in the first instance', says Unpronunski dubiously. 'It hasn't helped me thus far'.

'But Lackwitz has so much more to give!' says Lady Flora earnestly. 'A man of his evident charisma and forceful personality will surely be able to inspire the troops!'

'A good speech might help', admits Unpronunski. 'The ex-Jacobites are courageous troops with a fondness for lost causes. Which is lucky given their recent performance on the battlefield'.

'I shall speak to the men and provide them with the benefits of my philosophical thoughts on the nature of war. I will need to sound sensitive and intelligent but also, I think, threatening in a psychotic manner'.

'Then you should use a Scottish accent', says the general.

Lackwitz nods. 'And what does that sound like?'

'Fill your mouth with porridge and then speak Norwegian'.

'What does Norwegian sound like?'

'Like Danish, but you have to speak through a pillow'.

'Languages are so complex!' says Lackwitz in exasperation. 'Why can’t everyone speak German like me? It’s easy - I picked it up as a child'.

Some discussion then ensues on the best way of defending the town against the Vulgarians. Lackwitz becomes bored and then wanders off.

 

Lord Duncan sighs. 'Is there any chance that we might defeat the Vulgarians?'

'Oh no, it’ll be fine' says Unpronunski.

'Really?'

'Oh, yes'.

'Great!'

'Yes, what I find more worrying is that Wilhelm's throne seems to have a pentacle in front of it'.

'Surely not ... oh, actually ....'

Outside, there is the ominous detonation of heavy cannons that signals the start of the investment of the town ...