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 Second!

On the other side of the field of battle, Furst Augustus Saxe-Peste, Generalissimo of the Landgravate of Hesse-Rotenburg, surveys the Vulgarian deployment and makes his plans. The general could really do with a victory. Though related to the Landgrave Choldwig III, this being one of the main requirements for promotion to high military office in Rotenburg, his relationship with Choldwig has not always been harmonious. Choldwig holds the view, problematic in Mittleheim, that commanders should win battles. The Rotenburg army, whilst it has had its moments, not least at the legendary Battle of Chestwig, has of late suffered badly, and many of its troops are newly raised conscripts.

                            

(Above) In some respects, General Rentall has done his job too well. With a wood, a stream, and a marsh clogging the front of the Rotenburg right wing, the Furst concludes straight away that there is no point in him attacking on that front. There's going to be no getting around behind the Vulgarian line there. Not for the first time, Saxe-Peste curses the fact that his troops are a bunch of useless flankers. Instead, he deploys all four regiments of his cavalry on this wing, and he places both his guns to support them. This force will act defensively to prevent any advance by the enemy irregulars. 

(Below) The rest of his army, all of it infantry, he deploys in a double line astride the road. The road itself is the main objective for this battle.

The front rank are trained troops; the whole of the second line are newly raised. Saxe-Peste hopes that, with the advantage of his troops' lethal volleys he will be able to advance, win the ensuing musketry duel, and triumph before his conscripts learn that they are actually in combat. If his conscripts actually end up having to fight, then Saxe-Peste's chance of victory in the battle is as low as something that was already quite low; but then, thanks to poor maintenance during an extended public holiday, had been allowed to sag even further.

The general attaches considerable importance to his troops' ability to conduct oblique manoeuvres. His intention is that his infantry will advance, obliquing to the left with the hope that this will not only make it impossible for the enemy cavalry to move around his flank, but that he will in fact be able to force the Vulgarian cavalry to take his infantry on frontally: a very difficult proposition for them. Having defeated the enemy cavalry, he will then wheel his left flank around and roll up the enemy infantry line. As long as his troops only have to do an oblique, and don't have to spell it, there is at least some chance that they might succeed.

He summons his orderly, Captain Sebastian Wankrat.

'Wankrat!' says the Furst. 'Sound the advance!' 

With a glass of brandy in his hand, and a small barrel for refills in case of emergencies, Saxe-Peste watches as his infantry begins their attack!

 

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!

Military Revolution!

It has been quite some time since this publication last reported on the exploits of Landgrave Choldwig. The reasons for this relate partly to the low tolerance that the editorial staff here have for cruelty to terrapins*; but also that too frequent a focus on the Rotenburg court would breach recommended moral guidelines on gratuitous nudity and the use of olive oil. 

Still, as a core participant in the Wars of the Gelderland Succession, our gaze needs must alight on the Landgravate at this period of crisis. At this very moment, the landgrave is reviewing his newly reformed unit of palace guards. These reforms are a reflection of Choldwig's desire to push through the fruits of his programme for a military revolution in his army. Choldwig's idol is Alexander the Great, and so the landgrave has particular views on what constitutes the foundations of military effectiveness.

In other places a military revolution might entail radical innovation in technology, doctrine, and organisational culture: in Rotenburg it just means making the sticks longer. As such, his guards have been re-equipped with pikes. Since Greek-style tunics might leave his troops too exposed to the depredations of the weather and of angry terrapins, they have been issued landsknecht uniforms. These changes have been received enthusiastically by Choldwig's senior officers: if the word "enthusiastic" is defined by responses such as holding one's head in one's hand and sighing loudly; or saying things such as "For the love of God", and "Kill me now".

For the troops themselves, it has all been hugely entertaining. As palace guards, their chances of being committed to combat seem about as low as their likely combat effectiveness if they actually had to fight; and what Mittleheim soldier doesn't like frolicking in parti-coloured costumes, poking other people with big sticks, and saying things like "Halt, who goes there?"; or "I wouldn't touch your wife with this barge pole".

The landgrave's fun is interrupted by the arrival of Baron Lothar von Prohlaps, the Minister for Alexandrification. 'My lord, a message has arrived from our field army. It seems that General Saxe-Peste has committed his forces to battle against the Vulgarians!' cries the minister.
'When will this battle take place?' asks Choldwig with interest.
'My lord, it seems likely, given the time taken for this missive to reach us, that the battle will already have been fought'.
The landgrave fiddles with some olives. 'What are our chances in battle, minister?'
'Many of our troops are conscripts, my lord' says Prohlaps delicately.
'Hmmm', says Choldwig. 'Then I feel confident. Conscripts are less likely to be bound by the dangerous constraints of traditional military thinking and practice'.
The minister nods. 'If, sir, you mean that they don't know what they're doing, then yes'.
'This is the Enlightenment' replies the landgrave. 'I don't want mindless automata in my army. I want Alexandrian style enterprise and initiative. Surely that is what matters on the field of combat?'
'Opinion is divided, sir'.
'Is it?'
'Yes sir: you think that that might be the case; but everybody else doesn't'.
Choldwig frowns. 'What will the result of the battle be, minister?'
'I think, my lord, within the usual parameters of success'
'That bad?' The landgrave sighs. 'Well, we'll just have to see. And when the troops come back, I have some more Macedonian surprises for them'.
'It's not more olive oil is it, my lord?'.
'Not this time, no', replies Choldwig. 'Although', he continues, 'I could be persuaded'.



* And other amphibians. Except axolotls, who deserve everything that's coming to them.

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.

Doctor in the House!

'Is the message sent, chamberlain?' asks Prince Rupprecht, his voice full of unusual zeal.
'Indeed, yes, sire', replies Chamberlain Fecklenburg. 'I am sure that Landgrave Choldwig will bestir his army and move immediately upon the enemy'.

'Did you include my pictures?' asks Rupprecht.

Fecklenburg considers this. 'All of those that were fit to include in our letter, sire', he replies finally.

'So, all of them', says the prince firmly.

'Yes, sire: all of those that could be identified as small drawings of pigs, and not those that looked like they had been drawn in crayon by a syphilitic and wildly drunk monkey that had never actually seen a pig and whose best monkey friend had lied about the claws'.

'Are there many of those sorts of monkeys?' asks Rupprecht, who likes to think of himself as a man with an enquiring scientific mind.

'I think that Landgrave Choldwig is likely to think so sir. But, moving on swiftly, I am sorry to disturb you again but I have here Doctor Hans Klenser'.
Accompanying the good doctor is his assistant. The prince blanches, remembering their previous encounter.
'Ah, uh, lovely to see you again madame', panics Rupprecht, searching for a suitable greeting that might avoid a repeat of the terrible social faux pas that accompanied their last meeting. 'You, ah, really, uh, haven't got any uglier since the last time that we met'.

Klenser chokes. Fecklenburg steps in straight away. 'Come now doctor, the prince hardly has time for this exchange of pleasantries. 'Why are you disturbing his Princely Personage'.

'Well, my lord - it's your gout' stutters Klenser recovering. 'I am sorry to disturb your evening', he continues, gesturing to the pair of oars. 'But you have been suffering from said affliction since I can remember. And as your Chief Medical Officer, I thought that it was time that you set an example of health and wellbeing for your subjects'.

'You're not going to saw it off, are you?' asks Rupprecht worriedly, pointing at his foot. 'Because I've only got two. I think'.
'Oh, no, no, sire. Not yet'.
'Not yet?' gulps the prince.

'No sire - not whilst we have such a long list of alternative treatments to attempt first'.

Fecklenberg intervenes with concern. 'But it's not a long list, Doctor Klenser. I have some acquaintence with medical matters, and I know that that list has one item on it, and it begins with 'L' and ends in 'H'!'
'Lunch?' asks the prince hopefully. Then he frowns. 'And if that doesn't cure me then you saw my foot off?'

'"Leech", my lord', replies Fecklenburg. 'It's "leech" that comprises the entirety of the medical profession's long list of treatments'.

'In my defence, it's a really long leech', says the doctor. 'It's more of a snake, really'. He opens a pouch to show the chamberlain.

'That is a snake', says Fecklenburg', stepping back in alarm. 'That is very much a snake. How on earth did you intend to prescribe it to our prince?'

'Well, usually, I recommend placing one under the tongue with some water until it dissolves'.

'And do your patients say that they feel better after that'

'It's difficult to tell' replies the physician. 'what with their tongues swelling up from the bites. But I can say confidently from looking at the jerking of their limbs that their mobility improves and that they stop complaining about their gout'.

'No, no, no!' replies the chamberlain firmly. 'There must be some other recommendation'.

Klenser thinks about this. 'Well, the prince could cut down on his drinking'.

Rupprecht frowns. 'Why would I do that? Only one of my feet has swollen up. I've got one left. I'd say that means I'm only drinking half of what I need to'.

'But your foot, my lord ...' Klenser tries continuing.

'It's fine. I'm used to it. It was like when I was bitten by that wild dog'.
Klenser nods. 'Bitten by a dog? Thank goodness, it could have been a small child'.
Rupprecht frowns. 'What? No, I could have fought off a small child. Anyway, my leg blew up, but I just ignored and it went away. Unlike my wife'.

'My lord, I must insist ...' begins Klenser.

'Be off!' cries the prince. 'On this issue, it's mind over matter: I don't mind, and you don't matter! So take yourself and your, ah, wife, away, and let me alone to contemplate serious matters of state'.

The physician is bundled out.

'Were you serious about considering significant matters of state, sire?' asks Fecklenburg.

'What? Oh no, I've got the whole evening in front of me. Now, chamberlain, help me with those oars: it would be a shame to waste them'.

Gloom and Doom!

'Gloom! Gloom! Darkness! Darkness!' wails Prince Rupprecht of Saukopf-Bachscuttel morosely. 'I just can't see a way out of this terrible situation!'
'Would this be better, my lord?' says Chamberlain Fecklenburg, lighting a lamp.
'Ooh, yes, that's much better!' replies the prince happily as the room moves from pitch black to a warm and rosy glow.
'My lord, can I ask you why you were sitting in the dark?'
'Yes, chamberlain, you can'.
There are a few moments of silence.
There is a barely audiable sigh from Fecklenburg. 'And why, my lord, were you sitting in the dark?'
'So, Fecklenburg, that I do not have contemplate the ruin of my evening - an evening that I was very much looking forwards to'.
'And what entertainment was lined up, sire?'
Rupprecht points to a pair of oars that are lying on the floor.
'You ordered the staff to procure you a pair of oars for the evening?' asks the chamberlain with some interest. 'What, my lord, did you intend to do? This isn't ...' he looks around concernedly '... this isn't some sort of English entertainment is it?'

The prince snorts derisively. 'Look around Fecklenburg - can you see any steak and kidney puddings?'

'There was that incident, sire, with the fried potatoes, fish, and the peas that were mushed up ...'

'No Fecklenburg, there was just an English actress who should have tested the temperature better before asking me "would you like gravy on that?" No, chamberlain, my evening has been ruined by cloth-eared servants that don't pay attention to what I'm saying'.

'It wasn't a pair of oars that you wanted, my lord?'

'Of course not: I wanted something altogether ... fruitier'.

'That, sire, would explain the large pair of melons that I saw in the hallway. You asked for a pair of oars with enormous melons?'

'That isn't at all what I asked for'.

'I see, my lord', says Fecklenburg, nodding at last. 'Oh, I see. You seem to have obtained wood of an entirely different kind. Well perhaps, sire, you need to enunciate more clearly'.

'Why, chamberlain? I can't see the relevance here of religion. But now my evening is all ruined. What am I going to do now? Where am I going to put those?' he points at the wooden implements.

'Certain suggestions leap to mind, sire - but let us leave such matters.' 

Fecklenburg continues. 'With your evening free, sire, would that not leave time to discuss the dreadful loss of the town of Schwettinbad?'

'Rupprecht considers this carefully. 'No'.

'But many of your citizens were slaughtered in the fight sire!'

'There's probably a bright side somewhere', says the prince resentfully. 'You can’t say "slaughter" without saying "laughter"'.

'My lord, the Vulgarians have made off with a great array of goods and chattels'.

'That's sad, obviously', says the prince giving his nose a thorough rummaging with his finger. 'But you know, on the bright side, it's not my stuff that they've taken'. 

'But in a way, sire it is: you have always been an advocate sire, I believe, that what is yours is yours; and what is your subjects is also yours, should you tell them to give it to you. So in a way, the Vulgarians are stealing from you. And of course, the things that they've done to the local pigs ...'

'The local pigs!' says Rupprecht horrified. 'What things?'

'Vulgarian things, my lord'.

'Well that just won't do! We must recapture the town! How can it be done?'

'The Vulgarians have left a garrison and have now, by all accounts, begun to withdraw to Fenwickian territory'.

'Shouldn't we stop them, Fecklenburg? I mean, think of the pigs!'

'I could send a message post-haste to the nearest of our allied forces, sire. The Rotenburgers are within striking distance of the enemy!'

'Do it, Fecklenburg! Think big: think pig!'