Well, That Sucks!

 The Vulgarian sappers continue to dig forwards. If there's one activity that Mittelheimers can be relied upon to do well, it is swanning around in mud, making crude jokes about their tools. The intent, clearly, is that the second parallel will be pushed closer to the town's defences. One consequence, however, is that the sapper companies are now quite isolated (Below).

Baron Friederich von Zwöllenglantz, the town's governor, decides to exploit this situation and orders a trench raid! Only two companies of troops are ready for this operation: one of musketeers, and one of grenadiers.

The governor splits his force into two, and orders them to assault a pair of the enemy's saps. Making use of darkness, the Bachscuttel troops sneak forwards to a position near the enemy. (Above) They then launch a fierce bayonet attack! The use of the word "fierce" is more a matter of artistic licence, of course. A more diffident advance towards the enemy would be hard to imagine unless they were actually moving away from them, waving, and promising to come back at some later time. Much later. And to be honest, even the term "bayonet charge" probably conjures an image of aggression that is unsuitable for an activity that in the hands of Bachscuttlers looks more like the embarrassed rattling of cutlery. Still, undeniably, there is a move by the raiders that can't entirely be classified as a retreat.

One of the perennial features of Mittelheim warfare is irony. And dirt, of course. And morally questionable acts involving livestock and underwear catalogues. But here, irony is in the ascendant: and it decides that the limp musketeers quickly overrun the defending Vulgarian sappers, driving them back to the first parallel; whereas the grenadiers, of course, being Bachscuttel elite, are driven off in confusion, making noises like glassmakers that have sucked instead of blown. Nevertheless, damage has been done, and the Vulgarians must spend some time regrouping.

General Hertz van Rentall decides on reprisals. Deciding not to commit his own grenadiers, the desertion of some of which has stained their honour almost as badly as their trousers, he instead orders one of the Vulgarian spies into action: Lady Katya Natsov. Lady Katya is one of the female coterie that surrounds the new Voivodina of Vulgaria, Lady Carmilla. These strange ladies, porcelain of skin and long of tooth, refer to themselves as "The Grand Coven", a term that surely implies nothing but harmless fun; although, to others of the Vulgarian aristocracy, who perhaps feel aggrieved at having their power usurped, the ladies are instead referred to as "The Tossferatu". 

There is a strange flapping sound, and out of the darkness on one of the bastions, Lady Katya suddenly appears as if from nowhere!

(Above) 'Donner und blitzen!' cry the Bachscuttel sappers in front of her. 

'Bah!' cries Lady Katya, hauling the front of her corsetry back up to cover herself. 'Dat climb too strrrrrrrenuous for silly clothes'. 

The sappers look agog, realising now that it might not have been the lady's wings that were flapping around.

'I come here help you', continues the Vulgarian, pouting. 

The sappers consider this. On the one hand, failing to turn in this stranger who has appeared so suddenly in the fortress will no doubt result in them being hung, drawn, and one sixteenthed.* On the other, there seems to be the promise of intimacy with what is probably a real woman, with no mention of any pecuniary transactions.

'We're game', reply the sappers together.

'I come here for to stirrrrrr leetle insurrrrrrrection!'

'I think that's worked already' replies one enthusiastically.

'No', replies the other. 'She said an insurrection'.

'You prrrrrromise spread rumours and lowerrrrrr morale of population, and I come back, give you keeeeeeess'.

'Give us geese?' says one. 'Thanks, but I'm trying to give up'.

'No, no - a kiss', says the other.

In a few moments, the deal is done. A success for Lady Katya! The morale of the civilian population will decline, as the sappers agree to spread rumours designed to strike terror into any self-respecting citizen of the Palatinate of Saukopf-Bachscuttel: tales of mandatory bathing, no doubt, and of the raising of the drinking age to five. 

'I fly avay now' says Lady Katya, flapping her hands, and hopping backwards. 

'Madame!' cry the sappers. 'The parap ...'

'I fly avaaaaaaaaaaaaaayaaaaaaaah!' the Lady's words turn into a cry.

'Right over the parapet', the sappers say sadly to one another.

'Should we help her?' asks one.

'It might attract attention', says the other dubiously.

'Do you think her corset has fallen off again?'

They look at one another and then both run for the battlements.

*Merely quartering someone is regarded in Bachscuttel as namby-pamby liberalism.

Sew Far, Sew Good!

A new, more informed and ruthless military competence seems to have taken hold in the Vulgarian approach to siege operations. (Below) The Vulgarian saps look less like the diggings of a band of drunk moles going through their impressionist phase, and more like the result of the studied application of military theory. The saps develop swiftly, and promise soon that a second parallel might be put in place.

Looking at the advancing saps, the Vulgarian Chief Engineer de Goudenlid sighs with relief and blows gingerly on the backs of his hands: it looks not entirely impossible that they have been rapped painfully by some kind of wooden instrument: a large wooden ruler, possibly.

The defending Bachscuttlers as yet hold off on their artillery fire. This is probably a mistake, given that one of the functions of fortress cannons is widely considered to be firing at the attackers. But still, it does save on gunpowder. Instead, the Governor tries an alternative tack. He calls upon one of his spies: in this case, Sister Molestus, a choice taken on the solid basis that she, unlike Don Pajero de Penguino, hasn't yet been locked up in the town's prison for indecent behaviour towards geese. 

Molestus quickly makes it through the Vulgarian sentries. Her religious garb, and the firm promise that she is not bringing with her a wooden horse, wooden rabbit, or any similar means of tricking the attacking forces, soon gives her access to the Vulgarian lines. (Above) She has determined that she will encourage some of the enemy troops to desert. She picks a unit of grenadiers and approaches. She is, at it turns out, a mediocre spy: but then, international espionage was only an elective course at the nunnery, and she chose instead to do needlecraft.

'Good evening, my fine fellows!' says Molestus to the grenadiers. 'God be with you!'

'I don't think he is', replies a soldier morosely. 'We are quite miserable, what with the dysentry that we are suffering from and the terrible holes in our pantaloons. If only we knew someone who could repair them, thus allowing us to desert and sprint from this battlefield'.

'Repair your trousers?'

'Why yes, sister: a quick bit of needlework would solve the problem. But probably, as a nun, you took the course on international espionage instead - if only you had the skills to sew up our pantallons, we'd soon take the opportunity to flee the field'.

Molustus considers this. 'Hmm, well: Our dear Lord really does work in mysterious ways. Get me a needle! You'd better get thready for action, gentlemen, because I'm going to make a last stitch effort sew that you can quit the fight!'

The Vulgarians look at her blankly.

'Never mind!' says the Sister with a sigh. 'Just get me what I need'.

Inconceivably, then, Sister Molustus' mission is a success! Thanking God, for his mercy and the application of some sound stitching, a company of the grenadier battalion runs off into the night! Despite the competence of the siege operations, it's first blood to the Bachscuttlers!

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 Somerton, 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'.