Hednitz, the Second!

The shockingly rapid advance of the Nabstrian march columns causes consternation in General Herz van Rentall's headquarters. Indeed, if the atmosphere there were a piece of music then it would no doubt be entitled "Vulgarian Fugue in (What the) F Major." Rentall's second-in-command, Captain of Infantry Duke Walter von Neucheim bounces up and down in his saddle: 'It's all over! It's all over! We'll never win! We'll never win!'

'Hush now, shir,' says the Dutchman Rentall. 'Dare ish always optionsh.'

The field of Hednitz is rather deeper than many of the battlefields of the Wars of the Gelderland Succession. So deep, in fact, that the usual Nabstrian trick of advancing in column and then changing into line on the same turn cannot work; the infantry must stay in column in order to close the distance quickly. Whilst von Stumpe has been careful to keep his vulnerable columns out of range of a cavalry charge, the Vulgarian horse could still advance into close range of the columns, thus making it impossible for the Nabstrian infantry to keep moving in their current formation.

After some consideration, however, Rentall finally decides that he will not order his cavalry forwards. (Below) Releived, the Nabstrian infantry suddenly halt and change into line. There is some cursing from the Nabstrian NCOs and cries of 'That way, that way, you fools!' and 'Left! Left! It's written on your boot!' But still, to the discomfort of the watching Vulgarians, the Nabstrians soon present a line of gleaming bayonets to the waiting Vulgarian cavalry and infantry.

In the Vulgarian headquarters, there is some disagreement over what to do next.
'We're doomed! It's finished! Retreat! Flee!' is Duke Neicheim's considered advice to General Rentall.
'Gottle a geer! Gottle a geer!' adds Baron Tostov, solicitously.
'This is going to be a beautiful battle. We're going to make Vulgaria great again!' adds Ranald Drumpf, Principal Councillor to Prince Dimitri.
Rentall scowls, 'I thought dat I directed you to quit dish army,' he says. Drumpf arrived yesterday carrying instructions from the Prince. However, since the instructions seemed to focus mainly on the ways in which Dimitri was going to remove all of Rentall's clothes and cover him with kisses, it seemed likely that there had been a mix up and that the wrong instructions had been sent to the army. At least, Rentall hoped so. He was nevertheless philosophical: however perturbed he was at the thought of having Prince Dimitri 'nibbling his little toes' it was likely as nothing to the feelings of Dimitri's mistress, who would now be digesting her orders to attack the Nabstrian army forthwith.
Rentall gestures to his guards. 'Remove dish man!'
Drumpf shakes his fist, 'I am a personal friend of the Prince! I'll not leave! Why must I leave?'
'Becaush you are an unpleasant purveyor of liesh and untruthsh,' says Rentall, 'And also becaush your hair disturbsh me.'
Drumpf pats his hair and tickles its ears. 'There's nothing wrong with my hair. And I've done nothing that would disturb anyone!'
'Pah!' replies the general. 'What about de young women? Without any clothes on!'
'It's not true,' shouts Drumpf, 'fake nudes!'
'And de unpleasantness with de amphibians?' asks Rentall.
'Also not true,' says Drumpf, 'fake newts!'

(Above) As the Nabstrian infantry bear down upon the Vulgarian lines, Rentall finally discards the idea of a cavalry assault upon the infantry to his front, and instructs his horse to withdraw. The consequence, however, is that the Nabstrians continue to hold the initiative. As the cavalry withdraw, Stumpe's foot advance again, beginning to turn the flanks of the Vulgarian infantry and placing the Osterburg Cuirassiers within range of Nabstrian musketry (below).

On the Vulgarian right, however, so little is happening that one might mistake it for a Mittelheim artillery barrage. Rentall's irregulars are still in the woods, the infantry well camouflaged by the foliage. Colonel Kurtz peers into the distance with his telescope.
'Can you see anything sir?' asks Captain Kleinvarken.
'Oh, yes, captain: one thing looms large in my sight, blocking out almost everything else!'
'Foliage, sir?' answers the captain, 'A tree? Or perhaps you mean a rosy future?'

'I mean horror, Kleinvarken' says Kurtz morosely, 'pure, bowel whisking horror.'

'Yes, well I suspected that we might get there at some stage,' says Kleinvarken, 'But surely sir there are many reasons to be cheerful. There is no sign yet that we will be ordered to advance. Indeed, we are on the defence, so perhaps our role will be to leap on the enemy flanks as they advance past our position. And there are so many other advantages to our current situation,' he adds brightly. 'We're in the trees. But it's not Surinam. I mean, unlike 'Nam, it's pleasantly cool. There's lovely shade. And no cannibals. That surely has to count for something.'

'The horror is metaphysical, Kleinvarken.'

'Metaphysical horror?'

'A horror of being, of knowing, the whole ineffable strain of existing in, crikey - look at the hooters on her.'

'I think, sir, that that is a pair of squirrels on a tree.'

'Bah,' says Kurt. 'The horror ... but, what's that?'

'More horror, sir? Or trees. Or a kind of metaphysical tree horror?'

'No, no' replies Kurtz, 'There's a fellow in a wicker carriage. He seems to be heading in this direction clutching what looks to be a set of orders ....'

'A lovely carriage, Saxe; but who exactly is
driving it?'

'I said, Saxe' says Stumpe banging himself over the head with his telescope. 'I said not to give our orders to the Vulgarians. I told you to take my orders to von Pfanenstiel and that if it looked even remotely like the Vulgarians might capture them that you should in extremis eat the orders; whereas you ...'
'Gave the orders to the Vulgarians and then had something to eat with them,' admits the Marshal.
'In God's name, why did you not just do as I told you?' asks Stumpe incredulously.
'Well,' says Saxe, who has the good grace to look sheepish, 'I thought that you were being ironic.'
'Ironic?' says Stumpe, 'Ironic? No, when I say something like "I asked General Rentall for some help and he procured a lard wit like you:" that would be ironic. Just as if I said to you "Well done, Saxe, you've really helped" that would be sarcastic. Just as if I said "Oooh, Saxe - look!'
Saxe looks. Stumpe punches him hard in the face. ' ... that would be useful stress relief. Now bugger off! The enemy now has excellent military intelligence on our plans - they know of my capability for combined movement; and they know that there's something out there that's not marked on their maps.'

At Rentall's headquarters there is uproar. (Below) The Nabstrian infantry continue to move around the flanks of the Vulgarian infantry; and musketry fire scythes down the Osterburg Cuirassiers. It has become clear that there just seems to be too much to do at once. 'Cobblersh!' says Rentall. 'My army is in too many piecesh: wid my infantry split by my artillery into two positionsh, and wid my cavalry ash a third element, I have too many thingsh to do and not enough time to do dem.'

'My lord! My lord!' a Vulgarian irregular breathlessly interrupts Rentall's cogitation. 'A message from Colonel Kurtz sir! Here is a set of the Nabstrian orders!'

'Hurrah!' says Neucheim, 'But where did they come from!'

'A Nabstrian general gave them to us, sir, as well as some interesting recommendations for local taverns and bawdy houses.'

Neucheim examines the orders. As he reads, he frowns. 'My lord, what a fortuitous piece of military intelligence! This is the enemy plan! It would seem that the Nabstrians intend some 'combined movement.' Oh, and there is also something out there that isn't on our maps. But the latter, of course, goes without saying.'

'Really?' says Rentall, thoughtfully. 'Well, well, well. Becaush shome "combined movement" would seem to be de answer to our immediate problem. Excellent, let us shteal our adversary's idea! Gentlemen, wid dis combined movement I plan to counter-attack de exposed flank of de Nabstrian advance! Prepare de troops: we begin de assault in five minutes!'

To loud 'hurrahs!' and the obligatory 'gottle a geer!' the battle enters its next stage: a stage in which the metaphysical horror is not at all ironic ...