Nothing to Refort!

Captain Stefan Andreas von Dreihumpe checks his pocket watch and then gazes eastwards into the fading light. The captain stands atop the bastion newly constructed by Fenwickian engineers to protect the approaches to Fort Pippin itself. Dreihumpe is very generally, and not in any legally provable way, in command of the garrison. To the untrained eye, this might seem to be a terrible choice by Imperial Fenwick on at least two counts. First, of course, Dreihumpe's recent performance in command of the defence of Fort Gertrude and the crossings of the River Strudel has proved to be one for which, in its skill and professionalism, even the word 'limp' would seem to be an enthusiastic over-exaggeration. Second is the small matter that Dreihumpe, captured in this fight, was only released on parole having given his word not to serve against the forces of the Spasmodic Sanction for the remainder of this war.

But needs must. Experience seems to have shown that though in the open field the Fenwickian troops might indeed be the 'spartans of Mittleheim', for the very particular demands of the kleine krieg they are to military effectiveness what a snake might be to the skilled execution of a night of vigorous Irish dancing. Dreihumpe, though he might be ill-educated, opinionated, brutal, judgemental, and vegetarian, is still the most experienced officer available for this sort of task. Of course, this leaves the not inconsequential matter of the captain's parole. Luckily for Fenwick, like all Mittleheim officers Dreihumpe is a man of his word: and that word is 'shifty'. If asked on oath, he could certainly avow to a hazy recollection of having promised in some way not to fight again against the forces of the Spasmodic Sanction; but he also 'could have sworn' that the phrase 'promise not fight against'  might actually have been 'promised not to do any cleaning for' - it was an emotional time, what with the shock of defeat, the slaughter of his command, and the soiling of his britches. In any case, Dreihumpe is clear in his own mind that he is not breaking any real promises. If pressed, say between two quite heavy weights, he no doubt would argue he just happens to be in the vicinity of the bastion and that, if an observer heard him 'giving orders' then this is just Dreihumpe musing out loud: if the soldiers around him decided to act on those deliberations then he certainly couldn't be held responsible.

Dreihumpe is certainly not, in any way that one could find written evidence for, in charge of three guns and two companies of infantry. Most of his troops are within the bastion. Their morale is high, a fact which Dreihumpe has put down to the surprising ease with which they seem to have found a supply of beer and skittles. A small force is on watch on the battlements. Drehumpe chews his lip and then says 'Damn and blast.'
'Never mind sir,' says a cheery sentry. 'The enemy are still far from this position, sir. Nothing to worry about at all.'
'Are you sure of that, soldier' asks the captain. 'Is there news from our outposts?'
'Yes, sir. Nothing at all to report.'
'Nothing, soldier?'
'No sir. We've been checking all of the wagons passing by, sir. You know - in case the enemy try for the old "dress up as peasants, hide in the hay wagon, seize the fort" routine.'
'Very enterprising' replies Dreihumpe.
'Thank you sir. And we've also been frisking peasant crones.'
'Ah yes,' nods Dreihumpe. 'To thwart the classic "dress up as old crones, pass the gate guards, seize the fort" gambit.'
'Yes sir. And we've been on the lookout for the arrival of any wooden horses.'
'And?' asks the captain with interest.
'None yet, sir. but we're still looking.'
'Hmmm' says Dreihumpe. 'And you're sure that the enemy aren't advancing upon us?'
'Yes sir. Not even if they cut branches, hid behind them and then approached our position like a strange moving forest.'
'Yet, I think soldier that, despite your best efforts, I can discern the arrival of the enemy.'
'What! What!' the troops on the bastion look alarmed.
'Well.' says Dreihumpe, drawing his sword and signalling back to the ramparts of Fort Pippin in the distance. 'I could claim that this intelligence I have divined from reading the movement of the forest animals; or from discerning the drumming of the ground; or, that because of a special gift from the mountain pixies I am able to communicate with animals and that a squirrel, named Roger, whom I befriended during my childhood, was willing to exchange intelligence of the enemy for his body weight in nuts. But actually,' he points, ' I can see them over there.'
'The squirrels sir, or the nuts?'
'No,' says the captain pointing. 'I should say that that line of figures in the distance would probably be the enemy.'
'Are they the enemy?' asks the sentry, wrinkling his brow. 'We challenged them earlier and then left them alone.'
'And you didn't think,' says Dreihumpe in a surprisingly phlegmatic tone, 'that they might be the an enemy force, whose devilish purpose might be to fall upon this fortification and wrest it from us?'
'Well, sir, they were quite rude when I asked them who they were. And they certainly had the look of an approaching enemy army, what with their musketeers, cavalry, artillery and siege train. It's just that we couldn't escape the feeling that it might be a trick.'
'A trick?'
'Yes sir - approaching us with Gelderland flags, an army and a siege train - it's a bit obvious.'

Dreihumpe sighs.
The soldier peers at the long column of enemy troops that begins to deploy in the far distance, well out of cannon shot.
'No wooden horses,' he whispers to himself. 'Who'd have believed it?'