Siege!

Four days have passed since the successful Imperial defence of the outer bastion of Fort Pippin. Finally, two evenings ago, this outer work necessarily was abandoned by its garrison after the arrival of a Nabstrian siege train, with its selection of impressively large mortars. Still, the failure of the forces of the Spasmodic Sanction on the first night to storm  the bastion has lengthened the siege by days, increasing the chances of the arrival of a relief force. The investing army must now work much faster to dig its parallels and approach trenches.

On the battlements of Fort Pippin, Captain-Governor Schroedinger-Skatt surveys the growing web of enemy entrenchments in front of the Imperial positions. Major Gordon Sanitaire, an engineer in the employ of Imperial Fenwick, is with him. They survey the siege works completed by the enemy during the night.
'The enemy are improving.' says the governor.
'Aye, indeed, my lord, they are,' says Sanitaire. 'They seem tae have stopped making yon little castles of sand wie the small flags sticking out them.'
'I did wonder they got the sea shells from,' nods Schroedinger. 'And their artillery redoubts?'
'Facing towards us this time. They even seem finally tae be getting the hang of right angles. Our defensive fire last night was only able tae inflict limited casualties.'
The governor points. 'What's that tall thing over there on the left?'
'Och, sir, that wud be the head of a mine.'
'Should we not be taking counter measures?' asks Schroedinger. 'Is this not the time to be digging a counter-mine?'
'Och, no need , sir. The mine shaft broke surface yesterday.'
'Short of our defences?'
'Aye, sir. Under a tavern aboot a quarter o' a mile behind their lines.'
'The locals must have been surprised,' says the governor.
'Aye, sir,' says the major. 'And angry. When the enemy engineer detonated the mine, apparently the blast made all of the ale frothy. And, of course, it killed everybody.'

The two men turn to face one another. The engineer purses his lips with concern. 'How stands the supply situation, my lord? With the arrival lately of that supply column, I cannae think but that we're well provisioned?'
'Indeed, my good major. In terms of ammunition and powder, we are plentifully supplied. But in relation to our provender there are some worrying shortages.'
'But,' says Sanitaire, 'There seems tae be no shortage of food!'
The governor nods. 'No shortage of bread, mutton, or wine, yes. But,' he shakes his head. 'What about the condiments? At full ration we have only a few days supply of mustard, and not much more in the way of gherkins or pickled leeches. And napkins,' he shakes his head sadly, 'I just don't see how they can be made to last.'
Sanitaire grimaces. 'And food wi' out mustard and napkins ...' his brow furrows sorrowfully. 'Barbarism.'
The governor nods in agreement. 'Indeed, yes major. One minute it's doing without mustard and napkins, and the next ...'
'Chaos,' says the major. 'Ruin. Anarchy. We might be forced tae ration out the condiments equally; and that can only lead tae ...'
'Democracy,' agrees Schroedinger. 'Or at the very least some form of dangerously representative government.'
'Hoots, noots, and porridge oots!' blasphemes the major. 'But, is it nae said that nae enemy has taken Fort Pippin while there were men left tae defend it?'
'No it isn't,' says the governor. 'It fell a few years ago when the garrison was driven out by some nuns who had been hammering the communion wine. And then a time before that, the garrison quit the fortress when night fell because they were scared of the dark. Both of those instances were better, though, than the time the garrison musketeers routed when, after inadvertently watching a troupe of mime artists, they thought that they had all gone deaf.'
'Well, my lord,' says the major. 'Then we must hope to be rescued sooner rather than later.' He scans the horizon. 'Where is our relief force?'