Wallenover, the Second!

With loud 'huzzahs!' the soldiers of Badwurst-Wurtburp march purposefully forwards. The Margarvate's musketeers advance with all of the vigour and confidence that comes from never having been in a battle before. As the distance closes between the battle lines of the two armies, the artillery of both sides each provide the traditional Mittelheim supporting fire: which is to say, a small one, upon which they make themselves hot beverages to while away the time spent watching the fight between the infantry. The Margravate's cavalry provide protection to the left of Unpronunski's line. Left to their own devices to decide how best this should be done, the cavalry apply a doctrinal approach based upon the principle of not moving or doing anything at all.

(Above) The notables Jonathan, Earl of Bragge and Boris Katsonov are committed to the command of front-line units. With the help of these experienced professionals, the Wurstburp line advances quickly, all gleaming bayonets and marvellously executed drill. With its units formed into mass, the Margravate's army has concentrated a considerable proportion of its combat power against the weakly held Vulgarian positions to their front, some of which seem to be defended only by sheep. Amidst the dense units of infantry, Wurstburpian clerics are hard at work, stirring the troops' martial ardour with inspiring declamations based upon all of the usual themes most prominent in religious doctrine: heaven for the faithful; hell-fire for the enemy; damnation for those who covet their neighbour's oxes. The clerics succeed in working themselves into quite a lather. In Wurstburp, Catholicism has been given quite a local make-over, the church there having  removed some of the most robust and logical doctrinal elements of the Catholic faith (fish on Fridays and the kissing of Bishops' rings) and replacing them with additional helpings of intolerance, narrow-mindedness, and, reflecting the impact of Jacobite immigration, porridge.

The Wurstburp line halts when it reaches within musket range of the Vulgarian irregular cavalry positioned in the marsh. General Unpronunski, seeing this through his telescope, orders Prince Karl forward.
'Go hence, Prince Karl - lead our troops from the front! Push the enemy from the difficult ground and sweep leftwards to roll up the enemy line!'
Prince Karl chews his lip for a moment, considering his reply.
'Well general,' says Karl. 'I could give you my diplomatic answer to that order; or I could give you my undiplomatic answer.'
Unpronunski thinks about this. He is an old gentlemen, who prefers to maintain where possible a civilised atmosphere in his headquarters. 'I should say that I would prefer your diplomatic answer.'
The prince nods. 'Then I must say in answer to your request, general "Bog off, you haddock-faced squirrel tickler."'
The general looks shocked. 'So you're not going to lift a finger to help our forces?'
'Au contraire, general. I am going to lift this finger,' says Prince Karl, raising the middle digit of his right hand and extending it towards Unpronunski. 'Which I think should communicate fairly clearly my feelings about my likely involvement in this enterprise. What you are asking is really quite dangerous to my person.'
'Hmmm,' replies Unpronunski. 'I feel that I have to say, Prince Karl, that, inexperienced though I am in the ways of war, I believe that it is normal presumption in military organisations that, as you are under my command, you in fact are compelled to obey my orders.'
'Sadly, general, since I am of the house of Porckenstauffen, your authority over me is weaker than a haggis helmet.'
There is a pause. The general sighs dejectedly.
'Is my face really reminiscent of a haddock?'
The prince considers this carefully for a moment. 'There is certainly a ... piscine quality to it. Or perhaps something dolphinish. And crab-like. I think that it is your wobbly lips.'
'Oh,' says the general sadly. 'And the squirrel tickling?'

'I made that up,' admits Karl. 'But it certainly sounds like the sort of morally questionable activity that might be engaged in by fish-faced people.'

'Dish dushent look good,' says General Hertz van Rentall to no one in particular. At the Vulgarian headquarters, it is clear that the Voivodate's army is in some difficulties. After only a short period of time, the main Wurstburpian infantry line is within range of the Vulgarian irregular cavalry in the marsh. Though the initial enemy volleys largely are ineffective, the irregulars cannot reply and are no match for the musketeers in a frontal attack. It is a mark of Vulgaria's lack of options that (below, top right), Ranald Drumpf, Principal Councillor and, at the moment commander of the Vulgarian troops, is forced to order his artillery to open fire.

'Councillor Drumpf!' calls von Neucheim. 'What is our plan!'
Drumpf brushes crumbs from his waistcoat and then, rather theatrically, he flourishes a large sheet of paper in front of the rest of the officers.
'Behold!' he says.
There is a moment of silence. In the background, the sound of fighting continues.
General Rentall raises an eyebrow. 'Itsh, ah ... itsh a piesh of paper.'
'It contains my plan!'
Rentall raises the eyebrow a little higher. 'Itsh, ah ... itsh a blank piesh of paper.'
'Precisely!' says Drumpf, waving his little hands. 'I refuse to conform to predictable military thinking! We must be agile! We must be adaptable! This is a beautiful moment - really beautiful. In having no plan, we also have every plan!'
'I don't understand' says von Neucheim.
'Gottle a geer,' adds Baron Tostov.
'I'm pushing forward the frontiers of military thinking,' replies Drumpf.
'Hmm,' says von Neucheim. 'I can only assume then that those frontiers are quite close, because I don't think that this plan is going to get us very far.'
'No, no, I can assure you that it is a splendid plan!' retorts Drumpf.
At that moment, a breathless courier arrives, ending the disagreement. 'My lords! Disastrous confusion in our ranks!'

(Above) And indeed, it would seem that conditions for the Vulgarians have further worsened! Whether through bad luck, fate, the friction of war, or congenital idiocy, the left flank Vulgarian battalion wheels rightwards and advances against the Wurstburp line! In doing so, it masks the supporting artillery and exposes its flank to flanking fire and an enemy charge.
'Dammit! Dammit!' Ignoring Drumpf, a cursing van Rentall spurs his horse towards the emerging crisis.
Drumpf looks confused and non-plussed. 'Is this bad? Is something bad happening?' He turns to Cameron von Muller. 'Von Muller - what do you think?'
'Well,' replies Muller. 'The word, "cack" seems to be jigging around at the front of my mind, shouting "Pick me! Pick me!" I should say that we are in a spot of bother.'
Drumpf bridles. 'What about my battle plan?'

'You don't have a battle plan,' says Neucheim. 'You just have a sheet of paper and some honking sounds.'

Drumpf listens for the moment to the rising tide of battle. The he says decisively: 'I have an idea. I'll be back in a minute. Victory is assured.'
'Excellent,' replies Muller.
'That's splendid,' says Neucheim.
Muller and Neucheim wait for a while.
'He's not coming back is he,' says Muller.