Wallenover, the Sixth!

Whilst the footguard use volley fire, Rentall hurls Count Orlok's regiment forwards. The results are decisive. Though the Vulgarians may sport comedically laughable uniforms from a previous age of war, they prove to be deadly in this combat, the Wurstburpians suffering an experience somewhat analogous to being tickled under their arms with a feather whilst, simultaneously, being fed through a mangle on its smallest setting. With a single volley the Vulgarian guards shatter both of Bragge's regiments. Bragge himself manages to survive and joins a nearby regiment. Count Orlok's regiment goes in with the bayonet against a third enemy regiment, driving it from the field. (Below) The Vulgarians have cleared all three enemy regiments from their front!

(Below, bottom right) The earl of Bragge has joined the nearest Wurstburpian regiment: the errant unit that has finally cleared the marsh. The improvement in the Vulgarian position is clear to see.In the Vulgarian headquarters, the mood has lightened considerably. Cameron von Muller claps his hands delightedly as reports are received at Rentall's headquarters of the collapse in Unpronunski's attack. To do this, he has to lay aside the small watercolour painting that he has been working on during the battle: as an artillery commander, he really has very little to do except work on his hobbies and make weak jokes about having his barrel polished.
'I wouldn't like to be in Unpronunski's shoes!' says Muller, beaming.
'Neither would I,' agrees Duke Neucheim. 'He has such tiny feet.'

(Below, top right) We can just see, dear reader, with their red uniforms and red-cross-on-white flag, the Vulgarian footguards. This unit is about to exit the woodcut and so, alas, our story. However, it is as well to recount their further exploits because they do indeed continue to have an impact upon the battle. Rentall continues to push the unit forwards, even though it then leaves them rather out on a limb, because by doing so he brings them within volley range of the isolated Wurstburp regiment, now commanded by the earl of Bragge, that is positioned just beyond the marsh. As events, as we shall see, unfold elsewhere on the battlefield, the guards continue a musketry duel with this Wurstburp regiment. It is, alas for the earl of Bragge, an unequal duel, since the Vulgarians are in line whereas the Wurstburpians are in a mass that reduces their firing and makes them a better target. Inevitably, Bragge's troops have the worst of things and eventually rout the field. This time, however, there is no lucky escape for the earl. Trying to rally his troops with a stirring 'I've never liked you, you lazy bast ...' the earl is caught in the throat by a musket ball. His final words are an enigmatic 'Urrg! Urgh! *gurgle* Blargh!' and he then slips from his horse. With the loss of this regiment and also of this fine notable, the Wurstburp army's morale sinks alarmingly.

(Above) The margravial army, however, seems to have quite a relaxed attitude to danger helped, no doubt, by the fact that so many of them are actually dead. The Wurstburpians still seem committed to seeing this battle through. Having conducted an about turn, Unpronunski orders his remaining troops to march towards the Vulgarian line. He has only four of his original nine infantry regiments in the field. However, since Rentall had only five to begin with and has lost one; and since his footguards are now far away engaged in their musketry duel with Bragge's regiment, the Vulgarians have only three infantry regiments to hand at the critical point.

Two figures stand amongst the piles of Wurstburp dead.
'Have you been drinking?' asks Death suspiciously.
'Maybe,' replies Cheese. 'Maybe not.'
Death looks at him. If it were possible for his eyes to narrow, they would be mere slits.
'I think that you have been drinking,' he says. 'The evidence for which would include the bottles poking out of the tops of your pockets and also the fact that you are holding your scythe the wrong way round; a practice that is, may I say, as dangerous as it is inefficient.'
'Ahhhhhh,' says Cheese jovially. 'You got me. Anyway, what's the harm? This is thirsty work. Besides -  Cheese and wine, we go well together.'
'The harm, my young and strange-smelling apprentice, is that you aren't fulfilling properly your duties. Look,' Death gestures to the piles of bodies that mark the remains of Bragge's regiments. 'Look what a meal you are making of all of this. A mole with cataracts would be more precise.'
'So I missed a few swings.'
'Swings?' retorts Death. 'What you are doing is not "swinging". What are doing with that mortal instrument would make "flailing" seem like precision surgery. You keep missing the heart. Look at that poor fellow. You have missed his heart and instead swept your scythe through his ... his bottom.'
'I've scythed his arse?'
'Yes.'
'He is arseless?'
'In the Halls Beyond,' continues Death, 'they are at this minute receiving the results of your handiwork, and imagine their surprise when, instead of a crop of  precious souls, what instead appears is ....'
'Arses.' says Cheese. 'What will they do with them?'
'I don't know,' says Death tetchily. 'Put them to one side ... or... store them somehow until the rest arrives.'
'There's an arse warehouse?' asks Cheese with interest.
'Cease this,' says Death with finality. 'Stop imbibing wine and instead apply yourself to your task. I sense that this battle is about to reach its final chapter ...'

Unpronunski snaps shut his telescope.
'We must go forwards, Prince Karl,' he says. 'I may be inexperienced, but it seems plain to me that our men need our close leadership in this final chapter of our desperate enterprise.'
'But that will be very, very dangerous,' says Karl, wrinkling his nose.
'We have no choice,' replies the general. 'It is time to tempt fate; to tweak the nose of danger; to call on Lady Luck and tell her that she might have put on a bit of weight.'
Prince Karl says something but Unpronunki cannot hear it - the reason for this being not unrelated to the fact that Karl seems to be encouraging his horse to move away from the general at a gallop.
Unpronunski frowns. 'I can't help noticing, Prince, that you seem to be increasing the distance between yourself and our troops; whereas, I am quite sure that central to the notion of an advance is that the distance should decrease.'
Karl shouts something. It might contain a reference to "reserves"; or "baggage"; or possibly "porridge"; but, whatever his words, they are clearly linked to a desire on his part to adopt a more relaxed form of mission command, his mission being to command from a distance several days march from this battlefield.

(Above, left) Shrugging, the general joins his remaining four regiments and leads them forwards in one last desperate assault. Four regiments face three, in Unpronunski's final throw of the dice. As the infantry's drums roll rhythmically, the general rides forwards with his men.
'We may yet pull this off,' he says to an aide de campe. 'See, two of our regiments have a clear run past the Vulgarian flank - we can then wheel and charge them ...'
Suddenly, Unpronunski's horse makes sploshing sounds. The aide looks down and says 'Hang on, sir: a marsh? But that's not on the ...'
'Don't say it!' says the general slumping. 'Because if you're going to say what I think that you're going to say, then I'm going to be very. very angry ...'