Wallenover, the Third!

'Ish it shupposed to bend like dat?' asks General Hertz van Rentall to the colonel of the Vulgarian Regiment Blasco.
The colonel looks startled, and then looks down guiltily. 'I've never had any complaints,' he replies ruefully. 'I walked into a rake and I ...'
'No, no!' replies the general. 'I mean our line! Why ish our line bent like dat? Why ish your regiment showing itsh flank to da enemy, mashking our guns, and generally shtinking up our position like a dead fish in an orangery?'
'Oh ... oh,' says the colonel. 'I don't know. I got confused. Suddenly confused. And now my regiment is finished ... finished. Doomed! The enemy will fall upon us, and there is nothing to be done about it! Nothing! Doom! Gloom! We are in for a mightily weighty shoeing at the hands of the villainous Wurstburpians! We can do nothing but bless the souls of our lads, pray to God for their immortal souls, and then shovel up their remains.'
Rentall nods. 'Or', he suggests, 'we could jusht order dem back into line. And not do any volley fire.'
The colonel considers this. 'Yes, I suppose we could do that also.'

(Above, at the top) With quick orders from general Rentall, Regiment Blasco simply wheels back into line and the sudden crisis is over. Indeed, since the Regiment Blasco is still within the requisite supporting distance of the remainder of the Vulgarian battle line, Rentall is able also to give other orders to this force. It's time to give the Wurstburpians a taste of their own medicine. And since their medicine, in common with the rest of Mittelheim, consists generally either of various forms of leeches, or amputations with blunt household tools, its unlikely to be pleasant for them.

(Below, at the bottom) Rentall orders the Liebgarde Feratu-Osterberg and the Grand Prior's Regiment into march column: these he intends to shift across to his other flank. (Below, middle) But the shrewd Dutchman also  senses an opportunity. The Wurstburpians themselves have an exposed flank. He orders Count Orlok's Regiment to wheel left. Though the regiment might face a tough fight against the sheep to their front, once they have overcome this four-legged forlorn hope, they will able to threaten the advancing enemy attack columns.

A little way off, two figures, dressed in black, are in an argument. 'Where's your knife?' asks Death in a bemused fashion. 'I lent you one of my knives - where is it?'

Cheese glowers. 'Why can't I have a scythe? Please let me have a scythe. Pleeeeeeeeeeese. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.'

Death shakes his head, an act which makes his jaw wobble slightly alarmingly. 'Look. We've been through this. A scythe is a dangerous weapon. I can't give one to an inexperienced apprentice. You need some practice with something smaller. You need to pass some courses. Get some certificates.'

'Please, please, please, please, please,' says Cheese falling to his knees and clasping his hands together in supplication. 'It's why I signed up. You have the largest weapon amongst all of the reapers of souls. Not even War has a bigger chopper than you.'

Death pauses. 'What has Lady Luck been saying?'

'Please, please, please, please, please. I'll be careful,' promises Cheese. 'I'll look after it myself - clean it and so on.'

Death is silent for a moment, and then sighs despairingly. 'Fine. Fine. But if you lop something off from yourself by accident, don't come running to me. Of course, if it's a leg that you lop off, you certainly won't be able to come running to me. But if that's the case, don't even bother to hop, crawl, or otherwise perambulate in my direction either.'
'Thank you! Thank you!' says Cheese excitedly. 'You won't be disappointed!' He pauses. 'Actually, previous experience suggests that you might well be slightly disappointed. And also perhaps a bit disgusted. You might, for example, throw up a little bit in your mouth.'
'Go!' says Death holding up a hand. 'Just go and do as I've shown you, apprentice!'

At the Vulgarian headquarters, Rentall is busy issuing orders. Volleys have been exchanged between the main bodies of the respective armies. But now is the time for the Voivodate to seize the initiative. Pointing towards Count Orlok's Regiment, the general declares boldly: 'I intend dat we should launch an immediate bayonet charge with Orlok's troops. It will terrify da enemy.' Rentall looks at the assembled officers. Their faces evince a lack of enthusiasm not seen since Attila the Hun was invited to a workshop on inclusivity and diversity.
'Hmmm - you sheem unconvinshed.' says Rentall.
Cameron von Muller nods. 'I've seen our bayonet charges. They're rubbish.'
The general looks a little hurt. 'Really? But da fierce onshet of cold shteel ....'
'... like being poked gently by a very elderly, and especially infirm, relative,' finishes Muller.

Rentall snorts. 'Dish ish no time for faint heartsh! Forward to victory!'
With a gesture, the orders are given! (Above) With a loud 'hurrah!' Orlok's troops charge!
'No - this is terrible!' wails Muller.
'It's a disaster! We'll fail!' cries Duke von Neucheim.
'I have a good feeling about dis!' says Rentall.
The target of the assault is a regiment of Wurstburp mercenaries. Taken in the flank, things don't look good for them. Moreover Count Orlok's Regiment is composed of elite musketeers. But the Margravial troops have the benefit of their faith: surely the mere metal of the Vulgarian bayonets is no match for the righteousness of the Wurstburpian cause! To the rear, a Wurstburp cleric inspires the troops.
'Fear nothing, my brave fellows!' he cries. 'Fear not the evil ox coveters! Let them not look upon your oxes and say such things as "I really covet that"! Believe in God, and your faith will protect your oxes, and probably also all other similar domestic beasts of burden!' 
There is a brief and savage fight.

(Above) But the Vulgarians are too strong! The Margravate's mercenaries are routed, and the Vulgarians are now on the flanks of their enemies.

Across the field, General Unpronunski surveys these dispiriting events through his telescope.
Prince Karl turns to the general. 'We must break the enemy before they can roll up our line! Order a general advance across the whole of our force!'
Unpronunski nods. 'I have carefully considered the situation, Prince Karl, and I have decided to order a general advance across the whole of our force!'
Cheering breaks out up and down the Wurstburp line as their massed columns storm forwards with the bayonet ....