Jangthof, the Third!

'Damn the artillery!' cries Furst Augustus Saxe-Peste. 'To blazes with them, Wankrat! What contribution have the cannon ever made to my army except, perhaps, as unusually large and not very practical paperweights! Let the enemy hack down our guns - it will slow down their cavalry, speed up our rate of march, and also give me a warm fuzzy feeling inside! Continue the advance!'

(Below) The furst pushes forward his infantry again, ignoring the threat to his artillery. This time, however, he does order two regiments to turn to face the cavalry. The front ranks of his infantry are now within volley range of the enemy.

In the Wurstburp headquarters, Prince Karl von Porckenstauffen, known unpopularly as 'Bunnie Prince Karlie' because of his pronounced front teeth, turns in his saddle and gesticulates towards General Bazyli Antonin Unpronunski.
'We must advance with our cavalry! Throw them into the attack!'
The general shakes his head. 'I fear that the close presence of our opponent's infantry means that there is too much else to do. Our first task is to fire our volleys against the advancing enemy musketeers, and then  ...' But before the general can finish his sentence, the attacking Rotenburgers fire first!
'What! What!' says Prince Karl. 'How have they fired first?'
'An enemy stratagem has afflicted us', says a breathless Adjutant von Hardtpumping.
'Gah!' expectorates the prince. 'An enemy stratagem. Let me guess - something has been discovered that wasn't on our map?'
'No, no, my lord, not that. Though it usually is, of course', Hardtpumping adds.
'Oh - it's worse is it!' curses Prince Karl. 'Of course it is. Has one of our heroes died? Or have we been struck by confusion! Or the sudden and unexpected advance without orders of one of our regiments in the heat of the battle! No, no! It couldn't be anything as simple as that! Let me guess, adjutant: there's been a "Death of a That's Not on the Heat of the Confusion" has there?'

'Calm yourself, prince', says the general. 'So they have stolen first fire. See - their volley is as ineffectual as the enforcement of Italian tax legislation. Only against our artillery have they had any success. And there, our cannon are surely protected by their gabions'.

'Gabions', says the prince, as if testing the word for the first time. 'Ah'.

(Above) 'No gabions!' says Unpronunski incredulously. 'But even in the armies of Mittelheim, isn't placing defensive bastions for our guns practically an unwritten rule - so, don't talk to strangers; never trust a Sicilian; always dig your guns in'.
'I thought that it was important to maintain the mobility of our guns' replies Karl defensively.
'Mobility?' says the general aghast. 'But I don't understand - why do the guns need to be mobile? What did you intend that the artillery would do? Cross country rallying? Three point reversing? Handbrake turns?'
Bereft of defensive protection, one of the Wurstburp batteries suffers heavy casualties to its crew. Many lie on the ground, or are draped over their pieces, moaning. This is not in itself unusual, of course, but in this case it is indicative of a variety of unpleasant and mortal wounds, not all of them self-inflicted.

The Wurstburp infantry return fire, but it is a weak volley with all the destructive power of a suggestive wink. Perhaps the margravial artillery can disrupt the enemy assault, instead?
The Wurstburp artillerymen look on in some surprise as orders are delivered to load with canister.
'What with what?' asks a cannoneer.
'Load. With canister,' replies Hardtpumping.
'But adjutant', says one fellow. 'Can I recommend that instead of canister, we employ the most modern scientific knowledge to pummel the enemy with our guns?'
'What would that be', asks Hardtpumping suspiciously.
'Phlogisticated gunpowder. I have read the latest works of the noted scientist Faltaire. We must heavily dilute our gunpowder with sand. Lots and lots of sand'.
'And that will crush the enemy infantry, will it?' asks the adjutant
'Scientifically proven', promises the gunner.
'But canister surely will crack their lines', replies Hardtpumping.
'And sand will surely line their cracks', replies the artilleryman. 'It will chafe them terribly. Manoeuvre will be impossible!'
Whilst his intuition screams "No, no, no, no, no - crapness occurring!", Hardtpumping likes to think of himself as a man of the Enlightenment, and so he says instead 'Well, why not?'
The answer to that question is provided by the volley of canister fire propelled by Faltaire's homeopathic gunpowder recipe, which results in a explosion comparable to the sound emitted from a small rabbit breaking wind. The canister itself never sees fit to leave the comforting confines of the gun barrels.

Following the mutual exchange of volley-fire, efforts on both sides are made to rally the troops, using the usual array of carrots and sticks: that is, threats are made to stick carrots in places that one wouldn't normally store them for the winter.

(Above) However, the Wurstburp discomfort gets progressively more intense. More Rotenburg musketry rolls along the line. The crew of one Wurstburp battery are cut to pieces and flee. The conscript battalions, formed in mass, are especially vulnerable to the lethal volleys of their enemy and take heavy casualties. When the Wurstburp infantry returns the volley fire, the results are limper than a one-legged triple-jumper.

To try and rectify matters, a Wurstburp cleric is called forward and deployed.
'Have another go, my fine fellows!' cries the cleric. 'For did not David, when confronted by the Philistine Goliath, launch an initial volley of sling stones; but then cry "Dammit, snakes eyes: I've missed them all". And did not Goliath then laugh and say unto David: "Verily, you have missed with some quite dismal hit rolls, and now I shall leap upon you and tear off your ears and shove them up your bottom; so that you will no longer here the sounds of birds, or music, but will instead hear only the sounds of your rear end". And did not David then fall to his knees and pray really hard to God, saying something like: "Dear God - please do not let my initial missed attacks stand; let me have another go". And God, surveying the combat looked upon David; and then he sayeth, or did sayeth, or whatever worked grammatically in those days: "David, verily, I have considered your request; and I have seen your ears; and I consider them good; and do not wish them to be pushed up your bottom; for then you will hear only your backside and not the words of God. Have another goeth at your attack".
'And then Goliath did wail, and gnash his teeth, and sayeth or whatever, rude things about God; saying that God was a false god, and not a true god; and that besides, God was much too fat to be the proper object of a monotheistic religion. And God then pointed out to Goliath that he might regretteth those badly chosen insults; and that he was the One True God; and that he was in any case considering going on a diet; and he blessed David's sling.'
'And David did pick up his sling and launched another volley; and all of these hit; and Goliath was slain. And David then did say in joy "Yay!" and he praised the name of God; and then asked, since God was here, if he would give him a better looking wife.'
Inspired by this rather loose interpretation of events in the bible, the Wurstburp musketeers launch another fusillade at their enemy. When the smoke clears, however, the results, if anything, are worse than their original attack. The cleric pulls a face and then tip-toes off quietly.

'We must advance the cavalry!' says Karl urgently, surveying the situation through his telescope.
'There is no time, my lord. There are other things to do!' says Hardtpumping.
'But the battle hangs in the balance!' replies Karl. 'I can see the enemy infantry preparing to ... oooh, those are nice uniforms', he says, his attention alighting upon the Rotenburg Legion Britannique. 'Yes, a lovely shade of ... teal, I think. Very fetching. And I can see their commanding officer. What a splendid looking fellow. What a fetching moustache, and tiny button nose. How shapely his legs are. How well he fills out the top half of his coat. What an usually seductive way of marching ...'. The prince suddenly turns to Unpronunski. 'My, er, my spyglass is dirty. I need, er, I need to go to my tent and polish my telescope'. But before Karl can turn his horse, the general grabs his reins.
'No, no, Prince Karl! You cannot leave again at the critical point of a battle! Our choices are to advance with our cavalry, or to launch a bayonet charge with our infantry! What do you advise?'
Karl says hastily, 'General, there is only one sensible option ...'