Is that a Siege Mortar, Or Are You Just Pleased to See Me?

As the Fenwickian army reorganises after its great victory at Wuppenhas and recommences its march to Fort Pippin, our thoughts, dear reader, return once again to the prosecution of the seige of this key Fenwickian fortress. That Fort Pippin holds out is critical to Grand Fenwick if it is to maintain a buffer against the forces of the Spasmodic Sanction: for Fenwick is so small that its idea of strategic depth normally is to just open the windows a bit wider. Without this fortress, all is lost!

However, in the fortress, conditions have begun to deterioriate. Captain-Governor Schroedinger-Skatt strides purposefully into the chambers of one of his chief engineers, Major Gordon Sanitaire. The governor pauses, horrified by the pathetic sight. The engineer lies weakly upon his bed, his face pale and his frame emaciated. He is surrounded by piles of bread, sausages and onions.
'Mustard!' croaks the major. 'Mustard!'
'Damn and blast!' cries the governor to one of his servants. 'Get this man some condiments - can't you see that he is starving!'
Though supplies of mustard have been exhausted, the governor's servants are able to find some balsemic vinegar and small linen serviettes. With these, Major Sanitaire is able to take some food.
'How much ... how much longer can we hold out, sir?' asks Sanitaire faintly, between bites.
Schroedinger-Skatt frowns seriously. 'We must be relieved soon', he says. 'It would seem that sausage condiments are likely to be exhausted within the week: though this, I think, may be wurst-case thinking. Just as worrying is the rising clamour that the ordinary soldiers should be issued rations equivalent to those of the officers. The bakery guild, in particular, seems to have been infiltrated by such sedition. Some of the men, it would seem, have friends in pie places. But do not fear, major. For one of our messenger seagulls has brought news of a great victory by Marshal Cavandish: help is surely on the way!'

Indeed, dear reader, help may be even closer to hand. To this end, we turn our attention to the beseiging army of the Spasmodic Sanction. Or, to be more precise, to the artillery park that lies some way behind the trenches.

(Above) The artillery park contains a selection of Nabstrian siege artillery. Pride of place is given over to four enormous mortars. Their size, width of mouth, and enormous appetite for gunpowder have led the gunners to name each of these pieces, respectively, as "King Wilhelm", "Still King Wilhelm", "Ah ... King Wilhelm Again" and "Someone Else Who is Really, Really Fat and Greedy - Like King Wilhelm". This artillery is in the hands of a platoon of Nabstrian gunners. The effectiveness of the Nabstrian artillery in this siege has turned out to be inversely proportional to the quantities available of Faltaire's homeopathic gunpowder: peak performance being acheived once the latter had run out and had been replaced by ordinary propellant. Luckily for the Nabstrian gunners, Faltaire has been too busy on other projects to restock his special gunpowder/sand mix. With Burgrave Falco keen to develop the naval capabilities of his state, Faltaire has been focused on a  new and special project the aim of which is to cross a cow with a shark: whatever it produces, no one is likely to be in a hurry to milk it.

(Below) Also in the artillery park are the engineering stores for the Gelderland seige forces. This equipment is being maintained by a platoon of Gelderland pioneers. If these pioneers, and the nearby Nabstrian artillerymen, were to be badly cut up (say, for example, by several squadrons of enemy cavalry rampaging through the camp) then this would be a sore blow to the beseiging forces.

In the distance can be heard the occasional sound of artillery fire. The artillery park is some way from the main siege, a distance dictated by the desire to avoid Fenwickian cannon fire and also to reduce the consequences of a potential powder explosion. As an added benefit, it makes it more difficult for Gelderland musketeers to feed their proclivity for sniffing gun powder. This habit had to be stamped on early on in the seige (though stamped on very carefully, to avoid igniting the powder). The potential dangers of sniffing gunpowder and then lighting their pipes should have been obvious to the wretched Gelderland soldiers. But the musketeers still seemed oblivious even after several had been found off their heads - by which we mean, of course, that they were found with their heads well off (and separated from their bodies by a distance most unconducive to the effective performance of their duties).

(Below) The artillery park, with the the engineers to the left and the guns to the right. To the top left of this woodcut can be seen on the road in column the garrison troops - a unit of Nabstrian musketeers.

(Above, at the bottom) Guarding the bridge that leads to the artillery park is a platoon of Nabstrian jager. As the morning mist lifts they stumble, grumbling, from their billet and prepare to mount guard. The troops begin to assemble ready for inspection. The outcome of this inspection is a forgone conclusion. The troops look, as all Mittelheim troops tend to do, like a collection of lower primates that have just rummaged through a children's dressing-up box.*

(Above) On the road, the main garrison of the artillery park, a battalion of Nabstrian troops, begins to to make its way from the position, its destination the main camp. At this moment, another battalion is marching from the main camp to take their place here at the artillery park. This is, no doubt, a key moment of weakness in the defences; or at least, an even greater moment of weakness that the other pretty weak moments that characterise the defence of this vital encampment. For, if the Fenwickians had managed to organise, say, a few squadrons of volunteer cavalry behind the Spasmodic Sanction lines, then this would be the perfect moment to attack. Actually, this moment probably would not be the perfect moment to attack: probably, it would be better to wait a few more moments for this infantry unit to move much further away from the encampment. Yes, on reflection, this moment might not be the best time to launch a ... ooh hang on - what's this? In the trees to the right of them, there emanates a strange rustling and crackling sound ...



* Just to be clear: by 'primates' here, we mean monkeys and such and not bishops. The latter, of course, are much  better dressed than the former but are more likely to start a fight with one another.