So, Just a Siege Mortar, Then!

In the nearby trees, Colonel Jaspar von Hott looks at his second in command, Lt Colonel Krunk. Krunk is creating a rustling and crackling sound as he munches his way through some kind of snack that he draws from a small linen bag.
'Krunk!' says Hott, his moustache bristling. 'Stop that! This is supposed to be an ambush!' The colonel gestures through the foliage to the nearby track upon which can just be seen the flanks of a marching column of Nabstrian troops. To either side of the two officers three squadrons of cavalry are arrayed, a force that, collectively, comprise the Fenwickian volunteer cavalry regiment that is named Hott's Horse.
'Stop eating that snack!' continues Hott. 'You will give our position away before I can choose the perfect moment to attack!'
'Sorry, sir', says Krunk, trying unsuccessfully to chew more quietly. 'But these are so nice!'
Hott peers at the bag. 'What are you eating, anyway?'
Krunk waves the bag in the colonel's direction. 'Well, sir - they haven't really got a name. It is a recipe of my own devising: slices of very thin potato that I have deep fried in oil and then covered in salt and vinegar'.
Hott nods, impressed despite himself. 'They look very crisp. You could call them "crisps", perhaps'.
Krunk looks unconvinced. 'But they also smell so savoury and so tempting, sir: I think a better name might be "smells"'.
Hott considers this. 'A bag of smells? Fair enough, but I think you're missing a trick'.

Hott narrows his eyes and then raises his sabre. He could wait for the enemy column to head off down the road and then sweep into the enemy artillery park behind them. But the target in front is too tempting! 'First squadron, charge!' he roars, 'Charge!'

(Above) In a flurry of twigs, leaves, and spilled smells, the lead squadron of Hott's Horse thunders from the cover of the trees and piles into the flank of the hapless Nabstrian musketeers. Only real men, men of iron or some similarly robust metallurgical substance, could withstand the impetuous onslaught of the imperial cavalry; but the question of whether the musketeers have iron in them becomes rapidly irrelevent as they fail comprehensively to meet the first category of being proper men.

(Below) The cavalry attack drives the infantry back in disorder, though the cavalry do not acquit themselves as well, perhaps, as Hott would have liked. The Nabstrians are disordered, but they do not break. 'You loathsome, lazy hounds!' Hott shouts encouragingly to his men. 'You floppy-sausaged chicken chasers!' he adds supportively. 'Pull on your man pelisses and see this lot off!'

Though the cavalry do some savage work with their sabres, they have lost the momentum of their charge and they face thrice their number of enemy infantry. (Below) The infantry are again driven back with many losses. But Hott's squadron succeeds in losing a third of its men in the melee.

(Above) The commander of the Nabstrian infantry, clearly a saucy fellow, stands well to the front of his troops, brandishing a pistol menacingly. It would be even more menacing if it were loaded. The front company of infantry, sadly for Hott, have not made the same mistake. They level their muskets and fire! Saddles are emptied. Hott recognises that he must keep up the momentum of his attack and charges yet again!

The results are mutual destruction! The Nabstrian musketeers suffer terribly. One company routs; the remainder are left in no condition to fight. For Hott's first squadron, however, circumstances are no better. More horseman are lost in the final melee and the squadron is effectively destroyed. (Above) Local sheep look on warily as the musket-armed monkey boys of the Nabstrian army race past. Not for the first time the sheep thank their lucky stars that they dodged the bullet of developing opposable thumbs. If this is an example of civilisation and development then the sheep can only thank the Good Lord that their ancient antecedents turned down the invitations of their simian neighbours to join them in the trees.

In the meantime, the second and third squadrons of Hott's Horse have been otherwise occupied ...