Cry Havoc, and Let Slip the Dog Hair of War!

The target of the assault is the enemy's third parallel. These defensive works have continued to be extended. Their immediate defence is in the hands of two companies of infantry and some artillery. Further defending troops are positioned in the second parallel, but in the dark they are, like one of King Wilhelm's furballs, likely to take a little while to bring up. At the far end of the parallel, Nabstrian pioneers are as busy as one might expect from military workmen - which is to say, they are having a hot beverage, whilst sucking their teeth and commenting on the many ways in which the task at hand is likely to take longer and be more expensive than first anticipated.

(Below) The Nabstrian pioneers are working on the approach trench towards Fort Pippin's glacis. Once this trench has reached the glacis, the glacis itself can be 'crowned':  that is, batteries will be positioned on top of it. Then, the cannon will begin directly to bombard the nearest Fenwickian bastion, with the intention of neutralising it: or, as any nearby nuns might term it 'shooting the XXXX out of it'. To the casual eye, it might seem as if the balance in the pioneers' work between digging and sitting on their backsides playing cards is weighted more towards the latter than Vauban, certainly, might have recommended. But, as any self-respecting Fenwickian orphan knows, sieges can be risky propositions and sensible folk should take precuations - such as lying down a lot and making toast.

For the Nabstrians, events are afoot that are likely to lead at the very least to some burnt crumpets. and possibly even some eye-watering adventures with a toasting fork. The Fenwickian grenadiers have exited the covered way as quietly as they can (below), and now make their way down the glacis. Once they have reached the bottom (not something that can actually be said out loud in Fenwick), they will divide. One column will seek to strike the pioneers digging the new approach trench. The other will concern itself with destroying as much of the other trenches as they can get their hands on.

From the bastion, Governor Schroedinger-Skatt peers into the gloom (below).
'There they go. Probably', he says, pointing vaguely at the blackness in front of him.
'When, sir, might we know if they have arrived at the enemy?', asks Colonel Gordon Sanitaire.
'I suppose that we will know because of the noise, confusion, screams of fear and cries for mercy', the governor replies. 'After that, perhaps we might also hear something from the enemy'.

(Below) Miraculously, the two assault columns manage generally to head in the right direction, despite the inevitable deviation caused by the darkness. Orientating on the smell of toast, the left-hand force heads directly for what seems to be the main site of the enemy works. The other troops continue towards the right. They are encumbered with all of the paraphenalia required to make a terrible mess of the besieging trenches - picks, shovels, chamber pots, and a quantity of the sort of dog hair that just can't be brushed out easily. To maximise the confusion caused to the enemy, they have also brought some crossword puzzles and a copy of the rules of war (excellent condition; as new; unused; but slight soiling on the entry for 'Prisoners: the Tying up and Beating of'').

(Above) Captain Dreihumpe we could say with some accuracy is 'positioned firmly in the rear'. In reality, however, it would actually be better no to say it, because in Fenwick, with their tiresome sensitivity to double entendre, saying such things out loud would certainly accrue a fine; or, if accompanied by the word 'column', perhaps even a prison sentence. As the captain stalks forward carefully behind his troops, he is struck by an unwelcome feeling of optimism - thus far, things have gone well. This is always, always a bad sign ...