The pioneers are just the sort of adversaries that the Fenwickian grenadiers are keen on: surprised, poorly-equipped auxiliaries, armed with little more than shovels and slices of toast. If they are perhaps a little more alert than the Fenwickians would like, by being mainly awake and dressed, they make up for this in having the very low commitment to a fight that comes from being both poorly paid and from Mittelheim.
(Above) 'Attack! Charge!' mimes Captain Dreihumpe loudly. Luckily, in the dark his troops can't see the captain, because the frenetic and exaggerated waves of his hat and pistol look less like an imperative command to charge the enemy and more like a medical emergency precipitated by an excess of port and opiates. With a loud shout, the grenadiers swarm forward, their attack column spilling into the enemy trench. The ensuing hand-to-hand combat is of the sort favoured by Mittelheim troops: in other words, their isn't one. (Below) Terrified, the pioneers don't even wait for the enemy to contact them: instead, they drop everything except their toast, and rapidly decamp the position. Making the judgement that the best contribution that they can make to fight is to engage in a quick tactical repositioning, they sprint off into the night to reposition themselves somewhere that has more protection and fewer screaming enemy grenadiers.
(Above) Not all of the defenders are so easily cowed, however. There is a thunderous crash of musketry from the left. Spotting the attacking troops, the nearest enemy infantry company fires off a volley into the night. Luckily for Dreihumpe, the casualties are small - both of them, in fact, are under five feet four in height, and also very unpopular, so that the losses effect no serious check upon the impetus of the grenadiers' advance.
(Below) The left-hand column moves swiftly into the enemy position. Recognising that in surprise attacks, momentum and initiative are everything, or at least something, Dreihumpe orders the troops to sweep along the enemy trenches, attacking any forces encountered. In the meantime, the right-hand column begins to set about ruining the existing defensive works. Gleefully, the Fenwickians begin digging out gabions, spreading dog hair, and throwing golden syrup hither and thither. No Gelderlander who values his coat and britches will ever be able to reoccupy this position.
(Above, top) The attacking grenadiers reach the first of the defending enemy infantry companies. Looming out of the night, they fall upon the enemy flank! (Below) Sadly, and quite surprisingly, the morale of the defending troops holds and they turn to face the attack.
(Above) 'Form line! Form line!' instructs Dreihumpe loudly from his prime learning position to the rear. Catching himself, he quickly adds 'Warm fine! Warm fine! It's a ... warm and fine night for an officer such as myself to be strolling around these delightful ... ah ... trenches ... and such, just minding my own business'. (Below) The grenadiers warm fine, and a nasty hand to hand combat ensues.
(Above) As his troops struggle manfully to overcome the enemy in a vicious bout of hand-to-hand combat, Dreihumpe contemplates ways in which he too can make a more substantive contribution to the Fenwickian cause. Looking at the fight and recognising that his troops would benefit from some help, the captain does what any other self-respecting Mittelhaim officer would do: he steals a Nabstrian wheel barrow - that'll learn them! To his front, however, things aren't going well. Despite being surprised, the defending musketeers pull off an unlikely early success in the melee, inflicting more losses upon the grenadiers than they themselves suffer. The grenadiers check how they feel about this unpleasant turn of events ...
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