Thrice Unto the Breach - And Stop Bloody Complaining About It, Dear Friends!

The situation in the bastion now certainly favours the defenders. (Below) The attacking Gelderland assault troops are backed up behind the lead companies. But these companies are trapped at the top of the breach, their exit blocked by the arrival of more companies of defending Fenwickian infantry. The spineless Fenwickians, realising that the status quo suits them, maintain their position and, rather than charging their adversaries, content themselves with some musketry and some light mockery. Musket balls, jibes, ribaldry, and some inflammatory thigh slapping are thrown at the enemy. For the Gelderland grenadiers, the physical wounds inflicted by the shooting are as nothing compared to the injuries to their pride caused by the Fenwickian ridicule; not suprising given that none of the nusketry actually hits.

(Below) Realising that risks must be taken if the attack is to succeed, the forward Gelderland companies charge. These risks, of course, are rather unequally distributed. The officers, at the rear, are firmly of the opinion that such risks need to be taken in the service of victory. The frontline troops, on the other hand, view risk as something to be mitigated by such necessary expedients as ducking, fainting, and changing sides. The Gelderlanders hope is to batter their way through the Fenwickian troops and so allow the following infantry into Fort Pippin. The attackers rely upon their steely Grenadier experience and morale to give them sufficient advantage; that, and their propensity for cheating.

(Below) Though they have the advantage in quality and numbers, it takes no time at all for the attacking troops to throw it all away. Less cut and thrust and more slap and tickle, the grenadiers make a mockery of their elite status. In the ensuing melee, the Fenwickians show decidedly more vim, vigour, vavoom and v-word commitment, and the attacking troops are soon broken.

(Above) The grenadiers stream away from fight, routing back down into the covered way. There are plenty more where they came from, however. Girding their loins, or doing other loin-related activities that are mercifully obscured by the bad light, more attacking troops rush up the debris and rubble of the breach. Musktery is exchanged, because why not, though it has the predictable results: a few men are rendered temporarily deaf; one or two are shot with ramrods; but the main effect is simply to improve everyone's morale by hiding the enemy from sight.

Clearly firm believers in the longstanding military principles of mass and maintenance of the aim (though also adherents to less well-known principles as "hit the small ones first" and "hide if things look dangerous"), the grenadiers press forward with the bayonet and attempt once again to break through the defending troops (below). There can be no doubt that this is a critical moment. Probably as critical as the last critical moment; and certainly a lot sweatier.

(Below) Meanwhile, at the other bastion, the assaulting ladder parties have already achieved miracles - it being miraculous, that is, that they seem actually to have reached the walls. Casualties on the advancing troops have been much lighter than expected, thanks to the bad light and risible boggle-eyed shooting of the defending artillery. How hard can it be to hit enemy troops advancing in line, especially when they are advancing across an open field, and waving ladders that, in addition to slowing them down, also provide the same sort of camouflage as carrying large flags emblazoned with the motto "Here I Am - Shoot Me"?

Nevertheless, supporting Fenwickian infantry are also moving up to this bastion as well. Things don't look good for the Gelderlanders - only extraordinary luck, or a sudden catastrophic double entendre,  seem likely to unravel the defences now!