Vahringblancks, the Third!

It is as well that the Nabstrians have finally got their rustic in a sock and finished their deployment, because, before one can say 'Well, I remembered to bring my artillery', their adversaries the Duchy of Kurland have arrayed their forces for battle. (Below) To the uninitiated, their formation looks like 'A Big Long Line': but long-standing readers of this modest publication, those that have been drugged by the editors, that is, and had their eyelids taped open, will know that there is so much more going on.

For starters, all of the regular cavalry have been deployed on the left under the command of Boris Katzenov. This places them opposite the Nabstrian cavalry, and surely signals an intention to engage in some early equine antics. Katzenov is exactly the man to take part in this operation because he is utterly expendable. Whatever it is that he is good for, it doesn't really seem that it's battle. 

(Below) Just to the right of the regular cavalry is the Kurlandian headquarters. Amongst the many recent innovations undertaken by the Duchy of Kurland in its effort to modernise its army, the most controversial is that its commander is the Grand Duchess herself! Thus far, however, the Duchess has proved to be a canny and successful strategist. Catherine's headquarters are run by Gregori Savvinos, who is acting as the army's Chief of Staff. Savvinos is responsible for undertaking a variety of unMittelheim activities, such as writing precise orders, imposing a coherent structure for command and control, and preventing the troops from biting one another.

(Above) Next to the cavalry is the artillery - all three batteries of it. The batteries are dug in behind gabions. If the gabions themselves seem rather less substantial than normal, this is because the real bastions can be found wherever it is that the real Nabstrian artillery are. Thus, both sides have imaginary artillery defences  - in the same manner that they have imaginary competence.

(Above) Facing off the enemy foot is the main Kurlandian infantry line. Thanks to their recent victories, the proportion of conscripts is now much reduced and the Duchy's musketeer regiments are now quite a respectable force. 

Finally (below), last but very much least, are the Cassock irregular cavalry. One constant in Kurlandian warfare is the presence in their campaigns of these wild and undisciplined horsemen. The Cassocks' presence is a function partly of their love of violence, but mainly because their wives force them to go. Cassocks live in the saddle, which, as many a Cassock wife will tell, plays merry Hell with the dining room carpets. The Cassocks always turn up for a fight - then they wait until it's over so that they can frisk the bodies of the casualties for valuables. Distressingly, what the Cassocks define as 'valuable' is usually defined elsewhere as 'soft and dangly': seeing them relieve victims of their 'valuables' is a sight exceeded in its unpleasantness only by watching them try to deposit said 'valuables' at local banks.

The Cassock's are positioned no doubt to engage in a wide and sweeping flanking manoeuvre. This might be rather optimistic, since previous experience would seem to show that all manoeuvres attempted by the Cassocks end up looking suspiciously like a panicked rush to the rear. The Grand Duchess must surely have some clever plan to overcome the previous obstacles to their effective employment as a battlefield force.

Vahringblancks, the Second!

Now that he has what might pass, at a distance and with the most cursory of looks, as some artillery support, Rumpfler redeploys his forces. (Below) Vahringblancks Hill, the key objective of this battle, he occupies with his infantry and his *cough* cannons.He places his elite regiments in the second line and his regulars in the front. 

Disconcertingly for the Nabstrian infantry, the peasant gunners actually seem quite up for the battle. Seldom heard phrases issue from the vicinity of the Nabstrian batteries - phrases such as: 'Combined arms warfare - I think it's quite important'; 'Where are the doctrine manuals - I feel that technical knowledge should be an important part of our aspiration to be respected military professionals'; and also 'I feel it's important that artillery should make a usful contribution to a battle'.

(Above) on the Nabstrian right, Rumpler deploys all of his cavalry. These include the famed Pfannenstiel Hussars (above left), a unit where men are men; which is useful since, if they were horses it would make riding the other horses slightly more difficult. Sir Thomas Chaffie (above right) commands the cavalry. Why Chaffie is still hanging around in Mittelheim as a soldier of fortune is probably best not explored in any detail. Since better rates of pay can be had working in any European tavern as a spitoon, we must conclude his circumstances are so woeful that even the prospect of death at the hands of his own artillery isn't sufficient to make desertion a palatable option.

(Below) On the far left of the Nabstrian line, the general deploys both units of his irregular infantry. Here, they are able to perform the two key functions of Mittelheim light troops, which are to terrorise squirrels and to keep well out of the way of the fighting.

In their fetching green uniforms, the jager can blend in perfectly with the local flora: assuming, that is, that the trees and bushes are also wearing tricorns, carrying muskets, and threatening the nuts of local bushy-tailed wildlife.

(Above) The main Nabstrian battleline. Nothing says 'Mittelheim military professionals' like having to deploy further back on a hill than intended because one keeps sliding down it. Still, there is every reason for the Nabstrians to feel confident. Rumpfler is an experienced general; his troops are quite experienced; and, well, the enemy is commanded by a girl.

A Rustic Interlude!

'Behold, General!' cries Major Seewurd. 'After some careful thought and some very specific, and indeed graphic, threats to the local peasantry, we have solved the anomaly of our absentee artillery!' There is a dull sonorous clanking, like an average Mittelheimer thinking, or Princess Caroline of Bachscuttel trying to remove her corset.
'What', says General von Rumpler tetchily, 'is that?'
'It is an impromptu artillery piece, sir' replies the major.

'Where?'

'There, sir'.

'I can't see any cannons' says Rumpler. 'Because my view is obscured by that wretched rustheap of renaissance rubbish'.

'It is', chips in Hugo von Stumpe, 'a rather rustic take on long-range fire support'.

'Rustic?' muses the general. 'If what I find in my chamberpot in the morning could be described as "rustic", then yes, rustic it is. A big pile of rustic. Just as you major, are a large rustic head, with rustic for brains. I fully intend to call the provost and have the living rustic beaten out of you'.

Seewurd gulps. 'But sir, whilst the makeshift guns are indeed of a more antiquated design, they are nevertheless robust'.

'Robust! Robust! My mother-in-law is robust, but I still wouldn't use her to fire 12-pound cannonballs'. He stops. 'Although the thought of firing said balls at her ...'

'And there is another advantage to this makeshift alternative to our regular gunners', says Stumpe.

'Which is?'

'They are utterly untrained!'

'You mean, they know nothing of the Mittleheim way of artillery warfare?'

'Nothing at all, sir'.

Rumpler turns to one of the gormless-looking peasant crewmen.

'You man, tell me what you know about cannons'.

The peasant's face contorts with the look of focused concentration that probably normally signals the production of a morning rustic.

'Wot's a cannon, zorr?' he asks finally.

'No knowledge or understanding at all of Mittleheim artillery doctrine? It's a military miracle!' says Rumpler happily. 'Why, that means that they might hit something! Hurrah!'

With renewed vigour, the general orders his battle line to accommodate the ersatz artillery pieces.

Vahringblancks, the First!

Wherein the army of the Grand Duchy of Kurland under Grand Duchess Catherine encounters the forces of the Burgravate of Nabstria, commanded by General Hieronymous von Rumpfler.

At the very same time that the Rotenburgers are claiming a victory, a 'victory' achieved through a process ethically identical to large-scale financial fraud involving orphans and freezing pensioners, another battle in the Yum Kipper War is about to be fought.

Near Vahringblancks Hill in north central Gelderland, we find the army of the Burgravate of Nabstria arrayed for battle. (Below) General Hieronymous von Rumpfler, commander of the Nabstrian troops, is consulting two of his staff: Hugo von Stumpe and Major Seewurd.

'The army is deployed according to my orders?' asks the general mildly.

'Absolutely, sir', replies Stumpe. 'The troops are prepared, everything is ready, and no mistakes whatsoever have been made'.

'Well, that's reassuring' says Rumpler. 'Because this is an important battle, and there's really no room for cock-ups'.

(Below) The Nabstrian army is deployed athwart Vahringblancks Hill, cavalry to the left, infantry to the centre and right. It is a pleasing deployment: double lines to maximise the resilience of the defending troops; an extended front to maximise the opportunities for flanking movements. Rumpfler scrutinises his army more carefully. Looking at them, he has a nagging feeling that there's something wrong. Not just wrong in the normal sense - after all, this is a Mittelheim army, so there are always going to be a few things missing relative to other European armies: professionalism, enthusiasm, underpants. No, there's something wronger. Finally, Rumpfler realises the problem. With weary resignation he turns again to his staff officers.

'Where is the artillery?' asks the general.
'What artillery?' reply the staff officers.
'You didn't bring any cannons with us?'
Stumpe looks at the army for a moment and then sighs sadly. 'Alas, my lord, like an unravelled piece of string, I'm afraid not'.

Schwimwehr, the Last!

They say that all good things must end; luckily, the same is true of mediocre things, like Mittelheim battles. And so, dear reader, we reach the final stages of the battle of Schwimwehr: a battle that will go down in the annals of military history as a battle, that took place near  Schwimwehr. Few songs are ever likely to be penned about this encounter, and almost none that don't involve a woman from Venus, but it's final stages are marked by the usual drama.

Rentall orders two of his remaining regular regiments forward in a do-or-die assault upon the Rotenburg line. (Above) On the right, Graf Orlok's Regiment charges the confused Rotenburg conscripts. The Orlok's are heavily disordered, but their adversary isn't in much better condition and, as conscripts, are more used to licking windows than engaging in honest hand-to-hand combat. 

(Above) On the left, the Liebgarde Feratu-Osterburg, the very finest of the Vulgarian regiments, the invincible Nosferatu elite, advance to contact twice their number of enemy infantry.

Alas for Rentall and for the Vulgarian cause, the Vulgarian guard cannot break the enemy line. After savage fighting, the Rotenburg regular regiment is overwhelmed and routed but the Rotenburg mercenaries succeed in driving the Osterburg's back. Even worse, a quick round of volleying from Furst Augustus' line proves that the Nosferatu are not so invincible. On the contrary, they prove to be really quite vincible and, being well vinced by the enemy musketry, the guard are driven from the field (above).

To compound matters, the Rotenburg conscripts prove to be more spritely than expected, and Count Orlok's regiment is also driven back Below). Rentall curses, and because he curses in Dutch it sounds even ruder. Less Nosferatu and more Tosferatu, his army has let him down. There is now nothing to stop the enemy from advancing forward and occupying the critical roadway. The game is up; the goose is cooked; the fat lady has sung. Rentall concedes the battle.

The Vulgarians are defeated! Or are they?

On the far left of the Vulgarian line, Captain Kleinvarken looks unhappily at the swamp.

'So, Colonel Kurtz, when I asked if we could fire when we climbed into the swamp, you said "no". And yet it turns out that the answer should have been "yes"'.

Kurtz considers this gloomily. 'Well, there were a few qualifying factors that were too negligible to include in that assessment'.

'Those factors being?'

'Well, mainly that the answer that I should have given was "yes". But, then, in my defence, I delivered the wrong answer with the right amount of confidence. So really, it's your fault for believing me. I asked the Rotenburgers, and they said that we couldn't fire if we were in the swamp'.

Kleinvarken considers this. 'But they are the enemy'.

The colonel shrugs. 'Who'd have thought that they would lie? They sounded so confident'.

As the battle comes to an end, it becomes clear that, not for the Furst time, Augustus might have been treating the rules of war as less of a set of stringent regulations to ensure equitable treatment of both sides and more like a pirate code. There are no hard feelings, of course, and so, as General Rentall bids adieu to the cheating Rotenburg donkey-fondling monkey sucker Furst Augustus Saxe-Peste, the two armies disengage.

Furst Augustus remains cheery, however. For Rotenburg, any sentence that contains the word "victory" is worth celebrating, even if that word is bracketed by the phrases "It's not a" and "you cheating b*stard". The Landravial army has lost only a single regiment, although it is one of their precious trained units. On the plus side, however, three of the existing units of conscript infantry are promoted to trained status. Saxe-Peste's cavalry has also benefited from their time spent hanging around somewhere to the rear, and the regiment of conscripts is promoted to trained, and another unit reaches elite status.

The Vulgarians have lost two regiments of regular infantry and one of cavalry - these the Vulgarian depots will replace with trained troops. The Liebgarde have also been lost, but they retain their guard status.

Having inflicted four losses and having suffered one, the Rotenburgers also receive a point for having inflicted heavy losses on their enemy. 

Schwimwehr, the Ninth!

The battle begins to reach its critical moments! Despite their many advantages, the Vulgarian cavalry are driven off by the Landgravial Guard (below). Perhaps the amphibians in the marsh imposed too much frog of war.

All riled up, General Rentall finds an alternative method of twisting Furst Saxe-Peste's melons. One of the Rotenburg conscript regiments is suddenly seized by a confusion so vigorous that it causes them to interpenetrate the units in front, taking their place in the first line (below).

For the conscripts, this is not wise. It is, indeed, the very definition of something that is decidedly unwise. There are reasons why Saxe-Peste placed these troops in the second line of the attacking formation. Some of the reasons are evident in the physical condition of the conscripts: the bandy legs; the drool; the hairy limbs; and their penchant for bananas. Other reasons could easily be found in the tactical handling of their weapons, the quality of which could be described in that portion of a Venn diagram that overlaps two circles marked 'Ineffective' and 'Blancmange'.

Rentall's satisfaction is short-lived, however. Exchanges of fire ensue in which at other parts of the line the Rotenburg's lethal volleys begin to tell. (Above) Another one of the Vulgarian regiments collapses in the heat of the musketry fire. There is now a hole in the Vulgarian line, and the vital road is uncovered!

(Above) Two of Rentall's five infantry regiments have now been routed, and the remaining three infantry units are split into two separate groups. Even in Mittelheim military doctrine, this is recognised as a Bad Thing about which Something Must Be Done. With no allies to blame and with no one smaller to hurt, the Vulgarians make one last throw of their curiously weighted green dice.

Schwimwehr, the Eighth!

Abandoning his Landgravial Guard to whatever watery wastery they can pass their time with, Furst Augustus searches for other ways in which he might put pressure on Rentall: sitting on him until he stops breathing is his preference; but failing that, and having been stymied in his earlier charge in the centre, the Furst decides to take advantage of an excellent series of musketry volleys on his left.

(Above) Saxe-Peste orders a charge against a badly disordered enemy unit, and pushes one of his regiments forward! Desperate hand-to-hand fighting ensues: desperately bad, that is. Still, war is a relative activity, and it turns out that the Rotenbergers are relatively better at bayonet fighting than their adversaries: in the same way that otters are relatively better at badminton than snails.

(Above) The Vulgarian infantry unit is routed and driven from the field of battle. Alas for General Rentall, this regiment turns out to have been very popular with the rest of the army. Perhaps they were good listeners. Whatever the reason,Vulgarian morale droops lower than a long moustache on a short Bulgarian! Here at least Rentall has a reserve to plug the gap, but the pressure is now on the defending Vulgarians, with all four of their remaining infantry regiments part of the firing line.

One option available to the Vulgarians might be to move their irregular infantry into the marsh (below, at the top) and from there fire upon the Rotenburgers. But, as Furst Augustus has already claimed loudly and confidently, this just isn't allowed; and, even if it were, it's an option that only thigh-slapping shandy boys would resort to. In Mittelheim, the main role of irregular infantry is to frighten geese, although military doctrine lacks clarity on why this would be an urgent operational role.

Rentall decides it's time to regain the initiative with a cheeky charge of his cavalry. In Mittelheim warfare, though, this is rarely a good idea: initiative requires action; action requires intrepidity; and intrepidity, like nubility, jocundity, and bipedality requires a thesaurus, one of any Mittelheimer's least favourite dinosaurs. (Below) Despite this, with a slight wheel to the right, Rentall's cavalry throw themselves into the fray!

The cavalry charge with a certain measure of confidence. The enemy are Rotenburg guard, true: but that simply means that they are a bit taller than average, which just brings them closer to the Vulgarian sabres. More to the point, the defending infantry are deployed in the marsh, a feature that is to effective linear warfare what geese might contribute to irregular operations. It looks like it's time for Furst Augustus to broach the brandy again!

Schwimwehr, the Seventh!

It's bad news for the Vulgarian cavalry. But then, isn't it always? If only they were currently enrolled in a competition focused on acquiring the most disorder in the shortest space of time. Then, they would surely be guaranteed to win an exciting prize. The cavalry charge through the marsh, disordering themselves; their attack is quickly driven back by the defending infantry, disordering them even more; they are then disordered again as they retreat; alas too quickly to pick up their prize. One wonders indeed whether the term 'disorder' might be a strong enough term for the colossal bundle of bedlam that characterises their condition. Luckily, the problem is resolved almost straight away when a volley from the infantry completely routs the Vulgarian cavalry regiment from the field.

Though he has now worked off some of his frustration, it is clear to Saxe-Peste that no further progress will be made on this flank. The Furst decides to shift to a new and more direct approach. 'Grenadiers forward!' he orders, and 'charge!'. 'Hold the line! Hold the line!' shouts Rentall in response. The centre clashes in bloody hand-to-hand combat! (below). Even in Mittelheim, the term 'hand-to-hand combat' generally does involve the use of muskets and bayonets and not actual hands, although there is still rather more eye-poking, hair pulling and wrinkled sack wrenching than would be normal in most Enlightenment tactical military doctrine.

There follows an extended period of mithanthropic mayhem as the Mittleheim murder muppets melee with one another! But to the chagrin of Saxe-Peste, the Rotenburgers fail to make a breakthrough and their line falls back (below). In fact, it's a close-run thing, with one of the attacking units themselves teetering on the brink of routing.

This isn't the only bad news for the Rotenburg commander. General Rentall can't help himself and tests the Furst's temper with even more marsh-related miscreancy. A great bout of confusion overcomes the Rotenburg Landgravial guard, and they find themselves strangely tempted to undertake an ambulatory excursion into the slushy water feature in front of them. The water looks so inviting, what with the delightful crust of algae, the choking toads, and the same smell of gassy flatulence that reminds them of home. They stagger forwards, splashing through the marsh. (Below) Now unable to fire and with portions of the line hanging out in places ripe for an enemy cavalry counterattack, the troops come to a halt right in front of the Vulgarian cavalry.

Furst Saxe-Peste is drinking brandy again. Marshes seem to be on his mind; and also various ways that these geographical features might be forced painfully into Rentall's bodily cavities. It doesn't look good for the Rotenburgers ...

Schwimwehr, the Sixth!

General Furst Augustus Saxe-Peste is drinking brandy. Lots and lots of brandy. While this isn't likely to improve his powers of concentration, it does at least force him to interrupt his swearing and so breathe occasionally. The general's petulant profanity mixes references to swampy water features, the enemy general, bodily orifices, large spikey objects, and the sort of vigorous transit through narrow straits that might make the eyes of Magellan himself start to water.

(Above) With the Rotenburg infantry stymied in their advance, the Vulgarian cavalry are able to about face and redeploy beyond musket range. Suddenly, the pressure on the Vulgarian army is released.

(Below) Thwarted in his attempts to trap and destroy the enemy cavalry, Saxe-Peste orders his infantry to commence volley fire. Or at least, that's probably what he is trying to order, although his instructions to his troops do sound a lot like he is still keen that Rentall should take his marsh and investigate the extent to which it might fit in that place of the Dutchman's body which is currently resting upon his saddle.

Not that he is petulant or anything but the Furst makes it a priority to find ways in which Rentall can be punished for his marsh mischievousness. Suffused with swampy spite, Saxe-Peste finds just the thing, (Below) Suddenly, overwhelmed by the heat of the moment, one of the Vulgarian cavalry regiments gives a loud 'huzzah!' and charges forwards into the swamp and then into the Rotenburg infantry.

It is a brave move. And also, of course, immensely stupid. If cavalry were meant to charge through marshes, then they would have flippers instead of hands and gills instead of noses. Actually, some of the Vulgarians do have both of these given that in rural Vulgaria the term 'my wife and sister' doesn't always refer to two people. But still, this is a charge that will require some quite extraordinary luck if it is to succeed.

It is also a slightly controversial act. Captain Sebastian Wankrat, Furst Augustus' orderly, hurries to speak to the general. As he meets Saxe-Peste, the latter is standing in front of a fire. He has in front of him a book and he is ripping out each page, screwing it up, and then throwing it on the fire.

Wankrat salutes. 'Sir, is it the case that troops that have acted in the heat of battle can charge through difficult terrain?'
Saxe-Peste shrugs. 'Well, captain, they seem to have done so. I think that the restrictions only apply if they are in or behind cover'.
'Well, sir, we could check the rule book. Do you know where it is?'
'Nope', says the Furst, ripping out the last page of the volume in his hands and throwing it in the fire. 'No idea'.

Schwimwehr, the Fifth!

Continuing to reflect the triumph of optimism over experience, the Vulgarian artillery fires upon the advancing Rotenburg line. Like an old opium addict in the bath, they produce a lot of smoke but their balls swing uncomfortably low into the water in front of them. The enemy infantry are unaffected.

(Below) On the other flank, Rentall's cavalry suffers casualties to Rotenburg infantry fire. The enemy has crept forward until they are at the closest of ranges and now pour volleys into the Vulgarian horsemen to their front. The cavalry must now draw on their training to provide a solution. Sadly, four days spent tied to a horse and five months attending wild gala dinners do not immediately provide many useful suggestions.

(Below) The Vulgarians draw off, but they are hemmed in. What can they do now? Are they just destined to be cut down in their saddles? How can escape their situation? And where is it exactly that babies come from? The enemy infantry shuffles forward, closing the range again. This is exactly the sort of tactical situation to avoid. Attack, and the cavalry are likely to lose badly; retreat, and the infantry will simply continue to advance.

Rentall considers his options. In such circumstances, there is only one possible response. Rentall turns to Duke Neucheim.

'Neucheim, get me a map!'

'At once sir!'

'Neucheim, get me a marsh!'

'But there isn't a ma ... goodness, sir, what's that?'

'Gottle a geer!' chortles Baron Tostov gleefully.

 

Schwimwehr, the Fourth!

On the Rotenburg left, the Vulgarian cavalry adjusts itself: after all, those saddles aren't always comfortable. (Below) The regiments of Vulgarian horse wheel to the left, more fully to menace the advancing enemy foot.

(Below) Saxe-Peste's infantry line grinds forwards. Or obliquewards. Or whatever word describes the process of going wards when one is also heading to the side. On the left, his front line is now within musketry range of the enemy cavalry who have no space with which to move around the enemy flank. No doubt the general has the intention of forcing the cavalry to commit themselves to a frontal assault upon his infantry's bayonets. 

On the other side, the Rotenburg infantry move sufficiently to avoid the marsh. Some of the second line begins to wheel to the right, though, because of the potential threat from the Vulgarian irregulars. Of course, this would be more of a threat if the irregular infantry could fire whilst they were in the marsh. Alas, they aren't allowed: though in this case 'not allowed' refers to an extra-special interpretation of the rules by the Rotenburg commander - an interpretation which could be described as 'imaginative but somewhat contestable'. If, that is, by 'somewhat contestable' one meant that it was entirely wrong and that by 'imaginative' one meant something that was in fact a bald-faced lie, but one told with panache and confidence.

Also on the Rotenburg right, the cavalry is having an altogether less strenuous battle. Nevertheless (bottom) Saxe-Peste has ordered his horsed troops forward. This is partly in order to fulfil one of the key principles of Mittelheim warfare which is that one's own artillery should whenever possible be masked. This prevents them from firing and so reduces the chance of them embarrassing themselves.

However, a second reason for the cavalry to advance somewhat is that the Vulgarian irregular troops have also begun to creep forward (above, top right). The last thing that any gentleman needs is Vulgarian irregulars threatening to lap his flanks, so the cavalry have been ordered into a position where they can charge any of the enemy cheeky enough to cross the stream.

Saxe-Peste is happy with the progress of the battle thus far. His plan is unfolding as he had hoped, and he has also hidden the rule book. Now, anything is possible.