Bogorovsk, the Final!

And so, dear reader,we reach the final crescendo; nay, climax; nay denouement; nay, horse, in the struggle for control of the Kurlandian town of Bogorovsk! It has been a rollercoaster ride, thus far: a crap rollercoaster, of course, with squeaky wheels, low speed, and a small child in the car behind vomiting loudly into the footwell.

(Above) As with the other side of the siege, the Nabstrians here have made good progress with their saps and artillery positions. Three such positions, one newly placed, are on the glacis and ready to commence breaching fire upon the bastion to their front. Luckily for the Kurlandian defenders, only one artillery battery has been brought up by the Nabstrians.

(Above) The attacking and defending guns exchange fire, to no great effect. But it is now that Retchin launches upon this flank, his great military innovation: a sortie. That sorties have not been a feature of previous Mittleheim siege encounters has many explanations: a lack of imagination, perhaps; a lack of aggression; and also, a lack of rules. But Retchin is a commander of a new stamp: aggressive, and, having not seen the new rules, entirely ignorant of any of the problems of such an enterprise. A man who knows no fear about attacking because he genuinely knows nothing about how one goes about doing it. He launches two sorties: one against the enemy battery, and the other against the pesky enemy sappers!

(Above) The Kurlandian infantry rises from the covered way! The Nabstrian battery fires at close range with grape. Alas, it would appear that it's the fruit and not the artillery munitions, because the attacking regiment suffers no great damage and swarms over the emplacement, bayoneting the gunners and, in the Kurlandian style, once they find the holes, ravishing the Nabstrian artillery pieces.

The Kurlandian invalid battalion assaults the Nabsiran sappers. Or at least, one might label it a charge in the same way that one could declare a cat to be a lion: it's about the right sort of species, even if the details are rather different, especially if one were to try and put one's head in its mouth. The charge involves more squeaking than one might expect, the noise coming from bath chairs, and also the wooden pounding of false legs rarely heard outside of a pirate reunion. (Above) Knackered old has-beens though the attacking infantry might be, their drooling horde overcomes the defending Nabstrians, who are wiped out!

(Above) Embarrassment alone might at this stage have signalled a Nabstrian withdrawal, but the rout of the sappers breaks the morale of von Rumpfler's army. The defending Kurlandians have won! General Rumpfler writes dispatches home claiming a successful diversionary action against the Kurlandians. He claims to have suffered low losses, which isn't entirely wrong given how short many of his troops are. General Retchin declares a glorious victory, the largest for the Duchy in living memory: although, given how much the Kurlandians drink, 'living memory' is basically around four hours. Retchin further adds to Kurlandian military doctrine by declaring the utility and necessity of defensive sorties, even if he's still not clear exactly what they are.

Bogorovsk, the Seventh!

Lady Luck clenches her fist at General Rumpfler, and then. gently extends her middle finger. Thanks to his decision to keep his guns off the walls in the early stages of the siege, Retchin still has most of his artillery left. If one combines this fact with Rumpfler's unfamiliarity with the concept of enfilades, then suddenly, possibilities emerge for some Kurlandian successes!

(Below) The right-most Nabstrian battery takes flanking fire from the bastion and is annihilated! No programme of Professional Military Education, however expensive, is adequate defence against a 24lb cannonball up the jacksy.

In addition to being enfiladed, the Nabstrian artillery lacks infantry support: not surprising, given that the Nabstrian foot can see the state of the artillerymen's jacksies. Retchin siezes the moment, or at least, something that seems like the moment, although it might actually be his nose, and decides to conduct an activity never before attempted by Mittelheim forces - a sortie from the fortress! Kurlandian veterans nod their heads judgmentally. A sortie requires things hitherto unheard of in Mittelheim siege battles: rules for sorties, for a start. But Retchin has come prepared with his own set of rules for such an activity - rules which are no doubt fair, balanced, and in no way dodgy. Choosing to attack at dawn, because it seems like the dramatic thing to do, he orders his troops forward. 

Retchin withdraws his guns from the bastion and then orders General Barfolovamisev to attack. (Below) One of the latter's regiments of musketeers forms a column of assault and surges forward! Though the defending artillery is entrenched, it is outnumbered and taken in the flank. The battery is quickly overrun.

(Below) Lady Timsbury of Somerton considers the unfolding situation. Whilst many might attribute the Nabstrian difficulties to some faults in the placement and support of the siege batteries, she is quite clear that the real foundation of their problems is the lack on the part of the Nabstran gunners of real engagement with their post-graduate written work. Sharper analytical skills and a grasp of international relations theory would no doubt even up the brutal hand-to-hand combat. Sadly, it's clear that the gunners haven't been doing their homework, and they are cut to pieces. On the plus side, though, Lady Timsbury always makes sure that she gets paid first. Perhaps what the Nabstrians are in need of is a really extensive, and as it happens expensive, programme of remote learning. Remote, in that the student is sent to live for six years in a hut on a small Baltic island, where the only conveniences are hot and cold running slugs, and even the halibut leave poor reviews. In such places, one lacks the distractions that stand in the way of really intense study, and also of going mad.

(Below, left) The woodcut shows the results of the impact of the second of Barfolovamisev's attacks. His other musketeers have attacked from the covered way, driven back the enemy sappers, who flop uselessly in the open, and then, thanks to the limited visibility imposed by the early hour, retreat, unmolested by enemy defensive fire, out of carving back to the covered way.

(Above) The situation at this portion of the siege has been transformed. Moreover, the Nabstrian morale is now rather low - so, about normal, then. All now hinges on events at the left-most bastion: events, dear reader, that we shall now turn to. Who knows what stories of heroism, enterprise, and daring-do we might encounter? It's not impossible, though, that if you are an experienced observer of Mittleheim warfare, you might just be able to guess.

Bogorovsk, the Sixth!

The Kurlandian battery opens fire. (Below) Alas, however, the gunners are too well steeped in the doctrines of Mittelheim artillery. This is a doctrine which seeks to surprise the enemy and, to be fair, their own troops, by missing all the time and rarely ever inflicting any casualties. This wrong-foots the enemy, laying them open to more effective forms of attack such as tickling or pillow fighting.

Still, for General Retchin there are surely a range of other interesting and effective options. Or so one might think.  Although the enemy artillery is on the glacis, and so too close to be the target of a trench raid, the enemy saps are not. A company of Kurlandian grenadiers, accompanied by a unit of sappers, launches a bold attack upon the enemy supporting trenches, seeking to fill them in (below).

Alas, the only thing that gets filled in is the sappers themselves. There are, in life, many sad sights to be seen: the weeping of a child; the howl of a hungry hound; an English penalty shoot-out. But there are surely few things sadder than seeing a trench raid defeated by a trench that has no enemy troops in it whatsoever. One can only surmise that the Nabstrian works were inhabited by some particularly doughty badgers; or some very long and surprisingly elastic worms. Whatever the reason, Retchin again finds himself lounging on the sofa when Mister Cock-up comes calling.

Things don't improve, however.

(Above) The Nabstrian batteries reload and pound the bastion. Clearly poorly trained, they hit their target, rendering irrelevant their carefully husbanded pillow cases.

On the other side of the siege works, things aren't much better either.

(Above) Before one can say "This is likely to sting a bit", Nasbtrian sappers have popped no less than three artillery positions on the glacis. Worse, Rumpfler is able to move up three batteries to occupy these new positions. The defending batteries fire but have the predictable effect - which is to say Jacques Merde.

Worse, the busy Nabstrian sapper companies then plop two more emplacements in front of the Kurlandian bastion. From these positions, Rumpfler's artillery will be able to commence breaching fire. At so short a range, and with a target that is literally larger than a barn door, some of their fire is bound to hit. You'd think.

And so, as General Retchin makes up a bed for Mister Cock-up, the situation for the defenders looks dimmer than a Guard's officer on a foggy morning.